Through Fear and Darkness

Author's Notes: Hey all! Yeah, it's been forever. I'm super sorry it took so long to get back into it, but I'm back, and hopefully for the better part of a while. Thanks to everyone who checked Chapter One out and liked it, it means a lot. And even bigger thanks to everyone who stayed; life got chaotic for a bit. Anyway, I've made you guys wait way too long for this, so I won't waste any more of your time. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: H.P. is owned by J.K. Rowling, I just like seeing where I can make the story go.

Chapter Two: Hugs and Consolations

The five sat impatiently around Harry. Mrs. Weasley kept glancing from Madam Pomfrey's office to Harry, as if doing so would cause the boy to wake. Ron looked glumly at one of the beds, staring at nothing in particular. Bill held his mother's hand in reassurance, but stared at Harry, deep in thought. Sirius—as a dog—rested his head woefully on Harry's arm. Hermione had taken Harry's hand in her own and rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb as if to tell him that everything was alright. It was difficult keeping her emotions solid; she often found herself almost breaking down. Nothing seemed to make sense to her. She looked at Sirius, who moved his eyes to hers. Sirius whined. More long, silent minutes passed.

Suddenly, Sirius perked his head up, growling. Mrs. Weasley, unknowing of Sirius's true identity, quickly started patting him and shushing him. "Shh! Shh! It's alright! Please be quiet! Good boy, good boy—"

Then the rest heard it too. Voices. Very loud and angry voices. Mrs. Weasley stood up and tentatively took a couple steps towards the door. Hermione looked up towards the hospital door, her hand slipping out of Harry's. The voices grew louder and louder; they were getting closer. Ron looked towards the door as well, his eyes narrowing.

"What are they so loud for?" he snapped.

Hermione whispered, "They'll wake him if they don't shut up!"

"What are they shouting about?" Ron asked again, his face looking both angry and worried. "Nothing else can have happened, can it?"

Mrs. Weasley leaned forward, straining to hear what they were saying. "That's Fudge's voice! And that's Minerva McGonagall's, isn't it? But what are they arguing about?"

The doors to the Hospital Wing flew open. Fudge marched in towards the bed with no hesitation in his stride. McGonagall stormed in after him, followed by Snape. Hermione couldn't help but shrink back; McGonagall sported a face of fury such that she had never seen before. The Minister for Magic likewise seemed affronted, albeit a bit flustered. "Where's Dumbledore?" he almost spat in Mrs. Weasley's face.

Mrs. Weasley looked very taken aback. "He's not here!" she snapped. "And this is a hospital wing, Minister, don't you think you'd do better to—"

The doors swung open again. Dumbledore strolled through, his eyes piercing. Hermione shivered. She had never seen any one of them act this way. Dumbledore stopped in front of the pair, looking from one another. "What has happened?"

What transpired over the next moments was what Hermione would consider one the most absurd and asinine arguments she had ever heard from not even an adult, but someone with the authority and experience of Fudge. Bringing a dementor on the grounds behind Dumbledore's back? Essentially disposing of a suspect before they could give a proper testimony? Hermione thought Fudge was smarter than this. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Even if he didn't think You-Know-Who was back, then surely it would be in his best interest to investigate and make sure that was the case. The worst of it all was when Fudge decided that Harry's testimony wouldn't account for anything.

"You are prepared to take Harry's word on this, Dumbledore?" he asked with an incredulous look. Hermione and Ron both stiffened. They stared at Fudge, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Certainly," Dumbledore said. "I believe Harry." Fudge glanced at the bed. Hermione wanted to move in front of him and protect him even more.

"You are prepared to believe," Fudge said, turning back to Dumbledore, "that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the word of a lunatic murderer, and a boy who...well..."

Hermione's blood ran cold. How could he believe... how could he even think that...?

"You've been reading Rita Skeeter, haven't you, Mr. Fudge?" Hermione turned, as did Ron, Bill and Mrs. Weasley. She did not hear nor feel him wake. He was sitting up in the bed with a look of confusion and cruel disbelief.

Fudge stiffened. "And if I have? If I have discovered that you've been keeping certain facts about the boy very quiet? A Parselmouth? Having funny turns all over the place?"

"I assume that you are referring to the pains Harry has been experience in his scar?" Dumbledore said.

"Ha!" Fudge graced a wide smile, as if he had just won a prize. "You admit that he has been having these pains, then? Headaches, nightmares—hallucinations?" Hermione stared in horror. She could hardly believe what Fudge was suggesting.

Dumbledore took a step closer to Fudge. "Listen to me, Cornelius. Harry is as sane as you or I. The scar upon his forehead has not addled his brains. I believe it hurts him when Lord Voldemort is close by, or feeling particularly murderous—"

"I've never heard of a curse scar acting as an alarm bell before!"

"I saw Voldemort come back!" Hermione turned around. Harry was fighting to climb out of his bed. His face voice was shaking with fury and desperation. Mrs. Weasley was holding him back, her face strewn with both worry and anger. "I saw the Death Eaters! I can give you their names! Lucius Malfoy!"

Hermione sat back as the argument raged on, looking back and forth between Harry and Fudge. Between Harry's near pleading, Fudge's infuriating retorts and accusations, and Dumbledore's calm and collected responses, she knew there was no way to interject, no matter how much she wanted to. Harry meant everything to her, and to see his life go further down a path of pain and suffering was almost too painful to think about. She felt her eyes burn with tears and shrank further back in her chair; she had a feeling no one would bother looking at her during the argument. She let the tears roll down her cheeks and glumly watched as the argument went on. Nothing new was coming from it; they were repeating the same points over and over again.

"Now see here, Dumbledore," Fudge was saying, "I've given you free rein, always! I've had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I've kept quiet! There aren't many who'd have let you hire werewolves!" Fudge's smile returned. "Or keep Hagrid, or decide what to teach your students without reference to the Ministry. But if you're going to work against me—"

Dumbledore raised his voice to overpower Fudge's. "The only one against whom I've intended to work is Lord Voldemort. If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side."

"He can't be back!" Cornelius snapped. "He just can't be!"

Snape pushed his away in front of Cornelius and threw his sleeve up his left arm. Hermione let out a gasp. Etched on his skin was the Dark Mark. Fudge took a step back, his eyes never leaving Snape's arm.

"The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater has it. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate and Apparate instantly at his side. The Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think he fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn, that he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold."

For a moment, everything was silent. Then, still staring at the Mark, Fudge whispered to Dumbledore. "I don't know what you and your staff are playing at, but I've heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry." He then turned and strode up the ward. His hand was on the door before he stopped and turned back around. Fudge stormed back to the bed, thrusting a bag of gold to Harry. "Your winnings. One thousand Galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but..." He shot a look of loathing at Harry and Dumbledore before storming out of the ward, leaving everyone behind in stunned silence.

Dumbledore turned to look at the group. "There is work to be done!"

As Dumbledore talked to the Weasleys, Hermione turned to Harry. He sat slouched in the bed, staring at the sheets in front of him. Hermione felt a twinge in her chest as she looked at him. Then she reached out and grabbed Harry's hand. He jumped and his eyes snapped to Hermione, startled. She retracted her hand quickly, worried of making him even more uncomfortable, but he relaxed. He put his hand back out and Hermione tenderly took it. Harry looked at her, his face growing with worry; Hermione realized her face was still red and puffy from the tears. She almost smiled. Harry was always able to worry at the slightest thing, even if he was worse off.

"Are you okay? Hermione asked.

Harry looked away. "I dunno." His voice was raw with emotion.

Hermione forced herself a smile. She didn't know what to say.

"It'll be okay—"

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry said. Hermione frowned. She wanted him to feel better, and she didn't feel that the environment in the ward was helping.

"But you escaped You-Know-Who—"

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" Harry snapped. He pulled his hand away, looking stung. Hermione looked down, mentally kicking herself. Of course he'd be upset!

"I didn't mean... I don't..." She was at a loss for words. "I'm sorry." She felt ashamed; she was aware she usually stuck her nose where it didn't belong. "...Harry—"

"Sirius Black!"

Hermione jumped and looked around. Mrs. Weasley was pointing at Sirius—now a human—and was quite white in the face.

"Mum!" Ron shouted. "It's okay!"

Snape's face twisted with anger. "Him? What is he doing here?"

Dumbledore spoke up. "He is here at my invitation, as are you, Severus. I trust you both. It is time for you to lay aside your old differences and trust each other."

Something flashed in Hermione's peripheral. She turned quickly. Nothing. She stared intently, but whatever it was had seemingly disappeared. She did not move, however, and waited for whatever is was to return. Something seemed off. Hermione felt a suspicion creeping up, something she'd been thinking about for quite some time now—

BANG!

Hermione was snapped out of reverie. She looked wildly around. Snape, Sirius, and Dumbledore had left. It was just her, Harry, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley. Hermione looked at Harry; he was staring at the door after Dumbledore. It was completely silent. Harry glanced at Hermione, but it seemed his anger had washed away. He looked away quickly as if worried she would be cross with him.

"You've got to take the rest of your potion, Harry," Mrs. Weasley whispered. "You have a good long sleep. Try and think about something else for a while!" She tapped the sack of gold and smiled. "Think about what you're going to buy with your winnings!"

"I don't want that gold. You have it." Harry motioned to no one in particular. "Anyone can have it. I shouldn't have won it. It should've been Cedric's!" His voice had grown thick with emotion and he was fighting back tears.

"It wasn't your fault, Harry."

Harry's voice was shaky. "I told him to take the cup with me."

Mrs. Weasley sniffled. After a brief pause, she leant forward and embraced him. Hermione was tempted to move closer and offer some supportive words, but before she had the time to move, she saw it again. A flash of black in her peripheral, this time near the window.

This time she kept sight of it. Ignoring the questioning looks of Ron and Bill, she slowly stood up and crept to the window. As she got closer, she saw that it was a beetle. Could it be? The beetle scuttled around and suddenly stopped like a deer in the headlights. It seemed to be staring intently at Hermione, and she stared right back. A moment of excitement filled her body. Rita Skeeter? The markings around the eyes sealed the deal. It had to be that wretched woman; there was no other reasoning for Hermione.

She inched a step closer to the window, barely breathing. The beetle seemed to hold its breath as well. After a moment of pained anticipation, the suddenly took off. Hermione's hand instantly shot out, grabbing the beetle and pinning it against the wall to get a better grip on it.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, she turned around. Mrs. Weasley had let go of Harry, and the both of them along with Ron and Bill were staring with questionable looks. Her cheeks flushed and she felt embarrassed.

"Sorry!" she shot quietly at them.

Ron sat with a look of pained concentration, staring down at the chessboard in front of him. Hermione—who sat opposite of him in the plush, red couch, of the Gryffindor Common Room—sported a similar look. To any passerby, it would seem that the kids were simply using all their brainpower to try to best each other in the logic game, but more was going on.

After being forcefully ushered out of the Hospital Wing the night before by Mrs. Weasley, the duo were doing everything they could to keep their minds off of the events that had transpired. Not even they, as inquisitive as they were, humored theories or suggestions for what happened. They knew Cedric was dead, they were told He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has made an appearance, and most of all, they knew without being told that Harry was forced to endure the hardest and most tragic moments in his life. Both Hermione and Ron understood that what went on the day before would be revealed to them only when Harry was ready and that trying to put the story together beforehand would not only be pointless, but also insensitive.

Even so, it was hard to ignore the impending feeling of unease and worry surrounding not only them, but the rest of the castle. Dumbledore had made an announcement during breakfast to ask the other students to leave Harry alone once he was able to leave the Hospital Wing. It was unsurprising that such a request led to dark whispers and foreboding rumors throughout the Great Hall, and Hermione and Ron found themselves wondering just how much Harry could take until the end of term.

"Rubbish!"

Ron glared down at the chessboard. He had miscalculated and allowed Hermione to checkmate his king. Hermione frowned. It was very rare for her to slip by Ron's keen eye during chess. She was about to say something of comfort when Ron put on a forced smile.

"Brilliant! It's been ages since you've beaten me!"

Hermione smiled. She didn't mind it when Ron was humble for a change, no matter how genuine.

"That's just because you're tired," she murmured, finding herself stifling a yawn herself. Ron shrugged.

"I suppose."

There was an odd silence. Hermione stared out the window; the sun was setting, casting a pink tinge to the sky. She couldn't blame Ron for being so distracted. She had been mailing her parents about the tournament over the previous months, and they were expecting a letter regarding the results, but she didn't know what to say. No matter how much she wracked her mind she felt she wouldn't be able to explain all of her thoughts. On top of everything that happened, she also couldn't shake off how scared she had felt. The last twenty hours had her mind filled with dark thoughts and scenarios. What if Harry was the one that died? She tried not to imagine what sight she would have seen, or the state she'd be in, but with no luck. Would I be able to take it? She saw herself kneeling over her best friend, trying her best not to cry out in anguish over the lifeless body in front of her. She saw a grave. And she saw herself weeping over it, feeling her morale deteriorate—

"Hermione?"

With a jolt, Hermione returned to reality. Her face was burning and her eyes were thick with tears. She bowed her head and wiped the tears out of her eyes, feeling self-conscious. When she looked back up, she saw that Ron had graced a face of concern.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked, reaching out to her.

Hermione shifted out of his reach. "I'm sorry," she sniffled. "I'm fine."

She was saved the trouble of making up an excuse when they heard movement coming from outside. Climbing through the portrait hole, as tedious as could be, was Harry. Hermione and Ron jumped up out of their chairs.

"Harry!"

He didn't respond right away. Slowly, he made his way over to them as if in a daze. Seamus, who sat closest to the portrait hole, stared after Harry with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, much to the distaste of Hermione. She wondered if Seamus wanted to badger Harry about the night before or if he had darker thoughts regarding Harry's connection to Cedric's death. Either way, she didn't like it.

"Hey," Harry murmured as he reached them. His voice was coarse and his face worn; he held himself in a way that was almost reclusive. He didn't meet their eyes.

"Hey," Hermione said softly. Harry finally lifted his eyes and gazed searchingly in hers. She saw only grief and sorrow, and she guessed he felt some level of guilt. There was a pang in her chest; she had never seen Harry like this. She offered a weak smile. He did his best to return it, tugging his lips up a fraction of an inch, but it was enough for her. Then, without thinking, the trio embraced each other. Hermione held on to Harry tight, hoping with all her might that he knew she and Ron cared for him more than he could ever imagine. Ron patted him on the back; they stayed this way for a long minute. When they finally broke apart, Harry was quick to rub the tears out of his eyes, ducking his head away. When he turned back, he had a dark expression on his face.

"What's up with Seamus?" he muttered.

Hermione and Ron looked over his shoulder. Indeed Seamus was still staring intently at Harry, his eyes narrowed with curiosity and a hint of hostility.

"Dumbledore told the entire castle during breakfast this morning not to ask you any questions," Ron murmured. "My guess is everyone reckons you had something to do with Cedric—"

"If they mean to think I killed—"

"Shh!" Hermione shushed Harry's rising tone, glaring daggers at Ron. "I doubt they believe that," she lied. Harry wasn't convinced but didn't say anything.

"And more importantly," she went on, with complete sincerity in her voice, "we don't believe that!"

Harry knew this time Hermione was telling the truth, and despite that his mind was burdened with many dark thoughts and guilts, he felt immensely grateful. He wasn't sure how much they thought had happened and he wasn't quite sure how to explain to them what happened. It was something that he wanted, no, needed to confide with someone, but he didn't know how much they would understand.

Before he could say anything, Seamus stood up and began walking briskly towards the dormitories. When he reached the trio he stopped and stiffly turned around to face them.

"Well, erm, congrats," he muttered, not quite looking them in the eye. He turned around quickly and dashed up the stairs as if caught stealing. Ron sighed.

"I'll talk with him," said Ron, standing up. He stifled a yawn. "You comin' up?"

Harry looked up the stairs. He wanted nothing than to be in a comfortable bed again, trying his best to adjust to a "regular" life. But Harry shook his head. Maybe he didn't want to face Seamus. Maybe he wanted to be alone. You spent an entire day alone in your thoughts! That is NOT what you want!

He shot a glance at Hermione. What he saw was someone who was willing to be patient, who was willing to be gentle, and most of all, who was and will always be there for him. Instantly, he knew. He needed someone to confide in. His dull and heavy heart skipped a beat.

"I'll stay down here for a few, yeah?"

Ron nodded, stretching. "Don't be too much later. You need rest!" Harry nodded solemnly after Ron as he climbed the stairs.

Sinking down into the plush couch, he sighed. He was grateful to see that Hermione had stayed with him. She sat down on the chair opposite of him and pulled a piece of parchment—it looked like a half-written letter—towards her. For a second, he forgot about everything. Everything seemed so normal. But then, the feeling left as quickly as it came. Something was off. Harry could see that Hermione wasn't concentrating on her writing; her eyes seemed unfocused and her lips mouthed silent words. Her hand never reached for her quill. Suddenly, he was hit with a pang of guilt.

"Sorry!" he blurted out.

Hermione started and stared back. "Sorry?"

"Sorry I snapped at you last night," he muttered with shame. He remembered how she tried to console him, how he pulled his hand away from hers. He remembered the hurt on her face.

"Oh!" Hermione looked down, her cheeks turning pink. "Erm, you don't have to apologize. I stuck my nose where it didn't belong. It's me who should be apologizing..."

Not wanting to get into a petty argument, Harry dropped the subject. Instead he stared into the crackling flames of the fireplace. He was trying to formulate his thoughts. He didn't want to relive the night before, but he needed to tell her about it. He needed reassurance.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" Hermione looked up from her work, her face once again softening.

"Do you think—" He had much difficulty putting his thoughts into words. "Do you think I'm mental? Or insane, or whatever?"

Hermione's face fell. "Why would you think that?" She tucked her letter away in her bag and moved next to him on the couch. Hesitantly, she put her hand on his back. Harry didn't say anything. "Hey?" Her voice was firm but still soft. He looked away. "Why would you think that?" she repeated.

The words weren't found easily. "Do you believe Dumbledore? That Voldemort is back?"

She paused, and Harry could tell she was unsure of what she thought. But she started rubbing his back. "I believe you. That's all I need to hear."

"What do you think happened to Cedric?" The question came out much harsher than intended. Hermione flinched but didn't say anything. "Why do you think he died? I told him to come with me. Hermione—the goblet was a portkey. It led me right into his hands. And I told Cedric to take it with me. It's my fault." His voice cracked with raw emotion; he couldn't bear to look her in the eyes.

Hermione wrapped her arms around him. "How could you have known that would happen?" she whispered into his ear, sounding aghast. He shook his head. He knew, deep down, she was right, but it didn't feel right.

"I could've done more. I should've done more," he argued. Those long hours in the Hospital Wing did nothing to ease his mind; instead he sat as guilt and sorrow weighed down on him. "He would still be alive if I have just done more!" He felt this eyes start to burn. Once again, he saw his parents, standing next to him, and Cedric. And all the other ghostly figures in that graveyard. They had all died because of him, one way or another.

"Whatever happened, it wasn't because of you," Hermione said. She grabbed his shoulders. "Look at me!" He slowly looked up and saw that, like him, tears were leaking out of her eyes. He felt a sharp pang in his chest. "I don't know what happened. I don't expect you to tell me now. But I know for a fact that whatever happened between you and Y-You-Know-Who and Cedric wasn't your fault!" Harry stared at her. Then the tears started running down his cheeks. She reached forward and embraced him again.

As jumbled as his thoughts were, as guilty as he still felt, Hermione's words echoed in his head and reopened that feeling of gratitude. He had felt a small—yet deadly—thought of dread that maybe Hermione and Ron wouldn't believe him or understand what he felt. Knowing he was wrong filled his heart with reassurance and gratefulness. He held Hermione tighter.

"Thank you," he sighed. "I didn't mean to seem so depressing." He meant it with all sincerity. Hermione sniffled.

"It's all right," Hermione reassured. "I can't being to understand what you are going through, but I know it's more than we've ever experienced before."

There was a long pause.

"He's really back?" Hermione asked. Her voice was shaky and Harry could feel her trembling.

"Yes," he answered. "I wish I was wrong, but I know what I saw. I—I don't want to talk about it." He found that recounting that night to Sirius and Dumbledore had resurged his feelings of guilt, and didn't wish to re-explore it. "Sorry. Maybe another—"

"Of course!" Hermione finally let go and pulled back. Her face was red from crying but her eyes shined with what seemed to be hopefulness. Harry didn't understand why but didn't say anything. "When you're ready."

Harry nodded. "Thanks," he said weakly. He couldn't comprehend, even to himself, how much that meant to him. She didn't hold him to the high expectations that he expected her to, and even if everyone else did, he knew Hermione and Ron wouldn't leave his side. They sat together for a while, just grateful for each other's company. Finally, Harry let out a yawn.

"You should get to bed," said Hermione. "It's late."

Harry nodded and started to get up. Hermione grabbed his arm.

"Wait!" Harry stopped. "People might say nasty things. Please just know that you have me. And Ron," she pleaded.

"Of course," said Harry. He helped her up and smiled again. "Goodnight!"

"Goodnight," Hermione repeated, also smiling.

Harry turned and climbed up the stairs to the dormitory. Once he walked in, he saw that everyone was asleep. He trudged over to his bed, closed the curtains, and closed his eyes. He was glad to be back in with normal life. Hearing his friends snoring around him comforted him, and his last thoughts before drifting off into deep sleep was of Hermione's hugs and consolations.