Part 1, chapter 7: An Equal and Opposite Reaction
28th December, 2010, 9:30 p.m. X' removed to S'':
Hermione didn't realise she had fallen asleep. She just sat down for a moment on an armchair by the fire, she thought, but now Ron was shaking her, forcing her to wake up. She was still holding the empty, dead locket in her hand.
"What?" she asked at last, her eyes still closed.
"Harry's awake."
She groaned, then opened her eyes. "Is there anyone with him?" she asked.
"Sirius. I think he took the whole thing in the cave as a personal insult." Ron's face wore his lopsided grin as he said that, as if teasing her. But she could see from the size of his pupils and from the way he was biting his lip that he was more worried than relieved.
They should have been celebrating, but they weren't.
"You should have told him Harry's a thick-headed - argh," she said as she got up and discovered that she could feel her pulse in her forehead, without even touching her wrists or her neck. "You should have told him he's thick-headed."
"I did." Ron only had the ghost of a smile as he said that.
Ron's quiet demeanour, the resignation in his voice, she knew them all too well. Ron was already preparing himself for the next big battle - no: to the next skirmish, the next duel, the next break-in. There were almost no more big battles left for them. Ron was already preparing himself for the last time he will see his family. Even if he didn't realise it yet.
She wanted to shout at him now, to shake him, to tell him no, she was wrong, she was so wrong, she had been a fool, such a fool, and he was right all along. But she didn't do any of these things. Instead, she looked for her shoes in the Gryffindor common room.
She didn't remember taking them off, but there they were, by the fire, all tidy and nice. She pulled them on her feet and followed Ron to the hospital wing. They walked in silence through the deserted corridors. Only once did she stop - in front of the glass case of the Neville Longbottom memorial corner. It had a huge crack, running down from one end to the other, the sign of the glass's encounter with Harry.
"Funny," Ron said suddenly. "The prophecy was made about him here, and he died, and still..."
"And still?" she asked after a while, when it seemed he would not finish his sentence.
"Things went so much better for them."
"I don't think that prophecy was such a good thing to go on," she answered.
He didn't answer. They didn't exchange another word until they reached the doors to the hospital wing, where Hermione stopped. "Ron?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"How... how is he?"
Ron didn't answer. He just opened the doors and walked inside. After another moment's hesitation, she walked in after him.
The hospital wing was at disarray. There were shards of glass next to the window. Hermione could see some puddles of spilt potion around too, and broken bottles. Madam Pomfrey was busy sending heaps of bandages into their proper place.
Harry was sitting up on one of the hospital beds. Sirius was sprawled on a chair in front of him, but both men were silent. Sirius was looking at Harry. Hermione thought she could get used to this joking, free Sirius she'd met here, but he wasn't joking anymore, he wasn't free, he just stared at Harry with a familiar scowl on his face.
Hermione had forgotten that expression until now. It was the expression that had always reminded her most of the dog. It was ironic, perhaps, that in this place, where Sirius never became an Animagus, never became the dog, he still had so much of the dog in him. Perhaps it wasn't ironic after all.
Harry was staring at the ceiling.
He had a faraway look about him. She knew that look - she had seen it so often these days. She had seen it when they first found Harry, two and a half years ago, a decade too late. He was looking at the world as if he didn't quite understand it, or wasn't fully a part of it. She never got around to asking him.
She didn't realise how much she hated that expression until now.
He didn't notice them as they walked into the room. It took Hermione to say 'hi' for him to notice. He then stopped looking at the ceiling and focused on them again, focused that hated expression on her.
"How are you feeling?" she asked. Her voice shook.
His face contorted into disgust. "Remind me not to do that again," he said.
"Sure," she said, trying to smile and bite the tears away. She could feel a traitorous tear that had escaped despite her best efforts and was now rolling on her cheek. Just this morning, Harry had wiped the tracks away, but now he made no effort to comfort her. She wiped the tear herself. "If you ever run into a bottle of poison again," she said in an effort to lighten the mood, "I'll definitely tell you not to drink it."
He laughed. That much was a good sign, she knew. And still it didn't make her feel any better.
"Look," she said and gave him the locket. She had been clutching it all that time. "We got rid of the Horcruxes."
He didn't even stop to enjoy the moment before he said, "That still leaves the snake."
"We'll get the snake."
"This is where we failed last time," he said. There was no hope in his voice, no excitement. Just the cold facts. She understood, all too well.
There was one time. Two and a half years ago. Ten hours, give or take. Ten hours of pure bliss, when they believed - they actually believed - it could be over. Two and a half years ago was so far into the past that it felt like a different life, and an eternity of reality stood between them and that moment. They knew the truth now. They knew it could never be over. Not really.
"And what about Neville?" Harry asked now, proceeding to the next problem, the next fear, the next opening for a disaster.
"We don't know where he is. Not yet. Dumbledore is trying to find out, he's talking to Regulus to figure out where they're holding him." The disbelief on Harry's face felt so familiar. "There's no reason to believe he's dead, Harry," she said. "There's every chance - I don't think we're too late."
"But you don't know."
"No. I don't. I... Dumbledore would know." The comfort in these words! She never expected to say them again, and never so often. "Regulus must know. And he's on our side. He would have said if Neville - he would have said if something went wrong. There's still hope, Harry. Regulus will tell him."
"What are we waiting for, then?" he asked, and jumped down from the bed to the floor.
"What?"
"Let's go interrupt them," Harry said and walked through the door and out of the room.
"Did I mention, he's kinda growing on me," Sirius said and followed.
Hermione laughed, her laughter mixing with the tears that finally found their release. "Come on," she told Ron. "What else can we do, facing these two?"
They followed Harry all the way to Dumbledore's office, into which he burst without even a knock on the door.
Dumbledore wasn't alone. With him was a tall man with dark hair and darker robes - Regulus Black. Hermione recognised him from that time, a few days ago, when he walked into Dumbledore's office to inform them of Neville - but she also recognised him because of his similarity to Sirius. In a way, this Regulus looked more like the Sirius she had known than the man who stood there beside her. He had the same haunted look she remembered on Sirius, the same air of unhappiness, the same feeling of a spent life. She had heard by now from Sirius how he ended up being Dumbledore's spy this time round. It was the same regret, the same terrible realisation of what Voldemort was really after that had made him take the Horcrux in their memories. But here, in this place where he and his brother were on slightly better terms, he had become the spy, just as they remembered Snape had done.
Sirius looked thoughtful when he talked about it earlier, after they had destroyed the Horcruxes. Regulus was horrified with what he had done when he first came to him, Sirius had said. But he wasn't sure anymore what kept him spying for them, year after year, decade after decade. Sirius had never really considered it was him who was enough for Regulus to choose. Hermione didn't quite understand how he could have missed it, when his own fondness towards Regulus was so obvious, just as obvious as the way Regulus had looked at his older brother in admiration.
Dumbledore, too, was looking from one brother to the other. He was playing with a strange, cubical device that looked more like Muggle technology than anything magical. He then put it down and beamed at them.
"Ah, Mr Potter. I was wondering when I would see you again. You've met Regulus Black, I believe?"
Harry gave Regulus the tiniest of nods, and fixed his attention on Dumbledore. "We need to get Neville out," he said. "Now."
"Mr Black and myself were just discussing ways into Voldemort's stronghold."
"Why doesn't he just let us in through the front door?" Harry asked. Behind him, Sirius spluttered.
To Hermione, the suggestion made sense. "We've already got most of the Horcruxes. We are going to attack him, aren't we?" she asked suspiciously. "What difference does it make if Regulus reveals himself now or not?"
"What if someone wants revenge later on?" Ron pointed out. "Think of Neville's parents."
"And when he doesn't go to Azkaban? What then? They'll figure it out anyway. I don't see what we have to lose."
"You are assuming we are planning to make this our one final attack," Dumbledore said evenly.
Hermione stared at him in shock, then felt the rage rise in her. It took her a moment to find her words again. "How dare you," she said, fighting to control the rage. "How dare you. After what we've done for you. After everything - after what Harry just did! How dare you! We had a deal! We help you with the Horcruxes, you help us get Neville! You promised!"
"I did," he looked straight at her. "And I intend to keep that promise. However, Ms Granger, surely you realise that there are bigger things at stake?"
"No." It wasn't Hermione who answered - it was Harry. "You can wait a whole decade for just the right moment, and you'll never find it. There are no perfect moments in this fight. The only result of being careful would be Neville's death. We're going. Right now. You can come with us, or you can stay."
"I'm going with them," Sirius said without hesitating.
Dumbledore ignored him. He studied Harry for a moment, then said, "Very well, Mr Potter. It seems I have no choice." His words suggested anger or resignation, but Hermione didn't think she heard any of those in his voice. Instead, he sounded amused. And then he continued, "As it happens, Regulus was just giving me information about Voldemort's planned moves for today."
"Oh," she said, feeling slightly bad for her outburst - but only slightly.
"So, now that we're all here, we could share this information - "
"Not yet," Harry interrupted again. Dumbledore looked at him curiously.
"I was under the impression you were eager to leave as soon as possible, Mr Potter?"
"I am. But I wanted to ask first... how is he? How's Neville?"
Everyone's heads turned towards Regulus. Regulus himself looked extremely uncomfortable. "He's still alive," he said eventually. "He's not doing too well. As you could expect. But if we can get him out of there soon, he'll be alright."
"Okay," Harry finally seemed placated. "Now, you were saying?"
Dumbledore started explaining. As he was explaining, he picked up the small box again and played with it some more.
29th December, 2010, 2:20 a.m.
Voldemort never spent too much time in one place, except for the house he had considered his own - the Riddle House in Little Hangleton. There was something so eerie about the entire situation. They had been there, just a few days ago, looking at Neville's grave, and all that time the living Neville had been so close.
It was different now, of course. Three days ago they came in the morning; now it was the middle of the night, and everything was dark. The cold wind was the same - chilling to the bone and relentless, and penetrated through Hermione's coat and shirt as if they weren't there. She clutched her wand in her shivering hand - soon, she knew, she would use it.
But not just yet.
There was no point in attacking Voldemort first, no point in trying to dispose of him before they got the snake. Regulus had promised them that the snake was independent, and more often than not could be found in the cemetery at that time of night. Apparently, it did not much care it was night and cold and dark. Magical animals were known to behave differently from their non-magical counterparts, and Regulus, who had been following the creature on Dumbledore's orders for the past three days, was adamant that it did not at all behave like a regular snake.
So now all they had to do is stand there in the cold, in the snow, and wait. Dumbledore didn't want them to come. He would take care of the snake, he said, and then he will send word. Harry refused to hear of it, of course, and so did Ron and Hermione. And Sirius, who continued to take anything that felt like a sacrifice by them personally, likewise insisted on coming, even when Dumbledore started hinting that too many of them at the cemetery might prove detrimental to the cause.
She meant to go over to where Ron was crouching, to give him a word of encouragement as well as to get the blood to flow back in her legs. Then she saw something - a fleeting movement in the corner of her eye. She froze, her foot still in the air, and slowly moved only her eyes. For a moment, she thought she must have imagined it, or that, perhaps, all she saw was the wind in the grass. But no - there it was again, moving, slithering between the grass blades.
She clutched her wand. The right spell, at the right moment, and they could get rid of that one last obstacle between them and Voldemort. Except, now she realised, she had no idea how to kill the snake. When they had done it, two years ago, they had Gryffindor's sword. But now there was no sword, and even if there was, it was not coated with Basilisk venom. They weren't there when Dumbledore had destroyed the other Horcruxes. He insisted on doing it alone. But now Hermione wished they were there, because she did not know how to draw Dumbledore's attention to the approaching snake without alerting the snake as well.
In the end, she didn't need to. Dumbledore, as usual, was one step ahead of her - and of everyone else. It happened without warning: the snake hissed, Dumbledore moved, and there was fire everywhere. It lighted up the entire graveyard - the tombstones, the trees, the great house that could now be seen in the distance. The fire danced in every direction, taking different shapes and hues and looking almost alive. The snow melted before it instantly; the grass was burning. Hermione thought surely it would spread to the tombstones, to the statues - to them. But then a scream could be heard, an inhuman scream, and the fire disappeared just as it appeared, leaving behind nothing but the charred remains of a snake. Even the grass was still fresh.
"Do forgive me," Dumbledore said calmly to the stunned people around him, "I did not wish to give the snake any chance to get away."
"Well, you sure showed it," Ron said, sounding either awed or terrified or both.
"And now, if you'll excuse me," Dumbledore turned from them and waved his wand in the air. Hermione saw for just a moment a silvery bird shooting from the tip of the wand before it disappeared. It wasn't a minute later when the rest of the volunteers Apparated into the cemetery: Remus, Lily, Snape, James Potter, and Ginny Weasley.
"And now, we should leave immediately for the house. I do not believe our presence has gone unnoticed, although one lives in eternal hope that our purpose is still a mystery to Voldemort," Dumbledore said - sounding obscenely cheerful to Hermione's mind - and started walking. They all followed him.
"How's George?" Ron asked Ginny quietly next to Hermione. He didn't have the chance to see his brother since the Weasleys had left Hogwarts, more than 24 hours ago.
"He's okay," she answered equally as quietly, but instead of anxious, she was smiling. "Doing much better. He got out of bed this morning, had breakfast with us at the kitchen and everything."
If Ron was going to answer, he never got the chance. They were still between the tombstones, but someone else appeared in front of them and blocked their way.
Voldemort.
Hermione was there when he died. She made it happen, she and Ron and the others. His death had changed nothing at all - they were still on the run, they were still fighting, their world was still a mockery of what it used to be. The immortal monster was replaced with mortal, ridiculous, pathetic Malfoy, and things got worse. And still she shuddered when someone mentioned his name. Still she was filled with terror at the thought of Lord Voldemort, at the height of his power. Still she feared facing him.
Or at least, she thought she was.
He was shorter than she remembered. His face looked more like the snake, his eyes red, his nose almost nonexistent. He didn't look towering at all. He didn't look imposing or scary. He looked ridiculous, as pathetic as Malfoy who had replaced him. He wasn't omnipotent, all powerful and all knowing. They were going to kill him, and he didn't even know it.
She wondered how could she ever fear him at all.
"Hello, Tom," Dumbledore said.
"Dumbledore." Voldemort was cold and self-assured. Hermione almost laughed. "I was not aware the Order has grown so confident as to challenge me in my own house."
His eyes flicked between the various members of the Order who stood behind Dumbledore. How strange it was - he had not given Harry a second glance, but his eyes shone in anger as his gaze fell in turn both on Regulus and on Ron.
"I am afraid it is more serious than that," Dumbledore said, still lightly. "I am afraid we have come to end this war, once and for all."
"Have you finally found your nerves again, old man? Is it because of the man who is now my... guest? You think you will win now, that your precious prophecy can now be fulfilled? He is nothing!"
"As a matter of fact, it is not Neville I am relying on at the moment. But rather, these three," he gestured at Ron, Hermione, and Harry.
"Who are they? They are unimportant! They are nothing!" he shrieked.
Hermione wasn't sure who cast the first spell - but there it was, another burst of flame, just like before, eating everything in its path. And in its light she could see dark figures appearing between the tombstones. Death Eaters.
She fought them instinctively, without thinking, sending curses in every direction. A jet of red light there, a stream of green light here. Someone groaned next to her; she had no way of knowing whether friend or foe. A curse, a hex, a shielding charm, and all the while the fire raged on.
The fight ended just as it started - without warning. It took her a moment to realise that no one was attacking her anymore. Did they all run away, she wondered, did they all turn tail and run? No, because there they were, bound by Dumbledore's magic, staring in disbelief at the body of their fallen leader.
Once again, Lord Voldemort was dead. For some reason, it didn't make her happy this time round. Perhaps, she thought, later.
Now there were more important things to take care of.
She didn't care about the strange, unhappy way Dumbledore was now looking at Harry, she didn't care about the Death Eaters, she didn't care about what the rest of them were going to do now. Together with Ron and Harry, she was running toward the old house.
The front door was ajar. It was old, heavy and wooden, and creaked when Harry opened it wide, allowing all three of them in. It had obviously seen better days. In fact, the entire house had seen better days. However long Lord Voldemort had stayed in the house, it was clear he had not considered it a home. The building was freezing, no sign of heating or fire anywhere, and a damp air all around them. There was mould growing on parts of the wall, the kind that would have been only too easy to remove by magic had the wizards simply given from their time to do so.
They searched the first floor of the house. It carried the signs of a once well-cared for building: the large drawing room, its great sofas and tables covered with dust, the heavy carpet moth-eaten; a smaller study, its many shelves now empty, the oak desk clear and unused; the kitchen, once marry and fully equipped, now completely abandoned, and next to it the empty pantry. Neville could not be found in either of these gloomy and dark rooms. They would have to go onwards, up the flight of stairs and into the second floor.
Like the doors, the stairs creaked. The bannister was full of termites, and threatened to crumble at any moment. Harry climbed first, Hermione followed, and Ron made the rear. They climbed fast, almost running.
The second floor had nothing but one small room, adjacent to a disused bedroom. Dust ruled everywhere, dust and chill and damp. No one had been to these rooms in years, perhaps decade. Not a living soul.
Dread had started to settle in the pit of Hermione's stomach. The house was quiet, quiet but for the wind that was howling through the empty rooms. There was no sign of life anywhere, no sign of Neville.
On the first floor, they had gone room by room, searching each one thoroughly, opening cupboards and looking under the sofas and tables - perhaps he was hidden somewhere under an invisibility cloak. Now, though, Harry did not even bother to enter the rooms - he gave each room one hasty look from the outside, then proceeded up, to the third floor, up the dusty stairs.
Hermione looked at Ron, and saw her own fears reflected in his eyes. Regulus had seen Neville in that first night, yes, and even yesterday - but that was yesterday. Voldemort did not show surprise when he saw his loyal servant amongst the ranks of his enemies, only anger. What if he had realised Regulus was a spy? What if he had moved Neville somewhere?
What if Neville was dead?
Harry now burst into the third floor room. The entire floor was one big bedroom - and finally, one room that looked lived-in. There was less dust there, and traces of timber in the grate. But that room was empty, too. They went under the big bed, opened every door in the many wardrobes and cupboards. Nothing. Homenum Revelio, Hermione whispered, at the same time as Harry pointed - the door to the en-suite was closed.
Harry tried the door first. It did not yield. "It's locked," he noted the obvious.
"Well, it's worth a try," Hermione said and pointed her wand at the closed door. "Alohomora!" she said. Voldemort must not have thought anyone would get this far - it flew open, revealing complete darkness inside. "Lumos," Ron whispered next to her, and the tip of his wand lighted the small room.
They saw Neville almost immediately. He was curled next to the door. He did not move.
"Neville?" Hermione asked tentatively. He didn't stir.
It was Harry who crouched next to the figure and put his hand on Neville's shoulder, after a moment's hesitation. "Neville," he said softly and shook him.
Hermione sighed with relief when Neville moved and opened his eyes.
"Harry," he said in a weak voice.
"Yeah, we're here. We've come to get you. I'm sorry it took us so long."
"You need to get out of here," Neville's voice was urgent and scared. "He's here - he's alive - I don't know how - I swear it's him, Harry, I swear, it's Voldemort, Harry, Voldemort's alive!"
"We know," Harry said, his voice still soft. "He's dead. He's dead again. I killed him. It's alright. It's over."
"Voldemort..."
"He's dead. It's okay."
Neville paused, then blinked. "Really? He's dead?"
"Yeah. It's okay. No more bad guys, right?" Harry smiled. "It's okay."
Neville groaned and tried to sit up now. Harry helped him, tried to help him up completely, but Neville seemed content to just be put in a sitting position, then groaned again. "He's gone," he half-said, half-whispered.
"He's gone."
"Argh. Think I'm going to lose consciousness now, hope you don't mind."
Harry chuckled. "You go right ahead and do that."
Neville closed his eyes.
29th December, 2010, 5 a.m.
They both stared at the box for a long time in silence. "This isn't fair," she said in the end. All her bitterness, all her anger, all her frustration, all were distilled into these three inadequate words. They sounded childish to her own ears.
He prodded the box a bit, pushed it towards her.
"This isn't fair," she said again, louder.
"You could stay," he said to the box. "You don't have to go."
Something inside her rebelled at his calm, caring voice. He was sincere, but in her response, she acted as if he was not. "Why shouldn't we stay?" she demanded. "Why shouldn't we have this, why shouldn't we get to enjoy this? We saved you. We did. You're living in paradise now, and it's all thanks to us!"
"Yes," he agreed.
"We deserve this. We deserve this perfect world of yours. We deserve to enjoy some peace and quiet and fun and everyone we care about."
"Yes," he agreed again. Each time he agreed, the spirit of rebellion left her a little bit.
"What do you think we should do?" she asked, no longer shouting.
Finally, Albus Dumbledore raised his eyes from the Muggle device and looked straight at Hermione. There was no sparkle in the blue eyes, no humour behind the half-moon glasses. "I think, Ms Granger," he said carefully, "that you should go back to where you came from."
"You don't think we belong here." She was accusing him, but even she didn't know why.
"No," he agreed again. "I don't."
"You think we're beyond saving," she said and sat down on her chair again. Her voice was calm and quiet. All of a sudden, she was so, so tired.
And now he had the audacity to look guilty. His eyes left hers, and he picked up the Muggle device again. "I am not sure that 'beyond saving' would have been my phrase of choice," he said quietly, all the while examining the device in fascination. Finally, he put it down again. "But yes, Ms Granger. I do not think you will fit this world."
"Why would we go back? What have we got there?"
"You have your own world to save now."
"It can't be done." He studied her with his piercing blue eyes, as if admonishing her for her admit of defeat, but she didn't care anymore, just went on wearily. "We know it can't be done. This isn't a war we can win. Not anymore. Not ever. Even if we did get to Malfoy, even if we did destroy the Ministry... what then? There's nothing left."
"If you truly believed that, we wouldn't be having this conversation." he answered. "I told you, Ms Granger. You could stay. I will not say a word. I will take this little box and hide it where no one will ever know it ever existed. I will not repeat my..." he considered his words for a moment. "No one needs to know what I think of your situation, Ms Granger. The others will gladly accept you. It will be an unexplained mystery, your appearance here, all of a sudden, our of nowhere. An unexplained miracle, I'm sure Molly will think. If only you truly believed your words.
"But you don't. Somewhere deep down, you're thinking, there's still the smallest of chances. Your friends are probably imprisoned by your Ministry, and you need to save them. And it's worth saving them, because, perhaps, one day, out of the blue, you will manage to do this, you will manage to bring the Ministry down, and then, perhaps, you will get your lives back. You have not completely lost hope yet, Ms Granger, and this is why you cannot stay here. This is why you have to go."
"But it's not fair," she whispered again. "We could be so happy here."
He didn't answer.
"There's nothing there," she said again, begging him to convince her to stay.
But he only said, "Perhaps, in your absence, the knight in shining armour you've been looking for has arrived."
29th December, 2010, 5:30 a.m. X removed to S':
Through the windows of the Three Broomsticks, the night was dark and forbidding. There was little movement in the town outside - a random stray dog, leaves blowing in the wind. Every once in a while, though, movement had started. A small group of black clad wizards would Apparate right in front of the Three Broomsticks, visible in the weak light of the torches that had been set around the building. They would search the shops all around them, then continue to the streets and the houses nearby. Every once in a while, one of the wizards would aim their wand at a stray dog and the animal would yelp in pain. They would then disperse to the rest of the town, and a while later, the whole thing would repeat itself with a new group.
Harry had lost count of how many Death Eaters and other Ministry wizards had arrived in town by now. He just kept on staring through the window. In his hand, he was clutching the crumpled photograph of his family.
"Just got word from Madam Pomfrey," someone said quietly - Dean. Harry's eyes left the window and turned towards Dean. "They reached the cave."
"Did they Apparate out?"
Dean shook his head. "The Death Eaters' jinx continues way past it. They tried going forward for a while, hoping it would end somewhere next to it, but no luck."
Harry nodded. "With any luck, the Death Eaters wouldn't think of them once they finished with us."
"With any luck," Dean repeated. He didn't sound convinced at all.
"Are we sure they can't Apparate here? I mean, they have no problems Apparating outside," he gestured at the window.
"Nah," Dean said. "It's a different jinx, see? We used the original, the same one they used at Hogwarts at the time. Can't get past that. The Ministry's using an updated version of the spell. With the loophole that allows specifically enchanted objects like that stone of yours to bypass the jinx. Huh," he said, as if in an afterthought, "it's illegal to use the old jinx now. Exactly because of that, see. They can't get past it."
"Yeah," Harry mused, "they'll end up throwing us into Azkaban because of it."
"Yeah," Dean said, and they both burst in laughter.
"Hey, what's that?"
Harry handed the photograph over to Dean, who looked at it for a moment.
"She looks like - Is that Ginny Weasley?"
"Been Potter for the past seven years," Harry said quietly.
Dean looked at the photograph some more. "She was a brilliant girl," he said eventually.
"She's a brilliant woman."
Another batch of Death Eaters Apparated into the street across from them. The two watched them in silence as they spread and started looking around the shops, just like the others before them.
"How many of them showed up so far?"
"I've lost count."
Dean looked a the photograph again. "I think it was a one way trip. I don't think you could have gone home even if you weren't stuck here."
"How d'you figure that?"
"Our Harry - and Ron, and Hermione, and Neville... they would have come back. That's why Anthony's in such piss-poor mood all the time, he's not always as hostile as that," Dean broke into a smile. "It's just... hard. Missing them."
"They could be in our world. Must look like paradise compared to this place. Maybe they just decided to stay."
"No."
Harry didn't answer, and Dean continued. "They wouldn't leave us here, not if they had a way back. And in your world, without the war, without the Ministry, without Malfoy... they're bound to find a way. Two Hermiones, right?" Now Harry couldn't help but chuckle. The thought of two Hermiones going through books, trying to figure it out...
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry you're stuck here. I really am."
"I believe you," Harry said, and felt so, so tired. He looked at the window for a moment, then back at the photograph that was still in Dean's hands. "I just don't understand you."
"Me, specifically?" Dean asked with half a smile. It was clear he understood what Harry meant.
"All of you. You'd torture a man to death just to see him suffer before he dies, but you stayed here with us, even though you could have left with Madam Pomfrey's group. You're going to die here, you know."
"I know."
"Then why?"
"Why didn't you leave when we had the chance?"
"You know why not," Harry said irritably. "I couldn't move Ron, and I couldn't leave him."
"Exactly," Dean smiled now. "And we couldn't leave the two of you behind. Same thing."
"It shouldn't be. Not for you."
"It's like you said, Harry. You don't understand us."
"Nah, he can just see how mental you all - argh." Both Harry and Dean jumped. The weak voice that spoke could only belong to one person - Ron.
"Ron!" Harry rushed to the table-turned-bed where Ron lay. "How are you feeling?"
"Like a tonne of bricks fell on me. Argh."
"Eh, you've been through worse."
"Doesn't feel like it from where I'm standing. How long was I out?"
"Thirteen hours," Harry looked at the window again for a while. "Almost dawn now."
"Nah - December in Scotland. There's a few hours yet till dawn."
"Right."
Ron tried to sit up. He was pale, paler than Harry had ever seen him, save perhaps that one time he splinched himself and lost so much blood that Harry was afraid he would die. His hands shook while he tried to pull himself up, and his breathing became laboured and shallow. Harry immediately rushed to his help, tried to prop him against the small piece of wall, but Ron soon gave up and returned to lying down.
"How long have we got?" he asked after a while, once he managed to breathe normally again.
"We don't know," Harry answered. "All they've been doing is sending more and more people, for hours now. But they're not attacking or anything."
"Probably surrounding us."
Harry smiled without mirth. "Or maybe they just haven't found us yet."
"Yeah..."
Before Ron could say anything more, his face contorted in pain. Harry rushed to find the potion Madam Pomfrey had left him. He poured some of the green liquid into a small goblet. "Here," he handed Ron the goblet, "drink this."
Ron hesitated. Harry knew what he was thinking. "It's alright," he said softly. "I'll wake you up when it's time."
Ron nodded weakly, and drank the potion. In no time at all, he was back to sleep.
29th December, 2010, 8:20 a.m. X' removed to S'':
"... I mean, why on earth would you advertise an orchard to let in the middle of the city?" Ron's incredulous voice could be heard from the corridor.
Neville's voice was equally strong as he answered. "Where else would you advertise an orchard?"
"I dunno - next to the orchard, maybe?"
"Yeah, but who's gonna see it? It's an orchard, not a lot of people are going to go past. Loads more people see it in the city."
"Okay - so maybe in some kind of billboard that's relevant to people who are interested in orchards..."
"Billboard for people who are interested in orchards?" Neville repeated, and Hermione walked into the hospital wing just in time to see him lift an eyebrow in amused doubt.
Neville was already sitting up in his hospital bed, looking much better than he did only a few hours ago. It was like Madam Pomfrey had said - a good sleep, a good meal, and he was as good as new. Not really, Hermione knew. None of them were good as new. And Neville would still be carrying his experiences from the past four days for a long time to come. But for these precious few hours, they had the opportunity to be alright.
On the bed next to his were Ron and Harry. Madam Pomfrey was not pleased with the idea of them sitting with Neville when he was sleeping, but they all insisted, and in the end Dumbledore had told her to let them stay. She would probably be even less pleased now, Hermione mused. Ron and Neville were deep in conversation, surely causing Neville much more excitement than the Matron would ever approve.
"I don't know!" Ron protested now, still on the topic of orchards-to-let. "What are you going to do with an orchard once you've rented it, anyway?"
"What are you asking me for?" Neville asked. Hermione, meanwhile, sat down on Ron's other side, close to Neville.
"I don't know, you seem to think it's reasonable to put up adverts for orchards in the middle of London. I mean, really, what's the point? It's only a rental, you can't, I dunno, take it down and build a house on the land instead!"
"I'm not sure you could do it anyway, you probably need permits and things," Neville mused.
"See?"
"Maybe they wanted apples," Harry suggested quietly. Despite herself, Hermione chuckled.
Ron pointedly ignored him. "I mean, say you woke up in the morning and found the deeds for an orchard in your pocket. What do you do with it?"
"For one thing, if I woke up and just happened to find deeds for an orchard, I'm going to start worrying about what I did the night before," Neville said levelly. "Anyway, this is a ridiculous argument. Enough about orchards," he declared. "I can't wait to see everyone - why aren't they here? Professor Lupin and Harry's parents and Professor Dumbledore and everyone..." he paused for a moment, then started again, more subdued. "And my old gran. Do you know if she's here? Did you ask anyone?"
The three of them - Hermione, Ron, and Harry - looked at each other in silence for a moment. None of them answered.
Neville scratched his nose with his heavily-bandaged hand. "What is it, guys?" he asked after a while.
"She's here, Neville," Harry finally said.
"It's just that - " Ron hurried to continue the sentence, but then faltered.
Hermione took a deep breath. It was unlikely any of the others would explain. "You know how Remus is alive here? And Sirius? And Dumbledore? And all the rest?"
"Yes..." Neville said slowly.
"We're not here. The four of us. Each one of us for a different reason. Augusta is here, Neville, but she's - she thinks you're dead. You are dead. You've been dead for fifteen years."
"Maybe she'd be happy to see me," he said.
"It might be too much for her," Hermione said gently.
Neville shook his head. "I can't wrap my head around this," he said. "Voldemort - he was terrified to see me. He didn't even notice I didn't have Harry's scar. He thought..." he shook his head again. "Mental, this place. But - good mental. Is it true Kingsley Shacklebolt is the Minister?"
Ron's smile was wide. "Yeah. And apparently Percy is his special aide or something."
"Mental," Neville repeated.
"Wait till you get out of here. No one can believe it that you're here - you should hear them talking. Everyone's so excited, and now with Voldemort dead..."
"But that wasn't me. Not the first time - I don't have the scar, I never had it. And not now, either. I was just a prisoner."
"It doesn't matter," Harry said all of a sudden. "They're still excited. It's a good thing."
"Is it?" Neville asked, and Harry nodded. "Yes," he said in an assured voice. "It's a good thing."
Neville laughed. "Alright, then."
Hermione's heart broke all over again, hearing their words. But she knew it was now - or never. And never was not an option. Dumbledore was right. She took a deep breath. "Perhaps it isn't such a good thing," she said.
All three of them stopped their chat and stared at her. Ron's hand found hers. He was willing to believe, just for a moment, he was willing to hope, and now she had to take it away from him again. She pulled her hand away.
"Dumbledore's figured it out. What happened. Why we have our memories and they have theirs," she said quietly.
"Time travel," Ron said.
She shook her head.
"Not time travel?"
"No. Not time travel. I said so, I told Sirius, I told Remus, I told Dumbledore - time travel doesn't make any sense. Even if it could somehow happen without affecting the four of us - and I'm sorry, but time travel just doesn't work that way, it never did, not with the time turners! - it just didn't fit. The Death Eaters had an advantage over us, they didn't even need Voldemort anymore. They still had what they wanted, even after he was gone."
"Then what." Ron's voice was cold. He knew, she realised. He knew what was coming.
"Two worlds. Two worlds that are very similar. But not quite. In one of them, Sirius came to Hogwarts on the first of September, and in the other, it took him another two weeks. And then everything changed. And they stopped being similar. We belong in one - and this is another."
"So we travelled?" Neville frowned. "From one world to the next?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"We didn't cast any new spells, we didn't do anything new, if Dumbledore thinks we - I dunno, accidentally cast a switch-your-world spell or something? Then he's mental!" Ron's voice was rough, uncompromising. Angry. As she knew it would be. He had made the ultimate mistake. With Voldemort dead, with Neville alive and well, Ron had allowed himself to hope, for just one moment, and now he could see that hope snatched away.
"It was the Muggles. That's what Dumbledore found out. They didn't know what they were doing. It was just a bunch of Muggle scientists, doing research - just testing things, I guess. They didn't understand what they invented. But the Department of Mysteries did - well, not understand it, I think. I don't think they would have allowed this device they created to exist if they understood what it did."
"What does it do, Hermione?"
"It got us from there - to here. It was in the Department of Mysteries, see. That's what happened. When we went to free you, when we entered the Ministry..."
"How?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "Dumbledore didn't have a lot of time to study the device in this world. He only learned about it because - well, I'm not even sure of that. He said there was some disturbance when got here. Like... a burst of magic, so strong that it was noticed, you know?"
"No. I don't." Ron's face twisted in anger. No, not anger, Hermione knew. Resentment. He would refuse to accept her conclusion until the very last moment. But she knew now she had won. He would agree, in the end. She knew him well enough. It didn't make her feel any better.
"I don't, either," she said. "That's what Dumbledore had said. That's why he never showed up at the Burrow. He was supposed to go there, to move George here, back on Christmas eve. But then this happened, and he travelled immediately to the Ministry to check it and that's where he found it."
"The Muggle device."
"Yes." She sighed. "Look, Luna, Dean, Padma, Parvati, Anthony... They're all real. They're all still alive. They're all there. We can't abandon them."
"What if we brought them here?" Neville asked, and Ron jumped on the idea, grabbed it with both hands.
"Yes! We can bring them here, they don't have to be there, I bet their families are still here too somewhere, think of Luna when she'd get to see old Xeno again..." his voice died as Hermione shook her head.
"It doesn't work like that. Either we stay here and they stay there - or we go back there. We can't bring them here. It was an accident, it was a fluke, we don't know how it happened in the first place... you can't just pull out whoever you want, Ron."
She thought he had accepted her words. She thought he had understood. But when Ron spoke next, she realised he could still surprise her, that even after all these years and all those disasters they went through together, there was a part of him she never fully accepted. That part of him that had lost hope, a long time ago. "And what if we do leave them there?" he asked. "We can't be responsible to the whole damn world. They won't be able to blame us, not if they knew. Let them go on fighting, haven't we fought enough? Don't we deserve some rest? I'd do anything to bring them here, but if this isn't an option... what reason do we have to go back there? How far does loyalty stretch?"
Her mind went blank. She didn't know how to answer. Her hand sought his. She pressed it hard, willing for him to understand all on his own. His hand squeezed hers back, but she didn't think he understood.
"The agreement was that if this was a trap, if something went wrong, if we failed, they would come after us," Harry said. "They're probably in Malfoy's cells right now. Wondering where we are and when we'll show up to save them."
"There is nothing I want more than to stay here with my gran," Neville added. "Nothing in the world. But not at this price."
"Hermione?" Ron half asked, half begged.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Ron," she whispered.
His eyes met her. There was no shred of hope in them, no expectation that somehow things will get better after all. Just hollow resignation. She didn't understand him at all, in the end. Ron was going to go back with them, but he wasn't going back because, like her, he believed there had to be something out there worth fighting for still. Dumbledore was right about Hermione, and about Neville and Harry as well, but he was wrong about Ron. Ron was going back because she believed it. That was his sole reason.
His hand let go of hers.
29th December, 2010, 9 a.m. X removed to S'
There was someone in the snow in front him. Parvati.
She wasn't forced to kneel on the freezing earth like the rest of them. She wasn't forced into line. Harry knew what it meant, but he didn't want to believe it.
Believe it, a small part in him said. You're going right after her.
The Death Eaters, who finally gained entrance to the Three Broomsticks, came out dragging someone - Ron. He couldn't stand yet, but they didn't care. They just shoved him next to Harry.
"Kneel, scum," the Death Eater snarled at him. Ron could barely hold himself straight. The clean shirt Madam Pomfrey had given him was full of blood again. He was shaking like a leaf. Harry reached with his hand, trying to support him.
"Thanks," Ron mumbled. Harry knew what he was thanking him for. "It will be over soon," he answered quietly. Ron nodded.
A sharp pain from behind and Harry found his face splayed into the snow. Something was squashing his windpipe, he was choking, and a voice was heard in his ear, "No talking."
All of a sudden he could breathe again. He pulled himself up. The Death Eater in front of him smirked. He had a sudden thought - Amycus Carrow? he wondered. He didn't know why it mattered now who this Death Eater was. Not anymore.
He didn't know what they were waiting for. They were all there, kneeling in line, guarded by the Death Eaters, all but Parvati whose body was lying in front of them. But none of the Death Eaters aimed their wands at them, none of them said those words that Harry knew would come. Avada Kedavra. Go on, he almost wanted to shout at them. Come on. Do it! Finish it already! They didn't.
Then he saw him. Blond hair, almost white, grey eyes. The robes of an important man on him, the robes of the Minister for Magic. What a joke. Draco Malfoy walked up and down the line of prisoners, examining them, satisfaction written all over his face. There was nothing Harry wanted to do more than wipe that smirk off his face.
Perhaps it was the smirk; perhaps the Death Eaters. Perhaps the way Malfoy repeated the words, "Excellent, excellent," as he looked at them, the casual way he had kicked Parvati's body over. Or perhaps just the thought of Ginny, firmly lodged in Harry's mind. He wasn't sure what it was. He just knew that as Malfoy passed by him, he lunged. He tried to grab his wand, he told himself, but what he really was trying to do is grab every inch he could of Malfoy and pound him into dust.
The whole thing took no more than ten seconds. Harry wasn't even sure whether he was Stunned and re-awakened, or whether the Death Eaters simply grabbed him and dragged him back into line. All he knew was that Malfoy's wand was now pressing directly at his chest, that Malfoy was leaning over him, and that Malfoy's smile was full of delight.
"How heroic," he hissed. "One last stand. Remarkable, Potter. Truly, remarkable." He straightened up. "Completely pointless, of course, but still... Good to see you still have some spirit in you. Take Potter back to my office," he told the Death Eater in front of him. "Kill the rest."