HARRY POTTER AND THE UNFORGIVEN
A Sixth Year Harry Potter Fanfiction
BY
Jayiin Mistaya
"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."
...never tickle a sleeping dragon
COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter. Those rights are held, exclusively, by JK Rowling, and any other entities, corporations, subsidiaries, or groups not named here possessing legal rights to the aforementioned books and/or trademark.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you for the reviews on that last chapter, y'all. Made me smile. So here's the next chapter, a day or so ahead of schedule. I've got a beta-reader, but I'm looking for at least one person interested in being a sounding board for story as I develop it further. Drop me a line if you're interested.
Thanks to everyone who has been reading, even if you haven't reviewed, and especially to those people who have me on author alert or favorites.
More information on Harry Potter and the Unforgiven can be found at my website, which is linked in my Author Profile.
Feedback of any kind is always appreciated. Remember, the more reviews I get, the faster I post.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:Thanks to Elusive Evan for making me continue to post this and to ElvenLaughter for support and reviewing every single chapter to date.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Searching Surrey
Hermione Granger had traversed more distance in a shorter amount of time than she ever had before, at least without a portkey.
First, by plane to London's Heathrow airport, then by train to Little Whinging, Surrey. Now, by taxi to 4 Privet Drive, after a brief pause at the train station to shower, eat, change clothes and secure her trunk in a locker.
Fairly rested, and encouraged by the success of her plan – the Order of the Phoenix had not intercepted her or even contacted her - Hermione was feeling ready to find out what was going on with Harry.
Which was the only part of her plan she was sure of. Never one to hesitate once she'd made a decision, Hermione had acted with speed and efficiency in getting from Durmstrang to Little Whinging, and she was positive she'd be able to track Harry down.
It was what happened after she found Harry she wasn't sure about. She sat in the backseat of the taxi, and tried not to think about it. She couldn't go home. Her mother would be livid, and after running away, she would never be allowed to go back to Hogwarts. The Order was likely to be just as furious with her, and she wasn't sure what kind of reception she would receive at the Burrow, at least not after her letter to Ron.
I've made a right mess of things.
There was really only one thing left to do: see her plan through, and hope everything would turn out right in the end.
She was ashamed to admit there was a small part of her that hoped Ginny was right, that Harry really did need her. Because if he didn't, then she would have thrown everything away for nothing.
Maybe not nothing.
Even if Harry was okay, what Ginny had said had merit...a lot of merit. They – Harry's friends - couldn't leave Harry to deal with things alone. Even if he wasn't hurt or wallowing in grief, she would see he was fine with her own eyes, and be able to reassure Ginny that he was fine.
Maybe she would even have the chance to get him out of the Dursley's for an afternoon, maybe take him to lunch – and maybe get him to talk about things. Things he didn't like to talk about: the Third Task, Dolores Umbridge, the Department of Mysteries, and Sirius Black.
Regardless, my logic is sound. There is something going on that we don't know about it, and it involves Harry and probably that thrice-damned prophecy the Order was guarding.
Logic and reason had never failed her before, and she didn't think it would now. Now, if only I knew the logic to apply to get Harry's relatives to let me see him.
"We're here, miss," The cabby said, pulling her out of her thoughts.
"Thank you, sir." She smiled at him, paid and tipped him, and climbed out of the cab, discreetly letting Crookshanks out. He knew what to do.
Like most of the Wizarding world, she had never seen this house. Like most the Wizarding world, she had read of it. In the books, the Dursleys were described as a middle-class British family of good standing in the community.
Five years as Harry's friend had given her a different idea of them. She had imagined it countless times in her mind as a horrible and dark place, bars on the windows and locks on the doors – a place where a small boy would be kept prisoner in a cupboard under the stairs.
Instead, the bushy-haired witch found a cheerful, bright little house with a meticulously tended garden. The tall woman tending it stood slowly and peered at the cab and watched with pursed lips as the girl climbed out of it.
Petunia knew the idiot boy had sent his bird away, and hadn't been writing. Despite what that Umbridge woman had said, she knew there had been nothing to do but wait for one of them to come.
Now, it appeared someone had. Petunia was surprised at who they had chosen to send. The girl climbing out of the cab looked normal, but Petunia knew she wasn't. She was looking too intensely at the house and at her.
The girl wasn't tall, or short. She had on a flowing skirt and sleeveless blouse; her hair was bushy, but seemed elegant in that effortlessly windblown way. Her brown eyes and smiling face were attractive, but not stunning. She had a clumsy natural grace, as if she were still getting used to the idea of not tripping over her own feet. Her eyes didn't match the rest of her. The girl's eyes were full of sharp intelligence that drank in and analyzed everything she saw. They were eyes that had seen more than the girl's apparent age would lend one to think.
They were the eyes of someone who knew too about too many things and wasn't afraid to use that knowledge.
It was her eyes that convinced Petunia Dursley this girl was the onethey had sent to check on the boy. Not even that Umbridge woman would have seen this one coming.
"Petunia Dursley?" The girl spoke politely, and at Petunia's grimace, she strode forward, thrusting out her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you."
Petunia shook her hand curtly. "What do you want?"
Hermione's face lost all pretense of courtesy. "Where's Harry?"
Petunia sneered. "As if that's any of your business? The boy is well fed, watered, and unharmed. Let us be."
Hermione frowned. Her gut instinct told her something was wrong. She didn't want to press things, to get Harry in trouble, but she wasn't going to back down now and leave when she was positive she needed to be there.
"Fine." Hermione glared at Petunia. "Then let me see him."
Petunia huffed. "You know good and well he's not here right now, girl. I know your kind has been watching us all summer." Her husband might have been to blind to notice how many times the boy's glasses re-appeared, miraculously repaired or that he always seemed to have first aid supplies. But she saw it, and she knew what it meant. They were watching. "He's with his cousin, at McAllister's Gym, training. Just like every day."
Hermione sucked in a deep breath. "I want to see where he's staying."
Petunia's mouth curled in a hostile caricature of an inviting smile, and ushered Hermione inside. Another woman was bustling around in the kitchen, causing delicious smells of fresh baked bread to waft through the house.
The house itself was meticulously clean and decidedly well decorated. It had the air of belonging to people who thought far more of themselves than they had a right to, but it also spoke of more money than was apparent combined with understated good taste.
The other woman bustled out of the kitchen, her clothes perfectly pressed and arranged, her make-up spotless despite having been cooking all morning. She was nearly as broad as she was tall, with a crown of dark graying hair and the stern but warm eyes of a woman who had spent her life raising other people's children.
"Petunia, coming in already? Oh, my! I didn't realize we had company!"
"Erm, yes. It appears we do." Petunia was obviously hard-pressed to try to appear gracious in front of this other woman.
"Veronica Dursley, at your service." The woman held out a freshly washed hand, shaking Hermione's with the gentle vigor of a born and bred socialite.
"Hermione Granger, ma'am. I go to school with Mrs Dursley's nephew."
Hermione knew that was a gamble. She had no idea what this woman knew – or thought of – Harry.
Veronica narrowed her eyes at Hermione. "I somehow doubt you go to St Brutus Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys."
Hermione feigned surprise. "No ma'am! I've never heard of such a place! Harry and I both go to Straghow Preparatory!"
"Hmm, I see." Veronica looked at Petunia, who coughed slightly. "I've heard of Straghow. Expensive private school. It's a good school. Invitation only." Her face broke out into a grin. "Petunia! I knew you and Vernon were doing more for the boy than you let on! You could have told me!"
"Yes, well..." Petunia tried to demure, "it was set up by his parents, and..."
"Yes, yes." Veronica nodded as she went about preparing tea. "Dudley would have none of it. He's the apple of your eye, but has quite the jealous streak. And with all the problems Harry seems to have...yes, yes I can see why you're doing what you're doing." She smiled. "I always said you were a better mother than you gave yourself credit for!"
Hermione felt a chill.
"Thank you, Veronica...coming from you, that's quite a compliment." Petunia smiled uneasily.
"Nonsense, Petunia! I only say what I see. Now, why don't you two have a spot of tea? There's fresh bread in the kitchens if either of you get hungry." She set the tea service down on the dining table. "I do so hate to be rude, dear, but I have an appointment that I simply must keep. I'm going to be late as it is!"
Somehow managing to make hurrying seem dignified, Veronica grabbed her purse and keys and was out the door in a flash of pearls and heels.
Hermione didn't even make a pretense of it. "Show me where he stays, Petunia Dursley."
Her sneer would have done Snape proud as she sat down at her table and poured a cup of tea. "The cupboard under the stairs, girl. Veronica has his old bedroom."
Hermione wanted to stand and gape at the woman; to stand there and scream at her, but she knew it wouldn't do her, or Harry, any good. She marched over to the stairs and opened the cupboard.
The smell alone almost knocked her over. Fetid, still air washed over her, and she gagged. In one corner, there was a wastebasket filled with drying vomit and blood-stained bandages. Harry's Hogwarts trunk was at the foot of his cot, serving as a makeshift table for rolls of gauze and first aid tape. There was only one light bulb, which appeared to be loose in its socket.
She tightened it, and under its unfiltered light saw the sweat and blood-stained cot; not a single sheet or pillow, just a bare mattress. Her stomach lurched, threatening to rebel.
Barely able to think, Hermione turned off the light and closed the door, trembling with barely suppressed rage.
A soft meow startled her. Crookshanks slipped out of the downstairs bathroom.
She knelt down, and the ginger-furred cat walked up, looking as worried and downcast as Hermione felt.
"Find anything?"
He mewed mournfully, and dropped a bloody scrap of cloth into her outstretched hand. She scooped him up and helped him back into her backpack.
Hermione hesitated a moment before drawing her wand and stalking back around to the kitchen.
"How could you?" Her wand was pointed directly at Petunia, who was seated at the table, sipping tea.
"You wouldn't dare, girl." Petunia glared back. She knew how to handle these people. She'd learned that much from her sister. "I'm pregnant, and I doubt even your kind would forgive you if you hurt an unborn child."
You bloody-minded bitch. Hermione wanted to scream, but she forced herself to keep calm. Her eyes were burning with tears. She could barely speak. How could they do this to him? What had they done to him?
Ginny was right...I was right...oh my god, what have we let happen...
"Where is he?"
"I told you. McAllister's Gym. He helps his cousin train there." Petunia was calm, sipping tea. "Go find him, if you must. But you and I both know you can't take him." Her smile made Hermione's blood boil.
"And who's going to stop me?"
Often called the smartest witch of her generation, Hermione Granger was well known for her knowledge of magic and her surprising power – but only a rare few caught a glimpse of the passion underneath the scholar. Ron, Harry, and Ginny had seen her passion at its best and at its worst. Petunia Dursley was the first person to see that passion turn dark.
Her eyes narrowed, and she leveled her wand at Petunia.
Petunia slid a piece of parchment across the table. "Dolores Umbridge. Delightful woman. She paid us a visit the evening Harry got home from that...place...and gave us this letter."
Hermione read the letter, crumpling it in her fist. "That toad! I should have made sure the Centaurs had finished the job!" She threw the letter back at Petunia. "Where's your phone? I need to call a cab."
She snorted. "You're a schoolgirl, child. I know the look about you. 'Organization' or no, you're not what you're claiming to be. You won't use your powers on me. You can walk."
Hermione looked up at her with a deceptively innocent smile.
"I'm not? Magic is a tool, Petunia, not a weapon. No, my revenge will be much simpler. I will merely take proof of Harry's mistreatment to both the Muggle and Wizarding press. Your adoring public will do far more than I ever could."
Petunia Dursley turned a shade of puce her husband would have been proud of, but before she could speak, Hermione waved her wand.
"Now call me a cab or I will summon the Knight Bus right to your front door."
- 0 -
The cabby knew exactly where McAllister's Gym was.
In fact, his answer when she asked him if he knew where it was made her wish she'd kept more abreast of the Muggle world.
"Who doesn't, 'round these parts? Duncan McAllister, the European boxing champ, trains there. Brings a few celebrities through every now and again."
There was no mistaking that this was the place. The name was emblazoned proudly above the front door – which was securely locked. But when she pressed her face to the window, she saw a shirtless giant of a man punching a bag suspended in mid-air by thick chains above and below it. He moved with surprising speed and grace, each blow from his fists shaking the bag so hard Hermione wondered if the chains were enough to hold it in place.
I wonder if Ron looks that good with his shirt off?
Hermione blushed at her own thought, trying to shake it off. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about red-haired boys, with or without their shirts.
Where are Harry and his cousin?
She knocked on the window lightly, trying to catch his attention. He saw her, and seemed to sigh and growl at the same time as he stalked across the mats to the front door.
"Your business, girl?"
Hermione was flustered, but collected herself. "I want to see Harry Potter."
Duncan McAllister shook his head. "I don't think so, girl. I don't know you, Dursley hasn't said a word about any girl, and I'm damn well not going to interrupt Gracie for a girl I don't know. Now get!"
He slammed the door in her face. At least he knew who Harry was.
With a sigh, she trudged over to a bench across the street. She needed to think this through.
I've seen enough I can go to the Order. They have to help now.
It still seemed like a waste to have come all this way and not to see him.
And if she were honest with herself, she was scared to go back to the Order. What if they don't listen, because of how I left things?
She shivered despite the sun. After what I did for them...I deserve to be listened to.
That still didn't seem right. There was still the chance that the Order wouldn't help, and there was no guarantee she'd be able to get away a second time.
She remembered the bloody scrap of cloth Crookshanks had found. There's not even a guarantee he's here...or that 'Gracie' – whoever she is – would let him come with me.
She would have to go back to Privet Drive and wait for him, which meant calling another cab.
Wasn't there a café just down the street?
- 0 -
Hermione was waiting for her cab when she saw him.
He walked out of the gym and blinked up at the sun, looking up at it as if he wasn't use to seeing it. As he lifted his face to the sky, she saw bruises on his face and his arms; deep purple and sickly green splotches, like he had been beaten.
He looked tired. There were deep dark circles under his eyes. He had grown taller, and was thinner than she had ever seen him. She could practically count his ribs under the tight black t-shirt. His skin was pale and sickly looking. He seemed resigned, somehow, almost defeated.
But he had changed in other ways. There was something indefinably different about the way he moved, and despite being dangerously thin, she saw more muscle on his frame than she'd ever thought Harry would have.
The gray-haired woman he was with was hovering while trying to act like she wasn't hovering...and he seemed comfortable with her. She was leading him toward a bus.
Maybe she's Gracie?
She blinked the tears from her eyes and was about to dash headlong across the street to get to him.
"Harry!" She screamed his name, wanting to get his attention.
He turned towards her, the ghost of a smile touching his lips; his eyes took her breath away. Raw sorrow, guilt, and pain – it was like looking into the heart of a bright green fire.
- 0 -
When Harry walked outside, he realized it was one of the few times that summer the sun touched his face; it felt wonderful. Better than the shower. He took a deep breath and turned his face to the sky, basking in it, drinking in the brightness and warmth.
"Harry!" He started at the familiar voice.
Hermione?
He almost smiled, but a pang of guilt and longing caught his breath. He scanned the crowd, searching for the familiar bushy brown hair, her infectious smile.
But there was no one there.
Gracie looked down at him. "I swear I heard someone call your name, kid."
Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah, I did too. But it was probably someone else. It's a common name, you know."
He could almost hear his aunt. Nasty, common name, Harry.
She squeezed his shoulder, and felt the familiar flinch, but she didn't pull away. "Come on, kid. I don't want to miss the bus."
- 0 -
Strong hands pulled her back, and she felt a wash of silken cloth brush over her as she was drug into an alley beside the café.
Her hand was grasping her wand even as her foot lashed out, coming down hard on an instep.
"Ow, damn, girl!"
The hands released and she spun away, bringing her wand to bear. But there was no one there.
Invisibility cloak.
Well, she knew how to handle that. "Adumbro cindere!"
Everything in the alley was suddenly outlined by faint blue fire, and she could make out the silhouette of her attacker.
"Stupefy!"
The jet of red light leapt from her wand, but the cloaked figure dodged easily.
Hermione smiled coldly. She'd been in enough duels now to predict that. In fact, she'd been counting on it. Her stance shifted slightly, her wand moving slightly to one side.
"Expelliarmus!"
The cloaked figure flew backwards. Their wand flew into Hermione's outstretched hand.
Nymphadora Tonks threw off the hood of the invisibility cloak, sputtering.
"Girl, have you even thought about the Reasonable Restriction for Underage Sorcery?"
Hermione sneered, anger welling in her as she recognized the Auror. How can you just...watch him?
"I'd just get a warning. My first offense, and all that. And you grabbed me. From behind. Like an attacker. What did you expect I would do? Go meekly, like Harry has to?"
She advanced on Tonks. "Did you see him?" Hermione poked her wand at Tonks, blue sparks flickering through the air. "Did you?"
Her voice was almost a screech. She pocketed Tonks' wand, and stared venomously at the older woman.
"Yeah, I saw. And I can't do a damn thing about it!" The anguish in Tonks' voice made Hermione waver.
The Auror grabbed her by the shoulders. "And where have you been, Hermione? Everyone's been worried sick, and scared to death! We thought Death Eaters had you!"
Hermione shook Tonks off. "I left a note! Ginny said Harry needed me, and she was right!"
"Maybe she was...but damn it, you scared us!" Tonks sank down to the ground, leaning against the wall. "Why didn't you trust us to help you?"
Hermione stared down at her, trying to force her guilt away. "How could I? When have any of you listened to any of us? McGonagall forbid me to go to him!"
Tonks shook her head. "You didn't even give us a chance!"
"You've never given us a chance! Not once, not ever! Now Sirius is dead, and Harry's been subjected to Merlin knows what this summer! Ginnystill has nightmares, and there are times I'm afraid to leave any of my friends alone because I'm not sure I'll ever see them again! It's why I joined your precious Order! I don't have that many friends, Nymphadora Tonks, and I'll be damned before I'll let you or anyone else just stand there while they're destroyed piece by piece!"
Hermione was crying now, but she didn't care. "When have any of you given us a chance? When have any of you so-called adults bothered to listen to us? How much more do we have to give, to endure, before we're 'allowed' to fight with the 'grown-ups'?"
Tonks stood back up. "This isn't the time or the place for this."
Hermione kept her wand trained on Tonks. "Oh? And where is? Grimmauld Place, where a house-elf even I hate can saunter about and mock us? Or some other dark, dank place where we can sit and rot?"
Tonks shook her head. "Hermione..."
"Fine." She handed Tonks her wand back. "Take me to the Order, then. We'll see what 'trust' gets me."
End Chapter
Revised 12-25-07
