Aftermath

To Come Home

For a full five minutes after Draco had spoken Harry just sat there gaping at him. Unless he was mistaken, and he was quite sure that he wasn't, Draco had just described the man haunting Hermione's dreams. The man, who, it now became horrifyingly clear, must have followed her to France. The man who had killed Ron in the first place which led to that action...

There was no possibility that he had simply misheard either, for just as he was about to question him, Lupin said, "Red hair?"

Draco nodded, "Just like the rest of them, flying about his head wilder than Granger's."

"Did you see his face?" asked Harry, breaking his silence.

"No, but his hair suggested that he was one of them. When he did in the Weasel though I realised that he wasn't, and I stunned Granger, he got mad and ran off. I went up the hill, poked Weasel a few times to be sure he was dead, poked Granger for good measure and then went back to my vantage point, I had to see if he was coming back."

"Did he?" asked Lupin, he was clearly intrigued.

In the background Moody had stopped his pacing and was now staring at them, his magical eye trained directly on Draco as if to assess whether or not he told the truth. He didn't trust him anymore than Harry did, but had agreed to this interrogation nevertheless. He was probably glad that he did now too, he was getting more information without unnecessary force in the space of a half hour than they had gotten in three weeks.

Harry knew now that he would have to tell them about the packages from Dr Granger though. If the Order wanted to talk to Hermione, and after this how could they not, they would have to know about them.

This nightmare was determined not to end.

Draco was speaking again, "No, and I doubt that he would, the sun was coming up, and before you knew it Potter here was coming up the hill. I decided to leave them to their own business and took off, of course, as luck would have it, I ran into Auntie and her "friends" and well, you can guess the rest."

Harry had found his voice again, "You speak of her "friends"; you forgot that you're one of them already?"

Draco looked slightly offended, "I am not one of them, I used to be, and nearly being killed by a raving lunatic because you didn't do exactly what he wanted has a tendency to open your eyes."

Harry scoffed, "You still haven't given me a great reason for why we should protect you, and all you've got so far is a reason for me to come out of retirement."

"Well I was getting to that you see," said Draco, "the plans that I can tell you, even if they change them, still have one main goal. Kill you, exact revenge on the Ministry and take over the Wizarding world, nothing's really changed. If you help me, I can help you; personally I'm sick of curfew, how about you?"

As he spoke he still appeared absolutely calm but Harry was sure that he had seen the first flickers of... something... in his eyes.

He knew they didn't have to help him; he had given them too much already as it was. The three of them were well capable of taking the information and then turning him loose to his dear "Auntie". Harry would personally hand him to her too if she wasn't so determined to kill him as well.

As Draco had just said, nothing had changed really.

But Lupin seemed to have different ideas.

"We'll consider it, but I'm not making any promises, the Ministry of Magic is determined to send all of you to Azkaban. What you tell us now may change their minds, but only just," he told him.

Harry turned to stare at him, "What? We're going to help this git?"

"Yes, we are... am I right Moody?" Lupin replied.

Moody just grunted.

Lupin then said softer to Harry, just out of Draco's hearing, "Harry, we need to stop this war now, it's been two months and we still live in fear. Granted, no one was really expecting the war to end and the world to go back as if it had never been, but we always hold on to these dreams to keep us sane. He may not be exactly worth our time, but we cannot leave him to die, we just might be able to help each other."

Harry couldn't believe this, was Lupin mental? Did he forget that Malfoy was part of the reason Professor Dumbledore was dead? Did he forget that his poisoned mead had almost done the very thing this "red-haired" man finally achieved on a hill? Did he forget that Harry hated him?

But then, he did have a point too. He could not leave Draco to his insane aunt and the other Death Eaters; he was the only one who was going to kill Malfoy.

Well at least they both agreed that they would be the only ones to kill each other.

Warring against himself he replied, "Fine. Do what you want, I don't care. Just keep him away from me, if he so much as bleedin' breathes at me the wrong way I can't promise I won't finish "Auntie's" job for her."

He took the time to glare dangerously as he said this. Draco, who had been eyeing them with suspicion as they spoke before, looked mildly amused.

Deciding to end this pissing match before it started, Lupin asked, "What can you tell us about the Death Eater attacks, why haven't they stopped yet?"

Draco finally sat up straight, not even attempting to disguise the earnest look in his eyes, "What do you want to know?"

*****

It was not until he had finally left number twelve that Harry realised something. Lupin and Moody had actually allowed him to remain there while Draco informed them of every detail he could remember of the Death Eater plans. As a matter of fact, he had also been repeatedly asked his opinion later on as they made their own. It was almost as if they were trying to include him now.

Whatever had changed their minds?

As he Apparated into a shaded alley outside of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries though, he knew why. It was the Death Eater attack, it had to be.

It was the only reason for any of this at all. If it had not been for that they would have found, imprisoned and forgotten about Draco without him ever knowing until the Daily Prophet was cleared to release the story. The Death Eater attack had awoken them to the fact that the "Chosen One" was going to be a target for a long time to come.

If they wanted his help all they had to do was come out and ask for it. If they had been weeks earlier too, he would have willingly obliged.

Moody was probably dragging Malfoy off to his prison cell right now, wherever it was the Ministry of Magic were holding their Death Eater prisoners. Lupin was still at Grimmauld Place, it was the time of the full moon and he could not be out until it passed.

Guiltily, Harry realised that he had not spent a lot of time with him in a while. Even though Lupin was in the Order and had work to do, Harry could have been somewhere around.

There was something else he had to get to first though, the "red-haired" man who had killed Ron and was stalking Hermione. As soon as he was finished here, he was going to send a letter to France; the Grangers had to be warned.

Dr Granger would be surprised no doubt, but not too much, he was not going to tell her everything. There was no need to scare the woman half to death when a few simple lies could cover it all up. Hermione may not approve, but then, what did he care, she wasn't the one writing to him.

Once he was done with that then, he would try to go over everything Draco had told them. And while he was at it too, wonder why he was so calm after learning that Ron had been murdered.

Without knowing exactly how he managed it, Harry found himself standing before the entrance to Ginevra Weasley's room. From the alleyway licked by the heat of the summer sun to the cool interior of the hospital and all the way to this floor, he had wandered by practically unnoticed. But then he had also come all the way up to it without realising it in the first place, so deep was he in his thoughts.

From where he stood he could hear low voices within. Mrs Weasley was most likely already there conversing with one of the Healers and some other family member.

Harry had hoped to be alone, a short visit to Ginny was all that he wanted, after that he could go home like he wanted to. Of course, when he thought about it, Mrs Weasley never really left Ginny "alone" anymore.

Taking a short breath, Harry took hold of the door handle and pushed. The sight that greeted him though, stopped him in his tracks.

In the light of the bright, clear day without, now filtering through the windows, Mrs Weasley stood with her sons and the Healer. They were all around Ginny's bed, looking across to him from their interrupted conversation, but not at all too displeased at the sight of him. And then there was Ginny.

She was sitting up in bed awake, long red hair cascading down her shoulders and pillow, and smiling brightly at him. She had woken up, and save for the thin scars of her injuries, she was sitting there as pretty as ever, alive and awake.

"Hello Harry," she said.

He could not reply, he had gone slightly numb, and suddenly wished Hermione was here to help him save face.

At that thought he reflected bitterly on the fact that Ginny had awoken and Hermione was not here to see her. And that led to another thought on the fact that Ginny had known about Hermione's plans that morning and told him nothing. And that led to the terse reply, "Hello Ginny."

No one seemed to notice this though, as they quickly left their places round the bed to greet him.

"Hey Harry, we haven't seen you in a while."

"I hear you have a house now; do you know Mum's been going completely spare since you left?"

"Why haven't you come to the shop yet?"

"Fred!"

"Have you heard from Hermione?"

One by one the questions were coming at him, and he peered, somewhat sheepishly, over and around them to look at Ginny who was just smiling warmly at him. Mrs Weasley looked near weak with joy; her only daughter was finally safe again. Bill, minus Fleur, Charlie and the twins were equally as pleased. This time, for the first time in a long time, a Weasley was going to walk out of something alive.

No one even wanted to think about the situation that had brought them to this point though. No one wanted to reflect on how dangerously close they had come to another funeral. They had already had three; they wanted and needed no more.

It was just a perfect family moment, and without warning it became a nightmare in broad daylight.

At first it was the sudden feeling of being suffocated.

There he was, standing in the doorway of the room, being "assaulted" by the family as each came over to greet him and lead him closer to Ginny's bed, and he felt as if someone had placed a pillow over his face and were pressing down.

He was trapped in a sea of flaming red and bright smiles and freckles while the bare, white walls of the room suddenly began to close in around him. The colours and daylight actually began to fuse and flash confusingly in his head, forcing a violent throbbing into his skull. Their laughter and voices rattled at his brain, their touch repulsed him, and their very presence invoked an unreasonable fear. He had no control, he felt as though he were losing his mind, and then the room changed completely before his eyes.

Suddenly, terrifyingly, he found himself lying on the cool, dark earth of the forest floor looking up into the cold, red slits of the Dark Lord's eyes...

Voldemort was not dead yet, he was standing there smiling evilly, mere moments from death and did not even know it. Harry had smiled up at him then, something in him trying to convey that he was not afraid, that Voldemort would not win.

And then the image changed.

Suddenly Voldemort became a tall, smiling, red-haired, blue eyed nineteen year old with a freckled face and goofy grin when the situation required one. He took one look at Harry and asked, "What took you so long mate?"

And then Harry lost it.

With more violence than he ever thought he had, he pulled himself free of their grasp and backed to the door. They all turned to stare at him stunned, but Harry could not see it.

Instead of the concerned, frightened faces of the only family he had ever known to appreciate him, he saw them all transformed into strange cloaked, red-haired figures, faces shrouded in darkness and wands at the ready. They were no longer his friends, they were his killers.

He backed further into the door in panic, someone was screaming, something was wrong.

An image of Hermione flashed before his eyes and he went pale, the look of utter terror on her face was enough to rip the air from his lungs.

He could hear someone, who sounded a bit like Ginny or maybe Mrs Weasley, calling to him alarmed, "Harry! Harry! Harry, what's wrong? Harry! HARRY!"

Hands were seizing at him, the world of white was back but swiftly turning to black. He took great, gasping breaths for air and fought with all the strength he had left, for his had suddenly left him, before everything fell away and he knew no more.

*****

When Harry awoke it was dark, and still. No more red-haired killers, no more flashing colours, fading into white or black, nothing, his world was silent and he was back in his own bed. It had all just been a horrible dream, it must have been.

Why then though, did something not feel right now?

Although Harry's house was generally quiet at night, and especially since he lived alone and Hedwig was free to move about as she wanted to, somehow tonight, it was strangely quieter. There were some sounds, like the creatures of the night, the wind in the trees or the hum of the refrigerator, but still, it was just, still. Like the calm before the storm, night just before dawn, the house of someone who has just... died...

Almost at once Harry was sitting up in his bed with his glasses on his face and discarding the covers as he tried to stand. Something was wrong, he knew it, he could feel it and almost with every fibre of his being.

He did not even attempt to question how exactly he had gotten from the hospital back to his own house. He did not want to know what that... daydream... or whatever it had been was. Too many unnatural things had happened in his life already, and his scar wasn't hurting. All he wanted to do was find out what was going on.

Taking no time to cross the floor to the door, nearly stumbling over a fallen pillow, he opened it shyly and peered out into the hall. It was dark too; no one had turned on the lights.

Where were house elves when you needed them?

After taking a few moments to decide whether or not he should go on, he stepped out into the hall noiselessly. His bare feet prickled slightly at the touch of the cool hardwood beneath them and he finally wondered who had changed his clothes to the pyjamas he wore now. Not that he minded of course, it was just that, he hoped they had used magic, or at least had been one of the men. He wasn't exactly comfortable with the thought of Mrs Weasley, as much of the mother she was to him, seeing him even mildly starkers yet.

The sound of a low whispering just down the hall though, coming from the dimly lit living room, shoved those thoughts away at once.

"What happened? What happened? Why won't anyone explain? What happened, he's going to want answers."

It was Mrs Weasley, he was sure of it, and it was no surprise that she was worried too. Her voice was so distressed that it broke and creaked as she pleaded with someone out there.

"We're not sure... I... I don't know... I..."

That was Charlie, he was sure of it.

So they brought him home and changed his clothes. Okay. But why did they want to explain to him about what happened at St Mungo's? He was the only one to tell them and he barely knew himself.

"Alastor, what did they tell you?" It was Mrs Weasley again.

"Not enough! They barely understood themselves, they're useless!" he growled.

Harry was now completely confused. What did Moody have to do with a, well, panic attack, at St Mungo's?

Oh gods, Ginny.

He had gone there to visit her and frightened her. She had just woken up too; could he never give his friends peace? But still, what did Moody the Auror and not the Healer, have to do with Ginny?

The next words out of Moody's mouth though, stopped him cold and that feeling of the air being torn from him resurged with a vengeance.

"The Grangers didn't stand a chance! If that Malfoy boy had spoken sooner something could have been done. When we got to the house they were already long dead."

Harry's breathing suddenly became restrictive and forced itself out of his throat in low gasps. His blood was running ice cold in his veins and he felt as if he were going die when his heart began to skip in massive beats.

What they were saying... it wasn't... that's not... it wasn't... Dr Granger had still sent her package... Hedwig... Hedwig had brought it... this... it's not... true...

He sank unto the floor in the corridor as his legs refused to support him any longer and all the while thoughts screamed through his mind.

"Harry, Harry I want to leave here... let's get out of here now... please, I want to get out of here now!"

"What took you so long mate?"

"What happened last year? Which of your friends died? Why is he haunting my daughter?"

And then it was all over.

Charlie had spoken again, "Is Hermione alright?"

Hermione was alive? The feeling of his heart being lifted was so intense that he was light-headed all over again and had to lean against the wall in the hallway. She was alive.

"No. She hasn't said a word since they brought her, she hasn't moved and she hasn't... it's almost as if she's not even alive. The little girl was just as..."

At this Harry sprang to his feet and without thinking of any form of excuse rushed into the living room and demanded, "Where is she? Where is Hermione?"

The look of surprise and concern etched on the faces of the three staring back at him was summarily dismissed. He did not care about explaining what had happened earlier. He did not care about the details of what had happened to Hermione. He just cared about her being back now and where he could find her.

Mrs Weasley though, tried to placate him.

"Harry... you should rest... we'll..."

He cut her off, "Where is she?!"

Charlie seemed to be the only one of reasonable intelligence present for he said quickly, "The first bedroom, I think she's asleep, we put her s..."

But Harry did not hear the rest for he had turned and now headed back into the darkened hall. He went to the first door he found and wrenched it open and then stopped.

As they had left him on the same day, they had come back.

Hermione was lying in the centre of the bed, barely visible in the darkness save for a faint outline provided by the light from without. He could not see her but he knew she was there.

Wrangling with himself for a moment, he finally decided to switch on a light, and actually held in a gasp at what he saw.

Hermione was wide awake and staring blankly out of the window of the room. Her long, bushy hair, still wet from an apparent, recent bath, was spread out on the pillow beneath her head, tangling slight like a spider web. Her lithe, slender body, now clad in a shirt (he hoped that there was more beneath it) lay ever so gently on the only just disturbed sheets of the bed. Her chest rose and fall rhythmically with her breathing, as though she were asleep, but those blank, dull brown eyes showed that she was not. In summary, with the exception of that blank look and the deathly pale skin slightly illuminated in the light, Hermione was alive, and she was back with him, back home again.

He did not think twice about closing the distance between himself and the bed if only to touch, to know that she was real and this was not some bizarre hallucination. But once there he could not bring himself to do it. He just stood there staring at her, not quite believing that she was back and trying his best to stifle the thoughts of the reason why.

"The Grangers didn't stand a chance!"

Wonderful, yet another thing to add to the long list that being connected to Harry meant for those around them.

Of course, this was not really his fault. Hermione herself had told him before that being Muggle-born was her first mistake in the eyes of Voldemort, being the "brightest of her generation" as everyone praised her, was her second, and being his best friend was merely the third.

He had laughed then at her calling it "merely" but he couldn't laugh now. She was lying on a bed in his house in only a shirt with wet hair and a blank expression eerily reminiscent of Ron's and she barely seemed to know that he was there.

Someone had come to the door behind him. They did not attempt to come closer though, just seeing him there was enough. He did not turn to acknowledge them either; his sole interest at the moment was the girl on the bed.

When Harry decided to sit at the foot of the bed now, taking care not even to touch her, but just look, the person spoke.

"Harry..." it was Charlie, "she hasn't moved since we brought her here, she hasn't spoken either... we had tried to take her to the Burrow before... but she just started screaming... so we brought her here instead... we hoped you wouldn't mind..."

"No, I wouldn't. She's my friend, I'm responsible for this, and I'll take care of her." Harry told him.

Charlie surely wanted to protest this statement, his long silence at this told him so, but eventually he said, "Well then I should tell you... she isn't here alone."

Harry stopped staring down at Hermione and turned to face Charlie.

Neither man saw when Hermione closed her eyes and allowed a glistening tear to roll down her cheek.

"What do you mean... one of her parents...?" Harry asked.

Charlie dropped his head and looked to his feet.

"No," he shook his head, "they're both dead... but... her sister isn't."

Harry's mouth opened and his brow furrowed, "W-what... sister... Hermione doesn't have a sister..."

"S-she... she didn't tell you... well, it was news to us actually too... but we thought you knew about Emmeline..."

Harry rose from the bed at once and walked towards Charlie as if to say something but halted. What?

All thoughts of the day's events rushed out of his head immediately. He would have laughed in Charlie's face, called him insane, turned to Hermione and shake her into coherence to prove that he was lying. But Charlie was just standing there looking sadly; even a little guiltily, at him.

He finally found the voice to ask, "W-where is she?"

Charlie stepped a little into the room and indicated at the sofa across from the bed where a bundle of blankets lay. So focused on Hermione had Harry been when he first entered that he hadn't even noticed it. But then anyone would have, on first glance it really did look like a bundle of blankets.

He changed his direction and headed over to it but nearly fell over when he realised that the blankets had hair. It was a mess of bushy sandy blonde peeking innocently through a space in the bundle closest to an armoire and lamp. In the dim light anyone would have missed it had they not known what they were looking for, and Harry couldn't believe his eyes.

Hesitating for only a moment, he almost crept to the bundle on the sofa, found a loose end and drew it away to reveal the small, round face of the child who was presumably Emmeline Granger.

She was Hermione's little sister and he had never heard of her before.

But then, if he really thought about it, there were a lot of things about Hermione that he didn't know, this was just another one of them. Of course, it also made no sense to him at all. This was madness.

From where he had left him he could hear Charlie's whisper, "We thought that you knew... I mean, I'm sure she would have told you eventually... but..."

"Hermione had her reasons..." Harry said, now looking away from the sleeping child to the woman who was once more staring out the window at the cloudless, navy blue night sky, "and when she's ready to share them she will."

"Are you mad at her? I mean... if this is going to be a problem for you... Mum will be glad to take Emmeline... Hermione too..."

Harry raised his arm and waved it weakly, "No... I just want answers... a lot of answers..." he managed a little laugh, "Maybe they adopted her..."

Charlie did not laugh. He stood looking at Harry, then to Hermione and the small child in the bundle of blankets. They had found her in Hermione's arms when the Order entered the Granger house. Both had been hiding in a closet, Hermione had not even attempted to Disapparate and they were sure that she could have. She did not even offer explanation or apology either; she just remained silent, clutched Emmeline to her and left with them.

Well, at least they hoped Emmeline was her sister.

"This should not have happened," Charlie said finally, if possible, even softer than previously.

"No," Harry said with a sad sigh, "but it did."