The Point of No Return
author's note: To all the H/Hr fans who have felt a little shunned due to recent events...I don't care what the books say. I don't care what the fans say. I don't even care what JKR says. Just because something's popular doesn't mean it's right! Here's to the minority.
chapter nine: So I Dated a Supersoldier
Hermione awoke to find herself in a plush, warm bed, surrounded by a lavish comforter and dozens of fluffy pillows. Moaning, she attempted to sit up and was instantly reminded of the day before as pain shot through her head and ribcage; pressing her eyes shut, she lowered herself back down against the pillows.
A few seconds passed and then she heard the door creaking open. She looked up to see Harry tip-toeing into the room and could not help the smile that stretched out across her face, despite the pain she felt at her busted lip. "Harry."
"Hermione." Harry was at her side in an instant. "How are you feeling? Are you okay?"
"Fine, now that I'm here again." She looked around, frowning. "How did I get back here anyway?"
"Mulder," Harry explained. "Apparently he and Krychek go way back. He was investigating him and just happened to come across you."
"Lucky that." Forgetting her previous experience, Hermione attempted to sit up once again. She let out a gasp as sharp pain flooded through her chest.
Harry reached out, steadying her. His eyes were filled with worry. "Are you all right?"
Hermione forced a laugh. "Oh, you know me, Harry. It's really not all that bad– I'm just a wuss."
Ignoring this comment, Harry reached forward and felt her ribcage. As he pressed one particularly sore spot she couldn't help herself and yelped, clutching at his hand.
"I think one of the ribs is broken," Harry said quietly, and Hermione could tell it took all of his energy not to let his anger show. "You need to see a mediwitch. Someone who can heal you--"
"Not now."
He frowned at her. "Hermione, you can barely move. Let someone look you over, make sure you're all right--"
Hermione met his gaze, her lower lip trembling. "Harry, I just spent the last eight hours being poked and prodded by a man I once trusted while a group of strangers watched on. I was strapped down to a table and they did things to me that I don't ever want to mention, don't ever want to think about again. So please don't ask me to let a stranger in here right now to examine me. Not now."
Harry took a moment, processing this. He nodded. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm just glad you're okay."
Tentatively, he leaned forward and hugged her, taking great care not to injure her in any way. At the feel of his arms around her, Hermione felt her eyes flood with tears. She never wanted him to let go of her. It was the safest she'd ever felt in her entire life.
A knock at the door interrupted the moment. Harry pulled back, wiping at his own eyes. "Come in."
The door creaked open and Ron stuck his head in. "Is this a bad time?"
Hermione grinned at him. "No, please. Come in."
Ron stopped in his tracks at the sight of her, did a double-take. The smile faded from his face. "What did they do to you?"
Hermione tightened her grip on Harry's hand, not wanting to repeat her outburst from before. Seeming to take the hint, Harry met Ron's gaze, shook his head. "How did you manage to get away from home?" he inquired, changing the subject.
Ron glanced to Hermione and forced a smile. "Luna's watching Arthur and there's nothing good on the telephone, so I thought I'd drop in."
Hermione exchanged a brief smile with Harry. Like his father, Ron was obsessed with Muggle artifacts but didn't really understand them. "There's nothing on the television," she corrected him. "You talk on the telephone, you watch tv."
Ron shrugged. "Yeah, right. That's what I meant." He seated himself next to Hermione's bed, opposite where Harry sat. "Hear you played a brilliant game today, Harry."
"Must've heard it from a blind man then," Harry returned, "It was the worst game of my life, including that time during seventh year when my right arm was broken."
Hermione frowned sympathetically. "It was that bad, huh?"
"Well, I didn't want to bring it up," Ron interjected, "But Ginny owled me right away to tell me how bad it went and..."
But his heart just wasn't in it. He shook his head, sucking in a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I can't think about anything else. Did they catch the guy that did this to you, Hermione?"
"Ron," said Harry warningly.
Ron ran a hand through his hair. "I can't just pretend it's not there! My best friend comes home looking like this and I'm supposed to talk about Quidditch?" He turned to Hermione. "At least tell me you've called a Mediwitch. You look bloody awful."
"Hermione doesn't want to see any strangers right now," Harry informed him, "and I think we need to respect that."
"Well someone needs to treat her." Ron frowned as an idea popped into his head. "What about that agent– the red haired one. Didn't she say she's a doctor?"
"I don't know," Harry returned, "maybe."
Ron seemed pleased with himself. "Let her look at you, then. She's not a stranger."
"She's a muggle," Hermione argued.
"Yeah, but I bet she knows her stuff." Ron folded his arms. "Besides, you have to see someone and if you won't let a mediwitch come in than this is the next best thing."
Hermione could feel Harry's gaze upon her, waiting for her reaction. She sighed, admitting defeat. "Fine. But only Scully. I don't want everyone in here gawking at me..."
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Scully emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, her face grim. In an instant, Harry and Ron were upon her. "Well?" Ron demanded. "What's wrong with her?"
"A busted lip, several surface bruises on her body, two broken ribs, and puncture wounds."
Harry furrowed his brow. "What does all of that mean?"
"The bruises on her wrists and legs suggest that she was bound, and the puncture wounds indicate that she was being examined," Scully explained. She hesitated. "But the lip and broken ribs were done separately. Either she put up a fight and they were trying to restrain her, or they were just being cruel."
The two men took a moment to process this. "I'll kill him," Ron said after a moment. "The moment that rat shows his face, I'll murder him."
Scully turned to Harry, expecting him to make a similar threat, but he didn't have to. It was written there clearly in his eyes. The next time he saw Alex Krychek, he would make him suffer.
"There's more," Scully admitted. "When I was in there with her, I sort of let slip about your mother and Draco's father. I didn't mean any harm– I assumed you'd already told her."
Harry let out a deep breath. "It's all right. I think it's time we addressed this head-on. With everything else that's been going on, we haven't really had time to discuss it."
The truth of the matter was, Harry could scarcely allow himself to believe that his mother had once been married to Lucius Malfoy, the racist, elitist death eater who had been one of Voldemort's most avid supporters. Still, if Scully's vision had been interpreted correctly, Lily certainly hadn't gone into the marriage willingly; furthermore, no one in Harry's life had even so much as hinted to Harry that his mother had been married before, and Draco seemed just as shocked as he was. There was something very underhanded about the entire thing.
"I think you're right," Scully agreed. "I know that Draco certainly has questions, as do I."
Harry nodded. "Best get it over with now, I suppose. Can you and Ron round everyone up in Hermione's room?"
Ron exchanged a glance with Scully. "Do you think Hermione's up for it?"
"She won't want to be left out," Harry returned.
A few minutes later, the entire group had assembled in Hermione's bedroom. Harry waited until everyone had quieted down and then turned to address the group. "Let's just get into it then. I think it's safe to assume at this point that my mother was, in fact, married to Lucius Malfoy. So I guess the real question is–why was it kept hidden? And how is it that none of us had any indication whatsoever?"
Draco leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Those of you who knew my father know he dabbled in the black arts. It's possible that he cast a memory spell so pervasive that no one remembered he and Lily had ever been married, including Lily herself."
Ron frowned at this. "Is something like that even possible?"
"Yes," Hermione spoke up, "but it wouldn't be easy. And it's possible that there are a few wizards out there who were immune to the spell and remember reality as it was. I'm willing to wager one of those wizards is Dumbledore."
"He didn't really seem all that surprised when we told him about Scully's visions," Harry agreed, "and he was reluctant to tell us anything about it, which would suggest it was something like this he was hiding."
"That and Dumbledore knows freakin' everything," Ron added.
Reyes cleared her throat. "Look, I know I'm sort of an outsider in this, but it's possible that Lucius wasn't the one who perpetrated all of this. From the moment I entered this house, I've felt a strong connection to the supernatural, like someone's trying to contact us from beyond the grave. The place I felt the strongest connection was at the fireplace, where the entrance to Lucius's secret chamber was located. Maybe he was trying to contact us, show us the truth."
Draco cleared his throat. "Hate to burst your bubble," he said, "but there's no way my father was innocent in this. If there's anyone in this house trying to set things right from beyond the grave, it's..." He trailed off, shifting in his seat uneasily.
"Who?" Reyes pressed.
"Yeah," Ron spoke up, folding his arms. "I think at this point we all have a right to know. Especially if it can help us discover the truth about Harry's mum."
Draco took in a deep breath, finally nodded. "Most of you already know that my dad became a little unhinged after Voldemort died. Funny side-effect of losing one's life purpose, I suppose. We were all worried about him, but I always assumed that if he went off the deep-end, he'd only hurt himself."
He closed his eyes, turning his face away. "One morning I came downstairs and found both him and my mother at the fireplace. They were dead. My father had strangled her and then taken his own life."
Without realizing that she'd done it, Reyes reached out, touched his arm.
"I could never figure out why he did it," Draco concluded, seeming to have found renewed strength from Reyes' touch. "Guess it was finally too much for him. Voldemort's defeat, the end of the Death Eaters."
The group was silent for a moment, processing this information. Doggett cleared his throat. "Or maybe not. Maybe your mother found out the truth and he had to make sure it was kept quiet."
Scully frowned, nodded. "They were found at the fireplace– right at the entrance to your father's secret chamber. It isn't implausible."
Ron scratched his head, figuring out something in his mind. "If that's true, then there must be something more to it. I mean, your father was pretty desperate to hide that wedding, Malfoy."
"Maybe it ended bad," Mulder said, with only the faintest touch of humor to his voice.
Harry folded his arms. "I'm still not entirely certain this wedding thing is true. My mother and father were married right out of Hogwarts– she was only seventeen at the time, eighteen tops. When did she have time to fit in another wedding? And why would she ever marry Lucius Malfoy?" Remembering Draco was in the room, he gave a sheepish glance in his direction. "No offense."
"None taken."
Reyes ran a hand through her hair. "It does seem a little strange. But then, I hardly think it's a coincidence that Scully had a vision about your mother marrying Draco's father and we found a wedding album full of pictures from the blessed day. Unless Draco's father was really into photo-shopping..."
"Speaking of coincidences," Mulder spoke up, his normally jovial face grim, "I think we can all agree that it's no act of chance that Krychek is here in London, just when we happen to be doing the tourist thing."
Hermione flinched at the mention of the name; still, it was something that would have to be addressed sooner or later, and so she braced herself before jumping in: "But Alex– Krychek– and I have been dating for months, long before you ever came. How could he have known that you would all be here?"
Mulder shrugged. "However it is the supersoldiers always know everything. Although I'm not entirely unconvinced that this isn't a project that's long been in the works. Think of it– aliens come to the earth to study our life forms, right? And what more interesting test subjects can there be than the supernatural. The magical."
Hermione sighed, smiling wryly. "I should have known he had ulterior motives. He was a little too interested in Hogwarts: A History."
Harry managed a small smile at this, recalling his friend's longstanding interest in the book; still, it did little to evaporate the darkness that threatened to engulf him. It was all too much. The very idea that his mother had once been married to Lucius Malfoy, a man who had been one of Voldemort's most ardent supporters, a man so ruthless he had killed his wife with his bare hands...
And then there was the whole issue of the supersoldiers. Perhaps they'd chosen Hermione based solely on her own merits. Or perhaps Mulder was right. Perhaps it was all connected back to them, to Scully's visions. Which meant that it was also connected to him; Hermione had suffered, had been tortured and beaten, all because of him...
He felt the warm contact of skin and looked down to see Hermione's fingers closing over his hand. Even in the midst of her own agony she was still concerned first and foremost with his pain. She met his gaze.
You didn't do this, her eyes seemed to say.
Aloud, she murmured, "I'm getting tired, Harry. Do you think...?"
He turned to the others. "I think it's time we called it a night. Hermione needs to get some rest, and I think we can all afford to have some time to think."
Obediently, the crowd dispersed until it was just Harry, Ron, and Hermione once more. Ron paused at Hermione's bedside, moving in as though to hug her; but, remembering her injured rib, he instead took her hand.
"Let me know if you need anything," he said, his eyes full of uncharacteristic solemnity, "anything, Hermione, I mean it."
"Thanks, Ron."
After he'd left, Harry lingered for a moment, uncertain of how to voice the emotions inside of him. He settled finally for kissing her forehead. "I'm glad you're back, Hermione. I don't know what I'd do if..."
But even with her safe in Malfoy Manor, he couldn't bear to say the words. Instead he squeezed her hand, moved to go.
"Harry?"
He stopped in the doorway and turned back. To his surprise, Hermione's eyes were filled with tears; she seemed very young suddenly, as though she was still that little girl who'd been hiding in the bathroom when a troll wandered in and two reckless boys came to save her.
She attempted to smile, but it was wobbly at best. "I don't..." She swallowed, a few telltale tears trickling down her cheek. "I don't want to be alone."
Without needing any further prompting, Harry moved back into the room. He meant to take a chair by the bed, but Hermione held out a hand to him, pulling him up beside her on the plush mattress. Not wanting to hurt her, he merely lie there by her side, afraid to even touch her; after a few seconds, she was asleep.
He watched her for a moment, saw the gash in her lip and the bruises scattered across her body, heard her labored breathing. And for the first time in his life, he understood what it must have been like for his father to die at the hands of Voldemort, knowing he would next go after the woman he loved and helpless to stop it.
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Out in the hall, Ron was surprised to see Draco waiting for him. Despite Draco's newfound reformed personality, Ron still found he was a little wary and gripped the wand in his back pocket– just in case.
If Draco noticed, he didn't let on. "How is she?" he asked.
"As well as can be expected," Ron returned, "considering."
Draco nodded, seeming to absorb this. "And I suppose Harry's staying with her?"
Ron could not help the suspicion that Draco was up to something and heard an edge creep into his voice. "Yeah– what of it?"
"He's a little preoccupied right now," Draco explained, "so I think it's best that you and I take matters into our own hands."
Despite himself, Ron felt his heart jump with excitement. "You mean attack Krychek and his E.T. friends?"
Draco frowned at this. "No– not exactly what I had in mind." He took in a deep breath, seeming to steel himself. "I think it's time we make a little visit to Dumbledore."
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