Thank you to TheVanishingAct for Betaing this particular chapter :) He did a wonderful job!
Warning: This chapter, though somewhat lighter than the previous, still deals with serious issues.
Chapter 8:
Unfamiliar
Hermione Granger rubbed her eyes ferociously as the Latin script blurred in front of her. Brushing her unruly mass of brunette hair aside, she tried again, but the words just wouldn't sort themselves into understandable text. Hermione snapped the dusty tome shut, realizing there was no sense in trying to concentrate. She checked the strange gold pocket watch that she had been keeping in her breast pocket. It was eleven. It was eleven, and they hadn't returned. It's useless to fret, Hermione scolded to herself. But even as the thought crossed her mind, she was busy making a mental calculation of when they had left, when they said they would return, and what time it was now.
They were over an hour late.
The fire in the hearth was blazing, but the tower was cold. And empty. With Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry closed, the entire castle seemed to echo these sentiments. It wasn't really, of course; ever since August, Hogwarts had become the central headquarters for the fight against Voldemort. It was constantly bustling with the witches and wizards commonly known as the Phoenix Front, and the House living quarters had been transformed into barracks for everyone from Order of the Phoenix, to Aurors and Ministry officials, and to a plentiful number of younger recruits that Hermione had once called her schoolmates.
However, Hogwarts was no longer the warm haven of Hermione's schooldays; it was all business now, transformed from a wondrous magical academy into a fortress preparing its troops for war.
At first, many had rebelled against the idea of using Hogwarts as the Phoenix Front's headquarters. After all, it was an obvious location, and a location that Voldemort's forces knew as well, if not better than the members of the Front did. The argument died down though as wizards realized that Hogwarts would also be the easiest to defend. Not only were its protective spells hardened with a millennium's worth of years, but the location itself was almost ideal to defend physically. On two sides, it was bordered by cliffs and a sprawling lake, and to the north it was guarded by the town of Hogsmead, which was backed by tremendous mountains. Only the east presented a slight problem, with its wild Forbidden Forest cloaking the hills as far as the eye can see. The Front had placed many spies in these woods, but there was still no telling what evils lay in its depths.
Through just a bit of research into Hogwarts: A History's companion, Hogwarts: Defying History, Hermione had discovered that Hogwarts Castle had originally been a small fortress for a Scottish fief during the Alpin Dynasty. It had been built there for the same reason they were using it now—it was easy to defend. At the time, she had read, the Forest had been much farther away, separated from the fief by great rolling moors. By the time the Godric Gryffindor came upon the ruins of the old castle, the woods had choked most of these plains. None of the Founders could discover why the castle had been abandoned in the first place, but it seemed to fit all of their purposes quite well. When they first began to rebuild the castle to suit their own needs, all of them agreed that they would have to keep their eyes on the Forest, for they were all of the single mind that the trees would not be friendly to their ideals.
So, like the Founders, the Front had taken over Hogsmede and its presiding castle, with the idea that they could keep an constant eye on the Forest. Hermione had watched alongside Harry and Ron as witches and wizards Apparated to Hogsmede for days on end. Though the Front welcomed as many recruits as they could get, the new arrivals always went through a series of rather intrusive tests down in the village before they could proceed to Hogwarts.
It had at first put the three friends at unease having such a strange assortment of people roaming their school's halls. They weren't alone. With so many different types of wizards and witches around, spouting their own views and putting down others', tension was a common factor in conversation. Disputes and arguments broke out so frequently that officials were often forced to break up duels.
Everyone, though, was united under the intention to prepare for war, and prepare they did. Physical training and weapons training filled mornings, while defensive and offensive strategy filled evenings. In between, there were hours of lessons in the types of magic that would aid them in battle. The spells were harsh and crude, and they all were forced to practice extensively in many different scenarios. Ron and Harry did exceptionally well, of course, thriving on the raw challenges presented to them. Hermion, though, was of a different mind; she couldn't help but miss the days of lugging schoolbooks around and learning intricate and subtle new magics.
As Harry and Ron had progressed excellently, Hermione had found herself slipping more and more into her own routine. Instead of attending battlemagic sessions and weapons training, Hermione had taken it upon herself to receive private tutoring from McGonogall and Slughorn. Though she despised the latter, she knew she could contribute far more to the cause by brewing complex potions than learning how to slap the ground and roll when falling. Secretly, Hermione also wanted to sit her N.E.W.T.S come spring, but she had told no one other than McGonagall of these intentions. Harry and Ron, especially, would think Hermione insane to consider her studies at a time like this.
The tight relationship that the three had shared over the past seven years had suffered under the hand of the Front. Their training was taking them all separate ways, though they had always tried to meet late every evening to exchange news. At first, the three of them had also gone off a lot together, attacking the problem of the remaining Horcruxes with a wild fervor. Soon though, the search had become more difficult then even Harry had even expected; every lead was a wild goose chase, and each chase was shorter than the last.
And then, in a flurry of horrendous attacks and an official decree, the War began in earnest, and their struggling relationship became more strained than ever. When they weren't training or assisting in some way, they were attending war councils and watching familiar faces return, haunted, from the battlefield. Details were often sent out to combat Voldemort's forces or to just clean up their terrible messes. The tales that had come back through the mouths of Lupin and the older Weasleys about these experiences were enough to make the even the more experienced warriors' hairs stand on end.
Hermione, herself, never went to the battlefronts, but she saw quite enough of the carnage in the Hospital Wing, where she often assisted Madame Pomfrey and Hestia Jones wherever she could—bandaging, administering potions, calming the delusional and cursed. It was a tough job, and both mentally and physically exhausting. Quickly, she gained a whole new respect for the Hogwarts nurse, and for the plump and friendly Hestia, who had once been a Healer at St. Mungo's and was very wiling to teach Hermione all she knew.
With the onslaught of War, perhaps the most devastating thing of all was that any romantic possibilities between she and Ron Weasley were shut up and locked away for a day far in the future. Their duties and training had quickly stripped the pair of all time and energy for any "extracurriculars". Ron, especially, was severely dedicated to his tutelage, spending far more of his days preparing for battle than trying to rebuild a life that once was.
A glimmer of hope had surfaced when he had presented Hermione with a birthday gift in September. It was a battered but beautiful gold pocket watch, the kind that told you far more than the time if you knew what to ask it. With a faint blush, Ron had told her that it had been his grandfather's. Hermione could not have thanked him more genuinely.
In the two weeks following her birthday, they had managed to find some time between their hectic schedules to spend with each other. It wasn't much, but she treasured each moment with him more than she ever had before. On a particularly cold Thursday evening, two weeks before Halloween, Ron had approached her in the Gryffindor Tower, with a piece of parchment in his grasp. As Hermione stared into the gloom of this particular night, she remembered that one with far more vivid detail than what she could see at the present.
With a sweeping motion, Hermione rose to her feet and gathered the basin that she had stored behind a rather pompous-looking bust of Godric Gryffindor. It was neither elaborate nor large, but it would serve for her purposes. She drew her wand, and in a slow, melodic voice, she spoke the ancient words that would place the strange runes around the bowl's edges. When she was finished, Hermione stared at it for a moment, both surprised and at the same time not, that she had accomplished what she had. Mimicking what the Headmistress had shown her several times, Hermione placed her wand at her temple, and drew from it the memory that gleamed on the surface of her mind.
"Hermione?" questioned Ron nervously from behind her. Hermione had been working on developing a particularly complex variant on the truth potion, and she had just reached a very crucial step.
"Yes, Ron?" she said impatiently, lifting her gaze from her calculations.
"I er, well—here." He thrust at her the parchment, whose broken seal gleamed with the purple stamp of the Ministry. Her gaze softened as she took it from him—under that red flush was an expression of great pride.
Co: Mr. Ronald Billius Weasley;
It is with great pleasure that The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, after much deliberation, has decided to offer you acceptance into WAND, the Wizard Academy for National Defense. Based on your impressive performance in basic training, you are a prime candidate for our program that trains witches and wizards such as yourself for careers as Aurors.
Because of our compromised position, all training will continue at Hogwarts Castle. If you choose to join the program, we will contact you with more information and you will be assigned to your mentor...
Hermione stopped reading at that point to hand it back to him. She had seen several of such letters delivered to the likes of Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Angelina Johnson over the course of the morning. They all said the same thing—that a chosen few were to become Junior Aurors, that they should be proud, that they were the future of the Front. It was highly dangerous, and both physically and mentally draining. They would also be tested on the battlefield with the Death Eaters. The only "future" Hermione imagined for them was at the merciless hands of Voldemort's army.
"Congratulations, Ron."
"You don't sound very excited for me." His voice brimmed with hurt. Hermione sighed.
"I'm sorry. I am excited, really. It's just--" she motioned to her papers "--I have so much to do here."
"Are you jealous that you didn't get one?" he growled. Hermione's cheeks turned pink.
"Of course not! I hardly think that entering myself into a program that promotes certain death is worth being envious over." For a moment Ron looked furious, but he waited several seconds to speak, as if he were counting down from ten.
"We're all going to die some time, Hermione," he said quietly. "I might as well do it taking a Death Eater or two down with me." When she didn't say anything right away, he kept going. "I don't see why you can't just be happy for me!"
"Happy to see you die? Ron, how could you think such a thing?" she felt her eyes fill with tears.
"This is such an honor, why can't you see that? We're going to make a real difference! We might even win this bloody war."
"You're just so desperate to prove yourself, Ron! You can't just..." Hermione's voice faded. She couldn't bring herself to say, You can't just see what's right in front of you, you can't see that I want you here with me.
"I can't just, what?"
"You can't just be Harry, Ron." It was too late to turn back, now. "You can't just change yourself into him by making yourself into some sort of war hero. It doesn't work like that!"
The young man's face paled under his freckles. "Go away," he snapped. Hermione cringed.
"You approached me."
"And now I'm telling you to go away."
With a huff that disguised her pain, she gathered her work, stood, and disappeared through the Fat Lady, leaving Ron alone with his words.
Plop.
Hermione drew away from the basin, immediately feeling the burden of the memory dissipate. She knew it was there, but she couldn't quite get to it. The pain remained though. Perhaps that was because it had spanned several weeks. It had been nearly a month since that dreadful conversation, and in that whole time, Ron and Hermione had traded hardly any words, save for what was needed in the threesome's nightly conventions. Harry soon became the only one to speak candidly at all, relating his findings in his research to them. He too had been admitted into the WAND program, but unlike Ron, he had declined the invitation. Instead, he preferred to work by himself, going off for long hours in the fashion of his old mentor. It was evident that he missed Dumbledore desperately, and continued to live by the late Headmaster's words, never ceasing his search for Voldemort's soul fragments.
Sometimes, Harry spent many of his waking hours studying Dumbledore's notebooks, forever searching for information beyond what had been relayed to him. Hermione and Ron tried their best to offer their help to his research, but the broken bond between them created a forced and hollow dynamic within the group. Their meetings began to amount to less and less, and their few useful discussions often erupted into arguments. One night, during one-such heated exchange, Harry became so flustered with them that he stood up suddenly and pounded his pale fist onto the table.
"If you two haven't realized, there is a real war going on here. I don't have time for one of your petty arguments. I love you both dearly, but until you two get over your damned issues, I will not be attending these nightly unpleasentries. I have a world to save, if you haven't forgotten."
Both Ron and Hermione's faces turned red, but they could still not meet each other's eyes. Harry sighed.
"Well, that's it then."
Plop.
In the days that had followed, Hermione immersed herself more than ever into her other world. Professor McGonogall insisted that she had never been better in her spell work, to which Hermione replied with only a grim smile. She assisted Professor Slughorn with brewing, and finally finished her first draft of the new Veriteserum. While it wasn't perfect, it was something, and she was proud. When Hermione couldn't help with potions or study with the Headmistress, she was back in the infirmary.
"Must you always be useful?" demanded Madame Pomfrey once, when Hermione came to her asking for something to do.
"Yes," said Hermione simply, without adding that being useful distracted her from being lonely.
Plop.
But at night, just before she slipped into the dream world, there was nothing to guard against her loneliness. Every bone throbbed with the longing for companionship. But she had no companion except for her aching heart and her silent tears. Perhaps if she just allowed herself to tell him... but no, that wouldn't do. It certainly wouldn't do. Not when so much was at stake.
Even in the waking hours, Hermione's world began to disintegrate. An attack on Hogsmede not a week before had left many injured, Lee Jordan without his sanity, Ginny Weasley in an irreversible coma, and Hestia Jones stripped of her life. The catastrophic nature of the event brought Harry and Hermione together again. Not two days before this had found the two old friends alone in the clock tower, their hot breath fogging the November-cold windowpanes.
Plop.
"It may not amount to anything, but it's the best lead I've got."
"What kind of lead?" she asked timidly, glad he was speaking to her of his intentions, but not wanting to scare him away again.
"Well, not a lead exactly, but rather an ancient order of witches that have cut themselves off from the world. They're called the Harpyiae Council. Have you heard of them?" Hermione furrowed her bow, trying to recollect the name from her vast readings. At last, she gave up.
"I don't believe I have, though they sound intriguing. Who are they?"
"I don't even know myself. All that's written is: 'Fare the Harpyiae Council in Scandinavia, where the Arctic Circle binds the Storm below the frozen ground. Their voluminous knowledge is bound to their earth, but will aid the most desperate, if the need is dire, and the seeker is willing to face the challenges imposed onto him. Beware one must be of the divine face, for underneath lies...' And then it cuts off. I believe that Dumbledore must have begun to translate it from this." He produced an ancient book and hand handed it to Hermione. She turned it over with tentative hands, fingering the old leather. The cover was engraved with the image of a sword crossed with a claw. "He gives the page number—" Harry pointed "—but I just can't make heads or tails of it."
"I can try to translate it, but Harry..." Hermione studied his face fearfully, "how do you know they can help you?"
"I don't, but I have to try. Dumbledore seemed to think it was a fair idea, otherwise he wouldn't have included it in his theories on where to find the Horcruxes." Hermione looked doubtful. "Look Hermione, we're running out of time. Voldemort's forces are getting stronger, and our side is getting more and more desperate. We just don't have the resources or the backing we need to win this."
"But we have all—"
"It's not enough, Hermione. We don't have an army. Not like they do. And the Death Eaters and their followers have been preparing for this war for years. They've been gathering forces ever since he returned. Not just wizards, either; all the scum of the magical world are under his control. Hundreds upon thousands of them. And let me tell you, these are creatures who have been waiting for something like this for a long time. They're hungry, they're desperate, they're evil, and they're ready.
"And what have we got? Maybe a few hundred righteous-minded men and women, magical creature clans that I can count on one hand, and two-score of children who have no bloody idea about what they're up against." Harry drew a long breath, his eyes smoldering in the twilight. He wasn't finished, and Hermione knew him well enough to know to remain silent.
"And they're sending the Junior Aurors out on the next detail."
"Ron!" Hermione gasped, and then her face darkened. "He didn't tell me." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, and then felt Harry's callused fingers wrap around hers.
"He didn't want to let you know how scared he is..." Hermione opened her eyes to find him staring at her with a curious look.
"Oh, I wish he would talk to me! I didn't mean what I said that day, I really didn't. And now..."
"It's just detail, Hermione, and they'll be with their Mentors," Harry said kindly, though the fire was not gone from his eyes. "But it won't be forever. We're going to be slaughtered, Hermione. And with Ron out on the front-lines, I can't keep putting off what I have to do. I'm the only one that can end this nightmare, and the Death Eaters aren't going to wait around until I'm ready and they're old and knobbly. Which is why I leave tonight."
"Oh, Harry! But tonight is so... tonight! And I really should interpret that entire passage before you go, there could be something really important in there!"
"I don't have time, Hermione. I don't know how long it will take to even get there."
"And Scandinavia! That could take absolutely days by broomstick," she said, "and you couldn't possibly take a Portkey or Apparate, as you have no idea where you're going!"
"I'll take a Thestral, then. And if you find anything I really need to know, you can send it after me with Hedwig," Harry said after a moment. His friend looked crestfallen. "Hermione, I've got to do this! I'm not going to let any more of us become victims, just because I can't do what I have to. Not like Ginny..."
For a long, breathless moment, they stared at one another. They understood each other completely, but at the same time realized that they knew nothing at all. Though their friendship had been through the mill these past few months, there was a certain connection between them that had never seemed stronger or more fluid. Hermione grasped Harry's forearm, as if shoving her strength into him, combining her power with his. Brown eyes swam in green, the colors and identities forging into one. And then as sudden as it had come, the sensation was gone, and they were separate again.
"I believe in you, Harry."
When Harry had disappeared into the sky that evening upon the back of a dragon-winged horse, Hermione had realized that she had no trouble seeing a Thestral now.
Plop.
"Mizz Granger?" said a squeaky voice, shaking Hermione from her concentration. She spun around to find a House Elf tugging on the hems of her robes. Hermione bent down, so she could be eye-level with the strange creature.
"Hello Dobby."
"I iz sorry to disturb you mizz, but you asked Dobby to let you know when Wheezy and the others returned." Hermione straightened at once, delighted, but at the same time terribly apprehensive. What had taken so long?
"Thank you Dobby, I'll be sure to knit something extra for you this Christmas!" The creatures tennis-ball eyes lit up in glee.
"Oh no, Mizz Granger. You iz too kind to Dobby!"
"Oh Dobby, it is you who are too kind to me!"
Within only moments, Hermione had climbed through the Portrait hole and scurried down the corridors to the main stairwell. She had just begun to descend the grand marble staircase when she was apprehended by the terrible urgentness of the voices below. She darted back behind a pillar at the top of the stair, wanting to hear, but at the same time feeling guilty for eavesdropping.
"We've got to inform the entire Front immediately of our discovery," said the voice she knew to be Remus Lupin, Ron's Mentor and an old friend.
"It would terrify them, Remus. We'd lose the moral we've worked so hard to build!" That was Kingsley Shacklebolt.
"They must know! It should not even be up for discussion." Moody's gravelly voice told the others in a harsh whisper.
"Lads, shouldn't we find somewhere more private to discuss this?" The new voice was higher and held the air of great age—Aberforth Dumbledore. "You never know who could be listening in."
The voices seemed to have disappeared. Hermione stepped from her hiding place and into the glow from the lanterns lighting the stairwell. She wasn't alone however, for it appeared that during the time she had been eavesdropping, Ron had been transcending the grand stair. Their eyes met, and held, both pairs smoldering in the lamplight.
"Ron!" In her eagerness to ensure his well-being, she forgot that he was still furious with her. Instead of snarling, or blatantly ignoring Hermione though, he merely stood there, staring at her. Hermione then noticed the pallid tone to his skin, the dark circles under his foggy eyes, the way his fiery hair hung limply around his ears. After a moment, she reached for him. He flinched, but did not pull away when she rested her slim fingers upon his shoulder. The loud voices in the Entrance Hall died away as the world became just about them.
"Hermione," he said after a long moment, his usually strong voice shaking tremendously.
"Ron, what happened?"
"It was awful, Hermione. It was..." But whatever he was about to say faded into nothingness as realization overcame his features. "Hermione, I'm so sorry. I should never have--"
"No, Ron," she wailed, "I should never have!" She threw both her arms about his neck, pressing her body to his, trying to make him feel what she felt. Slowly, his own arms snaked about her back, embracing every fiber of her being. Everything the two of them had experienced over the past month flowed out of them; not in words, but in the passion of their embrace, in the way Ron stroked her frizzy curls, in the way she ran her fingers along his hardened shoulder-blades. In the way the static crackled as their foreheads touched, and in the way that he met her tears when he kissed her eyelids.
And when their lips touched, it was as if they had never been apart.