Chapter Six: Dazed and Confused
It was a very quiet group that walked back through Ottery St. Catchpole and up the damp lane towards the Burrow in the dim dawn light, too exhausted to carry on any semblance of conversation. As they rounded the corner and the Burrow came into view, a cry echoed from down the lane.
"Oh, thank Merlin! I was so worried!"
Mrs. Weasley had evidently been waiting for them in the front yard and was running toward them, clutching a creased copy of the Daily Prophet.
She flung her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck, leaving the copy of the Daily Prophet to fall out of her hand and onto the ground. Looking down, Hermione saw the headline: TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark hovering over the treetops.
"Come Molly, love, we're all perfectly fine, just tired," said Mr. Weasley soothingly, leading her back toward the house. "Someone," he added in an undertone, "grab that paper, I want to see what it says..."
When they were all crammed into the warm kitchen and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea indeed, Bill handed his father the newspaper.
"Oh, wouldn't you just know it," said Mr. Weasley heavily. "Ministry failures...lax security...Dark wizards running unchecked... Who wrote this? Of course...Rita Skeeter."
"Oh dear," groaned Mr. Weasley. "'When a Ministry official finally emerged some time after the appearance of the Dark Mark, any hopes of reassurances were dashed. Stating that whoever was responsible for conjuring the Dark Mark had not been apprehended and refusing to give any more information, the official dismissed the crowd of concerned witches and wizard, leaving the scene without another word. Whether this paltry statement will be enough to quash rumors of several bodies being removed from the woods an hour later, remains to be seen.' Oh really," said Mr. Weasley in exasperation. "well, there'll certainly be rumors now she's printed that."
He heaved a deep sigh. "Molly, I'll have to go into the office; this is going to take some explaining."
"Arthur, you're supposed to be on holiday! This has nothing to do with your office."
"I have to go, Molly, I've made things worse," said Mr. Weasley.
With a meaningful look at both Ron and Hermione, Harry said, "Alright if I go and dump my stuff in your room, Ron?"
"Yeah...think I will, too," said Ron at once. "Hermione?"
"Y-yes," she said quickly, and the three of them marched out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
"What's up?" said Ron, the moment they had closed the door of the attic room behind them.
"There's something I haven't told you," Harry said. "The day of the World Cup, I woke up with my scar hurting again."
Hermione's breath caught momentarily. She began running through the implications and possibilities, unknowingly pacing the room and making suggestions on what Harry should do and who he should talk to. Ron simply looked dumbstruck.
"Or perhaps Remus —"
Ron suddenly found his voice again. "But — he wasn't there, was he? You-Know-Who? I mean, last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?"
Hermione stopped pacing.
"I'm sure he wasn't here," said Harry. "But I was dreaming about him and Wormtail and a third man I didn't recognize. I can't remember all of it now, but they were planning to kill...someone."
Hermione narrowed her eyes at his hesitation. Ron caught her eye and she knew he had noticed as well and both silently agreed to let it go for now.
"It was only a dream," said Ron bracingly. "Just a nightmare."
"Yeah, but what if it wasn't?" said Harry. "It's weird, isn't it? My scar hurts, and a few days later the Death Eaters resurface, and Voldemort's mark's up in the sky for the first time since he lost power."
"Why not write Sirius?" Hermione asked.
"I did," said Harry, shrugging sheepishly. "I'm waiting for his answer."
"Good thinking!" said Ron, the worry lifting from his expression momentarily. "He'll know what to do. Or maybe he's heard something about the Death Eaters or...Voldemort."
Ron looked as though he might be struck by lightning at any moment and Hermione had to turn away to hide her smile.
"Yeah, maybe. I'd just hoped he'd get back to me quickly," said Harry.
"Well, we don't know where Sirius is. He could be anywhere in the world, couldn't he?" said Hermione reasonably.
"Yeah, I know," said Harry, he looked out of the window at the owl-free sky looking as miserable as sin.
"Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry," said Ron. "Come on. Three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play..."
"Good idea!" Hermione proclaimed, jumping up from her perch on Ron's bed, "You can try out the Wonky Feint..."
"Wronksi Feint," Ron corrected, exasperated.
Hermione rolled her eyes and smirked. "You knew what I meant. Isn't that enough?"
Harry and Ron exchanged an amused look and Harry's mood seemed lifted at the prospect of flying. "Yeah, alright," Harry said, "Let me just get my Firebolt."
Hermione made to follow the boys out when Ron stopped to look back at her, eyes narrowed and a small smile playing on his lips. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?" He asked, and Hermione knew he was referring to the blundered name.
She simply smiled and shoved him out of the room, "Maybe."
Harry's revelation left Hermione feeling wide-awake. She watched the boys and Ginny weave perilously above her in the Weasley's orchard, a well-loved book of poetry open on her lap. For once, however, her attention was not on the pages of her beloved books, her constant companions. Instead, she let her mind wander.
The sun had now fully risen and was casting a warm light on the orchard. It bounced brilliantly off the hills and lake surrounding the Burrow and soothed Hermione's mind.
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet
There will be time to murder and create
The unbidden verse shook her out of her thoughts. Had she been reading T.S. Eliot? She glanced down at the open book in her lap. William Carlos Williams. Her mind wandered again. What if it wasn't a dream? Harry dreams of Voldemort and then the remaining Death Eaters are suddenly bold enough to go on the march again a few days later? Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe not. It didn't feel like one.
There was so much raw fear. The very sight of them was enough to cause mass chaos. That in itself was worrying. What if this was just the beginning? She had already felt the anti-Muggle sentiment that lingered from the last war. Malfoy had made sure of that. Despite his prior jabs, however, his father's bold, almost open display of disdain for her had surprised her. And so dangerously close to Fudge, as well. He seemed to think he could get away with anything. And his son was seemingly taking after him in every way.
As for who Voldemort had been plotting to kill in Harry's dream, she didn't need three guesses. Hermione sighed heavily, her eyes gritty from lack of sleep. The sun was beating down on them full force now and she could practically feel her freckles multiplying, but she was deliciously warm and comfortable where she was. She tilted her head back against the tree trunk and let her eyes droop closed.
At least she had met Cedric. She smiled sleepily. Somehow that eased the lingering uneasiness. Or perhaps...made it worth it. Life was so strange sometimes. No good without bad. And vice versa.
Time for you and time for me
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea
She finally drifted off to the sounds of the impromptu Quidditch match and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on.
—-
Neither Mr. Weasley nor Percy was at home much over the following week. Both left the house each morning before anyone was up, and returned well after dinner every night.
"The Ministry is in a complete uproar," Percy related stiffly the evening before they were due to return to Hogwarts.
Hermione tuned the self-important speech out from where she sat in front of one of the window. Once again, the book she had chosen laid in her lap unread. Instead, her gaze was lost in the steady, violent rainfall outside. Now that they were set to return to Hogwarts, she was beginning to feel an uncharacteristic uneasiness.
Mrs. Weasley seemed to ignore Percy as well, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner with a sigh. The hand with Mr. Weasley's picture was still pointing to "work."
The quiet sigh brought Hermione out of her circling thoughts and she glanced over to its source in the kitchen. She frowned at the worry creasing Mrs. Weasley's kindly face and uncurled herself from the chair.
Hermione smiled at the Weasley matriarch as she approached, "Would you like any help with dinner, Mrs. Weasley? Only, I'm feeling a little restless."
Mrs. Weasley's face relaxed as she smiled, "I would love a hand, dear."
Hermione moved to the sink to wash her hands.
"Are you looking forward to the new school year?" Mrs. Weasley asked as Hermione dried her hands and began peeling potatoes beside her. Being in the kitchen like this soothed her and reminded her of helping her mum with dinner as a child.
"Yes. I can't wait for classes to start. Especially Arithmancy, it's my favorite." Hermione seemed to pause in her movements for a second and Mrs. Weasley noticed.
"What's wrong, dear?" She asked kindly.
Hermione shook her head minutely, "Nothing really. It's just...things feel...different now. Uncertain." Hermione worried her bottom lip and asked the question that had been playing on her mind since the Cup, "is this what it was like...before?"
Mrs. Weasley looked somberly as she squeezed Hermione's hands reassuringly. "It — it feels the same, but you have to understand, Hermione, it's also different." Her voice trembled slightly, as she continued in a half whisper. "You-Know-Who is gone — he's gone. This was just an isolated incident, nothing more. I don't want you to worry about it because it's not the same. It's just —brought up old memories and fears in people. That's all."
Hermione tried to let that reassure her, but Mrs. Weasley's eyes, glassy with tears, didn't allow for that. All she could manage in response was a small nod. Mrs. Weasley seemed to be satisfied with that and they returned to their dinner preparations, both silently working. Both silently worrying.
—-
Hours later, with the rain still lashing relentlessly against the living room window, Hermione sat quietly, her mind finally at peace long enough to get immersed in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4.
Mr. Weasley was still not home and the only time Mrs. Weasley drew her attention away from the clock entirely was when she spotted Fred and George sitting in a far corner of the room, speaking in hushed tones, their heads bent over a piece of parchment.
"What are you two up to?" Mrs. Weasley asked sharply, her eyes trained on the twins and narrowed dangerously.
"Homework," said Fred vaguely.
"Oh, yes? Maybe I should look it over, seeing as you left it so late," Mrs. Weasley countered shrewdly.
"No! S'alright, mum," George shouted. Fred, meanwhile, was practically sprawled across the parchment.
Hermione smirked slightly. Subtle. Mrs. Weasley certainly knew how to keep them on their toes.
"Hmm. Yes, I suppose my input would be of little use on those new order forms, wouldn't they?" said Mrs. Weasley sharply.
Mrs. Weasley harrumphed! rather resignedly.
"Oh! Your father's coming!" she said suddenly, looking up at the clock again.
Moments later, they heard him call from the kitchen.
"Coming, Arthur!" called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying out of the room.
A few moments later, Mr. Weasley came into the toasty living room carrying a dinner tray. He looked drawn and utterly exhausted.
"Well, it couldn't get much worse now," he said to the room, sitting down in an armchair near the hearth and pushing the food around his plate listlessly. "Rita Skeeter's been sniffing around all week, looking for more Ministry "cover ups" to write about. Now she's found out about poor Bertha going missing and you can bet that'll be the headline in the Prophet tomorrow." Mr. Weasley groaned tiredly, "I told Bagman he should have sent someone to look for her ages ago."
"Mr. Crouch has been saying it for months," said Percy sniffed importantly.
"Crouch is lucky Skeeter hasn't found out about Winky," said Hermione irritably, fed up with Percy's attitude. "There'd be weeks worth of headlines if it got out his house-elf was found holding the wand that conjured the Dark Mark."
"I thought we all agreed that that elf, while irresponsible, did not conjure the Mark?" said Percy hotly.
"Oh, really Percy, wake up! In case you haven't noticed, Rita doesn't much care about the truth!" Mr. Weasley said crossly, "Hermione's right, he's managed to get off rather easy so far if you ask me. And now, to add insult to injury, Amos is facing a Ministry inquiry for letting Crouch remove Winky from the scene the way he did."
"Mr. Crouch is a high-ranking Ministry –"
"All the more reason for him not to throw his weight around asking people to bend the rules for him!" Hermione cut him off angrily.
"Now listen here, Hermione –"
"That's it! I think you'd all better go upstairs and check that you've packed properly!" said Mrs. Weasley, breaking up the argument. "Come on now, all of you."
Percy and Hermione glowered at each other one last time before the group removed themselves upstairs for the rest of the evening.
—-
Cedric made a noise of frustration as he lied on the living room couch. Torrents of rain had been coming down all day, leaving him without an escape from his relentless thoughts. What was happening to his brain? He couldn't get her out of his head. It was an impossibility. Hermione Granger had managed to get under his skin and in his head, and Cedric was torn between elation and frustration.
She'd been on his tired mind every day since he met her at the Cup. He couldn't forget the feeling of absolute peace and belonging that her presence evoked in him, it was intoxicating. It was comforting. More than that, it felt...right. He wondered if she felt it, too. She was so inscrutable, more than even he was, it was hard to tell.
She was so unlike most of the women he had ever met. She didn't dissolve into fits of giggles or blush beet red when he spoke to her as most women did. She didn't simper or preen and she sure as hell wasn't afraid of speaking her mind. Then there was that infinitely rare quality she possessed of being able to get him to open up. He found himself confiding in her things that even Ben didn't know about him. His mother. He never talked about his mother, to anyone.
His friends at Hogwarts knew he had lost his mother when he was young, but nothing else. And talking to his father about her always ended in disappointment. Hermione was the first person he'd ever felt completely at ease with in every way.
Cedric sighed, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. He'd been stuck at home, bored out of his mind since they got back from the World Cup. His father was working even later than usual, dealing with the fallout from Rita Skeeter's article in The Prophet. He had always privately thought of it as a side effect of being an only child, this chronic loneliness. Then he remembered what Hermione had said to him, 'we make our own family.' She was right, it was the only way to survive in this world, and he couldn't stop the overwhelming hope that she would be part of that family.
Cedric groaned and rolled off the couch to repack his trunk. If he was going to descend into madness, he might as well be productive while it happened.
