Disclaimer-I don't own Harry Potter
A/N-Finally back to some good old angsty romance!
Falling and Rising
Hermione Emma Granger was crying. But she wasn't Hermione Emma Granger. She had no name other than "It": "Feed it", "Change it", "Put it to bed", "Shut it up, will you!".
She was in the air, flying through the clouds, condensation gathering on her body, and then she was flailing her arms about, falling to earth, air sucked from her lungs. She was dangling inches above the ground, sharp nails digging into her ankle, devilish, livid curses filling her ears. She was cold and alone, wailing with starvation and fear. Then she was secure, a beautiful warmth filling her soul, settling her jangling nerves.
And suddenly she was screaming, crying, begging, shouting, defying...
"I will NEVER join you! I'd rather die!"
A hand was on her arm and she made to throw it off, but it held firmly. She flailed her arms wildly. Someone was calling her name. Hermione. Her real name. Not "It".
"Hermione. Hermione!"
Her eyes shot open; a glacial sweat suddenly broke over every aspect of her body. She rolled over on the bed and vomited onto the floor; emptying the contents of her stomach. Someone was jiggling the bed and the nauseous feeling overwhelmed her again. She began to retch, but nothing was coming out. She couldn't breathe.
"Hermione, Hermione! It's okay! It's me, it's Harry!"
She could finally see clearly as her body was flipped over to face upward. A pale, frightened face was above hers, a stark contrast to his jet-black hair and emerald-green eyes. She stared at him for a moment, and then flung her arms around him and burst into rakish sobs into his neck.
"Hermione, what's the matter?" Harry gasped, stroking her hair. "What happened?"
"A...a nightmare," she whispered in anguish.
"About what?"
"About...about my parents...all of them...I heard Paul and Demi being murdered again..."
He pried her arms from around his neck and laid her back in the bed, his hand on the side of her face.
"First, I...I was a baby again," she whispered. "And I was so cold and so hungry. We were escaping somewhere by broom and I fell from the basket they carried me in...I could've died before I even knew that I had a name other than "It"..."
"Shh," Harry ordered, gently but firmly, tracing patterns on her cheek.
"Th-that's why I'm afraid of heights, that's why I was so terrified to ride a broom or Buckbeak. I couldn't breathe!"
"That's enough, Hermione!"
She gave one startled, hyperventilating gasp that arched her back, then collapsed back onto the bed, her stomach rising and falling in shudders.
"It was just a nightmare, Hermione. I get them all the time."
Hermione seized his hand and squeezed it as though giving labor. "Does it ever stop? Do they ever go away, Harry? Those memories...do they ever just..."
"Shh!" Harry ordered again, and this time she obeyed. She shivered tremulously, and he began to stroke her hand.
"Just calm down," Harry said.
"Where have you been?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
"At St. Mungo's," Harry said shortly, standing again. "Battling Voldemort."
"Is everyone okay!" Hermione yelped, sitting up straight.
"Lie down!" Harry commanded, leaning over the bed pressuring her shoulders so she lay down again.
"Is everyone okay?" Hermione repeated, looking extremely pale against the sheets despite her dark brown hair.
Harry visibly hesitated; Hermione gave a soft gasp. "Oh, God, what happened? Please tell me, Harry!"
"Parvati...Parvati was hit with a Permanent Engorging charm in her wand hand. Anais managed to stop the swelling but it will never recede. Madame Pomfrey says that the hand will never be useful again, and the only way to stop Parvati's pain is to...to amputate."
"And...and who else?" Hermione questioned fearfully.
"Seamus and Dean were nearly killed with Avada Kedavra; they're unconscious and we don't know how long they'll stay comatose. They could...they could be stuck as vegetables for the rest of their lives at worst; have no immune system at best."
"And...and anyone else?" Hermione asked slowly, tortuously.
"Thomas was poisoned; Madame Pomfrey is giving him some antivenin but we're not sure how effective it'll be. Amy...she went to the hospital without her arm being fully healed. She damaged it again and Madame Pomfrey says that she may have destroyed all her nerves. And it'll be a miracle if they survive, anyway. They both have 3rd-degree burns; it's destroyed most of their muscle and skin tissue."
"Jesus," Hermione whispered as though praying. "Was...did we...did we lose anyone? Forever?"
Harry kept his mouth closed but Hermione read his face.
"Who was it?" Her voice was as high and tinny as a mouse's might have been as the words passed through her mouth, barely touching her lips.
"We lost some St. Mungo's patients. One of the Death Eaters got up to the Closed Ward and...and Neville's dad was killed. And then Voldemort...I was battling him and I got knocked aside. He used the Killing Curse on Dennis Creevy..."
Tears were silently pouring down Hermione's face in a torrential flood. "Anyone else?"
Harry again hesitated. No one but he knew the full story of Oleta. Ginny, Colin, Neville, Tony, Mary, Elizabeth, and Joan could only speculate about what McGonagall had meant. Harry's own grief had been splayed all over the newspapers in his 4th year; the pain of knowing you will never see someone you love ever again. It wasn't right for Harry to distribute news of Dumbledore's grief if Dumbledore didn't want him to.
But Hermione was his girlfriend; he didn't want to hide anything from her.
"We lost someone that...that was very close to Dumbledore, just when the battle ended. There was no time to stop Voldemort; he apparated away just as he used Avada Kedavra."
"Do you know who it was?" Hermione asked softly.
"Not...not too personally," Harry answered. "I don't think Dumbledore wants to talk about it."
Hermione exhaled slowly. "Well...if Dumbledore doesn't want to talk about it..." She stopped talking abruptly; staring at Harry with wide eyes, the eyes of the undead. The full weight of everything that had happened while she was unconscious seemed to finally be crashing down upon her. She raised her arms beckoningly, a sick look on her face. Harry went forwards into her arms, and she pulled him down into a sitting position next to her. Swishing her hair behind her, she laid her head across his lap.
"I...I can't believe it. I knew...I knew that more people we loved would be hurt or killed...but when it actually happens..."
"Yeah. Yeah, I know." He began to gently stroke her hair.
"I...I killed someone today. I knew I might have to...I told myself I had to...but I killed someone. I actually killed someone. Just six syllables and a wand movement and someone was dead."
"You killed someone who would have killed you if you hadn't been quicker. You killed someone who has murdered before for the matter of bloodlines. You killed someone who ultimately deserved it, Hermione."
"I know that." There was a long beat of silence. "Did I ever tell you exactly what happened the night we were attacked, Harry?"
"No," he answered. "Just that your parents had been killed."
"I was upstairs," Hermione said clearly, her eyes dry, "doing some reading; watching the window for any signs of Crookshanks coming back..."
Hermione traced the edge of the paper with the feather quill, writing some notes. She enjoyed her Muggle summer classes, and it was easier now to read Julius Caesar when she had no homework from Hogwarts to take up her time.
Ding-Dong.
Hermione checked her watch. About 5: 30. Her father probably had some business guests coming over for dinner, she reasoned. He had been dropping hints at a possible promotion for some time now.
She shut her book and went to the door.
"I'll get it!" she hollered at her parents' closed door, and tramped neatly down the stairs, swung a left at the end of the banister, and went for the front door. She twisted the key, unlocking it, and pulled the door open.
Two people stared back at her, a man and a woman. The man was tall and skinny, with a pointed face and a countenance of an aristocrat finding himself near a rancid landfill. The woman next to him had the same face and demeanor, with her thin, curly brown hair swept back in a high ponytail.
"Hello," the woman said coldly. Something made Hermione's stomach to a quick swoop in mid-air and disappear. "Is this the Granger household?"
"Y-yes," Hermione said nervously. Something was off about this couple. They made her feel like she was about to face a Boggart.
"Do you recognize us?" the man asked.
"No." Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Sh-should I?"
"No, I suppose you wouldn't," the woman mused.
"Hermione, who's at the door, honey?" Demi walked into the room from the kitchen, drying her hands with a dish towel.
"I don't know, Mom," Hermione answered.
Demi finally turned her attention from her hands to the door. Seeing them made her drop the towel and her jaw.
"Oh, dear God," she whispered, her eyes widening like a deer in headlights. "No...God, no...you're in Azkaban...Paul? PAUL!"
"Demi, what the Devil's wrong?" Paul asked from up the stairs.
"Paul, get down here. It's...it's..."
Paul thundered down the stairs. "Demi, what's the matter..."
His reaction upon seeing them was much the same as Demi's. His jaw fell open, and his eyes widened to an impossible length.
"Mom, Dad, who are these people!" Hermione cried, frustrated.
"Aaron, get out of my house," Paul said, in a small, deadly voice.
"Tut, tut, is that anyway to talk to your brother and his wife?" the woman said airily.
"Belicia, it's obvious we're not welcome here," Aaron said. "Well then, Paul, if you don't mind, we'll just take our daughter and go."
"She's not your child!" Demi yelled, running forward and grabbing Hermione possessively by the arm. "You forfeited your rights to her when you abandoned her for your Dark Lord!"
Hermione's brain seemed to be swirling in a veritable whirlpool. Aaron and Belicia Granger. Her biological parents whom she hadn't seen since before she could remember were standing on her threshold, demanding her back.
"Oh, and I suppose she's your child then," Aaron remarked mildly. "She's your niece, Paul, and as her father, I'm appalled that she was left with filthy Muggles such as yourself. The disgrace of a good family and garbage off the street, raising my child!"
"I'M NOT YOUR CHILD!"
Hermione shook off Demi's hand and snatched up the lamp from the end table at the side of the couch. The outlet sparked as she yanked the plug from it.
"You left me for dead so you could go and get yourself in Azkaban!" Hermione shouted, feeling her eyes fill to the brim of her eyelids with tears. "I could have starved! I could have contracted hypothermia! And you dare come back here, calling me your daughter! Go back to Hell!"
She reared back her arm.
"Hermione!" Demi gasped, but even Demi could not reach Hermione's frenzied, raging mind. Her arm snapped forward and her sweating fingers released the lamp.
A flash of surprise went across Aaron's face just before he released his wand and twisted it in mid-air. The lamp stopped and hovered for a spilt-second before changing course and connecting solidly with Hermione's head.
Hermione screamed and feel to the floor, her hands barely covering the humongous gash in her skull as the blood dripped into her eyes, obscuring her vision. The pain was so great; she could barely feel Paul's hand as it grabbed her arm, or hear Demi screaming her name.
"That's the least of it!" Belicia shrieked. "Wait for when we get a hold of Potter!"
Potter. Something clicked in Hermione's mind. They were going after Harry when they were done here. She would die here and her biological parents would go after her best friend.
"Hermione, get upstairs!" Paul yelled, throwing her back and stepping forward, Demi at his side, blocking Hermione's view of Aaron and Belicia.
"If anything happens to us," Demi whispered, "climb out our fire escape and run to the nearest wizard's house. Contact Dumbledore and get to your friend."
"Mom..."
"NOW!"
Without another word Hermione took off up the stairs. As she neared the top of the steps she heard Aaron shout a curse that caused Demi to scream and Paul to swear loudly; as she shut her door she heard the sounds of breaking glass.
There was a furious pecking at her window as she locked her door, knowing that it would not help her should they come upstairs. She launched herself across her room and threw open the window. Pigwidgeon collapsed into her room and a red letter fell to the floor from his beak. Hermione scooped it up and furiously tore it open.
"Hermione, it's Fred!" a frenzied, panicky male voice yelled. "Grimmauld Place was attacked. They got...they got Bill and Percy. Everyone else is...is hurt real bad. Mum's conscious, she says that they're going to attack you and Harry next, Sirius's mother told them where you guys are. GET OUT OF YOUR HOUSE NOW AND WARN HARRY!"
"That's what I'm doing!" Hermione shouted futilely at the Howler. She flattened out the folded letter and snatch up her mechanical pencil. Blood from her forehead fell like rain onto the paper as she wrote, which she wiped across the paper in a failed effort to clear it away. She didn't have time to get her wand; she could only scratch her pencil against the paper until the lead began to lessen.
"Harry, get away from there now! The Death Eaters are coming to kill your aunt! They found the Order's HQ and blew it apart, but they got Sirius's mother's portrait to tell them were you are first! Get your family and run NOW, or you'll all be dead! They'll get here right after Pigwidgeon does! GO! NOW!"
She re-sealed the letter. As she licked the envelope close another patch of blood fell from her head and onto the envelope. Pigwidgeon hooted unhappily as Hermione shoved the blood-stained part into his mouth but he didn't drop it. He merely flapped his wings twice for lift-off.
As he took off out the window, Hermione distinctly heard Belicia shriek, "CRUCIO!"
Hermione and Demi screamed in the same voice. Something crashed again; Paul gave an agonized shout, followed by a thump, and Aaron's laughter. Demi continued shrieking and now accompanied it by sobbing.
Hermione's stomach seemed to be suddenly on ice, and her throat was constricting. She vaulted across the room and yanked on her doorknob. Demi was still screaming and crying as Hermione fumbled with the lock. Her fingers slipped from the lock several times before she finally got a solid hold on it, twisted it, and jerked the door back. Without stopping for her wand, she sprinted from the room and down the stairs, nearly falling all over her feet.
Demi's screams stopped just as Hermione reached the bottom of the stairs, but they were continued with Hermione's shriek.
Paul was lying in heap on the floor, the splintered leg from the broken end table jutting through him, impaled in his collar bone. Demi was sitting upright against the wall, but if anything she looked worse. All color and fullness was drained from her face, her white skin was stretched across her bones, and her hazel eyes had multiplied three times their natural length. As Hermione watched, she gave one violent twitch like a dying bird, and then slid sideways onto the floor, her eyes still open from terror and pain.
"Well, she was a...em..."pistol", as Muggles says, wasn't she?" Belicia commented mildly. "Took a bit, I'm afraid I'm out of practice."
She looked at Hermione. "Darling, your face will be cemented like that if you keep it up," she remarked, raising her eyebrows at Hermione's face, which now mirrored Demi's. "Don't worry your head about those Muggles. They've gone straight back to Hell where all the Muggles will be when we're through with them. Sweet Satan, quit staring with that beached-fish look on your face. We'll forgive you for that lamp-throwing episode and clean you up if you come with us now."
"GO TO HELL!" Hermione screeched, clasping the banister so that her knees would not give way. "I will NEVER join you! I'd rather die!"
Belicia raised her eyebrow. "Oh, it's to play out like that, eh? Well, we can't have you blurting out our dirty little secret everywhere, can we?"
"Surely we can coax her, Belicia," Aaron said, with a smug smile that indicated he was merely toying with his daughter.
"The Dark Lord does not want unwilling servants, Aaron," Belicia said briskly. She whipped her wand into the air. "Avada Kedavra!"
Hermione began to tremble violently. Harry put his hand on her shoulder and leaned so his head rested upon hers.
"I survived, though...I had partial protection. Paul and Demi died from the Cruciatus Curse because they have no ounce of magic in them, not even Paul. I survived Avada Kedavra because she had no practice with a wand, and my magic resisted it, and also because...because they indirectly died for me, I'll have at least partial protection from Aaron and Belicia for the rest of my life."
Harry seemed at a loss for words. Mutely, he took her hand and gripped it.
"I woke up in Fred and George's shop some time later, and my first thought was of you. Something in me told me that I needed you...only you, even though Ron and Ginny were right there. Only you could help me heal...that, right then, was when I realized I loved you. You and I share a life together...and now a loss together. If you couldn't do it, I'm sure I'd have eventually ended up old and alone. When you kissed me, it was a tiny ray of hope that I could feel better again. I'd lost the world but gained you."
"A poor trade-off," Harry murmured.
Hermione made a small noise.
"What made me kiss you," Harry continued, "was that I was so afraid of watching you hurt. You looked so helpless, and I couldn't bear that thought. I wanted to take you away from what you had gone through, like no one had ever taken me away from what I had gone through. And kissing you was the only thing I could think of. Funny that it should be a kiss, though. Had it been Ginny or Luna, a hug would have sufficed. Maybe I had been in love with you for awhile but just didn't realize it."
Hermione gave a laugh that turned into a sob. She buried her face in Harry's leg before resurfacing.
"We make a good pair, don't we, Harry?" she asked in a small voice.
"We do," Harry answered, turning his head so he could plant a kiss on her. She turned her head up at the same time; they managed to touch lips softly together. It didn't bother either when the other began to cry.
Snape sat in the same room Andromeda had housed them in prior to the battle. Petunia was with him, staring at the far wall. Remus was also with them, quietly sipping some tea that Andromeda, in her fit of nerves while they had been away, had made. Tonks was pacing the room in spasmodic patterns with no rhyme or reason.
"Nymphadora," Remus said. "What are you doing?"
"It's "Tonks", Remus, just "Tonks". And nothing's wrong; I'm just running on nervous energy."
"Bull, Tonks."
Tonks stopped with one foot but kept walking with the other, accidentally kicking herself and stumbling forward. Remus started up, but Tonks straightened herself out and waved her hand dismissively.
"I'm okay, Remus."
"Tonks," Remus said softly. "What's wrong?"
Tonks sighed. "Why can't I pull one over on you?"
"It's love, love," Remus replied coyly.
Tonks laughed, but there was something lacking in her mirth. She went over to the couch and sat next to him, taking his hand and leaning her head on his shoulder.
"Well, I've been thinking," Tonks said. "About how we're gonna tell my parents that...that I asked you..."
Remus sent a glance over at Snape and Petunia, sending a facial message to Tonks and asking her whether she wanted them to know about the bite he had given her 5 days ago.
"Yeah...and then I was thinking about that baby that Anais's group rescued. According to Lavender, she has no parents and I doubt we'll ever find relatives, as we don't know who the parents were and probably will not be allowed to inspect the bodies once the Ministry's Forensics Unit confiscate them. So I was thinking about us...maybe...taking in the baby if...if..."
Remus looked away. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of a thousand worlds on it.
"We can't."
"Why?"
"The Werewolf Registry keeps track of all the werewolves in the world." He turned his head, lowered his voice, and spoke directly to her so that only she could hear. "The Ministry decreed years before I was born that no single werewolf could adopt anyone under the age of 13. And that no werewolf couple could ever adopt at all."
Tonks's jaw dropped. "You're not serious?"
"You never knew?"
"We only learned about tracking and stunning werewolves, not about their legal rights to adoption! So, you're saying that if we want children, we'd have to have our own?" She was heedless of Petunia and Snape in the room.
"God knows that the entire planet would be against us then. First of all, there's our age difference. We run the risk of not having kids at all just by that, or having kids with their own problems. And even if we had the luck to have a healthy child," his voice took on a bitter ring, "the Ministry would be quite justified in taking the child away, if something as stupid as a "Disturbing the Peace" charge was against us."
"You're kidding." Tonks looked away, her eyes misting over. "You can't possibly be serious..."
Remus breathed heavily. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. She turned around to face him again, two clear tears running down her face.
"I'm quitting, Remus," she said quietly. "I'll keep on teaching at Hogwarts, but I won't work in a Ministry that would deny an Auror and a teacher the right to have their own children."
Remus said nothing, but kept on massaging her shoulder. She twisted her body so she was leaning into him, her face buried in his neck. He moved his hand so it rested on her head and gently stroked her hair.
Snape's inside gave a small jolt as something suddenly seized his hand. He looked at his hand, and then followed the arm up. In the rocking chair next to the recliner he had taken, Petunia had taken his hand. Her face was drawn into a small, mournful smile. With a corner of his mouth twitched up, he laid his other hand across hers, and she followed suite.
"Severus," she said quietly, as a new song began to play on the WWN. "About that child...what if we take her in?"
""We"? Snape repeated, taken aback. "As in, the both of us jointly raise that child?"
Petunia looked away, but her grip on his hands didn't lessen. "Yes. I always fancied a daughter. When we were dating I used to dream of us having children together."
"Just earlier you were afraid to start things up again."
She took a few minutes to answer. Her eyes rested on Remus and Tonks, still bound closely together through shared grief. Snape was accustomed to silence and waited for her, wondering what she could possibly say, and minding that his heart was beating a little faster than it had in several years.
"I...I want the same thing they want," she said quietly, looking back at him. "I want the house with the stupid picket fence, I want the two children and a cat, and I want someone to share it with me. I've lived with my sister's death and the loss of all I've loved for nearly 20 years...and I'm sick of waiting for it to come back on its own. If I can rid the world of malignant evil with you...I think I can start up a life with you."
Snape smirked, and Petunia let out a bark of a laugh, her eyes beginning to glisten again. "See, I can amuse you, just like when were dating."
"You've always amused me, even when I was the supremacist snotrag," Snape muttered.
"Well, supremacist maybe, but I'm not sure about snotrag." Her smile had become genuinely happy, but a fresh tear fell down her cheek.
"Stop crying," he ordered, gruff but kind. He reached out a hand and flicked the tear away with his thumb. "I'm sick of you being depressed all the time. We've both had enough of it."
Petunia caught his hand before he could bring it down again. She brought it to her lips and kissed his knuckles, still staring at him. Then, she drifted her hand and his down. Leaning forward in her chair, she arched over the space between his and her seats, shut her eyes, and kissed him exactly like the last time she had, back in their 7th year, before the world had become their problem.
Lynn had been up and about for quite a bit. She was tough, something she liked about herself. She had the uncanny ability to get over most injuries.
This injury was different, though. It went beyond the Cruciatus Curse and focused on who had given it to her.
She had liked Draco a lot, enough to give her heart to him, first infatuated with his looks, and later thoroughly convinced that his rudeness and outright cruelty had been a mask all along. She had kept up the furious hope that there was more to him than met the eye, that he was really, as she put it, "a cuddly, misunderstood bunny".
But this went beyond what she could reasonably brush aside as a façade. He had used an Unforgivable Curse on her when she had been trying to help him. The talk that Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater-in-training suddenly seemed so much more real, not something she could dismiss as rumor-mongering.
She sat down finally after aimless wandering around, crossed her legs, folded her arms, and stared at the floor.
"What's up, Lynn?"
Lynn looked up and broke into a smile. Gibson Aldo had entered the room, grinning. She had liked Gibson a lot since meeting him in their 5th year.
"Oh, nothing," Lynn answered. "I just heard about St. Mungo's from Professor Tonks."
Gibson's grin vanished, and he swore quietly. "Yeah, we lost Dennis Creevy. I'm glad you weren't there, Gibson, it was pretty bad."
"Well, it was a battle, I think it'd be bad," Lynn answered sarcastically.
"You know what, Lynn?" Gibson started as if beginning a fight, but grinned again. "Yeah, you're right." And his smile dropped. "I didn't think we'd lose anyone so soon, y'know? Dennis was just a kid. 3 years younger than us."
"Yeah, I know," Lynn said.
"It'll be nice to get a piece of the Death Eaters before we go out, won't it, though?"
"Yeah..." Lynn said distractedly.
"Oh, yeah, I just remembered," Gibson said. "That Draco kid you like; did you know he's here?"
"WHAT?" Lynn jumped up, looking stricken. "He's HERE?"
"Yeah, Tonks and Bennie found him on their spy mission."
"Are you taking the mickey on me? Which room is he in!"
Gibson shrugged. "Dunno, I just heard that he was locked up here somewhere. I wouldn't bother about him, Lynn. He's a prat."
Lynn's anger flared, out of habit this time, and she sat down, arms crossed, chewing her bottom lip.
"Listen, I heard that dinner will be ready soon. Why not come on up with me?"
Lynn wanted to refuse, but the conflict of heart over stomach was not an easy victory for the heart. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, in fact, she'd originally come out looking for food as soon as she was sure that Madame Pomfrey had left the vicinity. Her body and soul ached, making the need for food that much greater.
"Oh, fine," Lynn said, throwing up her hands.
"Great." Gibson smiled at her as she rose. He held the door open for her, and they walked together up towards the dining room.
Dumbledore looked over the papers he was filling out. They were merely memos and news for the Order.
Belicia had broken out in the confusion of the battle. The Forensics Unit of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement had picked up Aaron's body, and several more Junior Aurors were handling the fallen Death Eaters into Azkaban. Some Death Eaters had escaped; they'd have to be on the lookout for revenge tactics. Bellatrix was one of them. He'd have to inform Harry and Hermione about Bellatrix and Belicia.
The most unusual thing they had found was a gleaming, ornate silver hand, lying abandoned on the Quidditch field near Lucius's lost arm. This hand sat before him now, just waiting to be inspected, but now Dumbledore had no energy to investigate it. He had no usable energy left beyond scratching his quill against parchment until the ink ran dry.
3 people they had lost today. Frank Longbottom. A talented Quidditch Seeker in his day, forever cracking jokes. Dennis Creevy. A little hyperactive boy full of ideas that life could be just and fair.
And Oleta.
Her body was laid out on the couch near the desk in this room. Minerva knelt beside her, holding her hand, eyes hollow but mostly dry. Though he could barely stand to look at her, her image was engraved in his mind. Flashes of Oleta kept coming back to him, each one tearing at him with more viciousness than the next.
Oleta in June of 1937, the end of their 3rd year, knitting socks for the Hogwarts House-Elves while she reviewed her Charms notes, sticking out her tongue and refusing to answer Dumbledore's questions as to her name, laughing loudly at his proclamation that her name would henceforth be "Socks".
Oleta in January of 1941, coming to him with tears in her eyes to announce the news of her pregnancy after her boyfriend had completely broken it off with her.
Oleta in September of that same year, battling her way through 10 hours of labor with only his hand to hold on to, and the look of pure joy upon seeing Minerva placed in her arms.
Oleta in September on 1945, walking down the aisle with 4-year-old Minerva beside her, her face shining like an angel's as she approached the altar, putting the horrors of the war behind them.
Oleta in 1977, nervously gripping his hand as they inducted 36-year-old Minerva into the Order of the Phoenix, the first member besides themselves to join the Order.
Oleta in 1987, her eyes wiped as clean as her memories as he tried to shake life back into her on the floor of their living room.
Oleta tonight, with the look of comprehension finally on her face, as she threw herself into the line of fire to protect him from Voldemort's Avada Kedavra Curse.
Already he could feel the protection that she had just presented him with. He, like Harry, would be safe from Voldemort, at least until Minerva's blood was taken by Voldemort.
But what was this protection worth without Oleta still living? He would have gladly taken death over watching her sacrifice herself for him, over watching Minerva shatter at the loss of her parent.
"Dad?"
His thoughts were startled out of themselves at McGonagall's voice. She was finally looking up at him, Oleta's hand still clutched in her own.
"Are you all right?"
Dumbledore sighed. "I can't say that I am, Minerva."
"...Yes..."
Dumbledore looked down at his notes again.
"Dad?"
He looked up again. "What is it, Minerva?"
She has walked across the room and now stood in front of the desk, watching him with her piercing, hawk-like gaze, but the severity had now dropped into mourning.
"I...I'm sorry I stopped calling you "Dad". I don't even know my biological father's name."
"I have long since forgotten," Dumbledore answered softly. "I'm sorry I cannot help you there."
"I don't want to know it," McGonagall answered sharply. "I'm just sorry that I let my imaginary father replace you. You were more parent to me than he could possibly dream to be."
Dumbledore reached out and covered her hand with his bony one. McGonagall noted how frail and weak his hands seemed now. The thought made her heart break. With her free hand she rubbed at her eyes, trying to prevent tears. His grip on her hand tightened.
Andromeda pushed open the door, the book clutched to her chest, but she stopped when she saw them. Her eyes glanced over at Oleta, and then at Dumbledore and McGonagall. Something in her mind began to click and the pieces began to fall in place about what Oleta, her old Defense Against Dark Arts teacher, meant to both Dumbledore and McGonagall. Just as silently as she had entered she exited, shutting the door behind her. A full report could wait, the re-forging of her two old professors' bond could come first.
"Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow..." Amy muttered.
"Well, I should think it hurts!" Madame Pomfrey clucked indignantly, making sure the bandages were tight around her arm. "Honestly, running through fire with a dislocated arm! You'll be quite lucky if you haven't destroyed your muscle and skin tissues completely, as it is, you're looking at life with a sling for several years. I certainly hope it was worth it."
"It was," Amy said quietly.
Madame Pomfrey sniffed disbelievingly, patted the bandages and seemed grimly satisfied when Amy winced, and then swept away. Parvati was sitting upright in a four-post canopy bed, tears of agony forming in her eyes. Madame Pomfrey sucked on the fleshy inside of her cheek as she picked up the hand, mentally shielding herself from Parvati's squeak.
"There's no doubt about it. The hand has to come off."
"Can...can I get a new one?" Parvati whimpered.
"I can re-grow bones, Miss Patil, not whole appendages," Madame Pomfrey said with a sigh.
"Doesn't she have to wait for permission from our parents to get it cut off?" Padma asked. She sat beside Parvati, clutching her good hand, her face white.
"No, part of the Hogwarts rules that are agreed to upon the student attending is that I have complete authority to perform any medical procedure, including surgery."
All blood seemed to drain from Parvati's face.
"I can't take you to St. Mungo's now, the place will be crawling with Ministry imbeciles and they'll never let you into the Operating Room," Madame Pomfrey mused. "And we can't wait, either, the swelling is preventing circulation and God knows that it could eventually ruin your entire bloodstream."
"You have to do it now? Here!"
"I'm afraid so," Madame Pomfrey said. "If only I had a sterile Operating Room..."
The words had barely passed her lips and suddenly, the entire room shifted. The occupants screamed as the bed Parvati and Padma sat on suddenly turned into a cold operating table, and Parvati's clothes suddenly transformed into a hospital gown.
"Oh, my...a Room of Requirement..." Madame Pomfrey said faintly. "If this isn't Heaven-sent, I have no idea WHAT is..."
"S-so, you're going to operate...now?" Padma breathed, sliding off the table but still clutching Parvati's hand.
"I have to. Miss Patil, you take Miss Lloyd and sojourn to the dining room; I think dinner is almost ready. Now, if only I had some anesthesia..." A vial of clear, thick liquid suddenly appeared next to her, a hypodermic needle next to it, and then a pair of surgical gloves. "Miss Patil, Miss Lloyd, NOW, if you please..."
Amy and Padma slowly made their way across the room and towards the door. They crossed the threshold in one step, both silent. Madame Pomfrey's voice washed over them.
"All right, if you'd just count backwards from ten."
"Ten...nine...eight...seven...s-six...fi..." Parvati's voice dropped off, and Padma burst into hysterical tears.
Draco's eyes opened, his head pounding. The room he was in was unfamiliar. It was black in color, with a small window letting in the moonlight and starlight.
His cousin and some girl he didn't know had kidnapped him and Petrified him. But where was he?
He winced at a tug in his throat and looked at his hands. They were ghostly pale and stretched across his bones so tight that he might as well have been a skeleton. His fingernails were suddenly longer and pointed like daggers, just begging anyone to come closer.
He was so hungry...
He felt his blood pounding in his ears. It was still there, he knew it. If it came to this, he HAD to feed off himself. There was no way he couldn't...
He threw his hand up towards his face and opened his mouth, as two knife-like fangs sank into his palm. Blood squirted over his hand as he noisily sucked from his palm. The mess would clean, he just had to feed now before he starved...
All right, now I feel I should give you an explanation about Draco. According to Elizabeth's observations, I'll bet I led some of you to think that he was a werewolf, right? Well, nope, Draco is a vampire. Not a traditional vampire in which you can't walk outside in the sunlight; I don't see how the vampires mentioned every now and then in canon can survive then. However, he does need to wear dark clothes, something that has been happening but I didn't draw attention to. He's traditional in the fact that he has to drink blood to survive, but untraditional in the fact that he has his own blood still.