Chapter Seven“Harry! Oh, Harry!” Hermione yelled, dropping to her knees next to her friend and just barely noticing the small stone that was smoking slightly around Harry’s neck. Harry could just make out Ron’s crumpled form by the shattered bookcase. He was still breathing.
The final thought to enter Harry’s mind was Ginny. He wanted desperately to be taken to her and he tried, in vain, to communicate this to Hermione.
And that was the last he could remember before the quiet darkness finally gripped his mind.
“Ronald!” Hermione scolded, sounding scandalized, “stop that right now!”
“C’mon, Hermione,” Ron’s voice sounded muffled, “I’m hurt!”
“Harry’s right next to us! He could wake any minute!”
“He’s alright, Hermione,” Ron said at the furtive look his girlfriend gave towards the next bed, “he just needs some more time to rest. You know what Madam Pomfrey said…”
“Yes, of course I do,” she replied distractedly, “I just hate to see him that way.”
“Well, instead we could-” Ron started suggestively.
“Ronald!” Hermione interrupted, exasperated. “You’re still hurt. Madam Pomfrey won’t even let you leave the infirmary yet.”
“No,” Ron mumbled, a slight air of disappointment tinting his voice, “something about over-excitement…”
“And you think what you want to do won’t excite you?” Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, if it’s so awful for you, fine! We won’t!” Ron answered, crossing his arms over his chest in irritation.
Hermione, laughing softly, kissed Ron lightly on the lips before whispering, “I’m going to go check on Ginny.” Ron merely grunted in return and rolled on his side to go back to sleep.
Harry Potter lay still in the infirmary bed next to Ron’s, his eyes refusing to open, his body refusing to obey commands, and his mind drifting in and out of consciousness as the days passed uncounted.
A weight Harry recognized as foreign to his own shifted slightly on the end of his bed. His eyes opened slowly for the first time, blinded by the dazzling light streaming through the low windows. He felt weaker than he had ever felt before and his chest ached with each heartbeat.
A flowery scent wafted over him as he smiled at the sleeping form of Ginny Weasley. She sat in a chair at the foot of his bed, resting her upper body at his feet. Her brilliant red hair was cascading over his bed sheets.
“Ginny,” Harry whispered, wishing to alert only her to his presence.
The sleeping form positioned by his feet moved slowly and rearranged herself. She was snoring softly. Harry thought there had never before been such a family resemblance.
“Ginny,” he whispered a little louder.
At this last exclamation, Ginny’s head shot up from the bedcovers. “Harry!” she screeched, jumping up from the chair. She lunged her body towards him and for one gloriously moment Harry though she was going to kiss him. Instead, she enveloped him in a friendly hug and whispered, “I’m so glad you’re alright.”
Harry forgot that he could no longer kiss Ginny whenever he wanted. He forgot, in his unconscious state, that they were no longer a couple. His chest ached for slightly longer on the next heartbeat.
“I have to go tell Madam Pomfrey you’re awake,” Ginny whispered as Harry reluctantly let her out of his grasp. “I’ll be right back.” Harry watched her until she disappeared around the corner and out of sight.
Hermione, appearing in the open doorframe, immediately swooped down on Harry and crushed him into an embrace. “Harry! Oh, I’m so happy you’re all right! You have no idea…it was so scary…” she whispered, her eyes shining.
“I’m alright, Hermione,” Harry returned, smiling weakly. “How did we get here?” Harry had the first chance to properly look around what he instinctively knew was Professor McGonagall’s manor infirmary. The room he was lying in had a row of six hospital beds and looked as though it had once been an extremely large bathroom. There was a line of sinks on the opposite wall and a sectioned off area for the toilets. The floors were tiled a bright white and the walls were freshly painted pale green. Very little decorating had gone into this makeshift infirmary; only two wizard pictures donned the sparse walls, neither subject was resting in their frame.
“I Side-Along Apparated both you and Ron,” Hermione replied. “I didn’t want to take you to St. Mungo’s, too many questions…”
“No, this is better,” Harry responded as his eyes unconsciously drifted to the door Ginny had exited from. “How long have we been here?”
“Nearly three weeks,” Hermione replied as Harry’s jaw dropped. “Ron was here with you for a time. He’s alright.”
“Yeah, I know…” Harry responded vaguely. “When I was out, I could still hear bits of conversation.” Harry was dimly registering that the dreams he could remember having appeared to be actual conversations.
“You could?” Hermione asked, intrigued. “I’ve heard about that happening…”
“What’s wrong with me? I feel all…weak…” Harry asked feebly, attempting to sit up on his elbows.
“When that,” Hermione lowered her voice to a whisper as she gently pushed Harry back down on the bed, “Horcrux opened on your neck, green…lights…came out of the locket and looked like they were piercing your chest.” Hermione’s voice broke slightly.
“I felt that,” Harry started. “It was hard to breathe and it felt like my heart stopped.”
“That’s how it looked. It was terrifying…” Hermione trailed off and looked away. Harry noticed her hand travel to her eyes and he respectfully looked at his feet.
“So,” Harry continued when he felt it was safe, “what happened when we got here?”
“Well,” Hermione began and Harry was relieved to notice her voice was even, “Madam Pomfrey shooed us all away from you so I’m not too sure what she did. She had Ginny take care of Ron. He had a cracked skull from the collision with the bookcase…it was broken in three places…”
“And she could handle that by herself?” Harry was both amazed and proud of Ginny.
“Actually, yes,” Hermione exclaimed, “her skills have really advanced. She’s been here the entire time, by your side…”
Harry smiled sheepishly.
“Harry, really!” Hermione began sharply. “You breaking up with Ginny was one of your most idiotic ideas! Even if you aren’t still with her, everyone knew how much she meant to you! Snape, Malfoy, anyone who was at Hogwarts really…”
“Hermione.”
“…and if you think they would just conveniently forget to tell Voldemort…”
“Quite enough chatter over there, Miss Granger!” Madam Pomfrey came bustling over between Harry and Hermione. “Miss Weasley, prepare that draught I taught you to brew.”
“Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” Ginny replied calmly in Madam Pomfrey’s wake, smiling in Harry’s direction as she turned to follow her instructions.
“No visitors today, Miss Granger,” Madam Pomfrey continued, shutting a startled Hermione out with a curtain as she uncovered Harry to examine him. “You had quite the close call, Mr. Potter,” Harry noticed several blackened scars scattered across his torso. “These will fade eventually, they should have been deeper if you ask me. Miss Granger has been deliberately vague when questioned regarding the incident that caused these.” Madam Pomfrey looked over her nose at Harry as Ginny slid past the curtain with a smoking pewter tankard.
“Erm, Madam Pomfrey,” Ginny handed the tankard to her teacher; Harry was pleased to notice that a slight blush was creeping up her neck.
“Thank you, Miss Weasley. Oh, you should stay for this,” Madam Pomfrey stated when Ginny turned to leave. “You don’t mind, do you, Mr. Potter? Training program and all.”
“Not at all,” Harry said, amused at Ginny’s embarrassment.
Madam Pomfrey began doing complicated wand movements and muttering incantations that completely confused Harry. Ginny, however, seemed to be following her instructions clearly as she kept nodding in acknowledgment, accompanied by some flustered looks when Harry caught her staring in his direction. Before long, Ginny fed Harry a Sleeping Draught and he felt himself drift peacefully to sleep.
“Harry.”
He stirred as his eyes drifted open. “Morning,” he mumbled, smiling.
“Did you sleep well?” Ginny asked, perching herself on his bedside chair.
“Yeah,” Harry answered, propping himself up on his pillows. Ginny reached behind and helped him. “Thanks.”
These are your potions for this morning,” Ginny continued, indicating the tray she was levitating towards Harry.
“Ginny…”
“These should be taken before you eat,” Ginny handed Harry two vials, which he accepted reluctantly.
“Ginny?”
“These can be taken afterwards,” Ginny continued as though she didn’t hear Harry, placing three other vials on his bedside table.
“I don’t understand,” Harry interrupted.
“Should I put these someplace else,” Ginny gestured confusingly towards the vials. “Breakfast shouldn’t be too long now…”
“No,” Harry continued quietly, “us… What’s happening here?”
“Us?” Ginny asked, her face blank.
“Yes, us,” Harry said firmly. “At the wedding… I mean, I know we’re not together, but I thought…”
“Harry…”
“I mean, are we alright?”
“Yes,” Ginny responded, flustered, “yes, of course we are. I’m sorry, Harry.” Ginny stopped and locked her gaze on her hands. “It’s just, it’s hard to see you like this…and not know why…”
Harry stomach surged with guilt. Of course Ginny would be upset. Not upset with him, but angry that she couldn’t be there to help stop it from happening. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, staring into the bubbling vials Ginny had handed him.
“I understand, Harry,” Ginny continued, touching his shoulder lightly, “I really do. But, it’s difficult to be this near you…and not…” Ginny broke the contact.
“I know,” Harry admitted, feeling that same urge to wrap himself around her.
“You should take those,” she whispered, pointing to the vials tilting dangerously in his hands before she rose from her chair and slipped past his curtain.
“So, any news?” Harry asked as he reached for his morning pumpkin juice. Madam Pomfrey had finally allowed Ron and Hermione to visit Harry. He had been asleep for a full three days, wakening only long enough to take his next Sleeping Draught. The scars on his chest were nearly healed and Harry didn’t think he could stand being kept in the infirmary any longer. The only comfort was that every time he awoke, he could see Ginny…
Ron shifted uncomfortably in the chair he had just deposited himself into.
“The Death Eaters have been vicious lately, Harry,” Hermione started tentatively.
“Muggle parts of London have been attacked, Ireland, too,” Ron said.
“Diagon Alley was attacked last week.”
“Right down the street from Fred and George’s shop.”
“And Surrey was under attack as well,” Hermione continued, chancing a look in Harry’s direction.
“Surrey?” Harry looked back uncertainly. “Where in Surrey?”
“Magnolia Crescent,” Hermione replied, meeting Harry’s eyes. Ron stirred nervously in his armchair.
“But, that’s right near…” Harry tailed off. These attacks were far too close to places he was known to frequent for them to be coincidental. Magnolia Crescent was only blocks from Privet Drive.
“It gets worse, mate,” Ron continued. Harry felt his mouth go dry.
“Yesterday, Godric’s Hollow was attacked,” Hermione explained. “The street over from our home.”
“No one has been killed so far, just buildings destroyed,” Ron hastened to add. Harry’s stony silence was unnerving.
“Who were the attacking Death Eaters?” Harry asked quietly.
“Oh, well, no one has seen who exactly…” Hermione answered nervously, “though one Muggle witness described an angry looking man with a hooked nose and dank black hair…”
“Snape,” Harry muttered venomously.
“Probably,” Ron confirmed quietly.
Harry cursed loudly.
“S’almost like he wants you to come and fight him, isn’t it?” Ron said as more of a statement than a question. “Like he’s taunting you…”
Instead of responding, Harry attempted to get out of bed. Madam Pomfrey immediately came bustling over, pushing Harry back down. “No visitors unless you can stay in bed!” she said forcefully, wagging a finger in his direction.
“I don’t know what to think of it,” Hermione replied cautiously, dropping her voice to a whisper in the wake of Madam Pomfrey. “It doesn’t make sense…”
“Sure it does, Hermione!” Harry hissed. “They’ve done away with Dumbledore, now it’s my turn! I’m what they’ve wanted for years now! They figure nothing’s standing in their way now!”
“No, it’s just,” Hermione raced to explain, “why attack places close to where you’d be? Why not attack places where they knew you would be? Instead of attacking Magnolia Road, why not go straight for Privet Drive?”
Harry didn’t have an answer for this so he scowled.
“Maybe they thought the protections would be better at the actual locations,”
Ron suggested helpfully. “Maybe they felt if they attacked close to Harry’s location, he would come running.”
“Yeah!” Harry jumped in, “I bet that’s exactly what they thought! What Snape thought…” he muttered.
Hermione looked as though she wanted to argue but settled for huffing and disappearing behind a discarded newspaper instead. Harry was certain that she had more to offer, but his mind was too clouded with images of his former Potions Master to allow her to continue.
“What was he doing with something cursed so heavily is what I’d like to know.” The dim lights floating around Harry’s bed softly illuminated the three women standing nervously over him.
“What we’d all like to know, Poppy,” a voice Harry recognized as his former teacher, Professor McGonagall, replied.
“I hate not knowing what they’re doing,” Mrs. Weasley cut in sadly, reaching down to rearrange his pillow.
“We all do, Molly.”
“He’s a very lucky young man, that’s all,” Madam Pomfrey continued. “These wounds are the worse curse wounds I’ve ever seen. They should have been deeper, too, if you ask me.”
“Why do you say that, Poppy?”
“The curse that made these was powerful, so powerful that it stopped the beating of his heart.” Mrs. Weasley gasped. “Something interfered with the curse, something that Miss Granger can’t even explain…”
“What could have done that?” Mrs. Weasley asked in a whisper.
“A more powerful charm. A charm designed to specifically counteract the curse. But, for the life of me, I’m not sure what that charm is…”
“Harry, you awake, mate?” Ron had just thrown a pillow at Harry’s head as a crack of thunder rolled ominously outside their bedroom window. Harry had been discharged from the infirmary the day before, but, at Madam Pomfrey’s insistence, the trio remained at the manor so that Harry could be ‘under observation’ for a few days longer.
Harry grunted as a second pillow came flying at his head.
“Ron,” Harry sat up, running his fingers through his hair and reaching for his glasses, “did your Mum come to visit you in the infirmary?”
“Yeah, did a right bit of crying over you as well,” Ron replied, pulling a jumper over his head. “Why?”
“That’s what my dream was about,” Harry responded vaguely, noting internally how dark the morning seemed as a flash of lightening lit their room brightly.
Ron pulled a face. “You’re dreaming about my Mum coming to visit you in a hospital wing?”
Harry laughed. “No, I keep flashing to bits of actual conversations that happened while I was out. I can remember you and Hermione talking as well. Should I go into that?” Harry asked innocently enough, knowing he would embarrass Ron into submission.
Ron ears turned red as he mumbled incoherently in response. Harry suspected he must have hinted at being hungry because minutes later they were heading to the dining room.
The manor’s dining area was a large, airy room with cathedral ceilings and tall, narrow windows. Harry watched the storm that had been raging for a better part of the morning drip down the long windows. Every room he had seen so far had the appearance that nobility had once roamed through the halls; in a way, it reminded him of the ancient feel of Hogwarts. Harry could just see the tips of the house elves ears as they bustled in the kitchen, which was attached to the dining room via a mahogany-trimmed half wall. Pots and pans could be heard faintly clanging and an occasional squeal would be emitted from one of the house elves when a dish dropped unceremoniously unto the floor. The rectangular dinning room was equipped with three long tables, which were more than enough to fit both the students and the teachers. Ginny informed Harry that only thirty-two students had decided to come for training; only ten were eating breakfast at the moment.
“Harry!” Harry turned to see a familiar round face bound towards him.
“Hello, Neville!” Harry returned happily. “You’ve decided to come to school this year?”
“My Gran would’ve been furious if I refused,” Neville replied seriously. “Not that I would have. Much rather be here,” he continued taking the seat next to Ron and Harry and dropping his wand on the floor in the process. “Why’ve you’ve not come? Never thought I’d be here without you,” he asked as he leaned over to retrieve his unbroken wand.
“Er, no reason really,” Harry responded vaguely and was mercifully interrupted by Hermione’s entrance. He saw her wave jovially towards the staff table; Krum waved back. Ron looked up furtively, but managed to hide his scowl quickly enough.
“Morning, Neville. Harry, Ron.” Hermione said cheerfully as she moved to take a seat next to Ron.
“Hi, Hermione.”
“Is the library open this early?” Ron asked in dismay, spraying his mouthful of eggs as he caught sight of the giant book Hermione was slinging unto the table.
“Er, yes, it is,” she replied distractedly as she picked bits of egg off the cover of the book. “You are so disgusting!”
“That’s not what you said last- Ouch!” Ron said, bringing his foot up to the bench to rub where Hermione had just stomped. “That hurt, Hermione!”
“I was looking up magical means of communication,” Hermione began, completely ignoring Ron, “it’s something we should begin looking into.”
“Found anything interesting?” Harry asked, leaning forward a bit. In all honesty, he had thought about it as well. Shouting across the room to one another did seem to draw unnecessary attention.
“A few things that may work out,” she replied thoughtfully, thumbing through the text again, “I have to read a bit more.”
“Why not just use Patronuses?” Ron asked, gulping down the last of his sausage and pointing his empty fork towards McGonagall, who had a silvery Patronus hen approaching her, “like the Order does?”
“I’ve thought about it,” Hermione replied, glancing up to watch the message exchanged between the silvery hen and Professor McGonagall, “but I…I…” Hermione’s face went blank. “Harry, Ron, I think something’s wrong.”
One look at Professor McGonagall’s face confirmed Hermione’s theory. Her features taunt with worry, she swept through the dining room and towards the main entrance hall of the manor, only wasting one furtive glance in Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s direction before disappearing completely.
“Ron!” Ginny bolted through the entrance to the dining room minutes later with record speed, knocking over a third year carrying a tray full of pumpkin juice.
“Ginny, what’s-” Harry began but was cut off.
“The Burrow,” Ginny was gasping for air, “it’s…under…attack!”
“What!” Ron bellowed, standing from the table and upturning Hermione’s half empty plate.
“I…just…heard,” Ginny stopped and gulped for air, “McGonagalljusttoldMadamPomfrey….”
“Ginny, slow down,” Hermione said comfortingly.
“She didn’t see me in the corner…”
“Maybe we should-” Hermione started, but Harry, Ron, and Ginny were all making their way towards the entrance hall and towards a place past the Anti-Apparition wards, leaving behind a bewildered looking Neville. Hermione hurried to catch up.
“The Order’s supposed to be arriving for backup,” Ginny supplied, panting slightly.
“Ginny,” Harry turned as they reached the front door, “maybe you should…”
“You can’t keep me from going, Harry,” Ginny said fiercely, gripping Hermione’s forearm, “not for this.” Hermione looked pleadingly towards Harry, who knew that he couldn’t deny Ginny the right to defend her home. Seconds later the smell of sausage and eggs was replaced by the acrid smell of burning grass.
“Stupefy,” Harry muttered from his recently attained position in the Burrow’s old shed. A Death Eater, who had been using the corner of the shed for cover, fell instantaneously, bringing Mr. Weasley’s entire stock of Muggle plugs down with him. Harry recognized, with a pang in his chest, the fallen Death Eater as a man Dumbledore had called Amycus. He was on the tower that night. Hermione and Ginny worked quickly to secure him to the end of Mr. Weasley’s workbench.
From their vantage point in the shed, they could see nearly a dozen Death Eaters ahead, attacking the wobbly home through the pouring rain. They shot Reductor Curses at the walls and set fire to the ancient oak that grew innocently in the front yard. The smoke caused from the flaming tree further blackened the already darkened sky. Harry could see a barrage of defensive spells raining from the higher windows of the Burrow, no doubt thrown from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Most were hitting their mark, but were being deflected by Shield Charms that the Death Eaters were using. The deflected spells were scattering over the countryside; maiming bushes, the broom shed, and a few unfortunate garden gnomes.
“This is awful,” Hermione whispered, clinging unto Ron’s arm, a steady stream of rainwater was falling from a corner of the shed’s roof and unto her shoulder.
“Why are they doing this?” Ginny asked, her voice steady as her eyes lit with the glow of passing spells.
“Bloody gits,” Ron mumbled angrily, his gaze stony.
“No, I mean, why Reductor Curses? They’re not aiming curses at Mum and Dad, just the house…”
“Potter!” Harry turned suddenly to face his old Transfiguration teacher, the sound of her approaching footsteps masked by the thunderous downfall. “What are you all doing here?” Professor McGonagall looked furiously from face to face, rainwater dripping from the brim of her hat.
“This is our home, Professor,” Ginny answered quietly. “We have the right to defend it.” Harry noticed a tinge of defiance in her voice as she raised her chin to her teacher.
“The Order is spreading out around the perimeter,” Professor McGonagall continued after an appraising look over the four young adults standing in front of her. “The Shield Charms the Death Eaters are using aren’t protecting them from behind. Aim for the lower backs,” Professor McGonagall stopped suddenly as a jet of bright purple light was reflected just past her left ear. “Spread out. Ginny, Ron, behind the broom shed. Now!” she added as another jet of light came streaking past the larger shed.
Ron and Ginny each gave one last furtive glance towards Harry and Hermione before disappearing behind a shield of heavy rain and towards the broom shed.
“You two,” Professor McGonagall rounded on Harry and Hermione, “stay here. Begin the offensive when you see the Order attack.” She turned with an agility Harry had never seen before, shrank into the form of a tabby cat, and leapt towards the opposite bank of the large pond situated by the Weasley’s garden.
Harry positioned himself at the edge of the shed’s wall; Hermione was right by his side, having created a hole in the side of the wall for which to fire her spells. Harry was anxious to begin the fight; he hated to see the source of so much childhood happiness being torn apart as it was. The usually peaceful silence of a rainy morning at the Burrow was punctuated sharply by the hiss and crack of the surrounding attacks.
Hermione shivered beside him. A thrill of cold sifted through the airy shed.
The attack began suddenly from the bank of the rippling pond. Jets of all colors, contrasted against random bolts of lightening, shot out and raced towards the unsuspecting Death Eaters. Harry could see flashes of orange and green flying from the direction of the broom shed. He smiled proudly at the thought of the two siblings furious attempt to save their home. Harry and Hermione’s spells matched in intensity to any of the Order members. He could see the bodies of various Death Eaters fall under the vicious advances from the Order.
“They’re falling so easily,” Hermione murmured, her hair flying wildly as her wand moved with incensed intent. Harry noticed with a start that instead of exhilaration there was suspicion in her tone. “I don’t-” But Hermione’s statement was left without an ending.
Harry turned quickly as his friend’s form seized and fell limply to the ground. Directly behind him, a hooked nosed, sallow faced man stood, the ends of his dirty black hair dripping with rainwater, an infuriating smirk plastered across his face.
“How nice of you to join us, Potter,” Severus Snape began silkily; easily deflecting the Stunning Spell Harry had just thrown at him. “Stupefy.”
Before Harry’s enraged mind could retort, he felt his body go rigid and fall on the muddy ground next to Hermione’s. Ropes were springing out of Snape’s wand tip and wrapping themselves tightly around Harry and Hermione’s fallen bodies. Hermione’s head bobbed alarmingly on Harry’s frozen chest. He desperately wished she would wake.
“She will wake, Potter,” Snape sneered as he bent over the two fallen forms and withdrew an ink well from his pocket. “But, not here, not now,” he hissed, placing Hermione’s limp hand into Harry’s rigid one and touching both to the ink well he was now extending. “Portus,” he murmured and Harry felt that distinctly recognizable tug behind his navel before he lost consciousness. Harry’s mind drifted slowly, back to the peaceful awareness of nights before.
“At least yours wakes on occasion,” Ginny’s voice rang through the still night air, her flowery scent wafting over Harry’s seemingly unconscious form.
“He will, Ginny,” Hermione’s voice echoed softly from next to Ron’s bed.
“I know,” Ginny replied, sniffling slightly. “But, he sure is taking his time of it!”
Harry remembered commanding his eyes to open, but they refused. “I’m here, Ginny. I’m alright,” he thought, as he lay helpless on his bed in the manor’s infirmary.
“Ginny,” Hermione started curiously, talking over the dim sound of Ron snoring, “I was talking with Madam Pomfrey about the stone Harry wears around his neck…”
“What about it?”
“The other night at home, when Harry was being…attacked, the stone began to glow red. And, it was smoking when I finally reached him.”
Even unconsciously, Harry could sense Ginny’s hesitation.
“Madam Pomfrey said that whatever Harry was attacked with was designed to kill him…that it should have killed him…” Hermione continued, prompting the younger girl.
A small sob escaped Ginny as Hermione moved to comfort her.
“I recognize the stone as a phoenix bezoar, but even that wouldn’t have protected against an enchantment this powerful…” Hermione continued softly.
“It was the Trocair Charm…” Ginny supplied in a strangled voice.
Hermione let out a faint gasp. “Oh, Ginny! I had no idea!” Harry was confused, Ginny had explained that the Trocair Charm extends the intense feelings of the charm’s caster to the wearer of the object charmed, but that wouldn’t explain Hermione’s reaction…
“Didn’t you?” Ginny asked, chuckling softly.
“Well, I…I suppose I guessed…but…” Hermione stammered in response.
“What about you?” Ginny asked.
“Me?” Hermione returned, shifting uncomfortably on the bed and sounding flustered.
“Yes, you and my dear brother,” Ginny responded, clearly amused.
Hermione cleared her throat. “I guess I can say that if I performed the charm…it would…be effective.”
Ginny giggled softly in response…
“Enervate.”
Harry slowly opened his eyes, immediately becoming aware that his arms and legs were bound to an uncomfortable wooden chair; an old, damp cloth pressed firmly into his mouth. The silence of his surroundings sharply contrasted the barrage of rain and spells that had punctuated the Burrow. The smell of disuse plagued his nostrils in a dimly lit room that looked worn and abandoned. Hermione’s body sat bound in an old armchair directly across from him, her head lolling on her chest.
Snape crossed the small room armed with his wand and deposited himself unto a threadbare sofa. “Nice dreams, were they, Potter?” he laughed coldly in Harry’s direction before pointing his wand towards Hermione.
“No!” Harry screamed, muffled though his gag, dreading what spell Snape would use to attack.
“Enervate,” Snape murmured, training his wand on Hermione. Her head rose slowly, her eyes appearing dazed, blood trickling from just above her left eye. Harry wished they had a silent means of communication; he locked eyes with her attempting a form of reassurance. She smiled weakly in return.
“Touching,” Snape said quietly, his upper lip curling unpleasantly, as he turned to a rickety wooden table in the corner of the room. Harry attempted to take in his surroundings; the room was stagnant and confined. The walls were completely covered in leather bound books; though, he thought even Hermione would find this place depressing.
“Do you know what this is, Granger?” Snape strode towards Hermione, a crystal vile in hand. Hermione looked warily up at him.
“It looks like Veritaserum…” she replied uneasily. Snape grabbed Hermione’s mouth roughly and poured half the liquid down her throat. She sputtered and coughed agonizingly, the sound echoing off the enclosing walls.
“You looked like you needed a demonstration, Potter,” Snape said venomously in Harry’s direction.
“What could we ask Granger that she would feel compelled to lie about?” Snape mused, staring hatefully towards Harry. Harry stared back, hoping he was using Legilimency, hoping he could emanate the hatred he was feeling.
“Not schoolwork, not political theories,” Snape began, taunting them both, “we both know she is far too outspoken on those topics already.” Snape stared in Harry’s direction as he sat himself at the table and poured himself a drink from an open bottle of Firewhiskey. Hermione’s eyes had gone wide with fear. “I would ask where the three of you have been,” he paused to sip his drink, “but I know Granger is smart enough to conceal that with a Fidelius Charm.”
Harry tensed against the ropes that were magical binding him. The metallic taste of blood awoke his taste buds and mocked his struggles to remove the sodden piece of cloth that had been forced into his mouth. Snape laughed mercilessly at his attempts.
“So, Granger, how is Weasley?” Snape turned to Hermione and asked in a low hiss.
Hermione looked up in surprise as she was forced to truthfully respond, “He’s fine.” Harry too was surprised. What could Snape possibly want to know about Ron?
“Have you shagged yet?” he asked, disgust shadowing his face. Harry started involuntarily, not believing his ears.
“No,” Hermione replied through clenched teeth, her jaw muscle twitching uncontrollably.
“Have you wanted to?” Snape jeered, taking a long draught from his glass.
Harry diverted his eyes, not wanting to truly know the answer.
“Yes,” Hermione whispered stiffly, lowering her gaze to the floor, her voice infused with a combination of hatred and embarrassment. If there was one thing that could be said for Snape, it was that he knew them all very well. Harry would have preferred to be under the Cruciatus Curse than have his friend derided in such a way. Hermione was such a private person; he knew this was devastating her.
“Well, we now know this is Veritaserum. Don’t we, Granger?” Snape mocked as he summoned the rag from Harry’s mouth.
“Bastard,” Harry spat as the rag came free.
“Careful now, Potter,” Snape threatened, gesturing towards Hermione, “I could go farther, if you wish…”
Harry clamped his mouth shut, seething. Snape retrieved the small crystal vile that he had replaced on the table. With one gulp, he drank the rest of the Veritaserum.
“Well,” he snarled, “ask away…”
A/N: Hmmmmm, so what do we think? Snape: Good or Bad? Good or Bad? Good or Bad? It’s always the question, isn’t it… Thanks, as always, to my beta reader Asphyxiated, you would not be reading this without her! Please review, I’d love to hear what everyone thinks! ~ozma333