Three Times Six
By: myr_halcyon
Summary: Hermione deals with Voldemort's latest attacks...firsthand. Is there any hope left?
Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling and her respective publishers. Jim, Tom, and the plot are mine. No money will be made on this story.
=====
three times six and two plus two
tell me friend, what should i do
my life has gone, my love has died
my eyes are blind from tears i've cried
the lake is cold, the sky is grey
the dark lord made his subjects pay
and i alone have seen it through
three times six and two plus two
***
The cellar was dark and damp, and the mirror in front of Hermione was cracked. Seven identical pairs of eyes stared at her from within its depths; eyes without hope, eyes with no tears left to shed. They looked with her, out of the dirty window next to her, into the ruin of a marketplace. It seemed so long ago that the street had been filled with vendors plying their wares and old country witches up for a day of shopping. She could barely make out the faded writing on the old street sign: Diagon Alley.
Three times six and two plus two...there was some significance to that number. How long had she been down here? Twenty-two hours? Days? Years? Or had that been the number of people killed when she'd escaped down here? Hermione didn't know. The man she loved had been killed...what was his name? It didn't matter. He was dead. Everyone was dead, now. There was no reason to keep going.
But keep going she did. She was the only one left; she and the one inside her. She had to live, to give life. That was why she had run. That was why she was hiding, feeding herself on what little scraps she could find.
She couldn't identify the sound at first - it had been so long since the last time she had heard it.
"No one, Jim?"
"Not a soul. Bodies all over the place in that last place, though."
"Yeah. You know, I don't care what you Brits are saying, this was no chemical weapon. People don't look like that after being gassed."
"I know. The bodies are normal, no swellings, no blotches on the skin..."
Voices. That's what they were. Muggle voices. Maybe she wasn't the only person alive. Maybe she could give in and die...but no. She had to give life. She had to counteract the Dark Lord in whatever way she could.
"It looks like they just...I don't know, died. Just up and stopped breathing."
"Mass hysteria?"
"Encompassing the entire city of London? Come on, Jim. Think about what you're saying."
"I know it sounds rather stupid, but..."
"Jim, take a close look at these buildings. You've seen normal fires before -- do these look like they were burned?"
"Tom, just forget it, all right?"
The voices were coming closer. Hermione wanted to cry out, wanted to make sure she wasn't so far gone that she was hallucinating, but she couldn't. She didn't dare. If they were servants of the Dark Lord...no. She had to make sure.
"That one bloke? The one they're saying started all this?"
"The one with the French name? What about him?"
"Voldemort. I heard they caught sight of him in Luxembourg. Running for his life, he was, or so Parliament says."
Voldemort. She shuddered at the name, but that was him. It sounded out of character for him to be running for his life, though. A spark of hope ran through her. Maybe there were wizards left too.
"What're they gonna do with him once they catch him?"
"I have no idea. They have some branch of the British ministry working on it. Ministry of Unexplained Phenomena."
"They have a ministry of unexplained phenomena?"
"Apparently. I've never heard of it before."
Unexplained phenomena. She'd heard that phrase before - it was a Muggle euphemism for magic. So the Ministry of Magic had survived the attack and was looking for the Dark Lord. It would have, she reflected. Dumbledore was an excellent Minister.
That thought startled her. Dumbledore wasn't Minister, Cornelius Fudge was. No, that was right. Fudge had been killed while Hermione was still at Hogwarts, and the Ministry had relocated to the castle for security's sake. Dumbledore had been unanimously elected Minister. That was right.
"Well, I hope they catch the guy. I sure don't want to come home to find my kids like this."
"Neither would I. Well, did you check everywhere?"
"Everywhere I could find. No one's alive."
I am, thought Hermione desperately, feeling her stomach tighten painfully. I'm alive, no wait, don't go away...
"Bugger. Oh well, come on. Let's go. Come on, Potter."
Hermione started. Potter? She knew that name. But no, the Potter she'd known had been a wizard. These were Muggles.
"Coming, Jim," said a new voice from over her head. Hermione felt sad for its owner; he sounded desperate, like he was looking for someone dear to him. "You are absolutely positive you checked everywhere in here?"
"Yes, Potter. Now come on, do that little trick of yours and get us out of here. I'm getting the heebie jeebies."
Little trick? Maybe this Potter was a wizard. Maybe...maybe there was a chance...
"Harry?" croaked Hermione. The footsteps outside her window faltered for a moment, but kept going. "Harry," she tried to call, but her voice didn't want to work. The footsteps faltered. "Harry," she tried again, but the footsteps moved on. No. No, it had been too good to be true. It wasn't Harry.
A pair of legs passed her window. "...is someone there?" whispered Potter, pausing again. Yes, yes, yes! Hermione wanted to cry, but her voice once again refused to make the even the smallest of sounds.
"Read my flapping lips, Potter. They are all dead."
"Jim, did you check down here?"
"Where, in the basement? No, couldn't get in. Anyway, I smelled a little of the air coming out from down there. Smells like death. Decay. I didn't check, but there's nothing living down there besides maybe a rat."
She heard Potter sigh. "You're probably right. Why should there be anything living down there, of all places..."
Hermione's heart sank back into her toes. "No, Harry..." she moaned. She tried to get up, to knock on the window, but her leg gave out beneath her. Broken.
"Look, Potter, if you really want to look there, bust the window or something."
"No, you're right, Tom. I'm being stupid. She's not alive. I'm...alone."
"Stop being so depressive, man. You're bringing me down. How about a beer at the Prancing Pony? Always helps me."
"I'd prefer a good mug of Madam Rosmerta's mead over any Muggle beer right now, thank you very much," snapped Potter, walking over to the other two.
"Potter, that hocus pocus bar wench is dead, just like all the rest of those people. Just open the arch so we can get out."
The sound of the three pairs of footsteps died away, leaving Hermione alone with herself. Her stomach tightened again, and she suddenly realized that it wasn't her stomach tightening. "Oh no, not now..." she whimpered.
Suddenly a searing pain swept through her lower body as the baby within her began to force its way out. Unable to restrain itself any longer, her voice finally wrenched itself from her body in an inhuman mixture of pain and anguish. She was completely alone in her agony. She had to deal with this herself.
As she sank into the depths of pain and self pity, she thought she heard the crash of breaking glass. The last thing her mind registered before the darkness claimed her was the indistinct cry of a lover despairing and the seven sets of bright green eyes reflected in the cracked mirror on the floor.
=====
A/N: Big thanks to my betas, khaarvan and kater. Please review; I may write additional follow-up chapters (eg. Harry's pov, what happened before, what happens after), but this is where it all starts...
Summary: Hermione deals with Voldemort's latest attacks...firsthand. Is there any hope left?
Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling and her respective publishers. Jim, Tom, and the plot are mine. No money will be made on this story.
=====
three times six and two plus two
tell me friend, what should i do
my life has gone, my love has died
my eyes are blind from tears i've cried
the lake is cold, the sky is grey
the dark lord made his subjects pay
and i alone have seen it through
three times six and two plus two
***
The cellar was dark and damp, and the mirror in front of Hermione was cracked. Seven identical pairs of eyes stared at her from within its depths; eyes without hope, eyes with no tears left to shed. They looked with her, out of the dirty window next to her, into the ruin of a marketplace. It seemed so long ago that the street had been filled with vendors plying their wares and old country witches up for a day of shopping. She could barely make out the faded writing on the old street sign: Diagon Alley.
Three times six and two plus two...there was some significance to that number. How long had she been down here? Twenty-two hours? Days? Years? Or had that been the number of people killed when she'd escaped down here? Hermione didn't know. The man she loved had been killed...what was his name? It didn't matter. He was dead. Everyone was dead, now. There was no reason to keep going.
But keep going she did. She was the only one left; she and the one inside her. She had to live, to give life. That was why she had run. That was why she was hiding, feeding herself on what little scraps she could find.
She couldn't identify the sound at first - it had been so long since the last time she had heard it.
"No one, Jim?"
"Not a soul. Bodies all over the place in that last place, though."
"Yeah. You know, I don't care what you Brits are saying, this was no chemical weapon. People don't look like that after being gassed."
"I know. The bodies are normal, no swellings, no blotches on the skin..."
Voices. That's what they were. Muggle voices. Maybe she wasn't the only person alive. Maybe she could give in and die...but no. She had to give life. She had to counteract the Dark Lord in whatever way she could.
"It looks like they just...I don't know, died. Just up and stopped breathing."
"Mass hysteria?"
"Encompassing the entire city of London? Come on, Jim. Think about what you're saying."
"I know it sounds rather stupid, but..."
"Jim, take a close look at these buildings. You've seen normal fires before -- do these look like they were burned?"
"Tom, just forget it, all right?"
The voices were coming closer. Hermione wanted to cry out, wanted to make sure she wasn't so far gone that she was hallucinating, but she couldn't. She didn't dare. If they were servants of the Dark Lord...no. She had to make sure.
"That one bloke? The one they're saying started all this?"
"The one with the French name? What about him?"
"Voldemort. I heard they caught sight of him in Luxembourg. Running for his life, he was, or so Parliament says."
Voldemort. She shuddered at the name, but that was him. It sounded out of character for him to be running for his life, though. A spark of hope ran through her. Maybe there were wizards left too.
"What're they gonna do with him once they catch him?"
"I have no idea. They have some branch of the British ministry working on it. Ministry of Unexplained Phenomena."
"They have a ministry of unexplained phenomena?"
"Apparently. I've never heard of it before."
Unexplained phenomena. She'd heard that phrase before - it was a Muggle euphemism for magic. So the Ministry of Magic had survived the attack and was looking for the Dark Lord. It would have, she reflected. Dumbledore was an excellent Minister.
That thought startled her. Dumbledore wasn't Minister, Cornelius Fudge was. No, that was right. Fudge had been killed while Hermione was still at Hogwarts, and the Ministry had relocated to the castle for security's sake. Dumbledore had been unanimously elected Minister. That was right.
"Well, I hope they catch the guy. I sure don't want to come home to find my kids like this."
"Neither would I. Well, did you check everywhere?"
"Everywhere I could find. No one's alive."
I am, thought Hermione desperately, feeling her stomach tighten painfully. I'm alive, no wait, don't go away...
"Bugger. Oh well, come on. Let's go. Come on, Potter."
Hermione started. Potter? She knew that name. But no, the Potter she'd known had been a wizard. These were Muggles.
"Coming, Jim," said a new voice from over her head. Hermione felt sad for its owner; he sounded desperate, like he was looking for someone dear to him. "You are absolutely positive you checked everywhere in here?"
"Yes, Potter. Now come on, do that little trick of yours and get us out of here. I'm getting the heebie jeebies."
Little trick? Maybe this Potter was a wizard. Maybe...maybe there was a chance...
"Harry?" croaked Hermione. The footsteps outside her window faltered for a moment, but kept going. "Harry," she tried to call, but her voice didn't want to work. The footsteps faltered. "Harry," she tried again, but the footsteps moved on. No. No, it had been too good to be true. It wasn't Harry.
A pair of legs passed her window. "...is someone there?" whispered Potter, pausing again. Yes, yes, yes! Hermione wanted to cry, but her voice once again refused to make the even the smallest of sounds.
"Read my flapping lips, Potter. They are all dead."
"Jim, did you check down here?"
"Where, in the basement? No, couldn't get in. Anyway, I smelled a little of the air coming out from down there. Smells like death. Decay. I didn't check, but there's nothing living down there besides maybe a rat."
She heard Potter sigh. "You're probably right. Why should there be anything living down there, of all places..."
Hermione's heart sank back into her toes. "No, Harry..." she moaned. She tried to get up, to knock on the window, but her leg gave out beneath her. Broken.
"Look, Potter, if you really want to look there, bust the window or something."
"No, you're right, Tom. I'm being stupid. She's not alive. I'm...alone."
"Stop being so depressive, man. You're bringing me down. How about a beer at the Prancing Pony? Always helps me."
"I'd prefer a good mug of Madam Rosmerta's mead over any Muggle beer right now, thank you very much," snapped Potter, walking over to the other two.
"Potter, that hocus pocus bar wench is dead, just like all the rest of those people. Just open the arch so we can get out."
The sound of the three pairs of footsteps died away, leaving Hermione alone with herself. Her stomach tightened again, and she suddenly realized that it wasn't her stomach tightening. "Oh no, not now..." she whimpered.
Suddenly a searing pain swept through her lower body as the baby within her began to force its way out. Unable to restrain itself any longer, her voice finally wrenched itself from her body in an inhuman mixture of pain and anguish. She was completely alone in her agony. She had to deal with this herself.
As she sank into the depths of pain and self pity, she thought she heard the crash of breaking glass. The last thing her mind registered before the darkness claimed her was the indistinct cry of a lover despairing and the seven sets of bright green eyes reflected in the cracked mirror on the floor.
=====
A/N: Big thanks to my betas, khaarvan and kater. Please review; I may write additional follow-up chapters (eg. Harry's pov, what happened before, what happens after), but this is where it all starts...