Chapter 2: Sunday, August 12, 2001
"Most important things in the world have been accomplished by people who kept trying when there seemed to be no hope at all."
-Dale Carnegie
The ache in Hermione's bones ran deeper than the normal wear and tear of a twenty one year old. She could blame it on her youth; breaking bones as a child in primary school from falling out of the tree in her parents back garden. Falling off her bicycle and fracturing her arm when she was eight, even the whiplash from a car accident she was in when she was ten, when her father had been driving and someone ran the traffic light, smashing right into the side of the car she sat...
She wished it was these small, trivial things that caused the ache in her bones; that caused the pain that throbbed down her side as she sat in the hard chair next to the bed Harry laid in. Instead, it was the years of battle she had been through. She hadn't realized that when she was just twelve years old- when she, Ron, and Harry went through looking for the Philosopher's Stone- that had actually been the beginning of this. The Battle of Hogwarts had been a most epic battle, but it was hardly the beginning. Nor was it the end.
God, how she had wanted it to be the end.
She scrubbed her hands over her face a few times, shifting in the chair to try to find a more comfortable position. She could cast a cushioning charm, or even transfigure the chair into something more comfortable, but what was the point? It didn't matter if she was comfortable, not when Harry laid in that bed.
The smell of the room reminded her of a Muggle hospital, something she found a strange nostalgia in. Even with the scourgifies and the tergeo spells, cleaning solutions were used to ensure the rooms remained sterile. They didn't have that same distinct lemon scented bleach smell, but it was still… medical. Almost as if the complete lack of smell created its own distinct scent.
She was pulled from her thoughts when a slender, pale hand holding a paper cup of steaming liquid interrupted her line of vision. She took it, looking up to see Draco sipping at his own.
"Half hot chocolate, half espresso. For whatever Salazar forsaken reason you enjoy that combination," he said.
She narrowed her eyes at him and took a sip from the cup, "Espresso is too bitter and hot chocolate on its own is too sweet. It's a good combination."
"For a child, perhaps."
"Are you in the habit of feeding children espresso?" Hermione asked, her lips twitching up slightly.
Draco rolled his eyes and fell into the seat next to her, "You know that I am far too exquisite to allow a perpetually sticky, filthy child anywhere near me. So, no."
Hermione snorted, taking another sip of the liquid and humming her approval. They sat in silence for some time, Hermione wanted to ask the questions burning in her head, but she already knew the answer. She already knew it would be the same as the day before, and the day before that.
"Is there any positive change?"
"No."
"Have you figured out what curse it was yet?"
"Also, no."
"Is there anything we can do?"
"Besides waiting and hoping for the best? I don't think so, Granger."
"I've been thinking about calling in some favors to a few old friends," Draco began. "A few connections with Healers in different countries that might have an idea of what this is."
"Won't that be expensive?" Hermione asked.
Draco shrugged, "Not like it matters. The Ministry reinstated my vaults months ago. Apparently if you save enough of the people they like, they'll let you have your property back."
"After three years," Hermione scoffed. "How kind of them."
"I'll take what I can get at this point. It's not all of the Malfoy family vault, just my own private one. But it's still enough that I could buy an island off the coast of France and never work a day in my life for probably four generations."
Hermione wrinkled up her nose with distaste at his bragging and shook her head, "It's disgusting, how much money your family has."
"Only because you don't have it," He joked. "If you were as wealthy as I am, you'd feel differently."
"Harry has money, he never acted like a prat."
"Not to you, no, but he's a prat in his own way. He also didn't grow up being fabulously rich, which I can tell you will certainly have a lad feeling entitled."
"Oh, believe me Draco, I know all about your entitlement."
Draco laughed and patted her hand, standing up from the chair he was in. He tossed his empty cup in the bin and quickly washed his hands before walking to Harry's side and running a few diagnostic tests over him. Hermione surveyed the symbols hovering over him, the same ones she had seen a million times in the few short years she had been a field healer for the Order.
Heart rate, oxygen intake, blood pressure, body temperature, magical core level, bond markers.
"Core level is holding steady," Draco muttered, marking down a few notes on Harry's chart. "It's been almost two weeks and there hasn't been any change. You would think that if this curse was going to kill him, it would have done something by now."
"Is that your professional opinion, Healer Malfoy?" Hermione asked, with an eyebrow arched.
Draco sneered, marking more notes on his parchment. "I only took the bloody job so they'd let me be his healer. They didn't want an unregistered healer working on The Chosen Prat, now did they?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, "He's in a magically induced coma in a bed for the last two weeks and you still have to get your jabs in?"
"Old habits die hard, what can I say?"
Hermione shook her head and began the work on Harry's limbs. She pulled his arm into her hands and began kneading the muscles, working them so they don't become too rigid in his slumber. Already, in the two weeks he had been out of the field of battle, Harry had lost some muscle definition and Hermione knew that massaging the muscles daily may help keep them from total atrophy. Draco had confirmed he thought this was the best course of action, so Hermione and Ginny traded off shifts, kneading the muscles twice a day.
"Have you seen Red lately?" Draco asked, eyes not leaving his notes.
"No," Hermione said. "Not in the last few days. I've missed her coming in or out. Why?"
"She isn't looking well," he said, a concerned look pulling his brows together. "I don't think she's sleeping. For that matter, neither are you. I want you to start taking a calming draught at night."
"You aren't my Healer, Draco. I can take care of myself."
"Humor me," he looked up from his notes with a look that said 'if you refuse I'll force it down your throat' and raised an eyebrow to her.
"Fine," Hermione conceded. "I'll take your bloody potion."
"Good. Tell Ginny I'll be back around eleven, would you?"
Hermione apparated to the clearing in the Forbidden Forest between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. After months of trying to find a place to use as Order Headquarters and every safehouse they previously used being apprehended by the Death Eaters, McGonagall suggested extending Howgwart's wards to cover the Shrieking Shack. After a few weeks of magical construction and rehabilitation, the small one bedroom shack had been turned into a multilevel house where much of the Order resided.
The Shrieking Shack left no extra space for luxuries such as privacy or relaxed atmosphere. It was magically expanded and used for functionality. To strategize and plan and recover after battle. There was no lovely "homey" feeling here, but the Order tried their best to make it one. At least there were hot meals and bunks to sleep in.
Hermione held her wand out to the door, touching the wood with the tip so the wards could accept her magical signature before opening the property to her. While the shack had been made unplottable and the extremely strong wards of Hogwarts held around it, they had taken it upon themselves to add a few extra wards, just in case.
She opened the door and her ears were instantly met with the sound of chaos, as it usually was entering the shack. The smell of food wafted from the kitchen while George, Neville, and Seamus talked at the table. She could see Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen with Fleur, a blur of red and blonde hair running laps between ovens and countertops.
In the small den off the back of the dining room sat Cho, Ron, Luna, and Theo. Ron and Theo were sitting across from one another playing a game of Wizard Chess and Luna and Cho were deep in conversation about planetary alignments and what it could mean for the healing properties of different planet specific potion ingredients.
"Hey 'Mione," Ron called, looking up from his game.
"Hey Ron."
He offered her a small, sad smile. "How's Harry?"
Hermione sighed, "Still the same," she said, feeling bad that she didn't have anything more to offer him. "Haven't figured out the curse yet, so there's not much we can do."
"Don't be so hard on yourself, you'll figure it out," he said, his tone hopeful. "You and Malfoy always do."
Hermione bobbed her head a few times, "I appreciate your faith in us."
"I've always had faith in you, 'Mione. You know that," he shifted, his face flushing a bit at he cleared his throat. "By the way, Zabini tried getting up on his own again today. Didn't go so well. You might want to check in on him," Ron said, his eyes shifting back to the game of chess.
"I will," Hermione said, taking that as her dismissal and catching one last half-hearted smile from Ron before she took to the stairs, heading up past the second floor library to the bunks on the third floor.
The library was lined floor to ceiling and wall to wall with haphazard old bookshelves, many of them bowing under the weight of the volumes they kept storage to. A third of the books had come from Hermione's personal collection, many others from Draco, Minerva, and even Harry had donated books when cleaning out what was left of Grimmauld place. On the far right side of the entrance of the room was a long table where the Order did the majority of their planning. There was still parchment and quills spread over it from the last ambush attack on the day Harry was cursed.
Off the backside of the room were two private rooms with three single cots in each. One room was empty, the other held Justin and Percy who had received the worst of the injuries from the battle. Percy's femur was still working to regrow completely and Justin's wound had been split back open before it had time to properly heal. Both men were set to strict bed rest.
The top floor laid the sleeping quarters. One large, completely open room with bunk after bunk in any spare space it could fit. Originally, the room had been sectioned off with walls and a little more privacy. As time went on, most permanent members of the Shack had discovered they didn't much like sleeping in privacy. Many of them suffer from night terrors or bouts of extreme insomnia. It helped if they could all rely on one another and know that they were safe within the walls they sought refuge in.
"Hey," Blaise Zabini's deep voice called from his bunk.
"Hey, I heard you tried to get up on your own again today."
Blaise grimaced, "I can't just lay here all day."
Hermione sighed, "I know it's difficult, but you need to rest. Did you manage to get any sleep?"
He shook his head, "No. I can't sleep knowing that he's there and not here with us."
"You should go see him," Hermione said, her voice soft. "He'd want you there."
"I… I can't." Blaise sounded dejected, his voice hitching in his throat, "I should have been there. It could have-
"Blaise, we've talked about this. You were injured. Had you been there, you would have died."
"Better me than him! No one needs me! I haven't been able to do anything useful in weeks and H-Harry…" Blaise's voice broke and he swallowed the lump in his throat.
Hermione frowned at the tears in his eyes and walked to his bed, sitting on the edge and grasping his hand, "Harry would have fallen to pieces if you got killed, Blaise. You know that. We need you here, Harry needs you. I can transfigure a wheelchair for you until your spine heals completely and I'll take you to see him tomorrow."
"You know," Blaise said, wiping his face on the back of his hand. "If you would have told me three years ago I'd be sniffling like a Hufflepuff over Harry fucking Potter, I would have laughed in your face."
Hermione chuckled, swiping the tears he missed off his chin before giving his cheek a light pat with her hand and quick kiss, "I think Harry would have laughed too. But then again, Harry's a firm believer in 'you love who you love' and apparently that's you. So, stop feeling sorry for yourself and get some sleep so you can see your boyfriend in the morning."
Blaise sighed, squeezing her hand. "I don't know what any of us would do without you."
"Oh, you'd manage."
Hermione helped him get tucked back into bed and refilled his water glass for him before slipping off her own robes and heading to the bathroom to take a much needed shower. After she was cleaned up and had eaten a quick supper, she made her way to the library to do a little research. Her fingers ghosted over the section of healing books she and Draco had acquired but nothing stood out. She went row by row of the shelves until a thin book with a broken spine caught her eye.
Theory of New Dark Curses: Creation, Uses, and Counters. 1986 Edition.
She knit her eyebrows together as she pulled it from the shelf, wondering how long it had been there and who it belonged to. Several members of the Order contributed to their ever-growing library regularly, so it wasn't unlikely she had missed a book or two being brought in. The book was old and worn, the spine rather delicate as she opened the cover.
Property of Remus J. Lupin
The tips of her fingers skated over the neat, slanted writing. Her heart tugged with something she hadn't felt in a long time. She wondered when the book had been brought to the library or if it had gone unnoticed, given it's slim size. Hermione settled in her favorite armchair and began to leaf through the book, skimming different sections and smiling to herself at the notes made in margins.
Next to a long and wordy explanation of the uses and creation of the Imperius curse:
This theory is written abstrusely to purposely confuse the reader. Re-written explanation in back of book.
A section of text giving a step by step of creating spells meant to literally boil someone alive:
The viscosity of blood compared to water makes this method useless. Why even include it?
Toward the back of the book, a countercurse to the feeling left behind by coming in contact with a Dementor:
Why waste the magic? Just eat chocolate. Chocolate cures almost everything!
Hermione laughed audibly at the last one and shook her head, biting back the smile as she read. She caught herself thinking, not for the first time, that she wished Remus Lupin was still here to help them, that he shouldn't have suffered such a tragic end at the Battle of Hogwarts. He should be with them. He should be here, plotting and researching and helping them develop new spells to use to fight against the Death Eaters and their "Dark Army". She felt the tug in her chest again and felt her throat swell with the emotion.
"Hermione?"
Hermione swallowed back the grief she had worked hard over the years to keep below the surface and turned in her chair. Ginny was standing in the doorway, eyes red with tears and a carton of ice cream in her hands. "Hey, Gin. You all right?"
Ginny shook her head and held out the ice cream, showing her the two spoons she had brought with her. "We haven't had an ice cream date in awhile. I thought…"
Hermione nodded, setting the book on the end table by the chair and moving to the sofa. Ginny sat next to her, folding her legs under herself as she handed Hermione a spoon and opened the carton, "Did you see Draco today?" she asked.
"Yeah, he told me to let you know he'd be in around eleven tonight. What's wrong?" Hermione responded, dipping the spoon into the strawberry part of the neapolitan ice cream.
Ginny shook her head, bringing a spoonful of chocolate to her lips. "I should have been there. I didn't know that the ambush was going to be so… so intense. On paper, it looked so simple and I hung back! I voluntarily hung back!"
"We needed you here for Blaise. You know Harry wouldn't have trusted anyone else to take care of him. The pair of you have to stop blaming yourselves!" Hermione said.
Ginny snorted, dipping the spoon back into the chocolate, "You're one to talk. You and Draco both have done nothing but place blame on yourselves. Draco took a fucking job he hates in order to further punish himself for it."
"Draco took the job at St. Mungo's because he doesn't trust anyone else to take proper care of Harry. And it's different for me…" Hermione trailed off, eating several small bites of ice cream and trying to ignore the incredulous stare on Ginny's face.
"Different, how? How exactly is it okay for you to take the blame but not me? Not Draco? Not Blaise? What about Ron, or… or Luna? They were there. Why do you have the right to assume blame?"
"It's not about assuming blame, Gin. The curse was aimed for me. It was supposed to hit me. But Harry-
"Harry saved your life, the same way he's been saving everyone for years. You can't blame yourself for that! It's the way he is, has been, and will always be. The git is so self-sacrificial it's maddening."
Hermione laughed, shaking her head, "Let's both take our own advice then, yeah?"
"Oh, all right. But only if you tell me what had you so choked up when I came in. Not wallowing in self-pity like the rest of us, were you?" Ginny teased.
"No, I… I was thinking."
"Always. What about?"
"Remus," Hermione breathed, a spoonful of strawberry ice cream hovering in the air between the carton and her mouth. "I just can't help but wish sometimes that… That he was still here, you know? He was so brilliant. Draco is an amazing Healer, but Remus… He knew so much. Something tells me he would have known what this curse was."
"You sure it's about what he may have known and not about the crush you had on Professor Lupin?" Ginny said, with a cheeky smirk as she delved back into the carton.
"I was fourteen when he was my professor, Ginny."
"I was fourteen when I was having sex with Dean Thomas. That means nothing to me."
"That's because you were a slag," Hermione teased.
Ginny put her hand to her chest in feigned offense, her mouth dropping comically wide, "Excuse me! I was never a slag. We prefer the term 'lady of the night', thank you very much."
The pair fell into a fit of giggles as they continued to devour the carton of ice cream. Hermione found herself actually enjoying the evening for the first time in weeks. This was something she and Ginny established long ago, even before the Battle of Hogwarts. They would cry, laugh, and gossip their way through a carton of neapolitan ice cream and for a few minutes, the world would feel like a better place.
Monday, August 13, 2001
Blaise groaned as they made their way through the footpaths of London. With every jostle the wheelchair took, he winced in pain. "This is bloody humiliating," he said. "Is this how muggles that can't walk get around?"
"Sometimes," Hermione said. "A lot of them have electric ones now, so they don't have to have someone push them."
"I can't wait until my spine fully heals, I've never wanted to go for a run so bad in my life."
Hermione chuckled as she pushed open the broken down storefront door that hid the main entrance to St. Mungo's. When they entered, they walked right past the Welcome Witch and straight to the back of the corridor to the supply lifts. Hermione stood before them, waiting for the lift doors to open.
"Why are we taking the supply lifts?" Blaise asked.
"You honestly think we would let him be put on a public floor?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows.
"I suppose not," Blaise said. "Where's his room then?"
"Janus Thickey ward, back supply room. Everyone there has half a mind as it is, so if anyone says they saw him, no one would believe them," Hermione explained.
Blaise gave the only nod he was able to, a minute dip of his head, and looked up at her in fear as the doors to the lift clanged open, "I don't know how I feel about this."
"He needs you here with him. We don't know what this curse is going to do, you know you'll regret it if you don't come while you can," Hermione said softly, pushing the chair into the lift.
"I know. I just… I can't even move to hold him! I can't do anything but sit here and stare at him and…" his voice cracked and Hermione could hear him swallow down the emotion that was building.
"I'll help you," she whispered.
Silence fell over them as the lift slowly dragged them upward. Hermione could tell Blaise was trying to steel himself and rangle his emotions before entering Harry's room. She knew he felt guilt deeper than any of them, probably even more so than she did.
A month before the ambush, a smaller raid took place at a known Dark Army location in the caves of the Swiss Alps. Blaise had led the raid and in the process, lost three Order members, injured three, and critically injured himself and Bill Weasley. Harry had told Blaise he didn't think he was ready to lead a raid yet, that he needed to get better with his wordless casting before he went storming into the caves. Blaise convinced him that he would be fine, that there was only a small group of six hiding out there and they would be able to take them, no problem.
There were seventeen Death Eaters present against eight Order members. Tracey Davis, Parvati Patil, and Michael Corner had all been killed. Penelope Cearwater, George, and Terry Boot had all taken significant injuries. Bill's skull had been fractured and his lung punctured and Blaise had severed his spine in half.
Blaise was supposed to be at the ambush on July 31st, but he was still healing his broken spine and still couldn't support his weight. Blaise was a master with transfiguration and had proven himself to be extremely useful in battle because of it. He was able to transform a boulder into a wall in less than three seconds. Create melee weapons out of rubble and turn the grass into quicksand at the drop of a quill. With the openness of the field they were ambushing, the Order was counting on him to be present.
Without the ability to walk, it was impossible, and he remained behind. The only person to blame him for Harry's current condition, however, was himself.
Hermione felt the magic of the wards surrounding Harry's room envelope her as she passed through them. She pushed open the door, backing in so that she could maneuver Blaise into the room without causing further injury. The minute his eyes hit Harry, he gasped and a strangled sob tore from his throat.
"Oh fuck!" Blaise cried, his shoulders shaking, "He… He looks fucking dead. He's got... His cheeks are all sunken in and… and look at his face! His poor face!"
Hermione rested a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before rolling his chair closer to him. She used an extension charm to make the bed larger and with the combination of a featherlight charm and some lifting, pulled Blaise to his feet to help him lay next to Harry. He wrapped his arms over Harry the best he could and pressed his lips to his temple.
"I'm sorry, Potter. God, I'm so fucking sorry. I should have been there. I should have listened to you. I love you, you stupid dickhead! You better fucking wake up, you hear me? You stupid arsehole! Why would you take a curse to the back like that? Fucking selfish prick. When you wake up, I'm going to kill you myself you…"
Hermione chuckled softly as she stepped away from the bed and made her way to the hall, allowing Blaise the privacy he needed to curse at Harry and work through his grief of the situation. Merlin knows, she did the same thing.
She conjured a chair and sat down, pulling the slim book from her bag with Remus' writing in it. She began leafing through it again, trying to keep herself from getting emotional over the past. She couldn't change it, there was nothing she could do but move forward, bury the hurt, pain, and regret and move on.
"I have an idea," Draco's voice came from above her as the familiar steaming cup of half hot chocolate, half espresso came into her line of sight.
"An idea?" she asked, closing the book in her lap and sipping at the liquid. "Too much espresso."
"Too much bloody espresso…" Draco grumbled, "Well, if you're going to be so damn picky about your beverage choices, make them yourself! Do you want to hear my idea or not?"
"No need to be dramatic." She teased, "What's this brilliant idea?"
"I'm going to the Manor."
Hermione choked on the liquid, nearly spilling the cup on the book in her lap. She slapped her palm against her chest several times until the cool rush of air filled her lungs again, "Excuse me? You're going to do what?!"
"I'm going to go to the Manor," Draco repeated. "I want to look through whatever is left of the libraries there. I talked to Red about it last night and-
"And Ginny was okay with it?" Hermione asked skeptically, her brows raising high into her hairline.
"Well, not at first, no. It took some… convincing."
"Some… Convincing…" she said slowly.
"I shagged her within an inch of her life and then asked again. You know, for as intelligent as you are, it's a little embarrassing that I have to explain to you what it means when I have to 'convince' your best friend of anything," Draco said, using his fingers to make air-quotes around the word 'convince'.
"Circe, give me strength," Hermione prayed quietly, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her prayer was met with a loud laugh from Draco.
"Listen, I'm going to the Manor tomorrow. If you'd like to come, be my guest. Gin said she has, and I quote 'absolutely no fucking desire to be anywhere near that fucking death pit you used to live in'. I'd prefer to take Blaise, but the whole, you know, severed spine is kind of an issue. Theo, I believe, is going though."
"What would you need me there for?" Hermione asked.
"What do you mean? I'm going to the Manor, to go through the libraries. Plural. We had four. There are thousands of books. I just kind of assumed you'd hadn't gotten off in awhile and I'd help."
She shook her head as her face wrinkled up in disgust, "You know, I'm glad you're getting on with everyone now, but Seamus and George are terrible influences on you."
He smirked, "So, is that a yes?"
Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes as she thought about it. She had only been back to the Manor once since that day. She went a year ago after the Ministry had finally released their tight grip on it, to help Draco retrieve some personal items from his old quarters there. The house was still in Ministry custody, but Draco was allowed to return to it as often as he needed to gather items of personal value. He hadn't gone back since the first time, and had contemplated burning the house to the ground. He decided against it and instead, vowed only to return if absolutely necessary.
Harry being hit with an unknown dark curse that was feeding on his magical core and forced him into a medically induced coma seemed like a pretty good reason to return.
Hermione gave a tentative nod, wondering what in the world they would possibly find digging through the libraries of Malfoy Manor.
.
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a/n: Thank you for reading! Just a reminder, the story is pre-written and will be posted every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.
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