Darkness Before the Sun Rises
Chapter 6
Dark, overbearing clouds hung over the small town as another snowstorm threatened to spill its snowflakes on the already white ground. Despite the chill and the ominous storm, Hermione could not prevent the smile that had spread on her face. Chapped lips, cold ears and disarrayed hair were far from her mind. All she could think about was Harry. He had sent her a letter.
A letter!
She was ecstatic at the idea of seeing him after what felt like forever, but technically it had only been about a month. The emptiness that had eaten away at her heart from not seeing her friend had made every minute seem like an eternity. She couldn't wait to see his smiling face, She couldn't wait to see his smiling face, his eyes that always seemed to calm her when nervous and comfort her when sad, and the untidy flop of raven hair.
Now she had hope again. Hope that everything would be okay in the end. That Harry would finally heal and come back to Hogwarts. That they would somehow find Ron, even if it meant bypassing all the laws that prevented them from searching for their friend.
Everything would be as it should. Nothing would get in the way of that; she was sure of it.
Upon entering St. Mungo's, Hermione followed the vaguely familiar path that led to Harry Potter's private room. She rounded the candle lit corners and walked vivaciously down winding hallways before coming to the wooden door with the numbers 167 clad in iron labels
She raised her arm hesitantly to knock on the door, apprehensive that someone would spy her and cast her from the ward before she had the chance to see Harry. Her gentle raps echoed down the vacant hallway and she sighed in relief as the door opened to let her in.
As Hermione walked through to Harry's room, she passed a medi-witch, half-hidden by the large stacks of parchment surrounding her desk. The witch at the desk looked at her and then nodded, allowing Hermione to continue to the door on the other side of the room.
Harry's door.
She smiled and looked back at the witch, whose brows were furrowed, emphasising her wrinkles in the dimly lit room
Hermione returned her attention back to the door in front of her. Slowly turning the brass doorknob, she pushed the mahogany door open and tentatively stepped inside the room.
The room smelled of cinnamon sticks and oranges. Two distinctly opposite smells oddly forming together in a rather welcoming aroma. She inhaled the scent and ravished as it filled her lungs and warmed her with it's comforting fragrance.
Hermione's eyes finally settled on the lone bed that occupied the room. She could make out the few strands of familiar dark hair poking out over the top of the sheets. A gentle smile was present on her face as she approached the bed and gazed at the wizard occupying it. Hermione noted with an amused smile that his glasses were resting atop his nose. He must have forgotten to take them off. How Hermione yearned to see the familiar emerald eyes that were bound closed.
She placed her hand upon his, the gentle pressure exuding the hidden emotions within. She ran her thumb, methodically across the top of his hand. How she had missed his touch.
Green eyes fluttered open at the gentle caresses of his hand. Brown and green connected in a moment of ambiguity and both seemed lost in the continuity of their held gazes. Both in complete shock and jubilation at seeing something they had missed so dearly
It wasn't until Hermione had stopped her administrations and wrapped her arms around Harry that he had been able to speak the name of the one person he had wanted to see for weeks. "Hermione!" he cried, wrapping his arms tightly around her.
"Harry." Her cry was accompanied by actual tears that seeped through the bandages on his shoulder. He hissed with pain as the saltiness came in contact with part of his wound hidden beneath the dressings, causing Hermione to abruptly pull herself away. "Oh, I'm sorry," she sobbed, a few more tears trickling down her rosy cheeks.
"Hermione," Harry whispered, staring at the girl on his bed. He had missed her delicate smile, the jumble of hair that had a mind of it's own, and most of all her russet eyes. He stared into them; all time standing still as the two held the other's gaze not wanting to break the contact. Harry smiled and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "How are you doing?"
She gave his hand a squeeze and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, "Better now that I'm here."
Harry gave a small chuckle. "That's good."
A comfortable silence fell as the two relished in the other's company.
For the first time since she'd gotten there Hermione looked around the room Harry had occupied since the last battle. It's white walls adorned with moving pictures of famous medi-witches and wizards. She observed as a young nurse gave a boy a teaspoon of some sort of medicinal syrup. The boy made a face before settling down in his bed. The nurse gently caressed the boys' hair, soothing the child into a calming sleep.
Hermione turned her attention back to Harry, who was quietly watching the same picture she had been watching herself . She took the time to take in his appearance. At first glance, he looked lively and awake, but she noticed now how pale his skin looked, and how much thinner he was, compared to the last time she'd seen him. His eyes were shadowed by the dark lines underneath them from lack of sleep... she suddenly realised how ill he looked...
"How are you doing, Harry?" Hermione asked after awhile.
He gave a sigh but smiled nonetheless. "I'm fine. Just peachy."
Hermione sent him a stern look. "Are you really?"
Harry looked down for a brief second before looking back into her eyes, "Yes, I believe that I am."
Hermione enveloped him into another hug as relief washed over her. "I'm so glad," she breathed.
He was going to be okay!
"And they say that there is no cure, Albus?" The stern voice of Professor McGonagall was anything but stern. It sounded as if tears were being held at bay; making her sound as if she were croaking the words out to the respected Headmaster.
"Well there is one, but there is little hope of it being performed," spoke the aged man.
"What do you mean?" Minerva asked, her brow creasing in confusion.
"The magic of someone who has tampered with the Dark Arts can perform the counter curse," he stated simply, not bothering to add anything else.
After a moment of processing this vague information, McGonagall proceeded with her interrogation. "What about Remus Lupin or even Severus? Wouldn't they be probable candidates to perform the counter curse?"
Albus Dumbledore gave a smiled knowingly. The woman reminded him of another Gryffindor who had asked him the same question. "Minerva, you know that Remus is unable to perform such a spell since he has never dabbled into the Dark Arts and you know of Snape's agreement and refusal to get mixed up in things regarding the Dark Arts. I have already asked him and he politely refused. Plus, his contract with the Ministry would not allow it."
"Surely there must be something we can do, Albus! We can't just let Potter sit in St. Mungo's and die!" she shrilled, her voice echoing down the narrow corridor.
"I'm afraid that all we can do is hope for some sort of miracle to happen. Until then, would you care for a lemon drop?" The Headmaster offered a bag of the sweets to his colleague who politely refused it before turning and leaving.
Professor McGonagall looked after the elderly man, a gloomy expression pulling at her old lines. She sighed out loud and turned to leave in the opposite direction, prepared to do some research on Placidus Casus before heading to bed.
Her steps echoed down the ancient halls, never once noticing the prying eyes of a certain Slytherin hidden behind a nearby column.
The Head Boy crept out from behind the stone and checked both directions the two professors had left with a look of disbelief written on his face. He had heard the Headmaster telling Granger that Potter was going to die, but he hadn't believe it at the time.
Potter was the only hope for salvation and deliverance from Voldemort. Without him, there would be nothing left of the Wizarding world but death and destruction. Without Potter all Muggle-borns would be killed.
Draco shrugged; he didn't have a problem with that.
'But what about Granger?' his mind argued.
What about her? She was nothing but dirt to him. She wasn't worth all the time he had spent thinking about her ever since he had found her crying in their corridor. He hated the fact that he couldn't get the way her eyes looked when she cried out of his mind, or forget how fascinating she would look when her fists were clenched at her sides whenever she was agitated.
"This is ridiculous!" he argued. She could die at the hands of Voldemort and his minons and he wouldn't even give her a second glance. He didn't give a fig about her!
"Stupid mudblood," he muttered, gathering his wits about him and dismissing the witch from his mind. He didn't care one bit about her; not at all.
Draco stifled a yawn, suddenly realising how late it was. He peered down the corridor, checking left and right for any sign of a teacher or Mrs. Norris
The coast was clear.
He marched with determined step through the hallways to his common room; the same one he had to share with Granger.
The long journey through the castle gave him ample time to process the information he had previously heard.
He hadn't believed the news when the Headmaster told Granger. It wasn't possible. Potter had escaped worse fates than this silly curse - he had survived the killing curse when he was a baby! Something so small wouldn't get in the way of the boy who lived.
Potter was going to die, and the entire wizarding world would go down with him. There There would be no light if Voldemort ascended to the throne. There will be misery and death. Everything would change. Everything he had secretly supported would be killed and demolished.
"There has to be another way," he reasoned, replaying Dumbledore's news in his head.
"Placidus Casus," he repeated. "Silent Death."
He paused, his steps stopping. His mind reeling with the translation.
"Silent Death... but how? By what means?"
His eyes roamed the corridor he was in as if the answer would somehow spell itself out on the stonewalls.
He had read something about that curse before, but where?!
I would like to thank my beta reader for staying up until six in the morning helping me get this ready before I left for college! I promised a lot of you that it would be up, so here it is! Be sure to thank her when you drop reviews in my thread in the Library forum!