Author's Note:
Sorry this took so long to get up. In between school and work I have had no time to write. As I have said before, thank you all for being so patient. I am trying to post as quickly as I can, but I don't want the speed to affect my writing quality. Thank you all for the reviews, they are so kind. I really hope you enjoy this chapter.
To answer a few concerns from reviews which I believe the entire audience should read:
Hermione is going through PTSD but as magical as I can make it with the flashbacks and the poison (I felt like professor frank from the simpsons as I wrote that). I know many of you just assume she would suck it up and fight through the war again, especially since her role within the mission was so vital, but in reality it isn't that simple.
The most courageous thing a person can do is admit when they need help or cannot do something. I think that, by Hermione admitting she is unable to fight or think clearly is brave beyond words and in no way weakens her. At least in this point of the story, she is unable to fight, because she cannot clearly see what is actually a threat and what isn't. Most importantly, she does not want to endanger her friends because she is not well. But I will stay true to Hermione's warrior personality in the future chapters. It will all come together in the end.
AS FOR THE LETTER:
You all bring up a valid point about the letter's contents. Yes, we are all curious as to what it said. To be honest, I don't even know what it said.
The way I set up the story initially was to have the letter a mystery since it isn't so important. It was just a catalyst for Hermione to come to terms with her unstable mental health and her intense love for George. BUT because I had a few comments about it, I am going to try and work out a scene with the letter's contents... maybe from Ron or Harry's POV. I do not know yet if it will fit, but I will try and figure something out.
AGAIN THANKS FOR YOUR PATIENCE and enjoy this chapter!
Disclaimer:
Rowling owns all.
Love and War Chapter 18
The Arrivals
Never had air been so thick before. The minutes ticked by on a large, oak made, grandfather clock, while the sitting room at Kingsley's castle basked in the intensity of this moment. Four pairs of eyes glanced around the room, four cups of tea sat untouched on various end tables, four different rates of breath kept time. Though the ticking overpowered the pregnant silence, Fred Weasley thought he had gone deaf just from the sheer awkwardness of it all.
Looking up across the room, Fred eyed the swinging kitchen door. He suddenly wished that his brother sat in his stead. George, with his fiery emotions, would know how to deflate the massive elephant. Anger would surge through the delicate situation, pulling the shards of broken discomfort away, forming this moment into something completely different. Sure, it would end in a rage filled catastrophe, but at least it would be done and over with quickly. With a heavy sigh, Fred turned his head to the right, meeting Hermione Granger's gaze. No, despite how senselessly George would blow through this sensitive moment, Fred knew that route would not aid those involved.
Clearing his throat, he watched as the attention was shifted onto him. Hermione, smiled with encouragement, while his younger brother, Ron Weasley fumed at his presence. Obviously, Ron was still reeling from the affection Hermione bestowed on George when the boys first arrived. Fred was certain his younger brother's ears were steaming when George had wrapped a protective arm around Hermione's shoulders. Moreover, when Hermione had skirted away from Ron's embrace to bury into George's chest, Fred saw the sting settle on Ron's heart. His mind was probably imploding, and it was only going to get worse. Then there was Harry Potter.
The chosen one. The order's golden token, patiently waiting for whatever stood in his way to present itself. Fred gulped down the nerves. Right in this moment, Fred was a roadblock. All he could do was hope against hope that the powerful wizard before him would not cast him as a traitor. There was no hint of that however, not in Harry's eyes. Bright green, curious orbs just watched intently.
"Right," Fred started, aware of the croak in his words, "let's just jump into this. Easing into this would just drag this out."
"Fred," Harry interjected hesitantly, "Not that I don't mind you being here, but why are you, y'know, here?"
"Harry," Hermione's voice was soft, unsure, as she spoke. Fred was a little shocked at hearing her form words at all to be honest. She had hardly said a word since Ron and Harry arrived. This courage was a tremendous feat in her recovery. "Fred has to be here." There was finality in what she said, leaving no room for an argument, and through it was unnecessary, Harry nodded in approval.
"Right," Fred began once more, drawing the focus back. "I should probably start by saying I have taken up the position of healer within the war. I run the infirmary ward, and Harry, I'm sure you'd be pleased to know that, both Sirius and Remus, though injured on their latest mission, are perfectly healthy and without any permanent damage. Sirius wishes to see you actually when he gets back."
"That's brilliant," Harry nodded, a smile of gratitude lingering on his lips. Ron, however, Fred noticed, was still as tense as ever.
"As for Hermione here," He began, reluctant to divulge any information. However, Hermione was the one who requested his presence during this 'information session' as she referred to it; Fred was unsure how fully he was allowed to break confidentiality with his patient. He glanced to his right wishing to get some sort of signal, but Hermione was elsewhere.
Withdrawn from the moment Hermione sat nervously, picking at the skin around her fingernails. Her eyes were fixated on the swinging door George disappeared through earlier, and Fred could only sigh. "She's hardly in the same state that you left her in and I think it best for her to remain hospitalized and monitored until further notice."
"What is it you two need of me," Hermione said, her eyes still glued to the door across the room.
"A researcher," Harry said, his gaze flickering back and forth between Hermione and Fred, trying to decipher what could possibly have happened. Physically there was no trace of harm done, so then why did she need to remain hospitalized? What happened to her? These questions blanketed Harry's face while Ron's eyes remained fixated on his tea up, stoic in his intensity. "You have always been good at that. It's one thing to collect, uh, them, but without being able to destroy them, we can't move forward."
"Hermione," Ron's voice was a sudden intrusion on the calm, which had settled slightly atop the young redhead's raging rapids, "You know books. We need you."
Fred saw the involuntary wince shutter through the witch next to him. It was the same one that shook through her when she had first greeted Ron and Harry. He mentally noted another potential trigger in his mind, hoping a flashback could be avoided until the scan was done.
From what he read, the deterioration as it makes its progress, allows for mental retrieval to be increasingly difficult. Fred had been studying his patient since she finally came out about her weakening psychological state, noticing so many things he may have missed had he not been looking. The way she had clung to George's arm as they descended the final flight of stairs to the main floor. The way she had stiffened when Harry whispered inquiries about the letter. The way she had gone nearly catatonic and whimpered as Ron's booming voice called her name. Fred even categorised the way Hermione had instantly relaxed as George wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
"I-I don't know," she spoke unsurely, her hands bunching the material of her napkin which rested in her lap. "I have been through all the books I've got and came up short."
"We just need a researcher," Harry pushed, and Hermione's fingers twisted the cloth further, her fingers locking their grip tighter while blood flushed the skin of her hands.
"What does this job as a researcher entail," Fred started, "Research can be very strenuous on a person's mind. Especially when they're already in such delicate state. Would she have to leave again?"
"Leave George you mean," Ron shot, his armchair shrieking as he stood abruptly while his voice grew in volume. Ron was becoming blinded by jealousy. Merlin, help them; this was not going to end well. "She belongs with us. She'd be coming with us."
"It would be ideal," Harry glanced at Fred, hoping to get approval, reason evident as he observed Hermione's detachment. "But, maybe we can figure something else out as well. You're in charge of the infirmary, so I respect your diagnosis, but it would definitely be ideal."
"I don't—"Fred could not say more than that, his words dying on his lips as Ron furiously interrupted him once more.
"Oh, for fuck's sake Fred, would you just leave," Ron was spitting out his words, emotion getting the better of him once again. Fred turned to glance at Hermione once again, hoping she was able to remain present.
"Shit," Fred whispered. No such luck. She was frozen, her knuckles white as she rung the napkin in her hand so tight, trying and failing to avoid her mind. Another trigger, Fred thought, but just as he moved to take action, Ron burst forward with a sudden speed.
"This is getting ridiculous," Snake light in quickness, Ron moved. Fred began to rise, wishing his beater reflexes remained sharpened. Again, no such luck. Fred could not have stopped it if he tried, no matter how slow time seemed to move around him. Reaching across the table, Ron's hand wrapped around Hermione's wrist, pulling her up to her feet. "Hermione, lets' talk normally, upstairs." Ron said, and Fred could only watch as the white cloth napkin fluttered to the ground, gracefully landing at Hermione's feet.
Suddenly time seemed to fast forward. One moment Hermione sat next to Fred, hoping her mind would defog faster, and then the next moment she was in a cell. The fat death eater she feared each day was reaching for her, two other enemies lingering behind him as blurred shadows. All Hermione think was how terrified she was. It all felt so real. She felt everything. The pain in her wrist as fat finger gripped her flesh tightly, bruises threatening to arise. The soft material under her fingers, which grounded her to a certain reality, slipped into blackness and all she felt was the empty air. The sudden point of hard wood tucked in the waistband of her pants pressed against the skin of her hip.
Merlin, she thought. Her wand. They left her with her wand. But why? Why would they ever be so careless? She contemplated the idea of trickery, but then she heard it.
"Let's talk upstairs, Mudblood." She shuttered with fear, her whimper echoing against the concrete foundation of Malfoy Manor. The voice that hissed sounded so sinister. Snake like and venomous. The darkness, which swirled around her, was blinding. Pulling her further into the fear of the present, Hermione was clouded by the black. She pitched forward as a sharp tug pulled on her wrist, the pain intensifying as the skin on her arm stretched slightly. Hermione glanced up at this, confused as to how the fat capturer became so fit in only one blink of her lashes, and that is when she saw it clearly.
The soft glint of light. The twinkling of a green-tinted haze hovering at her peripherals may have been a sign of some sort of deception, but Hermione could only see the pearly white shine. Fangs glimmering menacingly as lips curved upward in a sneer. Greyback. Hermione did not need to think twice about it now. That sudden blunt point of hard wood tucked in the waistband of her pants.
This was her defence and it was necessary.
With a sharp yank, Hermione freed herself from the steel grip locked around her. The cloud of black was twisting, but in her heart, she found her light. The flash of ginger on her right gave her a sense of strength. George. Her fingers wrapped around the handle of her wand, drawing out her last fighting chance at any form of survival. She was outnumbered; three wands to one, but that did not matter. If she were to die, she would take, as many down with her, and that is when she said it.
A shot of colour landed in the centre of Greyback's chest, propelling him backward with a loud crash. Hermione smirked for a moment, ready to aim the next curse but there was no one there. No other enemy. Just Harry, standing before her and staring with a mix of worry and awe.
"Harry?" She said softly, unsure as to how she managed to escape so quickly from the dungeon. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Hermione jumped, before meeting Fred's gaze, and slowly Hermione lowered her wand. "I don't understand."
However, Fred was not looking her anymore. No, he was looking across the sitting room, at the broken shelving unit, which held the expensive china. Fred was staring at the crumpled head of a man at the foot of the ash cabinet, glass surrounding the green knit sweater and fiery red strands of Weasley ginger hair. A soft serene look playing on the face of Ronald Weasley, one of her dearest of friends.
"Where is Greyback?" Hermione whispered, watching with shock as Harry moved towards the still body across the room. Hermione glanced at her wand, then around her once more, before locking her gaze with Ron's peaceful face. No. No, Merlin, no. What had she done? "Ron," She whispered, before collapsing to her knees. There at Fred's feet, her eyes trained on the unmoving form of her best friend, the tears began to flow. "What did I do?"
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