DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and
owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to
Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros.,
Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is
intended.
(Here's chapter 6, please review! I didn't hear from many people last chapter and I want to know what everyone thinks so I can decide weather to continue or not. Everything gets explained in this chapter, and we get to move onto more exciting things soon. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and if not, please no flames! It's a waste of your and my time.)
Harry wasn't going to be able to sleep, despite his fatigue. Which was really okay, he didn't usually sleep much anyhow. First, he had to see to the house elves about checking up on Hermione, and mending his wounds. He was fairly sure he had fractured his collar bone, and had a good gash in his side.
Cuts were something house elves could mend quite well. Harry had found from much experience that fractures and breaks were another thing. He had discovered the need to either seek medical aid, or else let it heal the old fashion way. He hoped Hermione might know how to fix it for him.
He sent Hermione one of his female house elves, Ella, and let the house elves heal his cut. Unfortunately, he could not lift his left arm, and so moving his shirt was difficult. They then brought him a button up blouse, so that he wouldn't have to lift his arm to put it on.
Harry headed up to his room, across the hall from Hermione's. He opened the thick oak double doors with one arm, and headed into the dark room. The house elves already had a fire blazing, but it barely lit the dark room.
The room was easily his favorite. It had tall blood red stain glass windows with the Gryffindor crest, several book cases, a large desk which was currently covered in papers, black leather couches around a fire, and an enormous four post bed.
Harry flopped down in front of the fire, having grabbed a small vial off the shelf first, which he now downed. Harry had at least twenty of them made, they were his personally brewed pain numbing potions.
Harry stared into the flames, and emerged himself in his thoughts.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shortly after Harry left, a tidy little house elf in a nice house elf dress came to Hermione's room.
"My name is Ella miss!" The elf squeaked merrily, handing Hermione a well pressed and cleaned pair own what were obviously Harry's pajamas. "What would you like to eat miss?" The elf inquired politely.
"Maybe just some tea?" Hermione asked, seeing Harry clearly had been good to his servants.
The elf scuttled off as Hermione changed. She couldn't help but notice the way they smelled just like Harry, the way she had always remembered him smelling. There was no distinct way to describe it, it was just so characteristically Harry. She smiled to realize how close she was to him, alive and well. She wrote a brief note to Ron and left it for the house elf to bring to Harry to owl.
The elf returned with a tray, and placed it on Hermione's bedside table as Hermione cleaned up in a wash basin in the room corner.
"So, how does Harry treat you?" Hermione asked, half joking.
The house elf piped up merrily. "Oh, us house elves couldn't ask for better! He tells us we can have anything we want, which isn't much mind you, but he gets us lovely things! Things we didn't even ask for! We all have our own rooms, and he tells us if ever we should like to join him for dinner, we are welcome! Of course, we almost never be asking! Only if he's been closed up for along time, and we house elves vote that it's for the best to have him come out."
"Closed up?" Hermione asked with confusion.
"Ah yes, mam, see Mr. Potter is the best master any of us house elves could ask for, but he's a very sad man, very very sad. He closes himself up in his room for weeks sometimes, and often leaves for weeks, usually to return hurt. He asks us never to leave the manor grounds, and if we be wanting to leave, which we never do, he has to memory charm us. He is very secretive."
Hermione was confused by this news. As the house elf left, Hermione tucked herself into bed, her mind spinning.
"What's happened to you all these years Harry?"
Two hours had passed, and Harry had moved to the window sill, where he fastened Hermione's note to Ron to one of his messenger birds. He couldn't use Hedwig anymore, she was far too noticeable.
Harry watched the bird fly away, when he heard a small rapping on his door.
He opened it to find Ella standing there, looking pleased with herself. "Miss Granger is going to bed sir!" Ella said happily, and Harry nodded, signifying her dismissal.
All the rooms in Gryffindor Manor had silence charms, however, the rightful owner of the manor, the one who wore the ring of Gryffindor, could hear through them. Harry decided to have a listen to see if Hermione had fallen asleep yet.
Putting his hand on the door, he listened for any movement. To his dismay, he realized that she was moving about quite a bit, tossing and turning in her bed, and muttering incoherently. She was obviously having a nightmare, which was really no surprise. She had been taken prisoner by an inner circle death eater, brought into one of the most horrible clubs on the planet, and nearly taken to Voldemort, where she would have been tortured and killed.
He slowly opened the door, and saw her kicking about under the covers. Crossing the room, he sat beside her on the bed, and gently shook her half awake. "Harry?" She muttered, still looking bewildered.
"I'm here." He said softly, and she relaxed back onto the bed, grabbing his hand to hold. As she fell back asleep, Harry watched her now peaceful rest. He had missed her and Ron much over the past years, and had doubted he'd ever live to see them again. Often he'd wondered how they had changed, if they were alive, if they were okay. He had managed to gain occasional information on them, but only enough to find out that they were healthy, or that Ron had made captain, Hermione had made head girl. Little bits of information that he appreciated, but never what he really wanted to know.
What he wanted to know was if Ron still turned bright red when he was flustered, if Hermione had read "Hogwarts: A History" again, if they still had their little fights, if they had gone to the Hogwarts Balls, and whom they had gone with, whether or not Ron had found that last chocolate frog card, and if they were happy.
Harry had often wondered what they looked like now. He imagined Ron was quite tall, still red headed and freckly, but it was Hermione he had more trouble envisioning. He could see that she had grown quite beautiful over the past four years, more so than he would have expected, though she still looked like is same old Hermione. She still had that same knowledgeable tone behind her words.
He watched her for some time before leaving.
Hermione awoke early the next morning, in the hours when the sky is still gray, and the outcome of the day in ominous, hanging out there, somewhere in the foggy mist that rises from the grass.
Her clothes had been cleaned and pressed, and sat folded on the bedside table. She dressed quickly, and headed out to find Harry.
She found him sitting on the grand staircase leading down into the main entrance hall. He had on a silver blouse which she could immediately tell was of a fine quality, and he was wearing well pressed black slacks, a black belt holding them up. He had rimless glasses on, and his scar was back. His presence felt even more real.
He was certainly a smart dresser, and she wondered when that had happened. Before, he couldn't seem to care less about his appearance. His shoulders were much broader, and he had evidently been working out hard, judging by his muscles.
Harry gave her a small smile as she came down the stairs, though it didn't meet his eyes, which had a haunting sadness to them, similar to Sirius' after he'd escaped Azkaban.
"Well, let's go eat breakfast." Harry sighed. "We have a lot to talk about."
They sat down to a large breakfast at a long table in an enormous dining room which reminded Hermione strongly of the great hall.
Hermione, who had never been patient when it came to knowing things, always having to soak up information as fast as possible, felt ready to explode with anticipation. Harry on the other hand, had a collectedness about him that added to her frustration. He took his time sitting down, moved slowly.
Finally, he spoke. "First you ask questions, and I'll answer, then we'll switch."
She nodded, and immediately burst out with, "Where have you been the past three years?"
"Good place to start." Harry said calmly, slowly scooping out some porridge onto his plate.
"After I returned to the Dursleys, I was a wreck of nerves. I fully blamed myself for Sirius' death, and was falling apart with the thought of losing someone else at my cost. I began to plan how I could avoid hurting either the Weasleys or yourself. I decided to run away, to hide, perhaps live like a Muggle until Voldemort came for me. I felt fully prepared to die, so long as no one else was hurt. I went to run from the Dursleys, but Dumbledore headed me off. He found me before the Knight Bus could get there, and demanded I come with him to Hogwarts at once. Upon arriving there, he sat me down in his office, and set my mind clear."
"Set your mind clear about what Harry?"
"Why I was such a threat to Voldemort. You see Hermione, there was a prophecy made involving Voldemort and I. The prophecy he was trying to obtain that day that Sirius was killed. The prophecy said that there'd be a battle between Voldemort and myself, and that one of us would die. All this I already knew, but I didn't see how I could defeat Voldemort, and my best hope was to run away to protect others and wait for Voldemort to come to me. However, Dumbledore had something else in mind. He told me that if I refused to stay a Hogwarts than the most I could do was continue my training. He gave me a contact to develop my skills and from my mentor I learned powerful ancient magic."
Harry paused as Hermione took it all in.
"So you used ancient magic to push Lucius back, fix my headache, put out the lights in the club, and blow that wall up?"
Harry nodded. "Trust me, it was all very draining. It's the same effect as you doing all those things with a wand. It takes a lot of energy. The only difference is that I can do it without a wand, movement or incantation, which as you imagine can be very dangerous to opponents, especially since they can't disarm me."
"So what did you do when you disappeared after that?"
Harry looked greatly saddened when she asked this. "I started on a dark life. I began to fight back against Voldemort and his followers in my own secret way. Both Dumbledore and I knew I was starting on a dangerous path, and that I could never maintain any contact with my past again."
Hermione felt a terrible aching pity for Harry. Having to choose a life of isolation and danger at age 15.
"When I met with the contact I was trained to use ancient magic for the next year. We moved around a lot, to keep death eaters off our trail."
She finally understood what Dumbledore meant about staying off Harry's trail for his own safety. If they found Harry, the death eaters would find him as well.
"I learned to battle both magically and physically. I had a rigorous work out routine, and I also learned tricks of spying. I began to wear contacts when out, and covering my scar with Muggle makeup. Between that, the working out, and the aging, no one recognized me."
"That explains his changed appearance yesterday." Hermione thought.
"I've had to transform my instincts, and have mastered developing another persona."
"That explains his strange manner yesterday." She thought. Yet, it didn't explain the sad look in his eyes, why he locked himself up in his room, and why he felt so distant.
"The next three years were spent fighting crime, spying, fighting. That's generally all."
"No its not Harry. I mean what sort of fighting? Where have you been? What have you seen? I'm not stupid Harry, you're different."
Harry looked even sadder. "Hermione- I- It's nothing."
"What does that mean?" Hermione asked frustrated. Hermione had answers to about a thousand of the questions she had been pondering the past four years, but now, the most perplexing one of all he avoided. She had found her best friend, whom so many had taken for dead, and yet he wasn't the same person she remembered. No training could take away the mischievous glint in Harry's eye, his soft charming manner, and cover up that innocent simplicity that was Harry.
Harry looked flustered. "Hermione, I never planned on having to say any of this. I figured I would be dead before I saw anyone again."
"Well, as convenient as that may have been for you Harry, I need to know!"
"Why Hermione?! Why do you have to know everything?! This isn't some bloody lesson for you to learn! This is my life, and its not one I particularly feel like digging up!"
Hermione could never have imagined that when she finally found Harry, they would spend their first day together fighting. She bit her lip to hold back the pain that his words brought.
"I'm sorry Hermione" Harry said softly, a bit of his old self arising. "It's just not a thing I particularly like to think about."
And yet it was all he could think about. In all those long hours locked up in his room, he sat there, trying to overcome the pain of his past, trying not to wish desperately Ron or Hermione were there to help him overcome his pain.
"Please Harry, just tell me. Tell me, so we can get past this!"
Harry heard the sincerity in her voice, and gave in, as he had secretly been needing to do all along.
Harry revealed to her his long hours spent in the night, tracking death eaters, tipping off aurors. He told her about midnight scuffles, when an enemy would pop up on him, when he would be sent running through the darkness alone, a shadow chasing him. His fights when that shadow caught up, the times he had had to kill, the times he had been beaten an inch from life. He told her about the bloody scenes he'd come across, innocent men women and children killed by death eaters. He recalled for her the many times when he had needed to hide his emotions, or even pretend to be pleased by a death eaters disgusting handy work so that he wouldn't give away his allegiance. He had used his wealth, power, strength and even his looks to get what he needed. He had been tortured, threatened, had slept on the streets, missed several days of sleep at a time, failed to gain his objective, failed to save lives. All this, and he was only 19. It was no surprise he had changed.
Hermione swallowed back her tears, tears of anguish, sorrow, anger and hate. She would never have thought that this would be Harry's fate. Yet it was, and it was time to move on.
(Here's chapter 6, please review! I didn't hear from many people last chapter and I want to know what everyone thinks so I can decide weather to continue or not. Everything gets explained in this chapter, and we get to move onto more exciting things soon. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and if not, please no flames! It's a waste of your and my time.)
Harry wasn't going to be able to sleep, despite his fatigue. Which was really okay, he didn't usually sleep much anyhow. First, he had to see to the house elves about checking up on Hermione, and mending his wounds. He was fairly sure he had fractured his collar bone, and had a good gash in his side.
Cuts were something house elves could mend quite well. Harry had found from much experience that fractures and breaks were another thing. He had discovered the need to either seek medical aid, or else let it heal the old fashion way. He hoped Hermione might know how to fix it for him.
He sent Hermione one of his female house elves, Ella, and let the house elves heal his cut. Unfortunately, he could not lift his left arm, and so moving his shirt was difficult. They then brought him a button up blouse, so that he wouldn't have to lift his arm to put it on.
Harry headed up to his room, across the hall from Hermione's. He opened the thick oak double doors with one arm, and headed into the dark room. The house elves already had a fire blazing, but it barely lit the dark room.
The room was easily his favorite. It had tall blood red stain glass windows with the Gryffindor crest, several book cases, a large desk which was currently covered in papers, black leather couches around a fire, and an enormous four post bed.
Harry flopped down in front of the fire, having grabbed a small vial off the shelf first, which he now downed. Harry had at least twenty of them made, they were his personally brewed pain numbing potions.
Harry stared into the flames, and emerged himself in his thoughts.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shortly after Harry left, a tidy little house elf in a nice house elf dress came to Hermione's room.
"My name is Ella miss!" The elf squeaked merrily, handing Hermione a well pressed and cleaned pair own what were obviously Harry's pajamas. "What would you like to eat miss?" The elf inquired politely.
"Maybe just some tea?" Hermione asked, seeing Harry clearly had been good to his servants.
The elf scuttled off as Hermione changed. She couldn't help but notice the way they smelled just like Harry, the way she had always remembered him smelling. There was no distinct way to describe it, it was just so characteristically Harry. She smiled to realize how close she was to him, alive and well. She wrote a brief note to Ron and left it for the house elf to bring to Harry to owl.
The elf returned with a tray, and placed it on Hermione's bedside table as Hermione cleaned up in a wash basin in the room corner.
"So, how does Harry treat you?" Hermione asked, half joking.
The house elf piped up merrily. "Oh, us house elves couldn't ask for better! He tells us we can have anything we want, which isn't much mind you, but he gets us lovely things! Things we didn't even ask for! We all have our own rooms, and he tells us if ever we should like to join him for dinner, we are welcome! Of course, we almost never be asking! Only if he's been closed up for along time, and we house elves vote that it's for the best to have him come out."
"Closed up?" Hermione asked with confusion.
"Ah yes, mam, see Mr. Potter is the best master any of us house elves could ask for, but he's a very sad man, very very sad. He closes himself up in his room for weeks sometimes, and often leaves for weeks, usually to return hurt. He asks us never to leave the manor grounds, and if we be wanting to leave, which we never do, he has to memory charm us. He is very secretive."
Hermione was confused by this news. As the house elf left, Hermione tucked herself into bed, her mind spinning.
"What's happened to you all these years Harry?"
Two hours had passed, and Harry had moved to the window sill, where he fastened Hermione's note to Ron to one of his messenger birds. He couldn't use Hedwig anymore, she was far too noticeable.
Harry watched the bird fly away, when he heard a small rapping on his door.
He opened it to find Ella standing there, looking pleased with herself. "Miss Granger is going to bed sir!" Ella said happily, and Harry nodded, signifying her dismissal.
All the rooms in Gryffindor Manor had silence charms, however, the rightful owner of the manor, the one who wore the ring of Gryffindor, could hear through them. Harry decided to have a listen to see if Hermione had fallen asleep yet.
Putting his hand on the door, he listened for any movement. To his dismay, he realized that she was moving about quite a bit, tossing and turning in her bed, and muttering incoherently. She was obviously having a nightmare, which was really no surprise. She had been taken prisoner by an inner circle death eater, brought into one of the most horrible clubs on the planet, and nearly taken to Voldemort, where she would have been tortured and killed.
He slowly opened the door, and saw her kicking about under the covers. Crossing the room, he sat beside her on the bed, and gently shook her half awake. "Harry?" She muttered, still looking bewildered.
"I'm here." He said softly, and she relaxed back onto the bed, grabbing his hand to hold. As she fell back asleep, Harry watched her now peaceful rest. He had missed her and Ron much over the past years, and had doubted he'd ever live to see them again. Often he'd wondered how they had changed, if they were alive, if they were okay. He had managed to gain occasional information on them, but only enough to find out that they were healthy, or that Ron had made captain, Hermione had made head girl. Little bits of information that he appreciated, but never what he really wanted to know.
What he wanted to know was if Ron still turned bright red when he was flustered, if Hermione had read "Hogwarts: A History" again, if they still had their little fights, if they had gone to the Hogwarts Balls, and whom they had gone with, whether or not Ron had found that last chocolate frog card, and if they were happy.
Harry had often wondered what they looked like now. He imagined Ron was quite tall, still red headed and freckly, but it was Hermione he had more trouble envisioning. He could see that she had grown quite beautiful over the past four years, more so than he would have expected, though she still looked like is same old Hermione. She still had that same knowledgeable tone behind her words.
He watched her for some time before leaving.
Hermione awoke early the next morning, in the hours when the sky is still gray, and the outcome of the day in ominous, hanging out there, somewhere in the foggy mist that rises from the grass.
Her clothes had been cleaned and pressed, and sat folded on the bedside table. She dressed quickly, and headed out to find Harry.
She found him sitting on the grand staircase leading down into the main entrance hall. He had on a silver blouse which she could immediately tell was of a fine quality, and he was wearing well pressed black slacks, a black belt holding them up. He had rimless glasses on, and his scar was back. His presence felt even more real.
He was certainly a smart dresser, and she wondered when that had happened. Before, he couldn't seem to care less about his appearance. His shoulders were much broader, and he had evidently been working out hard, judging by his muscles.
Harry gave her a small smile as she came down the stairs, though it didn't meet his eyes, which had a haunting sadness to them, similar to Sirius' after he'd escaped Azkaban.
"Well, let's go eat breakfast." Harry sighed. "We have a lot to talk about."
They sat down to a large breakfast at a long table in an enormous dining room which reminded Hermione strongly of the great hall.
Hermione, who had never been patient when it came to knowing things, always having to soak up information as fast as possible, felt ready to explode with anticipation. Harry on the other hand, had a collectedness about him that added to her frustration. He took his time sitting down, moved slowly.
Finally, he spoke. "First you ask questions, and I'll answer, then we'll switch."
She nodded, and immediately burst out with, "Where have you been the past three years?"
"Good place to start." Harry said calmly, slowly scooping out some porridge onto his plate.
"After I returned to the Dursleys, I was a wreck of nerves. I fully blamed myself for Sirius' death, and was falling apart with the thought of losing someone else at my cost. I began to plan how I could avoid hurting either the Weasleys or yourself. I decided to run away, to hide, perhaps live like a Muggle until Voldemort came for me. I felt fully prepared to die, so long as no one else was hurt. I went to run from the Dursleys, but Dumbledore headed me off. He found me before the Knight Bus could get there, and demanded I come with him to Hogwarts at once. Upon arriving there, he sat me down in his office, and set my mind clear."
"Set your mind clear about what Harry?"
"Why I was such a threat to Voldemort. You see Hermione, there was a prophecy made involving Voldemort and I. The prophecy he was trying to obtain that day that Sirius was killed. The prophecy said that there'd be a battle between Voldemort and myself, and that one of us would die. All this I already knew, but I didn't see how I could defeat Voldemort, and my best hope was to run away to protect others and wait for Voldemort to come to me. However, Dumbledore had something else in mind. He told me that if I refused to stay a Hogwarts than the most I could do was continue my training. He gave me a contact to develop my skills and from my mentor I learned powerful ancient magic."
Harry paused as Hermione took it all in.
"So you used ancient magic to push Lucius back, fix my headache, put out the lights in the club, and blow that wall up?"
Harry nodded. "Trust me, it was all very draining. It's the same effect as you doing all those things with a wand. It takes a lot of energy. The only difference is that I can do it without a wand, movement or incantation, which as you imagine can be very dangerous to opponents, especially since they can't disarm me."
"So what did you do when you disappeared after that?"
Harry looked greatly saddened when she asked this. "I started on a dark life. I began to fight back against Voldemort and his followers in my own secret way. Both Dumbledore and I knew I was starting on a dangerous path, and that I could never maintain any contact with my past again."
Hermione felt a terrible aching pity for Harry. Having to choose a life of isolation and danger at age 15.
"When I met with the contact I was trained to use ancient magic for the next year. We moved around a lot, to keep death eaters off our trail."
She finally understood what Dumbledore meant about staying off Harry's trail for his own safety. If they found Harry, the death eaters would find him as well.
"I learned to battle both magically and physically. I had a rigorous work out routine, and I also learned tricks of spying. I began to wear contacts when out, and covering my scar with Muggle makeup. Between that, the working out, and the aging, no one recognized me."
"That explains his changed appearance yesterday." Hermione thought.
"I've had to transform my instincts, and have mastered developing another persona."
"That explains his strange manner yesterday." She thought. Yet, it didn't explain the sad look in his eyes, why he locked himself up in his room, and why he felt so distant.
"The next three years were spent fighting crime, spying, fighting. That's generally all."
"No its not Harry. I mean what sort of fighting? Where have you been? What have you seen? I'm not stupid Harry, you're different."
Harry looked even sadder. "Hermione- I- It's nothing."
"What does that mean?" Hermione asked frustrated. Hermione had answers to about a thousand of the questions she had been pondering the past four years, but now, the most perplexing one of all he avoided. She had found her best friend, whom so many had taken for dead, and yet he wasn't the same person she remembered. No training could take away the mischievous glint in Harry's eye, his soft charming manner, and cover up that innocent simplicity that was Harry.
Harry looked flustered. "Hermione, I never planned on having to say any of this. I figured I would be dead before I saw anyone again."
"Well, as convenient as that may have been for you Harry, I need to know!"
"Why Hermione?! Why do you have to know everything?! This isn't some bloody lesson for you to learn! This is my life, and its not one I particularly feel like digging up!"
Hermione could never have imagined that when she finally found Harry, they would spend their first day together fighting. She bit her lip to hold back the pain that his words brought.
"I'm sorry Hermione" Harry said softly, a bit of his old self arising. "It's just not a thing I particularly like to think about."
And yet it was all he could think about. In all those long hours locked up in his room, he sat there, trying to overcome the pain of his past, trying not to wish desperately Ron or Hermione were there to help him overcome his pain.
"Please Harry, just tell me. Tell me, so we can get past this!"
Harry heard the sincerity in her voice, and gave in, as he had secretly been needing to do all along.
Harry revealed to her his long hours spent in the night, tracking death eaters, tipping off aurors. He told her about midnight scuffles, when an enemy would pop up on him, when he would be sent running through the darkness alone, a shadow chasing him. His fights when that shadow caught up, the times he had had to kill, the times he had been beaten an inch from life. He told her about the bloody scenes he'd come across, innocent men women and children killed by death eaters. He recalled for her the many times when he had needed to hide his emotions, or even pretend to be pleased by a death eaters disgusting handy work so that he wouldn't give away his allegiance. He had used his wealth, power, strength and even his looks to get what he needed. He had been tortured, threatened, had slept on the streets, missed several days of sleep at a time, failed to gain his objective, failed to save lives. All this, and he was only 19. It was no surprise he had changed.
Hermione swallowed back her tears, tears of anguish, sorrow, anger and hate. She would never have thought that this would be Harry's fate. Yet it was, and it was time to move on.