Disclaimer: The fine tapestry of plot and characters belongs to J.K. Rowling. I am merely pulling threads at will and weaving my own design in counterpoint to hers.
Chapter 59
The Longest Night
There was enough commotion to lure Hermione from her room as Ron was duly dispatched to Slughorn’s office with the rewritten notes, the metal box that had housed the locket, and Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. Harry was more than happy to submit to Hermione’s ministrations as she slowly took over command of the crisis.
Without giving a second thought to the emergency override, she strode purposefully into Harry’s bedchamber to see that he had changed into his pajamas and was propped up as comfortably as possible with some of her extra pillows. Harry had to admit that the waves of vertigo seemed a lot more bearable sitting up.
“You’re still feeling a bit hot to the touch,” she commented as she laid the back of her hand gently on Harry’s forehead. “Do you want me to get you another cool cloth?”
Harry forced his eyes to focus on her face and then shook his head. “It will only bring on the chills. I’m really not feeling that uncomfortable at the moment. Still feel like I’m dying of thirst, though.”
“A half glass of ginger beer, but no more,” she offered, returning quickly with the one liquid that did not make him nauseous at the moment. “What else did Snape suggest?”
Harry caught himself before he relayed the portion about putting his affairs in order; it would serve no purpose to alarm her unnecessarily. “Only that I should hurry,” he added and then regretted having said even that as he saw the worried look on her face deepen.
He watched her try to return her attention to the open book in her lap, but he could tell that she was having trouble concentrating. With a sigh of resignation, she arranged the text on the side table where any visitors could see that it was open to the chapter on poisons. It was a clever subterfuge that she had suggested, much to Harry’s relief. The three of them concurred that it would be best to keep Snape’s name out of it; it was the very least they owed the man for his assistance.
With a sound like a whole gaggle of geese descending through their fireplace, Ron and Slughorn stumbled into the common room in a heap of mismatched arms and legs.
“Sorry about that, Ronald,” Slughorn remarked as he brushed the last particles of Floo Powder from his silk dressing gown. “Only way to confuse the Hogwarts Network into allowing a student is to do a Side-Along. Between you being too tall and me being too round, it was a tight fit!”
“No harm done, Professor,” Ron replied politely. “But now that I’ve had the experience, next time I believe I’ll just walk.”
Slughorn patted him on the back with a jovial chuckle. “Now where’s the culprit?”
Alerted by the tumult, Hermione leapt up from the armchair she had squeezed next to Harry’s bed and flew into the common room.
“Right this way, Professor,” she urged graciously. “I can’t thank you enough for helping us out tonight.”
“You’re lucky it turned out the be a relatively simple antidote once we were able to isolate particles of the original formula. Good thing you hadn’t thrown out that old hankie.” Slughorn smiled reassuringly at Harry. “Not to mention your natural intuitiveness with potions that immediately directed me to the deadly nightshade. Always an impressive show, my boy!”
Before Harry could fully appreciate the disgusted look on Hermione’s face, a fresh wave of dizziness sent the room into a tailspin. When he tried to refocus his eyes on the anxious faces around his bed, the lights in the background exploded like meteors in his line of sight. Harry squeezed his eyes shut and collapsed back on the pillows with a pained grimace.
“Please try dimming the lights a bit, Hermione,” Slughorn suggested. “Visual irregularities often signal the next stage.”
“Does this mean that the window is closing, Professor?” Harry strained to get the words past his sandpapery tongue.
“Not just yet, my boy,” Slughorn assured him as he quickly measured the antidote into a tumbler, then motioned for Hermione to dilute it with some water. “But you’re definitely going to feel a lot worse before you feel better, I’m afraid. Too much time has passed to head off a number of the side effects. Wouldn’t surprise me if you experienced a few minor hallucinations before the night was out.”
At Hermione’s gasp, Slughorn reassured her, “It’s best you’re prepared so you don’t think he’s taken a turn for the worse. You’ll have to let it run its course. Do whatever it takes to keep him comfortable.”
Returning his gaze to Harry, Slughorn continued, “This type of antidote is very effective, but it is not subtle. The insides of your body will be waging war among themselves and they will make sure that your brain “ your consciousness “ is very much aware of it. Consequently, you may find it impossible to sleep with your pulse racing. None of these symptoms are cause for alarm. Try to surround yourself with as much calmness as you can. Read a book, doodle a bit, write an overdue thank you note to your maiden aunt. You’ll get through this, Harry.” Slughorn smiled magnanimously as he patted Harry on the shoulder one last time before ushering Ron and Hermione into the other room.
Harry nodded and offered his thanks, but deep down he knew that Snape’s stark words were the truest of all. There were no guarantees when it came to poisons and antidotes. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift as peacefully as possible.
It was not difficult to distinguish Slughorn’s booming whisper from the next room as he specified that they should take turns sitting with Harry, but to not leave him unattended until the worst was over. Believe him, they would know when that was.
“It would be ideal if he could be induced to sleep, even a light doze,” Slughorn advised. “Unfortunately, the one substance that could greatly ease his suffering tonight is no longer readily available. Once the hedonists adopted it for their own short-sighted amusement, it was only a matter of time. Such is the way with narcotics, I’m sad to say.”
“I’m sure you’ve done all you can, Professor,” Hermione responded in a more normal tone. “We appreciate you agreeing to wait until morning to inform the Headmistress.”
“There’s really not anything else she could do until then, anyway.” Slughorn shrugged. “No use disturbing her sleep. Ronald explained the sensitive nature of your special project, but I expect the Headmistress won’t be satisfied with such a sketchy explanation. Use your hours together wisely, if you know what I mean.”
“If he starts to feel like a snowman, we’ll call for Madam Pomfrey just like you said,” Ron reiterated. “Thanks again, Professor.”
“Don’t mention it; glad I could help,” Slughorn intoned before allowing the Floo to whisk him away.
Harry opened his heavy eyes to find that Hermione had returned silently to his side.
“Where did you come from?” He smiled gently, not wanting to frighten her away if she was an apparition.
“I’ve got the first shift while Ron dozes a bit,” she offered. “I’m too keyed up to sleep as it is.”
“Tell me about it,” Harry commiserated as felt his hands tingle painfully. “Would you kill me if I got up for a bit of parchment?”
“Absolutely,” she warned with flashing menace. “I’ll fetch it for you.”
To Harry’s surprise, she returned with a Muggle tablet, the sort with a stiff cardboard cover that makes it easy to write just about anywhere. She also handed him a felt-tipped pen. “Don’t let Filch know about my contraband,” she whispered with a wink. “I have some colored markers, too, if you want to do some backgrounds…”
“Thanks, Hermione, but this is ideal for my needs, truly,” Harry returned.
When he saw that she had redirected her attention to the book in her lap, Harry put the pen to paper. “Dearest Ginny,” he began to write as his unspoken words demanded to be set free.
Hermione started awake as she felt the heavy book start to slide from her unsteady lap. She caught it just before it hit the floor and looked up guiltily at Harry. He was staring fixedly off into the distance, his eyes glazed with unacknowledged fear.
Gingerly, Hermione placed her hand on his cheek to see that he was still a bit feverish. Slowly, he turned his head in her direction, but it was as if he were seeing a stranger.
“Harry, are you all right? Do you know where you are?”
“Yes, Hermione,” he assured her as he came to himself once more. “My mind has been wandering all over the place. People that I haven’t thought about in years keep visiting to offer their suggestions for my letter.”
“Harry, those are delusions,” she offered softly, doing her best to hide the concern that such a factual recitation stirred in her. She would do her best to humor him as Slughorn had suggested. “What have you been writing?”
“Just a few words for Ginny.” He shrugged noncommittally.
“Don’t you think it would be easier just to catch her at breakfast?”
“You mean, catch her with a net, like a butterfly?” Harry asked as he stared off into the distance again.
“If that’s what you’ve been writing, then it’s nothing more than disjointed gibberish!” Hermione declared.
“You’re welcome to read it, if you like. Let me know if it makes any sense to you; I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself in front of Ginny. You know how intolerant she is of amateurs.”
“All right, Harry,” she agreed as she took the folded sheets gently from his outstretched hand. “You don’t mind if I pour myself some cider, do you? I’ll pull another chair up to the doorway so the fruity scent doesn’t nauseate you all over again.”
“You’re a pal.” Harry smiled wanly. “I think that phase has passed already, but no sense encouraging it to make a reprise.”
Hermione could feel Harry’s eyes drilling into her as she rearranged another armchair. “I won’t be able to concentrate if I can feel your eyes on me,” she chided him affectionately.
“Sorry,” he replied, turning his head away and closing his eyes obediently. “I confess it took me a long time to string those thoughts together properly.”
Hermione nodded absently as she took a long swallow of cold cider. Dreading the task before her, she hesitantly unfolded the sheets and started to read. To her immediate surprise, it was nothing like what she had expected. Clearly, Harry had been motivated to pour his soul out to Ginny, his phrases heartfelt and eloquent. They were words that begged to be spoken aloud, shouted from the highest rooftop, not buried in the darkest corner of his heart because he feared that this, too, would be twisted to Voldemort’s own nefarious ends. How he could find the courage to speak of beauty in a world gone mad, to dare to dream of a future that was nothing more than spun sugar, she did not know. That the words had moved her unexpectedly was evident when she lifted her glistening eyes to find that he had been watching her after all.
“Harry, you should tell Ginny these things in person,” was all she could manage.
Feeling the overwhelming need to wrap him in a hug before she dissolved herself, Hermione found herself rebounded by the stinging hex in the doorway. Her second attempt was repelled even more strongly. Screwing up her face in determination, she cleared a path and took the doorway at a run. She broke through, but it felt as if she’d sheared her body with red-hot wires by the time she collapsed in a sobbing heap at the foot of Harry’s bed.
“Hermione, are you all right?” Harry asked as he staggered from his bed to help her up. “Can’t any of the rest of you see that she’s in pain? Thank you for pulling up a chair,” he addressed the empty air as he half pushed Hermione in the direction of the armchair where she had been sitting earlier.
She collapsed gratefully and tugged him as best she could until he managed to crawl back into the bed. Every nerve ending in her body was crying out at the injustice, but the only thing of importance was the delirium that she saw lurking in the dark recesses of Harry’s eyes.
With sudden conviction, she turned to him. “These visitors that have come to lend you their counsel --” She vaguely waved her hand in the direction of the closet. “-- is Remus among them?”
With a childlike earnestness, Harry smiled at her and shook his head. “As you can see for yourself, these are only those people I haven’t seen in a long while.”
“Good.” Hermione nodded. “I’m going to call him to join us, then. This party has gone on long enough without his company. Just tell me how you send that Patronus message that Tonks taught you.”
Thinking that Harry was going to resist her suggestion on the grounds that Lupin should be kept out of anything associated with the Horcruxes, she was floored when he eagerly went along with her plan. Feeling like she had just crashed head first through the looking glass, Hermione concluded that Harry was in a world where there were no cursed objects and no enemies lurking behind every lamppost.
Biting back her tears, she carefully composed the message that she would entrust to her silvery otter.
Hermione was just writing “Ginny Weasley” on the outside of the envelope when she heard sounds from the direction of the fireplace. She hastily propped it up on Harry’s desk and ran out into the common room.
“Oh, Remus,” she sobbed openly, throwing herself into his arms. “I didn’t know what to do anymore!” The soft cotton of Lupin’s shirt felt so comforting as she laid her head against his shoulder.
“Tell me what’s so urgent that called for a Patronus message in the middle of the night,” Lupin beseeched.
She barely got out the words “Harry” and “poison” before Lupin dashed into the bedchamber to see for himself.
“How long ago did Slughorn administer the antidote?” he demanded wildly.
“Maybe an hour, an hour and a half, not much more than that,” Hermione admitted helplessly from the other side of the doorway. “He warned us that things would get worse before they got better.”
“Some antidotes are like that,” Lupin replied as he felt for Harry’s pulse. He turned a fearful look in her direction. “Come feel this; it’s like horses galloping!”
“I can’t go in that room, not again!” Hermione felt her knees giving way at the memory. “It gets worse every time.”
“But surely the emergency override--” Lupin began, then changed tracks. “I’ll test it later. Here, let me just release the hex for the time being.”
Moving his wand in a complicated series of circles, Lupin enticed the space in the doorway to momentarily glow a soft blue. Almost immediately, it faded into nothingness.
Sensing Hermione’s reluctance, Lupin suggested, “Just put your arm through, if you need convincing. I won’t be offended.”
With a sigh of relief, Hermione eased her arm followed by the rest of her body through the doorway. She stood next to Lupin, staring down at Harry.
“Is he still hot to the touch?” she inquired tentatively. “Cold, clammy skin is supposed to be the warning sign.”
“Only if you’re thinking in terms of an inquest,” Lupin shot back. “How long has he been like this?”
“You mean, dozing?” Hermione asked. “Only the last fifteen minutes or so. Before that he was talking to people who weren’t there.”
“That was to be expected by the way his body is fighting the poison inside,” Lupin attested grimly. “Did Slughorn give you any instructions?”
“Only that he didn’t have access to the one medication that might provide Harry with any relief. A controlled substance of sorts, one has to navigate a mountain of red tape to obtain it.”
“Does it have a name?” Lupin encouraged her to remember.
“Something scientific that was meaningless to me.” Hermione shook her head as if to clear the cobwebs. “I should’ve written it down. I’m so sorry, Remus.”
“Please don’t fret, Hermione…”
“Wait, he said it had a nickname; something that sounds like that soda my cousin in America likes…. Lime Sprite, could that be it?”
Lupin’s eyes bored into hers. “Could it have been ‘the Lime Pixie’?”
She nodded eagerly. “Yes, it might have been. Why is that suddenly so important?”
“Because, my little doyenne of slang, I happen to have the very substance right here.” Lupin smiled wickedly as he extracted a small, stoppered bottle from his jeans pocket.
“Remus! That’s a narcotic--” Hermione was aghast.
“It is also, first and foremost, a medicinal substance that Poppy Pomfrey pulled a lot of strings to get for me. Only thing that counters some of the side effects of my potion. Dutifully carry it with me everywhere, although I’ve only had occasion to use it once.”
“Did it work?”
“Yes, but the exact dosage is critical. I don’t want to relax him into a stupor, either. Could you bring me about half a glass of water?”
Hermione returned almost immediately. Harry’s breathing was getting ragged.
Catching the import of her look, Lupin volunteered, “He’s either caught up in a hallucination that is causing him great anxiety or he’s struggling to return from unconsciousness. Either way, we shouldn’t delay.”
Lupin carefully allotted three drops from the tiny bottle into the glass tumbler that Hermione held in her hand. At first there was no reaction, but then the outside of the glass fogged over with a thin layer of ice crystals as the liquid within turned a luminescent neon green.
Wrapping his arm around Harry’s shoulders, Lupin propped him up in bed as Hermione did her best to coerce him to wake up. Finally, Harry’s eyes seemed to focus on her briefly as he mumbled, “So thirsty…” Carefully, she held the glass to his lips as Harry clasped his hand over hers to better direct it. With three or four grateful swallows, he downed the contents.
“Now we wait,” Lupin instructed as he gently laid Harry back among the pillows. In moments, Harry’s breathing was sounding less strained.
“Please tell me what happened with the emergency override,” Lupin requested. “Did it not kick in?”
Briefly, Hermione explained the events that had transpired and how much pain had assaulted her when she finally figured out how to outsmart the hex. “It was at that point that I decided that I couldn’t do this alone,” she concluded.
“I’m glad you sent for my assistance.” Lupin smiled. “Now stand over here and turn your back to me.”
Hermione complied without a second thought. Lupin muttered a brief incantation and ran his wand back and forth within an inch of her back muscles. The relief was instantaneous, spreading slowly to her fingertips and down her legs.
“Does that make up for the stinging hex?” he whispered.
“Yes,” Hermione returned blissfully without moving from her position.
“You know if I give you another dosage, we’ll have to scrape you off the floor with a spatula. And I was so hoping we wouldn’t have to involve the house-elves!”
Hermione giggled as she whipped around and kissed Lupin quickly on the cheek. “Thanks,” she breathed in his ear before she settled on the arm of the chair next to him.
“Is that the letter that stirred everything up?” Lupin nodded in the direction of Harry’s desk.
“Yes, I addressed the envelope so there would be no question about Harry’s intent.”
“Still, you wouldn’t want just anyone to pick it up,” Lupin remarked as he lazily opened the top desk drawer with a swift wand motion and allowed Hermione to levitate the letter inside before he commanded it to close once more.
“You’re not the least bit curious as to what it says?” Hermione asked conversationally.
“I know what it says -- at least in general terms. I addressed a letter much like it to Tonks last year before I went undercover for the Order. Besides, I wouldn’t ask you to betray Harry’s confidence… I’m more inclined to ask why he had you read it, though?”
“I think he was already feeling a bit delusional and wanted to make certain that his words were coherent,” Hermione supplied.
“Well, he should finally be leaving that behind him if I’m not mistaken,” Lupin announced softly. “Once his heart rate returns to normal, he should just drop off to sleep.”
Hermione was unable to suppress a large yawn. “Can I feel his pulse, too?”
“Try not to wake him, though,” Lupin cautioned as he made room for her.
“What a difference.” Hermione smiled with satisfaction. “I’m going to wake up Ron for his watch now,” she announced groggily.
“There’s no need. I’ll sit with Harry.”
“Thanks again, Remus,” Hermione offered before another yawn overtook her.
Harry Potter and the Hero's Lament by L A Moody
Chapter Notes: Despite the secrecy surrounding their activities, Hermione takes a decisive step by seeking out Lupin's assistance.