Chapter Fifty-One: A New Complication
'Harry!'
Harry heard the pounding on the door, but he didn't move. Not yet. His eyes burned and were swollen from crying; his body was one giant nerve-ending of pain. He didn't know how long he'd been lying on the ground.
He lifted his head, his neck protesting sharply; his eyes fell on the spot on the floor where Voldemort had lain. The sword protruded from the chest area of the dark wizard's robes, where a great blood stain had formed, but the blade itself was wiped clean of Ron's blood.
Ron...
Ginny...
'Harry!'
Get up...get up...
Harry pulled himself up to his knees, tried to raise himself up on his feet...and stumbled. He realized his glasses had come off. He summoned them with a flick of Ginny's wand and did a Reparo Charm before sliding them slowly up the bridge of his nose.
Get up...
He tried again, and this time, he made it. He was standing. He was alone. And he had just defeated the most powerful dark wizard the world had ever known.
Harry was no longer the Boy Who Lived. He was the Boy Who Won.
He swallowed. It didn't feel like a victory. On the contrary, it felt horrible. He looked down at his hands, which were now sticky with drying blood. These hands had taken a life tonight. A vile, twisted, evil life that had wreaked havoc on innocents, an abomination of flesh that was brought into being by murder and suffering, and yet, it was a life all the same.
'Harry!'
The pounding on the door increased, matching the pounding in Harry's head. He scowled as he dragged himself forward; he didn't want to face the world now, not when he knew they would praise him as a hero. Not when he knew everyone would be happy about what he'd done.
Harry closed his eyes and his hand went instinctively to his scar; it was cool now, and suddenly he noticed that it didn't hurt. Not one bit. It didn't even tingle or prickle.
He's gone. He's really gone. Voldemort's gone forever.
So why do I feel like shit?
'Harry, open the door!'
It was Lupin's voice calling, and he sounded very worried. For a moment, Harry considered that everyone in the main room might be wondering if in fact he was still fighting, or if he'd failed. Then he realized that but for the knocking on the door and voices, there were no other sounds. The battle outside must be over.
He forced himself to walk faster, wincing with every step on his bad leg, until he reached the door, and he pulled it open.
There were what looked like dozens of people in the main room, all of them wounded in some way or other, all of them wearing the same wide-eyed expression, fearful and expectant. All of them looking as if they wanted to say, 'Well?'
Lupin was at the door, eyeing him warily.
Harry took in the room more carefully; bodies littered the floor. Many Death Eaters, but many students and Aurors. The stench of blood might have been overpowering, had Harry not been exposed to it in such copious amounts just now. The Death Eaters were all dead or unconscious, that much was obvious, but Harry felt no relief that they'd been destroyed. Not when he looked about the room and saw Blaise Zabini cradling Daphne Greengrass in his arms, tears running down his face. Not when he saw Dean Thomas lying on the ground, moaning in pain as Seamus and Parvati applied thick, oozing burn salve to his wounds; Parvati's eyes leaked tears and she occasionally glanced at her dead twin, whom Anthony Goldstein rocked in his arms with a wide, numb expression on his face.
Harry felt no relief, either, when he saw Hannah Abbott sobbing over the bleeding body of Ernie MacMillan, and Mandy Brocklehurst crying over the limp form of Morag McDougal. Professor Hopkirk was doing healing spells over Justin Finch-Fletchley's slashed arm. Luna Lovegood was curled on the floor, looking for all the world as though she was sleeping, but the bruises on her face indicated her role in the battle.
There were others, too. Aurors. Harry felt his throat nearly close when he saw Kenneth Towler on the ground, half in Tonks's lap, with a slash across his throat. She was crying silently and holding his dead right hand in hers. Other Aurors were dead, too, Aurors that Harry knew only in passing. Many more on the ground were badly wounded, as other students and Aurors desperately administered potions and healing spells. The air hummed with incantations and the glow of magic. Lisa Towler and Susan Bones worked on Terry Boot's left leg, which appeared to be broken. James Marchbanks attended the broken ribs and slashed shoulder of Mary Stebbins. Kingsley Shacklebolt was bent over another Auror, forcing Blood Clotting Concoction down his throat.
Harry swallowed down the urge to cry again.
So much death, so much suffering...I knew some of these people...I knew them...
Lupin took a few painful steps towards Harry; he was bruised and bloodied and looked about as bad as Harry had ever seen him.
'Harry...' Lupin said, his voice hoarse.
'He's gone,' said Harry, his voice flat.
The hum in the room went suddenly silent.
'You--you mean--' said Susan Bones haltingly.
'Voldemort's dead,' said Harry dully.
The silence was absolute; everyone stared at Harry, as if waiting to gauge his reaction.
'You really did it, then,' said Zacharias Smith, who wiped some blood from a cut on his lip.
Harry glared at him for a moment, and Smith shrank back slightly.
'Yeah,' said Harry harshly. 'I did it.'
He looked about the room, daring anyone to congratulate him, but nobody did. They all simply stared at him, and Harry realized they were afraid. Afraid of him, because of what he'd done.
Good, he thought viciously. Better this than having them cheer. I'd throw up if they started cheering...
'Tonks, Marchbanks,' said Kingsley, 'let's...get inside that room and collect the body.'
'There is no body,' said Harry. 'Just his robes. He...I dunno what happened, exactly...but there's no body.'
'Fine,' said Kingsley. 'We'll take his robes, then. For testing. The...the Ministry lab will want confirmation...of...of what happened.'
Harry nodded dimly; his mind was swirling and he ached all over. He only wanted to sleep...he watched Kingsley, Tonks and Marchbanks walk slowly towards the room in which Voldemort had died...
And then his eyes fell on another corner of the room, where Charlie was applying a damp compress to Bill's forehead; Bill was unconscious and when Charlie pulled away the compress, Harry saw a slash across his forehead. Seeing the shock of red Weasley hair brought Ron and Ginny slamming into Harry's conscious mind again.
'Prof-Remus,' said Harry urgently. 'Where's Ginny? Did you see her? She was with Malfoy when--'
'I saw her,' said Lupin. 'I helped her and Draco get to the third floor; he took her to hospital. She was fine.'
'And Ron? Did he get to hospital, too?'
'He's...he's in the Brain room,' said Lupin slowly. 'He was badly hurt. Neville was working on him, and Hermione. They're trying to stabilize him before they move him to hospital. I'm sure he'll be just--'
The sound of a frantic voice--a voice belonging to Neville Longbottom--snapped everyone's attention away from Harry. Neville shoved his way through the crowd.
'Neville?' said Harry, alarmed at the look on the other boy's face for a split second before remembering...
Ron!
'It's Ron,' he said. 'You'd better...you'd better come.'
No. No, no, NO!
Harry pressed his lips together. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true.
'Come on,' said Neville, gesturing at Harry to move. Harry didn't say a word to Lupin, didn't even feel his feet under him as he walked after Neville, towards a door that bore the faint traces of a fading Flagrate Charm.
Neville shoved the door open. Harry hesitated.
I can't. I can't walk through that door and see Ron dead. I won't.
'Harry...' Neville whispered.
Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and then stepped through the door.
He opened his eyes and felt his stomach plummet to the floor.
Hermione was there, sobbing and kneeling over Ron, pressing down on his chest in a quick, brutal rhythm. Ron's head lolled to the side, and his eyes were half closed. His wound looked to have opened again; his skin was chalk-white. He looked...
Harry glanced at Neville, who almost imperceptibly shook his head.
'Harry!' Hermione cried. 'Harry! He's not breathing.'
Her words were stiff and a bit slurred; if Harry had to guess, she'd broken her jaw and healed it herself, but hadn't done a great job of it. Harry looked at Neville again, whose face told him all he needed to know.
It doesn't matter what you do. He's as good as gone.
No!
Harry glared at Neville for a brief moment before hurtling over to Ron and Hermione. It clunked into Harry's brain that Hermione was doing chest compressions.
CPR. Cardio-pulmonary...whatever.
'Harry, you have to do mouth-to-mouth on him!' Hermione cried, her face leaking tears.
'Okay...okay,' said Harry, and he forced himself to remember the day they'd done CPR training in Defense.
Harry looked down at Ron and felt another wave of nausea.
Don't freeze up you, idiot! Wake up and save his life!
Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation...mouth-to-mouth...he needs to breathe...his airway's obstructed...
And then it all came rushing back to Harry. He placed a hand under Ron's neck, trying to ignore how cold the skin was, and tilted Ron's head back. With his other hand, he pinched the bridge of Ron's long, freckled nose. Ron's mouth was already half open.
Please, god or Merlin or whoever, let this work...he can't die...
Harry bent down, thinking quite stupidly for a moment about how weird it would be to put his lips against Ron's, when Hermione said, 'Breathe.'
Harry took that to mean he should do just that; he pressed his mouth over Ron's, remembering something about 'forming a tight seal,' and blew hard into Ron's mouth.
Two whole seconds...blow for two seconds...
Ron's chest rose, and Hermione said, 'Again.' Harry complied.
Before Harry could breathe a third time, Hermione went back to chest compressions, sobbing all the while. Harry remembered just in time that the two actions were done separately, in a kind of pattern; Hermione counted to herself, doing fifteen compressions, and then said, her voice tearful, 'Breathe.'
Harry obeyed, and it went on for another minute, Hermione growing increasingly tearful, both growing increasingly desperate. Ron still wouldn't breathe, and Hermione let out a choked sob as she once again pressed down on his chest.
'Don't you die on me, Ron Weasley!' she cried. 'Harry, breathe!'
Harry did, willing every particle of breath in his body into Ron's.
Breathe, Ron. Please. Don't die. Don't leave. You can't...
More compressions.
'Come on, Ron,' Harry muttered, feeling his eyes well up. He breathed into Ron's mouth again, and a second time, and Hermione resumed the rhythmic pressing on Ron's chest. Harry looked up and saw that Lupin was at the door, along with a few students.
'Potions!' Harry yelled. 'Doesn't anyone have any emergency potions?'
'No, Harry,' said Neville. 'Everyone's used theirs--'
'Breathe!' Hermione cried, and Harry breathed into Ron's mouth again, and again.
'Please, Ron...' Hermione sobbed, even as she pressed on Ron's chest yet again.
Harry watched her for a moment, and then looked up at Neville, who had tears running down his face now. He shook his head again, this time noticeably. Harry then looked at Lupin, whose own eyes shone with tears.
Harry felt his throat close up.
No!
He looked back at Hermione. His chest hurt. His heart was going to explode.
It's not true. It's not true!
'...fourteen, fifteen. Harry, breathe!'
'Hermione...' Harry whispered.
'Breathe!' Hermione repeated frantically.
But it was too late. Harry had seen enough death to know...
Not Ron! NOT RON!
'Harry, why aren't you breathing?' Hermione shrieked, but before he could stop her, she leaned down and breathed into Ron's slack mouth herself, twice, and then began to compress his chest yet again.
'Hermione...' Harry croaked, and he put his hands on her shoulders. 'Hermione, he's...he's...'
Hermione froze, her hands on Ron's chest, one hand over the other, and then her body began to tremble. She looked up and her eyes met Harry's. Harry felt his lower lip trembling, saw her face collapse.
'NO!' she screamed. 'He's not dead! He's not!'
And suddenly she launched herself at Harry, pounding her small fists on his chest. Harry grabbed onto her and crushed her to him, even as she struggled.
'He's not dead, he's not dead!' she wailed. 'He's not dead! No...no, no, no! Not Ron...not Ron...'
Hermione's struggles abated and she collapsed with an anguished cry against Harry, who clung to her desperately. He buried his face in her frizzy brown hair and sobbed with her over Ron's body, and he cursed himself for ever being born, for ever having brought his two best friends to this.
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Ron hurt. Everywhere. Someone was pressing on his chest, which hurt a hell of a lot. Someone else was kissing him, or at least that's what it felt like at first, until a bunch of air was blown down his throat.
Weird. Then he heard voices.
Hermione?
Hermione!
And...Harry! Harry was alive. That meant...
He'd done it. He'd beaten Voldemort.
But...wait. Something was wrong. Ron felt it...he was...no! He couldn't be...not yet, he wasn't supposed to go yet...not before he became an Auror and married Hermione and they had Miranda Jane!
Hermione stopped pressing on my chest. Why are they crying? Do they think I'm...am I...?
And then Ron heard something else. Something odd and beautiful, something that sounded a bit familiar. He was sure he'd heard it before...it was...music, the most beautiful music in the world...where had he heard it before?
He focused on the music and forgot about the pain in his body...there was just the music...
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Harry heard it before he really recognized it for what it was.
His mind had been focused on a single, terrible thought: Ron's dead.
And then more thoughts...
Not Ron! Let it be me, I'll...I'll find a time turner, I'll go back and I'll take the blow of the sword, I'll do anything...please...just...not Ron!
But then that faint trilling came, and invaded his hearing, blended with his own crying and Hermione's sobs, and the sniffing of Neville and Lupin...
The trilling grew louder, and it wasn't trilling at all. It was...music.
Harry let go of Hermione for a moment, focusing on this new sound. He noticed that there were many more people in the room, all of them crowded behind Lupin, all of them who might have only a moment ago been looking sadly at Ron but were now casting their eyes about the room, searching for the source of this music, that grew closer.
Harry's eyes widened. Not just any music. He'd heard it only a few times before. Eerie, haunting, unearthly music that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and his heart feel huge...
Hermione, Lupin and Neville had stopped crying altogether, and suddenly Harry realized he had, too. The music reached a pitch so resonant, so vibrant that it made Harry's very bones hum, and even as the others in the room clapped their hands over their ears, Harry breathed out a single word...
'Fawkes.'
There was a flash of light, crimson and gold, and the phoenix appeared in midair, flapping his brilliant wings. He swooped past the awed crowd and flew towards Harry.
No, not towards me. Towards...
'Hermione, back up,' Harry urged, and the two of them backed away from Ron's limp form just as the phoenix landed softly next to him.
Fawkes gave a soft chirrup, and Harry blinked and went into action.
'Hermione, help me lift Ron up,' he said urgently, and together the two of them pulled Ron to a reclining position. Fawkes twittered and moved gently towards Ron as Harry tilted Ron's head back.
Please...please let this work...
'Fawkes, d'you think you can--'
But the phoenix was already lowering his resplendent head, and Harry felt a rush of hope as the pearly tears slid from Fawkes's eyes into Ron's open mouth.
One drop, two, three...and then a few more. Harry had no idea how Ron was supposed to swallow them, given he was--
No! He...he this really work?
Fawkes moved away from Ron's mouth, chirruping again, and then bent his head over Ron's stomach. Hermione hesitated for a moment, but then pulled back Ron's bloodied shirt, revealing the gaping wound across his belly. She pushed Ron's left hand, which had lain on the wound, up to his chest.
Fawkes dripped several more tears onto the wound, and the crowd gave a gasp as the wound sizzled and began to heal.
If the wound's healing, then he has to be alive! Doesn't he?
Harry, who was still holding Ron up, glanced down at his best mate in the world, his brother.
'Come on, Ron...' he begged.
It had to work. Phoenix tears had healing powers. Extraordinary healing powers. Why hadn't Harry thought of bringing a whole phial of them? Of all the stupid things he could have done!
Breathe, Ron.
Harry knew Hermione was willing Ron to breathe, just as he was.
Breathe, Ron. Breathe. Wake up. Don't die...
Fawkes trilled and flew upwards and over to Harry's side, landing softly on the floor.
Breathe, Ron...
'Harry!' Hermione gasped, and Harry looked down to see Ron's left hand twitch.
Harry bent close to Ron's face.
'Ron?'
And then he felt it. It was so faint as almost to be non-existent, but it was there all the same.
A warm, living breath.
Harry snapped his head up, ignoring the twinge of pain in his neck, and his eyes met Hermione's, and for a moment they stared at one another, almost refusing to believe it was possible.
'Out of my way!'
The sound of Snape's voice caused Harry and Hermione to turn. They looked up to see Snape shoving his way through the crowd. He limped his way over to them, his face tight and pale, only his eyes betraying the pain he felt as he favored his right leg. His face was bruised; there was a cut above his right eye and his left ear looked almost gruesomely mangled.
'Potter,' he said, and Harry saw that Snape had in his hand a satchel of emergency potions.
Harry let out a breath, and for the first time in ages, if not his entire life, he was glad to see the Potions Master.
'Out of the way, Miss Granger,' Snape barked, and Hermione scrambled out of the way as Snape bent down.
He enlarged and uncorked every potion he had with him and proceeded to pour them carefully into Ron's mouth.
'Help him swallow,' Snape snapped, and Harry obeyed, massaging Ron's bruised throat every time Snape poured a potion down it.
Harry lost count of how many potions Snape had, but the supply seemed endless. It was only then that he noticed that the room was completely silent, and he felt the weight of dozens of eyes upon the scene.
Snape gave Ron one last potion, and then ordered Harry to set Ron down. He looked at Hermione for a long moment as Snape stood up carefully, still favoring his right leg.
Then Harry and Hermione both looked down at Ron, or more accurately, the entire room looked at Ron. At that moment, Charlie burst into the room, holding up a limp but conscious Bill.
The first thing Harry noticed was Ron's chest. It rose, just a bit, as he breathed.
Hermione grabbed Harry's hand.
The color began to return to Ron's face. His breathing grew deeper...Fawkes the phoenix disappeared in a flash of red and gold, leaving behind a single feather, but Harry hardly noticed...
'Come on, Ron,' Harry begged. 'Wake up...wake up...'
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Wake up!
Someone was talking to him, which seemed a bit strange, because he was sure he'd just heard that beautiful, weird music.
Wake up!
The voice was insistent, and familiar.
Come on, Ron.
A second voice, also familiar. Their voices weren't as beautiful as the phoenix song--yes, that's what it was, Ron remembered now--their voices were more beautiful than phoenix song.
Wake up, Ron, please...
And yet Ron was so tired. He just wanted to sleep. At least his body didn't hurt so much anymore. He wondered how that happened. But his throat hurt, a lot...
Wake up!
Oh, all right!
Harry's fingers were numb from Hermione squeezing them. He was just about to ask her to ease up her grip when Ron eyes fluttered.
The entire room gasped at once.
'Ron?' Harry whispered.
Ron let out a long breath.
'Ron...' Hermione pleaded, smoothing his sweaty hair back from his forehead.
Harry held his breath; he couldn't feel his fingers at all anymore, but he didn't care about his hand, it was just a stupid hand...
'H-Harry...'
Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth, mercifully releasing Harry's fingers, as Ron's parched lips moved to form Harry's name.
'Ron!' Harry croaked.
Ron let out another breath, and finally, mercifully...the blue eyes flickered open.
The room erupted, and Hermione burst into tears. Harry cried, too, he cried freely, he didn't give a damn who saw him now.
'Ron...' Hermione sobbed, and she leaned down and kissed him all over his face.
'Ow...' Ron muttered. ''Mione...'
She stopped kissing him and looked down at him, still smoothing his hair back tenderly.
'Hey,' Ron whispered, and he tried to smile, but he couldn't quite manage it; it came out more as a pained grimace. That was all he said to her just then, but it seemed to be enough. Tears were pouring out of her eyes but she was smiling and clutching his hand, no doubt numbing his fingers now.
Ron turned his head, ever so slightly, to Harry. Harry noticed the room had gone quiet. Ron opened his mouth to speak, and Harry leaned in.
'Did you...get him?' Ron whispered.
Harry leaned back a bit and met Ron's gaze. He nodded. 'I got him.'
'Ginny...'
'She's in hospital, she'll be okay,' said Harry. He would have said more but suddenly Charlie was there with Bill.
The two of them clumsily bent down and moved closer to Ron.
'Bloody hell, Ron,' Charlie said, his eyes red with unshed tears. 'Your scared the shit out of us.'
'Mum's going to kill you, you know,' said Bill.
Ron couldn't speak; he again attempted a smile that became the half-grimace.
Charlie and Bill backed away just as Harry heard another ruckus from outside the room. For a moment everyone in the room tensed, prepared for another attack. Harry and Hermione moved over Ron, ready to cover him with their bodies if it meant keeping him safe, but instead of Death Eaters flooding the room, it was a whole staff of Healers.
'Coming through!' shouted Augustus Pye. 'Neville, Luna's on her way to St. Mungo's if you--'
Neville was already out the door.
The Brain room suddenly turned noisy as Healers ushered those with less serious injuries to a far corner of the room. Augustus Pye seemed to be in charge of everything; he was barking instructions to all the other Healers, who moved quickly to establish some semblance of order.
Within minutes, the initial chaos of the Healers' arrival became a well-organized machine. Students with minor injuries were treated in a trice; other Healers moved back into the main room, presumably to transport the more seriously injured to St. Mungo's. Bill and Charlie were hurried from the room, both unsuccessfully protesting they wanted to stay with Ron.
'You won't do him any good if the two of you wind up getting worse because you didn't get help!' an older Healer witch scolded, shooing Bill and Charlie away.
Augustus, meanwhile, headed straight for Harry. Snape had backed off; indeed the Potions Master seemed to have left the room. Harry wondered briefly if Snape were going to St. Mungo's himself--his limp indicated that his leg had been badly hurt--but then Augustus Pye spoke to Harry, and he forgot all about Snape.
'You okay?' he asked.
'Fine,' Harry lied, not moving from Ron's side. 'It's Ron, he needs the most help.'
Augustus and another Healer, and young witch who looked barely older than Harry, bent down beside Ron, ushering Harry and Hermione out of the way. Hermione grabbed onto Harry again; she seemed to need some form of human contact.
'Ron?' said Augustus. 'Can you hear me?'
'Yeah...' Ron mumbled. His eyes were half-closed now; he looked exhausted.
'He's drifting off,' said the Healer witch. 'He might have a concussion.'
'At the very least,' said Augustus grimly, as he studied the scar tissue of Ron's stomach wound. 'His color suggests a lot of internal bleeding.'
'That's what Neville said,' said Harry, not wanting to think about Ron bleeding internally. 'Ron...got really hurt tonight.'
'What happened to him?' Augustus asked. 'What's this wound here? Is it new?'
Harry and Hermione glanced at each other; Harry wasn't sure what had happened to Ron after he and Neville had fled the Death Chamber; Hermione clearly didn't know all the details of what had transpired in the Death Chamber. Neither of them were keen to talk about all the injuries Ron had sustained, but each filled Augustus in on what they knew. When Hermione finished, describing how the wall had basically fallen on top of Ron, Augustus paled slightly.
'How on earth did he...survive all of it?' he asked.
'We had...some phoenix tears,' Harry explained haltingly, 'and Professor Snape...he had a bunch of potions on him. He gave them all to Ron. Neville had healed him up before.'
'I did, too, but...I don't think I did a very good job of it,' said Hermione. 'I was panicking, I didn't have my own wand...'
'It's okay,' said Augustus. 'What all of you did have saved his life. He should have...well, he's in a very bad way, that much is obvious. But he's stable enough, I think, that we can get him to hospital. He could be in for a long haul.'
'Augustus...' the Healer witch whispered.
Ron was drifting off again.
'Should I give him something to keep him awake?'
'Better not,' said Augustus. 'He's had taken so many potions already I'm not sure what good it would, do. Listen, Sarah, can you get back to the hospital and prepare a room for him? And fetch Healer Smethwyck--he's taken care of lots of Weasleys.'
'Will do,' said Sarah, and she got up quickly and left the room as Augustus bent down over Ron, who was, indeed, starting to fall asleep.
'Ron,' Augustus said again, 'you need to stay awake for me, okay? Just for a few minutes. I need to check you for a concussion.'
'Uh-huh...' Ron muttered, his eyes fluttering again. 'Ow...'
Augustus began to gently prod Ron's head. Hermione winced in sympathy as the Healer's fingers came away bloody, from a wound over Ron's left ear. The Healer then took his wand and began running it over and around Ron's head; the wand buzzed a strange grey color.
'Well, there's one miracle,' said Augustus dryly. 'He's not concussed.'
'S'good,' Ron mumbled.
Augustus continued his quiet investigation, moving his fingers along Ron's many wounds, all of which had healed over due to Fawkes and to Snape's potions, but the Healer's face creased into a frown as he repeated the process using his wand. Again, the wand vibrated, this time glowing red as it passed over each injury on Ron's body.
'He needs St. Mungo's, right now,' said Augustus. 'The phoenix tears took care of the worst of the damage, and the potions are helping at the moment, but...the internal damage is extensive. I'll need to render him unconscious for the journey.'
Augustus extracted a very frightening looking syringe with a long needle on the end from his robes. Harry grimaced and Hermione gave a little start.
'Just a bit of sedative,' Augustus assured. 'It'll keep him stable for the trip to hospital.' He looked down at Ron, who was staring at the syringe with what normally would have been plate-sized eyes but were now half-closed, owing to his injuries and extreme fatigue.
'Wassat?' he muttered.
'Sedative,' Augustus repeated. He gently lifted Ron's arm and turned it out so that the inside of Ron's elbow faced the ceiling.
'W-wait...' Ron protested.
'You'll just feel a pinch,' Augustus assured him, and he stuck Ron in arm with the needle.
'Ow...that hurtsh...' Ron's protest slurred away, and within two seconds, he was asleep.
'He'll...he'll be all right, won't he?' Hermione asked fretfully. She was squeezing Harry's hand again.
Augustus looked up. 'We'll do everything we can for him.'
That's not what Hermione asked, Harry thought, but Hermione simply nodded and bent down, taking Ron's hand in hers.
At that moment, two more Healers appeared.
'Is he ready to be moved?' one of them asked, a burly middle-aged wizard with thick, graying hair and a walrus mustache.
'Yeah, he's ready to go,' said Augustus. He muttered something else, as if trying not to let Harry and Hermione hear. Harry caught the words 'emergency unit', but Hermione, who was again stroking Ron's hair, didn't seem to have heard. It was just as well; Hermione was so tense Harry feared that any hint of bad news might send her into a panic.
The two Healers gently urged Hermione aside. She stood up and backed away, rubbing at her jaw, which had begun to swell again.
'Mobilicorpus,' the burly wizard Healer muttered, and Ron was levitated gently upward in a reclining position; the other Healer, a witch of roughly the same age as her partner, arranged Ron's arms across his chest.
'T-take care of him...' Hermione begged. She began to worry her hands, and Harry went to her and put an arm around her. Together, they watched the two Healers float Ron out of the room.
'He'll be all right,' Hermione said, more to herself than anything else. Harry could only watch Ron be levitated away, his torn, blood-stained robes hanging limply on his beaten, damaged body.
'Miss,' said another voice. Harry and Hermione moved their gaze from Ron's retreating form to find another Healer standing before them. She was about thirty or so, and she gazed at Hermione with warm concern.
'I'll be wantin' to take a look at that jaw,' said the witch, in a gentle Welsh lilt. 'And your leg. Could ye come with me?'
Her leg?
Harry looked down, and only then noticed that Hermione's leg was encased in burned denim.
Why didn't I see that before?
Good lord. What did Nott do to her?
'O-okay,' said Hermione hesitantly. Harry stared at her for a moment, taking in the fact that Hermione had covered her pain completely as they focused on Ron. The witch moved to Hermione's side and helped her to a nearby chair; Hermione walked with a pronounced limp. Harry wondered if everyone would leave the Ministry with a leg injury, and then he remembered his own leg, and suddenly the pain came flaring back.
In that moment, Harry realized that he, too, hadn't felt any pain in his own body, so focused had he been on saving Ron. But now that Ron was on his way to hospital, now that Hermione was being treated, now that the Healers were here and repairing the damage of those who were alive, and taking away those who were dead...
All those dead people...
Harry felt a wave of dizziness, followed by a rush of nausea. He staggered and fought the sudden urge to vomit.
'Whoa,' said Augustus, who caught Harry from falling. 'Harry?'
'I'm okay,' Harry lied, but suddenly the room was spinning. If his leg possessed a voice, it would be screaming in pain. The voices in the room grew louder. Harry could smell blood and burned flesh. He looked over at Hermione, who sat with her leg outstretched; the denim of her jeans had been cut away to reveal an ugly span of third degree burns on her thigh, and she cried softly as the Healer tended to her wound.
Hermione looked over and met his eyes.
'Harry?' she called.
Her features blurred. Harry's bad leg buckled at the knee. The room was spinning out of control...
'Harry!'
The last thing Harry heard was Hermione's startled yell before he passed out in Augustus Pye's arms.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Harry was in a strange room. He'd never seen it in his life, he was sure of it. A bedroom, it appeared to be, but it was as stark and cold a room as his closet under the stairs at Number Four Privet Drive
He frowned for a moment, wondering why he was hear, when he heard...humming.
He turned to the source of the humming and found it, or rather, her. A woman, a very pretty woman, with alabaster skin and dark brown eyes, sat at a small, flimsy dressing table, brushing her long red hair. She might have even been beautiful, were it not for the sadness of her eyes. She set down her hairbrush and placed a hand on her belly, which, Harry noticed, was slightly swollen. When she looked up again, her eyes swam with unshed tears, and she began to sing.
'Era bella com'angiol del cielo,
'Innocente degl'anni sul fiore,
'Ed il palpito primo d'amore
'Un crudele nel cor le destò.
'Inesperta, fidente ne'giuri,
'Sè commise all'amante sleale;
'Fu sedotta! e l'anello nuziale,
'Poveretta, ma indarno invocò.'
Harry had no idea what it meant; he wasn't even sure what language she was singing in. Only that it was the saddest song he'd ever heard. The woman placed her hand on her belly again, and sang a little more.
'All'infamia dannata, allo scherno,
'Nove lune gemèla tradita;
'Poi consunta dal duolo la vita,
'Pregò venia al crudele e spirò...'
She broke off, her voice failing her as tears began to fall on her face.
'Please...'
Harry blinked, and suddenly he was back in the room of blood sacrifices, and Tom Riddle was standing in front of him, seventeen and holding the portrait of the red-haired woman in front of his chest. He opened his mouth, and he began to sing, but it was in his mother's voice.
'Ed il frutto del vil tradimento
'Nel sepolcro posogli d'appresso;
'Là non sorse una croce, un cipresso,
'Non un sasso il suo nome portò,
'Non un sasso, una croce il suo nome portò...
Finish it, Harry.
Harry blinked, and Voldemort was on the ground, his arms splayed out.
'Please...'
'No!'
Harry sat up with a start. His scar tingled and his right hand flew to it instinctively.
No, it can't tingle! It's not supposed to...Voldemort's dead! Why is my scar still tingling?
Harry pressed at his scar and it was only after a few seconds that he realized he was tingling everywhere, with fear and horror at what he'd just dreamed. He let out a breath of relief. It wasn't just his scar, it was everything, he'd just been dreaming of...Voldemort...and Riddle, and Riddle's mother.
Harry blinked and shook his head, trying to get his bearings. He looked about the room and realized quite suddenly that he was in a hospital, but it wasn't the Hogwarts hospital wing. This room was clearly in St. Mungo's hospital, and he was alone. Faint light was streaming into the room. It was just before dawn.
Harry sat back for a moment, remembering himself. He'd been in a battle. He'd defeated Lord Voldemort. He'd hurt his leg. He'd witnessed Ron nearly die, and Ginny...
Ron! Ginny!
Harry sat up sharply. His head swam slightly, and he guessed it had to do with whatever potions he'd been given to heal his leg, which didn't hurt him now, but which felt very, very stiff.
And yet the stiffness in his leg didn't matter to him; he was suddenly consumed with the need to find out about Ron and Ginny, and angry, too, that nobody had bothered to wake him up to tell him that Ron and Ginny were both doing fine.
Because they were. He knew they had to be doing fine.
Harry threw off the covers of the bed and swung his legs around. His bare feet landed on very cold tile. He realized with some amusement that he was alone in this room. He'd just defeated the darkest wizard in decades; he would have expected the reporters to be camped outside his room, and security to be surrounding him, but as he came to his senses, he heard the hustle and bustle outside his room: the hospital was very, very busy.
Harry pursed his lips and tried not to think about the implications of that. He knew that the Ministry wouldn't have been the only scene of a battle last night. Perhaps Voldemort had sent out more dark creatures, more Death Eaters--how many could there be?--to murder and maim more innocent people.
Harry walked stiffly to the closet and flung it open, seeking something to wear aside from his pyjamas, but all he found in the closet was a set of old, used, hospital-issue robes and a pair of slippers. He then remembered Ginny's wand, and was relieved to find it tucked into the pocket of the robes. It would have to do for now; he wasn't about to waste time worrying about his wardrobe when he needed to find out about Ron and Ginny's conditions.
He put on the slippers and robes and opened the door to his room. At once, his ears were assaulted with noise. It was chaos in the corridor: Healers were running to and fro, bringing in injured people on stretchers and in wheel chairs. A medi-witch and two Healers hurried past him, pushing a huffing, puffing, very pregnant woman in a wheelchair, as her husband ran frantically after them.
'That's it, dear! Just remember the breathing exercises!'
Harry moved carefully out of the way of the onslaught of people; it was slow work, just getting out of the corridor and trying to find his way to the lobby, so that he could find Ron's and Ginny's rooms, but it was just as well. Harry still felt a bit light-headed--his stomach growled and he realized suddenly that he hadn't eaten for hours--and watching all the people rush around him was making him just a bit dizzy. He had to lean against the wall a few times and catch his breath.
A medi-wizard walked by, and Harry cleared his throat.
'Excuse me, sir, could you--'
'Can't talk now!' the wizard barked, going right past him, but then he stopped and turned around. 'What are you doing out of bed? Go back to your room!'
Harry half-expected the wizard to force him back to his bedroom, but the wizard turned sharply on his heel and hurried away.
Harry met with the same response a few more times, and he was suddenly struck by the irony that nobody seemed to know he was there. How often he would have liked to blend into a crowd, to not be noticed as the Boy Who Lived, but now, when he needed to get someone, anyone's attention...
Harry groaned and forced himself to keep walking. The only help for it was the receptionist at the front desk. He'd do whatever he had to do to find out about Ron and Ginny. He'd even play his fame card if he had to...
'Harry, what are you doing?'
Harry whirled about to see Augustus Pye approaching him, looking supremely exhausted and even more put out.
'Er..' Harry stammered.
'Are you mad? Go back to your room and get some rest!' Augustus said sternly.
'Please, Augustus, I just want to know what's going on with Ron, and Hermione--'
'We're still working on Ron,' said Augustus impatiently, wiping his hands on his smock. 'I'm just on my way to the lab to get more Blood Replenishing Draught.'
'He's...he's still bleeding internally?' said Harry, horrified.
'Not anymore,' said Augustus. 'Look...he threw a clot and we had to...we had to fix an artery, and he lost a lot of blood.'
Harry blanched. He had no idea what 'throwing a clot' meant, but he knew it wasn't anything good.
'Harry, he's going to make it,' said Augustus wearily. 'I don't know how the hell he's pulled along this far, but he has, and unless something major goes wrong in the next several hours--which I don't foresee happening--he's going to pull through. And if you want to know about Miss Granger, she's fine, she's all healed up and from what I understand, she went back to the school to get some rest. She was healthy enough to leave and we need all the beds we can get.
'Speaking of which, I want you to go back to bed right now. You won't do Ron or Hermione any good if you're half-dead on your own feet.'
'But I want to know about Ginny, too!' Harry protested.
'Ginny?' said Augustus, looking confused. 'Ginny Weasley? What about her?'
Harry matched Augustus's confused expression. 'What d'ye mean, what about her? She's here in the hospital somewhere. Draco Malfoy brought her in ages ago.'
Augustus frowned. 'I know Malfoy was here at some point. I think he had some broken ribs. He might still be around, but you'd have to ask the receptionist. But...I don't recall seeing Ginny.'
Harry blanched.
'Look, Harry, if Ginny isn't here she's probably back at the school,' Augustus assured him. 'We can't spare any beds here unless people are seriously injured--'
'Augustus, we need you!' came an agitated shout.
'Sorry, Harry, I've really got to run,' said Augustus, and he hurried off, but Harry had barely heard him. His thoughts were focused only on Ginny, and the fact that Augustus hadn't seen her.
He's not the only Healer around, and it's chaos right now. Maybe she came through earlier. I'll have to check with the receptionist.
Harry hurried up to the receptionist's desk, pushing past people, all of whom were protesting.
'Excuse me, but there is a queue!'
'See here, wait your turn!'
Harry grunted and lifted his fringe up, revealing his scar, and as he expected, everyone shut up and let him through.
The receptionist was in mid-conversation with a very harried looking witch who was holding a toddler that kept burping up foul smelling bubbles when Harry reached the desk.
'What on earth--' the receptionist began, and Harry again revealed his scar.
'Oh, my!' the receptionist gasped, and the harried mother moved out of the way just as her son belched another rancid smelling bubble, that popped just over Harry's head. He ignored it.
'Where's Ginny Weasley?' he barked at the receptionist. 'Which room?'
'Er...Ginny Weasley?' the receptionist repeated, and she quickly flipped through her ledger. 'Ginny Weasley...she's...well...I don't see any listing for a Ginny Weasley.'
Harry felt his stomach drop; his throat dried up in an instant.
'Are you sure?' he rasped.
The witch behind the desk bit her lip nervously and flipped through the ledger again, a bit more slowly. Harry clenched his fists.
She looked up and shook her head. 'N-no, Mr. Potter. I'm...I'm afraid she's not in the book. She...she never checked in.'
'But Draco Malfoy brought her in,' Harry insisted. 'He's here, Healer Pye said he's here.'
The witch flipped through her book again, and then pointed at an entry.
'Yes,' she said. 'Mr. Malfoy was admitted at...let's see...just past midnight. But...'
More flipping pages.
'No Ginny Weasley.'
Harry could have sworn his heart stopped in that moment. He thought back to everything that had happened that night. Ginny had contacted him Empathically. He'd felt it when he was fighting Voldemort. But he'd lost contact with her after that. He'd...no...he hadn't tried to contact her. Because he was tired, and worried about Ron...and then he'd passed out and wound up here...hours ago...
Malfoy.
Draco was supposed to have brought her here. Why was he here, and Ginny not here?
Relax, Potter, maybe she's back at the castle.
At once, Harry reached out to Ginny with his mind.
Ginny! Ginny, can you hear me?
'Mr. Potter?'
Harry ignored the witch behind the desk, and moved away from her. He tried again.
Ginny! Answer me...
Harry...Harry...help me...
Harry felt his heart squeeze in his chest; it was pain but it wasn't his. It was Ginny's.
Ginny was hurt, somewhere. Draco hadn't brought her back to the hospital after all.
Draco, who'd been obsessing after Ginny all year. Who'd wanted Ginny so badly he even imagined he was shagging her while he was with Pansy. Who'd done all he could to manipulate Ginny into helping him.
Harry felt the anger bubbling up inside him like hot acid. He whirled on the witch at the reception desk.
'What room is Malfoy in?' he demanded.
'Er...well...technically I'm not supposed to--'
'WHAT ROOM IS HE IN?' Harry bellowed, earning startled cries from the crowd. The burping toddler began to cry.
'R-room 312,' the receptionist stammered. 'It's on the--'
But Harry was already running. A surge of adrenaline and fury fueled him as he shoved past everyone in his way, dodging wheelchairs and crutches and irritable patients and anxious Healers, Harry went for the main staircase and raced upwards, not feeling the barest hint of pain in his bad leg.
All he could think about was Draco Malfoy, here in a hospital room, and Ginny...somewhere else, in pain, probably tied up...Draco would be imagining himself finding her, taking her, raping her...
304, 305...
'Hey, no running in the corridors!' a caretaker called, as Harry leapt over the man's mop and bucket.
310, 311...312...
'Alohomora!' Harry roared, performing the Unlocking Charm without a wand; his fury was such that the door was blown off its hinges.
'Oi! What d'you think you're doing?' the caretaker yelled, but then Harry whipped around and raised his hand at the caretaker, daring him to make so much as a move.
The caretaker shrank back; he had a wand tucked in his belt, but rather than pulling it out, he backed away and started towards the stairs, no doubt to alert security.
Harry ignored him and charged into Draco's room.
I'll kill him...I'll beat the truth out of him and then I'll...
Malfoy was in the corner of the room, pulling on his robes, his face ashen.
'Malfoy...' Harry growled, and he stormed towards the blond boy.
'Harry, don't!' Draco snapped, and he raised his wand with a shaking hand.
Harry swallowed. Draco looked weak and tired, as though he'd just woken up a few minutes ago, but he still had a wand, and Harry--wandless magic abilities or not--couldn't compete with a wand. He could try and go for Ginny's wand, which was tucked in the pocket of the robes he wore, but he might not be fast enough. And yet the fury in Harry's soul wouldn't rest.
'Where is she?' he yelled. 'What have you done with Ginny?'
'Nothing!' Draco yelled back, and his voice was pleading. 'I swear, Potter, I was on my way to bring her here and we were attacked.'
'You lie!' Harry roared, and he made to charge, but Draco raised his wand and leveled it with Harry's throat.
'I'll hurt you!' Draco hissed, but Harry saw that his hand was shaking.
Harry fought to catch his breath, fought for calm. Murdering Draco might satisfy him in the short term, but it would do nothing to help him find Ginny.
'What happened?' Harry asked instead.
'I told you, we were attacked,' said Draco quickly. His whole body trembled, and his eyes stayed on Harry's. 'I swear, Potter. I swear on my mother's grave, okay? We were in the tunnel on our way here and we got jumped. I got...I got my leg broken and Ginny...oh god...Potter...'
Harry...help me...
Harry winced. 'Ginny got taken.'
'Yeah,' said Draco, and he looked genuinely stricken, and it was then that Harry knew Draco wasn't lying.
Harry felt his whole body shake with rage, and suddenly it was too much. This wasn't happening. Ginny hadn't been kidnapped again. Voldemort had taken her because she was Empathic, because she was useful to him. What use could Ginny be to anyone now, now that Voldemort was dead, now that his Death Eaters had, Harry knew in his heart, been routed?
With a howl Harry threw his fist into the wall, punching a hole into it; Draco recoiled. Harry felt his knuckles spit open and crack, but the pain was good. It forced him to focus.
'Why?' Harry muttered. 'Why was she taken?'
Draco gave a choked noise, and Harry looked up.
'You know why?' he said, moving towards Draco, who didn't raise his wand this time. Instead he just looked at Harry miserably.
'She took her because of me,' he said, his voice heavy.
'She?' said Harry. 'Who?' He cast about for the names of female Death Eaters, and only one came to mind. 'Helene Rosier?'
'No,' said Draco, and his eyes became red-rimmed. 'Not Rosier.' He paused and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. Something crossed his face, a mixture of horror and disbelief, and above all, awful realization.
'Who?' Harry persisted, grabbing Draco's shoulders and shaking him.
Harry...can you hear me? Help me...
'Malfoy, tell me!' Harry yelled. 'Who took Ginny?'
Draco let out an anguished breath. 'Pansy. Pansy Parkinson.'
A/N: Thanks, as ever, to lina, for beta-reading!
About the cliffie: I promise I won't leave you hanging for very long--I finally have a bit more time to write, and as this story is headed towards the end, material is coming to me a lot faster--I just needed to get over the "hump" of writing Chapter 50. In the meantime, I'll leave everyone to speculate on Pansy, but everything about her will be revealed in the next chapter.
On Malfoy's mother: I decided to make her Italian and give her the surname of Marvolo. I couldn't think of any logical reason as to why Tom Riddle would have Marvolo as his middle name, unless it was his mother's maiden name, and "Marvolo" sounds Italian to me (my Italian readers might disagree). Riddle's mum's first name, Adriana? Shamelessly stolen from a character on the TV series The Sopranos. Adriana Marvolo, in my universe, comes from the Veneto region of Italy, and has Irish/Celtic ancestry, which explains her red hair and paler complexion.
About the song Adriana sings: This is a real Italian song, not something I made up. It's called La Seduzione--The Seduction. The lyrics are an Italian poem by Luigi Balestra, and the music is written by Giuseppe Verdi, one of Italy's most celebrated operatic composers. I've actually sung this song myself in concerts. The translation is below, but bear in mind this is not a literal, word-for-word translation, which wouldn't make much sense to English-speaking readers. I've instead chosen a translation that is as close to the Italian as it could be. The song is a very fitting piece for a woman in Adriana's situation, I think; in her time, an unwed pregnant woman was cast out of society and forced to live in a confinement situation in a sort of group home for unwed mothers. Typically, when these women had their children, the babies were taken from them as part of their "punishment" for being pregnant out of wedlock.
I can't honestly say if the wizarding world would have held to such traditions, but the "Muggle" world certainly did, and I think such a situation for Adriana, although she is a witch, adds a layer of depth to her tragedy, and Tom's.
She was beautiful as an angel from heaven,
Innocent as a flower,
And at the first heartbeat of love
A cruel lover stirred in her heart.
Innocent, faithful, she swore love.
She gave herself up to a faithless lover;
She was seduced!
And for a marriage ring,
poor thing, she begged in vain.
From torment, shame, from mocking,
Nine months the dishonored girl wept;
Then her grief consumed her life.
She begged forgiveness for her cruel lover,
and died.
Additional words, sung by Tom in Adriana's voice:
And the fruit of the vile betrayal
lies nearby her in the tomb.
There stands no cross, nor cypress tree
No headstone or cross bears her name.
Obviously, the last four lines of the song don't technically apply to Adriana's situation; Tom doesn't die, and he places flowers on her grave. But those words illustrate the depths of Adriana's despair well, I think.