Chapter 3: Bloody business
*** June 27th, late afternoon, a bus in London ***
As the bus came to a jostled halt at their stop, Hermione practically dragged the emotionally spent Harry onto the street after her, nearly forgetting Harry's trunk in the process. A short walk brought them to the next available telephone booth. Knowing that this would take a while and observing the old proverb 'better safe than sorry', Hermione told Harry to jog around the block to keep in motion while she made the call to her mother.
Although still rather spent from his hour-long exhausting emotional outburst in the bus, Harry obediently dropped his trunk besides her and took off without a word. Hermione blushed from seeing his obvious blind trust in her. Pulling out some coins, she started to punch the numbers.
Harry returned while she was still trying to make her mother understand the urgency of the situation and thus the importance of leaving as soon as they arrive, without revealing too much critical information, yet. With a short series of hand waves, she signalled him to make the run a second time. Much to her relief, he didn't make a scene - in fact, he didn't even roll his eyes at her. Instead, he just nodded and went off again, even though it was terribly hot. Hermione shot him a brilliant smile for being so understanding.
After finally browbeating her mother into acceptance, Hermione hung up and waited for Harry to return. After fifteen minutes without the slightest sign of Harry, she became nervous. It hadn't taken him more than five minutes the last time.
'Shit!' Harry thought for the fifth time as he fidgeted from one leg to the other in the crowd. On his second lap, he had seen a red light ahead and chosen to take a turn to the left to keep moving. He noticed his mistake when he came to a stop in a dense crowd. The thrice damned road was to wide to be crossed in one go, so it had an in-between stop on the median, slowing him down
Turning everywhere, Harry nervously scanned the area for potential pursuers. 'How long does that stupid light take?' shot through his mind – he had to get moving!
"Bollocks!" he cursed softly, earning him a few disapproving glares from bystanders, when he noticed a fiery red, but slightly balding, shock of hair, behind him and across the street. He would recognize Arthur Weasley at a hundred paces, especially in his strange Sherlock Holmes style coat that Arthur found appropriate for the mid-nineties muggle London.
He would have missed the witch by his side, since she didn't look out of the ordinary, but as she elbowed Arthur and pointed at Harry, he recognized her. Her coat had misled him for a moment - the style, along with her long, black hair and pale complexion, meant he had taken her for a 'Goth'. When Arthur had to grab her arm to keep her from walking into the traffic to get him, he got definite confirmation.
Ignoring the glares and shouts of indignation, he jostled his way through the crowd, trying to put some kind of buffer between them and him. He thought he had heard Arthur shouting his name, but he didn't mind. All that did count was the light turning green.
When the light changed, he lunged out like a racehorse. The people from the opposite side made way as he charged at them like a mad bull. The shouts behind him told him that the Order was giving chase. Falling into his old habits from 'Harry hunting', when Harry spotted a newspaper kiosk with a postcard display, he quickly latched onto the opportunity that was provided as he darted past the booth.
The crash of the falling display - the spread of cards all over the ground and the shouts - were like music in his ears. A quick glance over his shoulder brought a smile on his face. Arthur had the witch clinging to him after she had slipped on the loose cards. Their stumble gave him a bit more of a lead.
A block later, though, they'd almost caught up, since Harry had to slow down. He had already started puffing from the first run around the block, and the sharp tempo of the current chase was hard to keep up.
He dashed across the next street, and, glancing around, made a sharp turn to the right, crossing the next street as well. The loud ring of a protesting tramway was music in his ears as he cleared the tracks with less than ten feet to spare. Harry knew it hadn't been the smartest move - he could practically hear Hermione's protests in his mind - but he figured it had been slowing down for the station anyway, so he had decided the take the chance. His quick decision had been a good one, paying off right away as he gained another half a block in his escape before his pursuers finally rounded the tram.
He realised this move had evened out his chances as he took another quick look back over his shoulder. Arthur Weasley was bent over, hands on his knees and gasping for air. He looked near a coronary and was panting as he remained stationary after only a half a block more of running. His age had apparently come to bite him in the arse. The woman, however, worried him: even though her cheeks were pink and she was breathing a little heavily, she was keeping up with him just fine.
'Yay me!' Harry thought. 'Just my rotten luck - the only jogger in the whole Order is chasing after me.'
It didn't take long, though, before he noticed she was gaining ground.
Puffing and tired, Harry desperately searched for a solution to his current dilemma. He briefly considered rounding on the woman and using his fists to halt her movements. The beginning of the stitches and aches that were forming in his body meant he decided against it, though. Besides that, the woman seemed rather fit and Harry was wary of discovering that she was indeed an Auror. That thought alone prevented him from making a rash decision, lest she wipe the street with him. Then he got a rather brilliant idea.
With his idea in mind, Harry took another bet and ran straight for the doors of a nearby shopping centre.
He dashed through the open doors and shoved his way through the crowd of people in front of him. His struggle caused him to slow only just a fraction and he expelled a breath in relief as he heard the sound of the automatic doors sliding shut behind him. As he continued his desperate run, he heard a loud thud that made him coast to a standstill, panting for air. If he had had some air left in his lungs, he would have laughed quite loudly at the sight of the witch sprawled on the ground just outside the shattered, but still mostly intact, security glass doors of the shopping centre. Harry shook his head; every muggle child knew those doors didn't open fast enough for runners.
Pressing a hand to his throbbing left side, he fell into a jog and crossed the centre, heading for the exit to the next street he could see in the distance.
Hermione was quite distressed when there was still no sign of Harry after twenty minutes of waiting. At first, she had only been worried that they might be late getting to her mum's practice, but now she was wearing a groove into the ground next to the telephone booth. She nearly jumped out of her skin when someone suddenly grabbed her shoulder from behind.
She turned with a screech, only to yell her attacker's name as she took a hold of Harry. He looked like he would collapse any moment, sweat pouring off him in streams.
"What the hell happened?" she asked as she helped him to a seat on his trunk. He shook his head and stood, weakly.
"Order members... nearly... got...me," he panted, still too wound up to talk. He opened his trunk and stripped his shirt off, dabbing the sweat off his face and chest. Hermione's eyes were drawn to the sight before her and she couldn't help but notice that it was a rather nice chest. No hair to be seen and the muscles seemed well defined against his skin. She nearly pouted with a sigh of disappointment when Harry tossed the soaked shirt into his trunk and pulled a clean one out and over his head.
He slammed the trunk closed and lifted it, pulling Hermione along the street. Tugging on his arm, Hermione changed his course, leading him in the opposite direction.
Soon, Hermione had navigated them to her mum's Kensington practice, which was located in a very well off street. Seeing that spotless house and the surroundings, Harry would have wondered how a dentist could afford such a place if Hermione hadn't explained it to him.
Apparently, her mum, while starting off in a hospital, had become a specialist for cosmetic dentistry, and well known for her work among the better-offs. She had told him that her mother often hinted that even some people she knew from the telly owed their shiny white regular smiles to her mother, although she was far too professional to ever mention names. Most of them were regulars with her, and valued her for that privacy.
Naturally, Hermione had a secret list of names, which she had compiled from her mothers reaction to some stars, but she didn't share it with Harry, citing that she wouldn't dare throwing a spanner in her mother's works, since her book supply depended on that money.
According to Hermione her father didn't work at the same practice her mum did. Apparently her mum's practice was more of a niche thing, where you had to be specially trained and while it paid well, not a lot of people needed the service in the first place. Her mum only booked enough patients for one dentist so it worked out rather well for her, even though the work could be very sporadic. Her father, on the other hand, worked as one of the senior dentists and oral surgeons at a High Barnet Dental Clinic. He worked more hours and didn't make as much money, but it was steady income and that was all he really cared about.
Hermione again sent Harry around the block as she rang the bell and went in to get her mum. This time, thankfully, he only had to circle once before he saw Hermione waving from next to a parked car. Harry knew that a dentist was well off, but that car spoke volumes. Growing up with the Dursleys, he didn't know a lot about car types, except for the company cars Uncle Vernon had, but he knew what a Mercedes was and that 'big' meant 'really expensive' in that line of cars.
Hermione informed him that his trunk was already in the boot. Harry nodded his head and watched in amusement as Hermione daintily manoeuvred her way into the front seat of the car; noting that Hermione's mother apparently brought out a different side of his friend. With a soft chuckle and shake of his head, he got into the car with decidedly less grace than Hermione, his breathing still heavy from running in the heat. He immediately sighed in bliss when he felt the air condition wash over him.
As soon as he was inside, the car started moving. Hermione turned around from the front seat and began introductions. "Mother, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is my mum, Dr. Dr. Margret Granger."
Harry was a bit unsure about the title but he turned to the woman and received a shock at seeing his best friend all grown up. Clearing his throat he greeted the older woman, "Hello, ah, Doctor-Doctor Granger?" He was still a little stunned and he studied the woman's face. If there ever was a spitting image, then Hermione and her mum were it. There were a few differences to notice, though. Her mother's hair was lighter and seemed a little more tamed; he assumed this was due to age and a good hairdresser. Their faces were identical; they even shared the same eye colour. The only thing that would help you tell them apart was the slight wrinkles near the eyes and mouth of Hermione's mother that showed her age. All and all Harry had to say that if genetics were proven right, Hermione would age rather gracefully.
"Yes, dentistry and English literature, but you can call me Mrs. Granger, ok? Nice to finally meet you, Harry! We just saw each other once in passing, and I didn't have a chance to get to know the boy behind the stories," came her friendly answer, stressing the word 'finally' in a very obvious way, while Hermione blushed deep red.
Before Harry could ask why, Margret continued talking. "So, what's up with you both, all that cloak and dagger stuff? The cloak I could understand, with Hermione owning at least half a dozen by now, but why the daggers? Sounds just like one of those novels that Hermione reads."
As Hermione's blush deepened, Harry decided to definitely ask about that topic later and to really like her mother. It was rather fun to talk to her. "Well that dagger is currently aimed at my back right now and I'd rather like to dodge it, you understand," he jokingly replied, infected by her merry way of talking.
He could see her raise an eyebrow in the rear mirror at his statement before she turned towards her daughter. "Honey, talk!" she demanded - the tone of her voice suggested that Hermione didn't have a choice and any backtalk would neither go ignored nor be appreciated.
Hermione, despite still blushing madly, started explaining at once. "Well, Harry here has been forced to live with some relatives of him since his parents were killed when he still was a child. The problem is, is…"
"They hate me," Harry came to her aid. "They hate the fact that I was born. They made me do all the housework, fed me scraps and hit me whenever they…" He couldn't complete the sentence, as the car made a sharp jerk and nearly collided with another because Margret had actually turned around to look at him in horror for a second. Horns were blaring loudly as the other drivers expressed their disapproval of her driving style.
"They did what?" she inquired exasperatedly, this time only looking at Harry via the mirror, after she had steadied the car again.
"They hit me. Or they locked me in, in the cupboard I lived in – AAARH!" Once again, the car had swerved into another lane as Margret lost and regained control over the car. This time, the much louder horn of a lorry sounded, and Harry would swear that there were only fractions of an inch left as they passed it.
"Maybe we should have this talk later", Harry offered, cautiously, while Hermione slowly unclenched her hands from the dashboard, panting. He had no problem dying in a blaze of glory, maybe taking Voldemort or a Death Eater with him, but to do so in the backseat of a car - even a Mercedes - wasn't high up on his list. Well, unless there was some cute girl with him and her father was the reason for his untimely death…
For now, it was Margret's turn to blush. "Sorry, maybe we should stop for a while to talk," she granted.
"NO!" came the immediate combined yell from Harry and Hermione. This time, Margret jerked towards the left and a tire scraped on the pavement, giving a noisy screech. The following cars increased the safety distance even more than they already had.
"We can't stop, Mum! When we stop, they'll come to get Harry. He's been on the run the whole day, and whenever he stops, the Headmaster tries to catch him. He's tracking Harry," Hermione launched an explanation before her mother could chastise her, choosing to omit to mention the breakneck chase through London. She didn't think her mother would approve.
"Your Headmaster's tracking him? Why is a runaway his business?" Margret had expected the police being after Harry, not his school teachers. That was why she had been so hard to persuade to help Harry when Hermione had called.
"It isn't, but he has decided that he is allowed to control my life. He placed me in that house; he even has it guarded so I don't leave it. Those guards don't help me against my uncle, of course - they just make sure I don't leave until Dumbledore says so."
"But why does he do that?" Margret was confused. If Harry told the truth, which was supported by Hermione's lack of corrections, that was highly unusual, if not outright illegal.
"There is a prophecy that I - and I alone - can kill the Dark Lord Voldemort, because I have a power he has not. It's him or I, and Dumbledore plays his games to make it happen. It's all for the greater good, so I don't count."
"It's him or me, Harry. Not him or I," Hermione huffed. "Anyway, I can't disagree with the rest of your statement."
"Sorry", Margret interrupted, not being able to follow his explanation anymore. "But didn't you kill him already? Hermione told me that story about your parents and him, how you defeated him to become the 'Boy Who Lived' and all that. I think I remember she said you killed him back then."
"That didn't count, somehow. Actually, I already killed him twice now - he came back in our second year through that diary - but I destroyed it before he was back fully. But he was reborn last year, with the help of my blood."
"Harry! Your blood!" Hermione interrupted. "He used your blood to regain his body!"
"What do you mean? Oh, you think that might interfere with the blood wards Dumbledore has placed on Privet Drive?" Harry stated, thinking he had gotten her hint.
For a few seconds, Hermione's eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets. "Blood wards! Oh my God, Merlin! That's so, so, so… ARGHHHH!" She finished her sentence in a frustrated screech and stomped her feet on the floor.
"Hermione Jean! Don't do that while I drive!" her mother yelled as she tried to steady the car again after her jerking, which made Hermione duck her head, and mumble an apology, but didn't quell her temper much.
"Incredible? Brilliant?" Harry offered, only to be silenced by a sharp glare.
"No! Reprehensible, brutal, and evil! Don't you know what blood wards do?" she spat, falling back into her pattern of pretending everybody knew as much as she did.
Harry rolled his eyes at her, which made her back off. "No, I don't, and I believe 90 percent of all wizards and witches don't, either. So, what did he do to me this time?"
Hermione blushed again, this time from embarrassment. Harry secretly wondered how often a person could blush and recover in a row without hurting something.
His musings were interrupted as she started to explain, meekly. "Sorry, I was just angry that he would do such a thing. In layman's terms, normal wards draw their power from ambient magic. The longer they sit unopposed, the stronger they get. Places like Hogwarts or the Ministry have such strong wards because they sit in very magical places and have many wizards within them. Every time someone casts magic, they get to soak up some of it after it has run its course."
"So Hogwarts is so well warded because a few hundred children charge it day and night?" Harry summarized her tangent.
"Yes. And it's built on a very magical site - the Forbidden Forest is an enormous source of wild magic," she added.
"Ok. And why are blood wards so evil?" Harry tried to steer her back on topic, and was not feeling any better when Hermione appeared to be getting sick when he mentioned them.
"They briefly covered blood magic in Ancient Runes, since Professor Babbling is the leading expert on runes and sometimes departs from the usual curriculum when she knows some interesting tidbit about the use of a certain rune," Hermione babbled, then noticed the annoyed glance Harry gave her.
"She is fair enough that these never come up at a test," she added with a reprehending look at Harry, who had the good grace to blush at his thoughts being read so easily.
With a last huff at the boy, Hermione continued. "I read up on them a bit, since it is fascinating - the runic part of it, at least. While normal wards are powered actively on creation, and then strengthen by minuscule amounts over time, blood wards, or more precisely wards which do have someone bound to them by blood, take their energy from the bound person. They drain him to strengthen. No wonder that he thinks they're as strong as the school wards. If you were powering them for so many years, they must be incredible." She told them, but suddenly sat up straighter and looked at him.
"Did he bind you already to them this summer?" she asked warily.
Harry gave her his 'what are you talking about' look. "Ah, no - he says I'm always connected to them, I just have to show up there to charge them," he replied, getting her 'what are you talking about' raised eyebrow as reply.
"That's impossible. If you were already bound, you should be magically drained because of that. When you told me that V…" - she stumbled over the name, but got it on the second try - "Voldemort used your blood to regain his body, I assumed that's why you had gained this stronger connection to him." She explained what she had intended to say, before she had one of her 'Hermione moments', getting more and more agitated and shrieking statements, as unwelcome thoughts and conclusions flooded her brain.
"But the blood wards should suck you dry! They used that as a punishment for people in older days, it made them practically squibs! But at school, you can still cast magic!"
"Maybe it's the distance, or Dumbledore did something so I'm not completely drained?" Harry said, offering some explanations to her, before taking the coward's way out and changing the topic. At least he changed it back to the point at hand. "What can we do about that trace?"
"Oh, yes, that." She blushed, looking guilty that she had gone off on a tangent again. "There is a ritual that was used to end such a punishment; it creates a ward to block all blood magic from nursing from you. That makes all blood bindings collapse if held long enough, so that blood trace of Dumbledore would fade, too."
"Can we do this while running or here in the car?" Harry interjected. "I'd hate to be caught while doing that."
Hermione flinched lightly. "No, we need more space for that, somewhere you can lie down," she said, her face dropping slightly for some reason. "But once it starts, you're safe from tracking. It just needs some time to be permanent."
"That sounds great," Margret rejoined the conversation, happy to finally understand more than every other word. "But how does someone know when it's been long enough?"
The sudden tears shining in Hermione's eyes made Harry aware of the answer before she vocalized it.
"That's easy. It's done when he stops screaming."
A long silence followed while everyone absorbed that news. Finally, Harry broke the silence with two words.
"How long?"
These words were said calm and calculating, as though he were speaking about the length of an essay.
While Margret gasped at his casual acceptance of screaming in pain, Hermione did a quick calculation, blanched, and refused to meet his face.
"I can't do this to you!" she cried, and started to sob silently. Margret was looking rather helpless, putting her hand at her distressed daughter's shoulder to calm her, a move Harry copied. A few moments of softly petting her upper arm later, Harry tried to wheedle it out of her.
"Hermione, please, how bad will it be?"
"The books say it is as bad as a Cruciatus Curse. And it took several minutes for someone who was bound to wards for less than a year! I would have to look it up, but it could be hours!" she whined, and then turned to look at him.
"I can't do that to you, Harry, I won't! If it just were the trace, it would be fine, but the trace, the wards, and whatever Riddle did to you - it's too much, I can't do that to someone I love!" she yelled at him, tears streaming freely from her eyes, before she curled up, again.
Though Harry was already pondering his fate and missed her last statement, Margret hadn't and filed that blurt away for later examination. Her incentive to help, and that probably in more than one area, invigorated, she threw a thought into the discussion.
"What if I give Harry some drugs?"
Both teens suddenly stared at her, not really understanding what she meant. Margret chuckled at them, shaking her head.
"No, I'm not a drug dealer," she joked. "I meant to anaesthetize Harry. Although Morphine is a close relative to Heroine, it's a very strong painkiller that I prescribe sometimes after extensive oral surgery. Depending on the dosage, you could get run over by a truck and find it rather pleasurable," she told them with big smile on her face.
"I have some in the practice. We could go back and fetch some right now, since I believe time is of the essence," she offered.
Harry shrugged and did as he usually did when there was some decision to make he knew nothing about.
"What do you think, Hermione? Would that work?" he asked his brilliant friend.
Worrying her lower lip - something Harry always had thought was very cute - Hermione went through all the things she knew about wizards and muggle drugs. "They used that on me after surgery when I had my arm broken and they had to screw it back together, didn't they, mum?"
"Yes, Honey. The other stuff didn't work on you at all, but it did the job. They had to dose you rather heavily, but it worked," her mother replied, before adding, "Maybe you Magicals are resistant to anaesthetics?"
"I don't want to, nor do I think I could, knock Harry completely out, but it should take the worst edge off," she concluded her case.
Both Margret and Harry waited while Hermione's brain worked out a solution to the problem. Equations were drawn up and solved, arguments made and shredded and all the cogs and wheels worked at their highest speed. They both knew the signs of Hermione being deep in thought and knew better than to interrupt her when in that state. The results were rarely pretty.
"Ok, the bad news first: It'll still hurt, Harry, badly, and for hours," Hermione warily told him, not being able to look at him while telling, lest she would fall apart and cry. To her, being in pain was something rare, and she couldn't comprehend Harry's acceptance to that. Of course, she wasn't raised in an environment with people liable to afflict a good whack or two on you just because you looked at them the wrong way.
"I don't want to inflict that kind, no, any kind of pain on you, but if you want to be free, it's the only way," she concluded, hoping that he understood that there was no other way to do this.
Without procrastinating, Harry nodded his acceptance. "I know you don't like to, but I have to do it. Thank you for helping me." He said, reaching forward to brush against her arm lightly. Margret made another mark on her mental checklist when Hermione flinched lightly at his touch, without removing her arm from the contact.
"Do it, mum!" she said, briefly wondering why her mother had smiled strangely at her while Margret set the index and changed lanes. Harry asked a follow-up question, distracting her from that line of thought.
"You said bad news first. What's the good news?"
He had seen Hermione in lots of moods, happy, sad, angry, enthusiastic, and even hopping mad - an emotion usually displayed while she was in a fight with Ron about something or the other. He had even seen her furious enough to punch Malfoy in the face, nearly knocking the stupid bastard out - a memory he would cherish for the rest of his life. But he never, ever, would have thought her capable of smiling such a sadistic smile.
"Remember a certain scar? To whom are you connected, again?" Hermione said with a smirk on her face.
Chapter 4 - Eviction notice.
*** June 27th, 1996, late afternoon, northern London ***
Harry's happy smile lasted all the way back to the surgery and out to High Barnet. It only lessened slightly as he ran around the block to stay in motion while the Granger's went to get their stuff. The thought of getting even with old Tommy-boy was too enticing to worry about the downside.
By some unspoken agreement, the conversation in the car was kept light - school stuff, classes, and such. Again, Harry marvelled at how much he had done with Hermione by his side; there was virtually no adventure in which she didn't play a part. Ron did miss his fair share, but Hermione was always there. She even managed to help him while petrified!
Finally, they approached the Granger residence, a nice cottage in a small clearing in the woods. It was a mock Tudor style detached house that looked like it had once been two Semis before someone had remodelled it into one house. The house and the gardens certainly had style.
Hermione dashed into the house to carve some runes as she had explained to them while Margret took Harry for a ride through the countryside. They had at least an hour to kill, by Hermione's orders.
Harry had switched to the front seat and continued chatting with Margret. She was easy to talk to, and soon she had him telling her all the adventures he had been through at Hogwarts from his perspective - which of course highlighted Hermione's achievements and gave a completely different angle than her tales.
They really hit off, but Harry's initial joy at talking to that nice person he pegged Margret to be evaporated as she switched topic half an hour into the ride.
"What's going on between you and Hermione?"
"I beg your pardon?" he asked, not really knowing what she referred to.
"Harry, I don't like to beat around the bush, so I'll be blunt." She stated, and Harry gulped, certain that this was not going to be a conversation he wanted to have.
"I believe that you will be staying with us, and will probably leave with us when we leave for our holiday to this year, too. You will be around Hermione all the time and I'll have to trust you both. Although both of you might deny it if I asked, I still can see that you are more than just friends - and don't worry, I approve," she said grinning at him, making Harry wonder what the hell she was hinting at.
"You are both over or nearly over the age of consent, and I think you both would be good for each other, but you are her first boyfriend, Harry. Don't deny it, you are, even though neither of you have realized it, yet," she said matter-of-factly as Harry tried to object. "Just don't hurt her, please."
With that, as if nothing had happened, she was back to the former, jovial Margret he knew and was happily talking about the oncoming holiday and how they need to get a passport, tickets, and room for him as well, while Harry was still stunned and processing, making a rather good goldfish imitation on the passenger seat.
When they returned to the Granger property, he saw Hermione already wearing a groove into the front step.
As they stopped and got out, she practically hurled herself into Harry's arms, sobbing. While he held her, he was now, no thanks to Margret, acutely aware of the fact that his best friend was a girl - a shapely one, at that. While he was still fighting the blush and other responses, Hermione jumped back and grabbed his hand. Neither of them noticed Margret grin in the background.
While he didn't mind her hand in his, the fast jog out onto the street was not what he wanted to do now. While his mind wondered why his intentions for the summer suddenly included hugs and holding hands, he was brought back into this world by Hermione's panting voice.
"OK, lets make this quick. I have made a silver plate, engraved with the runes to start the ritual. All you have to do is sit there, I'll cut you and let some blood drop onto the runes and tap them with my wand to activate them. When it's all done, I have to tap them again to disconnect you."
After coming to a stop and drawing some deep breaths, she turned them back to her house.
"Mum will give you the morphine as soon as you're ready. She'll have to do it before I cut you, though, since trying to safely inject it while you're thrashing about wouldn't be very safe. After that, it'll be just a quick cut, and then I activate the runes. Don't worry Harry; the morphine will kick in quickly, okay?" She babbled nervously. Harry couldn't help but notice that it seemed she was keener on convincing herself that everything would be fine than on convincing him. He could easily recognize the tone of panic in her voice and the way she talked. He gave her hand a supporting squeeze as they ran back to the house.
Both came back into the garden, and she led him and her mother back behind the house where a roll of tape and an upside-down silver plate covered in runes were sitting on a garden table in the middle of the terrace. A sunbed right next to it completed the scene. Hermione had all prepared. After a quick hushed conversation, Mrs. Granger had put her stuff onto the table as well, and in no time had drawn up the injection. She only paused for a moment when she noticed the plate.
"This is all?" Harry asked. "You said it would be a ritual."
"Honestly, Harry! What did you expect? Five people chanting around a pentagram?" Hermione huffed as she led Harry to the sunbed-slash-makeshift stretcher, and pushed him down on it.
"Well it is a bit anticlimactic, honey," her mother said as she started to duct-tape Harry's arms to the armrests for safety reasons. "Harry might have hoped for the sacrifice of a virgin or something," she said innocently as she stood and went to fetch the syringe.
"Mother! It was used to imprison people - sacrificing a virgin at each release would prove a bit unpractical, don't you think? And it has runes and blood of a wizard - that qualifies it to be called a ritual!" Hermione ranted, covering her blush with her indignation. When Mrs. Granger re-approached with the syringe, Hermione offered Harry a bundled up t-shirt.
"You should bite on that; if the morphine doesn't work well enough it will prevent you from biting yourself." She hesitantly grabbed the small scalpel her mother had laid out, and looked at Harry, tears rolling freely down her cheeks, while Margret swabbed his arm and inserted the needle.
"You don't have to do it, w-we can still stop now. I don't want to hurt you," she pleaded with an obvious catch in her voice as she sat on the sunbed next to Harry.
Harry pondered his fate a last time. It was either 'do this to be free and maybe die trying' or to go back to Dumbledore and be frog-marched into his death, that much he was sure of, even through the slight fuzzy feeling caused by the drug entering his blood stream.
'Gryffindors charge ahead!' he remembered, and knew instinctively that this meant something else at this moment as well. It might be his last chance to say something important.
While Margret pulled out the needle, and put some adhesive tape over the wad she placed there, Harry told Hermione to come closer, sat up as much as he could and gently kissed Hermione on her cheek. "I know. I love you. Please do it, Hermione," he said; a slight slur in his voice as he dropped limply back into his seat.
He managed a last nod towards Margret, who caressed his cheek and carefully took the gag from Hermione's limp hand to put it into Harry's mouth as his eyes were already glazing over. Hermione, looking slightly stunned at his proclamation, took a deep, hitched breath and sliced his thumb before she took the plate from the table and traced the runes with his blood while sobbing silently.
As soon as she had finished the sixth and last rune, she placed the plate back on the table and tapped the activation rune with a shaky wand. Instantly, a glowing light sprang into life around him. Harry arched his back, throwing Hermione off and to the ground. A muffled yell escaped the gag and didn't stop. They watched on in horror as the plate began to heat up, burning a hole through the plastic table and falling onto the stones below with a loud clank. Hermione could see scorch marks beginning to form around the plate as it started glowing brightly. All the while, Harry was thrashing on the makeshift stretcher, his body buckling and heaving as he straining against his restraints, his fingers turning white from clenching the armrests. The gag in his mouth may have been silencing his screams, but the contorted skin on his face told volumes about the pain he was experiencing.
"HARRY! NO!" Hermione yelled and stood to rush to him, but found herself pulled back into her mother's embrace, where she broke down sobbing while her mother cooed to her and stroked her head and back, telling her over and over that he would be alright.
*** June 27th, 1996, near midnight, Hogwarts castle ***
A visibly shaken Severus Snape was sitting in his office, not taking any notice of the present visitors, the Headmaster, or the Order members, downing a full tumbler of Firewhisky in one gulp. His sixth, if Dumbledore's count was correct.
"Severus, please, would you tell us what happened?!" Dumbledore tried, again. Though the headmaster was persistent with his questioning, Severus was dead to the world. He had locked himself into his own mind, trying vainly to drown in the glass of whiskey in his hand. Every now and then, his body shuddered in revulsion.
*** About 4 hours earlier ***
Dumbledore was still trying to comprehend what had happened. Somehow, the Distanciaheadometer had broken down. The wheel had slowed and come to a standstill, indicating Harry had stopped again. Then, a few seconds later, the levitated pendulum just dropped to the base plate and the wheel stopped. Sadly, though, no coordinates appeared.
Pandemonium followed. People wanted to know what that meant. He would have told them, if only he knew. For all his age, he was never that good with enchanting or runes. His strength was casting and transfiguration, and could weave a common ward just fine, but that device was far above his knowledge. He would have to ask Professor Vector or Professor Babbling when they returned.
He checked a ward indicator for Privet drive and noticed that the wards were still active, which he took as a sign that Harry was still alive.
Just as a brainstorming session about what to do started, Severus hissed and grabbed his arm. The Dark mark was burning him, indicating that the Dark Lord was summoning him. He took his leave, and the rest of the Order feared for the worst.
Three and a half hours of listening to a wailing Molly Weasley later, the wards notified Albus that his Potion Master had returned. Much to his surprise, Severus did not return to the Head's Office, but went directly to his dungeon quarters.
Of course, the whole present Order migrated there, finding the Professor searching his office for something. Various jars and scrolls of parchment were scattered across the floor, and Snape was hip deep in a trunk, obviously an expanded one. He tossed a few parchments out over his shoulder and finally re-emerged with a bottle of Firewhisky in his hand.
Without ever noticing his visitors staring at him, he sank into a seat, grabbed a glass, and drew himself a large drink, downing it immediately and refilling the glass for another drink.
*** The present ***
Snape was shocked into consciousness by his other boss's voice. He longingly glanced at his glass, but decided it wouldn't make him feel any better. Nothing would.
"Severus! Please!"
The Potion Master sighed, and returned glass and bottle onto the table. When he looked up and at the crowd, the people recoiled in shock. No one had ever seen him like that. He didn't even sneer at them. He was completely unsettled, and tears were welling in his eyes.
When he finally started talking, it was with a broken, hollow voice.
"I was summoned by another Death Eater. When I was led into the Lord's chamber, I saw the Dark Lord writhing silently on the floor. I wondered about it briefly, until I was led closer and crossed a silencing charm."
"It was horrible. The Dark Lord was lying on the floor, convulsing, his skin boiling. And his screams, his screams!" he told them, shivering at the memory, rocking on his chairs for a few seconds.
"Horrible. I never heard anything like that. His snake was writhing in pain, too. She ended up dead as she bit herself but not before she exploded with another, unearthly scream. SNAKES DON'T SCREAM!"
He yelled the last sentence into the room, his eyes darting around wildly. Twitching lightly, he grabbed the glass again, and quickly downed the contents, but not before spilling some onto his lap due to his badly shaking hands. Albus moved quickly and took the bottle into his custody.
Snape tried to glare at him, but his heart wasn't really into it, so he continued after only a short break.
"They wanted… me… to tend to him, and threatened to kill me if I didn't, they even cursed me when I couldn't help him; but there was nothing I could do, his blood - it boiled! I couldn't do anything," he sobbed, before snatching the kneeling Dumbledore with his hands, pulling the man close.
"I don't even know what was happening to him! His muscles snapped - I could hear them! They were ripped off the tendons by their own cramping!" he shouted, shaking Albus by the shoulders.
"I was told that when it started, he was yelling at Potter to stop; it was Potter who was doing this to him! It finally stopped 10 minutes ago, and he fell unconscious. The present Death Eaters discussed what to do and sent me to get supplies. I left as quickly as I could, as they were bringing him to his Quarters... " he finished, and broke down and wept on Dumbledore's shoulder, his snot seeping into the expensive robes as he the Firewhisky and the horrors he had seen finally overwhelmed the man.
The Order members, sans Dumbledore, moved quickly out of the office, as they didn't want to witness the Potion Master's nervous break down. Since it didn't involve them or Harry directly, they didn't want anything to do with it, nor remember it.
Except for the twins, who pondered how to market the photographs they surreptitiously had made while Snape was weeping.
Before they had a chance to throw an impromptu party, a downtrodden Dumbledore left the office and joined them.
"Why so sad, Headmaster?" Diggle wondered. "This should be a time to celebrate!" Many others agreed heartily with this.
"Before we start to party, I do think we have some pressing things to discuss in my office. It would not do for wrong ears to overhear them." the Headmaster replied, and left for his chambers.
As soon as the Order had assembled in said room, Dumbledore sank into his seat and massaged his head.
"What's wrong, Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked. It had been a long time since she had seen that man in such a mood. The other people assembled shared her confusion; didn't they just hear the best news since 1981?
"It seems that I have failed once again," Dumbledore sighed. Meeting the now outright gaping member's eyes, he nodded, and continued.
"As you certainly remember, Tom Riddle grew to what he had become right under my nose. I saw the signs, but I ignored them and did not take action, believing the best and hoping that he might be turned from the evil path he had taken. When I finally recognized that this hope was futile, he had already grown too strong to thwart him."
His audience nodded at his words, the story well known to them.
"Now, in my blind trust in the good in people, I have repeated that mistake. I failed Mr. Potter."
"Headmaster! What are you playing at?" Molly interrupted.
"Mr. Potter has seen his share of evil in the world, and some has been due to my mistakes. I did place him with his relatives in order to nurture the protection his mother gave to him, but since then I have learned that those relatives treat him less than adequately, which I failed to correct." the old wizard told them.
"In Hogwarts, he soon proved to be a capable wizard, but to my everlasting shame, I failed to protect him, even directly under my nose. In his first year, he was forced to fight a troll and kill a man, Professor Quirrell, who was a vessel for Voldemort back then."
The old man ignored all gasps, and went on with his tale, telling them about Harry's problems while being accused of being Slytherin's heir, his fight against a basilisk, the second killing of Riddle, the Dementor attacks, and the story of the Triwizard Tournament. He did not pause at Molly's wails when he described the resurrection and the following duel with Voldemort, neither.
"And then I made my worst mistake. Last year, I was afraid Voldemort might try to use their connection to possess Harry in my presence to attack me. Therefore, I ceased all contact to young Harry, for his own protection. But it seems that this, along with my failure to keep him safe from Madame Umbridge's torture, might have finally been too much. And the shock dealt by the loss of his godfather seems to have made Harry choose a darker path."
"Nonsense, Albus!" McGonagall chided, "Mr. Potter would never do anything like that. You must be mistaken!" Others, especially Molly and Remus, voiced their agreement.
"I once ignored a Dark Lord in the making, and I won't repeat this mistake, again. Also, we know that Lord Voldemort has managed to return from the dead already, so even if he dies from whatever Mr. Potter did to him, I believe that he might do this again. Either way, we must find Mr. Potter and return him to his home where he will be safe, and make sure he will be treated well there. It might not be too late to help Mr. Potter back on the right path."
***June 29th, 1996, Granger residence ***
It was early morning in High Barnett when Harry woke up. He remembered having a strange dream about Sirius. They had been together in what seemed to be a topless bar or at least he had hoped so, though the stairs in the background seemed to indicate something else, which he chose to ignore. Still, they were sitting there together and drinking quite happily. Sirius had a half-naked girl on each arm and Harry couldn't help but smile at his uncle's drunken proclamation stating that if he'd known the afterlife was this good he may have sought out his crazy cousin much sooner.
There was also a strange crying ugly baby, but some nubile young lady and tossed it out of the door in disgust.
Of course, Sirius had agreed fully with Harry that he should start taking his life in his own hands. "A man can only find his destiny if he walks in his own shoes; following someone else's footsteps won't bring you ahead!" Sirius had proclaimed.
Those memories instantly faded when he tried to rub his eyes. His groan of agony was answered by a heartfelt "Good morning", spoken by an unknown male voice.
Trying to make out the owner, Harry turned his head, only to be immersed in a sea of pain once again.
"Don't move, lad. Margret will be here shortly with your breakfast. I'm Henry, Hermione's father. You don't look too chipper, lad - Now that I can tell you! Had a rough go after school, didn't you?"
Harry groaned again, but tried to make it sound confirming. He didn't even think about speaking, his throat felt like barbed wire, wrapped in sandpaper, doused in vinegar. In short, it hurt! Come to think of it, even breathing hurt.
"Let me tell you about how I came home late last Saturday, after I had a boy with emergency tooth repair caused by a bicycle accident, leaving me to nearly miss my daughter's first night home. When I arrived, no one was there to greet me. The whole house was deserted and there was a strange warbling sound in the air. Then, I found a note telling me that my family was out in the backyard. Imagine my surprise when I got there and found my wife and daughter torturing her boyfriend to death. I always thought it was the father's job to do that." Harry tried to shake his head in mirth, and groaned again in pain. Her father certainly had the same vicious streak of humour as her mother.
Margret entered the room, however, sparing Harry any more humiliation. She carried a tray in one hand that was filled with what he could only assume was his breakfast. In her other hand there was a huge bag bearing a logo of two winged serpents winding around a staff. She placed the items down and, after a quick search in the bag approached him bearing a spray can.
"Open your mouth, Harry. This will help. I imagine your throat hurts after all that screaming. But do only talk if necessary while it works. It only masks the pain, so you could permanently damage your singing voice."
Harry refrained from a groan and settled for a glare, but quickly stopped as even that hurt. He painfully opened his mouth and sighed as the spray took effect.
He noticed the adults around him, but missed a beloved face.
"H'rm'e", he whispered.
Margret understood his intention and launched into an explanation.
"She is downstairs in the kitchen. Harry, the ritual took over three hours to run its course, and you were cramping and screaming all the time. After three hours, your scar even started smoking! A few moments later, you suddenly collapsed. I had to give you CPR."
At Harry's dumbfound expression - which did hurt a lot - she dumbed it down.
"I had to restart your heart. You died."
He paled as the truth hit him. Margret noticed and gave him some time to cope before she continued.
"Hermione broke down when that happened. We brought you two into your beds, but she started riffling through her books immediately and refused to sleep. She hasn't spoken a word since then. She's hurting terribly after your ordeal."
She held him back with her hand on his chest as Harry made a weak attempt to stand. All he could think about was getting to Hermione; she was in pain. It didn't matter to him whether it was physical or emotional; he just knew that he had to help her. He would suffer the pain of hell for her and he'd be damned if his weak body stopped him now.
"Stop! Please, stop." Margret pleaded, carefully holding him in place.
"Nearly every muscle in your body is badly bruised from all that cramping. It won't help
anybody if you hurt yourself even more. I have brought you some stuff from the pharmacy and some of my own stuff. I'll give you an injection to loosen your muscles and make you sleep, so they can heal properly. They are currently stiff and liable to cramp again, and I don't want any rupture occurring. I'll give you something for the pain and a salve for your scar. I have lots of sport salve for muscle recovery, and Hermione is currently brewing healing potions that do the same that I expect to be ready soon. She was working non-stop the last two days, not even sleeping. She will be done and here in a few hours. Rest now." She tried to talk him out of it, and finally, more due to exhaustion than acceptance, Harry stopped resisting.
His battered body wasn't up to more than a token resistance. In his current state, he wouldn't be able to wrestle a kitten. He nodded weakly and relaxed.
Seeing his eyes close, she gave his cheek a final pet and administered the calmative, forgoing breakfast. He wasn't in a state to eat anything, anyway. It should make him rest for a few hours, and hopefully the potions would be ready by then. She had watched helplessly as Hermione had worked herself to near death by exhaustion. The girl had stayed up night and day for over forty hours, resisting all attempts to get her to sleep and producing every potion she thought would be helpful. She had even made a trip to Diagon Alley to get some of the stuff she didn't have and wouldn't raise any red flags of suspicion on her.
While she smeared a cream on Harry's now blistery scar, she noticed her husband's dumbfounded look. At her inquiring look, he responded, visibly shaken.
"He wanted to go to her, didn't he? His muscles are nearly ripped apart, his tendons stretched like rubber bands, but he wanted to go to her to comfort her? I thought you were joking about the both of them, but that is ridiculous. Anybody with those injuries would just lie there and pray for death!"
She sighed, and unconsciously tried to straighten the hair of the sleeping teen while Henry stepped up beside her.
"He has it bad. They got it bad. But they don't really know about it. Hermione might have suspected and denied it, but he didn't even think about it until I asked him in the car. The idea completely overwhelmed him. He would gladly have walked into a lorry for her, but didn't know why. I think he accepted and admitted his feelings right before the ritual started. That made it even harder for Hermione."
"Why's that?" Henry asked, as Margret nestled herself into his shoulder.
"Think about it. He admitted his love, endured hours of torture, and died. And she did that to him. It's just like those crap novels she reads in secret."
"So they are in love, and she nearly killed him by trying to help?"
"Yes. And he still isn't out of the woods. There was so much damage done. It would be a wonder if he recovers without lasting damage. Hermione says the potions will take care of that, but I fear what will happen if they don't. You know, we will be leaving for that convention in a barely a week, and if he isn't ok by then, I don't know what to do. We can't bring him into a hospital like that, or questions will be asked. And if we call magical help, it was all in vain."
"If he's not ok by then, we'll stay. I'll go and tell Hermione." Henry said and Margret grabbed his hand. She nodded and gave his hand a squeeze, giving approval. With a sigh, he turned and left the room, keeping a hold on her hand until it was pulled out of his own, leaving her at her vigil.
Finding Hermione was easy; he just had to follow the noxious fumes wafting from the kitchen.
There she was; bending over a medieval looking cauldron boiling on the fire while three of their normal pots were stewing unmentionable things on the other three gas stoves. Henry supposed he would have to throw them away. All over the place was strange stuff.
She had been up all night, again, and had even raided the garden for ingredients. Snails, daisies, even frogs were collected, sliced, and diced. He cringed at the thought of his girl slicing up a frog, but he assumed it was necessary to help Harry. She had written about having to prepare ingredients in class, so he supposed that this was a part of that.
He even spotted some nettles in the stove, presumably to dry them.
Right then, she had a pot of a boil cure done and had just finished marking an old marmalade jar for it. She had made some other potions on the fire that he had spotted her looking up in a book about Quidditch, and then searching her potion books for it. When it was used for sports injuries, it would certainly help.
Knowing that she wouldn't stop and listen, Henry just spoke across the room.
"Harry woke up and is rather well. He will need to heal, but he's better. But if he's not reasonably right in time for the travel, we'll stay here. Is that all right with you?"
He was surprised when Hermione did stop and walked over to hug him. It was only a short hug, but it was a start.
"It is. Thank you." She whispered, and immediately went back to her cauldron.
Hours later - only interrupted by a quick inhaling of the Chinese take-away her parents had ordered as cooking was impossible in the potion lab their kitchen got converted to - a tired Hermione had done all she could. She had made a boil remover, some pain potion, and a huge batch of healing potions for blunt impact injuries she had looked up after consulting The Big Book of Quidditch Injuries - bought after Lockhart had removed Harry's bones - about the most common potions used. Considering Harry being Harry, she made as much of everything as she could.
While Hermione was completing the potions, the doorbell rang, and Henry went to answer it. When he opened the door, he encountered two familiar people standing outside. The woman with the varying hair colours, the one Hermione had introduced as Tonks, an Aura-this-or-something, basically a police officer. The man he knew from King's Cross, too, he was a Professor back a year or two, and some kind of friend of Harry's godfather and parents. Some Latin name he had forgotten.
Under different circumstances, he would have been glad to have some visitors around to talk about the magical world, but right now, it was a bit inconvenient. Especially since he remembered that those two were part of the group from which Harry was on the run. He thought he saw Hermione glancing out of the kitchen out of the corner of his eye but she didn't join him.
"Hello Mr. Granger. I'm Remus Lupin, and this is Miss N-, Miss Tonks." Remus introduced them and catching himself just in time before mentioning Tonks's name and having to face the dreadful consequences. Her glare was bad enough.
"You might remember us. Miss Tonks and I are looking for Harry Potter, and I thought it might be worth a try asking you if you have seen him." Remus continued, but stopped and started inhaling deeply, wrinkling his brow in thought.
"I'm terribly sorry, but I have no idea where he might be. I'd love to be of assistance, but right now, I'm a bit occupied. So not to be impolite, but I need to go back to work." Henry tried to turn them away politely but firmly.
He tried to close the door, but Remus was faster and much stronger than he was. Holding the door open with one hand, he entered the house, Tonks on his heels.
"What exactly is this project? Since I can smell enough healing potions for an entire Quidditch team, you might understand that I am quite a bit interested in it, too."
Just as Henry wanted to lay into Lupin for forcing his entry, a brown streak slammed into said man. Surprised, he saw his daughter stepping up behind Lupin, wrapping her left arm around his chest and deftly stepping into his knee from behind, thus forcing him to drop onto his knees. In a flash of motion, she held a knife to his throat and yelled, "Don't move!"
While Henry's brain was still occupied processing that input, Tonks was already reacting. With a scream of fury she drew her wand and was already in motion to curse Hermione into next week, when Remus yelled something that made her stop in mid-motion.
"No! It's silver!"
Remus was normally not easy to ambush. His enhanced smell and other senses usually made him aware of everything around him long before others. But with all those potion fumes in the air and the kitchen noise, he simply missed Hermione's approach.
He thought had seen her through the kitchen door for a second, but it seemed that there was a second entrance, and she had used that to sneak around them and surprise him from behind.
Her stepping into his knee had brought him painfully to the ground, but that didn't bother him much, as he was much stronger than any mere human, let alone a teenage girl. Just as he wanted to shake her off, he noticed a sensation that DID bother him.
He felt a specific, well-known burning sensation at his throat. Silver.He knew for certain that if that was a knife she was holding - a wrong movement would cause his throat to be slit.
A normal knife would be unpleasant, but not fatal for a werewolf like him.
A silver knife, at the other hand, would kill him for certain. Recognizing that, he quickly shouted at Tonks to stop her from cursing the girl. As she stopped and lowered her wand, he returned his attention to Hermione.
Remus took a deep whiff of air. He could smell her fear, but no anger. Knowing that, he relaxed a bit and addressed her, softly. "Relax, Hermione. We don't want to hurt you. What do you want?" Her reply did surprise him.
"I want a magical oath from both of you that you won't take Harry away from here and won't reveal to anybody that he is here!"
"Hermione, Dumbl..." Remus began speaking, but stopped as he felt her tense and the pressure of the knife increase, causing the silver to start leaving blisters on his skin.
"I won't let you take him back to that monster!" she screamed, causing both wizards' eyes to widen. "He won't be tortured by that evil man any longer. I want your oaths, now!"
Knowing no alternative, Remus drew his wand in slow and obvious motion, and gave his oath. Tonks followed a second later.
*Clank*
The knife fell to the floor, and the same moment Tonks exploded into motion, punching Hermione in the face, knocking her down. Trying to jump at her, she screamed in rage as she noticed herself being restrained by Remus, of all people. Henry was still rooted to the ground, but started to move towards Tonks, enraged.
"Let me go! She tried to kill you! I'll hex her into next week!" Tonks yelled, struggling to escape her favourite werewolf's grip.
"And I deserve it," a small voice from the floor stated, causing all motion in the room to stop, except for the heads, which were rapidly turning towards Hermione's form on the ground.
"What?" Tonks asked, not believing her ears. Henry groaned and shook his head.
Hermione sat up and shook her head slowly. "I deserve it. I won't say I'm sorry, because I'm not, but I won't stop you from doing to me whatever you want. At least Harry is safe." While she closed her eyes and steadied herself to be cursed, everybody in the room just stared at her.
Remus was the first to regain his bearings. "Ok, this whole thing has gone terribly wrong. Let's try to start again. We know now that Harry is here." He stated, and got a nod from Hermione in reply.
"Ok, why is he here, why won't you allow him to be taken away, and what are all these potions for?"
"You remember threatening Harry's uncle?" Hermione asked, getting nods from all adults. She stopped as she saw her mum coming down the stairs. She jumped to her feet and dashed to the stairs.
"How is he?" she asked instantly, completely ignoring everyone else.
"He's better. Still a lot to heal, but he is better. I gave him something to sleep." Margret proclaimed, only to make a double-take as she saw her daughter's face.
"What happened to you?" she asked, referring to the bruise forming on her daughter's cheek.
Remus, of course, wanted to know more about Harry's current state. In his book, his honorary godson certainly came first, especially when injured.
"Harry is hurt? What happened? Can we see him?" he blurted, slightly panicked.
Knowing that the story would take a while to tell, Hermione had to deny his request, for now. Instead, she invited all into the living room, offering an explanation.
A few moments later, they all sat in the living room. Remus had quickly cast a healing charm on Hermione, who smiled and thanked him, while Tonks glared and huffed, but kept silent.
"Ok, what did you want to tell us, Hermione? You said something about the threatening of Vernon." Remus asked, after taking a seat next to Tonks, if only to restrain her if needed. He knew that the young Auror had a weak spot for him, and felt a bit honoured that she rose to his defence as viciously as she had, but right now, it was time for diplomacy, and Merlin knows, Tonks had not one diplomatic bone in her body.
While the adults were silently waiting for Hermione to tell the tale, the girl in the spotlight was looking for words. She was tired and would rather go to bed than face an interrogation, but honestly, no one except her and Harry knew the true story, and she wouldn't let them bother Harry when he needed his strength. She brought him into his current misery, and it was her job to make it right.
"It backfired."
At first, Remus and Tonks looked puzzled, but rapidly connected the dots. Dumbledore had not been forthcoming with info, offering only his vague guesses and hand picked info, but they had guessed already that Harry had a good cause for leaving.
As Hermione continued the tale of all the things Harry had told her about his life at Privet Drive, they sat stunned, listening to a story they never thought could happen under their own eyes.
The story of a mistreated boy finally reaching the end of his rope.
"Harry wouldn't have killed them. He couldn't kill anyone; he is firmly on the light side." Remus stated after she had finished her tale.
Hermione let a small snort escape.
"Come on, he killed already. Many times: the troll in first year, Professor Quirrell, the Basilisk, Riddle's memory. He knows how to kill. He feels terrible about that. Nevertheless, everyone just pretends that it didn't happen. No one helped him to cope with that. Still, everybody wants him to defeat Voldemort one day! Do you think he would talk him into surrender or that Voldemort could be imprisoned somewhere? And grow up! You can't even hear his moniker without shivering! How will you fight him?"
All the time, Hermione was getting more and more annoyed with the magicals present. They just sat there and proclaimed Harry some mythical fighter for the light, ignoring how much darkness he had already lived through. She nearly lost it when Tonks jumped at Voldemort's name. Remus fared better, but he flinched, still.
"I believe that Harry has that down pat." Tonks huffed.
"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked, completely confused.
"Fighting You-know-who. Harry seems to have nearly killed him last night, somehow. He just has to repeat what he tried, and it will probably finish him off."
"Oh!" Hermione said, only to grin broadly after a second. "I didn't know it would work that well. Harry will be pleased when he hears that," she added happily, glad that her plan had such a positive side effect. "Pity we can't repeat that. Either way, we probably still have to kill the rest of his followers." She added as afterthought.
"What? They will be arrested, not killed!" Tonks yelled. "I can't believe that you are thinking of killing them outright!"
That made Hermione loose it, completely. The order members, like most magical people, saw the world only in black or white, just like Harry told her in the bus. Time to shock them into seeing how the real world operates.
"You just sit here high and mighty and proclaim your view how a war has to be fought, according to your white mage in his castle. Pray tell, how many Death Eaters were captured in the last year, and with how many of them did Harry have a role in their capture? How many are already back on the streets? Do you know that we had stunned or bound every single one of those in the Ministry at least once? They just freed their comrades and kept on firing deadly hexes at us. When one of us went down, he stayed down. The only way to get them is to hit them as hard as they hit us. Harry has learnt this lesson. I have. Have you?" she yelled at the older woman, boiling with rage.
"But we can't stoop to their level, or we will be as bad as them!" Tonks blurted.
Henry chose that moment to enter the fray. "Says who?"
"Dumbledore, of course!" Tonks responded, only to feel a bit sheepish just a moment later as Henry tore her argument apart.
"So the man who has let all the known Death Eaters bribe themselves out of prison, allows a child to be abused by a foster family he himself had appointed, allowed more than one man be thrown into jail without trial, and lets a known Death Eater abuse students in his school, all for the greater good, is your moral compass?" Henry enumerated, slightly out of breath after that long sentence. Hermione would have easily managed to go on twice as long, but it was impressive, nonetheless.
While they thought Dumbledore certainly had earned their respect, those facts were not easily discarded. Remus especially knew that Dumbledore always claimed to have the moral high ground, but was capable of sacrificing everyone at whim if it helped the 'greater good' – which was whatever he proclaimed it to be.
While he had already made up his mind, and hoped that Tonks would see the light, too; Hermione, who had taken the short break to compose herself, took over again.
"As long as the Death Eaters are still around, it will never end." She had talked about that with Harry, and both knew that as long as a single Death Eater was alive, they would try to resurrect Voldemort, again.
"But you can't run around killing anybody! Harry wouldn't do that!" Tonks countered.
"Do you know why he didn't kill the Dursleys?" she laughed. "He said that it was only because he felt they hadn't earned it yet. Harry has changed. He's not the same he was before the battle."
"He's grown harder. He knows the kids' gloves have to come off in the war. He is so, so, so... intense." Her blush at her struggle for the last word did not go unnoticed by her mother, but was left uncommented on. For now.
Feeling restless, Remus brushed the topic aside. "Ok, whatever. That explains why he doesn't want to return to Privet drive. But why can't we contact the Order?"
"Because Dumbledore would probably force him back to Privet Drive, and would certainly bind him to the wards again."
"He did what?" Tonks screamed, while Remus just looked confused and demanded details.
Before Hermione could reply, Tonks spoke.
"Remus, you won't know about that, only a family like the Blacks or Malfoys would. That is something reprehensible that we used before Azkaban was founded. It would mean that a person's whole magic would be siphoned away and channelled into wards. While bound, they would be no more than Squibs. And the release ritual is extremely painful, and gets worse the longer they are bound." The thought of Harry being subjected to such a vile practice made her shudder in disgust. She reached out and laid a hand on Hermione's knee.
"I understand why you acted like that now, Hermione. He did that to Harry every summer?" she asked, her anger at the younger witch completely evaporated.
"No, just when he placed him there first."
You could hear a pin drop after that. On the carpet. Tonks stared at her, jaw wide open. Being a metamorphmagus, that was quite a sight, almost as impressive as her hair changing slowly to white. Remus began to show an equal horror as his brain caught up.
"Yes, about 14 years ago." Margret stated.
"That's impossible! He wouldn't be able to join Hogwarts, then. He wouldn't be able to cast!" Tonks stated flatly. She knew for a fact that such a bind would have turned him into a squib.
"He did. I don't know how. He certainly would have known if the binding were lifted after 10 years before starting Hogwarts," Hermione told her. Tonks shuddered at the thought and nodded.
Henry used that moment to rejoin the conversation. "We believe Dumbledore maybe tweaked something to let Harry keep a little power," he offered.
Remus snorted, drawing attention. "There was nothing little with Harry's power. He did a corporal Patronus at age 13!"
"Most mature wizards are unable to cast that guardian spirit charm, let alone a corporal one," he explained, after noticing some questioning glances from the Grangers, while Tonks jaw hit the table, again. Literally.
Regaining her composure and resetting her jaw to normal measurements, Tonks continued.
"Cor blimey! Unbelievable! But - there is no way to tweak that binding. It would take as much as a ward could siphon. The only way to still be able to cast would be if he had more power than a ward could …"
Her voice faded into a loud silence shared by everybody as each for himself analysed that bit of information.
"He couldn't?" Tonks asked, first. That feat would be enormous. A ward was something akin to a magical black hole, sucking up all power it could get.
"Might be," Hermione responded. "Remember that Prophecy? It says that he has the power to beat Voldemort."
"That's just… Wow…" Remus eloquently stated.
Tonks nodded. "Yeah, double that!"
Suddenly, Remus jerked to attention. "You said he is hurt? And that lot of potions you brewed. But you told us his uncle only hit him once, didn't he?"
"AGAIN!" Tonks suddenly screamed, causing everybody to jump and glare at her.
"You said he would bind him to the wards, AGAIN!" she repeated, horror lacing her voice. "You didn't - say you didn't! That could have killed him!" she said, her voice pleading.
"It did." Hermione sobbed, before she broke down in tears, clinging to her mother.