Perfect Memory

PG-13

Ron/Hermione and other relationships yet to be decided.

Chapter Five: "We were young in a world that was so tired"

The past, one month before graduation

Harry clenched his fists tightly and studied the floor of the room, pretending to find it the most fascinating thing in the world. He was on his knees, his messy hair falling forward to obscure Hermione's view of his green eyes, which were wide with pain.

His chest felt like it was clamped in a vise as he struggled to control his breathing and keep it from escaping in ragged gasps. Slowly he drew in a breath, his lungs screaming for more, more—and slowly he exhaled, even though he wanted gasp and suck up all the oxygen in the room.

"Harry, are you alright?" called Hermione's concerned voice from across the room. She took a step towards him, thought the better of it, and stepped back again to wait for him.

Harry now had control of his breathing and studied the cracks and broken stones that had pushed up from the floor. They radiated out from around him, as though he had struck the floor with great force. He knew that tomorrow, when he came back here, the floor would be as smooth as ever, the damage undone. No evidence would be left that he was losing his mind. He wondered if the lack of evidence made it any less real.

"Harry?" Hermione called out again, and Harry growled in response.

"Hermione, I'm fine. Just give me a moment."

"Okay," she replied, but her voice was unsure. Behind her, the only door into room swung open suddenly, causing her jump and the liquid in the vial she was holding splash perilously close the edge. She hurriedly checked that she hadn't spilled a drop (she hadn't) before turning towards the intruder. "Oh!" she exclaimed, seeing who it was.

"Professor Snape," muttered Harry from across the room. He hadn't so much as flinched when Snape had barged in, and even now, he didn't bother to look up.

"Potter," the spy smoothly acknowledged. He turned to Hermione. "You have the vial, Ms. Granger?"

"Yes, Professor," she said, her tone clipped and professional. She had long conquered any animosity and fear that she felt towards the Potions Master, since they had to work with each other for the Order on a regular basis. She passed the vial full of deep burgundy liquid to Snape. "There's the blood as you requested, collected from Harry before the spell. Snape examined it for a moment and placed a stopper in it before passing it back. Striding towards Harry, he knelt down next to the Gryffindor and pulled out several tools from a black potions satchel that he carried with him.

Finally he pulled out a long, thick needle. Without pausing, he jabbed straight into Harry's arm. Harry tensed, but did not move away. Snape shoved the needle a bit farther into his arm, provoking a whimper. The professor grinned maliciously. Oh yes, he was enjoying every moment of this. It wasn't every day that he got to stab Potter with sharp pointed objects.

As he drew the needle out, a stream of blood followed it, floating in the air. A minute more and Snape had succeeded in placing the blood in another vial, disposing of the needle, and slapping a bandage on the hero's arm. "I'm done," he said, and gestured for Hermione. "I'm going to take this back my laboratory and analyze it. But, I suspect it's as we feared." He took the vial of blood that Hermione had and held it up next to the one that he had just collected. The first vial looked like normal blood, swirling thickly around in the glass container.

The second was identical, except that it obviously glowed with a silver tinge. "Spell poisoned," muttered Hermione. "This was always a possibility. We'll have to discontinue the casting until we find the antidote."

Professor Snape gave his most cynical smirk. "For all your flaunted and vaunted intelligence, Ms. Granger, sometimes you are exceptionally naïve. Discontinue the casting, indeed. No, at the Headmaster's orders, Harry will continue his work."

Hermione looked distraught. "But we can't continue these spells! They're destroying Harry!"

"And saving the wizarding world." He glanced over to Harry, who was now lying on his back amid the rubble of the floor. Addressing Hermione, he said, "Have him rest for now, but no longer than a half-hour. We don't want to risk the spell deteriorating. After he rests he must complete the ward, and cement it to this object." The professor pulled out a solid glass globe the size of his fist from his satchel and handed it to Hermione. "Notify the headmaster as soon as the ward is completed. Then you may return to your rooms if you wish."

Snape left then, his dark robes swirling about him as he walked out the door. Hermione winced as it slammed behind him. Then she turned to Harry, dreading what she had to tell him, knowing that he had heard every word.

"Hermione," he called. His voice was low but unshaken. Of course Harry would be strong even in the face of death. He always had been…

"Hermione," he called again.

"Yes, Harry?" She replied, her soft brown eyes meeting his tired green.

"I'm fine. Really." But it was evident that he didn't mean a word of it.

"Oh, Harry!" Her voice hitched and she could feel tears stinging her eyes.

"I'm rested now, 'Mione. You best step outside. I'll call you once the spell is finished."

"Oh, are you sure? Snape said you could have a whole half hour to rest."

He sat up, shadows playing across face from some indefinable light source. "I don't need to rest. And the spell must be set, or its potency will weaken. At least that's Snape said, right? So let's finish this so I can get out of this damn room."

She nodded mutely, but he didn't see since his eyes had slid shut. He could hear her footsteps clicking across the floor, the door creak as it swung open and then click quietly shut. He opened his eyes and glanced around to make sure that he was truly alone.

Then he laid back down, staring up and the vaulted ceiling so high that it was lost in darkness…or maybe that was just another illusion. He wasn't sure about anything anymore. Everything was less real in this room. It was a round, with a curve to the sides that suggested there might be a dome at the top. No windows, only one door. The walls were cold and damp…Harry thought that maybe this meant the room was underground. He wasn't sure, really. All he knew was that this place is at the heart of Hogwarts, and was wreathed in stone and magical barriers to keep the slightest hint of a stray spell from escaping.

Nothing had felt so much like a prison before. And he was a prisoner here, at least until finished Dumbledore's bidding.

"They think you're crazy, Potter."

"It doesn't matter. Despite what they say, they think I'm loyal…"

He sighed. Not for the first time he wondered what tricks his mind was playing on him. Memories felt as if they were becoming real.

Harry reached out with out looking, his hand intuitively finding the crystal globe that had been placed next to him. Picking it up, he placed it over his heart. It rested there heavily, pressing against his rib cage. He took a deep breath and began to mutter. Latin spilled off his tongue as if it was his native language.

He didn't bother standing up. There was no point to it, really, since no one was here to observe him. When others monitored his spells, he tended to make sweeping, dramatic motions as he wrote out the sigils for the wards.

But no one was here now, so he could let his weaknesses show. He didn't have to stand up and look strong for them. He didn't have to pretend he was powerful just so they could feel confident that they had made the right choice. He didn't have to pretend that yes, he was the Savior of the World and he knew exactly what he was doing. Here he could be exactly what he was: the Headmaster's puppet.

As his words flowed, magic stirred. He was grateful that the hard part—the painful part—was over. From here it was all finishing touches. Glowing grids crisscrossed the room, symbols swirled across the floor. It would have looked chaotic to anyone else; only he could see the wondrous pattern he was creating. Cupping the globe in his hands, he centered his power there. The magic made visible spun about him, focused on him. He needed no wand for this—he did not control magic, he was magic. There was no need for an instrument to focus his magic, he was the focus.

He smiled as his spell reached it apex, tears running down his cheeks. He could see it all—he knew it all—and it was bitterly beautiful.

--

"I'm finished."

Hermione started at Harry's rough voice—it sounded like he had been gargling gravel. She pulled away from the cool stone wall she had been leaning against and carefully looked him over. His pupils were pinpoints despite the shadows of the corridors, and his lips were chapped and bleeding. He swayed unsteadily on his feet, his eyes focused on something in the distance. Hermione had a sinking feeling that if she turned around she would find the corridor empty. These days Harry's gaze was constantly locked on something she could never see. It was almost as if he was gazing right beyond this time and straight into the future.

For lack of anything else to say, she commented, "That took you rather long. Was there trouble?"

He didn't answer her question, and instead stumbled forward, right on to Hermione, his taller frame pressed against hers. She blushed heatedly, even though she knew Harry didn't mean anything by it.

"Hermione," he mumbled against her ear, "I'm finished. The anchor—take it, I'm about to drop it." She gently pushed Harry off and took the globe. And soon as she had touched the glass orb she gave an involuntary yelp and almost dropped it.

"Oh, careful, I think it's cold," mumbled Harry, not seeming to care that his warning was late.

Hermione just nodded and whipped her wand out to levitate it and once it was out of the way, she turned back to Harry. "Here's your wand back. Hmm. There's no way you can be seen staggering through the castle like a drunk. Hold still, for goodness sake! How else am I supposed to cast a strengthening charm on you?"

The charm was exactly what Harry needed. He stood a bit straighter and blinked. Hermione was a bit disappointed to see that his pupils were still constricted, but they would go back to normal after some sleep, she supposed.

They hurried down the corridor. The winding passage took several sharp turns and had no stairs to climb or doors to pass through, yet no one ever came down this way. At the end of their journey, it finally opened into one of the main hallways. Some students hurried past, heading their dorms. Checking her pocket watch, she frowned. It was almost curfew.

Lavender passed by chatting with a tall, blonde Ravenclaw and shot Hermione a surprised look as she passed two-thirds of the Golden Trio by. For only a moment Hermione was confused, but then she realized what she and Harry must look like, standing there next to each other, which Harry's arm still draped over her shoulders, his robes looking disheveled and his hair more tousled than usual. Hermione's own cheeks were flushed red with the exertion from the long trip up from the containment room. She blushed all the harder knowing what Lavender thought the two of them had been up to.  She sighed again. Ron would not appreciate these rumors.

"I'll report to Albus."

Hermione glanced over to Harry. He had removed his arm from around her shoulders was definitely more stable on his feet, but she worried that being interrogated by the Headmaster might prove too much for him.

Harry guessed what she was thinking and rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, already, 'Mione. Stop worrying. It's not like I'm some delicate flower—I've been through a lot worse then just cobbling together some wards, right?"

"Yes," sighed Hermione. She tugged at one of her wild curls. This was the third time in two hours that he had insisted that he was okay. "What about curfew?"

"You don't really think Albus is going to let the Savior of the Wizarding World get in trouble because he's a bit late for bed?" His smile was lightly mocking, as if he was a parent reassuring a child that there were no monsters hiding in closets.

Hermione frowned. But this was the world of magic, and there were monsters hiding in closets, especially in these days since the war had starts. There were nightmares hiding everywhere. But she only said, "Alright, Harry. Just be careful and stay out of trouble." She gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek before turning to hurrying back towards the Gryffindor rooms.

Harry looked down the corridor in the direction of Dumbledore's office. The end of the hall was lost in darkness, the torches having been doused for the night. He smiled. Darkness was never something he'd feared. Reaching blindly behind himself he grasped the spell globe and ended the levitation spell. He didn't wince as the icy-cold orb touched his skin, but instead strode confidently forward, until he too had been lost in the darkness.

--

Hermione smiled as she entered the common room. Ron had tried to wait up for her, but had ended up falling asleep all the same. He was sprawled over the couch, his head tilted back and his mouth hanging slightly open. She thought he looked adorable.

As she brushed his unruly red hair away from his face, his eyes fluttered open.

"H'lo, 'Mione," he muttered sleepily. He stretched and rubbed his eyes, looking around the common room. "Where's Harry?"

"Reporting to Dumbledore about the ward. Come on, let's go to bed. I'll tell you all about it in the morning."

Ron looked at her seriously. "He didn't mention anything about me, did he? Anything about me angry at me?"

"No. You two didn't have another fight, did you? This is getting silly, Ron," she said in an exasperated tone. "Besides, if he hated you that much, he couldn't very well have made the ward tonight, could he have?"

Ron frowned and he turned around, one foot resting on the steps towards his dorm. "Why do you say that?"

Hermione smiled and walked up to him, placing her hand on his shoulders. "Because the ward was made for you. The Burrow has a dozen ancient spells on it, but Dumbledore knows you'll probably want to move out after graduation and get your own place. So he asked Harry to made a ward stone to install wherever you decide to settle down. It's portable, too, so if you move you can take it with you. Harry's going to make me one as well—just think, our home will have twice the protection."

"Our home," Ron repeated wonderingly. "Isn't that amazing, 'Mione? We're going to finally have a place together. And someday, maybe, a place for a family?"

She tiptoed up and gave him a gentle kiss, her lips barely brushing across his. "Absolutely. I want nothing more than to have a family with you.  I love you, Ron. But not until after the war, okay, love?"

Ron just grinned and pulled her closer, kissing her soundly.

--

"Harry! Wait up, mate!" Ron ran through the sunlit hallway, his robes open and flapping wildly behind him.

"I was just on my way to Hogsmeade to pick up some potions ingredients. I really can't stop to chat—"

Ron noted that Harry had the remarkable ability to make even sunlight look depressing. The sunbeams that filtered through the wide glass windows cast harsh shadows across Harry's face and made his green eyes glow unnaturally brilliant.

"Eh, Harry, since when do you pick up potions ingredients? You haven't taken a Potions class since fifth year."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Since I became Snape's bitch, that's since when." Harry walked over towards Ron and lowered his voice, his eyes darting around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "Ever since I've been chosen to become the Order's main defense against the dark arts, I've needed all sorts of draughts and specially-made potions that can't be bought. They're too much for Hermione to handle, and since Snape is a Potions Master, he's been brewing them. The downside is, I've become his errand boy. Sadistic bastard always waits until weekends to suck up my time." He frowned. "Bastard," he said again for emphasis.

Ron, meanwhile was reeling from the information overload. Normally he had to drag information out of Harry, but here Harry was complaining to him like they were old friends. Which, he supposed, they were, but lately they hadn't been close.

Harry leveled his gaze at the taller Keeper. "Come on, I suppose you could talk to me as we walk." Without further comment he turned around and started to walk toward the main entrance.

Ron fell into step beside him, grinning that once again they were walking to Hogsmeade together, just like they used to.

"So what was it that you wanted to tell me?" asked Harry, not bothering to look at Ron as he spoke.

The youngest Weasely boy glanced nervously towards the only Potter child. "Er, that is, I wanted to thank you."

"For what?"

"The ward. 'Mione told me you made it for me and that you're making one for her too. Thanks for that, anyway. It'll be a big help when we get our own place."

Harry stopped walking and turned towards Ron. Lifting one eyebrow, he asked, "So you and Hermione still plan on going through with this marriage thing? Despite the Order?"

"Yes," Ron glared back defiantly. "I love her."

Harry shrugged and continued to walk. "Like I said, I'm in no position to give advice about love. Do as you please."

Ron fell behind, watching as his friend continued and disappeared beyond the main courtyard.

Ron had just stepped off the staircase that led to the Gryffindor dorms when the Fat Lady's portrait suddenly swung open. Hermione stood there for a moment, her curls tumbling over her shoulders and her cheeks rosy, looking almost too perfect for Ron to stand. She caught sight of him then, and a wide smile crossed her face. The red head was struck with the realization that no matter what this war came to, this image of Hermione—the young girl who loved him—would live in his memory forever. When he finally closed his eyes to die, this moment was what he would hold in his mind.

"Ron!" Hermione's light voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"Oh, hey 'Mione!" he said, smiling as he caught her in his arms and leaned in for a kiss.

"Ron, not here!" she hissed, pulling away. "People will see!"

Slightly put off, he let her go. "Where you off to?"

"Hogsmeade. I have to buy some Potions ingredients. Would you like to come too?"

"Of course. So why do you need to pick up potions stuff?" He casually draped one arm across her shoulders, and to his relief, she didn't shrug it off.

"What do you mean? You know I'm working with Professor Snape on some antidote research. He's asked me to pick up supplies. Although why he always waits until my free days to take my time, I'll never know."

Ron's brow furrowed. "So then why did he send Harry, if he was going to send you too?"

"Send Harry? Ron, what are you talking about? Harry hasn't been by the laboratory all day. Besides, the Professor doesn't trust him with buying potions stores. He says Harry doesn't have enough sense to tell unicorn hair from dung beetle wings."

"But Harry told me he was buying potions for Snape," Ron said with a sinking feeling in his gut. "This isn't good, is it?"

Hermione stared wide-eyed at her lover as her clever brain pieced together every detail she had ever learned to create a whole picture. "Oh no," she murmured as she began to discern a pattern. "Oh no, he wouldn't—he wouldn't dare—" suddenly she spun around and sprinted for the exit. "Come on, Ron! We might be able to catch him in time!"

Ron took after her, swearing furiously under his breath. "Damn it, I hate it when she does this! Just once, couldn't she tell me what the bloody hell is going on before she takes off running?" But really, he didn't mind. It was like old times, running to discover the answer to their last riddle. Only this time, Harry wasn't by his side, laughing in the face of danger. No, this time he had the sinking feeling Harry was the danger.

--

Hogsmeade was bustling with end-of-year crowds. Graduation was approaching fast and many students were making purchases for the various parties that were being held.

Besides, the last few weekends had been cancelled due to reports of increased Death Eater activities. This weekend Dumbledore has announced that the threat had somewhat diminished and allowed students to travel as they pleased.

And while exams were on many of the older students' minds, the bright summer day and cool breeze had blown away any worries they might have. For now, everyone was content to just have a day of relaxation.

As Hermione pushed her way through the giggling crowds of carefree students, her heart gave a sharp twist. She should be at Honeyduke's, listening to Harry and Ron daring each other to try a cockroach cluster, not under fear that her best friend was about to get himself arrested.

She was reaching the end of Hogsmeade's main road when she realized the crowd she was passing through had taken a decidedly different attitude. Instead of laughing and chatting happily, they were standing still, pushing to get a better view of whatever was in the middle of the crowd of spectators. There was muttering and shocking whispers, some of which Hermione overheard.

"Shameful, a curse like that used—"

"Right in broad daylight!"

"He had it coming, I suppose—"

"What can you expect, from a Slytherin?"

"It's a good thing it's Harry Potter, not some poor child!"

"At least he can protect himself!"

Unable to stand it any longer, she shoved the spectators out of her way, not caring about the indignant cries that followed in her wake. All that mattered was Harry. She knew he was in the center of this mess, and probably at fault for it, knowing Harry.

Finally she came to the break in the crowd. There were several Aurors, most holding the crowd at bay. Two were at the center, questioning Harry—whose face was dark with rage—and none other than Draco Malfoy, who looked as bored and haughty as he always did, despite the crowd's obvious hostility towards him.

Harry suddenly looked up as if something had startled him. Carefully he began to scan the crowd, his eyes finally coming to rest on Hermione. A wicked smile appeared on his lips, and without even pausing to give explanation to the Auror who was talking with him, he strode over to Hermione.

"Harry?" She squeaked nervously. Harry was really much closer to her than he needed to be. She could feel his warm breath across her cheek as he whispered in her ear.

"Hermione, I need you to do me another favor. Take this," he said, dropping a velvet bag into her hands, "and leave immediately. Grab Ron—I presume he followed you here—and get back to Hogwarts as fast as you can. Whatever you do, don't open the bag. As soon as you get the chance, leave it in the West Tower, on the desk."

"Harry, what's going on?" she hissed frantically, seeing the Auror approach.

"I can't tell you now. I'm fine, Hermione. It'll all be okay. Just don't open the bag. Do you understand? Don't open the bag."

He was pulled away then by the Auror, who was apparently upset that Harry had ditched their little 'chat'.  Hermione stuffed the velvet bag in her robes and pushed her way back through the crowd. It was easier getting out. Harry had been right; Ron was waiting for her on the fringes of the group.

"Hermione, what's going on?" He asked, his voice an echo of her own questions.

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. Harry said he'd explain when he got back. But for now, Ron, we have to get back to the West Tower. Right now."

She hurried away, Ron dogging her footsteps. " 'Mione, what about Snape's potions?"

Hermione cursed then, surprising her boyfriend, and then sighed. "I suppose I'll get them tomorrow. He'll not be happy, but it can't be helped. For now, we have to get to the West Tower."

So they hurried on, Hermione's stomach clenching with dread. When Harry had dropped the bag into Hermione's hand, she had felt something within. It felt an awful like it was a bag full of glass marbles. But Harry wouldn't need to hide that from the Aurors, so it had to be something more.

But Harry wouldn't sell us out, would he? He's loyal to the Order, not matter how he acts. He'd never betray us, would he? But try as she might to shake off these treacherous thoughts, she couldn't help but feel that everything she had believed in was starting to come crashing down…

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