Disclaimer:
I do not pretend to own the Harry Potter world or any character within it: that right belongs to the eminent J. K. Rowling, to whom I most respectfully yield.
Neither do I pretend to be an expert on the early legends of King Arthur and the fabled Isle of Avalon. They belong to posterity and my imagination.
If, in writing, I offend someone, I apologize, but stand by my opinions.
I write this solely for my own amusement and for the appreciation of my audience. NO monetary gain whatsoever is intended.
I have no money, don't sue me, I'm not worth it, and there are bigger fish to fry.
Chapter Twelve
The Grangers, Bill, and Charlie all banded together to make the rest of the day seem a little more normal, as though three of the occupants of the house weren't really gone and the clock on the mantle wasn't chiming with hands on the spot marked 'mortal peril'. Mrs. Granger needed to be calmed with a good shot of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey before she was able to cope with the news.
They didn't open any more of the gifts; the excitement seemed to have palled. Bill got out the family cauldron, and mixed up some Restorative Draught, just in case anyone returned home exhausted.
Hermione was fretting about the exact nature of the 'attack', fussing about curses, counter curses, and protections. She dragged out her copy of Hogwarts, A History and started muttering to herself in the corner armchair.
Fred, George, Ron, and Harry all tidied, they picked up the stray paper and ribbon from the morning's jubilations. Then sat, fiddling with their opened presents until Bill shooed them out of the house. All on Firebolts, now, they sped back and forth, playing with Ron's new Quaffle. Half-heartedly, though, because every once in a while they'd swoop down and check to see if one of the missing persons had returned.
It wasn't until nearly ten in the evening that Mr and Mrs Weasley returned, by way of Floo powder. Ron and Harry were in the living room, playing chess by the fire.
"Mum! Dad! What happened? Are you alright?" Ron shouted, "Bill, Charlie, Everyone they're back!" In his excitement he knocked over the board, hardly noticed by Harry, who was jumping up as well.
"Where's Anna?" asked an ashen faced Hermione, who'd been sitting in the squishy chair, reading.
"She still out there," wheezed Mr Weasley, "bless her soul. That young woman is… incredible. She's done more than the dozen of us put together and she's still at it. "
Bill ran up with a cup of his Restorative Draught, which both parents avidly drank. "What happened?"
"Someone set off an explosion in the dungeons, in the potions classrooms, the whole lot of them went up like tinder, there were fumes everywhere." Mrs Weasley said tiredly. Professor Dumbledore popped out of the fire behind them, looking every one of his many years.
"Luckily enough that there were no students down there, I was holding the morning festivities in the Great Hall instead of the dormitories because there were so few people." He sighed, accepting the Restorative Draught form Bill with a grateful nod.
"Officially" Mr Weasley gave everyone a very stern glare, "There was an accident with an experiment that got out of control in the potions room. The dungeons will need to be fumigated, and everyone will get three days extra vacation. Nothing else happened."
"Unofficially someone used an Expilare curse didn't they?" Hermione said quietly. "Right, Professor?"
He went suddenly very still, and the room descended into silence, "Pray tell, Miss Granger, how you came to that conclusion."
"Well," she shifted on her chair uncomfortably, "You can't Apperate or DisApperate on the grounds, the Floo network is only connected to the Great Hall and the Teacher's Common areas, and you can't scry, therefore you can't see into the castle to plant something in that way."
She closed her book, and folded her hands on her lap, "The only other way to get something into Hogwarts without being able to see what you're doing is by using that which you already know is there, like potions ingredients. They're always in the student's cupboard, there is always the exact same amount of each substance, and every one is in a precise order."
She spread out the hem of her robe to illustrate, "If you know that there is monkshood, belladonna, and crushed dragon fang here, here and here," she pointed to three spots on her hem, "The you don't need to see when you mix them together." She closed her eyes and folded the robe together so that all the spots touched.
"Voila," she said opening her eyes again, "I'm willing to bet that whomever it was mixed the two ingredients ahead of time and then used the Expilare curse to mix it into the third."
"Miss Granger, how long did it take you to determine that?" Dumbledore asked, seemingly intrigued.
"About an hour," she acknowledged, a little embarrassed, "It would have been quicker if I'd known that it was in the dungeons to begin with, but it really was the only place to do it anyhow."
Professor Dumbledore took off his spectacles, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head wryly, "Hermione, it took a dozen experienced and trained witches and wizards nearly all day to arrive at that conclusion, and they had the entire facilities of Hogwarts for reference and knowledge of the exact location and the type of attack. It took you an hour, with only a market copy of this," he held up her book, Hogwarts, A History, "to guide you."
Everyone looked at Hermione, stunned at Professor Dumbledore's revelation. She bowed her head and blushed, more than a little discomfited to be put on the spot.
"It only made sense," she mumbled.
"You are indeed one of the smartest witches, I believe, to ever have come out of Hogwarts, Miss Granger," he smiled in a very fond, grandfatherly manner, "and I'm very proud to have the privilege of instructing you."
Ron grinned, as if it had been he who'd discovered what Hermione had done before anyone else, and scooped her into a rib crushing embrace. Professor Dumbledore smiled and returned his teacup to Bill.
"I must go," he spoke quietly, "you companion, Anna, is still quite hard at work trying to determine precisely who committed this offence. I fear she will not be returning to you anytime soon, the Priestesses are quite adamant about her presence."
"Professor," Harry asked, summoning up the courage to face the question, "Why do you let them do that to her? They're going to kill her; she can't take this kind of work for long, nobody could."
He sighed, shoulders sagging, and for the first time in Harry's knowledge Dumbledore looked helpless, "There are a few things in this world, Harry, that even I cannot accomplish. Thwarting the will of Avalon is, I believe, the first and greatest." He looked sorrowed at the admission.
"There is an ancient power there, far greater than anything else in the world. There are witches from all over the world that petition for years to be allowed the privilege of becoming a novice at the Shining Gates." He bowed his white head, acknowledging, if nothing else, the history.
"I too, believe that the discipline imposed on her is harsh, but I have no way of knowing if it is indeed truly necessary. I am not an initiate of the Holy Isle." He put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, "Rest assured Harry, they would not risk her life indiscriminately. Her abilities are too valuable."
Harry nodded, not really comforted, but realizing that there was little anyone could do. They had no influence on what the Priestesses did with Anna. That was in the hands of other people.
Mr and Mrs Weasley tried to make everyone more comfortable by opening the remaining presents, but they were too tired to get into the spirit of things, and Mr Granger ordered them off to bed almost as soon as Dumbledore left. A small stack of gifts, all addressed to Anna, lay untouched under the sparkling tree.
All though Boxing Day and the day after, Harry and the others waited on word of Anna's condition. At last, two days before New Year's Eve, the fireplace in the living room roared into life. Someone was preparing to come through by Floo.
Everyone rushed to get near, but Bill and Charlie held them back so that she'd have room to move. It wasn't Anna who came through, but a bedraggled and thoroughly exhausted Druid, who reached back and grabbed hold of something on the other side of the fire.
"Back up, mates," he said in a thick Aussie accent, "Comin' through"
He tugged, and at first twin handles, then the coal black hair of Anna, came though the fireplace. She was on a stretcher, and completely motionless as a second Druid popped though, carrying the other end.
"We need place to put her" said the other Druid, an Asian man with short cropped black hair and a whippet, lithe physique "She very tired"
"Over here," instructed Mrs Weasley, and she guided them to the widest space possible, the kitchen, "For now, at least"
The Druids placed her carefully, and straightened, handing Mrs Wealsey a full leather bag, "Here are the supplies, increase the dosage by half every day. If she won't wake up within the next say, seventy hours, give her this."
He removed a vial from inside his tunic pocket, and held it out. The contents shimmered; it was a silvery-blue substance. Ron was the first to recognise it.
"That's Unicorn blood!" he exclaimed, "You can't give her that!"
Mrs Weasley's face hardened, "I most certainly will not give her anything of the sort. Everyone knows what'll happen."
"It will save her life, for if she does not wake by then she will be on the brink of never waking." the Asian Druid said.
"Wait a minute" interjected Mrs Granger, "Why can't you give her the stuff? It looks pretty harmless to me, and if it'll save her life…"
"But it won't," said Harry, finally finding his voice and remembering a long-ago lesson, "Drinking Unicorn blood will bring you back, even from the very edge of death, but her life will be wrong, a half-life, a cursed life. She'll have killed something so pure for such a…thing, that it's probably better if she did die."
"Why are you doing this?" Mr Granger asked, angrily "Hasn't she done enough for you already?"
"If it comes to it, then others will already have gone to their gods in the meantime," the Aussie said wearily, "We'll have nought left but her. You'll do it, woman, and we'll not leave this house 'till we've your sworn oath on it, that's a promise."
Mrs Weasley looked at the thin vial, seemingly harmless, "I don't like it," she said at last, "but…"
"Molly, no, you can't!"
"Arthur, damn it all, we've little recourse left if Avalon can't resolve this. You remember what Albus said, we must cooperate with everyone instantly or all will swiftly be lost" She took the vial, rolling it between her fingers.
"Go then," she told the Druids, fixing them with a stare that spoke volumes about where she'd like them to go, "and pray I never see you again"
They bowed and disappeared into the flames of the fireplace. Harry looked at the thin vial, holding both life and eternal damnation, and realizing for the first time, just how desperate was the struggle against Voldemort.
His friend, and maybe more than friend, was lying as though dead in the Weasley's kitchen. The last recourse was already there, and Molly Weasley, the most loving and caring person he'd ever met, was ready to use it, even at the cost of Anna's eternal soul.