Love on the Battlefield

Frequent Calls and Forbidden Dreams

Ronald Weasley paced in front of his fireplace; a few beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his face, landing on the polished oak floor. "It’s okay, old boy," he told himself reassuringly, "she’s been late before. It’s not like it’s a deadly sin. No, not a sin. She’s just running late. That’s all."

He looked over to the grandfather clock, similar to the one at the Burrow, to see the name "Hermione Granger" at the "Traveling" placement. He scrunched his eyebrows together. Surely… What was taking her so bloody long?

Ron heard a faint 'pop' from the back of the living room and spun around to see Hermione Granger, blushing and wearing a weak smile.

"…Like the new place, Ron," Hermione noted as she cast her gaze around the room to escape looking into Ron’s eyes. It was true though; Ron’s last flat had been a complete disaster area, and that was before he moved in. Apparently, he hadn't inherited the cleaning gene from his mother, but instead was just a typical male living on his own.

"Yeah, it’s suiting my needs quite nicely," Ron said though his face scrunched up as he looked to the left wall and saw that once again his ivies were growing a bit rapidly for his liking. The room was simple, with the occasional box that still needed unpacking, two chairs, a loveseat, and a longer-then-usual couch. The walls were a wondrous shade of off-white that seemed enchanted to make the room look its best at all times.

Even the carpet, a light shade of blue, seemed to be bewitched to keep itself clean. Though it would prove that the past occupant was either a neat freak or a single male that needed more help then he thought when it came to housework.

Unsteadily as she straightened out the sleeve that had been turned upright, Hermione began "So, how has everything been?"

To the outsider, it might seem as if they hardly knew one another, but in fact they had known each other, for better or for worse, since they were eleven years old. Both were sorted into the house of the lion, Gryffindor. It was simple things that set either of their tempers off, causing it to make quite a commotion during the end of terms when stress was running high, and it aided in the uncertainty that was evident in both of their voices.

"’Mione," Ron said, calling her by her pet name that he hadn't used in years, "let’s just skip the questioning and just sit down and maybe have a drink."

Hermione looked up at Ron, who was still in his Unspeakable robes (which were really just the same as the Aurors only with more pockets) and simply nodded.

"Splendid," Ron said with a bit too much enthusiasm, going from the living room into the kitchen, complete with a bar.

"Um, Ron," Hermione shakily started, following him, "I just want to talk. That’s it. Just talk."

Ron looked at her and then put the glasses back in their places on the cabinet. "Is something bothering you? Or is it something that Harry unknowingly did that set you off like this?"

"No, no, it’s not Harry. Or at least I don’t think it’s Harry," Hermione said slowly, sinking onto a barstool. Ron looked at her with a concerned eye, trying to remember if he had done something that would have caused this reaction. It wasn't like Hermione to owl him at the last minute about her coming over and then show up late for the meeting that she had called.

"Well, do you want anything to eat?"

"Nah, if I do, I’ll end up eating more then talking and I really need to talk," Hermione said, running her fingers along the edge of the marble top of the bar, feeling the edges where one piece ended and another began. She looked up at Ron, pleading with her eyes for him to sit down and to listen. Just listen and not interrupt her till the very end, unlike how their chats usually went and she hardly ever finished what she was saying about several different topics.

"Well," Ron said, striding over to sit next to her, "you can talk right now."

Hermione looked at him. He was one of her best friends and now… She sharply reminded herself that although the times had changed dramatically, he was still her friend and she could trust him enough to confide in.

"It all started back, I’d say a year or so before that trial took place," she started, not mentioning Ginny’s name. It was an unspoken rule that nobody ever mentioned her name, for it was almost as if she didn’t even exist anymore and in some ways, she didn’t. "That all of the Death Eaters started getting really active again. So many people were put to work for the Ministry, and the heads ruled that everybody had to become Aurors…all of the departments being trained for things that they wouldn’t be an asset to.

"I mean, it was fine for you and Harry for because you were already Aurors, but, Ron… People like me; we don’t belong out there in the battlefield. We belong behind our own lines, searching for patterns and telling you all what they could strike next, like a warning. And then today was worse then my first day of training. It was worse, Ron. That was one of the most horrible days that I’ve ever experienced, and yet today was worse."

Ron promptly nodded in understanding, although he hoped that she was over-exaggerating about today. He faintly remembered his image of Hermione being strong and tough, which was shattered when she all but collapsed in his and Harry’s arms when she met them to go out on the town after her first day in Auror training. That image of her was long lost now, even though Hermione had gone through things that were far worse and was selected to be part of Harry's team - which was rumored, and later proven true, to only allow the toughest wizards and witches in.

"We had several calls that were just from people being paranoid and then there was one where there was a murder, but instead of the killing curse, they… It was everywhere, Ron. Everywhere. And it was an Auror, from one of the lower teams."

As Ron watched Hermione, her words began to sound forced, and her eyes became glassy with unshed tears. He knew that she needed a hug, but his gut told him to leave her alone and let her talk before comforting her.

"I mean, how am I supposed to know that - ", she was interrupted by a sharp whistle and she looked up at Ron, demanding to know his response. It was in fact a system that filtered out the people that talked via the floo and set off an alarm if it was Harry or another person of their team. She only looked at him briefly before turning away and staring at the top of the bar again.

Ron sighed, for this only happened at the worst possible time, and slowly got up. "I’ll be back soon," he murmured and kissed her forehead. "Make yourself at home, the box thing is in the next room and you know how to work it," he said, referring to the telly.

Hermione weakly nodded, "Be back soon."

She watched him grab his wand and the spare as he readied himself to go. He turned to the fireplace and reached over into the bag of floo powder that he had sitting on top of the mantle, and grabbed a pinch out of it.

It then struck her how alone she would be once Ron left and realized that surely her own flat had the same call, for they were on the same team after all. She sprung off the stool, "Ron, Wait!" She yelled as she hurriedly straighten out her robes once again, and caused Ron to look back at her with a puzzled glance.

"I'm coming too and don't you even dare think of leaving me behind ever again, Ronald Weasley," she said in a disapproving tone, with the old stubborn spirit gleaming in her eyes. "I'm part of the team too."

"But, Hermione, you're tired and you need a good night's rest. Just stay here and don't…come."

"Ron, has that worked before?"

"Well, no."

"Exactly, and you all probably need me as well. I'm coming and that is final."

Ron grinned, "This is what I thought you would do. You really do need to think about quitting that extra department that you're part of. You can't be torn in so many directions any more."

"Ron, you know perfectly well that I just can't quit that department, for -"

"Hermione, you're the only one on our team that hasn't."

Hermione looked up at him, questioning him with her eyes alone. They stood there for only a few brief moments before, "Alright, fine. I'll owl them tomorrow about it."

"That's my girl, Hermione. I knew you would come around."

* * * * *

Artemis Sinistra slowly trudged through the woods, shivering and wrapping herself more tightly in her slightly-too-large cloak. "Stupid Ministry," she trying to avoid stepping on twigs and leaves that would alert others to her presence.

"Why does Albus want me to come this way?" She mused to herself. The Centaurs still refused to help the side of the Light, - Albus Dumbledore and the Hogwarts staff in particular - even after she offered to study the stars with them and extended a couple of her most valuable books for their exchange of loyalty. Part of her was glad that the Centaurs hadn't accepted her offer, as she cherished those books the most and would have greatly missed them when she woke up at odd hours and didn't have them to read.

She nervously looked around the woods, trying to shake off the feeling that she was being followed, and she froze. A slight wind was blowing, causing her long raven hair to softly twirl about. The small hairs on her neck stood up as she took in the forest, her blood pounding in her ears. She heard several leaves rustling, but if it was the wind alone she didn't know. Part of her argued that she was being paranoid, while the other screamed for her to run.

She abruptly took her wand out, and against better judgment muttered, "Lumos". She looked around, but nothing out of the ordinary. Deciding that it was just from spending too many nights alone up on her Astronomy Tower deck with nothing but a nice cup of hot cocoa and her telescope, that had finally outdone her nerves. For now, she could not see what was going on around her.

She moved on, covering the sides of her face with her hair like a masked bandit, and hoping that the ‘sign’ Albus had told her that would be in this area would hurry up and come into view. She continued to walk until the full moon was overhead; the trees casting eerie shadows and making her nerves crash against one another.

"Isn’t this ironic," she mused to herself, "that I’m scared of what my own name means." Soon, the trees grew closer and closer together, reminding her of how the Forbidden Forest looked.

She heard a rustle a few feet in front of her and stopped again, trying to listen or see what had caused the noise. If it was nothing, it might have been the wind or a small creature that wouldn’t do her any harm. At least she hoped that the smaller animals didn’t enjoy attacking Hogwarts’ astronomy professors.

She soon heard it again and took a step backward, out of reflex alone. She heard another rustle behind her, and looked around, trying to figure out what was going on, and how to get out of the forest before she had no possible way out.

Quickly, she began to walk, faster and faster until she was almost to a mid-jog, when she stopped in absolute horror. It took her a second to fully realize what had happened, or at least what she saw. There could be no mistake for what it was: a form, lying in robes as black as the night, with a pale mask, holding a wand, and facing up into the sky. She took another step backward, trembling.

She backed into a very… warm tree? Before she could spin around, the ‘tree’ put its arm and hand in front of her, covering her mouth and blocking her scream, although there wasn’t anybody around for miles.

The figure said in a very deep and silky voice, "Scream, and you will join the one who you were named after," before roughly pulling her far into the woods.

* * * * *

Harry Potter woke up, sweat covering his brow and his heart racing, with the sound of his blood pounding in his ears.

It had to be the fifth time he had woken up. Being pulled into the same nightmare, over and over again, only to slip back into the nightmare when he wasn’t aware of him being pulling back into the dream world. Of course, then the terror would be set at him once again.

He tried desperately to keep a hold on the slipping details, but had no such result. He knew he had dreams, but once he woke up… It was like the all of the times before that he tried to remember his dreams, only to have them slip further and further away from his memory. Slowly, he sat up, rubbing his temples, trying to ease the mental pain and shock.

"Harry," a voice called out, stretching out his name in a terrifying manner.

The sound of it sent shivers down his spine as he reached over to his nightstand, put on his glasses, and grabbed his wand. Surely nobody was in his flat? How did they get past all of the wards…

"I see you, Harry," the voice called out once again, this time not sending a chill down his spine. No, this time, it struck a cord deep inside of his very soul. Against his better judgment, he quietly swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood, trying to ignore the urge to jump back up due to the cold wooden floor, despite the fact that it was summertime. He looked around his room, and briefly caught a glimpse of his reflection before, "Come out and play, Harry!"

This time the voice was harsh – sinister, even – and deep. To only make the matters worse, it seemed to be getting closer to him, like a stalking jungle cat as it watches the peaceful gazelles grazing, knowing that any second a predator could emerge. As well, it didn’t seem to have to stop and look around, to make sure that it was coming in the right direction. It was as if it reacted on instincts alone.

Harry glanced back at the mirror, which flashed, showing Harry in a different light. Instead of the infamous lightning bolt scar that adorned his forehead – not due to natural causes, mind you – he had a blazing, raw, Dark Mark sitting on his brow.

He didn’t want to see the image of it anymore, as he quickly fled from his room and went into the kitchen to check the clock. To see if it was anybody, or just his imagination – which he hoped it was the latter.

As he crossed the threshold, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the person standing in his kitchen. Surely, it couldn’t be so; but how many times had he looked at the back of her head and knew that he would know it from anyone else? He leaned to the left to see what the person was doing, only to see the familiar person reading the paper like it was just an ordinary day.

"Ginny?" he asked in disbelief. He walked towards her, amazed, but she didn't respond. "Ginny," he repeated and put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it slightly.

Immediately, Ginny spun around in her chair and glared at him, her brown eyes blazing, with a rapidly growing sinister grin on her face. "Hello," she began, "Harry." Her tone was vicious and oozing with malice, which hinted at all of the possible things that she had done before she was being imprisoned. Harry quickly removed his hand and took several steps back from her.

"Ginny," he started again, but stopped when she put her forefinger on her lips and whispered, "Shh." The twinkle in her eye would have rivaled Dumbledore’s, that is, if it had been out of happiness, not out of evil plots and other such things that were most likely bouncing around in her head at the moment.

Harry saw the twinkle sparkle only one more time before her face stretched out in unimaginable ways and rapidly paled, with snakelike slits and a very thin mouth. For a second, Harry was in complete shock, but who could blame him? The single wizard that had caused so much terror and chaos, had been able to get into the flat that held just happened to house the wizard that had long turned into a man that defeated him that one time while he was just merely an infant. Lord Voldemort had finally found a way in.

"Sweet dreams, Harry." A bolt of lightning passed in front of Harry’s eyes…

Harry bolted upright from his bed, and feverishly checked his forehead to make sure that he had his own mark. And to his relief, he did.

"It was just… A dream."

All of his sheets were now scattered about the room, or he presumed those were that lumps that were sitting on his floor. He swung his feet over the side of the bed, put his glasses on, grabbed his wand, and muttered, "Lumos!"

He walked down his hall, glancing around each corner, and slowly made his way into his kitchen – which had neither voices nor ‘people’ occupying it. He walked over to the counter and quickly, but very shakily, made himself a cup of coffee, hoping that it would calm his nerves.

As he drank his coffee, out of the corner of his eye he noticed a red light flashing next to his fireplace. Looking around, he went over to the fireplace and stared at it for a few moments, as if trying to decide what to do with it, now that it was blinking. He tapped his wand on it and clearly said, "Constant Vigilance".

Harry scrunched up his face at the bitter thought of Moody and his team. He’d have to remind himself to change it sometime, as well as the rest of his team’s, just so that he wouldn’t have to remember it every single time this happened.

As he was pondering the bitter memories, a screen popped up to the right of the blinking light. Harry cocked his head to the left, as if he was determined to get the best view of this blank screen. He then straightened back up, and tapped his wand on the screen.

"Now, let's see what lovely news you have," he bitterly thought out loud as the screen changed to reveal countless lines of text. He sighed at the thought of having to read all of it at this hour of the morning, he took another sip of his coffee before pulling up a small footstool and sitting on it. He bitterly looked at his coffee, as if blaming it for him having to read this excessive amount of data.

He put it down his coffee and looked at it, he then slightly shook his head and lifted it back up to his lips and started reading. He quickly sped over the first line but the second line caused his eyes to grow huge, and at the very start of the third, he slowly dropped his coffee cup, sending shards of glass and scalding hot coffee pooling around his feet.

* * * * *

Minerva McGonagall looked through her lesson plans from the previous years. All had notes here and there about the students' abilities. She had been poring over these old notes since seven in the morning, and it was now nearly noon.

If it had been during the school year, she would have been grateful for the silence and the break from explaining things over and over to the students that were having difficulty with their magical abilities. However, it was summer and the absolute quiet was horrifying. The stillness and the hush that seemed to echo in all of the corridors seemed to multiply with great force, consuming all of Hogwarts in one giant gulp. It was almost as if she were afraid of it also swallowing her up, making her mute. It was something that had only grown in size and magnitude as the years piled up with her teaching experience.

She heard a faint knock at the door and looked up curiously. Most of the other Professors were gone here and there for different reasons and usually they didn’t cross paths all that much, besides at meals. Sighing, she looked around her desk, found a clean quill, and stuck it in the lesson plan to mark her place. "Come in," she said to the unknown figure.

She waited for a few long moments, refusing to let herself crumble into the outstretched arms of fear. She knew that if she did, the chances of her setting herself free from fear’s grasp as were not in her favor.

"It is open," she called again, making her voice harder and stronger. She slowly stood up out of her chair, and dragged her hand around the desk behind her as she made her way to the front of the room.

Taking a quick breath, she opened the door. She raised both of her eyebrows in greeting, sidestepping to let the knocker in. It’d be impossible for her not to let him in, for she could tell by the look in his eyes that he came here with a mission and would die before he would fail on it. "Come in, Sirius," she said, letting him in and shutting the door.

He walked over to the chairs sitting opposite of her desk and looked at the collection of books and spare parchments that were scattered about. His eyes wandered over to a stack of books whose pages had long turned yellow from age and constant use. He looked up to see that she was sitting down in her chair, watching him, and he also sat down.

"Well, it is good to see you again, Minerva," he said in an uncertain tone. Looking at a piece of paper that listed those students who were interested in the more complex courses of Transfiguration. It was relatively new, for he didn’t recognize any of the names on the parchment, other then save a few last names.

Minerva looked at him, the hard lines of the past forever etched upon his face, and paused. "Sirius, I know you didn’t come to chat about all of the old times. Just say what you have to say."

Sirius, however, looked as if he had not expected her to be so blunt about his presence and shifted awkwardly. He fumbled with his hands for a moment or two before finding his voice once again. "Well, I actually came here to talk about Harry."