Author's note - The familiar dialogue in the end is taken, of course, from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.
Part 1, Chapter 5: For Want of a Wand
27th December, 2010, 5:47 a.m. X removed to S':
The fire had died out by the time everyone assembled in front of the tent. They weren't as many as Dean had hoped, Harry could see. They had rescued more than thirty prisoners from Azkaban, and about a third of them had joined their little excursion. In Harry's opinion, that was better than they had any right to hope for - especially when one of those in front of the tent was Minerva McGonagall. After a night's rest, two good meals and no Dementors around her for hours, she looked much more like the McGonagall he remembered.
With her stood Aberforth Dumbledore, Mundungus Fletcher, Tom the ex-barman, and more unexpected people: Victor Krum, Andromeda Tonks, Aurora Sinistra, Angelina Johnson, and Anthony Goldstein's old Hogwarts friend, Terry Boot.
They all looked ready, they all looked prepared, and they all looked as if there was nothing they wanted to do more than to break into the Ministry and take down Malfoy. Harry should have felt exhilarated, seeing them like that. Instead, it made him think of something else entirely - how many of the people he knew had died in this travesty of a world. Hagrid, Kingsley, Seamus Finnigan, Hannah Abbot, Lavender Brown, Dennis Creevey... And while no one said anything, he suspected a large portion of the Weasley family and even young Teddy Lupin were gone. He didn't have the heart to ask. But all he could see were the people who should have been there, but weren't.
Instead, he asked the people in front of him whether they were ready. Their expressions were grim but determined when they answered 'yes'.
"Ready?" he asked the second group - Dean and Anthony, Parvati and Padma, and mostly Luna, who had none of that dreamy expression he was so used to see on her face. They were ready, too.
Next to him, Ron's face were tense but resolute. "Let's go."
They decided to go into London very much the same way he and Ron had done the day before - by Muggle public transportation. This time, however, they took the train from half a dozen different spots, after Harry had pointed out that nearly twenty people boarding the same bus at the same early morning hour and in one of the small, unimportant towns next to London would rouse suspicion.
"So what?" Dean had argued. "What difference does it make if the Muggles notice us?"
"Because," Harry answered, "as much as I hate to say it, Malfoy might be a fool, but he must have someone competent around him. Yesterday we almost didn't make it back because someone tipped off the Ministry - I'd rather not repeat that experience."
It took more than an hour until everyone assembled at the agreed spot, at St James's Park. The world was still dark around them, as if it were the middle of the night. But Harry knew it would be daybreak soon. There was no time to waste.
They were going to enter the Ministry through all possible entrances. Some of them would take the visitors' entrance, that old phone box that still stood at the exact spot Harry had remembered, the same place he had used it years and years ago with Arthur Weasley. Others would go through the system Voldemort's Ministry had employed so long ago, through the public toilets. And a small group...
"Well," Harry smiled without mirth, "we're just going to come knocking through the front door."
"Good luck," Ron said, before he led his group through the toilets.
"Good luck," Harry answered, and signalled to Luna. Their small group constituted of McGonagall, Angelina, Viktor Krum and a small wizard who turned out to be Dedalus Diggle, under copious amounts of beard.
The entrance they chose into the Ministry was through the long tunnel that connected the Muggle government buildings to the wizarding ones. A Muggle who looked at it would only see a door, with the warning Danger. High voltage. Do not enter. The wizards, however, could see the inscription: Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. This early in the morning they could take this route without being discovered. Still, Harry insisted they walked through the door in pairs. There wad bound to be Muggle security there, and there was no need to draw attention to themselves. It took them five minutes to assemble behind the door, then Harry led the way into the Ministry.
As they had agreed, Harry's group was the first to walk into the Ministry. The rest will come in a minute or two, he knew, but his group was given the hardest task - distract the guards, and Harry wasn't quite sure how to do it. As he had told Ron the night before, when they planned their little excursion, that was the least of their problems. If necessity demanded it, he could probably just go and chat to the guards for a few moments before cursing them.
He did not expect the curses to start hitting them the second they walked through the tunnel.
27th December, 2010, 7:00 a.m. X' removed to S'':
It was far too early to Ron's liking. Dumbledore had insisted they left before sunrise, to give them more time, he said. More time for what, Ron wasn't sure. After all, what difference would another hour or two make? Voldemort didn't know how many of his Horcruxes had already been discovered, and Dumbledore was not dying. The only good thing that came out of this early excursion was that it gave him the chance to leave the room before Harry woke up, so at least he didn't have to find an excuse.
To Ron's surprise, finding the cave did not prove a problem. Harry had told Ron all those years ago where it was and how to get there. Ron wasn't sure at first whether he remembered it accurately enough - Harry had shared his tale with them back when they were on the run, at least a dozen years ago. But he had the impression that this Dumbledore knew more than he was letting on - which, if Ron were honest with himself, was no surprise at all. Ron only had to describe the cave in general details for the old Headmaster to nod and say, "Yes, I think I am familiar with this cave of yours."
The cave they ended up in, at the crack of dawn and freezing with the sea breeze, looked very much like the one Harry described. "Ah, yes," Dumbledore said as soon as they arrived. "This is the place."
"How can you tell?" Ron couldn't help but asking.
"Because I am afraid we can move no further by magic. From here on, we shall have to swim."
Ron thought the old wizard was taking it all rather well. He didn't fancy at all entering the freezing water - not at that hour, not at that time of the year, and definitely not with the temperature below zero. He had no choice, though - he was the one who volunteered to go with Dumbledore.
"Are you ready, Mr Weasley?" Dumbledore asked with an eyebrow raised, and jumped head-first into the sea.
"No," Ron said with a sigh, and jumped in after him.
The swim did not take that long, and afterwards it only took a simple spell to get them both warm again, but still, Dumbledore sat down to catch his breath, and Ron was glad for the break, as short as it was.
"We're going to have to do that again, aren't we?" he couldn't help but asking.
"I'm afraid so," Dumbledore said, but there was amusement in his voice.
"Hopefully it will be warmer then - damn! Wasn't this cold when Harry did it, that was in June."
Dumbledore studied him for a moment. "Can I ask you something, Mr Weasley?"
"Sure, of course you can."
"If I understood correctly, Ms Granger, Mr Potter and yourself were in the middle of a rescue mission when you ended up here."
"Yeah - we told you. Malfoy got Neville. He was going to execute him, and we couldn't - " he hesitated for a moment. "Well, we couldn't leave him there."
"I completely understand," Dumbledore answered, but Ron thought he could detect a trace of disapproval in his voice.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Was it wise to take Mr Potter with you?"
Ron froze. "I don't understand what you mean," he said slowly.
"I think you do, Ron. Not only are you risking Mr Potter's life in missions that he is clearly unfit for, but also your own lives, as you put yourself in further danger by taking care of him as well as the mission."
"Harry has never disappointed us during crisis," Ron said - and all the while remembered how Harry could not even Apparate to Hogwarts' gates the day before. But that was different, he argued with himself, he was wounded.
"So far," said Dumbledore. "You are playing with your lives here, Ron. Mr Potter should stay with someone who can take care of him, not be put through ordeals he is not capable of dealing with."
Oh. "Harry's not Ariana, Mr Dumbledore," Ron said. His assumption was an accurate one - Dumbledore's head turned to him sharply, angrily even. Ron thought of Harry, the day before, when he faced Dumbledore and refused to back down. "I understand that you see him now, so you don't know how he used to be, what kind of things he did. But we do."
"Ah," said Dumbledore, "used to be. Perhaps it is not I who is thinking of the past, Mr Weasley, but you."
"No, sir," Ron said, getting on his feet. "You're wrong. Harry isn't just one of us - he's always been the one we've followed. And nothing bad has ever happened to us when we followed Harry."
27th December, 2010, 8:13 a.m. X removed to S':
"Protego!" Harry yelled, but it was no good - not with this wand. The curse went right through the shield charm. He ducked and rolled on the floor, trying to curse the Death Eater from his new position - and while still in movement. His arm stung, but there was no time to worry about that - behind him, he could hear someone - Ron? - shouting another curse at the same Death Eater, then his own name. "Harry!"
Harry tried to answer and reassure Ron that the Death Eater didn't get him, but with all the mayhem, he never got the chance. Ron wouldn't have heard him anyway, he figured. He got up from the floor in one swift movement, then made to curse the Death Eater again. His stream of red light met the Death Eater's green jet in mid-air, and they both ricocheted - the red light had hit another Death Eater, one of the two Luna was battling.
The green light hit Minerva McGonagall.
He didn't even have the time to shout her name. Her body was falling, falling... down. He made his way towards her, knowing what he will find before he got there.
She was dead.
The next jet of green light missed him by millimetres. He reacted without thinking, still shocked with what he had seen, and cursed the Death Eater back. His opponent was hit by the curse, and fell backwards with the force of it. But this small victory did not amount for anything. They were outnumbered, three to one at least, and the number was rapidly rising. They had lost not only Minerva - but also Tom and Viktor. And the thoroughly prepared and unsurprised Death Eaters were rising in numbers with every second.
There was nothing to it. They were not going to get through.
"Go back!" he shouted. "Everyone!"
They started retreating - and fighting all the way back. Harry couldn't see how they were going to manage their retreat, not as long as the Death Eaters were keeping them occupied. Perhaps, if they could just -
A huge, unexpected explosion made them all jump - Dean had performed some unknown spell with his wand, and half of the ceiling collapsed, sheltering them from the Death Eaters behind it. The Death Eaters were not the only ones behind this temporary wall - it had swallowed Minerva and Tom's bodies, as well. Harry's first instinct was to jump forward and try to get the bodies out, but there was no time for it. The living had to find a way out first. And they didn't have much time - the Death Eaters were already working on clearing the debris.
"How do we get out?" someone asked in panic.
"Grab my hand - everyone, form a chain!" He had made sure to operate the stone right before they arrived. Apparating so many people out at the same time was less than ideal, and he would never try it under regular circumstances, but they really had no choice. Once everyone held their hands together, he turned on the spot.
Nothing happened. The stone wasn't working.
"Harry!" Ron said in alarm. They could hear them - more and more, coming in through all doors, some of them from the wrong side of the debris barrier.
There was no way out.
"Back through Westminster!" he shouted. "Let's mix in with the Muggles."
"Harry - we can't - the Death Eaters don't give a damn about Muggles!"
"We don't have a choice."
27th December, 2010, 8:45 a.m. X' removed to S'':
Waiting. That was the worst bit. Some days, Hermione thought she could get used to anything: she got used to running for her life; she got used to losing everything she cared about; she got used to torture and pain and death. She got used to her life so much that she couldn't even remember what it was like before. But she never got used to the waiting.
When she waited, all those things could be happening. And she had no way of knowing.
She sat down with Harry in the Great Hall with a copy of Hogwarts: A History and tried to read the book, compare it to her own memories, her own knowledge. Perhaps, she thought, she could recognise some points where the recorded history disagreed with the one she remembered. Perhaps she could recognise the traces of time travel. Or something. Anything to keep her mind occupied - but it was no good. She couldn't concentrate on the words. She kept on staring at the same page, the same paragraph, over and over again, taking nothing in.
"Hi," someone said. She looked up - Remus Lupin.
"Hi," she said quietly. He sat down next to her, and pushed something in her direction - a cup of coffee.
"Figured you could do with it," he said. "You look tired."
She smiled. "I didn't get much sleep last night," she admitted. "But you be careful with that. You keep it up and I'll get used to someone bringing me food. Next thing I'll start expecting it."
He gave a hearty laughter. "Don't worry," he said. "If all I can contribute to our little conspiracy is handing out food to under-fed people, then I'll consider it an honour!" She shook her head - he was so different from the way she remembered him, from the way she remembered his laughter. But then again, she thought darkly, she never had much of a chance to hear him laugh.
He must have noticed her face darkening. "They'll be back soon," he said.
"How do you know?"
"It's Dumbledore. How could they not be back?"
"Last time he went there, it killed him."
"Well, he won't make any mistakes this time, Hermione, this time there's no rush."
She wasn't quite sure what angered her more - the way Remus had dismissed what had happened the last time as a mistake, his cheerful attitude about the whole thing - or the fact he seemed to have forgotten all about Neville.
"There is a rush," she said angrily and closed the book with a thump. "Voldemort's got Neville, in case you've forgotten. Our friend. The only reason Neville's still alive is because Voldemort doesn't understand how he can be there and is too scared to kill him yet. But that doesn't mean he's not - " she stopped abruptly. She couldn't quite say the words.
Not when Harry was sitting in the very next table.
Remus's gaze followed hers, and for a moment, he was looking at Harry, too. "I've been wondering," he said then quietly. "If I understood Dumbledore correctly, in your memories Harry was the one who faced Voldemort after the Triwizard Tournament?"
"Yes." They never told the rest of them who Harry really was - what he meant to her and Ron. Dumbledore, of course, had figured it all out on his own, she was sure of it. As for the rest... she wasn't sure they needed to know. But now, as she looked at Lupin, she suspected that they were starting to put all the pieces of the puzzle together without her help.
Next to her, Lupin was deep in thoughts. "How did he survive?" he asked. "Surely he didn't know enough magic at the age of fourteen to defeat Voldemort?"
"His wand," she said, and then proceeded to explain about the shared cores. It felt good, in a way - liberating. She got to talk about something other than Horcruxes. Something that had happened so long ago, that it didn't even feel so terrible anymore. And more than that - this was something she was sure of, something she understood. Something familiar.
And Remus was listening. At first he was fascinated, but the more she talked, the sadder he became. "Neville - as we remember him - he used his father's wand. Augusta wouldn't hear of anything else. It wasn't the money, you know - the Longbottoms are an old, pure-blood family, they've always had money."
"I think it was grief," Hermione suggested quietly.
"Yes, that's it, exactly. Grief. Dumbledore suggested she took him to Ollivander's, you see, get him a wand of his own. Augusta said no. She said that he should use his father's wand. He was living with Alice's family, you see. Dumbledore said it was necessary, even though Augusta wanted to raise him on her own. So the wand was... one of the ways she could still feel involved."
Hermione nodded. "Don't tell her, though," she said, even though she didn't think it needed to be said. "The wand would have probably picked him if he went there. But don't tell her, she'd only blame herself."
"I wasn't going to," he said kindly. Then he looked at Harry again. "It wasn't a coincidence, was it, Hermione? That the wand chose him?"
"No."
"James Potter and Lily Evans got married, had a boy at the same time as Alice and Frank..."
"And Voldemort had heard a prophecy," she completed the information. "Only in our memories, he had a choice. And he chose - Harry."
Harry got up from his place at the next table, and went to the corner of the room, where the Hogwarts house-elves had set a small table with coffee and tea and some biscuits. They watched him in silence as he made himself a cup of tea and took a biscuit, and then returned to the table and started reading another chapter of Hogwarts: A History.
"Did he ever know her?" Remus asked all of a sudden. "Lily? And James Potter, I suppose?"
Hermione shook her head. "He was only a year old when they died. He was raised by his aunt and her family. Lily's sister... he didn't know about magic until he got his Hogwarts letter."
"He was probably very different from Neville. The way I remember him, I mean," Remus said softly.
"Yeah."
Remus considered this for a while. "Dumbledore thinks it might be time travel," he said at last. "That things were supposed to go... your way, I guess. And someone loyal to Voldemort went back in time and changed it, so he would still be alive."
"It doesn't make much sense, though," Hermione pointed out. "I sat with all of you - as far as I can tell the thing that changed everything was Sirius getting dragon pox. How could anyone figure that out? Doesn't make any sense. Besides..." she started, but then hesitated.
"Besides what?" he asked.
How could she tell him? How could she explain? They tried to tell these people about their lives, but all he heard from their stories was that Voldemort was dead. How could she explain everything else? "It doesn't make sense that a supporter of Voldemort would do this," she said at last.
"Why not? In your memories Voldemort is dead. Here he's still alive. Anyone loyal to him would have wanted to create this world, where they still have hope."
"No," she said, shaking her head.
"Why not?" he insisted.
"Because this place is better."
27th December, 2010, 8:55 a.m. X removed to S':
He was right next to Luna, not a moment ago. He knew it for certain, he had seen her dirty blonde hair, could hear her voice - but now she was gone. He wasn't sure where she was, or even if she ever went anywhere. Perhaps it was simply the masses of people here in this building, perhaps they simply walked between him and her and if he just waited one more second...
"Find Potter," he heard the unfriendly voice, and realised that he couldn't stay there, even if Luna did turn out to be just around the corner. It was too dangerous.
He started walking. Not too fast, not too slow, he tried to look like just another Muggle, going to work. A flick of his wand and his clothes changed their appearance to look like one of the suits the Muggles around him wore. With a little bit of help, that would confuse the Death Eaters for long enough and allow him to get away. Quite pointedly, he refused to think the next thought, which was, of course, 'And then what?'. He could worry about that later.
"There he is!" someone shouted. Harry started walking faster. Behind him, he thought he heard someone running, but didn't turn around - maybe they're not sure, he thought, maybe they're guessing, maybe they pointed at someone else, maybe they're going to lose him again...
He heard the spell shouted just in time, and ducked. A Muggle behind him screamed. He realised he was no longer holding his wand. He must have dropped it when he evaded the curse. There was nothing to it - he had to run.
"Get him! It's Potter! Get him!"
He thought he heard a security guard trying to interfere with the Death Eaters. Another scream followed. He wanted to turn around - it was his fault, all his fault, he was the one who retreated into a building packed with Muggles - but he couldn't, not without his wand. Take a turn, a different hallway, the fire escape. He ran up the stairs, straight to the next floor.
Fortunately, this floor was Death Eater-free. Unfortunately, it also had a lot less people walking around. If the Death Eaters figured out where he went, it would be a lot harder to avoid them.
He rushed through the different corridors with only one thing in mind: getting as much distance as possible between him and the Death Eaters. He didn't have the time to worry about his wand, about his friends, about what they would do now that their plan had failed.
He could hear the sound of a heavy door opening at a distance. The fire escape door? Did they find him? "Search the entire floor!" he could hear someone's voice. A Death Eater's. They outnumbered him and they had wands. He looked around desperately, looking for something - anything - that could offer an escape. But there was nothing in the corridor, nothing but offices. He would have to find a hiding place in one of them.
He was putting the Muggles in even more risk, he knew it. He had one thing to hope for - that if only he'd manage to hide well enough, the Muggles would come out unharmed.
If the Death Eaters would start searching each and every office and kill their inhabitants, there was nothing he could do anymore.
He opened a door at random.
"Look, d'you mind? I'm trying to work here! I know most of the offices are closed for the holidays, but really!"
He was slightly taken aback by this response. It came from a small woman, dressed in a suit, and staring at him from behind her glasses. She reminded him a bit of Minerva McGonagall, except that she was younger. Minerva... no, he couldn't think about it now.
"I need your help," he said quickly and earnestly. He really didn't have any other choice. "There's some people, they're after me, please tell them you haven't seen anyone, please."
"Now why on earth would I do that? What's the meaning of this? Who are you?" she started getting up in anger. Outside, he could hear the Death Eaters opening office doors, one by one. Getting closer.
"Please," he said again. He wasn't quite sure what it was that made her stop all of a sudden, but she nodded curtly.
"The other office is closed," she said and gestured towards a door connecting her office and the next. He opened the door, and immediately closed it, leaning on it to listen on the Death Eaters. It wasn't a minute before they entered the Muggle woman's office.
"Excuse me, who are you and what are you doing here?" he heard the angry voice of his benefactor.
"Did anyone walk in here?" one of the Death Eaters said. Harry thought he could recognise the voice - from the depth of his memories, it sounded very much like Amycus Carrow. His hand clutched the door handle.
"It's one day after the Christmas holiday. No one walks in here," she answered again irritably. Harry couldn't help but smile. "Now who are you?" she demanded.
"We're looking for a man. Maybe came in here."
"I already told you, no one came in here but you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a report to finish. I don't much like working on the holiday, and I would appreciate if you didn't make me stay here any longer than necessary."
When the possible Carrow next spoke, it didn't sound as if he was addressing the Muggle woman. "She could be hiding him," he grumbled to someone else.
"Doubt it, what does she have with him?"
"Maybe he cursed her."
"Don't think so, we found his wand downstairs."
"Sure it's his wand?"
After a few seconds - "We could try to curse her, just to see if she still says the same thing after the Cruciatus curse." The owner of the voice sounded almost as if he was looking forward to that option. Harry swallowed, not just out of fear for himself, but for this Muggle woman who helped him and may now pay dearly for it. She can't be the only Muggle working today, he thought. Go on. You have so many offices to check here. Leave her alone.
"What are you all talking about?" he heard her explode in anger. Please, leave her alone.
"Nothing, nothing," Carrow said. "We're going." And a moment later - the sound of the door closing.
Harry didn't wait for them to get to the door to this office. He immediately opened the door and slipped back into the first office. She was already facing the door - and opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head frantically. And, indeed, as soon as he closed the door behind him, they could hear the door to the adjacent office opening, and someone muttering 'No one here'.
They waited in silence for another minute, until the sound of doors being slammed down the corridor died down.
"What were they talking about?" she was the first to talk. "Wands and... curses, and things?"
"It's better you don't know," he answered. "Besides, you're not going to believe me even if I told you."
She looked at him in irritation for a moment, then finally said, "You're bleeding, did you know that?"
"What?"
"Bleeding, from your arm? Right there?"
He looked down at his arm. He must have been wounded by some curse, or perhaps when he was running from the Death Eaters. He paid no attention to the stinging in his arm until she mentioned in, but now she had drawn his attention to it, his sleeve was soaked with blood and the stinging had long since turned into pain. He swore, and she didn't look impressed at all. "You need to put something on it," she said.
"I will. Later."
"Go on then, bleed all over my carpet in the meantime, why don't you."
He was about to retort, then realised it would probably be the wrong thing to do. "Sorry," he said. "Do you have any bandage or anything? At least that way your carpet will be out of danger."
She gave him a grudging smile and a roll of her eyes, then opened a cupboard and took out a first aid kit out of it. She pulled out a bandage and threw it at him. "Thanks," he muttered and started rolling back his sleeve. The wound was deeper than he realised. He'd definitely have to take care of it later. Meanwhile, all he could do was cover it with the bandage and roll the sleeve back.
"You know," she said all of a sudden, "you could probably call the building security."
"No. I don't want them to get hurt. Your carpet won't really be able to take it."
"They are capable of taking care of themselves," she said, once again irritated. He didn't even know how to begin to explain to her that despite his attempt to laugh it off, these were ruthless men with wands, and that the Muggle security were no match for them.
"Can't take that chance," he said eventually. Then he opened the door and peeked outside. The corridor was completely deserted. Better leave now, he thought, before they came back. "Look, thanks for everything, really."
"I should report this," she said, unsure, and he regretted not having his wand.
"You can't. If you report this, they'll be back."
"So you say."
"I can't stop you from saying anything to anyone. I know that. Just please..." he hesitated, wondering whether he should tell her more, then decided against it. "Please - don't." With that, he left the office.
They could be keeping guard at the fire escapes, he knew. There could also be people waiting for him in front of the lifts. In fact, depending on how many Death Eaters there were - and how stupid they were - none of the paths outside of this corridor could be considered safe. He wanted to believe they were too careless to keep watch on all of the exits, but by now he knew that was wishful thinking. They were clever enough to anticipate an attack on the Ministry. That much he would never have imagined. No, he'd need to take every possibility into account. He couldn't simply dismiss them as 'working for Malfoy' -he'd have to start assuming they knew what they were doing.
He walked slowly towards the fire escape. Through the door, he thought he saw someone standing there, waiting. Death Eater. On the other side of the corridor, there were lifts. He stopped just in time to listen up, and considered himself lucky when the lift opened up and he could hear the Death Eaters chat amongst themselves. That won't do either. He looked through the large windows outside and realised that he could sit and try to wait the Death Eaters out - assuming they won't get bored and go through that corridor again, or worse, start interrogating Muggles - or he could go out through the window.
Carefully, slowly, he tested the large glass frame. It opened up a fraction. With some more pressure, it opened up just enough to allow him to squeeze out. But outside there was only the smallest ledge, and no visible hand grips. No other way out... he took a deep breath and climbed out of the window.
It was only the second floor, that was his only luck. Falling from this height was unlikely to do any real damage - or jumping, for that matter, and it seemed as if he would have to do just that. He would soon draw attention, and once that happened, the Death Eaters wouldn't be far behind. There was a patch of snow-covered earth beneath him, probably slightly softer than the pavement. "I must be out of my mind," he said, and half jumped, half rolled towards the grass.
Bang! He tried to hit the grass in the least dangerous way possible, but he still felt every part of his body crashing into the pavement, as if he had just been hit with the Cruciatus curse. He wanted to do nothing more than lie there in the snow and breathe it out, but there was no time. He forced himself to get up, stand up, and start running, before the people who had seen him jump started talking, before even a whiff of his escape had reached the Death Eaters' ears.
Now he was facing a much bigger problem. He couldn't go back inside to pick up his wand. He had no idea where any of the others were, whether they had been caught, or managed to escape - or, perhaps, still fighting it out with the Death Eaters. He couldn't go to Diagon Alley, not without a wand. He still had the stone in his pocket, but it had already failed him once - not to mention that even if it did work, he couldn't Apparate without a wand.
London closed up on him, too dangerous to stay, too dangerous to leave.
He needed a wand, he needed a place to wait this out, he needed a way to communicate with the others, if at all possible.
The answer came to him just as he started walking aimlessly towards Hyde Park. He needed to go to Grimmauld Place.
It took him another hour before he made it to the old house. It was there - looking abandoned and neglected. On the bright side, he thought as he pushed the door open, there were no Death Eaters there.
The dust attacked him as soon as he opened the door, and he sneezed loudly. That seemed enough to wake up Sirius's mother, who started shouting, and he had to rush in and close the curtains on the picture. Between that and, yes, the old curses Mad-Eye Moody had put on the place, his blood was pumping again and his heart racing. It didn't feel like a hiding place at all.
A quick tour, however, proved he was safe there, at least for the moment. The layers and layers of dust everywhere made it clear no one had been inside the house for years. Not even Kreacher, Harry realised with a pang. The old house-elf had died a few years previously in his world. Perhaps it had happened here, too. Perhaps, the idea entered his mind, he died in this very house, and his body - no. He probably stayed at Hogwarts.
Harry put the house-elf out of his mind and started rummaging the different rooms in search of a wand. He felt the old pang in his heart when he saw Sirius's name on the door; odd, he thought, as he had come to terms with his godfather's death a long time ago. It had been years since he felt that way just by looking at the name. He shook his head and started searching again. Sirius's wand, of course, was with him when he died. So was Regulus's. But, perhaps, his mother's or father's - and, indeed, he ran into an old, forgotten wand in the master bedroom.
It felt alien and unfriendly. No doubt, as it belonged to a Black who was not Sirius. But all he needed from it was to perform one piece of magic, that was all. He stepped outside of the house, clutching the wand. Then pressed the wand to the stone, muttered the spell again, and spun on the spot.
He was relieved to be greeted by a mass of people back at the camp. "Harry!" the most familiar voice called, and only at that moment did Harry realise how worried he was. Ron was alive.
"Ron!" he called and grabbed his friend for a hug.
"We thought you've been caught, we thought they got you, we couldn't find you anywhere!"
"Yeah, I had to shake them off," he said.
There were more relieved faces around him - Dean, Anthony, Parvati - Luna, thank god, was there too. "How many people did we lose?" he asked.
"Tom and Krum," Dean answered. "And Minerva."
"I'm sorry," he said. There was nothing more he could say.
Dean nodded. "Not your fault," he said. "We had to try, didn't we?"
"Yeah," Harry said. He saw the desperation on their faces, the pain, and he realised he couldn't just leave it like that, so he continued, "We'll find a way, alright?"
Dean nodded miserably.
"Alright?" he insisted.
Dean snorted. "Alright," he said and smiled. The rest of the people around him cheered up too, turning this terrible defeat into hope. We'll find a way. Now he just had to find it.
27th December, 2010, 8:56 p.m. X' removed to S'':
"Are they alright?"
"They're fine, Harry, really, they're fine."
"Why are we going to the hospital wing, then? Why can't Ron come to us?"
"It's George, they went straight there when they came back - no, Harry, it's alright!" she tried to talk some sense into him. He was becoming more and more fidgety by the moment. "Ron's fine, George's fine - Dumbledore's fine, too."
Still he walked there faster. She just rushed behind him - she knew he wouldn't calm down until he got there, until he saw everyone was alright.
He stopped awkwardly at the door to the hospital wing. She immediately understood why - the Weasleys were all together, celebrating, as George got out of bed and the hospital gown for the first time in three days and walked between the beds with Fred's help. He was being released home by Madam Pompfrey, and his entire family was celebrating with him, Ron among them.
She shouldn't be hurt, she knew. They didn't know her. They had never met her. Mrs Weasley had never sent them all Christmas gifts and Easter eggs, she had never spent all that time with them during the holidays. She had never seen them, afterwards, after the war was lost... these people didn't consider her a part of their family, and it didn't matter what she felt inside.
When she glanced at Harry, she recognised that same stricken look on his own face. The Weasleys were the closest thing to a family he ever had, and now he was a stranger to them. She wanted to hold his hand in hers, say that it was okay and that they had each other, but by now she knew better, so she just stood there by his side, watching silently.
Molly was fussing around George, asking whether he was sure he was alright, and that it was perfectly okay if he felt he needed to stay in hospital a bit longer. Arthur seemed a bit lost. Fred kept on bringing up useless suggestions and hide George's shoes in obvious glee. And Ron just stood there, happy. Happier than she had seen him in so many years.
Maybe he was right, she hoped for one mad moment. Maybe this was time travel, and their nightmare world was gone, gone to be replaced by this wonderful place, by this magical land where everything was okay and they should stay there, grab the chance with both hands and just make a life in this perfect fairyland, inside the Mirror of Erised. Maybe they didn't have to stand on the outside looking in anymore.
"Come on," she said to Harry quietly and walked into the room.
"Great to see you on your feet," she told George with a nervous smile. How would he react? But he smiled and laughed and teased her, as if he had known her his whole life. Relief washed over her. This place, it was perfect, after all.
"Well, now we should all go back home," Molly said at last. "Celebrate the New Year, what do you say?"
"Sounds good to me!" George replied.
"Ron, I haven't had a chance to fix your room yet, but you could stay with Percy or something..."
"No, Mum, I can't," Ron said all of a sudden. The smiles died, together with the noise.
"What do you mean, you can't? Don't be ridiculous!"
"I'm not - I'd love to come with you. But Neville... we've got to finish this." He looked now at Hermione, a look she knew so well. He was telling her she was right. No, she wanted to shout. No. I wasn't. Let's make this place our home. "We still need to defeat Voldemort."
"However, we seem to have run into a problem," Dumbledore spoke for the first time. Hermione hadn't even realised he was there.
"A problem?" Molly asked with a frown.
"Yes. You see, my dear Molly, I was unable to identify the potion used by Voldemort at the cave."
"You can't drink it!" They all jumped - most of them, Hermione knew, didn't notice Harry at all, didn't see he was in the room. She simply didn't expect him to speak.
"No one is going to drink that potion," she said irritably.
"I am not sure we have a choice, Ms Granger," Dumbledore said.
"You can't drink it," Harry repeated. "If someone has to drink it, I'll do that."
"No."
"Who else? Who'd do it? Sirius? Remus? My parents? Ron's family? No."
"This isn't our life, Harry, there's no reason we should sacrifice everything - again! - to protect them."
"As admirable as this argument is," Dumbledore interrupted, "we're not quiet there yet. There is still one thing we could try."
"What's that?" Hermione asked, and it was Ron who answered.
"Harry's memories. Dumbledore reckons he might be able to identify the potion if he could see the effects."
Dumbledore's expression hardened for just a moment. Clearly, he did not like the idea of having to be reliant on Harry Potter for anything. But then his expressed softened.
"Mr Potter?" he called. Harry, who had gone back to watch the Weasleys, turned his head and looked at Dumbledore again. "We need the information. About the cave. As Ron said, I believe you are the person to ask about this."
Harry looked from Ron to Dumbledore, and then to Hermione, looking utterly lost. "I don't..." he said quietly, then closed his eyes. "I don't remember."
"You must," Dumbledore stood up and walked towards him. "This information is vital! If you will do only one thing here, this must be it. We don't have the time to sit here and research every possible potion Voldemort could have used, Potter! Your friend's life is at stake!"
"Professor!" Hermione said, and looked at Dumbledore warningly. He was going too far, and she did not like at all the way he mentioned Neville at that particular moment.
"It is the truth, Ms Granger. I am simply impressing on Mr Potter how vital it is he remembers, because without this memory, we can proceed no further."
"It's okay, Hermione," Harry said quietly and closed his eyes. The entire room stared at him, the joy of the Weasley family forgotten. Harry took a deep breath. With a shaking hand, he aimed his wand at his temple, the whispered the incantation.
The grey material started coming out of his temple. It didn't look right - memories were gentle, mercurial and silver, neither liquid nor gas. This memory came out in long congealed strands of dark grey material. There was nothing of the subtlety of memories, none of their fast nature and gentle appearance. This memory was damaged, damaged beyond recognition, probably damaged beyond use.
Dumbledore didn't even wait until Harry finished. "We can't use the memories like that," he said curtly, impatience in his voice and all over his face. "This won't do any good."
Harry stopped, and looked at the ugly, dark material coming out of his mind. "I don't know how to make it better."
"Professor," Hermione said testily, "can't we clear it up?"
"No." Dumbledore looked at the memory in distaste, and Hermione's heart sank as she realised he gave the same look to Harry. "When it's damaged this badly, you can't really do anything with it."
"May I have a word?" she asked, trying to remain calm. Before waiting for an answer, she stepped aside, towards the far end of the hospital, not checking whether the headmaster was following her. Dumbledore didn't disappoint, though. When she finally turned around, he was there. "You have shown nothing but contempt towards Harry since the moment we've got here - no, you listen to me, Headmaster!," she refused to allow him to interrupt. "You think he doesn't see this? You think he doesn't understand? He's nervous enough as it is, he's doing bad enough as it is, and his magic is all shot to hell - as it is. Your attitude is not helping. Now, we know that the memory - the intact memory - is still there somewhere, with all the information we need. Harry just needs to relax enough in order to be able to access it properly. Stop stressing him, stop dismissing him, and maybe try to earn a bit of his trust! That's the only way we'd know what went on there."
Hermione was afraid Professor Dumbledore would get angry, or dismissive, but stood her ground, staring at the old man. And he proved that, while not being exactly the man she remembered, he was still Albus Dumbledore. He was silent for a long time, and she knew he was considering her words. "You're right," he said finally. "Of course you are. I'm sorry. That was... uncalled for."
"Thank you."
They went back to the group. Harry, she noticed, had been watching them nervously all that time. Dumbledore, however, did not press Harry to try again. Instead, he walked towards the cabinet that held various bottles, full of potions, and mixed some together in a small cup. The resulting liquid was bright green and bubbly, but did not look harmful.
"Please sit on one of the beds, Mr Potter, and drink this," he offered Harry the cup. "It will help."
Harry looked at the cup suspiciously.
"Trust me," said Albus Dumbledore. Harry didn't move.
"Please, Harry," Hermione said now.
Harry looked at her, then took the cup with shaking hands. He sat on the bed next to George's and drank to the last drop.
"Now lie back," the Headmaster said. "Close your eyes."
Harry did as he was told, but Hermione could see his tense muscles, the locked jaw, the almost frozen posture, half sitting, half lying down. And Dumbledore, seeing them as well, took a hand and pressed Harry's shoulder down gently. This was a bad idea - Hermione could have told him that. Immediately, Harry started struggling, thrashing about madly, his breath shallow and laboured. Dumbledore didn't let go. With surprising strength, he kept on pressing Harry down. "Trust me," he repeated, but Harry either did not hear, or could not stop. "Trust me," Dumbledore murmured again.
Slowly, Harry stopped struggling, but was still shaking violently, his muscles locked and tense. Apparently satisfied, Dumbledore drew his wand, and started muttering a string of incantations that sounded more like a melody than magic. It took a while before Hermione saw the change, but with time, she could see it, could see that Harry had stopped struggling, could see his muscles unclenching. One by one, the lines on his face disappeared, as tension was replaced by serenity. His breathing became slower, deeper. On and on Dumbledore continued, and on and on Harry relaxed, until he was sleeping, deep into sweet sleep that he did not experience for years. Hermione expected Dumbledore to stop now, to take the memory, but he didn't. He kept on muttering the incantations, even when it seemed there was no point - Hermione could not see any change anymore, but Dumbledore still was not satisfied. Finally, after long minutes, he was content, and fell silent. The Elder Wand was once again aimed at Harry, but this time it was drawing long thick strands of silvery memory - intact, correct - out of his mind and into the glass phial.
At last, he had the memory, and with that, Dumbledore turned away from the hospital bed and left the room - undoubtedly to his office, to study Harry's memories. Behind him, Harry was lying down on the bed, deep into sleep and with a small, content smile on his lips.
28th December, 2010, 4:48 a.m. X removed to S':
"You're not sleeping again."
Harry snorted. "Thought you were asleep," he answered to Ron.
"And I thought you were asleep," Ron retorted.
"Yeah..."
He was playing again with the stone. Up and down, up and down, he threw the little device in the air, then caught it again.
"I asked Ab about it," Ron said. "The stone. He said it didn't work because you have to activate it immediately before you use it. Can't do it in advance."
"Yeah."
Up and down, up and down.
"It wasn't your fault Minerva died," Ron said. "She knew what she was getting into. We all did. She chose to join. At least she died free, you know? Not in Azkaban."
"She'd still be alive if she were in Azkaban."
"Yeah, alive, surrounded by Dementors. What kind of a life is that?"
Harry shrugged and kept on playing with the stone. Up and down it went, up and down.
"It's your nightmares again, isn't it?" Ron asked all of a sudden. "That's why you're not sleeping. I haven't seen you like this for years."
"This whole place is a nightmare." He threw the stone back into his pocket and rubbed his eyes. "I don't know what to do, Ron. I don't know how to get us out of this mess."
"We'll find a way."
"How? We can't even start figuring out what's going on without access to the Ministry. With their resources, with the Department of Mysteries - then, maybe, we could figure it out. We can't get there. I mean, this time it was Minerva and Krum and Tom, what happens next time?"
"We'll find a way," Ron repeated, sounding much more confident than he had a right to be, Harry thought. "Isn't that what you told them earlier? Dean and Luna and that lot?"
"Yeah, I was lying. Trying to buy some time," Harry answered grimly.
"We'll find a way," Ron said again. When Harry didn't answer, he continued. "Hey, we will find a way. We always have. We defeated Voldemort, didn't we? Well - you did," he amended, and Harry laughed.
"You did, too," he said, and laughed again when Ron looked rather pleased with himself.
"Yeah, I did. We did. What's Draco Malfoy compared to Voldemort? 'Sides, Hermione and Ginny will never forgive us if we're not back."
"Yeah," Harry said quietly. He thought about them, now that he couldn't sleep. The dark-haired four-year-old James, who already heard from his grandmother that he's too much like his Uncle George a thousand times; Al, with his green eyes just like Harry's, was just starting to speak properly; and Lily, who was the most wonderful baby girl in the entire universe, and already Harry could tell would look exactly like Ginny even though she was only a few months old. Ginny... he closed his eyes. The thought of never seeing her again, of being stuck in this nightmare of a world where she was dead, where they had never got married, was too awful to consider. The thought that his children would grow up without a father, like he did, was simply unacceptable. "Yeah," he said again, a lot louder. "We'll be back."
"Exactly," Ron gave him a lopsided smile. Harry knew him for so long, he knew that Ron was thinking the exact same thing as he did, thinking of Hermione, of Rose, and of his unborn son. Thinking of his family, and what had happened to them here. They both needed to believe there was a way out.
"We just need to figure something out," Harry said.
"You know," Ron said, sounding slightly worried again, "Ab had an idea."
"Oh?"
"He said a part of our problem now is that we don't have any stronghold in the wizarding world. I think I agree. As long as we're on the run, there's only so much we could do."
"Every time we venture into London a disaster happens. We can't attack the Ministry again."
"That's not what he was suggesting." Ron hesitated for a moment. When Harry didn't argue, he continued. "He thought maybe we should take over something simpler."
"Like?"
"The Hog's Head."
"The Hog's - he just wants his pub back!" Harry protested in exasperation.
"Maybe, but he has some good arguments about it."
"Such as?"
"First, there's gotta be enough food and drink in that place to last us a while, unless the new owner is completely incompetent. Second, it's in Hogsmeade. We get there, we can take over Hogsmeade."
"Wait, wait, wait!" Harry protested again - what else could he do? "That's a huge leap, from one mangy old pub to the whole village."
"Not necessarily - it gives us a base of operations inside the village. We don't have to start running like we did with the Ministry, we attack one place and if things go bad, we just fall back to the pub. We can set proper defence there. And if things don't go bad - look," he waved his wand and conjured up a map of the village. "The pub's here, right at the edge of the village, right?" he marked the spot with his wand. "We can take over small portions of the village, one at a time. And that far from the Ministry, we're bound to have some support. I talked to Parvati, she says they lived there for a while. She says most people there don't support the Death Eaters. If we go there and offer them an alternative, we would probably find more people willing to fight - hell, we might not have to fight most of the village at all."
Harry looked at the map. He didn't feel elated, or encouraged, nor did he feel any of the excitement Ron showed. "Ron, I'm an Auror. I know how to do small-scale attacks on suspicious elements that are usually a lot less organised than we are. What you're talking about here, that's - that's war."
"That's what you said, wasn't it?" Ron smirked. "We've got an army?"
"Ron - I don't know how to fight wars! That's insane!"
"Yeah, and you didn't know how to find Horcruxes, either," Ron pointed out, still a lot less worried than Harry expected him to be. "And you didn't know how to fight Death Eaters, or kill Voldemort - "
" - I didn't kill Voldemort, his own stupidity did - "
"Or any of that other stuff you did," Ron pointedly ignored him. "You know what's important - you know how to get them to trust you. How to organise them. How to motivate them - and don't say otherwise, I've seen you doing these things for too long to believe any of your fake modesty, alright? You did that already when we were fifteen. You've been doing it with the Aurors for ages - Harry, Kingsley didn't give you the job because of your name. These are the things we need. Not someone who understands strategy and stuff, not when we don't have any soldiers to go with them anyway."
Harry still looked at the map in doubt. "Look, Ron, I don't think - "
"No, you look," Ron interrupted, again refusing to let Harry even finish his sentence. "I've watched you with them, just like I've watched you with our lot for years. You know how to do this. And Ab's idea has the right ring to it, and I think it could work, and I think you think it could work, too, and I'd really appreciate it if you stopped doubting yourself so we could start winning this thing, alright?"
"Alright," Harry sighed. He really didn't have anything better to say. "Fine. Okay. Let's do it," he called in mock enthusiasm. "To the glorious battle for the Hog's Head!"
Ron chose to ignore his sarcasm and simply said, "That's more like it."
28th December, 2010, 5:03 a.m. X' removed to S'':
Hermione dreamed. She dreamed of the day they almost destroyed Voldemort. She dreamed of the Chamber of Secrets, where the skeleton of a huge snake could be found. She dreamed of house-elves and giants and spiders. She dreamed of that time all those years ago, that one particular hour during the Battle of Hogwarts. Ron had been looking for Harry, they couldn't find him anywhere, and he kept on talking, he said, 'He can't have gone there, he can't have, he's somewhere here, we just need to find him,' and they searched everywhere in the castle, and then they heard it, his voice magnified, as if he was right there next to them. 'Harry Potter is dead,' he said, and she was fighting, fighting, until that moment Ron had grabbed her arm and Apparated the both of them out of there.
Her eyes opened. She didn't move. She had been awake for a while now, she thought, trapped between dream and memory. It was dark all around her, and she felt cold, even though she was wrapped inside a blanket, and Ron's warm arm was wrapped around her.
He stirred; she felt his hand move, then starting to stroke her, her shoulder, her hand. "Go back to sleep," he whispered.
She didn't quite find the words, so she said nothing. The chill was now in her bones, inside her. She started shaking. His arm gripped her tightly, and now she could feel his warm breath right above her shoulder. "Go back to sleep," he whispered again and kissed her neck.
"What time is it?" she whispered after a while.
"Can't be too late," he answered, which was no answer at all. After another moment - "Oh, alright," he rolled - his arm still wrapped around her, but now her back was exposed to the cold air and she started shivering again. He returned there soon enough, the warmth of his body and the warmth of the blanket protecting her, but she still shivered. "It's five a.m.," he said. She sat up.
"What's up?" he asked, and when she didn't answer, he asked again, "Bad dream?"
"Yeah."
He sat up as well. "You okay?" he asked, sounding worried. Of course he'd be - she was still shaking.
"Fine," she said. Even though she wasn't.
"Hey," he whispered, then smiled at her. "It's okay. It's gonna be alright. Dumbledore probably already figured something out, and we'd defeat Voldemort again, and everything will work out."
"Since when are you the optimist?" she demanded.
"It's this place," he said. "You can't help but be an optimist round here."
She didn't answer. She didn't feel too optimistic herself lately. He drew himself closer to her, but instead of reciprocating, she got up. He gave her an exasperated look. "What do you think you'll find there at this hour?" he asked.
"I don't know," she confessed. He buried his face in the pillow. "Go back to sleep," she repeated his own words to him. He didn't reply.
She dressed up quickly and gave him one last look, before she left the warmth of the room to the draughty Hogwarts corridors.
She wasn't quite sure where she was going. Her first intention was to go to Dumbledore's office, to see the Headmaster, demand answers from him, or just learn of whatever progress he had achieved during the night. Instead, her legs took her to the hospital wing. Maybe it was for the best, she thought when she realised where it was she was going. She'd take a look at Harry, make sure he was doing alright before she visited Dumbledore.
She expected that this early in the morning, the hospital wing would be completely deserted. To her surprise, someone was already there: Dumbledore, sitting next to Harry, who - to her even greater surprise - was sprawled on his back, fast asleep, and even slightly snoring. In a far corner, a potion simmered above a low fire.
"Is that - " she asked, whispering. Dumbledore looked up. Until that moment, he had been looking at Harry, deep in thoughts.
"Good morning, Ms Granger," he said pleasantly.
"Good morning, Professor," she answered. "Is that the antidote? for the potion?"
He nodded. "Not quite an antidote, I'm afraid. Lord Voldemort knows much of the darker aspects of our craft," he wrinkled his nose in disgust. "But used cautiously and with complementary treatment, it should stop the potion from being lethal. Indeed, it could work like an antidote - of sorts. I have just finished brewing it," he said, and the fire under the potion was immediately put out, all by itself.
"Good," Hermione said. Dumbledore turned back to Harry. "Has he been sleeping all night long?" she asked.
"He almost woke up some hours ago, but seemed to decide sleeping was a better option," Dumbledore said lightly, even if there was some heaviness in his face.
Hermione sat down next to him. "He doesn't sleep anymore, you know. He'd push it as far as he can. Two days, sometimes even three. He falls asleep only when he can't stay awake anymore, and even then, he wakes up after only a few hours, screaming."
Professor Dumbledore didn't answer. Instead, he just watched the sleeping man quietly.
"I'm glad you managed to get the information from his memories, though," Hermione said, mainly to break the silence.
"There's a problem with watching someone else's memories," Dumbledore answered. "Sometimes you see more than you bargained for." He stretched a hand and gently touched the old scar on Harry's forehead. Harry stirred, and Dumbledore immediately withdrew his hand, but Harry was already blinking slowly. He didn't freeze or tense, and neither did random glass objects start shattering around them. For the first time since Hermione could remember, Harry Potter was waking up peacefully.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey," he answered, his voice still heavy with sleep, and blinked some more.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, unable to hide her anxiety.
He sat up immediately, alert and awake. "Better," he said, and his voice sounded full of surprise. He moved his head this way and that, flexed his fingers a couple of times, then carefully rubbed the lightning-bolt scar. "Better," he said again, much more assured, and shot Hermione a smile before focusing on Dumbledore. "Thank you," he said.
"It's only temporary, I'm afraid," Professor Dumbledore said heavily. "A more permanent solution is beyond my magic."
"Still," Harry said. "Thank you."
Dumbledore just nodded.
"Hey, look at you," Harry fixed his eyes on Hermione all of a sudden. "Have you been crying?"
"I'm fine, Harry," she said, and knew that her voice was betraying just how tired she was. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine," he said, and then, to her surprise, sent his hand to trace the a line, from her eyes to her cheek, what must have been tear tracks, she realised too late. "But we're all going to be fine, alright?"
"Yeah," she said, without much conviction.
He looked at her critically. "You need a good breakfast," he said. With a flick of his wand, a plate appeared, filled with the best Hogwarts had to offer for breakfast.
"Haven't seen that in a while," she couldn't help but say.
"What? Toast and eggs?"
"No - you."
He studied his wand. "Yeah," he nodded. "It's easier now. Well, as the good Headmaster said, it won't last forever, so I figure I better enjoy it while I can, no?"
He said it with a smile, as if it was simply light hearted banter, but she couldn't keep the smile on her face at the sound of the words, couldn't keep the humour about it. He noticed it immediately.
"Hey," he said, now more seriously, "Hermione, it's okay. I'm not going to sit here and waste however long I've got being miserable. I don't want you to be miserable, either, okay?"
She nodded, and he hugged her. It felt strange. The last time Harry had hugged her... must have been more than a dozen years ago. She held on to him for just a moment too long, but he didn't make any attempt to free himself from her embrace.
"That's better," he said once she let him go. "Now, breakfast." He took a piece of toast and started putting a generous amount of strawberry jam on it. She dipped her own toast in eggs.
Banter became easier as they filled their stomachs with Hogwarts' good food. She found herself talking about their days at Hogwarts again, and then Harry remembered one particular good meal during Hallowe'en and waxed on about it, both to her and to Dumbledore. He was talking about some breakfast before a Quidditch match when Ron joined them, looking harassed and worried and with dark bags under his eyes.
"Good morning," Harry stopped his story to greet Ron, who sat down next to them. Ron eyed him strangely, and Hermione stifled a giggle.
"Good morning," Ron said even more suspiciously.
Harry flicked his wand again, and made the kettle pour three cups of coffee. Ron looked at him, amazed. "D'you like coffee too, Professor?" Harry asked Dumbledore pleasantly.
"I think I'll take tea, thank you," Dumbledore answered, and with another wave of Harry's wand, a tea cup made its way towards him.
Ron eyed Harry even more strangely now, but soon Harry cracked a joke, and Ron couldn't help but comment, and all of a sudden it was as if the past twelve years had never happened. Here they were, sitting and eating breakfast at Hogwarts, having fun.
More people joined them, as time passed by - Lily and Snape, Sirius and Remus, even James Potter. They all stared at Harry when they walked in, but soon couldn't help but be drawn into the conversation.
When they all finished eating their breakfast, when all the plates were cleaned and sent back to the kitchens, only then did Dumbledore cough politely.
"So," Hermione asked him brightly, "what now?"
"That would depend," Dumbledore said calmly. "Are you still interested in helping, Mr Potter?"
All of Hermione's cheerfulness had left her in one second, to be replaced with dread. "What? No!" she looked at Dumbledore in shock. "But you agreed with us! You said he can't be sent there!"
"I do believe, Ms Granger, that it was you who told me time and again that I am underestimating Mr Potter," he told her gravely. "I am now inclined to agree with you. I was underestimating him - and terribly so. No more, though. Now I am fully aware of his abilities and determination. If Mr Potter wishes to volunteer for this daunting task, I will not stop him."
"I want to do this," Harry said immediately.
"Harry," she turned to him, trying to plead with him, "you can't, it's too dangerous, it's -"
"There's no one else, Hermione. Dumbledore can't - they need him. Think what it would have been like. For us. If Dumbledore had survived the cave. And there's the potion now, there's a good chance I'll make it," he smiled reassuringly, but she wasn't fooled.
"Harry," she tried, her voice trembling, "your life is worth more than that. Don't throw it away."
"I'm not. Honestly, Hermione, I'm not. I don't think Dumbledore would have let me if there wasn't a good chance to get out of this alive. I need to do this. This feels like -" he took a deep breath and looked around. "I feel like I just woke up. Like the past - I don't even know. Like it's all been one terrible dream, ever since the forest. I'm feeling alive, Hermione!" He jumped on his feet. "But you heard what Dumbledore said. It's not going to last. I need to do some good, before it gets all confusing again."
"There are other ways," she whispered, but she knew she had lost the argument. Without Dumbledore's support, there was no way to stop Harry. She watched Harry as he grabbed the potion that had finished brewing in the corner, and drank it all. From that point, there was no going back - it will take another night to brew more potion. By drinking it, Harry made sure he was the only one who could volunteer.
Ron and Hermione insisted on coming with them. Harry didn't want them to come, but she made it clear that, at least about that, he had no say. He gave in, at last. "I don't know how this will end," he said in one last attempt. "I don't want you to..." he searched for the right word. "I don't want you to worry."
"We're going to worry, whether we're there or not," she said, and that was the end of it.
They took Sirius with them, too - Sirius and Kreacher, Dumbledore and Harry, and Ron and herself. Such an entourage, she thought bitterly. Harry insisted on Kreacher. She knew why. When they were there, at the foot of the lake, Sirius told the house-elf to look after Harry. But Harry added, "Your first priority is to get the locket, and to make sure it is safe. I don't know what I will say when I'm drinking that potion, but you have to promise me, whatever happens, whatever I say, you make me drink the whole damn thing. Is that understood?"
Kreacher looked again at Sirius, who nodded reluctantly, confirming this command came from him too. He looked sullen and angry as he did so, almost as sullen as Kreacher himself.
"Understood, Harry Potter," Kreacher said sulkily.
Now, Harry lowered his voice. "After I finish drinking the potion, I probably won't be able to pick up the locket. You must take it, and you must first bring it back to Sirius. Only then go back for me. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Harry Potter," Kreacher said again.
Sirius didn't seem very happy with that arrangement. For a moment, it looked as if he was going to say something to Kreacher - or to Harry. To everyone's surprise, it was Dumbledore who put his hand on Sirius's arm, and shook his head.
"It is a cruel way of thinking," he said gently, "putting the aim of the mission before the lives of those who volunteer to take it. But at times, it is the only way. Are you ready, Harry?"
Harry nodded slowly, then gave a nervous laughter. "The last time I've been to this place... well, let's just hope this time things end better, shall we?" he said, then took a deep breath. "I'm ready," he said in a clear voice, trying to convince himself more than anything. In response, Dumbledore pulled an invisible chain, bringing up a small boat. Harry and Kreacher climbed into it, and it set sail towards the centre of the lake.
It was hard to see what was going on there from the banks of the lake, and it was harder still with the nervousness that engulfed them all. Sirius prowled nervously back and forth. Ron and Hermione just stared in silence. After a while, Hermione could barely see anymore. Her eyes were clouded by tears.
No, she insisted to herself. I will see this through. She sniffed once, twice, then wiped her eyes, much like Harry had done only a few hours ago. She could see the boat now, sailing, then stopping, then movement - then nothing.
"What's going on there, Dumbledore?" Sirius asked the words Hermione and Ron could not get out of their mouthes.
"I do believe Harry is about to drink his first mouthful of the potion," Dumbledore said in a voice that was almost light. Almost, because, after all these years, even Hermione could recognise how worried he was. It was not as easy to sacrifice others as Dumbledore pretended.
"Will he be alright?"
"I hope so, Sirius," Dumbledore answered. "I hope so." Perhaps she imagined that he looked at her as he said those words.
The taller of the two figures on the rock fell. Ron jumped, but Dumbledore stopped him. "No, Ron. Kreacher is there. He knows what to do."
"Yeah - keep on feeding him that thing!" Ron said, and, as if to confirm, they could see the elf, in what seemed like a struggle, forcing the man to lie still. "It's killing him!"
"He knew the risks, Ron! He volunteered," Dumbledore's eyes sparkled dangerously. "We shall respect his wishes."
On and on, the smaller figure went between the rocks, long after they could no longer tell where Harry was. They couldn't see, they couldn't hear, all they could do was stand there and wait in silence.
"Come on, come on, come on," Sirius muttered to himself.
At last, something was happening. Kreacher stopped moving, and instead, just stood in the middle of the rocks.
"Is it - did they -" before Sirius managed to articulate a question, there was a loud 'pop', and Kreacher appeared next to them. In his hand there was a heavy golden locket.
"Master Sirius," he said, and presented him with the locket.
Sirius snatched it, and then turned back to Kreacher. "Help him," he gave the order. Kreacher bowed and disappeared with another 'pop', and they could see him at the centre of the small island again. He crouched low and disappeared between the rocks for a moment, and then reappeared, carrying something much bigger and heavier than himself.
But nothing happened - there was no 'pop', no one appeared in front of them.
"Dumbledore!" Sirius called, and he could see that even Dumbledore looked worried now.
"He is unable to Apparate them both," Dumbledore said quietly.
Finally, it looked as if the Elf had decided on his next course of action. The two figures moved back towards the boat. The smaller one - Kreacher - stood for a moment, clueless, then pushed the bigger one - Harry - into the small boat, and jumped in after him. Hermione watched in silent terror as the little boat progressed over the lake, like a ghost ship.
The boat's journey back took forever. Hermione could do nothing but stare as the boat got bigger and bigger in front of their eyes in painfully slow motion. After what felt like a short eternity, the boat collided gently with the earth. Hermione and Ron jumped towards it, but Dumbledore was faster. He grabbed the boat, pulled it onto the bank, and called them to help him get Harry out.
Harry wasn't moving. For one terrible, terrible moment, Hermione thought he wasn't breathing. Perhaps Dumbledore had got the potion wrong. Perhaps Voldemort had foreseen such an intrusion. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps...
She wasn't the only one to be worried. Dumbledore was worried, too - she could see him fumbling for a pulse at the neck.
"He's still alive," he whispered in relief after a moment. "But his heart is faint."
In surprising agility and gentleness, Dumbledore dragged Harry and sat him up on the cave's wall. He tapped his wand at him, whispering incantation after incantation, much like he had done the night before. Harry, however, didn't stir, and unlike last night, he didn't relax, either. His face was frozen in an expression of terror so great that Hermione would not have been surprised to hear that it had killed him.
"Harry," Dumbledore whispered now. "Harry," he shook him gently. "Harry."
At the third mention of his name, Harry groaned. His mouth opened slightly, and although his eyes were still firmly shut, that was all Dumbledore needed. He removed a flask from his robes, a flask with another potion, that 'complimentary treatment' he had mentioned before, and tipped it down Harry's throat, every last bit.
Harry groaned again, and started shaking violently.
"Help me carry him," Dumbledore ordered them. "We need to get him back to Hogwarts."
"No." They all jumped - it was Harry. His voice was hoarse and the words came out with obvious difficulty. "Professor..."
"I'm here, Harry, I'm here," Dumbledore said softly.
"Don't worry, sir, don't worry, I'll get us back... lean on me, sir..." Harry muttered. Dumbledore looked at him in a confused expression.
"Harry," he said again, but Harry just kept on muttering. "It's going to be all right, sir," they could hear him say, his voice becoming weaker and weaker. "We're nearly there... I can Apparate us both back... don't worry."
Realisation dawned on Dumbledore. "I am not worried, Harry," he whispered. "I am with you."
Those words finally pacified Harry. Sirius hauled him up and carried him through the mouth of the cave, through swimming in the ice-cold water, and into the spot where they could all Apparate out. The rest of them followed.
They appeared again at the great gates of Hogwarts. Dumbledore quickly flicked his wand, levitating Harry's unresponsive body and sending him towards the hospital wing, the rest of them rushing behind. They were unsurprised to discover that all of the members of their little conspiracy, as Remus had called it, were still there. They were all worried as they looked up at the newcomers, but none of them opened their mouth to speak.
Dumbledore didn't stop to explain. He put Harry on one of the beds, then started saying one incantation after the other. Ron and Hermione still hovered behind him, but didn't say a word.
Harry's breathing became less laboured with time. He did not look the way he did the night before or just that morning, under the influence of the potion and Dumbledore's spells. His face was contorted, his knuckles white, and he was shivering slightly. But still, he was asleep.
Dumbledore stopped saying the spells, and sat down quietly besides the bed.
"Will he be alright?" Ron asked finally, after a few moments of silence.
"He will live," Dumbledore said shortly. For some reason, it didn't sound reassuring at all. "I'm afraid, however, that the positive influence of last night's potion will have gone by the time he wakes up."
"Can't you give him - "
Dumbledore shook his head. "It is a highly toxic material, Ms Granger. He won't be able to take any more of it for a very long time. And the more he takes of it, the larger the dose he would need. No, it was only ever a temporary solution, and now I have robbed him of its temporary relief, too."
They looked at each other in silence. Dumbledore's voice was full of disgust - with himself, she knew. But she couldn't be angry with him, couldn't blame him, as much as she wanted to. She couldn't help but remember the way Harry had insisted on doing this, with his mind clear for the first time in years.
"He wanted to go," she said quietly.
"You were not so keen on allowing him his choice before, Ms Granger," Dumbledore said.
"I'm still not happy, if that's what you mean. But it's like you said - it was his choice to make. And he made it. It isn't your fault."
Dumbledore didn't answer. He just looked at the sleeping figure. In his sleep, Harry shivered all of a sudden, crying out in pain. Dumbledore's hand hovered a moment above Harry's head, as if he wanted to straighten the hair on the sweaty forehead, but then, perhaps remembering Harry's earlier reactions, he withdrew it. Hermione had the suspicion that Dumbledore still thought it was his fault, in some way.
After a moment longer, Dumbledore left the bedside chair, and removed an object from his pocket - the locket.
"Is it the real one?" Ron asked. There was no eagerness in his voice, no passion. Just resignation.
Dumbledore handed him the locket. "You would know better than me, Ron," he said. Ron took it in his hand and studied it in silence.
"Yeah," he said, "yeah, I can feel it. Like a heart beating inside. It's the Horcrux. The real one."
"Come then," Dumbledore got up, took back the Horcrux and walked to the door. "It is time we allowed Mr Potter some rest. Let us go to my office."