Chapter XXVII: Duty and Accountability

Harry told Hermione everything he knew of Penelope's disappearance, which amounted to very little; the faculty weren't saying much, and he had been more focused on his friend's wellbeing than some Ravenclaw he didn't know. Once she had mulled over that, racking her brains for any sort of memory - Clearwater was last seen in the library, to Harry's knowledge, so Hermione thought she might have seen her - she declared she was tired, still, and was asleep five minutes later.

Madam Pomfrey assured him that it was a common side effect of the bone-growth potion she was taking for her completely shattered shoulder and collar bones, and further a result of being left with low blood oxygen levels from a punctured lung. That was the first time anyone had told him the extent of her injuries, and he was very reluctant to leave her no matter how much Pomfrey insisted he eat something and get to his lessons. He was eventually overruled; not by the matron, but the group of girls who came in to collect him.

Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, and Patricia Stimpson. Harry was obstinate, but that combination was a force no lone boy in their right or wrong mind would stand against.

"Alright Harry," Katie greeted him, taking the lead.

Of his three chaser teammates, she was his favourite, purely by having given him the least odd looks that year. Not that any of the girls had been mean to him, but he felt Katie had never believed ill of him, whereas the other two followed their captain's lead a little too closely.

"Hey girls. Hey… Stimpson," Harry broke eye contact with her the same instant he made it; she did not look happy, and her displeasure was pointing his way. Not that he'd done anything to her since the misunderstanding; apparently she just held a mean grudge. "Come to see Hermione?" he asked, confused as to when they, other than Stimpson, had befriended their fellow Gryffindor girl.

"Come to get you, actually," Alicia answered. "They put a buddy system in since… Clearwater. No going anywhere in groups less than three."

"And we're here to see her too," Stimpson asserted.

"Right. Well, uh, she's sleeping right now," he said, motioning to her laid out on the bed behind him. She was snoring softly. "But you can see that."

"Yeah. Guess we'll check in later. Is she… Is she doing ok? No-one'll tell us what's actually going on."

That was the first time Harry had seen Patricia Stimpson show uncertainty, and he didn't like it. He didn't like that things had come to the point where a girl like her was outwardly worried.

"Pomfrey says she'll recover," he answered, trying his best to believe it himself. "She was pushed down a staircase."

"Pushed?" Katie gasped, hand to her mouth.

Harry just grimaced, not wanting to say the words again.

Alicia leant in to Angelina, whispering something. Angelina looked at her, then Hermione, and nodded.

"Right," Alicia declared, "Katie and Patricia, you two get Harry to breakfast before they stop serving. Angelina and I will stay here and watch over Hermione."

"You're staying with her?" Harry asked in wonderment. Had Hermione really been befriending all the older girls behind his back?

"Course we are. Whoever shoved her might come back looking for more. And I don't give a damn what Towler and his posse think; she's a Gryffindor; we protect our own."

Harry felt a tear forming in his eye, but blinked it away because he was at that age where boys think it isn't ok to cry. For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, McGonagall's words about house being like family were ringing true. It was about bloody time.

"Go on, scoot," Angelina ordered, ousting Harry from his chair so she could claim it. "And get yourself a pepper-up or something, you look like death warmed up. Did you sleep last night?"

"No," he mumbled, feeling a bit stupid about it. "I was…" he trailed off, eyes falling again on Hermione.

"Watching the door?" Angelina filled in, and Harry didn't correct her.

She was wrong though. Technically, he had spent most of the night watching Hermione sleep: Checking she was still breathing, every minute or so; watching her mouth for the slightest twitch that might indicate pain or a bad dream; testing her temperature with the back of his free hand on her forehead. Silly as it seemed in hindsight, it had been both his duty and privilege.

When he looked up, he caught Angelina watching him with a knowing smile, for whatever reason. He coughed uncomfortably and hastened after his escort, who were not the sort to hang around. But he stopped at the door, torn between the obligation to leave and the need to stay. Angelina smirked and flicked him two hand signals Wood had taught them for Quidditch, in a combination only the keeper had ever used: I've got the goals; move forward.

When you don't know what to do, Wood always told him, follow a teammate who does. So, reluctantly, he left his best friend in the safe hands of two others.

After Patricia and Katie dropped him off for a late breakfast, the schoolday dragged by slowly. With the three person rule in place Harry couldn't find a chance to check in on Hermione; most of his classmates didn't care enough to traipse halfway across the castle just for him to pop his head in the infirmary door for all of a minute between lessons, and Ginny was too freaked out to leave the main group of Gryffindor firsties. In lessons he was constantly on the edge of nodding off, his head was elsewhere and his work suffered, though neither Flitwick nor McGonagall called him out on it. The first chance he got would be at dinner. He was halfway through rushing his food down so he could drag the twins out early to take him there - he'd convince them somehow, he was sure - when his efforts came prematurely to nothing.

Because a heavily bandaged, arm-slung-up Hermione staggered into the Great Hall, held up by Katie on one side and Alicia on the other. A wave of hushed whispers rolled out to precede them as they made their way over to Harry. He stood up, not really knowing why he did so, and feeling a complete pillock as he could hardly sit back down until they reached him. He made a show of shifting up to make room as cover to his weirdness.

"Hermione!" he all but shouted as they both sat down. "How are you feeling, did madame Pomfrey let you out, is your shoulder-"

Katie shushed him aggressively as Hermione clamped her good hand over her ear and flinched away.

"Headache," the chaser explained.

"Oh, sorry, should have known," he whispered.

Hermione just grunted at him, dismissively, and leant over to scent out something to eat. In doing so she banged her slung arm against the arm, which sent her reeling back in pain.

"Here, let me help," Harry said, making to start loading her plate with everything he knew she liked.

"I'm not an invalid Harry!" she snapped, slamming a hand over her plate to stop him. "I can manage myself."

"I know, Hermione," he agreed, softly.

Looking at the state of her, he couldn't blame her for lashing out. He'd been beaten and bloody before, and knew the last thing he'd wanted back then was anyone getting too close. Still, she was making an absolute mess of herself and the table, and when broccoli made it onto her plate, he knew she wasn't coping even half as well her bearing made it seem. She hated broccoli.

"I just wanted to help," he said, ignoring Alicia's cautioning shake of the head.

Like she knew his friend better than he did.

"Well I don't need it," Hermione reiterated.

He let her struggle on for a few more seconds. For such a pushy person, she didn't take well to being on the receiving end.

Katie leant in and whispered, "she didn't let us carry her 'til the third time falling over. Maybe she needs to do this herself."

He registered her advice, but discarded it quickly. She was right that the Hermione she knew was independent, headstrong and determined to prove herself. Determined not to be pitied for her disability. Where she was wrong was that she didn't know Hermione like Harry did. She didn't know the scared little girl who begged him to tie a knot with his eyes closed; the girl who grabbed his hand and clung to it all night long; the girl who curled up into a ball on a couch, rocking back and forth while she hyperventilated.

Hermione was possibly the strongest person Harry knew, but she had her limits. She had times when, whatever she said, she needed someone in her corner. Harry had been that person before, and he'd be damned before he failed to be it again. If nothing else, he would be her punching bag while she got it out her system. After all, bruises heal.

"I know you can cope," he said, somewhat harshly, "but you don't have to. I want to help."

"Are you deaf?" she bit back at him.

"I don't know, I guess my ears must be pretty messed up, because right now it sounds like the brightest person I've ever met is being an idiot," he hissed.

Hermione paused, knuckles turning white around the serving spoon she held, and everyone nearby moved several inches clear.

"I. Am not. Being. An idiot," she seethed.

"Those are boiled potatoes you're taking," he informed her. "You hate those."

"Why are you being such a git?" she asked, the fire briefly leaving her voice.

"Why are you?"

"Somebody pushed me down a whole flight of stairs!" she yelled.

"Join the club!" he yelled back.

He hadn't meant to tell her about that little incident, courtesy of one Dudley Dursley. He certainly hadn't meant to tell the entirety of Hogwarts in the middle of dinner. But if it got through to her, might it just be worth it?

"What?" she mouthed, 'looking' right at him.

"I said, join the club," he reiterated, like it was no big deal.

"You'd better not be lying to make me feel better," she said, but he could tell she believed him.

"I wouldn't lie. Not to you."

"When?" she asked, voice cracking with worry.

"Nope," he said. "New members first."

Selfishly, he didn't want to talk about it. Not there; not then; not ever if he could help it (which was unlikely now Hermione Granger was on the case). He had dealt with the trauma in his own time, his own way, and the last thing he needed was to drag it back up. Especially as it came with a hundred other horrible memories attached.

More importantly, he hadn't said it for his benefit. He was helping Hermione. It was a shock to get her to listen, nothing more.

"But-"

"No."

"I just want to-"

"To what? To help?"

"Yes! Of course I do!"

"What if I don't want your help?" he said mockingly.

"Well tough luck, because you're getting..." - Hermione trailed off, dropping the spoon with a splash she completely ignored - "You're getting..."

Harry cheered inside as he saw his point sink in.

"Let me help?" he pleaded. "Let me?"

She gave a rueful smile and pushed her mess of a plate in his direction.

"Fine, but we are having a long chat later."

"You bet we are," he beamed.

"Ok," Katie butt in, "the hell did I just witness? Wasn't she angry at you?"

See? You don't know Hermione like I know Hermione.

"Speaking of witnessing stuff, look..." Alicia said. "Isn't that Lucius Malfoy? What's he doing here?"

Harry looked round and saw a man striding up the centre aisle, flanked by severe men in deep red robes. He'd never seen the man before, but he'd seen that hair more times than he cared to have; Draco lacked the bearing of his father, but had inherited his blond-white locks.

"Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore addressed the interloper, standing, "to what do we owe the pleasure?"

Malfoy waited until he had reached the head table and slapped some parchment down upon it to reply.

"Dumbledore," he said with a curt nod that was clearly some kind of insult, "your incompetence has finally caught up with you." He was speaking loudly enough the whole hall could hear every word. "Following the disappearance of a student under your care, not to mention the unfortunate state of scion Longbottom, the board sees no option but to remove you from your duties whilst a full and thorough investigation is conducted."

"I see," the headmaster said gravely. "And is there a need for an auror escort? Dawlish, Shacklebolt," he greeted them with a fond smile.

"The disappearance of one Penelope Clearwater," Dawlish declared with smug superiority, "is henceforth being treated as a murder enquiry."

The hall devolved into a chaos of gasps and mutterings, punctuated by one Gryffindor - Percy Weasley, if Harry wasn't mistaken - collapsing in a hard faint.

The auror and Dumbledore leaned in closer to converse more privately, but Hermione was lightning fast with a pair of augmenosensi and Harry caught the latter half of it.

"-family magic cannot locate her," Dawlish said.

"Ah. Then you will wish to search the school?"

"We have a warrant to that effect."

"No need for that," Dumbledore waved him off, sitting down heavily. "You have my permission and full support."

"You are in no position to offer either," Lucius hissed. "Or has your addled mind already forgotten?"

"Have you forgotten," Dumbledore smiled back, "that headmaster is not my sole occupation?"

"They really think she's dead?" Katie murmured in Harry's ear, drowning out Lucius' final comment.

"Sounds that way," he told her. "They're going to search the school."

"About time someone did," Alicia said. "Maybe they'll find the heir while they're at it."

Harry watched the men staring each other down, and only realised he was waiting for Hermione's insightful commentary when it failed to come. He looked round to find her white as a sheet and shaking slightly.

"Hermione? What's wrong?" he asked, wondering if the pain was getting worse; she really didn't look like Pomfrey should have let her out so soon.

"That could have been me," she mumbled. "It could have been me."

"It isn't," Harry replied, not sure what else to say.

"Safest place in Britain," she whispered distantly, "that's what they told me. Even after this" - she waved a hand over her face - "they kept saying it. I knew they were lying, but this is..."

Harry was oddly glad he wasn't the only one lost for words. Most of the hall had fallen silent after a short outpouring of shock; the loudest sounds were the sobs of several older Ravenclaw girls, presumably Penelope's dorm-mates.

"The minister would like to speak with you at the earliest opportunity," Lucius said, once again projecting to all present even as he spoke only to Dumbledore. "You have one hour to hand over to your deputy and vacate the premises."

"I have a lot to pack," he contested.

"You will be allowed to collect your possessions after we have completed our search," Shacklebolt informed him, formally but not unkindly. "I shall see that nothing is left damaged or missing - personally."

"Thank you, Kingsley. Might I leave my students with a few words of encouragement?"

"I see no harm in that," the auror acceded, loudly enough to cover his fellow's protest.

Shacklebolt stepped to one side, herding the two men with him to clear a space before the headmaster - Former headmaster? - who stood tall in spite of everything.

"Hogwarts," he intoned, "has always looked after her own. But, on occasion, when the hour is dark and hope runs low, she must rely on the aid of others, as must we all. The school shall be searched. Answers shall be found. And together we shall persevere. Look to those around you. Have faith in your house; your professors; and your friends. I leave you, now, in the hands of the most capable witch I have had the pleasure to meet: Acting-Headmistress McGonagall."

With nothing else to be said, Dumbledore walked from the head table, accompanied by Shacklebolt. His head was held high, but his sparkle, his aura of unflappable optimism, was absent. Several students shouted words of encouragement, outrage, and in the Slytherins' case derision, but nothing registered on the old man's face.

It was not the first subdued dinner at Hogwarts that year, but it was the most grim. Several students had overheard Lucius' words, which meant within a few minutes the entire school knew Clearwater was presumed dead. The heaviest atmospheres sat over the upper Ravenclaws, bereft a friend; Percy Weasley, who it turned out had been dating the girl; and one Ginny Weasley, who shut down more completely than her recently-awakened brother.

Harry could sympathise with her, as he figured she was thinking how differently the Neville incident could have gone, but he was surprised how quietly she was taking it. An upset Ginny was an angry Ginny, or at least a tearful Ginny, not a Ginny who may as well have been petrified for all anyone could get out of her.

Eventually her fellow Gryffindors just left her with her thoughts. Emotional support in times of crisis was a Hufflepuff trait, Harry surmised; Gryffindor support consisted of tackling the problem head on, or cheering as others got there first. It seemed when that wasn't an option his peers were every bit as clueless as he felt.

Several more aurors, and even their boss, Madame Bones, came in over the course of dessert to speak with McGonagall, always under silencing charms. A few of them stopped to reassure their younger relatives in hushed tones, but only for a moment each time.

By the end of the meal there had been a unanimous decision amongst the upper years of every house, and hence an order relayed to the younger years, that the entire student body would congregate in and around the main courtyard, to see and support their headmaster on his way. Harry filed out surrounded by a throng of students, all years and houses mixing without care, none worried about rubbing shoulders with him and Hermione. But for his general anxiety in crowds, that may have been a refreshing change of pace. He was also too busy keeping her on her feet to appreciate it.

All it took was one dead girl, and the eviction of the most powerful and respected wizard in Britain, for everyone to remember how little house politics mattered. Harry knew it wouldn't last; people being helpful, or thoughtful, or generally concerned with the wellbeing of others, never lasted long.

The sendoff was as solemn an affair as one would expect. Someone started clapping as Dumbledore came out the main doors, but the applause that generated was slow and without cheers. Even the Slytherins who were glad to see him go kept their slimy mouths shut; being surrounded by Gryffindors and having a sense of self-preservation was probably to thank for that small mercy.

Dumbledore himself had obviously recovered from the shock of his expulsion. He walked with purpose, and at the edge of the courtyard turned to address the crowd.

"You all really ought not to have bothered," he called, jovially. "This is not a goodbye. I've no doubt I shall be back before you can say 'lickity-boppity-spl-"

He vanished in a twirl of apparition without finishing his phrase, which struck Harry as about the right level of oddness for the man. With the spectacle suddenly over, people started heading back inside, but Hermione stayed where she was, propped up against a pillar that gave some protection against the tide of humanity. So obviously Harry stuck around too.

Much as he wanted to ask what they were still doing outside, Hermione was clearly deep in thought. Luna melted out of the crowd, greeting them with a wave and a hello that died on her lips at the sight of Hermione's distant frown. The three stood in companionable silence until they were the only ones left.

"Do you think they'll find anything?" Hermione finally said.

"Lots of things, I would think," Luna answered. "We can only hope one of them is what they're looking for."

"Maybe they'll root out a crumple horned snorkack while they're searching," Harry quipped, desperate to lighten the mood.

"Unlikely, Harry; snorkacks will mostly be in Africa this time of year," Luna rued, either missing his joke or considering the migratory habits of snorkacks not to be a laughing matter.

"Maybe I can ask an auror to investigate who pushed me while they're here," Hermione mused. "If they're not too busy for the complaints of a little girl this time."

The venom in her voice surprised Harry, and scared him enough he didn't ask why it was there.

"They were ever so helpful after mummy passed on," Luna remarked. "Although I did not like that Dawlish man. Imagine being that rude and not even having a nargle infestation to blame!"

Harry was trying to think up something suitably nasty, but not overly so, to say about Dawlish when Hermione held up a hand, demanding quiet. Then she cocked her head to one side, and frowned deeper than before.

"Eavesdropping," she said loudly, "is considered rude, you know."

A woman's voice, not too far away, swore lightly and a man's voice gave a short, barking laugh.

"Caught by a schoolkid," the laugher remarked gruffly, "that doesn't bode well for your tracking exam."

"Shut it," the other snapped, stepping out from behind a pillar. "Just shut it."

She was obviously an auror, although the robes were a lighter shade than the others Harry had seen that day. She was also younger than the other aurors - early twenties at the most. The man who appeared from thin air beside her had more than twice her years, many more scars, and one less leg. One less eye as well, if you were to only count original body parts, not freakishly large prosthetics.

"Sorry about Tonks," he apologised, limping stiffly up to them, "she's still in training. Academy must not have covered 'proper introductions and etiquette' yet."

"Oi," Tonks protested, nearly tripping over nothing as she followed. "I was going for young and relatable, you old codger." - she offered a hand to Harry which he reluctantly took - "Wotcher kids. Junior auror Tonks. And this is ex-auror Alastor Moody. Potter, innit?"

"Yes ma'am," he gulped, suddenly nervous to have the attention of law enforcement, even if she was being friendly.

"Bleedin' heck, please don't call me ma'am," she requested, looking affronted as she took her hand back to be offered to Luna. "Just Tonks'll do. Lovegood, right?"

"Yes, Tonks'll do," Luna beamed, taking the handshake with a wrist twisted upside down, only a glint in her eye telling Harry she knew exactly how contrarian she was being and was doing it on purpose for once. Had his mood been any higher that day, he would've got in trouble for laughing.

"Right," Tonks said, taking the weirdness in her stride. "And this must be Hermione Granger."

"Guilty as charged," Hermione said drolly, arms crossed. "However did you recognise me?"

She didn't offer a hand to be shaken, or move from her pillar at all. Whatever Hermione's issue with the authorities was, Harry got the sense it ran deep. Why has she never mentioned it before? Has it just never come up?

"Must've been the hair," Tonks said, and as she did her own hair shifted to a perfect copy of Hermione's wild curls.

She caught Harry's gaze of wonder and grinned at him, her eyes flashing a brilliant green he knew would match his own. That was a magic he hadn't heard of yet, but he wanted to know more immediately; the power to change your appearance on a whim would be a godsend for the beleaguered Boy-Who-Lived.

"Wrap it up, Tonks, this isn't a social," Moody huffed.

"Alright grumpy, I'm getting there... Miss Granger, I'm afraid we need to speak with you about recent events."

"I take it my participation is compulsory?" she said stiffly.

"Kinda, yeah," Tonks agreed, rubbing her neck.

"Fine," Hermione groaned. "Let's get it over with then."

A/N

Thanks Dammyd, good to see someone understanding and appreciating what I'm trying to do here.
And to firebird-fenix... Spoilers ;)

Little short this week, but it was the natural break point.