Heir
Unapparent: Chapter 15 - Healing
Hermione
stumbled through the darkness, searching frantically for something to light her
way. Her wand, snapped in two like a
brittle twig, was gone. She began to
cry out for help. "Harry! Ron! Where are you? Ron!"
She
ceased her efforts, slumping into a sobbing heap and huddling within her torn
robes. So cold, she was so very cold.
Very
slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, she felt a warmth begin to spread
through her frozen limbs. Lifting her
head, she saw a soft light before her, just a tiny spark, which started to grow
and shimmer into a doorway. A light at
the end of the tunnel… I'm dying, she realized as she painfully raised herself
to her feet…
Hermione
tossed on the bed under Madam Pomfrey's gentle hands. Ron, who refused to release her hand, sobbed openly. Dumbledore's face was taught with strain as
he recited an ancient incantation.
"He
can save her, can't he?" begged Harry, standing helplessly beside Ron.
"It
was an evil knife that wounded her, Harry," spoke Severus Snape, who had
just entered the hospital wing. It was
the first time he had ever used Harry's first name, but Harry did not take
notice. All he could think about was
Hermione's pale face, her robes soaked in her own dark blood.
Dumbledore
turned to Ron. "Call her, call her
by name - now!"
Ron
knelt at the bedside, burying his face in her robes, still clinging to her
chilly hand. "Hermione! Hermione, come back! I need you… please come back!"
At
once, Hermione drew a gasping breath, like a drowning woman breaking the
surface of the waves. Ron felt her hand
squeeze his convulsively. He lifted his
face, frantic with hope. "Hermione!"
"Help
him, Harry!" commanded Dumbledore, still muttering something under his
breath as he rested his hand over her bandaged chest.
Harry
leaned over and stroked the damp curls away from Hermione's ashen
forehead. "Hermione, come back! You're safe now - he… he's gone…"
Hagrid
appeared, cradling a small jet-black bird in his arms. Upon seeing its wounded mistress, the
firebird flew onto Hermione's pillow and began to sing a strange, mournful
tune. As it spread its wings, a golden
light began to fill the room, bathing Hermione in it its warmth. The little bird never took its diamond-bright
eyes from her strained face. Hermione
stirred again and mumbled something, at which Dumbledore smiled.
"No,
dearest, you aren't dying. Come now,
come back to us…"
With
tremendous effort, Hermione Granger opened her eyes to see the tiny face of
Elena studying her closely. Elena gave
a radiant chirp and pecked Hermione lightly on the cheek. There were figures standing about her;
Hermione could only discern their outlines through the fog.
"Where
am I?" she asked in a tiny remote voice.
"Hermione!"
Ron cried with joy and burst through the mist to kiss her with relief.
"There
now," chuckled Dumbledore, whose face, once again, bore his benign
smile. "Come along, Ron, the young
lady needs to breathe!"
The
diminutive Winky, who had been sitting beside Hermione with Dobby, jumped into
the air. "Hurray!" she cried,
hugging Dobby and weeping with relief. Elena continued to chirp softly and nuzzle Hermione's cheek.
"She's
alive," breathed Madam Pomfrey. Snape slumped into a chair and fervently thanked The Power who was
greater than them all.
From
his bed, Draco Malfoy smiled, letting his exhausted and aching head fall back
into his pillow. She was alive - thank
God, he sighed, before Snape's potion took effect and he drifted into a deep,
dreamless slumber.
Dumbledore
administered a similar draft to Hermione, who had great difficulty taking the
potion. "There, now, Miss
Granger. You shut your eyes and sleep. The very worst is over, I promise you."
As
Hermione closed her eyes, she was aware of Ron, sitting beside her and stroking
her hair. She fell asleep and no longer
dreamed of the darkness.
Madam
Pomfrey checked her charges in the wee hours of the morning, before the sun had
stretched its rays across the rain-soaked lawns and turrets of Hogwarts
castle. Draco Malfoy slept soundly,
still enjoying the effects of Snape's sleeping draft. The scar across his cheek stood out, red and raw against his pale
skin. Much like Potter's, she mused,
well aware of this irony. Draco Malfoy
would never again be the thoughtless, pampered boy he was.
Elena
perched on the headboard of Hermione's bed, her little diamond eyes closed in
sleep. Hermione, too, slept soundly,
her pillow shared with the diminutive Winky and with…
Dear
Heavens above! It was Ron Weasley! His freckled face was buried in Hermione's
hair. He had curled round her, above the blankets, his arm wrapped protectively
about her. Hermione clutched his hand
with her own. Sighing, Madam Pomfrey
let them sleep. Highly irregular, yes,
but her warm heart went out to the young lovers. She would not disturb their chaste embrace; after all, it held a
healing far beyond her vast but ultimately limited abilities.
Morning
found Hermione still curled snugly against Ron, who began to stir. "Not a dream…" he mumbled as he
glanced about the hospital room. Raising himself on his elbow, he looked down at the sleeping
Hermione. She was as white as the sheet
pulled up to her chin. He nudged her
gently. "Hermione?"
She
murmured and pulled his arm more tightly about her. Opening her eyes, she too looked disoriented. "Ron? Where are we?"
"It's
okay, love. You're safe - we're back at
Hogwarts."
She
grimaced. "Safe? I doubt it, Ron. Not so long as… as he lives…"
He
lay down and turned her to face him. "Shhh. Don't think about
that now."
Her
eyes were deeply troubled as she looked into his. "But Ron, he said I… I was related to him! How can I forget that? How can you even… want me now?"
Ron
kissed the tip of her nose. "Hey,
I'm related to Percy and my dad collects plugs, but you've never held that
against me, right?"
Hermione
shook her head. "I'm serious,
Ron…"
She
felt his arm tighten about her. "So am I. I love you. Not because of who you came from but for who
you are. And who you are is mine…"
For
once, Hermione did not mind these words. She closed her eyes as Ron kissed her firmly but tenderly. They were startled by the polite cough of
Madam Pomfrey.
She
approached, bearing several glasses on her tray. "Here now, you drink this. You too, Mr. Weasley, and you, Miss Winky. Professor Dumbledore is waiting for you in his office."
Hermione
drank the potion and felt somewhat revived, though she doubted she could walk
all the way to Dumbledore's office. Ron
and Madam Pomfrey helped her to her feet. Her knees buckled beneath her but strong male arms caught her and lifted
her as lightly as if she was a child. "Professor Snape!" she gasped, recognizing the pale face of
their teacher. From the purple stains
under his eyes, she deduced that he had spent a rough night as well. "Is he… still at the Riddle House,
then?" she faltered. She did not
want to ask, but she had to know.
Snape's
grim face was impassive as he carried her along the corridor, followed closely
by Ron and Winky. Elena had perched
upon Ron's shoulder and would not be left behind. "Riddle House and its cemetery are in ruins. But we will not speak of it yet, my
dear."
Wearily,
she laid her head against Snape's broad chest and closed her eyes. He was alive; she knew it in her very
bones. He was alive and would come for
her again…
There
was a small crowd gathered in Dumbledore's office. Arthur Weasley was there, with his eldest. Both men looked as pale as specters. Bill cried out when he saw her, "My
God, Hermione!"
Snape
ignored his outstretched arms, settling Hermione onto the sofa next to Harry
Potter. Ron quickly sat down beside her
and pulled her against him. Minerva
McGonagall wrapped her in a soft vegetable lamb blanket and Harry took her
hand. "You okay, Hermione?"
he asked in a low urgent whisper.
She
did not open her eyes but squeezed his hand weakly. Harry, too, thought as she had only moments ago. She was not okay, not so long as
Voldemort lived. None of them
were…
Albus
Dumbledore rose and gave Hermione another glass of something, while Snape
busied himself pouring drafts for the others. Hermione turned her face into Ron's shoulder; she had never swallowed so
many magical potions in her life and was not sure she could stomach another one,
but Dumbledore was insistent. "Drink this, Hermione. You
will need to regain your strength now."
Bill
Weasley shook his head, never taking his eyes off the wounded Hermione. "I should have arrived sooner…
Maybe if the Ki-lin had been here, before Igor Karkaroff…"
Dumbledore
sighed, taking the seat behind his desk. "No, Bill. Each of us has a
destiny. Igor sadly met his, and what
happened was meant to happen. For
better and not for ill, I trust. Hagrid
has sheltered the Ki-lin and the pi-his here; the O-Gon-Cho has returned to the
lake. As for the Chinese phoenix,
well. Who can say? For now, he has returned from whence he
came."
He
smiled and turned to Winky, who was sitting on a corner of his desk. "I would like to know how you came to
enter the fray, my friend." She
blushed terribly and spoke in a rush. "It was Dobby, sir. He took
the cloak from Mister Potter's trunk yesterday, and I armed myself as best I
could, sir, before the Quidditch games. You see, sir, he had overheard you talking with the Longbottoms and,
well, I hope we's not done wrongly, sir…"
"Not
at all, dearest Winky," said Dumbledore gently, patting the elf on her wee
head. "Indeed, you may have
carried the day!"
"You's
a hero, you is, Winky!" said Dobby proudly.
Winky
shook her head, not taking her eyes off Hermione. "I don't know… as long as the miss is allright…"
Hermione
smiled weakly across at her tiny friend. "I'll be allright, Winky." Winky was unconvinced, however. Hermione couldn't seem to keep from shivering, even though she was
snugly wrapped in vegetable lamb wool and Ron Weasley's arms.
"But
why was Frank Bryce able to strike at Voldemort?" asked Harry, who had
been pondering the battle in detail. "And he was golden, not like the others…"
"Ah. It is something I have never seen myself,
Harry," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "My guess is that he is your patronus, Hermione, and therefore able
to fight for you. But Frank was not the
only golden specter, Harry. We shall
see…"
Alastor
Moody spoke, his voice as rusty as an old, ungreased wheel. "Voldemort attempted one of the most
arcane curses known to wizardry. To
sacrifice one's eldest… Did it in Biblical times, except God stopped Abraham's
hand…"
"I'm
afraid we must act as his agents in this matter, Alastor. Voldemort has indeed employed the worst
curse known to the wizarding world. To
murder his forebears and his own heir… The most unnatural curse, and one which
we will need all the power of the natural elements to reverse."
"But,
sir," asked Ron, posing the question that was burning in his heart. "Surely, Hermione is safe! Won't he simply try to… to have another
heir? It would be easier than breaking
into Hogwarts, or…"
Dumbledore
sighed deeply. "I'm afraid, Ron,
that there is only one heir which can be of use to Voldemort in this way, and
that is his eldest, magical heir. And
we now know that person is Hermione."
"But
she is not alone," he continued, as Hermione turned her face into Ron's
shoulder again. He rose and stood
before them. In his hand was a gnarled
old walking stick. "She has
powerful friends, and she has this." He recited something in a low voice; there was a rumble that
shook the room, much to the alarm of its occupants. The stick in his hands glowed, twisted and turned and, with a
flash of golden light, transformed itself into a long, thin wand. "I believe your great-grandfather would
want you to have this," he said.
Astonished,
Hermione took the wand from him, marveling at its complex wooden grain. It felt slightly warm in her yet-cold hands.
"We
face grim times, my friends," said Dumbledore heavily. "We have won this battle, but the war
lies before us."
Hermione
lifted her head and met Dumbledore's gaze directly. There was a somber understanding in her eyes, which saddened
him. So much to bear, and so young…
Just like Potter.
"Bill,
I will ask you to return to Remus and Sirius. We will need to gather our forces, as wide and as far as possible. No doubt Voldemort will make haste to do so?"
he posed the question to Snape, who nodded.
"He
is," he replied flatly. "He
has taken refuge in Karkaroff's fortress, in the Balkans. It is a matter of time before he has
acquired dire assistance, from his Death Eaters as well as the Dementors."
McGonagall
looked alarmed. "But surely Fudge
will…"
"Fudge
is no longer an ally," said Dumbledore grimly. "Indeed, he is in a most dangerous position. His choice will split our ministry in
twain."
"And
Malfoy?" asked Arthur Weasley.
"Lucius
has also made his choice. His son will
remain here on his mother's bidding, and she will remove him for his holidays
to her own people near Copenhagen."
There
was a heavy silence, which Hermione broke. "Viktor is dead. His family
must be told."
The
firebird made a mournful sound and hopped from the back of the sofa to
Hermione's arm. Hermione wept, for the
first time since she awoke, at the thought of Viktor's senseless death, and of
her role in it. Elena chirped and
nuzzled her chin to console her.
Dumbledore
stroked Fawkes' bowed head and regarded the ensemble. So many dear ones here and beyond, in his care. Despite the burden of this knowledge, he
smiled. "Viktor Krum died bravely
and will be given the honors due a hero, Hermione. And he will be avenged." For a moment, there was a terrible anger in his clear blue
eyes. Harry saw it and knew his own
reflected it.
"There
will be another battle, far more terrible than this one." He regarded them, with renewed hope kindled
in his eyes, from which they found comfort and strength. "And we shall face him together. He
must fall; he has put his own authority above that Power greater than all of
us… We stand united in that power, and that is why we shall be
victorious, at last."
And
somewhere, on a plane of existence entirely different from our own, a handsome
young man shook hands with an old gardener, making the girl they loved the
first witch in history to have two patronum.
Author's
Notes:
So ends the first part of my Potter spin-off. I really want to thank each and every one of
you for reading, and many thanks to those who have given me suggestions and
encouragement.
You
know, as a visual artist there are some things I yearn to capture. Like a scarlet maple tree backlit against a
rich autumn blue sky. Or the delineation
of a pint of freshly poured Guinness, the malt-colored foam perfect against the
bitter brown porter.
So,
too, in writing, there are ideals. Ms.
Rowling's characters are a never-ending source of fun for me. I've roughed out the next storyline called (what
else?) "The Heiress", but I beg you to indulge me and let me know
your ideas. As the material is getting
grimmer, I am leaning toward PG13, with some chapters as R. Let me know if you are okay with this as
readers!
Once
again, thanks for your ongoing support and helpful comments. They mean the world to me as I plunk down
each chapter. Thanks for staying with
me and keep your eyes peeled for "The Heiress" - coming soon to this
most beloved fan-fiction board (after a wee hiatus for said author to finish
her much-delayed illustrations for a children's book!)
Fondly,
She