Chapter Five

May 9th, 2005

The second that Hermione's feet found purchase on the ground, she stumbled to catch her balance, gripping onto the bicep nearest her. Taking in slow, deep breaths, she mentally reminded herself that she was only having such a bad reaction because it had been years since she had used a Portkey—and not the fact that the last time she had used one, it had been against her will.

When she was certain she was not going to be sick, she took notice that inches below where her fingers wrapped against the arm she had a grip on was a Dark Mark. Jerking her hand away in disgust, her expression did not change when her gaze moved up to the Death Eater's face.

Draco Malfoy sneered at her, though for a brief second it looked as though he were genuinely hurt by her reaction. "Sorry to disappoint," he hissed before making a grand show of wiping his hand over the skin that she had touched as though she had left something behind. "Really wish you had taken that bath that we all insisted on."

Panic rising in her chest, she looked around to find herself surrounded by Death Eaters and strangers. Not unaccustomed to Dark Marks and people that she did not know, it was the new surroundings that made her anxious and fearful. They were in a hospital. A decidedly Muggle hospital. "H-Harry . . ."

"I'm here," he said from behind her just as he appeared with Nott, the smell of smoke clinging to the heavy cloak that he wore. The black robes of a Death Eater had been discarded in the middle of the battle. She gripped the lapels of his cloak tightly, pressing her nose against his neck. Hermione let out a sigh of relief when his hand came down gently on the back of her head, fingers gently combing through her short locks. "You're safe. I'm not going anywhere."

"Unfortunately, for the rest of us," Nott said with a pinched expression, "we cannot say the same. Everyone, check in with Lavender before you make your way to the fourth floor. No one gets into a bed without being scanned for trackers."

"Draco," Harry whispered over Hermione's shoulder, and she turned around to see the blond storming down the length of hallway, a full yard ahead of the other young Death Eaters. Zabini glanced at his friend and then back to where she and Harry were embracing one another, and he whistled low, shaking his head.

"Hermione, stay here," Harry pleaded, looking torn as he left her side to chase after Malfoy. She did not bother to linger on the fact that he had just promised to not leave her, instead, her gaze followed after him curiously.

She glanced at Nott, sidestepping toward the Death Eater that she felt the least threatened by. "What's happening?"

Zabini's smile unnerved her. "Dra-ma," he said as he turned down the hallway, shedding his cloak in the process and tossing the silver mask against a wall. He did not bother to look back as it cracked when it hit the floor.

"Just go back to your wife!" Malfoy snapped loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the hallway. Harry's expression was a mixture of guilt and irritation. Hermione recognised it easily from Hogwarts when he and Ginny would argue about how public she was about their displays of affection. Harry had never been one for attention unless it was Quidditch related, and having people observe him in his private moments was enough to trigger his very short temper. Hermione's lips parted in suspicion as she contemplated the few reasons why Harry would be looking at Malfoy with that exact expression.

"Are they—?" she began but was cut off when a familiar face appeared in her line of vision. "Luna."

"Hello, Hermione," the blond witch said with an ethereal smile that soothed Hermione in ways that were unexpected. Also unexpected was the way that Nott leant down to place a gentle kiss on her friend's lips. "I'm glad you made it back with no injuries."

"As am I," Nott said affectionately. His relaxed smile shocked Hermione, but the easiness faded all too quickly, leaving behind the severity that he had carried with him since he pulled her from her cell. There was tension still in his voice as he asked, "Are the others still gone?"

Luna nodded her head, causing the bells that were woven into her braid to jingle a bit. The sound, light and tinkling, was startling against a backdrop of chaos and commotion. "They're fine," she assured him, gently resting her palm on his wrist, the tips of her fingers touching the bottom edge of his Dark Mark. Hermione stared at the contact as though waiting for something terrible to happen at that exact moment. "Our plan was very detailed."

"Your plan?" Hermione found herself asking, bringing her gaze back up to Luna's face.

The blonde smiled sweetly at her. "Oh, yes. We've all been working very hard to rescue you. Once we discovered that you were still alive, that is."

It felt like the breath had been knocked out of her. They had thought her dead. How long? Did they grieve? Had there been a funeral? Was there some unmarked grave with an empty casket buried beneath freshly upturned earth somewhere in England? Scotland? She blinked as something occurred to her. "Where are we?"

"Goddamnit, Draco!"

"Fuck off!"

Hermione jumped at the volume, looking down the hall to spot Malfoy literally shoving Harry away from him. Before the two could, presumably, come to blows, someone stepped between them. Hermione gasped at the sight of long red hair.

Malfoy angrily jerked away from Ginny when she placed a hand on his shoulder. He stormed down the hallway and out of sight. Ginny gave Harry a look that was both reproachful and sympathetic. She said something that Hermione could not hear, and Harry nodded his head before turning back the other way. Ginny raised her gaze down the length of the corridor and her eyes met Hermione's. She gave her long lost friend a sad little smile filled with the promise of catching up soon before she turned on the spot and dashed after Malfoy.

Automatically, Hermione held her hand out for Harry when he was within reach. The touch of his skin brought an instant comfort to her, and she stepped into his side, pressing herself against the length of him as though she were seeking warmth in the cold.

"I have to go," Nott said, hugging Luna tightly. "I love you."

"I'll be with you once—"

"I know," he said, cutting her off. He gave a dutiful look toward Harry, who nodded as though giving silent permission to leave, before doing just that, headed in the direction where Malfoy and the other Death Eaters had gone.

"Pembroke."

Hermione lifted a brow, looking at Luna as she spoke. "What?"

"Before. You asked where we were. Pembroke. I'm not certain the exact location. Street names and such. But the hospital where we live is quite comfortable." She looked around the hallway, reaching out to touch the wall as though the building were sentient. "It's been very good to us. And the Muggles built the foundation very deep. It really helped when we had to anchor the runes and charms."

"You made a Muggle hospital unplottable?" Hermione asked. "That's how you're staying hidden?"

"Unplottable, Fidelius . . . You name it," Harry answered her. "Bill even figured out a way to turn a Muggle-Repelling Charm into one that targets the Dark Mark instead of Muggles."

"It proved to work quite well when Theo and the others were Confunded. They were inside the building when we set the charm, you see." Before Hermione was able to ask another question, Luna continued, "Of course, we had to alter their Dark Marks. Just a bit of Blood Magic. Nothing to worry about." And then, with the excitement of a child opening their first present Christmas morning, she said, "I built a tattoo machine."

"It's pretty brilliant," Harry said with admiration. "Luna figured out how to infuse Blood Magic into ink and use that to slightly alter the Dark Marks. It allows Draco and the others to come and go like the rest of us, but it keeps out the bad sort like Bellatrix and her Death Eaters."

"Bad sort," Hermione mumbled. She had never known a Death Eater to be a good sort. There had been Snape, of course, but even he was not innocent in everything. When something else occurred to her, blinking in confusion, Hermione pulled away from Harry and met his gaze. "Bellatrix's Death Eaters?"

Before he could answer, the light of portkeys shone down another corridor, and they all turned to see another group of arrivals appear, all led by a scruffy-looking Neville Longbottom. Hermione's heart leapt at the sight of her old friend, alive and looking just as physically hardened by battle as Harry, if not more so. His hair was cut shorter than she had ever seen it, and there was a long, pink scar down the right side of his cheek.

"You did it," Neville said with a bright grin when he spotted Hermione. "It worked."

Unlike the others, who gave her a bit of space—other than Harry—Neville swooped in and pulled her from Harry's side, wrapping her in a hug that was both comforting and suffocating at the same time. As though sensing her distress, he released her back into Harry's arms, looking a bit concerned. "Sorry. I'm just so happy to see you, Hermione. We'd hoped for the best, of course, but Harry was a right mess leading up to it. I've never seen him so anxious before."

"How many?" Harry asked, changing the subject.

Neville looked up, his expression switching to that of a soldier reporting to his commander. "Sixteen Death Eaters, mostly new ones. But she showed up right at the end like we'd hoped. Got one look at me and went off, flinging Killing Curses and such. The Mirage Charm still works. She hit two walls before figuring out that we'd tricked her. Killed two of her own in a fit," he said with an amused grin. "None of ours went down. A few scratches from dodging curses is all. We got out just in time."

"Did she know?"

"I reckon so," Neville said with a nod. "Stopped in the middle of everything and just started screaming. Looked mad, she did. Er . . . you know what I mean. Madder. Proper mental. Told everyone to take off back to London. She's becoming predictable."

Sighing, Harry ran a hand through his hair. "That actually worries me. Bellatrix is crazy, but that she's so easily led makes me wonder if she'll suddenly become unpredictable. It's been nice being one step ahead of her lately."

Hermione listened to their every word, casually watching as the soldiers with Neville—because what else could she call them?—walked by, giving nods of respect to Harry as they passed. She thought she recognised a few from Hogwarts, but it had been so many years, and she could not put names to the aged faces of people she might have once shared a classroom with. They all, however, clearly knew her. Many smiled at her, some looked relieved, others stared at her in awe as though she were some great mythical thing that they were not certain had truly existed before now. A bundle of emotions swelled up in her throat when she realised that every last one of them had left the safety of their home today in an effort to rescue her by distracting . . . Bellatrix?

"Where's Volde—?"

Before she could finish speaking, Harry's hand gently clamped down on her mouth. Neville stared at her in shock. Hermione's eyes widened when she watched Luna slip herself into the man's arms comfortably. Her eyes widened further when she watched Neville lean down and kiss the blonde rather enthusiastically in greeting, as though he had not noticed her before now.

Hermione blew out a breath in shock, only then realising that Harry had not only let go of her mouth but had been speaking to her the entire time. "What?"

He sighed softly. "The taboo is still in effect on his name. We thought that perhaps Bellatrix would do the same with hers, but we got word back that she didn't know how to actually cast the spell. Only You-Know-Who did, and he kept it and a bunch of other spells close to his chest. Unfortunately, Bellatrix still tries to use the taboo to track us. We had to Memory Charm some of the children who kept forgetting not to say it. The little ones that have been born during the war have never even heard his name before."

She had so many questions. Why were they so concerned with Bellatrix? They were speaking as though Voldemort was dead, but Hermione knew for a fact that he was not. She had served meals to Death Eaters as they gathered around, talking about their Dark Lord and his desires for the future of their destroyed world. Had that all been a diversion? Were they lying? Why? Hermione wondered about the state of their world, both magical and Muggle. How many had died? Was the Order still functioning? Harry and the young Death Eaters seemed to act as though it was, but they weren't apart of it?

"She needs to rest, Harry," Luna said. "She's thinking too much. I could find some parchment. Perhaps you would like to write down your questions, Hermione? We found pens here. They're much more efficient than quills." The look of amusement was back in Luna's gaze, and Hermione could not help but smile at her old friend.

"I would appreciate that, Luna. Thank you."

Neville reached a hand out to her, and Hermione took it, smiling again when he gently squeezed her fingers. "We'll see you after you've had some proper sleep, yeah? We usually eat meals together in the canteen a few floors down, but not everyone joins, so don't feel obligated to come down. Take as long as you need to . . ." He looked at her—searching for wounds, she realised. He wanted to say recover, but when he found no injuries, he smiled and said, "adjust" instead.

Hermione let herself relax at his words. After spending six months with no company other than a house-elf that brought her meals, being around so many people in such a short amount of time was testing her nerves. Aside from Harry, everyone made her anxious, even her friends. Their voices were too loud, their smells were all wrong, and most of them looked at her with such relief that she felt as though she were already letting them down. She was not the same Hermione they knew, and she was certain that the relief would change to pity or disappointment when they figured out she was essentially useless to their cause.

Closing her eyes when she felt Harry press his lips to the top of her head, Hermione tried to block out the rest of the world and just let his touch and his magic soothe her worries. She knew a part of it was the fresh marriage bond, but she could not think of the consequences of that now.

"Let's get you settled in."

"Where will I go?" Hermione asked, ashamed of the fact that, despite Harry holding her, the first thing she imagined was a dungeon—a cellar like the one she had recently come from. The second thought had been of the small cupboard that she had been forced to sleep in when Amycus Carrow owned her. He called it her cage, but she had secretly loved it because it made her think of Harry, giving her strength when she needed it most—when they had suppressed her magic. If Harry could live in a cupboard then so could she.

"You'll stay in my rooms," Harry said, pushing a lock of hair from her face as though it was still long and curly instead of the short, limp mess that it was. "I have a corner of my own upstairs. It used to be a set of offices, not rooms where patients stayed. There are three rooms altogether. I keep the doors facing the hallway locked more often than not, and the doors that connect the rooms on the inside are usually left open. Makes it kind of feel like a flat." He smiled at her. "Almost like life is normal. You can have the bedroom to yourself, if you'd like. My office is right next to it." At her raised brow, Harry laughed. "I know. Office. I mostly use it as a living space. There's a bookshelf, tables, and Ron and I figured out how to install a cooker. The loo across the hall serves as my sink and shower."

Her fists tightened at the mention of their friend. "So it's true?" she asked quietly, already knowing the answer. When Harry said nothing, she cleared her throat. "Did he . . .?" Suffer, she wanted to ask. Did Ron suffer when he died?

"He died a hero," Harry said, leaving it at that. "Come on. You've had a long morning."