Story Title: Not Tonight
School/Theme: Hogwarts, write about how a character reacts to the unknown
Mandatory Prompt: [Event] A hunt
Additional Prompt: [Setting] A pillow fort
Year: 3
Word Count: 2, 992
Additional Information: Takes place during the Horcrux Hunt.
"Hermione? Er, Hermione?"
Ron's faint voice from the direction of the tent's opening jostles Harry awake. His eyelids are heavy as he attempts to rub away the sleep fogging his vision. In a blind frenzy, he reaches for his glasses on the small rickety table next to his camp bed—they must be around here somewhere—until his fingers close over the thick frames.
While adjusting the specs onto his face, he wills his eyes to open. Although his eyelids part and blink, he can't see his own two hands in front of his face.
"Hermione?"
"What is it, Ron?" Hermione responds this time, her voice flat and hard.
"Er, your bluebell flames went out. It's kind of dark."
"That's odd." The bed squeak is the only hint that Hermione has gotten out of bed. Footsteps shuffle along the bottom of the tent. "They should have lasted until morning."
Harry shivers as he inhales cool air into his lungs. The lack of heat has him burrowing even further underneath his thin blanket but does nothing to make the smattering of goose pimples on his skin disappear.
As he pulls the cover higher until it reaches his chin, Harry's hand brushes over the large, oval-shaped locket burning against the skin of his neck. Weeks have gone by, turning into months on the run, and they still have no means with which to destroy the bloody thing. Nor do they seem close to finding other vessels concealing parts of Voldemort's soul. A wave of nausea rolls through the growing pit in Harry's stomach.
Tap tap tap.
A wand clinks against a glass jar as Hermione murmurs an incantation. The room remains shrouded in darkness as her breath hitches in her throat. "It's—it's not working. I can't relight the flames."
Rapid clicking noises fill the silence of their hideout. Ron groans. "Bloody hell, even my Deluminator doesn't work!"
"Here, let me try some other spells," Hermione offers. "I can't really see…okay, here we go. Wingardium Leviosa!" Pause. "Accio bag!" A whimper escapes her lips, and Harry doesn't have to observe the look on her face to know her attempts were unsuccessful.
Ron clears his throat before raising his voice an octave. "Can we panic now?"
More footsteps travel closer to Harry's bed. "Harry, are you awake?" Hermione whispers.
"Yeah. I'm here."
"Try your wand."
"Already on it." He locates it underneath his pillow and murmurs, "Lumos!"
Nothing.
Harry attempts the charm one more time, but the tip of his wand fails to produce any light. No one speaks for several beats, forcing Harry to focus on the steady thumping of his heart. As questions begin to claw their way through his skull, his mind starts to race. If they can't use their spells, will they be able to detect an unwelcome presence? His stomach churns at the thought of Snatchers setting up camp nearby, waiting to sniff out their location and sell them for gold. They could be caught at any moment, without any proper use of their wand to conceal themselves. All that they've sacrificed for months, including proper food and sleep, will be for naught.
"What is happening?" Ron demands, stealing the words from Harry's mouth.
"If we knew, don't you think our magic would be working?" Hermione snaps back.
The muscles in Harry's jaw clench. Not willing to get caught in the trenches of Hermione's pointless nattering, he stumbles out of bed in the direction of the tent opening. His legs are heavy and clumsy as he feels for any obstacles in his way. Harry yelps as his shin collides with an unknown hard piece of furniture. But the dull pain doesn't deter him from his mission. He bumps shoulders with Ron and peeks through the flap.
It's a moonless night, one that cloaks the dense forest in darkness. A gust of wind swirls around him, bringing with it the stench of dusty soil and pine resin. A strange hollowness carves its way through Harry's chest, accompanied by the uncomfortable weight of the locket—heavy and oppressive, much like the air.
"Do you think the defensive spells we've placed at the boundaries are still active?" Hermione's panicked voice calls out from behind his shoulder.
"I don't think we should venture away from the tent to find out," Harry instructs once he closes the flap. "We should wait until morning to move. It's not safe enough in the dark. If a simple spell isn't going to work, our defenses are minimal."
"Yeah, best to stay put," Ron agrees without hesitation.
"Harry, do you think this has anything to do with—"
"Don't say his name!" Ron exclaims, followed by a heavy sigh from Hermione.
Death Eaters, possibly. Harry doesn't share his suspicions; however, he's not willing to trigger any way of tracking them. Even if they are captured and fortunate enough to be released, it won't be without loss—the last thing they need is to be stripped of their wands.
Seconds stretch into minutes without answers.
As each moment ticks by, robbing Harry of his own breath, it's all the more convincing that a dark presence is hovering close. Death Eaters are already guarding the nearby villages, and it's plausible that wizarding mercenaries are scouring the lands for any signs of magic and exhausting all of their resources. His mouth runs dry at the thought, and he wishes he had a spare cup and the ability to produce an Aguamenti charm or even the faintest glow of light so that he can locate the sink without injury.
"Well, now is as good a time as any for me to grab a few more essentials that I packed." Hermione rustles through what sounds like her beaded handbag.
"Of course." Sarcasm drips from Ron's words, and Harry suspects he's suppressing a massive eye roll. Ron protests a moment later as a thrown item collides against his face with a soft thud. "A pillow, Hermione?"
"I have an extra one for each of us."
Instincts honed in from his many years of Quidditch practice, Harry crouches on his knees before she has a chance to send one of the feather-filled objects in his direction.
"I just thought—" Hermione lets out a loud sigh. "Nevermind, it's not important."
"No, go on. Say it," Ron urges. The loftiness in his voice makes Harry picture him with a grin on his face. "I'd love to hear this explanation."
"I packed them just in case we needed to rest and we were without access to the tent."
Ron harrumphs. "You have a solution for everything, don't you?"
"I'd rather be prepared than the alternative. Which would have been you with the most basic of necessities, like your clothes for instance."
"You had them all packed before I could even think about it!"
"And it's a good thing I did. Otherwise, you would have been without any after the wedding—"
"Hermione," Harry interjects, rolling his neck around to relieve the building tension. The information they're lacking about the loss of their magic is enough to set anyone on edge. "Can you get my cloak out? Just in case?"
"Of course." He listens for the noisy clatter followed by the dull thud of a heavy book as Hermione must be rummaging through her bag once more. Harry holds out his empty hand as she fumbles to pass the silky material in the direction of his voice.
It wouldn't make much of a difference now, but his desire to disappear underneath the cloak increases every second that Ron and Hermione continue to bicker about the contents of her bag. He needs a way to deescalate the situation before their petty argument turns into a full-fledged shouting match. "Why don't we all sleep right here in the living room? We can bundle the pillows on the floor. Ron, I don't think you should go back out for the watch. We'll need to stay together if anything happens."
Hermione doesn't respond, but Harry's feet brush against something soft. He suspects more pillows have been spread out on the floor.
"Sorted." Ron drops down onto the fluffy cushions with a loud grunt.
"I think we should also consider utilizing all of our blankets…and some of the furniture here…to form a makeshift awning over us," Hermione suggests through chattering teeth. "We need to trap in as much heat as possible."
Wooden legs scrape against the tent floor. "Let's use chairs," Ron suggests. "We can drape the blankets over the back of them."
Harry listens to his best friends as they formulate a plan, unable to summon up any energy to help them without making sleep a priority first. A tent inside of a tent sounds ridiculous, but so is their current situation.
A toe-curling howl filters through the open space. Caught mid-stretch, Harry's hand remains suspended in the air as he attunes his ear to the rattling outside. A drafty chill floats through the tent walls that lack insulation, sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine. He grips the wand in the back pocket of his trousers.
"Did you hear that?" Ron breathes out, his voice trembling.
Harry's thoughts drift to Remus Lupin. He swallows a hard lump in his throat as he recalls their unfortunate run-in at Grimmauld Place. It seems like another lifetime, far beyond the slow passage of time and the descent into madness for every second that passes by without any Horcrux leads or true knowledge on how to destroy the one attached to his own body. Since leaving the confines of the safe house, and embarking on their grueling search, no place has truly been safe enough to rest.
"I think it's just the wind," he concludes when the sound fades away. It's an answer that doesn't cease the warning sirens blaring in his head, but one that he knows will ease Ron's worries.
"Which blankets are the lightest?" Hermione asks with a shrill undertone, indicating that she, too, is occupying herself with mundane tasks to avoid the uncertainty of what's behind the barrier of their tent. "We don't want them to be too heavy or they'll sag over our heads."
Ron snorts. "I think they're all light, Hermione."
"I don't need to be told that, Ron. I was simply pointing out that the blankets are not all the same. Maybe there's a strategy to—"
"You asked!"
Harry balls his fists at his sides but doesn't intervene. He's not sure it's best for him to speak his mind right now and add more wood to Hermione's fire—maybe he should leave that job to Ron. If it was safe, Harry reckons she'd spin on her heel and march right out of the tent. Those two always manage to turn any row into one bigger than what the actual problem calls for, and none of them—least of all Harry—know what they're fighting over anyways.
Ron and Hermione stifle their squabble long enough to arrange four chairs into a tight square around their bodies, relying on sound and movement to determine the appropriate configuration. Once the blankets are draped over the chairs to form a roof above their heads, instant warmth spreads through Harry's veins.
His stomach rumbles in a synchronized fashion along with Ron's, a stark reminder that they're going on several weeks with scant food. Harry falls back onto one of the pillows, determined to find a pleasant position to rest his head. They might be trapped in this enclosure together for a while, and he needs to make it through the night without questioning his own sanity.
"This reminds me of the pillow forts I'd build with the twins at the Burrow when we were kids," Ron remarks, filling the quiet void. "Mum was furious when we tried to barricade it so that Ginny couldn't get in."
Ginny. A pang strikes through Harry's chest. He's filled with a sudden longing to retrieve the Marauder's Map he stashed underneath his bed and search for her dot. Even if he wanted to, the absence of light would make that impossible now.
"Ron, that's horrible!" Hermione admonishes.
"I've never made a fort before, so I wouldn't know what it's like," Harry murmurs, unblinking. It must have been nice, calming maybe, to construct a small encampment to separate themselves from the rest of the world—without being forced into one.
"Really?" The word tumbles out of Hermione's mouth before she sputters. "Oh—I mean, of course…"
Harry pinches his lips together. No, he wouldn't know what it would be like to build a fort for recreational use rather than a means for survival. He swallows the retort floating along the edge of his tongue.
"Well, now we can all say we have." Ron chuckles. "Although it's a bit different from what I remember."
"I'm not sure we need you to go into detail. Although, with the twins involved, I do not doubt that yours would be an interesting story," Hermione remarks as Ron clucks his tongue.
"I'm sorry I'm not interesting enough on my own," he bites back. Harry can almost feel his best mate's rage radiating through him like Fiendfyre from the tempered response. Hermione could learn to be a little less critical, but Ron is spewing insults right back at her. Advising them likely won't help as they had crossed into an unhealthy level of fury weeks ago.
"That's not what I said, Ron!"
Harry shifts on his side facing away from his friends and shields his head with his hands. The constant need they have to challenge each other's irrational thoughts is really grating his nerves. If Ron and Hermione decide to engage in mock physical conflict, he doesn't want to be on the pillowy end of it.
"It doesn't matter. I know you were thinking it," Ron barks.
"Oh, that's rich! I didn't realize you practiced Legilimency."
The line of Harry's mouth tightens a fraction more as his nails dig into his crossed arms.
"Come off your high Hippogriff, Hermione," Ron snarls with the certainty of someone who will never be satisfied letting an argument go.
She gasps. "Excuse me?"
"Shut it!" Harry growls with a voice staggering in its venom, tasting the bitterness on his tongue.
All bickering ceases following his outburst. "Harry," Hermione whispers after a few moments. "Maybe it's time for one of us to wear the locket for a bit—"
"I'm fine, Hermione!" He wants to scream that it's their incessant fighting that's corrupting his thoughts, not the chain around his neck, but he grits his teeth instead.
"Hey!" Ron says with a guttural rasp. "Don't snap at her."
Harry scowls even though they can't see his face. He wants to clue Ron in about his own scathing comments, but he refrains. Son of a Bludger, these two are exhausting. "Well, it's hard for me to think or even breathe with you two carrying on like a couple of dragons in heat. Just give it a rest for tonight, would you?"
"Of course," Hermione squeaks. "Sorry, Harry."
"Sorry, mate."
For the most delightful minute, their pillow fort is a sanctuary, one that doesn't need voices dripping with spite. Something falls onto his head with the lightest touch, and Harry reaches up to grasp the thin wool between his fingers.
"I knew that blanket was too heavy," Ron mumbles, earning him a tut from Hermione.
Death Eaters could storm into their tent at any moment, and the collapse of their fort will be the least of their worries.
"Ouch, Ron," Hermione hisses, further disrupting the silence that Harry had welcomed. "You kicked my knee."
"Oh. Sorry. Should I move over?"
"No, actually. It's quite nice…and perhaps a bit warmer with you…there."
"O-okay. Good."
Harry frowns to himself. What's going on with them? One minute they're spewing insults in each other's faces and the next they're acting like—no. He shakes his head. Those two? Harry winces and tries not to visualize Ron and Hermione huddled together. Fingers lingering near the edge of the blanket, Harry debates making his escape. Will they miss his presence if he finds a way to slink back to his camp bed?
He doesn't have long to consider his choices, hissing as a burning sensation overpowers every single thought in his mind, blurring the line between reality and his worst fears. His vision is clouded by the black hoods and snake-like masks covering the faces of those with the Dark Mark branded into their forearms. At any moment, Voldemort's most ardent followers could apparate out of the pure black sky with reckless abandon.
Harry. I see your future, Harry.
Thud thud thud. His ears roar as he attempts to shield his mind from any further invasion. Harry pinches the bridge of his nose, allowing Ron and Hermione's hushed whispers to fade into the background. When his eyes close and his breathing evens out, he can see clearly again despite the dark shadows. Along comes an image of one particular person with flaming red hair, freckled skin, and bright brown eyes.
For a moment, he envisions himself in Gryffindor Tower, sitting by a roaring fire and covered in thick scarlet blankets with a view of the grounds from the window. It's a happy memory, one that temporarily frees him from the clutches of the forest and the mission he's bound to finish. Harry allows himself to think for a fraction of a minute of Ginny's future, one that he could be a part of. Maybe one day he'll return to Hogwarts and find her, with a hard, blazing look on her face, rushing towards him until she's nestled in his arms.
His heart hammers in his chest as he grasps pieces of his memory—pieces of her—that he doesn't want to lose. He tries to ignore the grim whistling air that returns to shake the tent's stability. Harry wraps a hand around his wand, holding it close to his chest as he fights off the urge to drift into a deep sleep.
Not tonight.
