SoulBands

SoulBands, Chapter Six

by Caducee

Mrs. Weasley's plump figure slowly came into view after a lot of blinking and focussing and unfocussing from Hermione's part. "Oh, Hermione, dear, we were so worried. Did something happen? Did you hurt yourselves?"

Yourselves?

Hermione grunted, still blinded by the shaft of light coming in through the open curtain. And then yesterday evening came crashing back to her like an awful memory. "Where's Ron? Is he -"

"Ron was knocked up badly, too." Molly motioned to the bed next to Hermione's. Hermione turned her head sideways and saw Ron's lanky body laying limply on his bed, the slight heave and fall of his chest the only indication that he was breathing and alive.

Hermione felt her head. There was a bump where they'd both hit each other on their foreheads, but otherwise everything felt fine. She frowned and slowly sat up. Why had she fallen? Best of all, why had they both fallen at the same time? Hermione remembered feeling something hit her stomach with blinding force. Obviously Ron had experienced that blow as well.

"I'm afraid you were both unconscious all night," Mrs. Weasley said before propping Ron's head up with another pillow. "I found you both comatose on your bed." Then she sighed, watching her last grown son and running her hand through his short, shaggy cut. "I still see him, five years old give or take, running face first into a door Bill magicked invisible. I kept laughing and being angry at Bill while at the same time crying and caring for Ron's bloody nose." She smiled distantly, then regarded Hermione with motherly pride. "You two really care about each other... To tell you the truth, I never expected him to move in with any other woman than you. You share something special that I've never seen in any other two people."

Hermione couldn't tell if her cheeks were on fire or if a fever was catching up to her. She wanted to protest, but just couldn't.

Ron awoke with a start, and Hermione had an inkling why, because she felt it at the same time. Both of them keeled over, holding their midsections as one would if they had received a hard kick in the stomach or were about to retch.

Mrs. Weasley, a very distant voice, cried out in horror, and when the pain subsided she had frozen with her eyes wide open, nearly popping out of her skull. "W - what happened?" she demanded frantically.

Ron regarded Hermione warily with sick paleness all over his face. "Good question, mum," he said uncertainly.

"That looks like dark magic," she said, evidently terrorised.

But Hermione was looking at her ring, and suddenly it occurred to her that she might have the answer. She quickly looked up at Ron, who caught on instantly. "Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said very slowly, "I think this has to do with Harry."

Ron continued, suddenly more certain than he had been mere seconds ago. "I think he's been badly hurt. He came home wounded before, but I think he's been badly wounded now."

Hermione nodded excitedly. This all made perfect sense. The rings could be transmitting strong emotions and wounds to the other ring bearers. So then the rings were attuned to transmit all of this. Clever.

Hermione stole a quick glance at Ron and nodded. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Weasley, but we have to go," she said before standing up.

Ron stood up as well, swaying on wobbly feet at first, then grabbed his wand off the bedside table and threw Hermione hers. Guiltily, he threw back a quick "Sorry mum" then followed Hermione down the dark flight of stairs. Then, "Where do we go from here?"

Hermione caught Ron's clever double-entendre and nodded understandingly. He wanted them to talk later. Now they needed to focus their undivided attention on Harry. "I've no clue," Hermione said as they exited number twelve, Grimmauld Place, leaving behind a team of good friends and fellow fighters. He let her take his hand and squeeze reassuringly, letting him know that she wasn't about to forget anything at all. "I think our best bet would be to trace back to the connection."

Ron nodded. "Yeah. Obviously this acts like a link to the three of us, so it would probably act like a homing device if we tried to reach the source on Harry's side."

Hermione smiled. "You read my mind." She then looked up into his stormy eyes and had a sudden idea. "I think I know how to reach him." She grabbed Ron's hands and linked their ring hands together. She saw his quizzical stare and carefully set out to explain. "If the ring is our link to him and tells us Harry's hurt, then this is logically how we can both connect to him... by way of our rings, through the rings."

Ron wordlessly followed Hermione's lead, who'd already closed her eyes; he closed his as well and concentrated completely on Harry's life force running faintly through him through his ring. He'd always held a deep disinterest in rings, but since this one set of three identical triumvirate rings apparently worked to tell if one of the other two souls forming the triangle was dying or possibly badly injured, it was a completely different story.

Linking his hand tightly through Hermione's, Ron suddenly saw Harry's faint silver strings in the distance. He didn't dare get closer. So many times before, Ron had been a first-row spectator to Harry's rage fits. Even though he knew his mate was too feeble right now to strike at him like he would any other time - this magic was just too novel to fiddle with - he wished to keep his distances as fair as possible.

So when, from the corner of his mind's eye he saw a delicate string of pink tentatively reach out to the silver one, he saw himself - fire light, it seemed - enclose Hermione's soul.

And then the connection broke. Ron's eyes jerked open, and he felt himself pant with exertion. Hermione, though panting as well, was staring straight at him with fire in her eyes.

"Why didn't you let me get to him - at least let him know we're here with him?" she asked accusingly.

Ron coughed, shaking his head. "That's the first step to screwing everything up, Hermione." He took her hand and, before she could wrench it away, Apparated them behind a great cedar bush. He looked up to apologise. "Look, Harry doesn't need us to raise his hopes. What if we never figure out how to get him out of there? What if we came too late? He'd turn to madness, no doubt; any man in their right man would."

Hermione pursed her lips. On the surface, nothing much showed, but on the inside, she was seething: she hated when Ron was so right. And for the last few years he'd grown incredibly knowledgeable and was right nine percent of the time.

Hermione nodded slowly. Ron suddenly put his index finger to his lips and squatted up, regarding the scene before him very keenly. Then he squatted back down. "Okay, here's the plan: There's a house that looks like it's been abandoned for years. I'm pretty sure that's where Harry's been being kept right now. It could be a trap, a way to get all three of us together again. Voldemort wouldn't be so vain as to disregard that fact. Merlin knows he's been known to plan awful things." He sighed and turned a sad eye to Hermione. "That means we're both targets."

Hermione bit her lip apprehensively. The gloomy look Ron was giving her and the vibes of protection he was sending her way were touching, to say the least, but Hermione didn't want Ron's sympathy. "Ron, I can handle myself. I'm an illegal Auror, remember?" she threw in, in an attempt to release her own boiling tension. Seeing Harry after all this time was simply... too terrifying to concentrate on.

Ron merely stared. "A terrific one at that, yes, but..." He sighed, trailing off where he had left off. He crouched up again, then motioned her over. "Let's go," he said. Hermione followed him to the backyard, quickly ducking under windows and being careful not to step on twigs or trash.

There was a deep red light coming out from one of the shabby-curtained bar windows. Ron lifted himself up enough to spy inside, then lowered himself again to Hermione's level, nodding to himself.

"He's there," he said, answering her worst doubts. "I think they drugged him on top of it or something; he doesn't look too good."

Hermione's motherly side came out unexpectedly. "Is he all right?" she asked on impulse.

Ron shrugged, then, without looking at her, as though ashamed of saying what he was about to say, "I can tell he's black and blue a little bit everywhere."

Tears sprang to Hermione's eyes, and she felt helpless against them. Harry was hurting because of their negligence. If only they hadn't let him go alone.

"I know that look," Ron murmured, clasping her hand tenderly in his. "Please, please don't beat yourself up over this. I need you to be strong."

Hermione bit her quivering lip, looked up, then swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. She nodded and smiled weakly, a contrast to her emotions. "Okay," she replied hoarsely. "What's the plan from here on?"

Ron swallowed with difficulty against his painfully dry throat. "We have to get in. I'm sure they're waiting for us but we have to... somehow." Darkly his eyes set. Ron was ready to strike. But was Hermione?

In a matter of seconds Hermione's hands turned ice cold; her face blanched; her eyes became fearful; her mouth felt pasty and dry. Hermione's eyes only saw the green light which had clouded her nights since the killing she had helplessly witnessed. Green was terror; green was death and darkness.

The vision subsided and Hermione could tell Ron had been calling her name more than once. "What?" she croaked out finally.

Ron stared at her, studying her soft womanly features, then sighed. "You can back out now if -"

"No," she said suddenly, her voice set. Green was also Harry's eyes.

She would go. She would get her friend out of there if it killed her; suddenly it didn't matter anymore: the green light, the red eyes, the darkness... she'd kill if it meant her best friend's freedom to live. She'd cried enough by herself, now was the time to prove she wasn't a coward anymore.

Ron seemed to think it was enough of an answer. Unexpectedly, he grabbed her hand, squeezed - she squeezed right back - and said in a low tone, "When we get in there, if anything goes wrong, just get yourself out."

Hermione opened wide eyes and blanched. "But - what about you?"

Ron waved in dismissal. "Don't worry about me. Just get yourself out and don't look back. I'll handle it."

Hermione started to say something else again, but Ron tightened his hold on her hand and put his finger to his lips to silence her, like before. "Let's go."

The inside of the small and dark-lit house was just as shabby as the outside, Hermione conceded, quietly suppressing a shiver. She and Ron were roaming a hall, constantly inching closer to the small quivering light at the end of the corridor, in what she supposed was the drawing room.

Hermione felt a presence, a presence so powerful inside of her that it burned her finger. She felt the lingering pain, the terror, the delirium... no doubt Harry wasn't far. Could Ron feel that, too? Hermione turned to him to ask the question, but Ron, who was leading, was holding his wand aloft at the ready, keenly observing their surroundings. It reminded her that she should be on her guard as well.

And then, they rounded a corner. Ron stopped short, regarding Harry's immobile body calmly. Hermione slowly followed his line of sight, and when she found her target she almost crumbled to the ground. Ron collected her in his arms before she could start falling. Hermione didn't cry, she didn't yell; Hermione recollected herself and walked decidedly to Harry's crippled form on the chair.

The cuffs had torn the skin raw at his wrists and ankles; there was coagulated blood caked on the rusted cuffs themselves, but the wounds were still bleeding, and the bruises around the wounds were almost black already. What had happened here? wondered Hermione frantically.

Her question was answered just as Hermione turned at the sound of a new arrival and saw a blinding flash of white strings tackle her to the rough wooden floor, next to Harry's sleeping form.

"Voldemort," Ron hissed, seething. He himself hadn't been bound like Hermione; he stood tall in front of Voldemort's hateful face in spite of the fear sweltering inside of him.

"Bravery," rasped the Dark Lord as if he wished nothing else than to spit, "will never get you anywhere." He raised his wand hand and spoke his next curse very calmly, as if he were drinking some rather distasteful tea.

The next thing Hermione knew, Ron was writhing in agony on the floor in front of her. "Ron!" she cried helplessly, tugging violently at her strings inefficiently.

In her wake, Hermione had suddenly grasped Harry's ankle; she had never expected or experienced the reaction it triggered.

Harry's eyes violently jerked open.

And suddenly, inexplicably, flickers of thick magic boiled and turmoiled inside Hermione's very skin, threading through Harry's ankle where Hermione's hand was firmly glued.

Hermione stifled a loud cry; the magic was so powerful it threatened to break her with its intensity.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ron back up in the dirt and away from the Dark Lord; toward them he wobbled, and when he was close enough Hermione feebly reached out to grasp his hand. Bursts of white hot magic ran through her from Ron's end. Unconsciously she had grasped his ring hand. Ron, still shaking from his encounter with the Doloris Curse, grasped Harry's other ankle.

The circle was secured.

Ron must have felt Harry's magic coursing through him: fat beads of sweat rolled off his forehead as he bit his lips to keep from screaming.

Hermione's mind reeled: What did this all mean? What was Voldemort planning? Could the three of them be of any measure to him? And how? What was all this magic coursing through them anyway? Why hadn't they ever felt this when they had touched before?

Hermione saw Voldemort advance toward them from the corner of her eye with a repulsive sneer, opaque red beads of dirty rubies for eyes and seemingly sharp slits for nostrils. She had read and heard the descriptions before, but had never seen it for herself. Hermione recoiled away out of reflex but Ron was holding her hand in a vice-like grip. She quickly turned to Ron, who looked up to her with tired but determined eyes, but she didn't understand. They couldn't possibly survive. Not against the most powerful dark wizard the world had ever seen. Ron's breathing was shallow and she thought she saw a storm in his eyes, and suddenly she understood. She understood that she was with her boys. She understood that she needn't fear as long as they were together.

"Well well well," Voldemort snarled, his voice like sandpaper on a chalkboard, "I didn't expect all three of you to be reunited on the day I will finally kill Potter. Couldn't miss the show, maybe? Or perhaps it's that you want to suffer with him," he continued, staring intently at Hermione with sick delight dancing behind his little red eyes as she subconsciously recoiled away.

Hermione stared away and looked up into Harry's deeply bruised face, seeing the sorrow looming sadly behind his dark green eyes. She wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault, they had wanted to find him. They hadn't wanted him to die, let alone suffer. He was worth their friendship; he was worth his life.

So, defiantly, Hermione stared intensely right back at Voldemort.

He sneered again. "Be my guests." Pointing his wand straight at Harry, he clearly uttered the incantation that would end Harry's life.

All at once, Hermione frantically sought Ron's eyes, and felt the power bound inside their three souls leave her body at once. She wasn't sure this was exactly a good sign, but she couldn't move, let alone speak a word. Her hand was glued to Harry's ankle and the further she jerked to pull away, the more it glued her to him. And the next thing she knew was that Harry's entire body had jerked and paralysed.

Voldemort had aimed straight at his chest.