A/N: content warning: Self Harm
Chapter 24: Lions and Quaffles and Tears, Oh My!
Hagrid, Hermione, Ron and Harry sat uncomfortably in the Weasley's living room. The mismatched and much patched seating was comfortable of course, but this did little to mitigate their experiencing the wrath of Molly Weasley – despite the fact that it was not directed at any of them.
"'…We understand that you have special circumstances, but if we bend the rules for one, it opens the floo to others'? " Molly waved the crumpled parchment Hermione had handed her for emphasis. "What a bunch of bloody idiots!
"Oh! Sorry dears." It was very unlike Molly to curse in front of company, but she was so incensed. "After all he's done, how can they do this to him?"
"They can't do this, Mrs. Weasley. Chronologically, Harry is of age, and because of the guardianship, he is essentially Madam Pomfrey's next of kin; they have a legal obligation to let him visit her. But the greeting witch at the desk refused. She said that Harry's records indicated he was –" Hermione glanced at Harry, who sat ramrod straight, staring in stunned silence as Mrs. Weasley raged, and amended what she had been about to say. " Well, that he was too young, and couldn't be allowed on the ward."
The Greeting witch had rudely held up her hand at their protestations. She wasn't the slightest bit intimidated by Hagrid's presence. She simply handed Hermione the scroll of hospital visiting policies and dismissed them, calling out, "Next!" They had flooed back to Hagrid's, and Hermione had wasted no time in penning an owl to St. Mungo's head of public relations, who had sent back the reply, which Molly was now abusing.
Hermione noticed the white of Harry's knuckles where he gripped Hagrid's fingers, and, seeking to calm the situation, added, "Well, at least she promised that Harry's flowers would be delivered to Madam Pomfrey," bravely giving Mrs. Weasley a pointed look. She thought it best, though, to leave out how Harry had unwittingly picked most of the new variety of asphodel flowers that Professor Sprout had been developing behind Greenhouse One. To Sprout's credit, when the Herbology professor discovered this, she had merely redirected Harry away from the remains of her precious cultivars and excused herself with over-bright eyes.
"And I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will be delighted to know that Harry is thinking of her." Hermione maintained eye contact with Mrs. Weasley as she continued. "But Harry, I also know that Madam Pomfrey would not want you to worry about her."
At last, Mrs. Weasley's indignation subsided enough for her to catch the young witch's drift, and with a remorseful look, add to her reassurances. "Yes, yes, Harry dear. Hermione is absolutely right." With great effort, Molly reigned the rest of her substantial temper and calmly announced, "I'm going to St. Mungo's to straighten this out. Hagrid, will you come? I think together we've a good chance of persuading them to see... our side of things."
"'Caurse, Molly," Hagrid nodded, very aware of the fact that, despite his size, Molly could easily be the more intimidating of the two.
"Meanwhile," Molly returned Hermione's pointed look, "I'm going to make you three a picnic. It's a lovely afternoon and I see no sense in you moping about indoors. I'll just be a moment." With that, Molly disappeared and returned in an almost Dobby-like fashion with a huge covered basket.
"Here you go, dears." Mrs. Weasley foisted the basket upon Ron and before he, Hermione and Harry could even blink, Mrs. Weasley had ushered them out the door in a whirlwind of maternal determination.
"Right, then, Hagrid. Shall we?" She held out the chipped jar of floo powder for him, and as soon as the green flames subsided in his wake, Molly threw down her own handful and practically roared, "ST. MUNGO'S HOSPITAL!"
~o~
Ron, Hermione and a rather apathetic Harry walked past the garden to the hilly wooded area behind the Weasleys' makeshift quidditch pitch. As they were crossing the pitch, Ron paused from the strain of carrying his load and wiped the sweat from his face with a sleeve.
"What'd Mum pack in here anyways? Bricks? Rock Cakes?" whinged Ron.
Hermione surreptitiously put a featherlight charm on the picnic basket and Ron let out a great sigh.
"Thanks 'Moine," he gave her a sheepish grin, and she blushed in return. His grins – sheepish and otherwise – had been having that effect on her with increasing regularity. Once Ron had managed to suss that out, he made it a point to grin at her with increasing regularity.
"Why don't we stop here, and you and Harry can play for a bit." Before Ron could open his mouth to say, 'With what?', Hermione had transfigured a flowering foxglove stem into a quaffle (earning her yet another cheek pinkening grin). "Go on, Harry," she said, tossing the ball his way. "Get the quaffle. it'll be fun." Harry reluctantly complied as Hermione took the picnic basket from Ron and set it down, saying, "Come back over when you're hungry – really hungry, Ronald," she emphasised, effectively stopping him saying, 'I'm always hungry!'
"Oi! Harry! Pass it here,' Ron held out his hands waiting to catch the red, divited ball.
Harry let out a deep sigh and tossed the quaffle halfheartedly to Ron. It fell short, but Ron just went closer to Harry and grabbed it up.
"Now, catch. Get your arms up, Harry. You can do it." Ron was now only a few feet away and he lobbed the ball gently towards Harry. Harry caught it and Ron let out a whoop that startled Harry, so he dropped it.
"That was a wicked catch, Harry! C'mon, let's go again!"
Hermione sat down beside the basket, after casting a strong cushioning charm on the uneven ground. Soon, her nose was in a book, which Mrs. Weasley had thoughtfully included. It was, Charm Your Own Cheese, by Gerda Catchlove. Not what Hermione would have chosen for herself, but then, Mrs Weasley had been in a hurry and Hermione was thankful to have anything to read, really. Thinking about it in terms of an anthropological study helped some - and was a lot better than thinking that this was a subtle homemaking hint from Mrs Weasley.
Harry and Ron had moved a ways farther down the pitch from Hermione. Harry was finally loosening up a bit, when Ron fell.
"Shite!" he said and instantly regretted it. Hermione would not be pleased to hear Ron using such language in front of Harry. Ron looked to see what he had tripped over. Just a stupid rock. And he had landed headfirst on another, sharper one, which left him a bit dizzy.
Harry froze when he saw blood running down the side of Ron's face.
Ron gritted his teeth against the growing pain so as not to further alarm Harry. "Harry – go get Hermione. Sh-she's great at healing spells." He pulled his outer shirt off, popping the buttons in the process. He waded it up and pressed it to his head, stopping the blood flow.
Harry ran as fast as he could, calling wildly, "My-Nee! My-Nee! Tum help Non-Non!" Harry stumbled as he approached her, but scrambled to his feet, ignoring his skinned palms. "Him's-head-bud-is-comin'-out!"
Hermione had dropped the book and jumped up to meet Harry as soon as she heard his frantic approach. "Slow down, Harry. I can't understand you. Where's Ron?"
Harry pulled her by the hand, though his own stung, begging, "Hurry, My-Nee, pease,!"
Hermione's breath caught. Something must have happened to Ron. He would never have let Harry out of his sight otherwise. Yes, he could come off as a bit irresponsible and liasez-faire, but when it came to Harry, Hermione knew Ron took his job as babysitter very seriously. She quickly surveyed the pitch, and saw Ron wasn't that far off. She dashed after Harry to help, desperately hoping Ron was okay.
They came upon their companion as he was leaning forward, clutching his shirt to his head. His face was pale and pinched. Blood had soaked partly through the shirt. It looked quite gruesome and Hermione steeled herself against flashes of Harry's open scar wound threatening to surface in her mind.
In that moment, Harry started babbling nervously. "Tan you fitz him, My-nee? His good head bud is tumin' out. What if iall/i his head bud tum outs? Am he gon' be a bad boy? Am he–"
"Hush, Harry," she said sharply. "There's no such thing as 'head blood'. It's all the same blood running through our bodies. Now sit over there quietly and let me concentrate on taking care of Ron,"
Realizing immediately that she had been too short with Harry, Hermione soothed, "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to snap at you. Don't worry. He'll be fine."
Ron gave Hermione a sheepish look, but with a grimace rather than a grin. He didn't want to alarm Harry further. But when Hermione cast "Episke" on him, Ron couldn't suppress a grunt of pain.
As Hermione tended to Ron, Harry sat on the ground, hugging his knees and shaking. His mind was racing with worry for his friend and also with what Hermione had just told him about blood. It's all the same blood? If that were so, then he wouldn't need to get under his impenetrable bandage to get his bad blood out. He could get it out anywhere!
He looked down at his hands; his palms were still stinging. He held them up for closer inspection. Just a few tiny dots of red on pink, raw skin where he had broken his fall on his way to get Hermione. His hands were bleeding. And that was bad blood, too. Bad blood was coming out of him so that he could be a good boy and not hurt his caregiver or friends. With a quick look at Hermione and Ron to be sure they weren't watching, Harry went to work grinding his right palm into the ground to get more bad blood out. He suspected that Hermione would try to stop him, once she saw what he was doing, so he turned away from her to hide his actions. Hermione was, indeed, so focused on healing and cleaning up Ron, she didn't notice what Harry was up to.
His palm hurt, but he kept at it, the whole time whimpering and whispering, "Get out' me, get out bad bud!" without even realizing it. He was so intent on his task he did not hear Ron and Hermione approaching him until it was too late No! They had found him and the blood hadn't stopped coming out. Harry knew that meant the bad blood wasn't all out of him yet.
"Harry! No! What are you doing? Stop that at once!" Hermione grabbed his wrist but Harry yanked it back.
"No! My need a' do dat!"
"No, you don't, Harry" ordered Hermione, a bit shocked to hear Harry saying 'No' to her.
Ron, still a bit dizzy, asked, "Why would you even think that?"
Ron did not get an answer to his question. Harry remained stubbornly quiet as they made their way back, and Hermione was uncharacteristically stymied over what to do. She felt a sudden surge of admiration for Mrs Weasley. Parenting all those kids – all those boys! How did she do it? And here Hermione was, practically confunded by just one Harry.
By the time the trio arrived back at the patchwork of rooms and levels that was the Burrow, Hagrid and Mrs Weasley had not yet returned. But Percy was there.
Seeing his brother's condition, Percy stopped short and then sneered, "Get that injury thinking too hard, ickle Non-Non? And what's wrong with Mum?" he demanded of Ron.
"Nothing," he wanted to add, 'you prat', but held back mostly in deference to the swat on the arm he would receive from Hermione for talking that way in front of Harry.
"Nothing? What do you mean, 'nothing'? The clock says she's at St Mungo's. Tell me what's happened, right now!"
"Don't get your Ministry-issue knickers in a twist. She just went with Hagrid to… sort sommat out."
Hermione cleared her throat and glared at Ron. "I'm sure she'll be back soon, and I'm sure we can all be civil as we wait." and she gave Percy an even more scathing look.
"Humph," sniffed Percy, indignantly. "Could you two be any more vague? What is Mum doing there? – And for your information, there is no such thing as 'Ministry issue pants'."
"Pomfee don't feel good," offered Harry, speaking for the first time since the incident on the pitch. "An' dey not gon' yet me see her." He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to act like a big boy would.
"She's going to be fine, Harry. Don't worry. It will take a few days, but then she will come home." Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Soooo...that means Harry's staying here then, is he?"
Percy took to this news with interest, which immediately made both Ron and Hermione suspicious.
"Wot's it to you, you pra- Percy?" Ron caught himself just in time. He was able to maintain a somewhat cool exterior by running through a silent string of insults directed at his older brother. Something along the lines of, 'You bloody, buggering, snivel-nosed, shrivelfig-brained-' from there the insults grew more colourful, and Ron even smiled a little.
"Nothing," said Percy, mocking Ron's earlier tone of disdain. Then he turned smartly on his heel and went upstairs without another word.
After a few moments of silence, Harry asked, "My go outside an' watch da antses?"
Ron and Hermione exchanged looks of incredulity. Harry was acting as though he hadn't just been caught trying to scrape his hand raw.
After a beat, Hermione said, "I'll come with you, Harry." She pretended to have missed Ron's involuntary shudder.
Harry was – most unfortunately for Ron – fascinated by bugs of all kinds. Hermione thought that maybe Harry could study insects and become an entomologist, while Ron thought that Muggles were insane to have an entire profession dedicated to the study of the repulsive things. The very idea made his skin crawl anew and he shuddered again. It was just his luck that Harry also shared Hagrid's inexplicable fascination for spiders.
"Uh, I'll just go put away the picnic stuff," said Ron as he dashed for the kitchen.
Hermione filed that away for future reference ('that', being Ron's volunteering to do a chore rather than face the possibility of seeing a bug). "Wait right there, Harry, I'll be right back" she said, and she ran up to Ron's room to borrow a couple of Weasley jumpers against the advancing chill. Hermione's thoughts returned to Harry's strange behaviour.
Harry did not wait for Hermione. In fact, the second she was out of sight, he dashed through the narrow hall and out the back door. He had to get rid of his bad blood, and he had to find someplace to hide, so no one would stop him. He was not far from Mr Weasley's shed. Mrs Weasley said it was full of broken Muggle things. She had warned Harry to stay out of there, lest he get hurt on something.
When Hermione reached the bottom of the stairs, two jumpers emblazoned with 'R's in hand, Harry was not in the living room. She looked out the front door, displeased with the possibility that Harry had gone to look for bugs under the loose paving stones by himself. Ginny was Harry's usual 'bug buddy', but Hermione was absolutely certain that the youngest Weasley would never allow Harry to to go ahead without her – even just to the yard. And besides, Harry wasn't there.
Neither was he visible outside the back door. She called to him, but got no answer. She yelled down to Ron in the kitchen. "I can't find Harry! He's not with you, is he?"
"No," came Ron's reply, quickly followed by Ron, himself with a worried look equal to Hermione's. "Where is he?"
The mounting panic was evident in Hermione's reply, "I don't know. When I came back down with the jumpers... he was gone. I thought he went ahead of me outside." As she spoke, Hermione hurriedly returned to the back door, pulling it open as she yelled, "Harry! Where are you, Harry?"
Ron joined in the calling and they went in opposite directions around the Burrow's perimeter. They met on the other side, but with no Harry in sight, real fear had set in.
Hermione stopped yelling and tried to slow her breathing. "Okay, let's think a minute." She pulled her wand out of her sleeve and cast, "Accio a button from the shirt Harry Potter is wearing!" She and Ron held their collective breath and waited. Nothing happened.
"He must be too far. Let's spread out and try again." They again travelled in opposite directions, ending up back on the other side.
"Dad's shed!" cried Ron, and the two made a dash for it.
~o~
"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Minister," Percy moved back from the grate to allow Rufus Scrimgeour space to enter. Percy felt a pang of shame at the shabbiness of the room, but did his best to hide it. "I realise you are a terribly busy man, and my parents' home is not exactly up to the standards of one in your position, but as I know of your interest in Harry Potter, I thought you might like to know he is staying here."
"Yes, yes. 'Priciate it Weazleby, er Weasley." Stating the obvious was a common trait of apple polishers like Weasley. The need to boast their own 'deeds' was increased by the fact that no one else wanted to do it for them – mostly because there was nothing actually boast-worthy to begin with. But the Minister of Magic would suffer this fool gladly if it got him Harry Potter. A Harry Potter whose court-appointed guardian was decidedly absent.
The Minister clapped his hands together loudly, startling Percy, and rubbed them together vigorously, as though preparing to devour a feast. "Well, where is our Boy Who Lived?"
At Minister Scrimgeour's toothy grin, Percy was reminded of why the Ministry clerks referred to the man as "Minister Leo" behind his back. And as that grin shifted to a grimace of impatience, Percy was reminded of the fact that he'd best take Scrimgeour to Harry post haste, before he pissed away his best chance at gaining the Minister's favour.
"Of course, Minister. He's just this w-" Percy stopped mid sentence, for as soon as he had opened the door they could hear screaming.