@-----^------
When the Going gets Tough.
“I’ve come to one conclusion,” he said softly, not looking back at Millie. “Halle, what do you know about Sympathetic Magic?”
Halle drew her eyes towards Harry. They looked hollow and desolate, pools of darkness concealing faint points of light.
“Uncle Harry, this is hardly the time for a hasty lesson-” she broke off, her eyes widened; the pinpoints of light slowly growing bigger and her hope blossomed.
“Wendy,” she breathed.
Harry slowly nodded, and cast his eyes downward.
* * *
“What is it?” he asked quickly. Hermione’s eyes were squinted shut in pain and she gasped again.
“Ron, I think my water just broke,” she said slowly. Ron’s face changed as he felt the bed sheets around him. His blue eyes snapped up to Hermione’s. Her brown eyes were clouded in pain, and she looked as though she were far away.
“Ron, I think we might have to go to St. Mungo’s,” she said through gritted teeth. “The baby’s coming.”
*
Millie whimpered pitifully. Her body convulsed with every heartbreaking sob she let out, the tears streaming down her face. Halle’s face was chalk white, the colour having drained from it some time ago. Giselle was angry.
She paced up and down the dormitory, wearing marks in the carpet. She was fuming. How dare her father exclude her from this? This wasn’t just another fight for the Auror to deal with; evil or not. Wendy was her family, and family comes first. Ever since she was a child, she yearned to help someone, with something, but they always pushed her away.
They never understood. They never knew what she felt for people, how she needed to help them. They just … pushed her aside. Now, when she was certain she could help, her father had pushed her away again, as a child.
She let out a groan of frustration as tears escaped her eyes. They trickled down as she raised her chin defiantly. Halle hiccupped, shaking from head to toe. Millie lay in the bed, breathing in huge, gulping breaths of air. It wasn’t long ago she’d come out of her bloody mind battle, and was lying there on the bed limply, without the will to even raise a hand. The tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and slid down to pool on her chin. Her chin wobbled, and the tears dropped to her neck. Halle turned her face to Giselle.
“Giselle, we have to do something. We have to do something, God Dammit!” she screamed, sobbing angrily. “We can’t just stand here! We can’t just stand here and watch our sister die! What are you going to do! You have to help her! Help me!” Halle fell down on the bed, stroking Millie’s hair as she moaned.
Giselle stared ahead. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” she said softly, her voice flat. “We’ll take her to St. Mungo’s and hope for the best. Then, we’ll go kill him.”
“We’ll watch him suffer, and die.”
Hermione screamed in pain. Her eyes were unfocused to the world around her, and Ron stood at her side, his mangled hand within her clenched grip. His eyes were wide and delirious.
She clutched her stomach in agony and wailed in pain. Her face was heavily flushed, and she felt as though she were about to crack open at any given second. She rolled into a curled up position and relinquished Ron’s hand. He cradled his fingers, which had turned a purple mottled colour.
She moaned in pain, and occasionally gave a fresh scream of pain. They were downstairs in Grimmauld Place, Ron having helped her down the stairs before the baby had started kicking and forcing his or her little way out. Hermione moaned slightly, and Ron paced frantically up and down the hall. The portraits stared concernedly out from their frames, muttering and clustering together in anxious little knits.
“Oi, you! Get off my foot!” said one fellow, a walrus like moustache concealing his small, wrinkly face.
“I was not on your foot, Mister, I swear,” came the tiny voice of the scullery maid that lived in the portrait with the windmill. “I was just trying to get a look at our Mistress, I was.”
The man harrumphed in reply, but allowed the curious girl to hop into the frame in front of him. She stared in awe at the huddled Hermione, who was whimpering in pain as every contraction shot through her body.
“You lot, shut up!” shouted Ron irritably. His voice had gone hoarse as he screamed along with Hermione. It hurt him to see her in so much pain, and tears of frustration escaped his eyes. He went to climb the stairs, and then a split second later, swung around and ran back to Hermione.
Her eyes had jolted awake, and she was shaking, from her fingertips to her toes. She forced the palm of her hand to her head as insurmountable pain shot through her body and pinpointed in her head.
“The girls, the girls,” she managed to gasp out against the pain. “It’s the girls.” She let out another shuddering groan. “Ron,” she said, her eyes finally focusing on his face, darting up and all around as a sheen of sweat covered her entirety. “Ron. Find them. Help them, Ron.”
“But, Hermione! I can’t leave you here!”
“Stop being so damn noble, Ron, I can handle it!” she gasped as another contraction wracked her body. “Just go, go help them!”
A frustrated yell escaped Ron as he stormed a safe distance away from Hermione. He gave her one last lingering look, and then Disapparated.
“I love you.”
“Push it,” said Giselle quietly, so only Halle could hear her over the yelping coming from the ward to the right of them. She was supporting Millie, who seemed to be just about to slither to the ground any minute. She was groaning, and her freckles stood out enormously against her pale skin. A dark hood covered her face and hair from any suspicious spectators, and her head hung lifelessly, bowed towards the ground. She was slipping further and further away every minute.
“Push the door, Halle. I can’t with Millie.”
Obediently, Halle pushed the double swinging doors open with one pale hand. It opened to utter chaos on the other side. What seemed like hundreds of witches and wizards occupied the rickety wooden chairs, deeply absorbed in either their own disfigurements or copies of the local rag. There were hardly any Healers to be seen; Halle could only make out one stooped lime green figure in the entire waiting room. Her mouth dropped open, and she turned to Giselle.
“Giselle, there’s millions of people here! How is Millie supposed to be treated if there are all those stupid buffoons with their backfiring pranks and idiotic hexes? Millie’s in trouble and her time’s being wasted by all these people!”
Giselle shut her eyes briefly. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this. Follow me.”
Slowly, with Halle’s support, they managed to drag Millie over to the Welcome Witch’s desk. She looked up briefly, and from behind her square black glasses, they could see boredom. She popped her gum, and said, “Well? You can read, can’t you? Magical Bugs, Second floor.”
“It’s not what you think,” said Halle quickly. “She’s not contagious, it’s …” But she trailed off when Giselle put Halle’s full weight onto her shoulder.
“I’m Giselle Potter,” she sighed. “Harry Potter’s my father. I daresay you’d be very happy if word got out that a silly welcome witch was the one responsible for his niece’s death. I doubt you’d ever be able to work in the medical industry ever again.”
The Welcome Witch squinted her eyes suspiciously. “You think so, little girl? How do I know you’re not taking Polyjuice?”
Giselle sighed impatiently. “Look, you numbskull. Harry Potter’s daughter is standing right here in front of you. Harry Potter’s niece is holding up Harry Potter’s other niece, who is currently in mortal peril. I suggest you get a move on, and find someone to help us. Or, I can find my Uncle Remus.”
Sadly, this had the desired effect. The witch’s face blanched, and she whispered, “Remus Lupin? Well, I’m so sorry Miss, I’ll find someone straight away.” She rolled her chair back slightly, and when Giselle glared at her, scurried away into the back room where she could be heard saying, “Harry Potter’s daughter! She’s here!”
Giselle let out a sigh of disgust. “I hate having to use my name to get things done. It’s degrading, and honestly, I hate how people are so afraid of Remus. To be recognised by your name; it’s horrible.”
Halle nodded. “Erm, Gis? Help?” She was getting closer and closer to the floor. Giselle swung a limp Millie’s arm up and over her shoulder, and then turned back to the desk where the Welcome Witch had her head bowed.
“Miss Potter, up the corridor and to the left. A Healer is waiting for you. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience,” she said, keeping her head bowed.. Giselle’s lip curled.
“We’ll be fine, thanks; we don’t need help getting her up the corridor. Thanks for the offer.”
Halle stumbled, but then picked herself and Millie up, and together, they slowly dragged Millie through the swinging doors to the Healer.
*
“She looks … dead,” said Halle softly, stroking her cousin’s silvery locks. Millie lay asleep peacefully on crisp, clean white sheets. A plump pillow had been slid under her head, and her hair fanned out like a halo, disguising the bruises on her temple. Her hands lay outside of the covers that were pulled up to her chin, and her palms were crossed over her chest, where they’d raise slightly every time she inhaled and exhaled a peaceful, slow breath.
“She … does,” Giselle admitted, sighing heavily. She’d cried too much, and that incident in the waiting room had put her into a stony silence, until now.
“Well, what now,” said Halle, nervously. “We can’t do anything without Millie. She’s just as much a part of us as we are of her.” She averted her eyes from Giselle’s face and instead stared at the label on the bottle of Blood Replenishing Potion. It blurred, and she looked away.
“We’ve only been weakened slightly. Millie’s only one third of us. There are still two of us; we should be able to hurt a few Death Eaters on our own.”
Halle started to nod, then her jaw dropped and her eyes focused on the edges of Giselle’s peripheral vision. She stopped.
“Halle,” she said weakly, “there’s one of our family members behind us, isn’t there?”
Halle nodded slowly, and then cleared her throat. “Hi, Dad.”
Ron Weasley stood behind the girls at the door to the ward, his mouth open in wonder.
“Girls, girls what are you doing in St. Mungo’s?” he asked, walking slowly over to Millie’s bed, taking in his surroundings slowly but surely. “You’re supposed to be at Hogwarts; it’s nearly two in the morning!”
“We, um, couldn’t sleep?” mumbled Giselle feebly. She managed a weak grin. Halle, on the other hand, was still staring in shock at her father. Ron leant over and kissed Millie lightly on the head, with a dazed expression on his face.
“What are you doing here, Dad?” she accused. “Where’s Mum?”
Ron straightened up, and a spark of recognition ignited in his eye. “Hermione… your mother… is in labor,” he said slowly, still comprehending the words.
Halle was gobsmacked. “Now? Mother’s in labor now, of all times, and you’re here?” she screeched. “Home! Get home! Now! Why isn’t she here?” She flew off the handle at him, berating her father with questions.
Ron held up his hands, concern etched into his face. Things had started to click when his daughter had started yelling. Giselle was just on the sidelines, trying to get her head around all of it.
“Your mother felt something,” he said, gesturing to Millie. “She thought I should come find you. She said she’d be alright,” he said with pleading eyes at his daughter.
Halle reconsidered. “Slow reaction, Mum,” she muttered. She stopped, and then threw up her arms. “Well, what are we waiting for?” she exclaimed. “Let’s go to Mum! I’m sure Millie will be fine. Right, Giselle?”
Giselle still stared at her uncle and cousin. It wasn’t like either of them. Ron spaced out, and Halle just … well … rude. Halle Weasley was always patient. “Maybe, we should go, Halle. Go to your mother. Millie … has the Healers. Your Mum’s still there, by herself, so we should go. Now.”
“Well,” Ron mumbled, motioning towards to door, “Dobby’s there. So technically your mother’s not alone.”
They filed out into the corridor, and Millie’s eyelids fluttered open. Consciousness flicked over her face. She could have sworn she heard Halle screech, “What? Will Dobby - ” but she sighed tiredly, and fell back into the comforting drowsiness of her pillows.
Hermione panted and squeezed her eyes shut to the pain. “No, Dobby,” Hermione said through gritted teeth, “I do not need a cold compress right now. I need my husband.”
“Dobby can do that, Mistress.” He grinned toothily through his concern. He disappeared with a crack just as Ron, Halle, and a shaken Giselle Apparated, clutching hands frightfully. Ron rushed to Hermione’s side, clutching her white hand in his own.
“I’m here, Hermione,” he said softly, stroking a loose curl back from her forehead with a loving hand. “The girls are fine.”
“Millie?” gasped Hermione. “Where is she?”
Halle and Giselle stepped forward; Halle grabbing her mother’s other hand. “Millie’s fine. She’s asleep. The important thing is we’re here, with you now.”
Hermione nodded and Ron held her haphazard curls back from her sweaty face. She grunted again and let out a wail.
“Girls, fetch some pillows for her,” said Ron, panicking.
“And some hot water, sheets and face washers,” called Halle, gripping her mother’s hand as she curled up again.
“Not now, not this early,” whimpered Hermione. “Please, Lord, not now.”
“Halle, come with me,” called Giselle from the front of the house near the stairs to the kitchen. “I need your help.”
Unwillingly, Halle left her mother’s side. “What do you want?” she hissed.
Giselle stared her in the eyes. “We need to find Dad. He’s out there somewhere.” She didn’t flinch when she heard Dobby crack back in. “We need to help him find Wendy, now that we’ve taken care of Millie.”
“What about Mum?” whispered Halle. “She’s going to wonder where we went.”
Giselle shook her head. “You mother will be okay. She’ll be fine. And when we come back, you’ll have a little brother or sister, and that’ll make tonight all worth while. Now, are you coming with me, or am I going to kill Voldemort all on my own?”
Halle looked lingeringly out into the corridor where Ron was now supporting her mother’s head. She stared into Giselle’s deep, green eyes, and nodded. Giselle embraced Halle for a moment, then, together they cracked as they Disapparated.
The stuffiness of the kitchen disappeared and was replaced with a chilling, brisk air and the impenetrable feeling of doom.
Harry was sprinting, panting and praying.
“You can’t hide, Harry. Not from Lord Voldemort.”
Harry aimed a jet of green light over his shoulder. “Not running, Tom.” He snarled. “Making sure you can see me kill you, you miserable bastard.”
Tom deflected the jet of light by levitating a stone angel in front of him. His glinting red eyes could be seen over the top. “See you kill me, Harry? Why would I want to witness that? Surely, seeing you die would be far more entertaining.”
Harry gritted his teeth. He dove behind a raised tomb, and counted to ten. He jumped up, whirled around, and stared Lord Voldemort in the eyes. Neither made a move.
Then, Harry spat on Voldemort with contempt. Voldemort’s eyes raged with fury, and the wind roared around them.
“Such a dirty thing for a boy to do, Potter,” he said, ignoring the spit on his robes.
“Such a dirty way for one to play, Tom. For god sakes, you murdered children. You’ll be sent straight to hell for it,” said Harry, his eyes narrowing behind his rimmed glasses. He raised his wand over the mossy tomb. Moonlight glinted overhead and shone in Voldemort’s eyes.
He raised his chin and closed his eyes lazily as Harry shoved his wand into his neck.
“Killing me, Potter “ What will it achieve? Those dead “ surely you’re not idiotic enough to believe they’ll come back. Susan Bones. Colin Creevey. Neville Longbottom,” he sneered. “Fool. Killing me will achieve nothing.”
“It’ll do nothing but satiate my hunger, Tom,” hissed Harry, pushing the tip further. “You’ve caused me so much pain. I’m not doing it because of that damn prophecy. You made that unlucky mistake, long, long ago. You thought I, a baby, was a threat to you. You’re the fool, Tom. You risked everything you had, on the off chance that I was the one. What would have happened if it were Neville? Would you have killed Alice and Frank, and then Neville? Would you, Tom, and then, would you have come after me, just because you could? Do you kill, Tom, just because you can? Do you hurt people; hurt others, just because you can?
“We’re not kids, any more, Tom. Not me, nor you. We’re not weak, not easily fooled. Yet, we still manage to trap ourselves. You, in your lust for power, and me, in my hunger to finally kill you, to see your eyes blank and staring. To see you finally silent. Finally gone.”
Harry was breathing heavily, each breath forced out with hatred. The contempt and intense loathing for Voldemort could not be described on Harry’s face; yet Voldemort remained calm, centered, focused.
“Well spoken, Harry, I can’t deny that. But of course, you’ve forgotten. I had no doubt that it was you. Your mother, your father, they were so self righteous, so proud, I knew it would be you. Bumbling Longbottom, she never had your mother’s talent, nor he, your father’s arrogance. Oh, Harry Potter, I knew it was you from the moment I heard that prophecy. I didn’t aim to kill you to fulfill the prophecy. I killed you simply because you were an obstacle in my way. An obstacle that needed to be removed.”
Harry’s face shone with sweat. “So,” he blustered. “You killed my father in our hallway, because he was an obstacle, you killed my mother, who was protecting me, because she was an obstacle? You wanted to kill the person who would undoubtedly mean your end, because they were an obstacle? I don’t think so, Tom. You’re smarter that that.”
“Perhaps,” said Voldemort, his eyes open and focused on Harry.
A loud crack resonated throughout the graveyard, and Giselle and Halle stumbled out from behind the bent, bowed willow tree, clasping hands, frightened expressions on their faces.
The distraction was all Voldemort needed. He sneered and roughly shoved Harry out of the way. Harry fell to the ground cursing. Giselle started to yell something, but Voldemort whipped his wand and called up a dust storm so fierce Harry was propelled backwards into a gravestone with a crack. {Cinnamon yelled in their nostrils} “ huh? and the moonlight flashed off Voldemort’s crystal teeth as he leered overhead. He had mounted a tombstone and was staring directly at Giselle with his merciless red eyes.
“Too late, my dear.”
Voldemort twirled and zigzagged his wand across Harry’s chest. Harry, who wasn’t predicting the attack, clutched his chest and fell to the ground choking.
“Dad!” Giselle screamed, and ran over to her father. Harry was on the ground, his glasses askew, and a trickle of blood running from his mouth.
“You murderer!” she screamed, running towards Voldemort. He angrily shot a spell towards her, but in her fury, she tripped over an upraised tree root, and fell cursing to the ground. She shot a spell towards Voldemort, which he easily deflected, laughing cruelly.
“Little girl. I seriously doubt you will be the one to defeat me. I’ve just incapacitated your dear father. After all, if the great Harry Potter failed too, who are you to say that his daughter could do what he could not?”
“You’ll rot in hell,” said Giselle from her crouched spot on the ground. Her black hair was in wild tangles around her face and stuck to her neck in fierce tendrils.
“I will avenge him. And I’ll kill you.”
She leapt up, wand raised, charging Voldemort. Suddenly the two were locked in a fierce duel, Voldemort dodging, twisting, turning, and showing a great deal of skill as he avoided the flashes of light emanating from Giselle’s wand.
Giselle’s wand work was lacking grace, but held power. Her face screwed up in hatred, she shot spells from behind her back, down low, above her head, and straight in front of her. Her face was backlit and her hair flowed out behind her.
“Crucio! ” she screamed, pointing her wand at Voldemort and hollering with all her might, hatred and hurt infused in one.
“Avada Kedavra! ”
Two spells were shot at the same time; one rocketed off a tombstone, the other found its target.
Giselle’s eyes lay open, her mouth still wide open in agony. Her wand clattered to the ground, and Halle’s screams resonated throughout the graveyard. At the exact moment Giselle Potter took her last breath, another being took its first and was welcomed into the world.
“Push!”
“I can’t Ronald! I CAN’T!”
“Yes you can, Hermione! You can do it! You’re strong.”
“I can’t … I can’t,” Hermione sobbed, her hair plastered thickly to her head with sweat. Her eyes were unfocused, and her breathing ragged. Her head was aching after ten minutes straight of fierce, sharp, indescribable pain. As suddenly as it had started, it had stopped. Hermione felt as though a piece of her had died.
Ron placed himself behind Hermione’s head and his legs either side of hers. “We can do this, Hermione. I’ll help you.”
Ron moved, positioning himself between Hermione’s legs and stared into her eyes. She snapped into focus, focusing all her effort on her task. Her face purpled, and she screamed bloody murder. Suddenly, two screams melded together to become one.
Hermione’s cries subsided, and she sagged into the pillow’s arms. Ron stroked her head, and then reached down and picked up the wailing baby, wiping the mucus from its eyes and placed it softly on Hermione’s breast.
“We have a boy.”
Harry lay on the ground, crying tears of hopelessness. She was gone. His daughter was gone.
“She’s gone. She’s gone.”
“Yes, Harry Potter. She is gone. And you shall soon join her.”
Harry spat on the ground, blood mixed with spittle and tears. He pushed himself off the ground. Lord Voldemort did not attempt to stop him.
Voldemort waited until Harry was level with him. “Shall we duel, Potter?”
Through gritted teeth, Harry stared at Voldemort and said, “Indeed, we shall, Tom. You must finish with this Potter.”
Their wands touched as they dipped into rigid-backed bows, green eyes never leaving pupiless red ones.
Backs straightened, nerves tightened, and both Harry and Voldemort began to step. First left, then right. Then together. As bumbling as Giselle had been with Voldemort, Harry was just as graceful.
Curses, hexes and defensive spells were never uttered apart from within the mind, and it was only when one spell did make contact with a man did they wince and exhale their breath.
Harry’s mind was boiling. A sheen of perspiration covered his upper lip. Voldemort didn’t seem to be slowed, and even as Harry dodged Voldemort’s spells,
Harry twirled elegantly, and stepped his foot down carefully upon rubble. A spell shot, red and angry from the end of his wand. It hit Lord Voldemort squarely in the chest, and he fell.
Slowly tangled limbs, pale skin and onyx robe hit the fallen leaves. Merciless, red glowing eyes stared up again into Harry’s green ones.
“Goodbye, Tom.”
“You plan to do away with me then, Harry Potter.”
“No, Tom. Remove an obstacle.”
Tom nodded, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. Harry centered his wand on Voldemort’s heart.
“Avada Kedavra!”
A soft glow lit Hermione’s cheeks. The whole room was glowing, and she gazed fondly down at her son, resting on her breast.
“Janus. Halle wanted him to be called Janus.”
A/N: Simply tell me what you think.
Thank you all for waiting so patiently. Every single “Thank you” should be directed at my wonderful Beta Lori, author of The Second War Begins. I suggest you check it out, will be well worth it.
B/N: Thanks, Steph! :D