Chapter Eighteen
Black shadows shimmered at the edges of the room, swallowing the walls, coating the ceiling... they pulsed and surged then moved because they were living. Except not. The room was full of Dementors, their cloaked figures lingering, hovering, stalking, everywhere, surrounding and allowing no hope for escape. The air was bitterly cold, deathly cold. The smell of rotting flesh permeated the air, escaping the Dementors' lifeless mouths.
"Where is the boy?" came a voice. Chilly and sinister, low and hissing, slicing the air as a snake cut through grass. So cold, death sidling closer.
In the center of the room, the eye of the Dementor storm, were two figures. One tall and pale, bald and imperious. His eyes were abnormal, inhuman, serpentine. He had two slits for nostrils, there was no nose. His robes were made of black, airy material, as though he'd borrowed from the Dementors to clothe himself. He moved like a Dementor, gliding and ominous, dangerous and thirsting for death. He bared pointed teeth at the human figure before him. He was Voldemort.
The second person, a man, was doubled over on his knees before the dark lord. But he was not pledging or cowing. He was dying. He was breathing raggedly through broken ribs, he was coughing up blood on the floor by Voldemort's feet. His hands were useless, the fingers broken, unable to hold a wand. He curled his arms, tried to protect his crushed hands. It wouldn't matter. He was dead. He only breathed now, his heart only beat still, because there was something more than his life the dark lord demanded.
"I will not ask you again. Where is he?"
The man almost toppled, nearly collapsed to the floor, but he would not. He fought to stay at least on his knees. He'd lost the chance to die on his feet, but he'd not be killed on his back. "You..." he spat blood, sucked in a broken, wheezing breath, "should know better... than to expect... an Auror to... to answer you."
"Oh, but you will." The flick of a wand, the whisper like a gentle caress around the word "Crucio".
The man screamed and his body convulsed. A spurt of blood erupted from his mouth. The Dementors swirled closer, crows sensing a corpse soon. The air went from cold to frigid. Not long now, life was loosing hold.
Voldemort released the curse's hold. The man gasped and coughed. Blood pooled around his knees. His boneless, shapeless hands shook.
"The boy," Voldemort reminded the Auror venomously.
"I don't know... where he is."
Voldemort flicked his wand again, hissed in parseltongue, and the man cried hoarsely as both his forearms broke.
"Is his life worth yours, Auror?"
The Auror turned bloodshot eyes, sunken in a pale face, up to the dark lord. "Yes."
Magic, dark magic, surged like fire. Ice fire, a wall of cold burning just as sharply, surging with the dark lord's rage. The Dementors keened and circled the room faster, seeming to set it spinning. The Auror offered a last, blood-framed smile of defiance.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Harry bolted awake, opening his mouth to gasp for air, to scream, to cry, and instead he vomited. He gagged and coughed and finally was able to breathe. He sucked in air like he'd been underwater fighting to the surface.
In chunks his surroundings came back to him, starting inside and spreading out. He could feel the icy fear in his gullet, gripping his bones, breaking out on his skin in a cold sweat. He was shaking. He bent forward and grabbed his head where his scar seared painfully. His pulse throbbed, fiery hot on his brow, ice cold in his veins.
It was dark, night... he was in bed. The covers were twisted around his legs, the putrid smell of bile rose from the wet, warm pool of vomit between his knees. The silence of the night squeezed him, compressed him, and he wanted to scream but the cry would be worse than the quiet.
He hunkered in bed that way, hand over his scar, stomach roiling, heart racing, for several minutes before chaos began to settle. The night became innocuous, observer rather than attacker, and Harry shuddered. The pain in his scar slowly receded and Harry brought down his hand.
He stared down with night-adjusted eyes at the mess in his bed and his chest ached. Panic licked in a different direction. The mess he'd made, the trouble he'd be in for throwing up all over himself.
Harry dragged himself out of bed, put on his glasses, then gathered up his soiled bedding to clean up after himself.
Miranda wasn't sure what woke her up, perhaps the same innate sense that used to rouse her in the dead of night to find Hermione was in the kitchen getting a glass of water. Much like she'd risen then, Miranda woke and slipped out of bed. Something was amiss, something she couldn't pinpoint. The house's quiet wasn't the peaceful silence of content sleep.
Faint sounds from the laundry room and a sliver of light from under the door drew Miranda like a moth to a flame. She pushed open the door and blinked. Harry was at the washing machine, manhandling his bedspread into the open appliance. The room smelled awful, like sickness.
Harry was alone in the room, standing there wearing only a T shirt and boxer shorts.
"Harry?"
Harry whirled away from the washing machine and set wide, scared eyes on her. "I'm sorry!"
Miranda moved into the room, frowning. "Sorry?" When she got closer she could see Harry's clothes were damp with sweat, sweat that still glistened on his face. Her sleep-mused confusion began to inch toward genuine concern.
"I threw up, but I'll clean it up," Harry looked desperately at the smelly blanket half-stuffed into the washing machine.
Maternal instinct reared its head when it clicked. Harry was sick. That was the thing amiss in her home. She studied Harry a moment, the sweaty brow, the damp hair, and she moved without thought. She reached up to touch his forehead to check for a fever as she'd done with Hermione more times than she could count.
Harry jumped back. He shied from her hand and tensed, waiting.
Miranda, for the first time since the boy had come into her home, wanted to hold him as she'd seen her daughter hug him. He was bracing to be hit. What that meant made Miranda equal parts furious and devastated.
"Harry... I'm not going to hurt you."
Harry looked warily at her, eyes still glassy and expression tight. He didn't look quite fully awake. Miranda beckoned him gently to come closer. "I just wanted to see if you have a fever."
Harry hesitated, never took his eyes off her, then he stepped closer. Miranda carefully brought up her hand and ran her fingers under his bangs, brought her palm to rest on his forehead. Harry was shivering but he stood rigidly still.
Miranda frowned. He wasn't running a fever, in fact, his skin was cold. Disturbingly cold.
Harry pulled away and moved to continue shoving his blanket into the machine. "I'll clean it, I promise."
Miranda caught his arm gently, simultaneously touched his shoulder with her other hand, and said softly, "Harry, don't worry about that."
"But I..." Harry looked up at her, expression lost.
"Shhh... it's okay, I'll tend to that. I want you to come lie down. Do you feel like you'll be sick again?"
Harry blinked at her, uncomprehending, then he mutely shook his head. Miranda softly worked Harry's hands free of the blanket. He didn't want to let go.
"Missus Granger?"
Miranda turned and saw Kimmy in a pair of pink silk boxers (a gift from Hermione) standing in the door to the laundry room. Her eyes were wide and worried as she looked between Miranda and Harry. "Is there trouble?"
Miranda unconsciously tugged Harry closer to her. Harry held himself tensely at her side but didn't fight or try to pull away. "Harry's not feeling well. Could you do me a favor and fetch him a clean shirt?"
Kimmy nodded and vanished.
Miranda, with some coaxing and light tugging, led Harry out of the laundry room and into the living room. She turned on a single light and steered Harry toward the couch. Kimmy showed up with a fresh shirt and a moist washcloth that smelled faintly of wildflowers. Miranda took both and nearly kissed the elf on the top of her head for her forethought. Instead, she said, "Thank you. Do you know where the spare linens are?" She'd never shown the elf where anything in the house was, she'd never asked nor expected Kimmy to do any housework, but so far Kimmy had seemed to know where to find everything.
Kimmy nodded and dashed off again. Miranda turned back to Harry, who was standing and staring blankly at the living room.
"Harry, dear, take off your shirt."
Harry blinked at her, gaze empty and dazed, then he did as told and peeled off the damp, smelly shirt.
Miranda took the washcloth and gave his torso a quick wipe-down, trying to rid him of some of the sweat and stench before she had him change into a clean shirt. She slid the wet cloth up the back of his neck and over shoulders without drawing a response. Harry stood still, almost comatose, while Miranda cleaned him off. Kimmy returned with a blanket and pillow, which she wisely put on the couch.
"Thank you, Kimmy," Miranda said, "I can see to it from here."
Kimmy opened her mouth to protest, to insist she tend to Harry, but perhaps she recognized a mother's touch and felt it was more fitting than a house elf's, for she gave in and disappeared.
"Missus Granger?" Harry's cracking voice brought Miranda back to her task.
"Harry?" she came around to look him in the eye. The glazed look was dissipating and it was some semblance of Harry looking at her again. He looked confused, exhausted, frightened, and embarrassed all at once. He self-consciously brought up his arms and crossed them over his bare chest. Miranda backed off with the washcloth. "What happened?"
Harry blinked a few times then his brow furrowed. "I had a nightmare," he said lowly. "I woke up and... I'm sorry. I was a little confused. I thought... I thought I was at the Dursleys'." Harry tucked tighter into himself, as if he could disappear if he just wished for it hard enough.
Miranda felt an anger she rarely experienced race through her. She forced calm into her lest she upset Harry, lest he think she was angry at him.
Harry looked vulnerable standing there in just his boxers.
"Here you are, honey," Miranda gave him the clean shirt. Harry startled, glanced up at her as though she'd done something unimaginable, then took the shirt and put it on. He rubbed at his forehead a moment then looked back toward the hall, in the direction of the bedrooms. "I'll just go finish cleaning up..."
"You'll do no such thing." Harry froze then turned to look uncertainly at her. Miranda offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'll take care of that, I don't want you to worry about it." She put down the washcloth on the coffee table and stepped closer to Harry. Careful not to move too quickly, she brought up her hand to feel his forehead again. Harry tensed, but not nearly as badly as he had before. He was still cool to the touch, but not as cold as he'd been before.
"How do you feel?" she asked gently, without thought raking her fingers through his damp hair then moving to rest her palm upon his cheek as she tried to bring his face up so she might look into his eyes.
Harry's jaw was working but he couldn't seem to make any words come out. He looked up at her, agape, swallowed, and pulled back from Miranda. He looked unsure. She didn't want to push him, he seemed so fragile right now.
"Lie down," Miranda bade and directed Harry to the couch. When Harry hesitated she said, "We'll see to putting clean linens on your bed in the morning, for now I want you to sleep on the couch."
Watching her with a strange look on his face, Harry wordlessly lay down on the couch, turned on his back, placed his head on the pillow, and looked up at Miranda with an openly questioning light in his eyes. Miranda covered him with the blanket, pulled it up to his chin, then sat down on the edge of the couch beside him. Harry stared up at her. He looked like he was setting eyes upon an alien creature the way he was staring at Miranda, something almost akin to both wonder and disbelief.
Miranda tried to dismiss it as she gently took his glasses off and placed them on the coffee table. "Are you comfortable?"
Harry nodded dumbly.
"Do you need anything? Something to drink, maybe a nice cup of chicken broth?"
Harry pressed his lips tightly together and for a moment he stopped breathing. Miranda, concerned, leaned closer and rested her hand on his unmoving chest.
"I... no," he finally replied.
Miranda brushed her hand over his hair again. "Well, if you need anything you wake me, okay?"
Harry breathed unevenly and gave a half-nod.
"All right then, feel better," Miranda said and, without thinking, bent forward and placed a kiss on Harry's forehead. She hadn't planned to do it, it was what she'd done so many times for Hermione when she was sick that it came to her second nature. When Miranda drew back she saw tears in Harry's eyes.
Harry draped one of his arms over his eyes, hiding the tears, though nothing could conceal the way his chest hitched and his lips trembled. Miranda could see the fight he was putting up to not show her the weakness of crying. In kindness, in consideration of Harry's unspoken wish, she got up and left the room when everything in her told her to stay and console him, to mother him. She left him alone and went to his room where she stripped the bed of the remaining sheets. She went to the laundry room and finished the task Harry had begun in a nearly semiconscious state of mind. It was some time later that she passed by the living room yet again on her way back to bed. There wasn't a sound from the boy on the couch, he'd not made so much as a peep, and Miranda let him be. As she walked by she could swear she saw, in the corner of the dark living room, the glint of reflected light off a pair of orb-shaped eyes.
Though Miranda had not been raised to trust a magical creature such as an elf with such an important task, she trusted Kimmy to keep watch over Harry.
Chapter Nineteen
Jake was always the first one up in the morning. His and Miranda's alarm clock had two settings. He rose on the first and Miranda slept until the second alarm forty-five minutes later. Miranda preferred the extra sleep; Jake liked to be up earlier and ease into the day instead of dashing from bed to out the door.
Jake shuffled into the kitchen and went to the coffee pot... only to find it was already brewing. Kimmy, Harry's little house elf, had taken to making the coffee herself every morning. She could not be dissuaded from the task. For a few days Jake had tried to get up earlier and earlier and catch her before she'd started the pot, but he never managed it. No matter what, Kimmy beat him to it. He decided it was silly to try fighting a magical being with only an alarm clock on his side. He relented. Besides, Kimmy was figuring out how to make a very decent cup of coffee.
After so many years of getting up and starting coffee he still, every morning, went to do it before seeing the pot already on and remembering Kimmy now saw to that.
Jake turned to go out and fetch the morning paper... and saw it sitting in wait on the kitchen table. Kimmy, too, brought that in (as her dog form, of course). Kimmy's helping presence in the house made Jake look quite the bumbling idiot as he tried to move through long-ingrained habits, half awake, to find all of them already tended to.
Breakfast, at least, was something Kimmy hadn't taken over. Mainly because Jake didn't eat the same thing every morning, it depended on what he felt like when he woke, and the house elf hadn't quite figured out a way to divine that. So she had to leave Jake to feed himself.
Jake passed by the open doorway connecting the kitchen and living room several times before it registered that something was different. Jake was heading back to the fridge for orange juice, already having made himself toast with jam, when he saw movement in the corner of his eye. He stopped and looked. And did a double take.
Jake, forgetting the juice, closed the fridge and walked into the living room.
Harry was sleeping on the couch, a blanket sprawled over his body, the back of the couch, and trailing on to the floor. His previously-white-but-now-black owl, Hedwig, was perched on the arm of the couch near his head. She was looking down intently at her master, but when Jake came into the room her head swiveled up to pin bright amber eyes on him. Ronald Weasley's little owl, Pig or Hog or something, was on the armchair kitty-corner to the couch. The excitable bird was more subdued than normal, perhaps still recovering from his apparently long journey yesterday or maybe having some sense of the fact that someone was sleeping in the room.
On the back of the couch, his ginger tail swishing lazily like the pendulum of a grandfather clock, Hermione's cat Crookshanks was dozing but every once in a while cracked open an eye to check on Harry.
The movement that had caught Jake's attention, however, was the little figure tucked in the corner of the room, sitting like a yogi master in the middle of deep meditation. Except this yogi was a two foot tall magical elf wearing hot pink boxers. Kimmy was keeping vigil but every so often she turned to look toward the window... that was the motion that had caught Jake's eye. She looked more fretful, more serious, than Jake had ever seen her. Except for maybe the day Harry and Hermione had come back from the park after some kind of near incident with Harry's magic getting out of control. She looked as though she expected something to happen.
Kimmy looked back at Harry then toward Jake. She gave a wan smile and held up her finger to her lips.
Jake, not ready to deal with what was going on in his living room, turned around and went back to the kitchen to carry on with breakfast.
He didn't get any manner of explanation for the odd conglomeration in his living room until his wife came in later. He was seated at the table, drinking coffee and reading the paper when Miranda came in and poured herself a cup of coffee. She slid into the chair across from her husband and Jake asked, "Did you see the living room?"
Miranda nodded and stole the front page.
"What's going on?"
Miranda yawned. "Harry had a bad dream last night and had a bit of an accident in his bed."
Jake sputtered. "He wet the bed? Isn't he a bit old for that?"
Miranda smirked, but it looked more like a grimace than any reflection of amusement. "He didn't have that kind of accident, he threw up."
"Oh, well... must have been some dream."
Miranda frowned. "I woke up in the middle of the night and found him trying to clean up. I put him to bed on the couch."
"So... what's with the menagerie?"
"I guess they just wanted to make sure nothing else disturbed him."
Jake grunted. "Not much chance of that with the critter guard he's got in there." Jake shook his head. "He's a strange boy."
Miranda bit her lip, the same way Hermione did when troubled.
"What's wrong?" Jake asked, leaning closer, suddenly concerned.
She looked up at her husband and sadness and bitterness swam in her brown eyes. "Jake... when I came upon Harry last night, well, he was still kind of foggy, not really lucid... I moved to touch him and he... he acted like I was going to hit him for messing his bed. When he was a bit more clear-headed he said he'd thought he was back with his aunt and uncle."
Jake studied his wife's worried expression pensively. He knew Miranda had become quite taken with Harry. She genuinely liked the boy, and really Jake couldn't blame her. For the most part he was a really decent chap. Polite, congenial, had a good head for sports and did a splendid job of describing Quidditch in a way that made it come alive, and he seemed to really make an effort to please Miranda and follow any house rules he could ascertain. The last of which was a feat of sorts in itself, because the Grangers didn't have set rules, instead things that were done and things that weren't, had always been that way, things that were understood by all in the family. Harry was a quiet houseguest, clean, accommodating, a bit reserved but a quick thinker, a real 'think on his feet' type. He was good at making Hermione laugh, bringing out of her a person Jake had always wished they could see in their studious, isolated child. So far he seemed to do damn near everything Hermione told him to do. Jake wondered if the kid would walk into oncoming traffic if only Hermione asked him to (and Jake honestly thought that Harry would). Really, the only complaint Jake had against the boy was the way he looked at his little girl sometimes. A bit too friendly, even for best friends, for Jake's liking.
That didn't mean he liked the idea of Harry being abused. It made him think of Harry a little differently, though, made him reconsider all the things he'd noticed about Harry Potter that had seemed a little off since the boy came into their home. "That might explain some things," he mused aloud.
Miranda closed her hands tightly around her cup. "It's just... he's such a sweet boy! How anyone could harm him..."
"Well, if I remember correctly, some evil wizard tried to kill him, didn't he?"
Miranda blanched and looked down at the unread section of paper in front of her. "I suppose... I suppose I just want to think of him as a normal teenage boy. And he's really not."
"Don't think our Hermione would take such a shine to him if he was."
Miranda smiled at that and stole Jake's half-eaten piece of jammed toast and ate in thoughtful silence.
It was just as quiet as any other morning before Miranda and Jake headed off to work, just as still and understated, but there was an air of tension that was unfamiliar, its source the sleeping boy in the Grangers' living room. Miranda and Jake took care when they walked by the living room. They dressed in the kind of quiet that shrouded a wake, the tread of the recently dead in the air, or at least its bedmate. Miranda went into Harry's bedroom to see about remaking the bed and putting on clean sheets to find it already done. Kimmy, no doubt. She returned to the kitchen where she had her husband milled around, ready to head out, and still they were mute in deference to the sleeping wounded in their house, though that victim might not bleed.
At the opportune moment, Miranda was in a position to see into the living room and the hallway both. She saw Hermione before Jake did. Crookshanks was still stationed steadfastly on the back of the couch, he'd never budged from his part of the mass vigil over Harry, and for that reason Miranda wasn't sure Hermione would wake in time to see them out the door. Crookshanks was usually her alarm clock, but to guard Harry he'd abandoned that job.
Hermione shuffled sleepily out of the dark hallway, bleary-eyed and yawning, her hair an exceptional mess. Miranda couldn't help but watch her daughter with acute interest. Somehow, seeing how Hermione would react was morbidly fascinating.
Hermione came into the junction of living room and kitchen, saw the gathering of creatures, and stopped. She stared a moment at Crookshanks, Hedwig, Pig, and Kimmy, then she looked closer and Miranda could see the moment that her little girl realized Harry was on the couch. Sleep left her stance and eyes completely. Miranda didn't know someone could go from groggy to hyper-alert so quickly. Hermione, suddenly a ball of potential energy and racing thoughts, looked from Harry to her mother. There was a flare there, a fire in Hermione's eyes, and Miranda half-expected in that second for Hermione to take over the watch already posted... or to take command of it.
Hermione glanced back toward Harry then turned and marched up to Miranda. In a firm, concerned whisper she asked, "What's happened to Harry?" Miranda glanced toward her husband, wondering if he too was seeing the change in their daughter. Jake was watching, and from the look on his face he definitely noticed.
Miranda looked to her determinedly protective Hermione and toward the couch where Harry lay, unaware of the champions in arms about him. "He had a nightmare last night and woke up sick."
Hermione's eyes widened, she looked torn for a moment between letting him sleep and needing to check on him, and the latter won out. Without a word she turned and hurried into the living room.
Jake appeared silently at Miranda's side and touched her elbow. He leaned in to whisper, "He really sets something off in her, doesn't he?"
"Yes."
"I don't like it," Jake grumbled.
Miranda looked sympathetically at her husband. "Have a care, Jake, Harry may one day be your son-in-law."
Jake scowled. "Yeah, I know."
Miranda touched Jake's hand gently, in commiseration, then moved a few paces toward the living room. She couldn't help but watch.
Hermione had cautiously rounded the couch where Harry slept. Hedwig, Crookshanks, Pig, and Kimmy watched her impassively, making no move to stop her. Miranda was sure, if she'd approached, there would have been some ruffled feathers... literally. Not for Hermione. She went to him like it was her right, and they conceded to her in like fashion.
Hermione pushed her hair back from her face and bent close to Harry. Worry etched into the lines of her face, making her ages older than her fourteen years. She studied him a moment in the light pouring softly from the living room windows. Harry was on his back, head turned to the side, one arm crossed over his chest. He was motionless but for the rhythm of his breathing. That simple movement Hermione marked like a band conductor leading a march, then she brought up her hand and lightly touched his shoulder.
Harry flinched and reached out to fend her off... and in the next split-second the hand that had been flung out to hold her at bay came to rest lightly on her arm, almost as though to hold her where she stood at his side. He stared up at her a moment, time froze as they looked into one another's eyes, then Hermione slid her hand up from his shoulder to his face and cupped his cheek lightly. "Harry? You all right?"
Harry took a few breaths then let her arm go. He gingerly sat up and Hermione sat down on the couch beside him. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Hermione leaned closer to him, Miranda could only see their backs, but it spoke volumes. Harry's stooped shoulders and drooping head, Hermione's strong, protective posture, the way she pressed gently against his shoulder to offer comfort. Miranda suspected she was seeing the Harry and Hermione of Hogwarts, maybe the first time she really saw her daughter and Harry Potter as they naturally were.
Harry looked up and around at all the magical watchdogs he had and questioned Hermione by way of a frown in her direction.
Hermione gave a shrug and rubbed his back with one hand. Harry sagged into the contact and with a great sigh he seemed to fold to the horrors of the previous night. Miranda gave them a moment then approached. "Harry?"
Harry and Hermione both looked up at her as she came into the living room. Hermione did not drop her hand from Harry's back but she stopped rubbing. Harry looked almost afraid of her, and Miranda was scared to think that she might know why. What she'd seen last night scared her too. Not the nightmare, but the hint of a boy who'd been faced with maternal behavior and didn't know what to do with it. He looked wary that the same unfathomable force would come to bear again.
Miranda fully intended it.
"Are you feeling better, honey?"
Harry tensed and his face screwed. Hermione cut a look at him and she withdrew her hand. Hermione knew. This thing Miranda only saw last night, Hermione already knew it. How many painful secrets about this boy did Hermione keep?
"Uh... yeah, much. Thank you."
Too damn formal, too polite, too distant.
"You look a sight better. Come here."
Harry darted a panicked look at her, questioning and flighty. Miranda offered her most unimposing smile and beckoned him to her. Harry stiffened, threw a glance at Hermione, then rose and moved warily to Miranda.
When he stood before her Miranda reached up and brushed his hair from his brow... then she leaned in and pressed her cheek to his forehead. Harry made as though to pull away then he just didn't. He simply gave it. He stopped fighting and let her care about him. It felt like a wall crumbling in the quiet of the early morning.
Miranda drew away in a small manner of triumph. "You feel fine; I still want you to take it easy today, all right?"
Harry nodded wordlessly.
Harry and Hermione both saw Jake and Miranda to the door. When Miranda turned to bid Hermione goodbye she kissed her daughter on the forehead...then did the same to Harry. Harry looked up at her with eyes that seemed to both cry gratitude and swim with fear of the unknown. But he cracked a very tiny, very uncertain half-smile when she told Hermione to watch after Harry. Hermione smiled too, but it was somehow more of a lioness baring her teeth to dare anyone to cross her than an amused smile.
As they were getting into the car to drive to the office, Jake and Miranda both glanced up to see the pair of teenagers standing in the doorway watching them head off. A bat-eared Chihuahua pushed through to stand between their legs and bark a farewell. Miranda was certain, beyond any shadow of a doubt, it was meant to say 'I've got it from here'.
Hermione turned to Harry the millisecond that the front door closed. Harry had expected no less.
"Was it truly a nightmare?" Hermione asked pointedly. Kimmy transformed back to her house elf shape and scuttled, butt-naked, over to the spot on the floor where her pink boxers had fallen when her body shifted to canine form. One ear turned to the conversation taking place, she shimmied into her shorts and slipped the home-made shoulder straps over her arms.
"Yeah, it was... but not just that," Harry confessed. This was Hermione. There was no point in lying or evading, she'd ferret out the truth, it was Hermione's nature. And if anyone could hear these kind of 'Potter stories' and still see Harry past them, it was Hermione Granger. "It was Voldemort, he was torturing someone, an Auror, and then he killed him." Harry rubbed at his scar, the recount reigniting the memory of the burning that had erupted on his forehead, "I woke up feeling awful, my scar hurt."
Hermione chewed on her lip thoughtfully, eyes intent on Harry but part of her brain working furiously a thousand miles away. "This can't be good."
"Well, no, I'd kind of sussed that part out," Harry muttered sarcastically. He was still edgy, still felt the sour magic of the Avada Kedavra in his mind.
Hermione frowned at him then seemed to understand he was under a fair amount of stress and let his snide remark be. "What should we do?" she mused aloud, not actually asking anyone.
Kimmy, however, answered. "Kimmy has spoken with Master Albus about Mister Harry Potter's bad dream; he's expecting us."
Harry and Hermione looked down quickly at Kimmy. Hermione regained her faculties first. "The headmaster wants to see us?"
Kimmy nodded.
"Where?"
"At Hogwarts, of course," Kimmy said.
"Hogwarts? How are we to get there?" Harry asked. Outside of the Hogwarts Express, he knew of only two ways to get to the school in anything approaching a timely fashion, neither of which were options available to them at the Granger residence. "Hermione and I aren't able to apparate..."
"No, no, by floo. Master Albus has a protected fire, much safer than portkey or apparition at these uncertain times."
Hermione crinkled her nose. "But we haven't a fireplace, much less one connected to the floo network, private or otherwise..."
"But Kimmy does," the house elf pressed.
Before Harry or Hermione could mount any inquiries Kimmy was shooing them toward the bedrooms. "Dress now! Master Albus will be waiting for us; it won't do to meet him in knickers and dressing gowns!"
Harry and Hermione cast one another a silent shrug and disappeared into their respective rooms to change.
When they emerged, dressed and ready to go, Harry and Hermione stood around the hallway, at a loss for where they were expected to go. Kimmy was nowhere to be found when they converged in the hall. Hedwig maneuvered her way through the house with what seemed, once confined, the movement of massive black wings. She brushed past Hermione and alighted on Harry's shoulder, her wings spread to halt her momentum and for a moment shrouding Harry about the head and shoulders with her span of ebony feathers. She balanced, tucked her wings, and nibbled at Harry's ear. Harry brought up a hand and stroked her chest. "I don't know, Hedwig."
The hall closet opened and Kimmy stepped out, caught sight of them, and gestured them forward. "Come, come, Master Albus waits."
Harry and Hermione went to the closet and peered inside at the coats and umbrellas. It looked like a normal muggle closet. There was no indication of any way they might be whisked off to their beloved magical school amid the coats.
"Down, down, you won't ever get to Kimmy's house up there!" Kimmy said at their knees, turned to the left, pushed past two jackets, and ran right toward the wall... only there was never the sound of her hitting it.
Kimmy was gone.
Hermione got down on her hands and knees first and looked in the direction Kimmy had vanished. "Oh!" she muttered and crawled toward the wall. She, too, vanished.
Harry waved off Hedwig and got down on his hands and knees as well. Once he was at half his height level what had been a solid wall behind the coats and jackets before shimmered and shifted and suddenly he saw a perfectly Kimmy-sized doorway, a squat, square entrance with little globes of light on either side, like fireless candles. Harry crawled into the entrance and blinked in astonishment when he came through the other side.
It was a common room. Or at least it looked like one. It was circular like the tower rooms at Hogwarts castle, maybe three-quarters the size of the Gryffindor common room, the walls brown stone and holding shadows tenaciously. At least, what could be seen of the walls were stone. Everywhere, where one might normally display the heads of hunted prey or boast great artwork, Kimmy had hung boxer shorts. Harry could only assume they were her favorites. A pair of boxers that seemed to be a patch of the actual night sky with the belt of the milky way and twinkling stars, even purple-grey clouds that drifted lazily over the radiant half-moon. Another pair blue as a clear summer day sky. Harry's eyes flew to that pair when there was a glint and flash of gold. A snitch was darting around the shorts, looking almost as real as an actual snitch, and his trained eyes had locked on the momentarily flicker of gold. There was a pair with an obvious place for a tail to go. A truly tatty, off-white, stained pair that looked like they could have been Dudley's. Another pair that seemed to be struggling to pry itself from the wall and go for a walk-about. Harry sidled away from that pair. There was a set of green boxers that looked small enough to fit Kimmy as normal boxers ought to rather than the way she wore them in overallfashion. There were several other proudly mounted boxer shorts, but they were mostly lost in shadow. Kimmy's home was dimly lit, sparse orange light reaching into the room only where it saw fit, creating a very comfortable, sleepy effect when Harry entered. A fluffy patchwork couch was situated before a soft, blue terry-material rug. A hearth burned to one side, the firelight the only illumination in the entire room.
Kimmy was standing before her fire, looking the perfect fit for her half-size home in the Granger closet. Hermione was hunkered over next to Kimmy... the ceiling was too low for her to stand upright. "This is lovely, Kimmy," Hermione admired the room just as much as Harry. Harry came to his feet and stood nearly doubled over to not hit his head. It was almost easier to stay on his hands and knees.
"Tour later, now we must go sees Master Albus."
"Have you no floo powder?" Harry asked as he looked around Kimmy's fireplace. Normally there would be a pot for the magic soot. Kimmy's mantel had a half-dozen wizard pictures of Kimmy with two young men, from the looks of them brothers. It was inconceivable to think of them as their wizened headmaster and his brother.
"No need," Kimmy stated confidently, "Kimmy's fire is always open to Master Albus. Merely follow," she turned and marched straight into the fire... the moment she stepped into the flame it flared green and engulfed her then it was Harry and Hermione alone in Kimmy's home.
Hermione looked at Harry, shrugged, and walked hunched over toward the fire. She hesitated only briefly at the fire's edge, took a deep breath, then took an enormous step into the flames, a clear leap of faith, a 'here goes nothing'. The fire roared green again and Harry was alone.
Looking forward to the destination where he could stand up properly, he moved quickly to the fire and surged through...
... only to stumble on the other end, nearly tripping and ending up on his arse.
Hermione grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet before he could make a total fool of himself. He gave her a nod of thanks and brushed at his clothes. He looked up and found they were standing in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts. Kimmy was sitting in one of the chairs in front of Dumbledore's grand, cluttered desk, swinging her feet in the air and regarding the portraits on the walls idly. Dumbledore himself was standing near the fire and offered Harry a smile when he recollected his senses. "Harry, Miss Granger, I hadn't expected to see either of you quite so soon. I only wish it were under better circumstances. Do come in. Lemon squares?" Dumbledore waved at his desk and a plate of lemon treats appeared. Kimmy hopped off the chair, trotted to the table, and fetched herself one.
"Erm... no thank you, Headmaster," Hermione said.
Dumbledore glanced at Harry, looked down impassively a moment at Harry's arm, and it was only then Harry realized Hermione was still holding on to him. He gently shrugged her off with an embarrassed cough. "Hello, sir."
"Please, sit down. If Kimmy has told me correctly, which I am sure she has, and smashing shorts, by the way, Kimmy, then we have quite a bit to discuss."
Harry and Hermione sat down in the two chairs facing the headmaster's desk. Kimmy, with an impressively nimble jump, leapt on to Dumbledore's desk and sat down cross-legged and munched on her lemon square. Dumbledore sat down in his seat and looked across at the two students keenly.
Hermione turned her head to glance in Harry's direction and when he caught her eyes she gave him an encouraging smile.
"Well... it was about Voldemort," Harry began awkwardly. Strangely, it had been easier to tell Sirius this when it had happened before, during term.
"And was it truly a dream?" Dumbledore's tone was knowing.
Harry tensed then sighed. He flitted a look in Hermione's direction, very aware that their headmaster and she had both begun with the same first question. "No, sir. More than that."
Dumbledore simply nodded and gestured for Harry to continue.
"Voldemort was there, he was surrounded by Dementors... he was torturing an Auror. He kept asking him 'where is the boy', but the Auror wouldn't tell him. Voldemort used the cruciatus curse on him, then he killed him, then I woke up."
Dumbledore ran his fingers through his beard in an effort to scratch his chin. "And what do you think, Harry?"
Harry sagged in his seat, suddenly feeling the tormented, broken night's sleep catching up with him in spades. "I think it's no stretch to figure the 'boy' he seeks is me."
"Sadly, as well as a foregone conclusion." Dumbledore replied. He looked closely at Harry. "This Auror you saw in your dream... did he simply refuse to tell Voldemort your whereabouts, or did he genuinely seem not to know?"
Harry shivered at the memory, the Auror's broken hands and pooling blood. "I truly think he didn't know. What Voldemort did to him... well, I don't rightly expect even an Auror to hold out against that. If he'd known, I'm sure he would have told."
"Do you think You Know Who will be able to track Harry down, Headmaster?" Hermione asked in a small voice. The fear in her question was palpable. She was justifiably scared that the dark wizard himself would show up at her parents' doorstep.
Harry felt a sharp pang of guilt.
"That is precisely what I have been attempting to ascertain," Dumbledore answered. "That Harry believes the Auror in his vision was unaware of Harry's location gives me some small measure of reassurance. As I have said, it is a regrettable fact in our present times that the ministry's security cannot be wholly trusted. With Voldemort's return, intelligence would be of primary importance. I am not sure if you have any inkling of the atmosphere blissfully muggled away as you have been this summer, but the popular stance has become one of watch and wait. No one is brash enough to show their hand, to let on how much they know or what they know. If they know anything at all."
"Is that why there's not been a word about You Know Who coming back in the Daily Prophet?"
"Precisely so.
"Knowing that your safety, as well as Harry's and your parents', were all put at stake when this arrangement was made, I took several additional precautions before you three left for the summer." Dumbledore leaned back in his seat and dropped his arms to the armrests of his grand chair. "The first relates to the question I asked you about your dream, Harry, about whether or not the Auror seemed to know where to find you. It is a regrettable fact of your inescapable celebrity in the wizarding world that your home with the Dursleys is rather well known if a wizard or witch only cared to look. It would be disturbingly easy for someone to find record of Four Privet Drive within the ministry.
"The same cannot be said, however, for the Grangers. Hogwarts maintains their own records of their enrolled students. That information is not released to the ministry, for the Ministry of Magic has no administrative power over Hogwarts. Miss Granger's home address is guarded here within the castle walls, as is true for every other student at Hogwarts. For Miss Granger and other muggle-born students especially that information is protected, for often a muggle-born witch or wizard's Hogwarts file is the first of any sort of official documentation in the wizarding world. I have remained here over the summer holiday for the express purpose of making sure that information does not fall into enemy hands.
"My second, and third, safeguard was Kimmy here." Dumbledore gave the house elf a smile when Kimmy stopped nibbling on lemon squares and smiled fondly at the headmaster. "I sent her with you as a protector, a guardian for Harry, this you know. What I did not mention was that I made her my secret keeper. To discover your whereabouts this summer, Harry, Kimmy would have to tell them. I think you can agree the likelihood of that happening is small."
Dumbledore stood and moved around his desk to look down at the two students. "Under normal circumstances, these measures I feel would be more than enough to most assuredly protect Harry and you, Hermione, from danger this summer. However, this is no ordinary threat we are talking about, this is Voldemort. We must not take any hint of danger lightly."
Hermione shook her head in absolute agreement.
Harry, however, was sullen. All he heard in the entire time Dumbledore was talking was that he was putting the Grangers in danger. And he'd known going in that he would, but now it was that much more real. "Sir... perhaps I shouldn't stay with Hermione and her parents any longer."
"What?!" Hermione yelped indignantly, but Dumbledore was unmoved. He looked as though he'd expected it. Knowing the headmaster, he may have. Harry looked up. "I don't want to endanger Hermione and her family. I have already. If Voldemort's torturing Aurors to get to me... probably best I leave."
"And where would you go, Harry?" Hermione demanded. "Dumbledore just got finished telling you what an easy thing it would be for a Death Eater to break into ministry records and find the Dursleys. It'd be a little harder to find you at the Weasleys, but not much. You're safer with us!"
"But you're not!" Harry retorted hotly.
Kimmy moaned lightly from behind Dumbledore's shoulder while the headmaster looked between the two. He finally turned discerning eyes on Harry. "As always, Miss Granger makes some valid points."
"But, Headmaster..." Harry began and happened to glance at Hermione. The betrayed, wounded look on her face broke his mental stride. He'd been riding on ire, on righteous chivalry, but it was harder to stay the course when Hermione looked at him like that. He frowned and looked back to Dumbledore. "I don't want anything to happen to the Grangers because of me."
"I'm sure you don't." Dumbledore looked to Hermione and cant his head at the look on her face. "Miss Granger? I do believe you're about to dazzle us."
Hermione blinked. "Well, no... I don't know about that. I just... I was thinking."
"Do tell us what you've come up with," Dumbledore perched on the edge of his desk and waited.
"Well... would be pretty hard as it is to find Harry at my mum and dad's, right?"
"I've done all I can think of to make that true," Dumbledore answered.
"I was thinking... what if we went away for a while? Somewhere never put into Hogwarts records."
"I won't have you and your family running because of me," Harry snapped.
"Not running," Hermione replied shortly, "going to visit my grandmum."
Harry gaped at her a moment. "That's your great idea? Going to your grandmother's?" Harry asked incredulously.
Hermione's expression managed an amazing combination of a pout and a scowl. It wasn't a pretty end-product aimed Harry's way. He couldn't decide if he should feel bad for hurting her feelings or take cover for insulting her intelligence.
"An excellent idea, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. Harry looked quickly to the headmaster, completely baffled, his face screwed as if to ask if madness was contagious.
Dumbledore chuckled. "Harry... Ronald Weasley is your closest friend outside of Miss Granger here, is he not?"
"Yeah."
"You would say you know a lot about him?"
"I suppose so."
"Do you know where his grandmother lives?"
Harry sat back abruptly when it clicked. He didn't even know if Ron's grandparents were alive, let alone where any of them might live. "Well, uh... no, I don't."
"So you see the principle behind Miss Granger's plan."
Harry nodded.
Dumbledore turned to Hermione again while Kimmy came to stand next to the headmaster's shoulder. As he was sitting and she standing atop the desk, it made them eye level with one another. "I trust you will not find this visit to your grandmother's difficult to manage?"
"No sir," Hermione said with a shake of her head. "My parents and I usually spend Christmas with my grandmum, often it's the only time all year we get to see her, but since I stayed at Hogwarts this Christmas to help Harry through the tournament... she'd love to have us over."
"Us?" Harry questioned under his breath, resigned to this plan but still displeased.
Hermione turned to him. "She'll be perfectly fine with you staying over as well, Harry."
Dumbledore nodded. "It's settled, then. Miss Granger, I cannot say how long it would be prudent to stay with your grandmum, we do not even know for certain if Voldmort has learned where Harry has been all summer. For now, considering Harry's vision, I think immediacy is more important than duration."
Hermione nodded fervent agreement, frowned, chewed her lip. Harry was already straightening to hear the latest kink in the plan.
"A problem?" Dumbledore asked as Kimmy propped her right arm on Dumbledore's shoulder and yawned.
"It's just... I know it won't be any trouble Harry and me staying with my grandmum for a while, but my parents... thing is, typically they only get time off work during Christmas. Because that's when I'm home it's the vacation time they pick. I'm not certain they could just leave in the middle of summer.
"I'm worried about leaving them behind if there is some danger... danger more than there's been so far, anyway."
"I see. An understandable concern." Dumbledore waved Kimmy to take her weight off him and when she did he stood and rounded his desk. He plucked from a drawer an untitled, leather-bound book. He held it in one hand, took out his wand from the folds of his robe with the other, and waved it over the book as his lips moved silently. When he finished he returned to the front of the desk and handed it to Hermione. "A portkey to Hogwarts. It's spelled to transport the users, in this case your parents, straight to the Great Hall, should it come to that. Mind you, it is only to be used if it's an emergency, portkeys are closely monitored by the ministry, regardless of who uses them. Once this is used it would be detected, both the origin and the destination, and we've discussed the need to keep your home undocumented within the ministry." Dumbledore tapped a fingertip against his lips while Hermione placed the book in her lap. "I think a house elf to watch over your parents would be a wise move, as well. Not Kimmy, of course, she will need to accompany you and Harry to your grandmother's. Gorby, perhaps. A house elf in the service of Hogwarts. A bit of a shy one, I'm afraid, doesn't like being noticed, spends more than half his time invisible. A fitting feat to serve us in this case, I imagine. Yes, Gorby will do. I shall have him sent back with you. You won't mind Gorby staying in your room while you're away, will you, Kimmy?"
Kimmy frowned. "Oh, well, no, I guesses not. Only it would be naughty of Gorby to fuss with Kimmy's collection."
Dumbledore patted Kimmy on the bony shoulder. "I will let him know you would prefer he leave your boxer shorts alone."
Kimmy seemed only marginally appeased but not about to balk at her duty to safeguard Harry.
Dumbledore turned then with an air of finality about him. "I believe it's all sorted, then. I will keep several eyes on things from Hogwarts for anything irregular, and Kimmy knows to keep me informed of any new developments."
Harry, knowing a dismissal when he heard one, stood and started toward the fire to return to the Grangers'. Hermione stood but paused. When Harry realized she wasn't with him he turned to her, questioning her hesitancy with only an expression. Hermione looked up at the headmaster. "Sir... we don't expect my mum home for lunch for several hours yet; would it be all right if Harry and I walked the grounds?"
Dumbledore appeared curious at the request.
Hermione hugged the portkey to her chest, her body naturally cradling the book. "It was just so hectic and crowded here last term, seems there was barely any time to enjoy Hogwarts."
Harry glanced toward Dumbledore.
The headmaster looked intently at Hermione then a ghost of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth and twinkled kindly in his eyes. "It was a busy year. Very well. Don't stray from the grounds; I know how adventure seems to tempt you two, but it is very important that you refrain from gallivanting."
"We won't, we promise." She turned to Harry to look at him, a pleased glow on her face, and Harry left the fire and went to her. Hermione smiled at Dumbledore and turned, her hair whirling about her shoulders in her eager haste as she started toward the office door. Harry glanced up at the old wizard and Dumbledore smiled at Harry and... winked. Harry, baffled, blinked and frowned. Dumbledore turned to Kimmy and left Harry standing there, confused.
"Come on, Harry," Hermione called.
Harry gave a mental shrug and turned to follow Hermione out into the castle hallways.