The End

Chapter 21: All the King's Horses

It took Harry a moment to remember where he was and another to realize why he was crying. As soon as everything had become clear to him, he ran out of the door to his childhood room in Godric's Hollow as though it contained the bed of someone dying of an extremely contagious disease. He didn't stop there, but raced through the hall and down the stairs, occasionally tripping wildly over a hole in the floor.

Hogwarts could no longer be counted upon for its safety, he had to get out and he had to make sure that Ron came with him.

"Ennervate!" Harry whispered weakly, pointing his wand at Ron's chest, but instead of waking up, Ron gave a great twitch, as though the magic had caused him pain. Growing desperate, Harry tried levitating him, and while this spell worked, Ron started having some sort of seizure which continued until Harry lowered him back to the floor. If magic had that sort of effect on Ron, then Harry had only one choice, to carry him.

Disapparating was out of the question at the moment; that would be the first of all the charms that would remain protecting the school, so that at least the Death Eaters wouldn't be able to escape by Disapparating. The same was sure to be true of the floo network. This was unfortunate for Harry, because it meant that unless there was someone in Hogwarts, the nearest help would be in Hogsmeade, a mile and a half away.

He half carried and half dragged Ron out of the dungeons and into the Entrance Hall, where he stood yelling for help for as long as he dared, but there was no response. He even sent out a Patronus, hoping some member of the Order would see it and know what it meant. Harry hadn't expected to find the castle so deserted and eerie, although the miscellaneous bodies strewn about could have added to that.

With nothing else for it, Harry dragged Ron to the front door, forced it open with his foot, and stepped outside.

It was immensely foggy, the sun scarcely penetrating the thick layer of mist, making it seem as though it was still predawn on the ground, even though a watch would have maintained that it was in fact early morning.

It had finally stopped raining sometime during the night, but deep puddles covered the ground. They seemed to delight in blending in with the fog, making themselves even more difficult to see than their surroundings, which could be spotted through the fog at a distance of no more than a meter.

If it was difficult to see then it was impossible to hear: the fog seemed to suck up all the sound. The birds must have chosen to forgo their morning songs, the little sound there was came from the two figures that emerged, one dragging the other as he fought his way through the mist. Still, Harry could barely hear his struggling footsteps and Ron's dragging feet nor his own ragged breath and Ron's occasional gasps of pain.

Within minutes their feet were soaked as Harry walked straight into puddles he hadn't been able to see. Soon their robes and hair were damp as well with captured water from the fog. Harry imagined that Ron must be very cold, he would have been too if he wasn't the one doing all the work. As it was, the condensing fog intermingled with the sweat and tears on his face.

Finally, silhouettes of the nearest buildings of Hogsmeade began to loom into view and Harry put all the energy he had left into an extra burst of speed until he reached the street.

"Help!" Harry yelled. When there was no response he said it again and again, but it was no use, Hogsmeade was just as deserted as Hogwarts.

Harry lowered Ron to the ground and began to check him over. He didn't seem to be breathing and Harry couldn't find a pulse, he could only hope that was because he didn't know how to look for one. At any rate, the situation was now either desperate or hopeless, but Harry couldn't simply give up on Ron, not anymore, not after everything, but there was no way to get him to St. Mungo's with any sort of speed, no sane way at least. It seemed the time had come for insane ways.

Harry kneeled down, grasped Ron's arms very tightly, and began to clear his mind. If he allowed himself any doubts at all he might splinch one or both of them, leave Ron behind, or even mix up their parts, and, having never heard of anyone attempting something like this, he had no idea which one it might be.

A moment before he was about to Disapparate, he heard something: "Harry!"

The voice was familiar.

"Hermione?" Harry replied, looking around for her. He must be hearing things, Hogsmeade was supposed to be deserted; Hermione would meet them at St. Mungo's.

"Harry, are you alight?" she asked.

"I'm fine, but you've got to apparate to St. Mungo's right now and get help," Harry said.

"Why?" Hermione asked. "What's wrong?"

"Ron's dying, can't you see that?" Harry exclaimed.

"How do you know?" Her voice seemed to catch in her throat.

"Well, he's not looking very lively is he," Harry demanded, gesturing to the prone figure lying on the ground in front of him. For such a brilliant witch, Hermione sure wasn't acting very intelligent. "I'll go then, just stay here and watch him until I get back."

"Harry, wait," Hermione demanded. "Ron is still captured by the Death Eaters, he's nowhere near here."

Harry stopped mid twist and blinked a few times, looking at his surroundings and running a hand through his hair. He gazed up at Hermione as though seeing her for the first time. "Am I dreaming?"

"No Harry," Hermione replied sadly.

"Oh," Harry whispered as everything slid into place. He wasn't in Hogsmeade, he was standing in the street in front of his parents' house, nearly five months after he'd believed it to be a moment earlier. Ron wasn't lying before him dying but was somewhere in Malfoy Manor, and perfectly healthy for all he knew.

Hermione was completely horrified with what she'd just seen. Not only had Harry simply appeared from apparently nowhere, but he had done so on foot, looking as though he was dragging something very heavy, although his only burden was a ratty old set of robes. To the observer, Harry had been in some mad delusion, absently swatting and unseen demons and spider webs as he'd forced himself onward.

Suspecting that Harry had been cursed, Hermione had begun searching her mind for any spell that would reverse the damage, but without knowing what exactly had been done to him, any cure she would try might do more damage than good. Just as she was growing desperate, the fog over Harry's eyes cleared and he came out of it, and suddenly Hermione knew this was not an isolated incident.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked again, studying him carefully.

"'Course," Harry replied promptly, but there was no mistaking the poorly rehearsed lie. After all, he was still inexplicably out of breath and looked thoroughly haunted.

"Do you care to describe what just happened?" Hermione pressed.

"I was just visiting my parents' house," Harry replied, gesturing to the broken down shack behind him.

"How could you tell which house it was?" Hermione asked, momentarily stunned.

"They put the secret keeping charm on it, remember?" he added. "You wouldn't be able to see it."

"Right," Hermione sighed, then she shook her head suddenly and forced herself back on track. "I meant between when you stepped out of your parents' house and when you first noticed that I was standing here."

"We can't talk about this here," Harry said. "Let's go back to the tent."

Hermione looked like she wanted to object, but she shrugged, led him into the shadow of a nearby house, and Disapparated without suggesting a different place. When Harry followed her he discovered why, the tent had been cleared away, leaving only an empty clearing. They sat down on a fallen log instead.

"So what happened," Hermione prompted.

"Nothing," Harry maintained, running his hands through his hair.

"Don't give me that!" Hermione exclaimed. "I know you're lying, I know you've been having flashbacks."

Harry's first idea was to answer with a defensive, "No!" then decided that a confused "What are you talking about?" would serve him better, but neither option made it all the way to his mouth. "I suppose you could call them that," he muttered instead.

"And they happen often?" Hermione prompted.

"How do you know anything about it?" Harry demanded.

"Sydney's the one who noticed," Hermione explained. "She said there was something strange about the way you reacted to the Jabberwock."

Harry shrugged, he supposed that going on about a Chimera would have been something of a red flag, and he felt foolish for assuming that just because his companions hadn't said anything at the time they hadn't noticed the slipup.

"She also guessed that most of the flashbacks are about some part of the final battle between you and Voldemort," Hermione continued.

Harry nodded.

"And that they've been getting more frequent and vivid," Hermione pressed.

Harry nodded again, vaguely impressed, if embarrassed, that Sydney had managed to pick up on all this.

"She said that she thinks you might have something called Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome," Hermione explained. "It's something that soldiers sometimes get after they've been in a really intense battle. One of the symptoms is flashbacks to the event."

"That sounds about right," Harry sighed. "Did she mention a cure?"

"Long term therapy," Hermione replied.

"Any magical cures? Something a little faster, perhaps?" Harry muttered.

"Not that I know of," Hermione said. "Sydney said these flashbacks can be very debilitating, as I suppose you've noticed. She thinks if they get too bad you should sit this mission out. I think this qualifies as bad."

"What!" Harry exclaimed. "No way!"

"But if you have a flashback at the wrong time..." Hermione cried.

"If you really think it will be that much of a problem, then get rid of it," Harry yelled, pointing at his head.

"What?" Hermione gasped.

"Cast Obliviate, make me forget the whole battle," Harry explained. "You can remind me of a few things before we go in, then sort the rest out when it's over."

Instead of the look of incredulity Harry had expected to see cover Hermione's face, she dropped her gaze to the ground and said, "I can't."

"Why not?" Harry demanded. "I've seen you do it a million times. What about that Death Eater you made defect by erasing his reasons for joining Voldemort? You don't understand what this is like, Hermione. It's like when you get a song in your head and you know it so well that you could swear you're actually listening to it. When I go into one of those flashbacks it feels like I'm there, Hermione. That battle hasn't stopped. It keeps happening to me, over and over."

"I...um..."

A sudden change had come over Hermione. She was wearing an expression Harry had never seen on her before. He could barely stand to look; she just seemed so confused. But Hermione was never confused. Then, all of a sudden, several things made sense at once.

"You did it to yourself," Harry gasped, feeling as though something very large was pressing on his chest. "You cast Obliviate on yourself."

But it couldn't be. She spent most of her time telling off Harry and Ron for considering stupid things like that. He chanced another glance at her. It was similar to the mood she had on the rare occasions when the library failed to produce a satisfying answer to a problem, but it was different as well, for it was her mind that had failed her. Or she had failed her mind.

Hermione caught his eye, nodded glumly, and returned her attention to the ground.

"What did you erase?" Harry asked, trying to be gentle but knowing it was a stupid question the moment he finished it.

Hermione, however, seemed to have an answer, "The last battle against Voldemort, as far as I can tell. I can hardly remember any of it."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Harry demanded. "Why didn't I notice? Or Ron?"

"This helped," Hermione shrugged, pulling a folded piece of newspaper out of her pocket and handing it to Harry. It was an article that ran in the Daily Prophet a few days after the battle, relating every detail the survivors had been willing to share. The paper had been folded and unfolded so many times that a large hole was worn in the middle.

"I didn't want anyone to know," Hermione continued. "It was easy enough to play along."

"So on the train coming back from Hogwarts a few days ago," Harry started, voicing something that had just occurred to him, "when you and Sydney were talking about Ron and Michael and you asked me to leave, you were worried that you'd have to make something up and I'd notice the difference."

Hermione nodded.

Harry put a great amount of effort into not showing any outward reaction, but it felt as though a heavy burden had been lifted off his shoulders.

"And all this time, you haven't had a clue what happened during the final battle," Harry said weakly. If she hadn't still been wearing that look of utter confusion he would have been inclined to doubt her sincerity again.

"I've picked up on bits and pieces," Hermione reminded him.

"When did you do this?" Harry demanded.

"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted. "I must have erased that too. It was probably soon after the battle, though."

Harry was astounded. Even stranger than the idea that Hermione would erase her own memory, was the fact that she had done it, decided that there was some memory of that battle which she absolutely could not live with, when the rest of them were still working out which tense to refer to people in.

"Well, do you want to remember now?" Harry asked.

"More than anything," Hermione replied, "but I don't see how."

"Memory charms can be reversed, can't they?" Harry asked desperately.

"Yes," Hermione replied, jumping up and pacing, "but we'd have to know the exact nature of the original charm, and I erased that too."

"You really did want to forget it all, didn't you?" Harry said.

"Apparently," Hermione said with a shrug. "It's kind of funny, actually. I've spent my entire life on some big quest for knowledge, only to come up against something I couldn't bear to remember, something I would risk my sanity to forget, and now I can't stand not knowing what it was."

"Hilarious," Harry replied sarcastically, surprised that she could even say that she thought something of this magnitude was funny.

"Not really," Hermione admitted

"You really have no idea why you did this?" Harry asked.

"None," Hermione confirmed. "But what happened to that Death Eater I made defect?"

"Another Death Eater found him out and killed him," Harry replied grimly.

Hermione gasped and clamped a hand to her mouth, looking as though she was about to throw up. "I killed him," she whispered. "I killed him."

"No you didn't," Harry informed her. "A Death Eater did."

"I might as well have," Hermione replied. "He might have survived if I hadn't addled with his mind."

"And we might have died," Harry explained. "He was about to knock us out and capture us. You heard him coming and modified his memory. A few minutes later we needed a distraction and he volunteered to go. We got past unscathed. If it'd happened any other way we would either be dead or bowing down to Voldemort right now."

"That doesn't make it right," Hermione muttered.

"It doesn't make it wrong," Harry pointed out. "Just what made you think it was a good idea to modify your memory?"

"I keep telling you, I don't remember," Hermione sighed.

"Hermione," Harry demanded.

"I'm not you, Harry," she exclaimed. "I live for knowledge, not adventure. I can't tell you why I did it, but I suppose it all just got to be too much. Although, if I'd known what it was like at the time I don't think I would have. It's like counting up your fingers but arriving at the wrong number, and you can't tell if you've just counted wrong or you're suddenly missing something."

"I'm just trying to help you," Harry said.

"Oh, and a right fair state you're in to do that," Hermione laughed. "Look at yourself, Harry."

"Good point," Harry admitted. "When did Ron become the most grounded one among us?"

They shared a blissful moment of laughter until Harry suddenly burst out, "Ron! The mission! I was supposed to help you contact the Order."

"Good of you to remember," Hermione replied. "But don't worry about it. I took care of it before I went looking for you."

"Thanks," Harry sighed. "It must not have taken very long, then."

"Turns out Tonks is staying a few campsites over," Hermione explained. "At least she used to be."

"She's sneaky like that," Harry admitted.

"Anyway, she said she'd get the word out," Hermione continued. "I also asked her to try and convince Mrs. Weasley that Ginny should be allowed to help."

"I'm sure Tonks was thrilled about that," Harry sighed.

"You did promise Ginny," Hermione reminded him. "But she's of age now anyway, so Mrs. Weasley's approval isn't required."

"I'm sure that will be enough to convince her not to kill me," Harry muttered sarcastically.

"We need to go to Fred and George's shop," Hermione said suddenly.

"Really?" Harry replied, perking up, feeling that he could use a trip to a quality joke shop.

"We promised to keep the twins informed, and we'll need to use Hedwig to contact Ginny and tell her what we need her to do," Hermione explained. "Plus, I'm sure they have a thing or two there that could be useful to us."

"Excellent," Harry said.

They grabbed their bags, not speaking much, as though nothing had changed. For even though what they knew about each other had increased dramatically over the past hour, the fact of the matter was that the change had occurred months ago, and the reality of their existence hadn't changed one iota since then, only their perception of it had.