Aftermath

Defeated

No sooner than had they Apparated into the small thicket near Godric's Hollow, than had Hermione freed herself from Harry's grasp and retched violently onto the cool dark earth.

Harry felt a little sick himself; memories of that day in the bathroom in Sixth Year were swirling in his head, and with the firewhiskey they had drunk, making him dizzy. He held it in though, for he was more concerned with seeing to Hermione, and while at that, finding out why he had come back here.

When last he had been in this same place he had been fighting with Voldemort.

Then it had been alive with the multicoloured spells of a wizard war, the sounds of his footsteps on the undergrowth, his laboured breathing and his heartbeat pounding in his chest, now it was eerily silent. With no moon out, it was blackest night as they stood amidst the slender, towering trees and he raged a minor battle with himself as to whether or not he should light his wand.

He could not even hear the sounds he had heard in those first beautiful moments when he had awoken after the battle. The bird, the cricket, a night wind, all apparently gone as the sun went down and he missed them. It seemed all creatures were made to obey the Ministry curfew.

Hermione, who had now stopped retching, but was sitting there on her haunches and giving what could only be described as a gasping cry, noticed nothing.

She had not seen Draco that day, but had been there after to argue with him. Ginny had stuck up for him then, and he was pleased, the "monster" fully approving, though he knew full well that he did not deserve it. Now she knew why Hermione had argued; now she knew why he did not deserve to be supported.

He could have killed Draco in that bathroom; he would have been sixteen and a coward who had attacked his victim unprovoked in the school bathroom just because he did not like him.

He could only hope that she was not dead now.

Finally, Hermione's crying slowed and she asked, "W-what... what was that... what was that spell?"

He dropped to the earth beside her, immediately capturing the acrid smell of her alcohol-laced regurgitation, and cast, "Scourgify!" over her and the ground. She mumbled her gratitude and he let her rest her head on his chest and sat down so that she was almost curled up in his lap before replying, "Remember in Sixth Year... that spell... the one I used on Draco?"

She knew it. She knew it the moment she had seen it, and he could feel it when she simply closed her eyes instead of pressing further.

He continued anyway, "That was it, that was Sectusempra... but I think they modified it or something... she was cut all over... Draco had only one slash... but, oh gods... Hermione... what did they do to her, how did they find us?"

"We have to go back..." she began now, and tried to rise off him but he shook his head.

"It's not safe, me being there with them... I told Lupin that this morning... and now... we can't go back... you got your wish." He said the last bit without a trace of malice and she took none from it.

"Harry... we have to, Mrs Weasley and Ginny and Fleur, they're hurt... they could be..." she began to protest.

"No, if we go back they could be hurt even more; we'll wait a while, probably until sunrise... Hermione, Malfoy was there..." he told her.

As he said it though, his voice became unsteady. The fear he felt was overtly evident now. If Malfoy had been there, Bellatrix had to have known and would not have been far behind. Hadn't one of them said "Remember she wants Potter"?

He was completely unafraid to shield the fear in his voice though. It was something he and Ron had learned against in the war, if you were scared, it was best to tell the truth than try to hide it when you felt it anyway. Hermione always gripped one of them if she was afraid and then eventually she had even stopped doing that. But tonight, for some reason, she held on as tightly as she could when she heard him speak. The unspoken question understood, "Hadn't we ended this war?"

Harry was quite sure that he did. He, Ron and Hermione had found and destroyed the Horcruxes, save the diary and the ring, and he had faced Voldemort in this wood and saw the abject look on his face when he realised his greatest fear.

He would die.

And he did die and Harry lived.

One hand took the life of the other so that he would survive, but no part of the prophecy mentioned for how long. Those Death Eaters at the Burrow had not cared that he had killed the Dark Lord. That he had had to suffer through the deaths of countless friends including one he considered his only family. That he just wanted some peace, escape, freedom to be an ordinary eighteen year old young man.

No.

"Don't look back, don't come back, you've got to stop him!"

"Don't just stand there looking like an idiot, he's coming here, now!"

"We'll be right here waiting for you when you get back!"

"Run Harry, now!"

"You won't wake him... he won't wake... he's gone... he won't wake..."

He sank his face into Hermione's hair to escape the thought, what had he done to them?

A soft wind blew upon them in the dark of the thicket, encircling them in the pungent smell of bark, and suddenly Hermione pulled away from him and asked, "H-Harry... where is this place?"

She had finally noticed their surroundings.

He drew his wand and lit it, "Lumos." Then pointed it around them and said, "The forest... where Voldemort died."

She was on her feet in an instant and lit her own wand to look around her. Her eyes were wide with fear and he found now that she was shaking and it had nothing to do with cold.

"Harry... Harry I want to leave here... let's get out of here now... please, I want to get out of here now!" she managed in shaking breaths.

He stood with her now, "Hermione? Hermione what's wrong, are you okay? You're shaking again... Hermione, talk to me..."

"Why are we here Harry? Take me back, let me go back to the Burrow, please, I don't want to be here... anywhere but here, please Harry! Harry, don't let me stay here! Not here!" she continued as if he had never spoken.

She looked decidedly ashen, and near faint so that he walked to her and gripped her arms.

Almost immediately, as if his touch revolted her, she began to struggle in his arms and scream. Her terror filled the void of silence and made him very aware of the fact that they were alone out here. It was well after curfew at sundown and the only ones who would be out were Aurors and Death Eaters. Someone was going to hear them...

However, Hermione's reaction was troubling. He had seen her panic countless times before, something she eventually lost as time went by, but now... This, whatever it was, as she clawed at his arms, kicked at his feet while pulling her body away from him and screamed and cried and begged to be set free... this was... almost against her nature...

He had to calm her down, silence her somehow. If he didn't... he didn't even want to think about what would happen. He did not at all fancy seeing Hermione covered in those cuts.

He did the only thing he could, he drew her into his arms, tightly, forcing her against him so that her face was pressed into his chest, and hoped that she could breathe.

"Come on Hermione, calm down, shh Hermione... come on... be quiet, please be quiet... they're going to hear us... Hermione..."

He begged her to be quiet, willed her to be silent, and wondered if she would ever forgive him if he stunned her.

The Order was probably at the Burrow attending to the women now, gasping in horror at the sight of Ginny in the living room... No one would be looking for them, they would be too busy, and they could not possibly defend themselves against a full assault by Death Eaters.

And then Hermione became still and limp in his arms.

He released her in horror, wondering for a few nightmarish seconds that he had smothered her. He nearly dropped her in his panic but when he caught her he felt her heartbeat, and drawing her up again brought her breath to his neck. It tickled, much like it had earlier that afternoon in the broom shed in fact, but there was no time to think about that now...

In one smooth movement, he slipped a hand under her legs and lifted her up, taking care to pocket her wand and Disapparated again.

When they appeared once more they were out of the thicket and into a grimy old, run down street.

He did not want to bring her here, back to number twelve, Grimmauld Place, but this was the only place he could think of where she would not be heard if she screamed. It was safe from Death Eaters, prying eyes and possibly, whatever it was that haunted her in the woods. And, it would make the Order's job of locating them much easier.

He had no Put-Outer, so he hoped the darkness would cover them as he walked nervously along to it, every now and then pausing to hear Hermione breathe. But as before, no one looked out their windows into the dimly lit streets. Music played, voices were heard and life went on as it had before and would after.

Why had he not listened to her? She had told him before that she did not want to stay at the Burrow. He had protested then, with some feeble excuse about Mrs Weasley and the later added "for your own safety", knowing that it was just her grief speaking.

And then he was such a hypocrite too.

He knew that he did not want to stay there and instead of saying something, anything, he had simply remained. He allowed them to confine him to the house when he could have left before. He allowed them to make decisions and acted like a child. And now he had brought their deaths to them.

How could he have forgotten that he would never be safe?

He was the Chosen One, the Chosen One to defeat Voldemort, the Chosen One to be admired, adored and then killed by the vengeful supporters of his victim.

No, Voldemort was no victim, but he was still a murderer.

As if to protest this, Hermione groaned in his arms and began to stir. He whispered quickly, "We're okay now Hermione, keep your eyes closed, we're almost there."

She did not move again.

He went to the lawn space between numbers eleven and thirteen and concentrated on the address of the Unplottable headquarters. Slowly, it came into view as many times before, forcing itself up between the other two as if it were always there.

He walked up the steps with Hermione in his arms, tapped on the doorknob and watched it come open before him.

But then why wouldn't it? It was his house after all.

No sooner than had he entered, and captured the musty smell of decay that seemed to naturally permeate this grim old place, Hermione awoke.

She simply slipped into a standing position, though still leaning heavily on him and murmured, "H-Harry... where... where did you take us?"

"Shh, come on, you need to sleep, you're very tired," he told her.

He refused to remind her of the horrors she had just witnessed or the breakdown in the woods, or even, for he was quite sure now that he did not want to think about it anymore either, what had happened in the broom shed.

It was a mistake, a horrible one, which though it spared them, had somehow broken some sacred covenant of friendship. She would never forgive him for reminding her of that.

She did not protest as he led her along the hall with the threadbare carpet, up the stairs past the house elf heads and into the bedroom she had last shared with Ginny in Fifth Year. He laid her down on the bed, hoping that they had cleaned it recently, and then proceeded to shut all the windows and draw the curtains.

She had to sleep this off, in the morning it would be better, the world always looked better after a night's sleep.

He remained in the room then, for as long as it would take to hear her breathing even and know that she was asleep before stepping out into the hall, locking the door and heading out.

He knew he was leaving her alone, she hated that, but he had to know what was going on back at the Burrow. He had to make sure that once again he was not responsible for the death of those who cared about him. He could not go through that again.

As he stepped out of the house, which was as apparently as vacant as he had earlier thought it, a strange thought came to him.

Just before Disapparating, he was almost overwhelmed at the memory of slightly saline skin, and soft, willing, anxious kisses, and a heartbeat that seemed to fall in step with his own. And he wanted more.

*****

The Burrow was still darkened when Harry Apparated into the front yard, but it was not completely deserted. There were black-robed Aurors combing almost every square inch of the grounds of what had once been the reasonably safe Weasley family home. The Death Eaters stunned in the fight were nowhere to be seen either, all possibly on their way to interrogation, trial and then Azkaban prison. It was a pity that he did not get the chance to personally question Malfoy, he had a few things he wanted to "speak" to him about.

Overall, the place looked as it had before the attack, serene, homely and the broom shed was now closed. He hoped against hope that it was not anyone who knew them personally that had shut the door. He would not have been able to withstand the embarrassment.

From within he could just make out the sound of Mrs Weasley demanding frantically, "Harry? Where's Harry? Hermione... she was with him. Where are they, what are you keeping from me... where are they?"

She sounded more terrified and undone than he had ever heard her before. He could not bring himself to allow her to suffer through the thoughts that he himself had been thinking since he left the Burrow. Ignoring the stares of the few Aurors who now took notice of him amongst them, he walked to the house.

Mrs Weasley was seated at the kitchen table looking decidedly worst for wear, being comforted by Lupin and Charlie. Fleur, Bill and Ginny were nowhere to be seen, though he doubted they would be. Especially Ginny... so much blood... all those cuts...

As he stepped into the house she looked up and with a shriek, flew out of her seat and enveloped him in a bone-crushing embrace.

"Oh Harry! Where were you? Are you okay? Remus and the others came and could not find you! Where did you go? Where is Hermione? Don't tell me she was hurt too, where were you two before? Ginny said that... Ginny..." and she could not finish.

She felt a lot like someone who had lost a dramatic amount of weight in a short period of time, almost a skin hanging off of bone in his arms and her hair was wild. In that respect her hug did not really hold the force of those before but the emotions were unchanged. She began to cry so heavily that she had to be seated by Lupin and Charlie again as Lupin explained, "We've sent Ginny and Fleur to St Mungo's, but Fleur looks fine. Can you tell me what they attacked Ginny with? How did this happen? And where is Hermione?"

In contrast to her and from a week before, Lupin looked a bit more ill than he should have weeks from the full moon. But then today's attack would have wreaked havoc on anyone's nerves. Charlie Weasley too, looked weary, but not too much, and he was more preoccupied with his mother's condition at the moment to care that his shirt was inside out.

Harry, however, was more preoccupied with finding out about Ginny and replied, "I left her at headquarters, she wouldn't calm down, I left her asleep... is Ginny going to be alright?"

Lupin looked down at Mrs Weasley and after leaving her to the care of Charlie, took Harry aside and said, "We don't know, she lost a lot of blood but she's stable, do you know what they used on her?"

"It was Sectusempra, a spell from the Half-blood Prince, also known as Professor Severus Snape," he spat the name bitterly, "but they must have changed it, altered it, it usually caused one cut but there were so many... I saw it used once... on my father in Snape's pensieve." He took care to exclude mention that he had used it once as well.

"Yes, I remember that... well hopefully they can help her... what about you, are you alright?" Lupin asked this while staring carefully at Harry; it did not fail to make him nervous.

"I will be... it's Ginny and Hermione I'm worried about... the Weasleys, they don't deserve this, I'm only bringing trouble to them here..." he told him.

"No Harry, they would have come after them all the same, they are your friends, your family, you once told me, and in these times... Voldemort may be gone but his supporters are not, they are like the wounded old animal, weakened in death but nevertheless fiercely defensive... but I fear the Burrow may no longer be inhabitable."

As Lupin said this, Mrs Weasley raised her head sharply, "Absolutely not, this is my and Arthur's home, I'm not leaving it!"

Lupin sighed wearily and looked to Charlie for support. Charlie gave a look that said plainly that persuasion would be useless and he turned back to Harry.

"Am I to assume though, that Hermione will be leaving us now?" he asked.

It was an unusual question; Harry had not told anyone of the conversation that he and Hermione had had that afternoon in Ron's room.

He looked at him puzzled, wondering how he could have known.

Lupin too, appeared confused now, "Didn't she tell you? Her trunk's packed upstairs..." and then he stopped.

Harry's eyes had widened in surprise and then alarm. He looked back to Mrs Weasley for explanation, but she was still crying and could offer none. When did that happen?

"What...?" he began to ask and then stopped as something in his head clicked.

Hermione, who was still having trouble sleeping, was usually up in the mornings before he was, not counting that one after the funeral when he found her downstairs. She almost never slept late anyway, and this morning, for some reason she had. But she had not been sleeping at all had she? No, she had been packing her things, and Ginny, who was her roommate here, had not even bothered to tell him.

Without another word he ran up the stairs, past Tonks who was now coming down, ("Whoa, Harry!") and to the room Ginny and Hermione had shared. As he burst into the room, the light from the now-lit hallway flowed past him into it and unto a small trunk in the centre of the floor. Everywhere in the room were Ginny's clothes, books and other stuff, but everything, every trace of Hermione was gone, and no doubt secured in that trunk.

She had been planning to leave him, after all she had promised, they had talked about, that afternoon, she was leaving him. That half-crumpled sheet of parchment on her trunk now, no doubt addressed to only one person...

Without bothering to go back down to tell them that he was leaving, Harry Disapparated from the bedroom, heading back to Grimmauld Place.

He had to make sure that she was still there for he was now struck with the irrational fear that Hermione had not been sleeping when he left her. As a matter of fact, she probably waited no longer than it took for the door to close before she was gone again. And she could have done it too; he had left her wand behind...

When he Apparated unto the lawn at last before headquarters, he found that the house could not appear fast enough.

He did not care if any of the Muggles round saw or heard a thing. He did not care that it was past curfew and twice already he had broken it. All he cared was that he found Hermione and fast.

Finally the house came up before him and raced up the steps, impatiently tapped the doorknob and then raced in and up the stairs. He did not call her, for some reason a part of him was shouting in his ear, she's not here... when you ran in she would have made a sound... she's not here...

He forced it into silence as he came to the door, nearly shouted, "Alohomora!" at it and watched it swing in before him.

The moment it did though, his heart sank.

She was not there.

He stood before the door to the unlit room staring blankly at the empty bed slightly dazed. A million thoughts rushed through his head at once, the strongest being that he had merely taken the wrong door and she was in another room or that she had gone to the bathroom. But they were to no avail.

No matter how he would try to rationalise this, convince his racing mind, it always remained that she was gone. She was definitely gone, and possibly not coming back.

In that moment, for the first time all day, or was it since Ron's death, he felt defeated.

If he had lost to Voldemort he wondered if this was how it would feel. If that hollow, constricted feeling in his chest, bleak thoughts filling his head and a sudden, overwhelming weakness was it. If this was simply, defeat.

And he knew he had felt it before too. He had known it too many times when he should not have, and now, for some reason, it felt worse. No, it was worse; he had lost his best friends.

He sank down then onto the floor in the corridor, legs beneath him, and arms limply at his sides, staring into the room. First Ron had gone away, and now it seemed, Hermione too...