Chapter III
The Patronus / St. Mungo's
Disclaimer: If I actually did own Harry Potter, do you think you'd be reading this on FFN? Don't be silly. The Wrackspurts own Harry Potter, everyone knows that.
Author's Note: If you've read this far I'd really like to thank you for sticking with it. All of your questions will be answered, I swear! Extra thanks go to those kind enough to take the time to review my work. I appreciate your comments immensely, I'm nearly as fond of them as Dumbledore is of knitting patterns.
You may have noticed a distinct lack of Weasley-bashing in this fic. Even though I'm a Harry/Hermione shipper, I've never really had anything against Ron and Ginny; fics that turn Ron into an abusive drunk or Ginny into a manipulative bitch have never really sat well with me. I like to keep things closer to canon—both are genuinely good people who love and adore their spouses and are probably terrific parents. Not that they're anywhere near as good for Harry and Hermione as the latter two are for each other, of course. You'll have to keep reading to find out why things ended up the way they did, but I promise, you're almost to the core of it. The next couple of chapters, especially, will be chock full of answers, and HP/Hr goodness to boot.
Soundtrack Note: Buckbeak's Flight, from the Prisoner of Azkaban soundtrack.
"The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once."
-Albert Einstein
The boy emerged from the cabin and, edging around it cautiously, cocked his head and listened. Loud yelps came from the distance, growing fainter the longer he listened for them.
For a fraction of a second he stood there, staring out at the lake, his heart warring between doing what he ought to do and doing what he needed to do.
Shadows cut through the night, and the forest air took on a sudden chill. Dementors, emerging out of the darkness in every direction, gliding around the edges of the lake… they were moving away from where the boy stood, to the opposite bank.
He began to run, and she followed him, unnoticed. So focused was he on what was about to happen that she doubted she even needed the cloak to remain unseen.
Behind them in the groundskeeper's cabin remained the girl, and the hippogriff. The girl would only take a few seconds to realize exactly he was up to and then chase after him, but she would be slowed by the beast, who would not come willingly.
The boy reached the edge of the lake, but he did not find what he was looking for there. There was a bush at the edge of the water. He threw himself behind it, peering desperately through the leaves.
It grew supernaturally cold, and she couldn't help but shiver a little. Beneath the cloak, her breath became visible and she began to ache, not in her fingers and toes but in her very soul.
On the opposite bank, flashes of silver light erupted. He stared at them in a morbid fascination, as the dementors closed in on their hapless victims, the Patronuses conjured against them flickering and flashing, only slowing their advance, not stopping them, as the pressed inevitably closer.
The girl was still some distance away, but she was making enough noise now to be heard from the boy's position. Only his obsession kept him from noticing her approach.
She looked back at the girl, who like the boy was transfixed with the scene across the lake. The glimmers of silver light were suddenly extinguished, and the girl shuddered involuntarily, recalling with dread the terrifying chill of the dementors feeding upon her, conjuring up her worst memories…
The boy would never know what it was she had experienced when she had collapsed at his side, the horror of finding herself back in the stands of the Quidditch pitch, looking on helplessly as the one she loved teetered woozily on his broom before slipping off and plummeting towards the earth… how she'd sat there over his unconscious form in the hospital wing, sobbing uncontrollably, certain that she'd lost him, begging him to wake up, to be alright…
"Come on!" muttered the boy, staring about. She turned her attention away from the girl, drawing closer to him so she could hear what it was he was saying. "Where are you? Dad, come on…"
But no one came. The boy raised his head to look at the circle of dementors across the lake. One of them was lowering its hood, leaning in over the figure beneath it for its fatal Kiss…
Realization dawned on the boy. With a start, he flung himself out from behind the bush and pulled out his wand.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" he yelled.
And out of the end of his wand burst, not a shapeless cloud of mist, but a blinding, dazzling, silver animal. She gazed at it, awed, as did the boy. Galloping silently across the lake, it lowered its head and charged…
Reluctantly, she tore her eyes away from the sight and looked back over her shoulder, where the girl stood, mouth open, enthralled. Later, much later he would tell the girl what it was he had thought of when he'd cast the spell, the happy memory that had summoned forth Prongs for the very first time… the image of herself, racing down the Great Hall towards him, no longer Petrified, screaming at him over the roar of applause that had overtaken the feastgoers as she flung herself around his neck…
Had he happened to tell her right after the fact, the night might have gone quite differently, she mused.
The dementors scattered, the Patronus turned. It cantered back towards the boy over the still surface of the water. He could see now its true form, the mighty antlers that rose from its head, its entire being as radiant as the moon above as it returned to him.
It stopped on the bank. Its hooves made no mark on the soft ground as it stared at him with its large, silver eyes. Slowly, it bowed its head, and the boy realized…
"Prongs," he whispered.
The creature vanished as his shaking hand reached out to touch it. He stood there for a moment, hand outstretched.
Meanwhile, the girl had shaken herself back to awareness, and was blushing furiously. Beneath the cloak, she smiled. She knew that the only thought in the girl's head at that moment was of rushing up to the boy and planting her mouth hungrily atop his.
"What did you do?" the girl asked fiercely, tugging on the rope around the great beast's neck and dragging it towards the boy, the passion for him that had threatened to overwhelm her channeled into safe, familiar anger. "You said you were only going to keep a lookout!"
"I just saved our lives…" said the boy. "Get behind here—behind this bush—I'll explain."
She and the girl listened to him as he explained what it was that had just happened, described how the man he had thought he had seen had not been his father, but rather himself.
"Did anyone see you?" the girl asked.
"Yes, haven't you been listening? I saw me but I thought I was my dad! It's okay!"
"Harry, I can't believe it… You conjured up a Patronus that drove away all those dementors! That's very, very advanced magic…" The girl was blushing furiously, though the boy didn't seem the notice.
She felt a pang of sympathy for her. She knew that for months, years after this night the girl would lie awake in bed, agonizing over her failure to kiss him when she'd had the chance.
"I knew I could do it this time," said Harry, "because I'd already done it… Does that make sense?"
"I don't know—Harry, look at Snape!"
The two peered around the bush at the other bank, where the Potions professor had regained consciousness, conjuring stretchers and lifting the limp forms before him onto them. A fourth stretcher, no doubt already bearing the red-headed one, was already floating at his side. Then, wand held out in front of him, he moved them away toward the castle.
It was clear, to her at least, that the girl did not want to leave the sudden intimacy that had been created now that they were finally out of danger and alone together behind the bush. But the boy looked to her for guidance and the girl looked at her watch.
"Right, it's nearly time," she said tensely. "We've got forty-five minutes until Dumbledore locks the door to the hospital wing. We've got to rescue Sirius and get back into the ward before anyone realizes we're missing…"
The two began to discuss their plans, and mounting the hippogriff, the two soared into the air, heading for the castle's West Tower, the girl's chance having slipped through her fingers for good.
By the time she arrived at the tower's top by foot, the prisoner's escape had been noticed and wizards were swarming over the place trying to find out what happened, the boy and girl long gone. A twist of the Time-Turner, though, and she had to wait only a few moments before the pair glided up to the window, the girl opening it with a stern "Alohomora!"
"How—how—?" asked the prisoner weakly, staring at the hippogriff.
"Get on—there's not much time," said Harry, gripping the beast firmly on either side of his sleek neck to hold him steady.
"You've got to get out of here—the dementors are coming—Macnair's gone to get them."
The prisoner placed a hand on either side of the window frame and heaved his head and shoulders out of it. It was very lucky he was so thin. In seconds, he had managed to fling one leg over the hippogriff's back and pull himself onto it behind the girl.
"Okay, Buckbeak, up!" said the boy, shaking the rope. "Up to the tower—come on!"
And again they flew away from her.
She followed them on foot until they'd all arrived back at the hospital wing, using the Time-Turner whenever she needed to catch up to them. She watched over them constantly, ensuring the pair weren't ambushed after they'd parted ways with the boy's godfather and the hippogriff. No one interfered.
Evidently this wasn't the moment, either.
She'd known tonight had been a longshot, despite what the boy would later tell the girl about the inspiration for his first corporeal Patronus. Admittedly, she could think of other moments that were more likely for him to visit than this one. She'd tried rationalizing it to herself, claiming she was merely moving ahead through the most important moments of their lives in chronological order, but if she were truly honest with herself…
She'd chosen this night because of the dementors. She'd wanted to feel, needed to feel alone and small and pathetic, craved it, the dread chill of their feeding off of her, to feel her worst memory slice her open and bury her in shame and guilt…
"It… it was you… It wasn't… it wasn't supposed to be you! Why was it you?"
She blinked, forcing away the image of the woman's brown eyes filling with tears, and reached for the Time-Turner. She'd ensure they were safe for tonight, that he wouldn't come for them in their sleep, and then she'd move on to the next candidate on her list. And when she'd found him…
He would pay for what he'd done to her. What he'd done to the boy had been unforgivable, but thanks to his actions she would never, ever forget those eyes, staring at her in pain and anguish…
But as much as her insides still burned with a cold, harsh fury, the encounter with the dementors had reminded her that she wasn't here because of a desire for revenge, or even for the boy's salvation, not entirely.
Simply put, she was here because she had nowhere else to go, no one to turn to after all of the lies had brought her world crashing down.
Stopping him was the only thing she had left to live for.
She hurried down the first-floor corridor, passing by the many doors on either side for her as she looked for the number her sister-in-law had given her, her shoes making loud clacking noises with each and every step.
She didn't have to look long, as it turned out; up ahead the red-headed woman sat outside one of the rooms, looking small and defeated.
"Oh, Hermione!" she cried, leaping up and rushing to her side.
The two embraced fiercely, and Hermione could feel the smaller woman trembling in her arms.
"How is he?" she asked gently.
"They haven't told me anything," Ginny said, her voice barely a whisper.
The day had not gone as planned. After last's night discussion with Ron, the two had resolved to not delay finding out the cause for Harry's strange behavior any further. Together, the two of them worked out a strategy they'd believed would work. The plan had been for her to be the one to slip into Harry's office, after hours; Ronald would stay there as late as Harry did, and leave with him, keeping him occupied while she conducted her search.
Of course, to avoid drawing suspicion, she'd had to completely go about her normal routine, taking Hugo to the Ministry daycare and heading straight to the second level. There could be no uncharacteristic visits to the Auror Office, no calls or discrete messages sent to or from Ron, nothing that would attract Harry's attention or paranoia.
It had nearly driven her mad.
What made it especially nerve-wracking was the fact that they all worked together on the same floor. Sure, the Auror Office was on the other side of the Ministry from her department, but somewhere down the hall Ron was trying to scope things out, keep tabs on Harry, find out more about that thing that had twisted him so, all while knowing that his wife was planning on breaking into the damn place later that evening and not arouse any suspicions.
She loved her husband, but he wasn't exactly subtle.
And because she'd had to remain incommunicado, she hadn't heard anything about what had happened until she'd received the call from Ginny. For the second time in as many days, she had her sister-in-law on the verge of tears on the other end of the line.
"It's Harry," she had said. "He's been taken to St. Mungo's. He's been attacked."
There had been no more details, quite simply because there weren't any details for her to share. The Healers were too busy saving Harry's life, and the Aurors too busy trying to figure out what'd happened, for anyone to tell Ginny anything.
It was only on her way to the hospital, after arranging Hugo to be picked up and watched by Molly and Arthur that Hermione had realized she had no idea where Ron was. Ginny hadn't said anything about him being there with her, and her blood had run cold for a moment as she tried desperately to get someone in the Auror Office to tell her whether her husband had been hurt or even killed.
As it turned out, there had been a request for aid from the Irish Ministry of Magic, a Fomorian uprising, and Harry, apparently tired of Ron's less-than-understated attempts to keep an eye on him, had sent him to head the operation.
The knowledge that her husband was away battling against giants in Ireland relieved her more than it would under most circumstances. He'd faced worse things before, and had always returned to her in one piece. She was still worried for him, but right now Harry and Ginny needed her.
Her arms still clutched around her shaken sister-in-law, she wondered when Ron would arrive. She knew that the moment he learned of what had befallen Harry, he would rush to their side as soon as he possibly could. When it came down to it, Ronald had always been there for his friends when they truly needed him.
With one glaring exception, a nasty part of her thought, and she was immediately ashamed of herself for it.
The two sat waiting for nearly an hour outside the room in which Harry lay. They did not speak much. Neither had the energy to make small talk, or speculate on what had happened to him. They both knew the other was thinking the worst, and neither wanted another to confirm their fears. Instead, Hermione held Ginny's hand tightly in her own, pouring all her love and support through the simple gesture. Together, they waited.
Eventually, the door opened and a Healer approached them. They looked up at him, eyes wide with fear.
"What's happened to my husband?" Ginny asked, her voice taut.
"From the description of the eyewitnesses who brought your husband to us," the Healer told her gently, "he was assaulted by at least three dementors."
"Dementors?" Ginny asked dazedly.
The Ministry had had the dementors on the run for years, now, Hermione knew, thanks in large part to Harry's own efforts. How could this be?
"Yes. They overpowered him, and attempted to perform the Dementor's Kiss. He was fortunate that there were quick-thinking wizards in the vicinity to come to his rescue."
"That doesn't make any sense," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Harry has the most powerful corporeal Patronus I have ever seen. He's driven away dozens of dementors before. How could only three do this to him?"
"He's been acting strangely lately," Ginny told him, clearly reluctant to discuss her marital problems but willing to disclose everything that might help heal Harry. "Moody, stressed out, working longer hours. And drinking… a lot. Could that have caused the dementors to overpower him?"
The Healer nodded slowly. "The emotional state of the victim plays a major role in the feeding of a dementor. If your husband was feeling particularly vulnerable, emotionally, it's possible his magic might have failed him before he was able to conjure a Patronus."
A second, grimmer theory occurred to Hermione, though she didn't say anything aloud for Ginny's sake.
He might not have had any happy memories to focus on to cast the Patronus charm with…
What had happened to him?
"He's resting now," the Healer told them. "His physical injuries were only minor, and have been repaired. You can see him now, if you like."
He let them past and they hurried to Harry's side. He lay there, in his hospital bed, fast asleep. It was not a peaceful sleep. His brow was covered in sweat, and his face was all scrunched up, as if he were scowling at something in his dreams.
Ginny sat down immediately, leaning forward instinctively to take his hand in her own. Kissing his knuckles gently, she looked up at the Healer.
"When will he be awake?"
The Healer did not reply, not right away, and Hermione tore her eyes from Harry to look back at him, casting his eyes down at the floor awkwardly.
When he did speak, his voice was apologetic, somber. "As I said before, there's nothing physically wrong with him…"
"But?" Hermione demanded sharply.
"He hasn't responded to any of our attempts to wake him and assess his status," he answered. "There was some fear that the dementors were indeed able to administrate the Kiss…"
Ginny let out moan, a pitiable sound somewhere in between a wail and a sob.
"…but his soul is most definitely intact, we're sure of that," the Healer hurriedly continued. "We don't know yet why he refuses to wake. The best we can say right now is that he doesn't yet want to."
Hermione stared at him, then at Harry. She felt her fear building, a rising wave of despair and anxiety that made her feel nauseous.
Abruptly it was replaced with rage. She wanted to scream at him, shake him, force him to wake just so she could slap him for making her and Ginny go through this.
But she realized just as abruptly that her anger was misdirected. It wasn't Harry's fault. To have been made to feel as if there was nothing in the world worth waking for, to have lost all joy to such an extent that one had nothing left to conjure a Patronus with…
It was that thing, the artifact in his office, she was sure of it. It had done this to him, drained the joy out of him, hurt him in a way she couldn't begin to fathom.
It made her heart break.
But Harry was here, now. And that thing was in his office, unguarded. And she could go there this very moment and destroy it, once and for all, save him, bring him back to her.
Bring him back to Ginny and me, she corrected herself.
"There's something else," the Healer said, and she shook herself out of her thoughts and turned to listen again.
"He's—said—some things, in his sleep, shown some of the warning signs. He's showing all the classical symptoms of having been afflicted with a Memory Charm. All we've been able to tell so far is that it was performed quite some time ago, years ago, most likely, and that it was quite potent."
"A—a Memory Charm?" she asked dumbly.
"Harry's been in St. Mungo's tons of times before," said Ginny severely. "Why hasn't anyone realized this before?"
"Probably because he's only begun to fight it recently," said the Healer. "It's quite likely that this is the cause of your husband's recent… odd behavior."
Hermione just looked at him, unable to even speak.
"Will you be able to remove it?" Ginny asked him.
"None of our potions have had any effect so far," he answered. "To be perfectly honest… I'm not sure. The fact that it was cast so long ago, and was so powerful and precise… I've never seen a memory-altering spell this powerful before, in all my years at St. Mungo's, ma'am."
Hermione took a seat next to Harry, on the other side of Ginny. She couldn't stand up straight right now, not after all of this. She looked down at his sleeping figure, his messy, black hair falling down over his scar in a way that reminded her intensely of the boy she had first met all those years ago on the Hogwarts Express.
"We'll be transferring him to the Spell Damage ward tomorrow morning," the Healer was telling Ginny. "I've contacted a colleague of mine, an expert on this sort of thing, he'll be here later this evening to consult…"
Hermione didn't really hear anything after that. The rage had returned.
Who could have done such a thing to him? Who could cast a Memory Charm so powerful that Harry's Healer had never seen its like before? She had an absurd vision of Gilderoy Lockheart assaulting Harry in a dark alley somewhere, Ron and Harry had told her that Memory Charms had always been the old fraud's specialty…
She blinked, forcing the image out of her head. The more important question, she realized, was why. Why perform a Memory Charm on Harry? What could they have wanted to conceal from him so badly that they would have been willing to tear up his mind to hide it? Answer that question, she knew, and you would learn who had performed the deed.
Eventually, the Healer left the room, leaving them with him. Neither woman spoke, just sitting there, holding his hands, willing him to wake from this nightmare.
His lips moved, and she found that if she listened closely she could make it out what he was muttering.
"Ginny… Ginny… come back to me…"
For some reason, that only made her feel worse. She'd half-believed, no, deluded herself into thinking that it would be her name he cried out when he was at his most vulnerable…
Quit acting like you're sixteen again, Granger, said a part of her.
It's Weasley, now, she replied, shakily.
Then act like it.
