April 5, 2003 (Hermione)
Hermione's dreams were filled with terrifying images of dark towers, swirling clouds of Dementors, and Dark Lords. She was falling, falling through open air, lightning crackling all around her, arm outstretched for a figure racing towards her. It took her some time to remember that these were not dreams, but memories, and new images flashed through her mind: dozens of children, undefended, screaming in terror as Voldemort hunted them down at last…
She awoke with a gasp, flailing about in the dark, nearly falling out of her cot to the cold floor. She grasped blindly for her wand, not finding it in its usual spot on the desk nearby. Lumos, she thought desperately, and the room exploded with light – far more light than she'd intended. She yelped with pain and shielded her eyes; the room was plunged in darkness again. I need to get to my children, she thought in a panic, rolling off the bed and crawling towards the door—
"Hermione?"
There came a soft knock at the door, and Hermione froze. "W-who's there?" she said uncertainly.
She heard the door creak open, and a shadowy figure was silhouetted in the door frame, standing over her. For a brief moment of horror, Hermione imagined this figure to be Voldemort, arriving to slaughter her and everyone she loved. But then her eyes adjusted to the light, and she saw Harry standing there, a look of concern on his face. Her fear melted in an instant, and relief washed over her. We're safe.
"What are you doing on the floor?" he asked, strolling forward to help her up.
"L-looking for my wand," Hermione muttered, accepting his hand and struggling to her feet.
"Sorry, I put it up here," said Harry; he strode across the room and reached atop a bookshelf to retrieve her wand. "You were letting off a lot of accidental magic in your sleep, so I figured it was safer to keep it out of reach."
"I was?" said Hermione, confused. Her head was throbbing slightly, and her eyes were heavy with fatigue. "How long was I out?"
"Nearly four days," Harry chuckled. "Though you were in and out of sleep for most of it. I had to stay in here and keep you from destroying the place with your magic."
Destroying the place? Hermione wondered. She had suffered from magical exhaustion before, but never to the extent that she did in the Black Tower. The children had reported odd occurrences while she recovered from such incidents in the past: flickering lights, rattling walls, and so on. But nothing truly destructive. Her core must have been depleted to a severe degree to cause such havoc.
"Thank you," she croaked. Her head was still spinning, and Harry helped lower her back onto the bed, where she sat unsteadily. Harry flicked his wand to turn on the lights, and Hermione could not help but to stare at the man she hadn't seen in five years. He looked much the same physically, but more rugged and worn in the face. The real difference was in the eyes; his emerald gaze held more weight to it now, no longer as innocent and youthful as they once were. He regarded her with a concerned expression, a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"I never forgot what you did for me when I took the Essence of Thought for the first time," Harry grinned. "This was the least I could do."
"And the children…?" Hermione said, eyes darting over to the open door.
"All fine," Harry reassured her. "Ginny's awake and helping them as we speak."
"She is?" Hermione said, hope bubbling up within her for the first time in what felt like ages. "No brain damage?"
"She's mad as hell, but that's business as usual for her," Harry winked. "I had to beg her to wear an eye patch, because she was frightening the children."
Hermione laughed at this, or at least tried to; her throat was so dry that she devolved into hacking coughs. Harry conjured a goblet full of water and handed it to her; she quickly gulped down the soothing liquid.
"Merlin, I missed you," she breathed, resting her head on Harry's shoulder. "It's been so hard."
"I missed you too, Granger," Harry responded, sliding his hand across her back to wrap her in a side-hug. She leaned into him with a contented sigh; she'd missed his touch, his scent, his warmth. She felt like a teenage girl again, being reassured that all was alright in the world, that the weight of the world was not on her shoulders. She would relish in that delusion while she could still afford to.
"Five years is a long time," Hermione sighed. "Britain's changed a lot without you."
"So I can see," Harry said grimly. "But I've changed a lot too. I've been...busy. Getting ready."
Hermione remembered the confrontation outside the Tower, the frightening army of lightning that Harry had come riding in on. "How did you create those patronuses?" she wondered aloud. "They looked...different."
"I did some experimenting with the Patronus Charm," said Harry. "Happiness is the strongest emotion associated with it, but it's possible with others, like anger and pride. Then it's just a matter of stamina to keep multiple patronuses active at once."
"You'll have to teach me that sometime," Hermione said.
"The patronuses?"
"That and the stamina."
Hermione could feel Harry stiffen against her. "You know what I had to do to myself to build my stamina," he said darkly. "I wouldn't wish to subject anyone to that."
"But if it's a matter of defeating You-Know-Who—" Hermione began.
"Leave that to me," Harry said assertively. "I'll need as much help as I can get, but killing Voldemort is my job."
Hermione flinched unconsciously at the name, which she hadn't heard spoken aloud in a long time. She sensed Harry's quizzical reaction to this. "Sorry," she muttered.
"Don't tell me you've given into fear," Harry said in a lightly chastising tone. "A great witch once told me, 'Fear of a name only increases'—"
"...'fear of the thing itself', I know," Hermione sighed. "It was mostly for the children's benefit at first. But he has a way of stamping out that rebellious spirit. Stamping out any and all hope."
"Well, things are about to change," Harry said authoritatively. "We'll set you straight, and then we'll end this war. Simple as that."
If only anything could be that simple, Hermione thought bitterly. Harry meant well, but he'd always been too idealistic for his own good. He hadn't been here with them, in the trenches, sharing their bitter defeats and tragic betrayals. He hadn't been beaten down like she had. Even he couldn't possibly fathom what they were up against.
But why be so cynical? Hermione thought. She had no idea what Harry had been through himself in recent years, walking the Path, subjugating himself to untold horrors. He'd somehow made it through to the other side with his hope intact. Why shouldn't she share his optimism? Perhaps this was the true power of Harry Potter, that which the Dark Lord knew not: his unwavering positivity, unflappable in the face of certain doom. He never gave up. He fought and would continue to fight. And Hermione would be there by his side for whatever challenges lay ahead.
Hermione wanted to sit here with Harry for hours, to let him whisper sweet nothings in her ear and take her troubles away, if only for the night. But she forced herself back to her feet, politely brushing off his attempts to help her. "I'm fine," she muttered. "Just need some food to get my strength back."
"I think Ginny's serving dinner as we speak," said Harry. He followed her out of the office and into the hallway, where Hermione could hear voices drifting around the corner towards her. She rounded the bend into the large gathering area, where dozens of children chatted animatedly over their meals. One of them spotted her approach and raised a great shout, which alerted all the others to her presence.
"Miss Mione's awake!"
"She's back, she's back!"
"Miss Mione, the Chosen One is really here! I saw his scar!"
Hermione politely greeted the children jumping around her, eager for her attention, eager to share their excitement over Harry's return. Even the older children looked happier and healthier than she'd seen in months; they were the ones quickly becoming jaded to the idea of a 'Chosen One' ever coming to save them, yet here he was. Their promised Messiah, in the flesh. Back from the proverbial dead.
She made her way up towards the front of the room, where Ginny was ladling soup into bowls for everyone. She wore a dull grey eye patch over her empty left socket, but her good eye met Hermione's gaze and sparkled with energy. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Otter," she greeted with a wry grin.
"Back at you, Wildcat," Hermione grinned. "You sure heal quickly."
"Takes more than a bullet to bring down a Weasley," Ginny said with a touch of pride. "'Course, it helps when the first thing you see when waking from a coma is Harry freaking Potter."
Hermione chuckled appreciatively at this. Aside from herself, Ginny had been the most stubborn in her conviction that Harry would return; the sight of him must have been righteous vindication.
Ginny poured a hefty bowl full of steaming soup and handed it to Hermione, who took it gratefully. She settled into a nearby empty chair and took a tentative sip. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise; it was one of the richest soups she'd tasted in years. Thick, savory, loaded with flavor...and was that actual protein she sensed in the mix?
"I may have gone out for a bit of 'shopping' earlier," Harry said with a wink as he joined her at the table. "Nicked some vegetables from a farm outside of town, and maybe a chicken or two."
Hermione barely acknowledged this; she was wolfing down the soup like someone who hadn't eaten in weeks. She could practically feel the energy seeping back into her body, the dull edges of her mind sharpening by the second. Her magic would take a bit longer to return to its normal levels, but physical strength would go a long way towards a full recovery.
"Mister Harry, won't you tell us more about what you've been doing?" asked little Jenna, eagerly plopping in the seat beside Harry's. Hermione shot a nervous glance at Harry – what had he shared with the children? Surely he hadn't divulged some of the darker secrets of his journey thus far?
But Harry turned to Jenna with a wide grin and a twinkle in his eye that Hermione hadn't seen in quite some time. "I've traveled far and wide on my quest," he said with a dramatic flair, drawing in the attention of several nearby tables. "I saw every ocean, visited every continent. I learned many languages and fought many men and beasts."
"What kind of beasts?" a younger boy called out.
"Oh, all kinds," Harry grinned. "Dragons, of course...I fought more than my fair share. I also rode on hippogriffs and tamed graphorns."
"Graphorns are real?!" yelped the boy, looking to Hermione with wonder in his eyes. Hermione had told the children stories of various magical creatures abroad, none of which they'd actually seen and must have assumed didn't really exist. And yet here was Harry to corroborate her tales.
"They are," Harry winked. "Vicious creatures, but also loyal and intelligent once you've gained their trust. They are pack creatures that follow the alpha, so the only way to get them to trust you is to defeat them in combat."
The children ooh'ed and ahh'ed appreciatively as Harry continued with his grandiose tales of travel. She knew he only shared the tastiest morsels with them, the more epic and adventurous aspects of his journey, if they were even real. Surely he wouldn't take them on a mental journey through his darkest days, back when he'd risked his body, his mind and his soul for just a tiny bit of extra strength, of extra knowledge.
Two more bowls of soup later, Hermione felt herself becoming drowsy again. As much as she wished to stay alert and check in on the war efforts in her absence, her brain still demanded rest. She excused herself from the table and returned to her office, killing the lights and crawling into her cot. She was out in seconds, returning to the blissful release of sleep.
She awoke some time in the dark of night, eyes snapping open to the sound of nearby movement. But it turned out to be Harry, shifting restlessly on the floor beside her. "Harry?" she whispered. "What are you doing?"
"Keeping an eye on you," Harry muttered.
"From all the way down there?" Hermione chuckled. "Don't be ridiculous. Come here."
Harry got up and crawled into the cot beside Hermione. She'd expected him to magically enlarge the narrow bed to fit the both of them, but the proximity forced them close, Harry engulfing her in his warm embrace. Again Hermione was overwhelmed with a sense of peace and protection in his arms. She closed her eyes again, breathing in his scent, settling against his warm touch, and promptly fell back into a deep and restful sleep.
It took Hermione two full weeks to recover from her magical depletion. Even basic casts from her wand remained erratic; she'd accidentally set her bookshelf on fire one morning while attempting a basic Lumos to light up the room. But Harry was patient, not rushing her back into action, encouraging her slow but steady progress. And when the nightmares continued to plague her dreams at night, he was right there to hold her close, to shelter her from the darkness.
Hermione refused, however, to let her fatigue hold her back from the war efforts. She went with Ginny (and a reluctant Harry) to meet with General Beckett and discuss future coordinated assaults, though they withheld any specific information about their plans. Truthfully, Hermione didn't know what Harry had in mind; they hadn't really discussed strategy since his return. But she began putting out feelers for an official Order of the Phoenix meeting later that month, where she hoped they would be able to form a tangible plan to defeat the Dark Lord.
She did try to coax information out of Harry about his whereabouts in the past few years. "And don't give me platitudes like you gave the kids," she huffed. "I want to know what you've been doing to yourself."
"Everything I told them is true," Harry said simply. "Dragon hide is dead useful, you know. And the graphorns were necessary to sacrifice in a blood ritual."
Hermione winced at this. "How many rituals did you perform?" she asked quietly.
"You don't want to know the answer to that question," Harry chuckled.
Hermione wanted to press further, but decided against it. "And yet, you still need glasses," she teased, opting for humor rather than worry.
"Oh, these?" Harry murmured, gesturing to the black spectacles on his nose. "Just for show, I'm afraid. Can't have Voldemort and all the rest not recognizing me when I make my grand entrance to the wizarding world."
Hermione reached up absently to feel the glasses, and was surprised when her fingers passed right through the frames as though they weren't even there. They were like a permanent glamour upon his face, an unnecessary fashion accessory meant only to identify him as the infamous Boy Who Lived.
She found herself watching Harry more closely as they settled into their new routine in the enclave. He was wonderful with the children, that much was clear – generous, kind, and eager to encourage their hopes for the future. But when he was alone, she could see the darkness clouding his mind, the proverbial storm clouds following him everywhere. Whatever he'd been through had changed him, that much was clear. Hermione yearned to use Legilimency to examine his brain, to see what burdened him, but she dared not...as much to respect his privacy as to avoid setting another bookshelf on fire.
The day finally arrived for the Order meeting, which Hermione was not optimistic would draw a single attendee. They'd lost nearly every member of the organization over the years, and those who remained had grown jaded and unwilling to stick out their necks any longer. But she was surprised with each new pop of Apparition, heralding another arrival for the meeting: Luna Lovegood, Hannah Abbott, Sadie Blanchett, Neville Longbottom, Fred Weasley, and even Lee Jordan. All greeted Harry with enthusiasm, clearly eager to learn what had brought him back to the country at last.
A short time later, Hermione found herself sitting beside Harry at the head of a conference table in one of the back rooms of the enclave. All eyes in the room bounced between the two of them, waiting for the proceedings to begin. Am I meant to be leading this? Hermione wondered to herself; she had been the de facto leader of the Order for the past few years, but Harry's return had certainly affected the dynamic. She glanced sideways at Harry, who took it upon himself to stand and clear his throat, claiming the leadership role for himself for the moment.
"Thank you all for coming," he said, scanning the room. "I confess, I had hoped for more people, but I appreciate the risks you all took in being here and supporting the cause."
"Any time, mate," Neville piped in. "I put out some feelers with the old D.A. members, and a few responded, but no one was able to come on such short notice."
"What about the old Older members?" Harry asked. "Tonks? Lupin, Shacklebolt? McGonagall?"
"All killed or captured," Hermione sighed. "Some might still be alive in Azkaban; there's no way to know for sure."
"Understood," Harry muttered. He scanned the room, his eyes eventually landing on Fred and Ginny. "No other Weasleys?" he asked, sounding somewhat hopeful.
"Bill and Charlie are out of the country," Fred explained. "They responded to our call, but can't re-enter the country without raising red flags because our family's still being watched."
"And Fleur's pregnant with her second at the moment," Ginny added. "But they will support us when the time comes."
"Good, good," Harry nodded. "What about the others?"
"Percy and Ron are working at the Ministry," Ginny muttered bitterly. "Too dangerous to attempt contact with them at the moment. Cowards and traitors, the both of 'em."
"And Georgie's back at our conclave, watching after the kids," Fred added. "But he's here in spirit."
Hermione felt Harry stiffen beside her, and when she glanced into his face, she thought she saw a flash of something like anger there. "Someone had to stay behind to watch the children," Hermione jumped in reassuringly. "We moved a lot of the rescued kids from the Tower there. He's still on our side."
If Harry had been upset at the news, he didn't show it now. "Yes; of course," he muttered with a little smile. Hermione quickly changed the subject.
"The bottom line is, there are others outside this room who are willing to help," she said. "We should begin planning now, and let others in on a need-to-know basis, once we determine it's safe."
"Right," said Harry. He got to his feet and drew his wand, pointing it at the center of the table between them. A large roll of parchment sprang into being, and schematics began to appear upon it in black ink. Hermione frowned when she recognized the building being depicted.
"Azkaban?" she said. "What could be there that we need?"
"More allies," said Harry. "Anyone being kept in there is probably no fan of Voldemort's, wouldn't you agree?"
"We have no idea who's actually in there," Hermione replied. "Most of the old Order members were killed outright, along with anyone else with close ties to you."
"Not Krum," Harry pointed out. Everyone froze at the mention of this name.
"That's a different case," Hermione said slowly. "They wanted to make an example out of him."
"He also hasn't been seen in a few months," Neville supplied. "Who knows if they've done away with him?"
"But if he is still alive," Harry retorted, "we owe it to him to try and rescue him, no?"
"I mean, yes, in theory," Hermione fretted, "but is it worth an entire assault on Azkaban on a hunch?"
"And how do we know he's still loyal?" Fred added. "Surely you've heard what he's been saying on television in the past few years?"
"They force him to say those things," Harry said dismissively. "He's still loyal; I know it."
No one really knew where Viktor Krum was being kept these days, but the Ministry had trotted him out every few months to give a televised statement in support of some new pureblood policy or another. He hadn't played Quidditch professionally ever since the incident at Krum Manor, but his name still carried enough international cachet that he was considered a useful tool to pacify the masses. Hermione felt a pang of guilt at the man's treatment since his capture for sheltering her and Harry, but at least he was being kept alive – for now.
"There's another problem with this plan," Hermione said, standing to consider the schematics laid out on the table. "Azkaban is in the middle of the sea, and it's Unplottable. It will be impossible for the Muggles to help us—"
"Muggles?" Harry chuckled. "Why should we care about the Muggles?"
"Harry," Ginny said uncertainly, "they've been helping us for months now. You met General Beckett. All these rebellions were part of our coordinated war efforts, and we're in touch with their leaders…"
"You really think Muggles will make the difference in the war against Voldemort?" Harry demanded. "No offense, but things have been looking pretty bleak until I showed up."
"It's an asset we should not squander at any rate," Hermione huffed, growing more frustrated with him but holding her tongue for now.
"Fine," Harry shrugged. "Send them on some suicide mission to distract the Death Eaters then. But Azkaban remains the target."
"Harry Potter!" Hermione gasped. "You cannot seriously suggest sacrificing thousands of lives to save one man!"
Harry turned to face her fully, and Hermione was shocked to see not a single trace of remorse etched in his expression. "This is war, Hermione," he said coolly. "I'll take Krum over a million Muggles when it comes time to make our final assault. If we win, the sacrifice will be worth it. Am I wrong?"
Hermione glanced at Ginny, who too looked heavily conflicted by this turn of events. Everyone in the room, in fact, looked deeply uncomfortable. The shared, unspoken sentiment was clear: this was not the same Harry Potter they'd last seen five years prior.
"We'll table the Muggle issue for now," Hermione sighed. "But there's something else we should discuss."
"What's that?" Harry asked.
"Horcruxes," said Hermione.
Harry blanched at the mention of the word, glancing around the room at everyone's reaction. "You didn't tell anyone, did you?" he demanded under his breath.
"Not all the details," Hermione responded. "But we've been looking for significant objects, yes. Wouldn't you say they are a high priority before we confront You-Know-Who?"
"They're likely well-hidden," Harry shrugged. "He's had ample time to plan and move them around for safe-keeping. It would be a frivolous waste of time."
"But you know that if we don't find them—" Hermione protested.
"I'm aware of their significance, thank you Hermione," Harry snapped coldly. "But it took him thirteen years to come back the last time. It will be far easier to track them down once he's out of the way and we're back in control."
"That seems like an unnecessary risk—" Hermione tried to protest.
"Who's in charge here, Hermione?" Harry demanded. Hermione gaped at him, unsure of how to respond to that. Because honestly, she didn't know the answer. She'd taken the lead for so long that she was used to the leadership role, and she knew what was happening in wizarding Britain better than anyone...should she be so quick to relinquish control to Harry, who had only just returned to the mainland?
"I'm just exploring all options," Hermione said diplomatically. "If you think it's best to wait, then we can wait."
"Good," Harry nodded. "Luna, Hannah, any thoughts? And you, miss…?"
"Blanchett," piped up the eager young witch seated in the corner. "Sadie Blanchett. And, erm, nothing to add at the moment."
Hermione smiled inwardly at the girl's excitement. She'd been quite a bit younger than them in their Hogwarts days; she was only a third-year when Dumbledore was killed. As a Muggle-born, she'd been forced into hiding when Voldemort took over, but managed to shelter with a sympathetic half-blood family for a few years and studied magic in secret. Hermione took her in shortly after her return to Britain, and once she came of-age, she proved resourceful and responsible enough to lead her own enclave just outside Southampton. She was a bit raw and clumsy with her magic, but what she lacked in talent, the plucky Hufflepuff made up for with loyalty and determination.
"What will become of the children?" a quiet voice cut in; all eyes turned to Hannah Abbott, looking world-weary and exhausted. "Will they be safe while we move on our targets?"
"We will do all we can to keep them safe," Harry said, though his tone carried notes of impatience rather than reassurance. "The priority remains on winning the war."
"B-but who will watch over them?" Hannah pressed, her eyes laden with sorrow. "What if...what if nobody comes back to take care of them?"
"Then they'll be left to fend for themselves," Harry huffed. "If there's nobody left to care for them, it means the war is lost anyway."
Again, Hermione felt the need to jump in to paper over such callous remarks. "We will leave the children with means of emergency travel in case something goes wrong," she said. "Maybe establish one of the enclaves as a central hub to regroup, in case we lose multiple guardians."
"Ours will be suitable," Fred offered. "George and I have been working on expanding the rooms within the wards. We can hold plenty more if needed."
"Good," Hermione nodded, quickly sitting again to signal to Harry that he was still in command of the meeting. She didn't know why she felt like she was walking on eggshells around him, but the tension in the room was still palpable. Harry clearly had no interest in discussing the enclaves or the Muggle resistance efforts; he was laser-focused on Voldemort, for better or for worse.
"I've done a bit of reconnaissance of the prison in recent months," Harry explained, returning his attention to the schematics on the table. "The Dementor presence is lower than it used to be, and there are more human guards to compensate. That's both good and bad news. Good because it'll be easier to approach the island undetected; bad because it will be more difficult to subdue the guards."
"Do you think You-Know-Who will arrive to defend the prison once the alarm is sounded?" asked Ginny.
"Unlikely," said Harry. "But if he does, it means there are more valuable prisoners there than we suspected. So speed should be our primary objective. I reckon we should assault one entry point and force our way through, rather than contain the whole island. That way we can release some of the prisoners and arm them to help in the escape."
"Do we have enough spare wands for that?" asked Fred.
"I've got a few," said Harry. "They won't be perfect matches, but they'll suffice."
"Won't there be a risk of wand loyalty preventing their use by a new master?" Hermione mused.
"The prior owners are dead, so I wouldn't worry about that," Harry said matter-of-factly. It was as though he didn't realize the chilling impact these words had...where exactly had he gotten these wands? There was a lot Hermione still didn't know about Harry's whereabouts and activities over the past five years, and she feared learning the finer details.
"Right, okay then," she said slowly. "So the plan is to assault one corner of the prison, force entry, and free and arm as many prisoners as possible? Then what?"
"Then we run," Harry shrugged. "No need to stage a full-on battle in such a remote location."
"But how will we get there and back?" asked Hermione. "You can't Apparate or Portkey within seven miles of the island, and brooms will be detected from just as far away."
"I can get us there," Harry said simply. "Leave that part to me." Hermione wanted to ask him to elaborate further, but she'd seen his terrifying display of power at the Black Tower and decided it best not to ask. He seemed confident enough that it wasn't worth getting bogged down in the finer details now.
"Right, okay," sighed Hermione. "Azkaban it is then."
The rest of the meeting consisted of fine-tuning the prison assault and outlining future battle plans. Harry's strategy was fairly linear and simple: amass as many allies as possible, then take the fight directly to Voldemort at the Black Tower.
"I figure once enough people realize that I'm back, it will embolden others to join the cause," said Harry. "But for some reason, the papers haven't seemed to recognize my return yet."
"Oh, believe me, they know," Lee Jordan chimed in; he had been working at the Daily Prophet as a sports reporter for a few years now. "Everyone's whispering about the rumors in private. But the Ministry isn't allowing the press to admit it. As far as they're concerned, Granger is still public enemy number one."
"In that case," Harry said with a smirk, "we'll have to make enough noise that they can't afford to ignore me any longer. Let's brainstorm ways we can accomplish that, shall we?"
The meeting adjourned soon after, and people began filing out of the conference room. Harry stood off to one side, staring blankly at the table, clearly lost in his own mind. Hermione walked over to him and gave him a rub on the back to soothe him. "You did great," she reassured him as the room emptied around them. "Don't worry about our numbers. We'll have more people on our side in no time."
"Huh?" said Harry, breaking out of his reverie. "Oh, it's nothing; I'm fine." And he trudged out of the room after the others, still looking dazed.
Was he unaccustomed to dealing with people again after years of exile? Was he struggling with the burden of the war to come? Or was there more darkness lingering in his mind, residuals from his years of dangerous magical experimentation? Hermione shuddered with the thought as she turned to follow the group from the room.
But before she flicked off the light in the conference room, she noticed a blonde figure huddled in the corner, rocking lightly back and forth. Luna Lovegood looked like she was going to be sick.
"Luna?" said Hermione quietly, approaching her slowly. "Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine," Luna said weakly. "Just a bit under the weather, that's all."
Hermione gently placed her hand to Luna's forehead, wincing at the heat she felt radiating from the young woman. "You're burning up, girl," Hermione fretted, conjuring a glass of water for her. "Drink something."
Luna raised a shaky hand to her mouth and took a gulp of water. She attempted to swallow, but coughed violently, splashing the water down her front and dropping the glass to the ground.
"Whoa, do you need to see someone?" Hermione asked. "You look deathly ill."
"I swear, I'm okay," Luna insisted. "I j-just get the c-c-chills sometimes—"
Without warning, Luna slipped from her chair and fell to the ground. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she began to convulse lightly on her back. Hermione's body seized with terror at the sight.
"S-someone help!" she called out weakly. "I need help!"
She heard rapid footsteps approaching, and Harry returned to the room. He knelt beside her as they watched Luna seize up at their feet. "Luna?" he said, worried. "Luna, it's Harry and Hermione. Can you hear us?"
"Let's give her some space," Hermione said, flicking her wand to push the nearby chairs and table aside. "So she doesn't hurt herself."
"We're right here if you need us, Luna," Harry called out in a reassuring tone. "Just try to relax. We'll get you some help straight away."
Suddenly, as though responding to his words, Luna ceased her jerking movements and lay perfectly still. Hermione held her breath, terrified. Then Luna's eyes flew open, but they were milky white and unfocused. And when she opened her mouth to speak, it was not her voice that came out, but something guttural and terrible that made Hermione's hair stand on end.
"The Dark Lord's defeat is nigh," Luna croaked in her terrible voice. Hermione felt Harry freeze in fear beside her.
"What did you just say?" Harry demanded in a hushed tone.
"The Dark Lord's defeat is nigh," Luna repeated in her gravelly tone. "The one destined to defeat him will claim his hallowed prize…"
"L-Luna, you're scaring us," Hermione squeaked, but Harry held out a hand to quiet her. Luna continued as though they were not there.
"But he will be doomed to lose his power to the one he loves…" she went on. "A fractured world will be united by the destructive actions of another…the Dark Lord's defeat is nigh…"
Luna's body gave a great heave; her eyes fluttered shut, and she went still again. A moment later, she gave a deep shudder and sat upright; she stared wildly around, her powder-blue irises back in their proper place.
"Oh dear, I must have passed out again," Luna sighed in her normal, dreamy tone. "That's been happening quite often lately. I apologize if I frightened you."
Hermione continued to stare at Luna in disbelief. "Was...was that a prophecy?" she breathed. She turned to Harry with a quizzical look. But Harry was not looking at Luna. He was staring at Hermione, an odd look on his face. It wasn't confusion or even curiosity. It was something darker, more questioning. Hermione frowned, silently probing him for an explanation. Then the impact of Luna's words hit her more fully.
He will be doomed to lose his power to the one he loves.
What 'power'? And who was 'the one he loves'?
But from the mingled suspicion and fear in Harry's expression as he stared at Hermione, she knew exactly who he interpreted the second part to be referring to.
