Chapter Eleven
Together Harry and Hermione apparated to Diagon Alley. Casting the tracing spell, she was able to determine that they had taken Ron somewhere in the north of England.
"Let's go then," Harry said impetuously.
"No, Harry," she told him forcefully, "Not until we have a plan—and certainly not by ourselves. We are going to need help to find him and to get him away."
"We're losing time," he argued.
"I know, I know." Quickly, she tried to devise a plan. He was right, the longer they waited the worse off Ron could be when they found him, if they found him. They could have apparated to one spot and then to another. She didn't know how long the tracing charm would work.
"Listen, we need to get word to the other Order members what has happened and what we are going to do. Run and get an owl, I'll write us a note," she instructed him. He ran off, leaving her to rummage in the pockets of her robe for spare parchment and a quill. She was just finishing the urgent message when Harry returned with a small but quick looking owl.
"What's the plan, Hermione?"
"We'll send word to Fred and George—their shop is close by here isn't it? They can alert the other Order members. We'll go ahead, under the same invisibility spell Mad-Eye Moody uses on you, and scout out the situation. They may have moved on to another location in which case we'll have to use the tracing spell again. Otherwise, we just stay quiet until help arrives. There are only two of us, Harry, we can't take on a gang of Death Eaters alone," she said, emphasizing her last point. He merely nodded. He knew what was at stake.
She tied the letter to the owl's leg and then cast the invisibility charm on both of them.
"Ready?" he asked as he took her hand. She nodded and then they apparated.
The sight that greeted them was one that Hermione would never forget and that would haunt her dreams for years to come. They were standing in an ancient stone circle like many that dotted the English countryside. The sky was tinted an eerie green from the Dark Mark hovering above and below lay her best friend of almost eight years, an empty look of terror on his face—they were too late.
She hardly had time to process the scene before she heard shouts and the sound of curses cutting through the air.
"Someone's followed us!" she heard someone yell.
"Duck!" she whispered urgently to Harry, shoving him to the ground.
They were invisible but the loud crack that came with apparating had alerted the Death Eaters of their presence. Though they couldn't see them, they sent a flurry of hexes and curses in their direction. They needed to apparate out of danger as quickly as possible but before Hermione could whisper this to Harry, he had shoved her off of him and stood up, his own wand drawn. She watched in horror as he gave a guttural yell and charged forward, determined to avenge the death of his friend. She couldn't leave him to face them alone, and so she too quickly got up and started flinging curses in every direction, praying that the other Order members would arrive quickly.
They had the advantage of being invisible but the Death Eaters could determine fairly easily where they were standing by where the different jets of colored lights were coming from; they also outnumbered them. Crisscrossing the small circle, she tried hard to make sure she didn't stay in one place for too long. There appeared to be about six of them, but four of them seemed to be concentrating on where she was standing.
'If they knew it was Harry Potter they were fighting, they wouldn't be so keen on me,' she thought ironically as she hit one with a body-binding curse.
Harry seemed to be doing fine, having already felled one man. Dodging another burst of light she heard two loud cracks sounding the arrival of two more people. She hoped it was help and not more Death Eaters; they couldn't handle much more of this by themselves. Hermione turned to see Tonks and Shacklebolt, and then realizing her mistake too late everything faded to darkness as a hex hit her square in the back.
She awoke in the hospital wing of Hogwarts to see Harry sitting next to her bed. His hair was more disheveled than normal and his glasses sat askew on his face, broken in the battle no doubt.
"Hermione!" he cried, throwing himself at her. He embraced her firmly until she was sure she wouldn't be able to breathe.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice muffled by his chest. Pulling back she saw the tears he was desperately trying to hold back.
"Crabbe Sr. hit you with a pretty nasty hex, but Shacklebolt took care of him. It was over in minutes when more Order members arrived."
"And you're okay?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said softly. She reached for her wand sitting on the bedside table.
"Oculus Reparo," she murmured, pointing her wand at his glasses. They quickly righted themselves and he reached up to touch them.
"I never can remember that one," he said. She smiled weakly at him.
Silence soon descended on them as neither one knew what to say; they were both still in shock over the day's tragedy. It was still too fresh, too painful to discuss even between the two of them. But their thoughts were soon interrupted by the banging of the infirmary doors. Severus strode into the room, his black robes billowing behind him. Coming to the foot of her bed, he surveyed Harry.
"Move," he demanded.
"You're not wanted here Snape," Harry said, standing and pulling out his wand.
"Harry," she pleaded, "give us a moment." He looked back at her surprised but did as she asked.
"I'll be back later," he said more to Snape than to her, the warning clear in his voice. When he was gone, Severus took a seat in the chair by the bed. She had expected his face to soften with Harry's departure but if anything he became more severe as he sat staring at her.
"What the hell were you thinking going after a group of Death Eaters by yourself?!" he roared. She was taken aback—no concern for her safety, no inquiries into her health, just loud accusations. She clenched her fists and it took all of her willpower to keep her wand down.
"I was trying to save my best friend," she answered, her voice cracking with emotion.
"Bloody good it did you. You almost got yourself killed as well." That was it. She had had enough. Raising her wand, she pointed it at his chest.
"This is your fault," she whispered dangerously. "You knew. You knew and you did nothing. Too busy playing your spy games and now Ron is dead. Dead and it's your fault." He sat there staring, unable to say a word. Abruptly he rose from the chair and slid out of the room. She watched him go and as he passed through the hospital wing doors, she dropped her wand and collapsed back onto the bed in tears.
A/N: I have read several convincing essays that predict Ron will not survive to the end of the series. I suggest reading the editorial The North Tower on mugglenet; the article is entitled "Die Ron Die," as well as John Granger's book The Hidden Key to Harry Potter. Sorry about the cliffhanger but you shouldn't have to wait too long.