Intersections

Chapter 14: Doubles

Hermione woke with a startled gasp as a loud crash sounded throughout the house. Frowning blearily, she sat up and swung herself out of bed, shivering slightly as her bare feet hit the cold wooden floor. She softly padded over to the door and opened it, peering out into the small, dark landing. Soft, murmured conversation was coming from the kitchen, and Hermione moved toward it, stopping hesitantly at the kitchen door.

"I'm fine, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley was saying shakily, placing the kettle back on the counter. Hermione bit her lip as her heart leapt in concern. "I'll be fine. It's just that - today -"

"I know," said Mr. Weasley, his voice soothing. "I know." He drew his wife toward him, his face pale and drawn.

"I'm frightened, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said, her fingers clenched around Mr. Weasley's robes. "When I see Fred and George, I can't help but think of my own brothers. They also begged to fight in the last war, and the Death Eaters - they -" Her voice cracked.

"The twins are still at Hogwarts," Mr. Weasley countered firmly. "They're safe there. Dumbledore will look after them."

"I thought it was over," said Mrs. Weasley, and her voice became shrill. "It should be over! We shouldn't be sending our own children off to fight - we can't!"

"We'll worry about that when the time comes," said Mr. Weasley, his expression troubled.

"Arthur, promise me you won't let them join the Order," Mrs. Weasley pleaded. "They're too young - they're just children...our children..."

"Fred and George are of age," Mr. Weasley answered. "They're old enough to make their own decisions. I can't stop them from joining, Molly. You know they would never be happy sitting on the sidelines." He paused, standing. "Come on, Mollywobbles, let's get to bed."

Hermione crept away from the door, feeling slightly guilty at her intrusion as she replayed the conversation in her mind. Mrs. Weasley's concern for her children caused unbidden unhappy tears to well up in Hermione's eyes. She shook her head, blaming the late hour for the sudden aching homesickness that overcame her. She swallowed past the lump in her throat as she re-entered Ginny's room, her fingers trailing across the myriad letters she'd received from her friends and parents since she'd arrived at the Burrow.

"I'm happy here," she whispered quietly, and she was. Learning about magic challenged her in a way that Muggle schools never quite seemed to achieve. Magic was about more than applying equations and concepts and logic; it was about feeling the power run through your blood, about really wanting something to happen. That kind of curriculum was new to Hermione, who had always tried to rely on detached, ordered reasoning to deal with situations in her life (until they became too emotionally charged and she burst into tears - or performed accidental magic). But she couldn't solely rely on reasoning to do magic, and she found, to her surprise, that she liked that.

However, none of this detracted her from longing for her mother's embrace and her father's gentle affection whenever she went to bed at night or for their proud smiles whenever she mastered something truly difficult. Nor did it stop her from longing for the easy companionship of her old friends - though according to Cecilia's letters, relations between the Witsford group were now extremely strained. Hermione sighed. Daniel and Richard apparently refused to talk to Matthew and Cecilia, though neither Cecilia nor Matthew had the slightest idea why.

Hermione picked up the photograph of the five of them together, standing in the elegant entrance hall of Witsford and grinning as if they had not a care in the world. The photograph had been taken after they'd finished their exams in fourth year. "What happened?" she asked the unmoving figures in the frame, frozen in a moment of happiness that could never be regained. The moonlight streaming in through the window made them look ghostly, and Hermione shivered with a sudden chill. She placed the photograph back onto the desk, wrapping her arms around herself, and climbed into bed, trying to warm herself.

It was a long time before she fell asleep, thoughts of her old life chasing themselves round and round in her head.

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"Harry?"

Harry mumbled and rolled over, trying to burrow himself into the covers.

"Harry, wake up." An icy wind hit him as the covers were pulled off. He scowled and opened his eyes. He spotted a mass of bushy brown hair, and as he squinted, he was able to make out Hermione standing near the bed, her arms crossed and her foot tapping impatiently.

"Hermione?" he said groggily, sitting up.

Hermione gave him a wan smile. "Come on, get up. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are leaving soon."

"Leaving?" Harry blinked, rubbing his eyes. "To go where?"

Hermione bit her lip. "They're going to visit the graves of Mrs. Weasley's brothers."

"Oh."

"They want to see us downstairs before they leave, so come down quickly."

Harry sighed and stood up, waiting until Hermione left before dressing quickly and putting on his glasses. Checking his reflection in the mirror, he frowned as he noticed that his scar looked slightly redder than normal, although it did not hurt at all. Smoothing his fringe down over his forehead, he rubbed his hands together in an effort to get rid of the cold and descended the stairs to the kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were standing in front of the fireplace, dressed in thick layers topped by black overcoats that were frayed along the edges. Hermione sat at the table, sipping tea.

"Oh, Harry dear," said Mrs. Weasley, giving him a tight smile. Like Hermione, her face was pale, and shadows stood out sharply under her eyes. "Arthur and I are going to visit my brothers' graves. You and Hermione need to stay here and watch for Remus and Sirius' return."

"When are they coming back?" asked Harry.

"They're due to be back by noon," Mr. Weasley answered, "but it may take them a little longer. We don't know how long it takes for them to recover from the night."

Recover from the night... Harry wondered uneasily just what kind of injuries Remus and Sirius would sustain because of the full moon. They'd made it sound like they'd be perfectly all right, what with Remus' potion and Sirius' Animagus form.

"We'll be back soon," said Mrs. Weasley, stepping into the Floo. She threw a handful of Floo powder in, shouted a location that Harry couldn't make out, and disappeared in a flash of bright green.

"Be careful," Mr. Weasley said to Harry and Hermione, and he followed suit.

An uneasy silence descended upon them as soon as the Floo finished its roar. Harry sat down at the table and half-heartedly picked at his eggs, feeling unaccountably restless, while Hermione continued to sip her tea, her glance occasionally straying toward the window.

"I'm going to go flying," Harry announced abruptly, pushing back his plate.

Hermione frowned. "I think we should stay inside," she said. "What if you get hurt? Nobody would be here to heal you." She looked toward the living room, her eyes lighting up. "I know! We can revise some of the texts while we wait so we'll be prepared for Remus' quiz."

Harry felt irritation flare within him. Was that all Hermione thought about? Studying? And who did she think she was, trying to keep him inside? She wasn't his mother. "Nothing's going to happen to me," he insisted. "You can watch me from underneath the tree if you're so worried."

"Isn't it a bit cold to go flying?" Hermione pointed out, raising her eyebrows.

Harry scowled and nodded, his irritation mounting. Hermione did have a point; even the kitchen felt particularly cold this morning, despite the hot tea they were drinking. It wouldn't be pleasant, having the air cutting through his lungs as he flew about at high speeds, but he wanted - no, needed - to get out of the house, away from the slow, tense ticking of the clock as they waited for Sirius and Remus to return. "I just - want to go outside," he said lamely, knowing that didn't even begin to express what he was feeling.

"We could practice Disarming each other out on the paddock," Hermione suggested, looking at him appraisingly. "I'm still not so good at it."

"All right," Harry agreed, shrugging, still not feeling entirely satisfied. He pulled his coat more tightly around himself as they stepped out into the cold world outside. The sky was overcast, imbuing everything with a dull grey color that inexplicably heightened his irritation. He took out his wand, crossing to the one end of the paddock while Hermione remained standing on the opposite side. "You or me first?" he yelled across the distance.

"I'll try to Disarm you first," she called back, and she raised her arm and cried, "Expelliarmus!"

After a few more rounds of practice, both Harry and Hermione were easily Disarming one another, and Harry was getting restless once again. He was itching to try some more advanced spells like hexes and curses. Fred and George had taught them the incantations, but had never allowed Harry and Hermione to try the spells on anybody, instead demonstrating by casting the curses upon the other twin. Harry curled his fingers around his wand, fingering the long, smooth surface, remembering the rush of power he'd felt when he had first managed to Disarm Sirius yesterday. The thrill was lessening with each successive round of practicing the spell, and Harry found himself craving the same initial high.

A faint cracking sound startled him out of his thoughts, and his spirits rose as he caught sight of two familiar men appearing in the garden. He pocketed his wand and rushed over to them, Hermione following closely behind. Sirius was supporting Remus as they made their way to the door of the kitchen. Both men were pale, but looked relatively unharmed; neither was bleeding or visibly bruised, and the only sign of injury Harry could see was the slight limp Remus sported in his right leg.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked at once. "Do you need any help?"

Sirius grimaced as if he'd just eaten something extremely sour. "No," he replied. "I just hate Apparating, that's all." Remus' eyes were closed; Sirius guided him across the threshold and sat him down carefully in a chair. "All right, Remus?" he asked quietly, gently squeezing the man's shoulder.

"Yes," said Remus, nodding, and he opened his eyes wearily, gazing around at the kitchen. His gaze seemed to sharpen as soon as he spotted Harry and Hermione, and for a moment, Harry thought he saw the beginnings of a sneer upon Remus' face. It was gone in an instant, however, and Harry shook his head, passing it off as his imagination.

"Ogden's?" asked Sirius, pulling out two glasses.

"If you please," Remus answered hoarsely.

"What's Ogden's?" asked Harry, exchanging a bewildered glance with Hermione.

"Firewhisky," answered Sirius, lifting his wand and intoning "Accio Firewhisky." A thick bottle filled with amber liquid flew out from the slightly open door of the pantry and landed with a neat thunk on the counter. Sirius poured a small serving of the liquid into the two glasses and brought them to the kitchen table, sitting down across from Remus. He raised his glass to Remus, said "Cheers," and then downed the entirety of the liquid in one shot, letting out a satisfied sigh. Remus did the same.

"Is it good?" asked Harry curiously.

"It's only the best," Sirius answered. "Firewhisky warms you right up. We need it, given where we were last night."

"Is it alcoholic?" asked Hermione tentatively.

Sirius smirked. "Indeed it is. Would you like to try some?"

Hermione frowned and shook her head. "No, thank you," she answered, retrieving a butterbeer from the pantry. "Harry, do you want a butterbeer?"

Harry considered the bottle of Firewhisky thoughtfully. He'd never really had alcohol before, excluding the punch he'd drunk at Sara Cheung's Christmas party, and he was rather curious about what whiskey tasted like. Sirius seemed to sense his thoughts, for he summoned another glass and poured Harry some Firewhiskey, sliding it across the table to the boy. Sirius raised his eyebrows, a slight smile playing around his lips. "Well, go on then," he said, "drink it."

Hermione's glare bored holes into the back of Harry's head as he wrapped his fingers around the glass, brought it to his lips, and downed the innocuous amber liquid.

He immediately began spluttering as a burning sensation went down his throat and spread throughout his stomach, his cheeks flushing immediately and his fingers beginning to tingle with a flaming heat. "That's - strong," he gasped. The world suddenly seemed like it was moving a bit too quickly, and he thanked his lucky stars that he was still sitting down.

"You'll get used to it," said Sirius casually, and Harry worried slightly about Sirius' skill as a godfather. He was distracted by the fierce glare still on Hermione's face, and he held up his hands in surrender.

"Hermione..." Harry began, but she turned on her heel abruptly, still glaring, and left the kitchen, presumably to go back to Ginny's room.

"Her knickers are in a right twist," said Sirius, raising his eyebrows and staring at the door for a moment. "Don't you worry, Harry, we'll take care of you." He exchanged a small smirk with Remus, who, though still pale, now had a bit of healthy flush to his cheeks.

"Have another, Harry," Remus said, his brown eyes gleaming with something like mischief.

Harry wondered aloud if Remus should be resting.

Remus smiled. "All I need right now is something to warm me up. Go on, drink it," he said, nodding toward the glass.

Harry curled his fingers around the glass hesitantly. The world was still spinning. "I don't think -"

"I propose a toast," Sirius interrupted, as he poured himself another glass and raised it.

"A toast to what, Sirius?" Remus asked, raising his eyebrows.

"A toast to - er - family," Sirius answered. "To Remus and Harry - my family."

Harry felt his cheeks flush even more at Sirius' pronouncement, and he knocked back the shot of Firewhisky with a bit more ease. He held his hands to his cheeks, trying to cool himself down as the burning sensation spread throughout his body and overcame his senses. "S'hot," he mumbled, his eyes closing involuntarily. He felt like he had a fever. He wanted to go to sleep - sleep off the heat and flame, and wake up cool and refreshed and sober - he wanted to sleep.

"It's called Firewhisky for a reason," Sirius replied flippantly, and then his tone morphed into one of concern. "Harry, are you all right?"

Harry took a deep breath, his eyes still closed. He was beginning to feel nauseous. "I'm fine," he said hoarsely. His stomach felt queasy, and he clutched it, grimacing.

"Merlin, I think he might vomit," Sirius muttered.

Harry frowned and shook his head, making himself even more dizzy than before. "Won't," he insisted. This was too embarrassing. He was drunk in front of his godfather and teacher. What would they think of him now?

"Better out than in," Remus said, sounding gently amused.

"No, I won't," Harry insisted, cracking his eyes open. "I just need to go to sl-bed."

"Sl-bed," Remus repeated. "Well, Sirius, you heard the boy. He needs to go to sl-bed."

"Sleep, bed," Harry enunciated forcefully, waving a hand irritably.

"I heard you," Sirius said, grasping Harry's arms and pulling him up from the chair. "Come, let's take him to bed."

Harry let his eyes fall closed, and he stumbled along, leaning on Sirius for support. He felt the blast of an icy wind as he was pulled outside to the back garden, and he shivered violently despite the heat running through his body. "Sirius - what -?" he asked.

"It'll do you some good to be outside," Sirius explained. "Helps cool you down a bit before you go to sleep."

"'Kay," said Harry, though he didn't agree. It was too cold out here. He was freezing. He wanted to go back inside and lie down on his bed.

"If you need to fall asleep, then fall asleep," Sirius said, his voice oddly soothing. Something about it didn't seem quite right, but Harry couldn't think what it was. "I've got you."

"So - emb'rssing," Harry muttered, even as comforting, warm darkness began to beckon him. "Can't hold - drunk..."

"You never could hold your liquor," Sirius said, sounding amused, and Harry had only a moment to wonder about the strangeness of that statement before a terrible squeezing pressure surrounded him, and he choked for air and passed out.

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Hermione sat alone in Ginny's room, finishing off a letter to her parents. She pulled out a few pieces of parchment in order to begin revising the magical textbooks that she and Harry had read yesterday, but realized with an angry sigh that most of the textbooks were still in the living room. She wondered if Sirius, Remus, and Harry were still drinking Firewhisky. It made her very uncomfortable seeing them like that. She couldn't believe that they were so irresponsible! Remus was their teacher, for goodness' sake. Remus was nice and responsible, and he didn't ignore her like Sirius sometimes did. She couldn't believe he would condone serving them strong alcohol. And Sirius - well, as unstable as he might be, he had seemed to be trying to be a decent father-figure for Harry...

Squaring her shoulders, she decided that she'd simply have to go and face them. To her surprise, however, only Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, with Sirius, Remus, and the bottle of Firewhisky nowhere in sight.

"Hello, Hermione," he said amiably, looking up from the photo album he always carried around with him. He'd never really told her what was in it.

"Are you still drunk?" she asked waspishly, although his face was no longer bright red.

Harry looked puzzled. "Drunk?" he repeated.

Hermione sent him a disapproving and slightly incredulous look.

"Oh." Realization dawned on his face. "No. No, I'm not."

"Where are Remus and Sirius?" she asked, looking around suspiciously.

"They went to Hogwarts to go talk to Dumbledore about something," Harry answered, turning his attention back to the photo album. "Top-secret. They wouldn't tell me more, and they said not to ask about it."

"Something for the Order?" asked Hermione, intrigued.

Harry shrugged. "Dunno." He raised his eyebrows as his fingers traced one of the photos. "Look, about the Firewhisky -" He gazed at her with an earnest expression that she'd never seen on his face before. "Let's just forget about that incident, all right? Sirius and Remus were ashamed of being so irresponsible and for getting me drunk. They used the Sobrietus charm on me, and everything's been settled. They don't want me or you to mention the Firewhisky, especially not to Mrs. Weasley." He looked down at the table, abashed. "I don't think she'd approve."

Hermione chewed her lip. She hadn't been planning on telling Mrs. Weasley about what had happened, but she had wanted to confront Remus and Sirius about their behavior. If they already felt guilty about being irresponsible, though, then it'd save her loads of trouble. "All right," she said, sighing. "Just promise me that you won't do it again."

Harry gave her a small smile in return. "Promise. Being drunk isn't at all fun." He stood and walked toward the living room, his photo album clutched under one arm. "You wanted to revise some of the texts, right?"

"Yes," said Hermione, pleased that Harry was sharing her interest in learning, unlike this morning. "Do you want to revise the Potions text?"

"Sounds good," said Harry, flashing a brilliant grin in her direction that threw her off-guard. "Potions is pretty fascinating. I think it might be my favorite subject - my second favorite magical subject. Besides Defense, I mean," he added hurriedly. He bit his lip and frowned for an instant, but then his face was once again pleasant and friendly. "Shall we?"

Hermione shot Harry a perplexed glance. The expression on his face was strangely blank, and he didn't quite seem to be acting like himself. She was used to a Harry who wore his heart on his sleeve and whose emotions played out easily across his face. Besides, he'd been rather tetchy this morning. There was something - off - in his manner now. He seemed a bit too accommodating and eager to please.

She tried to push aside her concern as Harry opened the Potions text and began to quiz her on the first chapter. "What's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"There is none," she answered promptly.

"Okay...what can cure you from most poisons?"

"A bezoar, usually found in the stomach of a goat," she answered, and then she laughed. "It's funny - you know, a hairball is also known as a trichobezoar in medicine..."

"A hairball? Like in cats?"

"Yeah. Medicine - or, I suppose, Muggle medicine - defines a bezoar as a mass found in the gastrointestinal tract, and it's generally a bad thing to have a bezoar because they're difficult to remove and they block up your intestinal system. It's the total opposite of the magical version."

"How do you know all this?" asked Harry, raising his eyebrows in a familiar manner. Hermione felt her heart relax a little, and then she blushed as she answered Harry's question.

"When I was a little girl, I really wanted a cat, but my parents wouldn't let me have one." She smiled wistfully. "I thought that if I looked up all of this information, I'd be able to prove that I was mature enough to take care of my own cat, and that they'd get me one for Christmas or for my birthday. They never did, though." She chewed her lip, feeling the previous night's ache of homesickness returning, and she shook her head slightly. "Anyway, of course I looked up what a hairball was and discovered that it was called a 'trichobezoar,' which led me to look up what a 'bezoar' was..."

Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the day quietly revising the textbooks in preparation for their next lesson. Sirius and Remus returned from Hogwarts at noon, and Remus immediately went to sleep while Sirius prepared a hot soup for Harry, Hermione, and himself. Sirius' eyes were more shadowed and his gait more tired than Hermione remembered from the morning, but she figured that it had something to do with whatever they had discussed with Dumbledore at Hogwarts. After lunch, Sirius took some soup up to Remus, and both of them proceeded to sleep through the entire afternoon.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley returned shortly before nightfall, tired and somber. Dinner was eaten in a heavy silence only occasionally broken by a polite request to pass the potatoes or the stew. Hermione ate quickly, thankful to escape the solemn atmosphere, and went to Ginny's room. She sat on the bed and yawned, overcome with a wave of exhaustion, and rubbed her eyes. Her gaze was eyes caught by the glittering model of the solar system that her friend Daniel had given her for Christmas. She pulled it towards her on the desk, bending down to observe the sparkling planets and the brightly glowing sun. For a while, she simply stared at it, lost in memories of an older, more familiar life.

An hour later, she was asleep, a contented smile on her face, utterly unaware of the world around her.

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Harry woke with a gasp, his scar shooting a searing pain through his forehead. He reached up a hand to try to rub it, but found that his arms were tied behind his back. His heart pounding, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, noting that his ankles were also tied. His head was also aching terribly in addition to the pain from his scar. Frantically, he looked around at the darkness surrounding him, unable to make out anything other than black. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was...he couldn't remember. There had been something hot, burning his insides, but it felt good - a drink. Firewhisky. Sirius and Remus had served him Firewhisky. And then the world had started spinning...and there was cold...they said they'd take him to bed, but they'd gone outside...and -

A loud, grating noise made Harry start, and he squinted as a beam of light entered his vision, realizing that his glasses were gone. A tall figure stood in the doorway, walking toward him. Harry could make out long robes and a flash of silver, illuminated by the man's wand, and his terror mounted as he realized that the man was a Death Eater. He scooted backward as quickly as he could only to hit a hard stone wall. "Who are you?" he called, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. "What do you want? Where are Remus and Sirius?" He felt his heart catch in his throat as two polished boots came closer and closer. "Get away from me!"

"My, my, the company of the blood-traitors has certainly made you brash," the Death Eater drawled, flicking his wand at Harry, and a piece of cloth smacked Harry's mouth hard and wrapped around his head. "I've no wish to hear your pathetic demands," he sneered, bending down and wrenching Harry to a standing position. "Come, boy." He pulled Harry out the door into an openly lit hallway, placing his wand at the nape of Harry's neck and pushing him forward. Harry tripped because of the bonds on his ankles, and the man clucked his tongue. "So clumsy," he said in a disappointed tone, grabbing Harry by the arm. Harry struggled weakly as the Death Eater dragged him through a dark, stone hallway, wincing as his bound legs scraped against a few jagged rocks lying on the ground. He tried to look around once more, but the only light was coming from the man's wand, and Harry could see nothing beyond the small point of illumination.

They reached some kind of door. It creaked open slowly with a flick of the Death Eater's wand, and Harry was assaulted by a cold, icy wind, letting out a muffled cry as his legs scraped roughly across the threshold of the door and hit a dirt path. He shivered violently as the Death Eater dropped him roughly on the ground, trying to look around with his watering eyes. The dark landscape was dotted with headstones, and Harry was lying next to a particularly large one. Harry couldn't make out the words on it, and he didn't have time to look closer as two bulky Death Eaters stepped forward and pulled him upright, slamming his back against the tombstone and tying him to it with more ropes. Harry cried out and struggled, but one of the men backhanded him roughly, and he stopped, dazed. His hands clenched uselessly behind his back as the men blindfolded him and stepped away.

He heard something large and heavy being dragged across the ground, hitting some uneven bumps along the way, and then his scar was burning like never before...tears streamed down his face as his forehead threatened to split open and the ache at the back of his head intensified. There was a roaring in his ears, and he was beginning to feel nauseous. Someone was chanting something, and in the distance, he heard a loud hissing like a snake, and then a horrific plop, as if someone had dropped something into water...his face was both hot and cold all at once...and then a sharp, slashing pain ran down his arm, and he felt warm blood dripping down into his jumper sleeve.

Harry couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't feel...he could only stand there as white-hot agony ran through his scar through the rest of his body, and his screams were swallowed by the gag. Someone was speaking - someone with a high, cold voice that Harry had only heard in his nightmares -

No...

Harry struggled fruitlessly against the ropes, dizzy with pain, as a scaly, dry finger brushed his cheek, the roaring in his ears intensifying tenfold. He cried out as a high, cold laugh rang throughout the night, and his blindfold was pulled off roughly. Terrified, he looked up at the white, serpentine face above him, the scarlet eyes and hairless lips, curved upward in a soft, cruel smile...no...it couldn't be...

"Welcome, Harry," whispered Lord Voldemort, and all around him, Death Eaters laughed.