A/N: I do not own any character references by JK Rowling in the Harry Potter series or agree with her comments. This story is a product of my pure imagination. I do not profit from this and will not pay for any commissions for art about this story.
All my life, I looked for deliverance.
And all my nights, I pray for forgiveness.
All my love just for deliverance
And heaven knows you right.
Be the one, be the one, be the one to deliver it.
And heaven knows you right.
Be the one, be the one, be the one, my deliverance
~ Deliverance by the Script
~*~9th April 1998 ~*~
The darkness pulled at her, thick and heavy like water pulling her to the bottom of the lake.
Pain. Pain shot through her every time she shifted, but her body wasn't moving on its own. She was being carried. Arms wrapped around her, holding her close in her haze. She could feel the steady beat of a heart under her forehead.
Inhaling took effort, but the air in her lungs brought the scent of the person carrying her. Harry.
Through the smell of sweat, fear, blood, and smoke. She would know his scent anywhere, even masked.
Voices swam around her, muffled and distant.
"I'll watch over the elf. He was a brave elf that saved us all." Luna, Luna was here. Wherever here was.
Hermione's chest ached. Dobby.
"Harry, will she be alright?" Ron's voice broke through the fog.
She wanted to tell them that she was okay, she was there, but her lips wouldn't move. Her head lolled against Harry's chest, and as he moved faster, she was jostled. Every slightest movement sent pain radiating through her body.
"Fleur, Fleur, help us. She's been tortured," Harry gasped.
"Inside, bring her inside!" Fleur's voice, heavy with its accent, called out.
They had made it to Shell Cottage. They were safe.
"Harry, I am not a healer," Fleur told him.
Warmth hit her frozen skin, and her body ached as she was lowered onto something soft. A bed, Cool fingers brushed the hair away from her face as warmth covered her body with something soft. Blankets.
"She needs dittany. Do you have pain-relieving potions?" Harry asked.
"What spells was she subjected to?" Bill. Bill was here.
"Cruciatius, Bellatrix had a knife too," Harry stated.
A light touch picked up her arm, "This looks cursed, do you know what kind of knife?"
"It's the same one in Dobby," Harry said.
"Ron, come with me and show me," Bill said as she heard retreating steps.
"Hermione… you're safe now. You're safe," Harry said as his rough, calloused fingers wrapped around her own.
Despite not opening her eyes. Darkness threatened, but this time she succumbed to it. Because Harry was there and she was safe.
Hermione awoke to the sounds of waves crashing in the distance. Her body ached all over, deep and slow throbs beneath her skin. The smell of flowers and salt hung in the air as she inhaled. Sunlight was on her as she opened her eyes to see the back of a woman moving around the room. Fleur.
She was folding linens and placing them inside a chest at the foot of her bed. Her silver hair was pinned up loosely, and she wore an apron with a bottle of Skele-gro in its pocket.
Fleur glanced at her and saw that her eyes were open. "Oh, Hermione, you are awake," Fleur said. She set the folded sheet down and crossed over beside her bed. "How are you feeling?"
Hermione licked her lips. Her mouth felt like dry parchment. "How long have I been out?" she asked, her voice hoarse and barely audible.
"Not long," Fleur said as she sat beside her. "I thought you would sleep for hours more, with the pain potions at the very least."
Hermione tried to sit up, ignoring the screaming of the muscles in her back. Throwing aside her sheets, she looked at Fleur, "Where are they?" She asked her heart pounding, "Did they leave? Please tell me they didn't leave."
Fleur placed a cool hand on her arm, "Calm down. They are still here. The elf who brought you here died. They are outside burying him."
Dobby. Poor little Dobby, the free elf.
"No," Hermione breathed. Pain raced through her feet and legs, making her gasp as she tried to stand. Her knees buckled, and she would have been on the floor without Fleur catching her.
"Hermione, you shouldn't be walking," Fleur told her, "You were under the Cruciatus curse. Your muscles are still twitching."
Hermione nodded through clenched teeth. "I need to see them."
Fleur sighed and put her arm around Hermione, "Very well, lean on me."
Together, they made it through the cottage. The smell of baking bread made Hermione's mouth water as they entered the kitchen. The sun was pouring through the lace curtains that Bill was staring out of.
Bill was standing by the front window, in his traveling cloak, wand in his hand. He looked up as they entered. "Hermione, you should be in bed."
"Are Harry and Ron outside?" she asked.
Bill hesitated, then nodded. "Come with me," he said and let them to the door.
Fleur squeezed Hermione's side, and she tried not to hiss as her muscles protested as they stepped out into the light.
Hermione squinted as she looked out to see a dune next to the sea, and the boys were on top of it. Sand and dirt flying in odd intervals. As they walked closer to it, Harry stood, and Hermione realized he must have been inside a hole that he was digging. Ron was removing his shoes, and Dean was with him, taking the woolen hat off his head.
As she, Fleur, and Bill made it to the top of the hill, Hermione could see Dobby, still and unmoving, wrapped in Harry's jacket. Now wearing Ron's shoes and Dean's hat.
"We should close his eyes," Hermione told him,
Harry looked up at her, and their eyes met. Ron hurried to her side as she stumbled, and Fleur released her hold on Hermione.
Luna appeared wearing one of Fleur's coats and crouched down and placed her fingers tenderly upon each of the elf's eyelids, sliding them over his glassy stare. "There," she said softly. "Now he could be sleeping."
Hermione watched as Harry placed Dobby into the freshly dug grave, then climbed out. Looking down on his little body, Hermione swallowed hard. Despite belonging to someone else, he had risked it all to keep Harry safe in their second year and had always been there when they needed him.
"I think we ought to say something," piped up Luna. "I'll go first, shall I?" And as everybody looked at her, she addressed the dead elf at the bottom of the grave. "Thank you so much, Dobby, for rescuing me from that cellar. It's so unfair that you had to die, when you were so good and brave. I'll always remember what you did for us. I hope you're happy now."
She turned and looked expectantly at Ron, who cleared his throat and said in a thick voice, "Yeah . . . thanks, Dobby."
"Thanks," muttered Dean.
Harry swallowed, looking at Hermione. "Good-bye, Dobby," he said.
Hermione swallowed hard, "Dobby, the defender of the small, the meek. Dobby, who broke all traditions of his kind. Today we honour you."
Bill raised his wand, and the pile of earth beside the grave rose up into the air and fell neatly upon it, a small, reddish mound.
"D'you mind if I stay here a moment?" Harry asked the others.
One by one, they murmured words of comfort to Harry, gently patting his back as they all traipsed back toward the cottage, leaving Harry, Hermione, and Ron alone beside the elf.
Hermione swallowed and looked at Ron, "Go, I'll be fine. Harry will help me back if needed."
Ron nodded, then followed after everyone.
"Why did he do it?" Harry's voice broke. "Why did he care?"
Hermione swallowed hard. "Because you cared about him. You were probably the first person to care that he was hurting himself and stop him."
Harry looked around. He picked up a large white stone and laid it on the grave. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out two wands. Picking one of them, he pointed it at the rock. Deep cuts appeared upon the rock's surface.
When Harry stood up again, the stone read: HERE LIES DOBBY, A FREE ELF. He looked down at his handiwork for a few more seconds, then walked away, putting his arm around her waist. "Are you okay?"
"Sore," Hermione stated as he slowed his steps to ease her pace. "The spasms are the worst. It's as if I'm not in control of my body. Like right now, my insides are jumping, almost rolling. My headache is horrid."
"I'll make sure they give you more pain potions," Harry told her, supporting her more.
"She already has, between the curse and the knife," Hermione said, looking at her forearm. The word mudblood now marred her skin. Red, angry, and black at the edges, showing the marks of a curse. "It's just something that will have to heal slowly on its own."
Once they reached the cottage, Harry opened the door, and they found everyone sitting in the living room listening to Bill. Kicking off his muddy shoes, he helped her to the couch, and she slowly sat down, sinking into the cushions.
". . . lucky that Ginny's on holiday. If she'd been at Hogwarts, they could have taken her before we reached her. Now we know she's safe too. I've been getting them all out of the Burrow," he explained. "Moved them to Muriel's. The Death Eaters know Ron's with you now, they're bound to target the family — don't apologize," he added at the sight of Harry's expression. "It was always a matter of time, Dad's been saying so for months. We're the biggest blood-traitor family there is."
"How are they protected?" asked Harry.
"Fidelius Charm. Dad's Secret-Keeper. And we've done it on this cottage too; I'm Secret-Keeper here. None of us can go to work, but that's hardly the most important thing now. Once Ollivander and Griphook are well enough, we'll move them to Muriel's too. There isn't much room here, but she's got plenty. Griphook's legs are on the mend, Fleur's given him Skele-Gro; we could probably move them in an hour or —"
"No," Harry said, and Bill looked startled. "I need both of them here. I need to talk to them. It's important."
"I'm going to wash," Harry told Bill, looking down at his hands, still covered in mud and Dobby's blood. "Then I'll need to see them, straightaway."
Hermione sighed as Harry left the living room. Bill walked over to Fleur and rubbed her arms, whispering to her. Ron walked over to Luna and asked her about how she was feeling. Looking to the hall as she heard footsteps, she saw Harry come into the hallway and rub his head. She knew his scar was bothering him.
"I need to speak to Griphook and Ollivander," Harry said.
"No," said Fleur. "You will 'ave to wait, 'Arry. Zey are both ill, tired —"
"I'm sorry," he said softly, "but it can't wait. I need to talk to them now. Privately — and separately. It's urgent."
"Harry, what the hell's going on?" asked Bill. "You turn up here with a dead house-elf and a half-conscious goblin, Hermione looks as though she's been tortured, and Ron's just refused to tell me anything —"
"We can't tell you what we're doing," said Harry flatly. "You're in the Order, Bill, you know Dumbledore left us a mission. We're not supposed to talk about it to anyone else."
Finally, Bill said, "All right. Who do you want to talk to first?"
"Griphook," Harry said. "I'll speak to Griphook first."
"Up here, then," said Bill.
"I need you two as well!" Harry called. And Hermione knew he was talking to her. Pushing herself up, she met Ron in the hall where he had been standing in the shadows.
"How are you?" Harry asked Hermione. "You were amazing — coming up with that story when she was hurting you like that —"
Hermione gave a weak smile as Ron gave her a one-armed squeeze.
"What are we doing now, Harry?" Ron asked.
"You'll see. Come on."
Slowly, Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed Bill up the steep stairs onto a small landing. Three doors led off it.
"In here," said Bill, opening the door.
It too had a view of the sea, now flecked with gold in the remains of the sunrise. Harry moved to the window, turned his back on the spectacular view, and waited, his arms folded.
Hermione gently took the chair beside the dressing table; Ron sat on the arm. Bill reappeared, carrying the little goblin, whom he set down carefully upon the bed. Griphook grunted thanks, and Bill left, closing the door upon them all.
"I'm sorry to take you out of bed," said Harry. "How are your legs?"
"Painful," replied the goblin. "But mending."
In his hands, he was still clutching the sword of Gryffindor, and wore a strange look.
"You probably don't remember —" Harry began.
"— that I was the goblin who showed you to your vault, the first time you ever visited Gringotts?" said Griphook. "I remember, Harry Potter. Even amongst goblins, you are very famous."
There was silence as Harry and Griphook stared at each other.
"You buried the elf," Griphook said, breaking the silence. "I watched you from the window of the bedroom next door."
"Yes," said Harry.
Griphook looked at him out of the corners of his slanting black eyes. "You are an unusual wizard, Harry Potter."
"In what way?" asked Harry, rubbing his scar absently.
"You dug the grave," Griphook stated.
"So?" Harry asked, confused.
Griphook did not answer.
"Griphook, I need to ask —"
"You also rescued a goblin," Griphook stated, interrupting Harry.
"What?" Harry asked, confused.
"You brought me here. Saved me." Griphook said.
"Well, I take it you're not sorry?" said Harry a little impatiently.
"No, Harry Potter," said Griphook, and with one finger he twisted the thin black beard upon his chin, "but you are a very odd wizard."
"Right," said Harry. "Well, I need some help, Griphook, and you can give it to me."
The goblin continued to frown at Harry as though he had never seen anything like him.
"I need to break into a Gringotts vault," Harry stated, and Hermione looked at him, shocked.
"Harry —" said Hermione, but she was cut off by Griphook.
"Break into a Gringotts vault?" repeated the goblin, wincing a little as he shifted his position upon the bed. "It is impossible."
"No, it isn't," Ron contradicted him. "It's been done."
"Yeah," said Harry. "The same day I first met you, Griphook. My birthday, seven years ago."
"The vault in question was empty at the time," snapped the goblin. "Its protection was minimal."
"Well, the vault we need to get into isn't empty, and I'm guessing its protection will be pretty powerful," said Harry. "It belongs to the Lestranges."
Hermione looked at Ron, surprised, trying to figure out if he knew why Harry would want to break into Bellatrix's vault.
"You have no chance," said Griphook flatly. "No chance at all. If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours —"
"Thief, you have been warned, beware — yeah, I know, I remember," said Harry. "But I'm not trying to get myself any treasure, I'm not trying to take anything for personal gain. Can you believe that?"
"If there were a wizard of whom I would believe that they did not seek personal gain," said Griphook finally, "it would be you, Harry Potter. Goblins and elves are not used to the protection or the respect that you have shown this night. Not from wand-carriers."
"Wand-carriers," repeated Harry.
"The right to carry a wand," said the goblin quietly, "has long been contested between wizards and goblins."
"Well, goblins can do magic without wands," said Ron.
"That is immaterial! Wizards refuse to share the secrets of wandlore with other magical beings, they deny us the possibility of extending our powers!" Griphook stressed.
"Well, goblins won't share any of their magic either," said Ron. "You won't tell us how to make swords and armor the way you do. Goblins know how to work metal in a way wizards have never —"
Hermione groaned, "Ron."
"It doesn't matter," said Harry, noting Griphook's rising color. "This isn't about wizards versus goblins or any other sort of magical creature —"
Griphook gave a nasty laugh. "But it is, it is about precisely that! As the Dark Lord becomes ever more powerful, your race is set still more firmly above mine! Gringotts falls under Wizarding rule, house-elves are slaughtered, and who amongst the wand-carriers protests?"
"We do!" said Hermione. She had sat up straight, her eyes bright. "We protest! And I'm hunted quite as much as any goblin or elf, Griphook! I'm a Mudblood!"
"Don't call yourself —" Ron muttered.
"Why shouldn't I?" said Hermione. "Mudblood, and proud of it! I've got no higher position under this new order than you have, Griphook! It was me they chose to torture, back at the Malfoys'!" Pulling aside her dressing gown, she showed the mark on her neck from Bellatrix, and then pulled up her sleeve to reveal the 'mudblood' etched on her skin. "Did you know that it was Harry who set Dobby free?" she asked. "Did you know that we've wanted elves to be freed for years?"
Ron fidgeted uncomfortably on the arm of her chair.
"You can't want You-Know-Who defeated more than we do, Griphook!" Hermione stressed.
Griphook stared at her curiously.
"What do you seek within the Lestranges' vault?" he asked abruptly. "The sword that lies inside it is a fake. This is the real one." He looked from one to the other of them. "I think that you already know this. You asked me to lie for you back there."
"But the fake sword isn't the only thing in that vault, is it?" asked Harry. "Perhaps you've seen the other things in there?"
Hermione inhaled, remembering Bellatrix's comments from the Manor.
The goblin twisted his beard around his finger again. "It is against our code to speak of the secrets of Gringotts. We are the guardians of fabulous treasures. We have a duty to the objects placed in our care, which were, so often, wrought by our fingers." The goblin stroked the sword, and his black eyes roved from Harry to Hermione to Ron and then back again. "So young," he said finally, "to be fighting so many."
"Will you help us?" said Harry. "We haven't got a hope of breaking in without a goblin's help. You're our one chance."
"I shall . . . think about it," said Griphook maddeningly.
"But —" Ron started angrily; Hermione nudged him in the ribs.
"Thank you," said Harry.
The goblin bowed his head in acknowledgement, then flexed his short legs.
"I think," he said, settling himself ostentatiously upon Bill and Fleur's bed, "that the Skele-Gro has finished its work. I may be able to sleep at last. Forgive me. . . ."
"Yeah, of course," said Harry, but before leaving the room, he leaned forward and took the sword of Gryffindor from beside the goblin. Griphook did not protest, but Harry thought he saw resentment in the goblin's eyes as he closed the door upon him.
"Little git," whispered Ron. "He's enjoying keeping us hanging."
"Harry," whispered Hermione, pulling them both away from the door, into the middle of the still-dark landing and looking up into his gorgeous green eyes, "are you saying what I think you're saying? Are you saying there's a Horcrux in the Lestranges' vault?"
"Yes," said Harry. "Bellatrix was terrified when she thought we'd been in there, she was beside herself. Why? What did she think we'd seen, what else did she think we might have taken? Something she was petrified You-Know-Who would find out about."
"But I thought we were looking for places You-Know-Who's been, places he's done something important?" said Ron, looking baffled. "Was he ever inside the Lestranges' vault?"
"I don't know whether he was ever inside Gringotts," said Harry. "He never had gold there when he was younger, because nobody left him anything. He would have seen the bank from the outside, though, the first time he ever went to Diagon Alley. I think he would have envied anyone who had a key to a Gringotts vault. I think he'd have seen it as a real symbol of belonging to the Wizarding World. And don't forget, he trusted Bellatrix and her husband. They were his most devoted servants before he fell, and they went looking for him after he vanished. He said it the night he came back, I heard him." Harry rubbed his scar. "I don't think he'd have told Bellatrix it was a Horcrux, though. He never told Lucius Malfoy the truth about the diary. He probably told her it was a treasured possession and asked her to place it in her vault. The safest place in the world for anything you want to hide, Hagrid told me . . . except for Hogwarts."
Ron shook his head. "You really understand him."
"Bits of him," said Harry. "Bits . . . I just wish I'd understood Dumbledore as much. But we'll see. Come on — Ollivander now."
Hermione didn't realize that Ollivander was even here. In the haze of last night, she did not know he came with them or was even at Malfoy Manor. She and Ron followed him across the little landing and knocked upon the door opposite Bill and Fleur's.
A weak "Come in!" answered them. The wandmaker was lying on the twin bed farthest from the window. Hermione tried not to gasp seeing him. He was emaciated, the bones of his face sticking out sharply against the yellowish skin. His great silver eyes seemed vast in their sunken sockets. The hands that lay upon the blanket could have belonged to a skeleton.
Hermione sat on the other twin bed and Harry and Ron sat beside her.
"Mr. Ollivander, I'm sorry to disturb you," Harry said.
"My dear boy." Ollivander's voice was feeble. "You rescued us. I thought we would die in that place. I can never thank you . . . never thank you . . . enough."
"We were glad to do it." Harry groped in the pouch around his neck and took out the two halves of his broken wand. "Mr. Ollivander, I need some help."
"Anything. Anything," said the wandmaker weakly.
"Can you mend this? Is it possible?" Harry asked.
Ollivander held out a trembling hand, and Harry placed the two barely connected halves into his palm.
"Holly and phoenix feather," said Ollivander in a tremulous voice. "Eleven inches. Nice and supple."
"Yes," said Harry. "Can you — ?"
"No," whispered Ollivander. "I am sorry, very sorry, but a wand that has suffered this degree of damage cannot be repaired by any means that I know of."
He took the wand halves back and replaced them in the pouch around his neck. Ollivander stared at the place where the shattered wand had vanished, and did not look away until Harry had taken from his pocket the two wands.
"Can you identify these?" Harry asked.
The wandmaker took the first of the wands and held it close to his faded eyes, rolling it between his knobble-knuckled fingers, flexing it slightly. "Walnut and dragon heartstring," he said. "Twelve-and-three-quarter inches. Unyielding. This wand belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange."
"And this one?"
Ollivander performed the same examination. "Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This was the wand of Draco Malfoy."
"Was?" repeated Harry. "Isn't it still his?"
"Perhaps not. If you took it —" Ollivander stated, looking at Harry.
"— I did —"
"— then it may be yours. Of course, the manner of taking matters. Much also depends upon the wand itself. In general, however, where a wand has been won, its allegiance will change." Ollivander told him.
There was silence in the room, except for the distant rushing of the sea.
"You talk about wands like they've got feelings," said Harry, "like they can think for themselves."
"The wand chooses the wizard," said Ollivander. "That much has always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore."
"A person can still use a wand that hasn't chosen them, though?" asked Harry.
"Oh yes, if you are any wizard at all, you will be able to channel your magic through almost any instrument. The best results, however, must always come where there is the strongest affinity between wizard and wand. These connections are complex. An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experience, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand."
"I took this wand from Draco Malfoy by force," said Harry. "Can I use it safely?"
"I think so. Subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master."
"So I should use this one?" said Ron, pulling Wormtail's wand out of his pocket and handing it to Ollivander.
"Chestnut and dragon heartstring. Nine-and-a-quarter inches. Brittle. I was forced to make this shortly after my kidnapping, for Peter Pettigrew. Yes, if you won it, it is more likely to do your bidding, and do it well, than another wand."
"And this holds true for all wands, does it?" asked Harry.
"I think so," replied Ollivander. "You ask deep questions, Mr. Potter. Wandlore is a complex and mysterious branch of magic."
"So, it isn't necessary to kill the previous owner to take true possession of a wand?" asked Harry.
Ollivander swallowed. "Necessary? No, I should not say that it is necessary to kill."
"There are legends, though," said Harry, "Legends about a wand — or wands — that have passed from hand to hand by murder."
Ollivander turned pale. "Only one wand, I think," he whispered.
"And You-Know-Who is interested in it, isn't he?" asked Harry.
"I — how?" croaked Ollivander, and he looked appealingly at Ron and Hermione for help. "How do you know this?"
"He wanted you to tell him how to overcome the connection between our wands," said Harry.
Ollivander looked terrified. "He tortured me, you must understand that! The Cruciatus Curse, I — I had no choice but to tell him what I knew, what I guessed!"
"I understand," said Harry. "You told him about the twin cores? You said he just had to borrow another wizard's wand?"
Ollivander looked horrified. He nodded slowly.
"But it didn't work," Harry went on. "Mine still beat the borrowed wand. Do you know why that is?"
Ollivander shook his head as slowly as he had just nodded. "I had . . . never heard of such a thing. Your wand performed something unique that night. The connection of the twin cores is incredibly rare, yet why your wand should have snapped the borrowed wand, I do not know. . . ."
"We were talking about the other wand, the wand that changes hands by murder. When You-Know-Who realized my wand had done something strange, he came back and asked about that other wand, didn't he?"
"How do you know this?"
Harry did not answer.
"Yes, he asked," whispered Ollivander. "He wanted to know everything I could tell him about the wand variously known as the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, or the Elder Wand."
Harry glanced sideways at Hermione as she gasped. Fear coursed through her at the possibility that the stories were real.
"The Dark Lord," said Ollivander in hushed and frightened tones, "had always been happy with the wand I made him — yew and phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half inches — until he discovered the connection of the twin cores. Now he seeks another, more powerful wand, as the only way to conquer yours."
"But he'll know soon, if he doesn't already, that mine's broken beyond repair," said Harry quietly.
"No!" said Hermione, trying to stand.. "He can't know that, Harry, how could he — ?"
"Priori Incantatem," said Harry, looking at her. "We left your wand and the blackthorn wand at the Malfoys', Hermione. If they examine them properly, make them re-create the spells they've cast lately, they'll see that yours broke mine, they'll see that you tried and failed to mend it, and they'll realize that I've been using the blackthorn one ever since."
Hermione's heart raced, and her stomach jumped into her throat.
Ron gave Harry a look, and said, "Let's not worry about that now —"
But Mr. Ollivander intervened. "The Dark Lord no longer seeks the Elder Wand only for your destruction, Mr. Potter. He is determined to possess it because he believes it will make him truly invulnerable."
"And will it?" Harry asked.
"The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack," said Ollivander, "but the idea of the Dark Lord in possession of the Deathstick is, I must admit . . . formidable."
"You — you really think this wand exists, then, Mr. Ollivander?" asked Hermione.
"Oh yes," said Ollivander. "Yes, it is perfectly possible to trace the wand's course through history. There are gaps, of course, and long ones, where it vanishes from view, temporarily lost or hidden; but always it resurfaces. It has certain identifying characteristics that those who are learned in wandlore recognize. There are written accounts, some of them obscure, that I and other wandmakers have made it our business to study. They have the ring of authenticity."
"So you — you don't think it can be a fairy tale or a myth?" Hermione asked hopefully.
"No," said Ollivander. "Whether it needs to pass by murder, I do not know. Its history is bloody, but that may be simply due to the fact that it is such a desirable object, and arouses such passions in wizards. Immensely powerful, dangerous in the wrong hands, and an object of incredible fascination to all of us who study the power of wands."
Hermione's heart sank.
"Mr. Ollivander," said Harry, "you told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand, didn't you?"
Ollivander turned, if possible, even paler. He looked ghostly as he gulped. "But how — how do you — ?"
"Never mind how I know it," said Harry, closing his eyes momentarily "You told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the wand?"
"It was a rumor," whispered Ollivander. "A rumor, years and years ago, long before you were born! I believe Gregorovitch himself started it. You can see how good it would be for business: that he was studying and duplicating the qualities of the Elder Wand!"
"Yes, I can see that," said Harry. He stood up. "Mr. Ollivander, one last thing, and then we'll let you get some rest. What do you know about the Deathly Hallows?"
"The — the what?" asked the wandmaker, looking utterly bewildered.
"The Deathly Hallows."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. Is this still something to do with wands?" Ollivander asked, genuinely confused.
"Thank you," said Harry. "Thank you very much. We'll leave you to get some rest now."
Ollivander looked stricken. "He was torturing me!" he gasped. "The Cruciatus Curse . . . you have no idea. . . ."
"I do," said Harry. "I really do. Please get some rest. Thank you for telling me all of this."
He led Ron and Hermione down the staircase. Bill, Fleur, Luna, and Dean were sitting at the table in the kitchen, cups of tea in front of them. They all looked up as they appeared in the doorway, but he merely nodded to them and continued into the garden, Ron and Hermione behind him.
The reddish mound of earth that covered Dobby lay ahead, and Harry walked back to it.
"Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand a long time ago," he said. "I saw You-Know-Who trying to find him. When he tracked him down, he found that Gregorovitch didn't have it anymore: It was stolen from him by Grindelwald. How Grindelwald found out that Gregorovitch had it, I don't know — but if Gregorovitch was stupid enough to spread the rumor, it can't have been that difficult. And Grindelwald used the Elder Wand to become powerful. And at the height of his power, when Dumbledore knew he was the only one who could stop him, he dueled Grindelwald and beat him, and he took the Elder Wand."
"Dumbledore had the Elder Wand?" said Ron. "But then — where is it now?"
"At Hogwarts," said Harry.
"But then, let's go!" said Ron urgently. "Harry, let's go and get it before he does!"
"It's too late for that," said Harry. He clutched his head. "He knows where it is. He's there now."
"Harry!" Ron said furiously. "How long have you known this — why have we been wasting time? Why did you talk to Griphook first? We could have gone — we could still go —"
"No," said Harry, and he sank to his knees in the grass. "Hermione's right. Dumbledore didn't want me to have it. He didn't want me to take it. He wanted me to get the Horcruxes."
"The unbeatable wand, Harry!" moaned Ron.
"I'm not supposed to . . . I'm supposed to get the Horcruxes. . . ." Harry told them, as his eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed.
"Bloody Hell," Ron said as Hermione collapsed to her sore knees and cradled Harry's head, "What happened?"
"He's been fighting visions since he buried Dobby. I could see it written all over his face," Hermione told him, brushing Harry's hair from his face. "There is nothing we can do right now. Help me get him back in the house."
~*~ 11th April 1998 ~*~
Hermione jerked upright in bed, a scream escaping her throat, the linens tangled around her legs, and her nightshirt damp with sweat. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. The light of the moon covered her bed, and she could see that she was at Shell Cottage, and she was safe. No marble floors around her.
Closing her eyes, she listened to the sea outside and the wind.
Collapsing back onto the mattress with a groan, her abdomen twitched. Spasms that had been plaguing her body since they escaped, rhythmic and annoying aftershocks of the Cruciatus Curse.
Until it calmed down, she would not get back to sleep tonight.
Throwing off the covers, her feet touched the cool floor. She put one of Harry's old jumpers over her nightshirt and padded out of the room that she was using.
Downstairs, the sound of the sea grew stronger, and as she rounded the corner, she stopped short.
Harry was there, seated at the table, shoulders hunched, with both his hands curled around a mug. His mind was miles away.
"Hey," Hermione said quietly.
Harry glanced up, and the shadows beneath his eyes were dark under his frames. "Hey," he replied, "I was just heading back to bed. Tea should still be hot."
He stood, too quickly, leaving his cup behind.
"Harry," Hermione reached out and caught his hand. His skin was warm, and his fingers were tense. "Have I done something wrong?"
He looked at her, and their eyes met for the first time in a long time. He looked tired, worn. "No," He said. "No, Hermione, you haven't." Giving her hand a slight squeeze, he slid his hand out of her grasp and disappeared up the stairs.
She watched the staircase after he had gone. Ron shuffled out of the living room where he and Harry slept a few seconds later, rubbing his face as he yawned. "What's going on with him?"
Hermione sighed and lowered herself into Harry's chair. His tea was lukewarm now, but she didn't drink it. "Not a clue."
Ron sat across from her. "You two haven't seemed to talk since we got here," he said carefully.
Hermione shrugged.
Ron tried to carry on a conversation about her theories and his nightmares. She gave him clipped, short answers. Her mind was upstairs.
Finally, she rose from the chair, "I think I'll go to bed."
"Right," Ron said, "Sleep well."
Climbing the stairs, she reached the landing and hesitated outside the bathroom. Her hand lifted to the doorknob, but she didn't turn it. Closing her eyes, she realized she was losing him. They were splintering. All of them.
With a tired sigh, she turned away and climbed to retreat into the silence of her room.
~*~ 12th April 1998 ~*~
The salty sea breeze slapped Hermione in the face, and she tugged at her cardigan as she stepped out of Shell Cottage. The door creaked as she shut it behind her. The sun was starting to set, and the sky was streaked with colors. Waves slapped against the rocks, and the chill in the air on her cheeks, as she scanned the cliffs. Seeing a silhouette against the horizon, it was unmistakable who it was.
Harry stood near the edge where the earth met the sea. His hands were in his pockets, the same position that he had held for the last few days. Silent and distant from them all. She had given him space. But tonight, it was enough.
Hermione crossed the patchy grass. When she reached him, she didn't say anything at first. She sat on the stone beside him, pulling her cardigan tighter to her body.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. The wind between them was whipping her curls and his unruly hair around.
Finally, she looked up at him. "What are you thinking about?"
Harry didn't answer.
"Is it the wand?" Hermione asked.
His jaw tightened, the muscles tight under his tightened skin. She knew she had hit it on the head.
"You saw it, didn't you?" She asked gently. "You saw him take it?"
His eyes glanced toward her, then back at the horizon. That flicker was enough. Hermione looked at her hands, then back at him. "Harry, you realize right… You could never have done that, Harry, you couldn't have brokeninto Dumbledore's grave."
This time, his eyes turned toward her. Green and raw.
"I mean it," she whispered. "Whatever you are afraid of… you're not him. You never could be."
Harry looked away from her. "Sometimes, I wonder if I'm fooling myself. Will I become him?"
Hermione reached for his hand, "No, because even at your worst, you think of others. You saved all of us that day. You never gave up. That's what he would never understand. He'd save himself and forget all of us."
Harry closed his eyes, and Hermione squeezed his hand. "I know you're tired. We all are. But don't let what he does define you."
When he opened his eyes again, they were glossy in the setting sunlight. "Thanks, I… I needed that."
Harry watched her pull her hair back. "You are looking better."
Hermione smiled at him, "Eating solid meals helps." She told him as she stood, and her sides twinged. Rubbing them, Harry looked at her concerned, and she rolled her eyes. "It's just stress and nerve damage."
In the distance, they heard a rumble, and Harry glanced in the distance, "Looks like a storm is coming."
Looking over their shoulders, as they heard Ron yelling for them. Harry took her hand and helped her off the cliff and to the wall separating the cottage garden from the cliff.
"It's been bothering me," Ron said glancing over his shoulder, "But is he dead?"
Hermione growled with annoyance. "Yes, he is, Ron, please don't start that again!"
"Look at the facts, Hermione," said Ron, speaking across Harry, who continued to gaze at the horizon. "The silver doe. The sword. The eye Harry saw in the mirror —"
Hermione glanced at Harry, "Harry admits he could have imagined the eye! Don't you, Harry?"
"I could have," said Harry without looking at her.
"But you don't think you did, do you?" asked Ron.
"No, I don't," said Harry.
"There you go!" said Ron quickly, "If it wasn't Dumbledore, explain how Dobby knew we were in the cellar, Hermione?"
"I can't — but can you explain how Dumbledore sent him to us if he's lying in a tomb at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She frowned as her breasts were tender, just another area of her body reacting to the curse.
"I dunno, it could've been his ghost!" Ron stated.
Harry rolled his eyes that time. "Dumbledore wouldn't come back as a ghost," said Harry. "He would have gone on."
"What d'you mean, 'gone on'?" asked Ron, but before Harry could say any more, a voice behind them said, "'Arry?"
Fleur had come out of the cottage, her long silver hair flying in the breeze. "'Arry, Grip'ook would like to speak to you. 'E eez in ze smallest bedroom, 'e says 'e does not want to be over'eard."
She looked irritable as she walked back around the house.
Griphook was waiting for them, as Fleur had said, in the tiniest of the cottage's three bedrooms, in which Hermione and Luna slept by night. He had drawn the red cotton curtains against the bright, cloudy sky, which gave the room a fiery glow at odds with the rest of the airy, light cottage.
"I have reached my decision, Harry Potter," said the goblin, who was sitting cross-legged in a low chair, drumming its arms with his spindly fingers. "Though the goblins of Gringotts will consider it base treachery, I have decided to help you —"
"That's great!" said Harry. "Griphook, thank you, we're really —"
"— in return," said the goblin firmly, "for payment."
Harry hesitated. "How much do you want? I've got gold."
"Not gold," said Griphook. "I have gold." His black eyes glittered; there were no whites to his eyes. "I want the sword. The sword of Godric Gryffindor."
Hermione looked at Ron, feeling slightly panicked.
"You can't have that," he said. "I'm sorry."
"Then," said the goblin softly, "we have a problem."
"We can give you something else," said Ron eagerly. "I'll bet the Lestranges have got loads of stuff, you can take your pick once we get into the vault."
Griphook flushed angrily. "I am not a thief, boy! I am not trying to procure treasures to which I have no right!"
"The sword's ours —" Ron stated.
"It is not," said the goblin.
"We're Gryffindors, and it was Godric Gryffindor's —" Ron commented.
"And before it was Gryffindor's, whose was it?" demanded the goblin, sitting up straight.
"No one's," said Ron. "It was made for him, wasn't it?"
"No!" cried the goblin, bristling with anger as he pointed a long finger at Ron. "Wizarding arrogance again! That sword was Ragnuk the First's, taken from him by Godric Gryffindor! It is a lost treasure, a masterpiece of goblinwork! It belongs with the goblins! The sword is the price of my hire, take it or leave it!" Griphook glared at them.
Harry glanced at the other two, then said, "We need to discuss this, Griphook, if that's all right. Could you give us a few minutes?"
The goblin nodded, looking sour.
Together they walked downstairs to the empty sitting room, and Harry walked to the fireplace.
Ron spoke up, "He's having a laugh. We can't let him have that sword."
"It is true?" Harry asked Hermione. "Was the sword stolen by Gryffindor?"
Hermione sighed, "I don't know," she said hopelessly. "Wizarding history often skates over what the wizards have done to other magical races, but there's no account that I know of that says Gryffindor stole the sword."
"It'll be one of those goblin stories," said Ron, "about how the wizards are always trying to get one over on them. I suppose we should think ourselves lucky he hasn't asked for one of our wands."
"Goblins have got good reason to dislike wizards, Ron," Hermione defended. "They've been treated brutally in the past."
"Goblins aren't exactly fluffy little bunnies, though, are they?" said Ron. "They've killed plenty of us. They've fought dirty, too."
"But arguing with Griphook about whose race is most underhanded and violent isn't going to make him more likely to help us, is it?" Hermione asked.
Hermione watched as Harry looked out of the window at Dobby's grave. Luna was arranging sea lavender in a jam jar beside the headstone.
"Okay," said Ron, and Harry turned back to face him, "how's this? We tell Griphook we need the sword until we get inside the vault, and then he can have it. There's a fake in there, isn't there? We switch them and give him the fake."
"Ron, he'd know the difference better than we would!" said Hermione. "He's the only one who realized there had been a swap!"
"Yeah, but we could scarper before he realizes —" He quailed beneath the look Hermione was giving him.
"That," she said quietly, "is despicable. Ask for his help, then double-cross him? And you wonder why goblins don't like wizards, Ron?"
Ron's ears had turned red. "All right, all right! It was the only thing I could think of! What's your solution, then?"
"We need to offer him something else, something just as valuable," Hermione suggested.
"Brilliant. I'll go and get one of our other ancient goblin-made swords and you can gift wrap it." Ron said sarcastically.
. "Maybe he's lying," Harry said, opening his eyes again. "Griphook. Maybe Gryffindor didn't take the sword. How do we know the goblin version of history's right?"
"Does it make a difference?" asked Hermione.
"Changes how I feel about it," said Harry. He took a deep breath. "We'll tell him he can have the sword after he's helped us get into that vault — but we'll be careful to avoid telling him exactly when he can have it."
Hermione looked at him, horrified, "Harry, we can't —"
"He can have it," Harry went on, "after we've used it on all of the Horcruxes. I'll make sure he gets it then. I'll keep my word."
"But that could be years!" said Hermione.
"I know that, but he needn't. I won't be lying . . . really." Harry met her eyes.
"I don't like it," said Hermione.
"Nor do I, much," Harry admitted.
"Well, I think it's genius," said Ron, standing up again. "Let's go and tell him."
Ron walked out of the room, and Hermione grabbed Harry's hand.
"Harry, I don't feel comfortable with this," Hermione told him.
Harry's eyes met hers. "I don't either, but I don't think we have a choice, Hermione."
Together, back in the smallest bedroom, Harry made the offer, careful to phrase it so as not to give any definite time for the handover of the sword.
Hermione frowned at the floor while he was speaking.
"I have your word, Harry Potter, that you will give me the sword of Gryffindor if I help you?"
Hermione swallowed hard.
"Yes," said Harry.
"Then shake," said the goblin, holding out his hand.
Harry took it and shook.
Then Griphook clapped his hands together, and said, "So. We begin!"
"I have visited the Lestranges' vault only once," Griphook told them, "on the occasion I was told to place inside it the false sword. It is one of the most ancient chambers. The oldest Wizarding families store their treasures at the deepest level, where the vaults are largest and best protected. . . ."
As they started going over a plan, the anxiousness in Hermione grew.
~*~ 15th April 1998 ~*~
Hermione's eyes snapped open to the ceiling above her. Fractured shadows filled the room as her nightdress clung to her damp skin again as she struggled to quiet her breath.
She turned her head and saw Luna, curled up peacefully in her sleep. Hermione didn't want to wake her. Throwing her covers off her body, she slipped out of bed. Padding down the stairs, she peeked into the sitting room. Ron was snoring on the sofa, Dean was in the recliner, and Harry was missing. His blanket was halfway on the floor.
She passed the window and saw him. Sitting outside alone, staring up at the sky. The moonlight caught his face, showing his exhaustion.
Hermione pulled on her shoes, grabbed her cardigan, and slipped outside. The cold hit her as she closed the door softly behind her.
Harry didn't move as she sat down beside him.
"Why are you brooding?" she asked softly.
Harry didn't answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and hoarse. "This is all my fault. You got hurt, and it's all my fault. You should hate me."
Hermione blinked, her heart clenching in her chest. "Seriously? No. It was Bellatrix. She did this, not you. You didn't hurt me, Harry. And I'm… I'm starting to feel better already."
He finally looked at her, "I'm tired of fighting, Hermione. I'm tired of running. I'm watching everyone I care about get hurt. Can we go back to the Forest of Dean… you and me… and hide away for the rest of our lives?"
The ache in his voice broke her heart. Reaching out, she took his hand gently in hers. It was cold, and she squeezed it.
"Oh, Harry," she murmured, "I wish we could."
He leaned forward, and their foreheads met. Hermione felt his breath mingling with hers. The world around them faded until it was only the two of them. Then his lips brushed hers. Barely a whisper of what they shared. Hermione craved more.
But the moment was shattered in an instant.
Harry flinched, moving back as if he were burned, his eyes wide. "I… I can't do this," he stammered, "I can't."
Before Hermione could say anything, he stood up and fled back into the cottage, the door shutting sharply behind him.
Hermione sat alone on the step. The cold was biting deeper now. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she rested her chin on them.
~*~ 16th April 1998 ~*~
Hermione was in the dining room, setting up dinner as Harry helped Fleur in the kitchen.
"I'm sorry," She heard Harry tell Fleur, "I never meant you to have to deal with all of this."
Hermione heard knives chopping, then Fleur replied, "'Arry, you saved my sister's life, I do not forget. Anyway," Fleur went on, "Mr. Ollivander leaves for Muriel's zis evening. Zat will make zings easier. Ze goblin can move downstairs, and you, Ron, and Dean can take zat room."
"We don't mind sleeping in the living room," said Harry, "Don't worry about us. We'll be off your hands soon, too, Ron, Hermione, and I. We won't need to be here much longer."
"But what do you mean?" she said, "Of course you must not leave, you are safe 'ere!"
Hermione heard the back door open at that moment.
". . . and tiny little ears," Luna was saying, "a bit like a hippo's, Daddy says, only purple and hairy. And if you want to call them, you have to hum; they prefer a waltz, nothing too fast. . . ."
Ron looked up as they walked into the dining room.
". . . and if you ever come to our house I'll be able to show you the horn, Daddy wrote to me about it but I haven't seen it yet, because the Death Eaters took me from the Hogwarts Express and I never got home for Christmas," Luna was saying, as she and Dean relaid the fire.
"Luna, we told you," Hermione called over to her. "That horn exploded. It came from an Erumpent, not a Crumple-Horned Snorkack —"
"No, it was definitely a Snorkack horn," said Luna serenely. "Daddy told me. It will probably have re-formed by now, they mend themselves, you know."
Hermione shook her head and continued laying down forks as Bill appeared, leading Mr. Ollivander down the stairs. The wandmaker still looked exceptionally frail, and he clung to Bill's arm as the latter supported him, carrying a large suitcase.
"I'm going to miss you, Mr. Ollivander," said Luna, approaching the old man.
"And I you, my dear," said Ollivander, patting her on the shoulder. "You were an inexpressible comfort to me in that terrible place."
"So, au revoir, Mr. Ollivander," said Fleur, kissing him on both cheeks. "And I wonder whezzer you could oblige me by delivering a package to Bill's Auntie Muriel? I never returned 'er tiara."
"It will be an honor," said Ollivander with a little bow, "the very least I can do in return for your generous hospitality."
"Moonstones and diamonds," said Griphook, "Made by goblins, I think?"
"And paid for by wizards," said Bill quietly,
A strong wind gusted against the cottage windows as Bill and Ollivander set off into the night. The rest of them squeezed in around the table; elbow to elbow and with barely enough room to move, they started to eat. The fire crackled and popped in the grate beside them.
"Everything's fine," Bill told Fleur, when he returned. "Ollivander settled in, Mum and Dad say hello. Ginny sends you all her love. Fred and George are driving Muriel up the wall, they're still operating an Owl-Order business out of her back room. It cheered her up to have her tiara back, though. She said she thought we'd stolen it."
"Ah, she eez charmante, your aunt," said Fleur crossly, waving her wand and causing the dirty plates to rise and form a stack in midair. She caught them and marched out of the room.
"Daddy's made a tiara," piped up Luna. "Well, more of a crown, really."
"Yes, he's trying to re-create the lost diadem of Ravenclaw. He thinks he's identified most of the main elements now. Adding the billywig wings really made a difference —"
There was a bang on the front door. Everyone's head turned toward it. Fleur came running out of the kitchen, looking frightened; Bill jumped to his feet, his wand pointing at the door; Harry, Ron, and Hermione did the same. Silently Griphook slipped beneath the table, out of sight.
"Who is it?" Bill called.
"It is I, Remus John Lupin!" called a voice over the howling wind. "I am a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and you, the Secret-Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me come in an emergency!"
"Lupin," muttered Bill, and he ran to the door and wrenched it open.
Lupin fell over the threshold. He was white-faced, wrapped in a traveling cloak, his graying hair windswept. He straightened up, looked around the room, making sure of who was there, then cried aloud, "It's a boy! We've named him Ted, after Dora's father!"
Hermione shrieked. "Wha — ? Tonks — Tonks has had the baby?"
"Yes, yes, she's had the baby!" shouted Lupin.
All around the table came cries of delight, sighs of relief: Hermione and Fleur both squealed,
"Congratulations!" and Ron said, "Blimey, a baby!"
"Yes — yes — a boy," said Lupin again. He strode around the table and hugged Harry. "You'll be godfather?" he said as he released Harry.
"M-me?" stammered Harry.
"You, yes, of course — Dora quite agrees, no one better —" Lupin told him.
"I — yeah — blimey —" Harry said in shock.
"I can't stay long, I must get back," said Lupin, beaming, "Thank you, thank you, Bill."
Bill had soon filled all of their goblets, and they stood and raised them high in a toast.
"To Teddy Remus Lupin," said Lupin, "a great wizard in the making!"
"'Oo does 'e look like?" Fleur inquired.
"I think he looks like Dora, but she thinks he is like me. Not much hair. It looked black when he was born, but I swear it's turned ginger in the hour since. Probably be blond by the time I get back. Andromeda says Tonks's hair started changing color the day that she was born." He drained his goblet. "Oh, go on then, just one more," he added, beaming, as Bill made to fill it again.
"No . . . no . . . I really must get back," said Lupin at last, declining yet another goblet of wine.
He got to his feet and pulled his traveling cloak back around himself. "Good-bye, good-bye — I'll try and bring some pictures in a few days' time — they'll all be so glad to know that I've seen you —" He fastened his cloak and made his farewells, hugging the women and grasping hands with the men, then, still beaming, returned into the wild night.
"Godfather, Harry!" said Bill as they walked into the kitchen together, helping clear the table. "A real honor! Congratulations!"
Hermione glanced up as Harry came back out of the kitchen with a frowning Bill behind him. "Everything okay?"
Harry gave her a fake smile, "Of course, just peachy."
~*~ 22nd April 1998 ~*~
They had been practicing spells all morning in her bedroom. Harry flicked his wand, and he slowly disappeared from view again, then reappeared like a ghost.
Hermione stood near the fireplace, arms crossed as she watched their technique, chewing on her lower lip. She rubbed her lower abdomen, feeling the swirl of pressure. Bubbles and gas that had plagued her since the manor grew more frequent lately, after the weeks of muscle spasms and tremors from the Cruciatus curse, she was grateful it wasn't painful.
"You're getting faster at that," she noted as Harry reappeared.
He nodded as Ron tried again, as she winced at the pressure in her belly. Fleur's cooking had been too good in the last few weeks, making her feel bloated. She was healing, just slowly.
Parchment was scattered on the walls that Bill had pinned after he drew them. The layout of Gringotts, to the best of his abilities, was what she was studying.
A yawn broke through her concentration. Her jaw cracked under pressure. She needed to sleep better.
Bill's voice echoed from downstairs, "Harry? Can I grab you for a second?"
Harry looked at her, and she waved him away.
Ron turned to her as Harry left the room, "You okay? You seem tired lately."
Hermione didn't look away from Bill's crude drawings. "I'm still healing, Ron," she said as she sat on the edge of her bed.
"Yeah, but… I dunno, you're just always tired. You never used to nap this much." Ron commented.
She looked at him, "Talk to me after you've been held under the Cruciatus Curse multiple times, had your throat held by a cursed knife, had your magic rip through you trying to protect you from inside out, then have that same knife carved into your arm. Then tell me how many naps you need." Another yawn overtook her. Lying down, she rolled onto her side, facing away from him. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to take one. Stay, leave… I don't care."
Ron didn't move. She heard no footsteps until the door creaked open again.
"Let's go downstairs," Ron muttered.
"Why?" Harry's voice asked quietly.
"She wants to nap," Ron said as she heard the door gently shut.
Alone now, Hermione pressed her face into her pillow. Tears were sliding down her nose onto her pillow. She was so tired. Tired of feeling like her body wasn't her own. Tired of pain that came from nowhere, exhaustion that never faded. Every time she moved, something felt off. She didn't feel like herself.
The outside world demanded from her. Plans, spells, answers, and all she wanted were things to go back to normal. To get her strength back.
Instead, she lay in the silence, willing away her tears. Rubbing her belly as spasms started again. She was ready for everything to go back to normal.
Preview of Chapter 11- Gifts and Curses
Hermione nodded into his back, watching the reflection of the dragon growing closer in the water.
"NOW!" Harry yelled.
Hermione's frozen hands struggled to let go of Harry as he pushed off the dragon. She held onto him as long as possible as the water grew closer and let go when she could hold on no longer. Taking a gasp of air, she hit the water hard. Her many layers were like weights pulling her down into the freezing water. She kicked, trying to rise to the surface, but became tangled up in the cloak, dress, and reeds that filled the lake they landed in.
Opening her eyes, she saw the surface growing farther away even as she tried to swim to the surface. Harry's feet and Ron's feet were now at the surface together. Her lungs started to burn as she saw Harry dive. Her head was becoming fuzzy as he got close to her. It was when he finally reached her that her lungs had had enough, and somehow Harry knew. Pressing his mouth to hers, she breathed in as he breathed into her mouth. Grabbing onto her cloak, he pulled her to the surface.
As she broke through, she gasped, coughing on the water in her lungs.
"Are you okay?" Harry asked.
Hermione coughed the remaining water from her lungs, "This cloak was like bricks weighing me down."