Author's Note: To reviewers Adam Johnson, crazyfriendsfan, Phoenix Flight, sbys and
Occamy (and anyone else who might drop in): The Shrieking Shack awaits. Let's be off, shall we?
***
The torpidly milling students languishing near the great entrance to the castle took scant note of the small party which exited in a tight knot, robes fluttering in the Spring breeze. They neither noted the direction in which this elite company moved, nor would have cared overmuch had they been disposed to look. The whole of Hogwarts seemed reduced to the state of zombies, excepting only the four who moved rapidly in the direction of the Whomping Willow.
"I must caution you again, Poppy," Dumbledore said with an eye cast over his left shoulder. "This expedition will most certainly prove to be...undignified, at the least."
"Posh!" Madam Pomfrey said haughtily, her robes billowing about her ankles. "If a student needs me, I shall go where I must!
"Besides," she added with a withering eye, "if you can do it, then I certainly can!"
The quartet reached the perimeter of the Willow without delay. Acting of his own accord, Harry promptly detached himself from his three companions and dashed toward the gnarled trunk. Employing his Quidditch-trained reflexes, Harry expertly dodged the thrashing branches and fell upon the knot at the base of the tree. Instantly the branches froze. An unnatural stillness fell, the only motion being the light capering of the leaves in the wind.
Harry entered the tunnel first, thereafter assisting Dumbledore in lowering Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. Dumbledore himself slid down with the nimbleness of a schoolboy, pausing only to dust off his robes before lighting his wand and taking the lead.
Walking directly behind Dumbledore, Harry surveyed the surface under his feet, playing the light of his wand back and forth. He had not set foot in this tunnel since the night he, Ron and Hermione had helped his godfather, Sirius Black, escape from the dementors (and, incidentally, from Cornelius Fudge). Yet this was surely not the dust of three years upon which they now walked. Fresh footprints streaked the dust, and not those of a single passage. What did it all mean?
At the entrance to the Shrieking Shack, Harry boldly took the lead, knowing with a certainty where their path led. His nerves humming like piano wire, Harry raced up the stairs to the second floor, flew across the landing and flung open the door --
When Dumbledore stepped into the room moments later, he found Harry sprawled across a large four-poster bed from which tattered hangings dripped like Spanish moss. A figure lay upon the bed, and Harry was sobbing onto its robes.
Madam Pomfrey rushed in now. She pulled Harry away without pretense of delicacy and began a cursory examination.
After what seemed an eternity to Harry:
"She's alive, Albus!"
As Dumbledore and McGonagall moved to either side of Madam Pomfrey, Harry felt his legs turn to water. He collapsed with his back to the wall, his hands covering his face as great sobs tore through him. But were they tears of joy -- or of misery? For if Hermione were alive -- did that mean -- ?
"This girl has been stunned," Madam Pomfrey said at last. "I -- I see no other signs of trauma..."
Dumbledore drew his wand.
"Ennervate!"
Looking up through his tears, Harry saw Hermione's fingers quiver weakly. He leaped up as if shot from a cannon and fell upon her, sobbing aloud as he rained kisses upon her, painting her face with his tears.
"H-Harry?" Hermione said weakly, trying to focus her thoughts. "Wh-where am I? What -- Ron! Where's Ron? He..."
Harry tried to speak, but the only sound he could manage was a gasping sob. He pressed his cheek against Hermione's and wept into her disheveled hair where it lay spread out on the lace-trimmed pillowcase.
As Dumbledore lay a comforting hand upon Harry, Professor McGonagall stepped back and attempted to collect herself. She turned away, dabbing at her eyes with a hastily-conjured handkerchief --
"ALBUS!" she screamed.
All heads turned as one. Even Harry lifted his head, and Hermione's eyes turned in the direction of McGonagall's cry. The Deputy Headmistress was pointing to an overstuffed chair in which a limp figure sat, its features obscured by deep shadow.
Dumbledore walked over and scrutinized the figure for a long moment. He lifted his wand.
"Ennervate!"
Ron Weasley opened his eyes, blinked. Then, seeing where he was, he fell into tears.
"No," he sobbed, unable to speak above a whisper. "No, please, no...Hermione..."
"RON?"
Two voices spoke as one. One, the stronger, Ron clearly identified as Harry's. But the other -- could it be -- ?"
"Her-Hermione?" Ron gasped. "How...how..."
"How, indeed?" Dumbledore whispered as Madam Pomfrey swarmed over a near-hysterical Ron. "How, indeed!"
***
Author's Note: Don't miss the next (and final) chapter, in which all questions are answered. See you then.
The torpidly milling students languishing near the great entrance to the castle took scant note of the small party which exited in a tight knot, robes fluttering in the Spring breeze. They neither noted the direction in which this elite company moved, nor would have cared overmuch had they been disposed to look. The whole of Hogwarts seemed reduced to the state of zombies, excepting only the four who moved rapidly in the direction of the Whomping Willow.
"I must caution you again, Poppy," Dumbledore said with an eye cast over his left shoulder. "This expedition will most certainly prove to be...undignified, at the least."
"Posh!" Madam Pomfrey said haughtily, her robes billowing about her ankles. "If a student needs me, I shall go where I must!
"Besides," she added with a withering eye, "if you can do it, then I certainly can!"
The quartet reached the perimeter of the Willow without delay. Acting of his own accord, Harry promptly detached himself from his three companions and dashed toward the gnarled trunk. Employing his Quidditch-trained reflexes, Harry expertly dodged the thrashing branches and fell upon the knot at the base of the tree. Instantly the branches froze. An unnatural stillness fell, the only motion being the light capering of the leaves in the wind.
Harry entered the tunnel first, thereafter assisting Dumbledore in lowering Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey. Dumbledore himself slid down with the nimbleness of a schoolboy, pausing only to dust off his robes before lighting his wand and taking the lead.
Walking directly behind Dumbledore, Harry surveyed the surface under his feet, playing the light of his wand back and forth. He had not set foot in this tunnel since the night he, Ron and Hermione had helped his godfather, Sirius Black, escape from the dementors (and, incidentally, from Cornelius Fudge). Yet this was surely not the dust of three years upon which they now walked. Fresh footprints streaked the dust, and not those of a single passage. What did it all mean?
At the entrance to the Shrieking Shack, Harry boldly took the lead, knowing with a certainty where their path led. His nerves humming like piano wire, Harry raced up the stairs to the second floor, flew across the landing and flung open the door --
When Dumbledore stepped into the room moments later, he found Harry sprawled across a large four-poster bed from which tattered hangings dripped like Spanish moss. A figure lay upon the bed, and Harry was sobbing onto its robes.
Madam Pomfrey rushed in now. She pulled Harry away without pretense of delicacy and began a cursory examination.
After what seemed an eternity to Harry:
"She's alive, Albus!"
As Dumbledore and McGonagall moved to either side of Madam Pomfrey, Harry felt his legs turn to water. He collapsed with his back to the wall, his hands covering his face as great sobs tore through him. But were they tears of joy -- or of misery? For if Hermione were alive -- did that mean -- ?
"This girl has been stunned," Madam Pomfrey said at last. "I -- I see no other signs of trauma..."
Dumbledore drew his wand.
"Ennervate!"
Looking up through his tears, Harry saw Hermione's fingers quiver weakly. He leaped up as if shot from a cannon and fell upon her, sobbing aloud as he rained kisses upon her, painting her face with his tears.
"H-Harry?" Hermione said weakly, trying to focus her thoughts. "Wh-where am I? What -- Ron! Where's Ron? He..."
Harry tried to speak, but the only sound he could manage was a gasping sob. He pressed his cheek against Hermione's and wept into her disheveled hair where it lay spread out on the lace-trimmed pillowcase.
As Dumbledore lay a comforting hand upon Harry, Professor McGonagall stepped back and attempted to collect herself. She turned away, dabbing at her eyes with a hastily-conjured handkerchief --
"ALBUS!" she screamed.
All heads turned as one. Even Harry lifted his head, and Hermione's eyes turned in the direction of McGonagall's cry. The Deputy Headmistress was pointing to an overstuffed chair in which a limp figure sat, its features obscured by deep shadow.
Dumbledore walked over and scrutinized the figure for a long moment. He lifted his wand.
"Ennervate!"
Ron Weasley opened his eyes, blinked. Then, seeing where he was, he fell into tears.
"No," he sobbed, unable to speak above a whisper. "No, please, no...Hermione..."
"RON?"
Two voices spoke as one. One, the stronger, Ron clearly identified as Harry's. But the other -- could it be -- ?"
"Her-Hermione?" Ron gasped. "How...how..."
"How, indeed?" Dumbledore whispered as Madam Pomfrey swarmed over a near-hysterical Ron. "How, indeed!"
Author's Note: Don't miss the next (and final) chapter, in which all questions are answered. See you then.