Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Strinx

Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Strinx

By Moon Weasley

Chapter Twenty-Six:

Loss

The waiting was torturous. Harry glanced around the depressing waiting room at the crowd of ashen faces all staring blankly out into space. His stomach was in knots and his throat was scratchy and dry.

He felt overwhelmingly guilty.

I should've been able to prevent this, he thought with aching heart. He leaned forward and buried his head in his hands. They'd known for a week what Voldemort and his henchmen were planning and still they'd been powerless to stop it. And this was the result: A waiting room filled with fellow students all Muggleborns, waiting anxiously for news about their family members, each and every one wondering if they'd ever see their loved ones again alive. And worst of all was the fact that Hermione was one of those waiting. He'd failed his best friend!

After she'd collapsed in the library they'd slowly made their way to McGonagall's office. Hermione had altered between near unconsciousness and heartbreaking sobs and in the end Ron had lifted her effortlessly and carried her the rest of the way. Hermione had slumped against his chest and Harry had noticed a large wet spot on his worn-out jumper after he'd positioned Hermione into one of the chairs.

At that point Harry had been fighting tears of his own, but they were angry tears. What had Hermione ever done to Voldemort or his Death Eaters besides being born with the ability to perform magic? It wasn't as if she or her parents had chosen this for her so why should they suffer? The sheer illogic of it all just served to make his anger stronger and he had to restrain himself from cursing and breaking things.

Professor McGonagall had taken the time to fix Hermione a steaming cup of tea and adding a few drops of Calming Draught to help her overcome the initial shock. As feared Hermione's parents' house had been attacked during the night and they'd both been taken to St. Mungo's.

"What's happened to them?" Hermione's asked in a choked sort of voice clearly expecting the worst. Harry had been surprised to see Ron reach out and grab hold of her hand, squeezing it in a comforting sort of way.

"I'm afraid I don't have any information about their current situation or details about the attack at his point, Ms. Granger," said McGonagall softly. Her eyes showed a wide spectre of emotions even if her body language was as professional as always. Harry thought she looked to be on the brink of crying and it did nothing to ease his already nagging feeling that there was bad news ahead.

"I assume you wish to leave for St. Mungo's as soon as possible?" she asked mildly and Hermione nodded. "Do you need to fetch anything from your dormitory? You might have to stay there for a few days."

Hermione wiped her cheeks and seemed to tighten the grip on Ron's hand. "No, I want to go right away," she whispered hoarsely.

"All right, then." Professor McGonagall opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out what looked like a very large belt buckle. She pointed her wand at it and said "Portus".

"This portkey will transport you directly to the waiting room of the ward your parents have been brought to. Please announce your arrival to the head nurse when you get there."

Hermione rose from the chair and with a small smile at Ron she tried to extract her hand. He however did not let go.

"I'm coming with her," said Ron firmly. Harry hadn't seen Ron look quite so determined since he'd stood on a broken leg in the Shrieking Shack challenging Sirius to kill him.

"Now Mr. Weasley," began McGonagall overbearingly, "the waiting area is reserved for family only..."

"But we are family!" he exclaimed heatedly. "Me, Hermione and Harry are as close as any family and what happens to one of them happens to me. She needs us there! You can't seriously send her off to that place all alone now?!"

"He's right," Harry second. "We're going!"

"Oh, all right," sighed McGonagall and for the first time that Harry could remember she actually looked old. "But hurry on over here, the Portkey is about to activate."

They did as commanded and soon all three stood touching the belt buckle. Just as Harry felt the Portkey activating and he braced himself for the uncomfortable sensation of having a hook fastened to his belly, he turned and met Hermione's eyes.

"Thanks," she whispered. Then the Portkey activated and they were gone.

Harry glanced at his watch. That had been several hours ago and still Hermione knew nothing about her parents' condition or what had happened to them. The Portkey had taken them to a waiting room where Healers and Medi-witches and wizards in lime green robes had been frantically running to and fro. Neither had acknowledged their presence and eventually Hermione had literally jumped one of them and demanded to be taken directly to her parents. Unfortunately they'd been unable to accommodate her wish claiming that they were still being treated.

The stressed-looking Medi-witch had conjured up several pillows and blankets urging them to make themselves comfortable while they waited. After fuming around the room in a mad frenzy for about half an hour Ron had finally managed to coax Hermione to sit down on the couch next to him. She'd curled up in a foetal position and Ron had begun stroking her back in calm soothing motions and Harry had watched as silent tears ran down her cheeks.

After a while the tears stopped but she'd yet to move or say anything. She was just staring blankly into the air in front her giving them no indication what she was thinking or feeling. Ron had stopped rubbing her back and was now holding her hand firmly in his own. Harry didn't think either of them was aware of the other people in the room.

Harry wanted to shrink away and hide.

As minutes turned into hours the room had slowly begun to fill. When they'd arrived there had just been one other woman and a small boy of about eight huddled together in a corner. Soon however others had begun to arrive but it wasn't until other Hogwarts students showed up that the severity and magnitude of the situation really dawned on Harry.

Hannah Abbot had been the first one Harry recognised. She too along with Justin Finch-Fletchley and Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff house, arrived by Portkey. Hannah was unusually pale but looked otherwise perfectly fine something that led Harry to suspect that the bad news hadn't really sunk in yet.

Justin had been a completely different story. Harry had to look away because seeing someone so utterly and totally distressed was simply too painful. A Healer had already been by to collect him but Harry still thought he could hear the Hufflepuff's sobs echoing inside his head. Somehow he doubted that sound would ever really leave him.

Terry Boot and a group of five other Ravenclaw students that Harry didn't know by name came next accompanied by tiny professor Flitwick. Though he was nowhere near Justin's state of total breakdown, Terry too had been in a bad way. He'd made no sound whatsoever but Harry had seen how his entire body was shaking uncontrollably and the tears just didn't seem to end.

Tiny Professor Flitwick who was always so cheerful and chipper looked even smaller than usual. His shoulders had drooped significantly and there was something so terribly deflated about him that Harry suspected what he was seeing here in this waiting room was just the tip of the iceberg. Voldemort's strike had been monumental and it had been fatal. Harry's hate had never been more consuming.

When Colin and Dennis Creevey arrived along with Professor McGonagall Harry wanted to tear the room to pieces. McGonagall seemed to sense his distress and had laid a comforting hand on his shoulder silently urging him to keep his calm. It had taken all his will power to do so and feeling utterly resigned he'd slumped back into his chair and closed his eyes in a futile attempt to block it all out. Naturally it didn't work.

As time passed more and more people were collected by sombre looking Healers to learn the fate of their loved ones. Hannah Abbot returned soon after she'd been called sobbing uncontrollably and was immediately whisked off by a visibly anguished professor Sprout. Not much later Harry watched with speeding heart as Colin and Dennis shakily followed a clearly exhausted Healer into another room. They didn't return for nearly an hour and Harry had been relieved to see them almost smiling as they re-entered the room. Apparently their father had escaped the attack with his life intact but was unfortunately paralyzed from the waist down. All in all Harry thought that was good news.

Hours ticked by slowly and still no one came to collect Hermione. Hermione remained blank and impassive and Ron seemed too engrossed in rubbing her hand to even look at Harry. This surely couldn't be a good sign, Harry thought grimly. It probably meant that they were still alive but if the Healers were still working on them nearly five hours after they got here... Harry didn't even want to speculate, the options were so horrible.

The anguish and sorrow that resided in the waiting room along with an all-consuming guilt was starting to wear on his nerves and Harry felt that if he didn't get out of there soon, he would just tilt completely. Voldemort had done this and Voldemort was his problem. He should've dealt with it already, or at least tried. Then maybe this attack wouldn't have happened and people like poor Hannah Abbot wouldn't have lost both her parents and her little sister.

He got up so swiftly his chair toppled over and the sound of metal hitting the floor contrasted starkly to the sombre mood of the room. Neither Hermione nor Ron as much as batted an eyelash.

"I think I'll take a walk," Harry whispered to Ron who turned to look at him. He nodded slowly.

"Okay. I'll stay here with Hermione in case they call her."

"Sure," said Harry feeling kind of bad about leaving Hermione like this. But he just had to get out for a while! "Should I bring back anything? Coffee, tea or something to eat?"

The fact that Ron simply shook his head only seemed to emphasize the grim situation. Ron never turned down food.

Well out of the waiting room Harry drew a huge breath of relief. Part of him felt horribly bad about abandoning Hermione like that in her time of obvious need, but the truth was that if he'd stayed there for just a second longer Harry feared he would've gone completely around the bend. He was struggling with guilt about Voldemort's return and all the misery and horror that brought already. Witnessing friends and school mates losing loved ones was slowly pushing him towards the brink of being almost suicidal. In short- he needed a break.

Harry glanced around the corridor wondering which direction he should take. Lime green clad Healers rushed passed him every few seconds but Harry felt reluctant to hail one to ask for directions. They did after all have more important things to attend to rather than guide him around the place.

In the end he just decided on a whim to head down to his left and after turning a few corners at random Harry happened upon a loo. Gratefully he hurried inside and re-emerged a few minutes later feeling surprisingly refreshed. A few splashes of cold water had woken him up and some of the sombreness of the waiting room seemed to have washed down the drain with it. Harry suddenly noticed that he was absolutely famished and continued his exploration in the hope of finding a tea room, cafeteria or something to that effect.

Half an hour later, after having passed by the same portrait of a very brutal looking Healer for the third time, Harry had to admit that he was lost. St. Mungo's was a lot like Hogwarts he decided. Corridors, stairs, lifts and doors seemed to rearrange themselves at will because he'd no sooner passed a sign telling him that he'd reached the reception area before he found himself at the same precise spot even though he'd just passed through a door and ascended a set of stairs. He couldn't even find his way back to the waiting room and there was nothing left to do but to ask for directions.

And typically enough when he needed help there wasn't as much as a swish of lime green anywhere to be found. Feeling more than a little miffed Harry stomped up a rickety staircase lined with even more portraits of various Healers (they kept shouting outlandish diagnosis' at him that he pointedly ignored) and soon reached a landing with a set of double doors signposted SPELL DAMAGE. Harry pushed the door open and stuck his head in scanning around for a sign of a Healer. The corridor was empty and Harry swore out loud.

He was just about to continue on his way when a movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He whirled around expecting to see a Healer clad in their trademark blinding green but was surprised to see the hem of a set of expensive looking turquoise robes whip around a corner. Turquoise was not a common colour used on robes except for dress robes. In fact Harry had only known two wizards who'd wore this particular colour on their everyday wizard-wear. One was Dumbledore and the other that pompous git Gilderoy Lockhart.

Spell damage...Lockhart...

Harry's mind suddenly made the connection and an evil grin spread across his face. Ron's malfunctioning wand (just barely held together with liberal amounts of spellotape) had caused their incompetent and conceited professor to lose his memories when he'd tried to perform a memory charm on Ron and him down in the Chamber of Secrets in their second year. It made perfect sense that he'd reside in a ward for spell damage. Feeling he truly deserved some cheering up, Harry decided to follow Lockhart and find out what condition his mind was in nowadays.

Snickering into his hand Harry scanned up and down the corridor making sure no one would see him, thinking what a shame it was for Ron to miss this. The coast was clear and silently he pushed the door open and slipped inside. Many hours of tiptoeing around under his precious Invisibility Cloak came to good use as Harry pussyfooted up the corridor and peered around the corner where he'd seen Lockhart disappear.

He caught a brief glimpse of the former Defence teacher as he swept through another door and heard him exclaim elatedly about joint-up writing and autographs to whatever poor sod he'd come upon. Snickering Harry continued sneaking towards the open door but he'd barely taken three steps down the corridor when something else caught his attention.

Neville!

Harry gasped and instinctively ducked behind a medicine trolley. From behind the many phials and glasses containing everything from Skele-gro to Pepper-Up potion he had a clear view of his dorm mate. Neville was clad in a standard hospital gown but for a permanent resident at the Spell Damage ward Harry thought he looked surprisingly alert. More alert in fact that Harry ever remembered Neville looking in all the years he'd know him...

A feeling that there just might be something more to Neville's lengthy absence from school besides a light case of amnesia caused Harry to remain crouched behind the trolley. As he studied the boy pacing back and forth he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something about Neville's entire demeanour that seemed to have changed. He kept checking his watch every other second like he was waiting for someone.

Harry couldn't quite put his finger on what was different about him, but he did seem less...awkward in a way. Neville was known for his clumsiness, tendency to forget the simplest things and nervousness in the presence of authority figures. This Neville however looked, well confident was perhaps the right word for it. Harry frowned. That was not the effect he'd thought amnesia would bring forth, but then what did he know about these things?

Wavering between wanting to walk up to him and wanting to turn back Harry stayed hunched behind the medicine trolley. Just when he'd decided that confronting Neville when he most likely didn't even remember who he was probably wasn't such a brilliant idea Harry received yet another shock to his system.

The double door at the opposite end of the corridor suddenly burst open and a man swept through them in a flurry of billowing black robes. With each step his features became more and more clear and it didn't take long before Harry had recognised him. There was no mistaking that hook-nosed greasy haired face!

Severus Snape did not strike Harry as someone you would find perusing St. Mungo's during visiting hours just out of the goodness of his (none existing) heart. A quickening of his pulse told Harry that he had to stick around for this.

And it was a good thing that he did. If he hadn't witnessed it directly Harry would never in a million years believed it to be true: Snape was there to see Neville Longbottom!

* * *

Ron's left leg was asleep. He'd been sitting in the exact same position for more than an hour and his entire body was aching for some movement. In addition he was just two ticks short of peeing his shorts that's how much he needed the loo. He would therefore be the world's greatest liar if he didn't admit at least to himself that he'd been sorely tempted to take off with Harry when he left to carouse the corridors alone and unaccompanied.

But not even the tempting allure of emptying his blather or sniffing out a fresh batch of sticky buns and a nice scolding cup of hot chocolate could bring Ron to leave Hermione. She was barely holding on as it was and he for one was not going to add to her distress by disappearing on her in her time of need even if it was just to nip off to the loo or to take a short walk around the corridor.

Ron glanced down at the girl whose head rested limply in his lap. Hermione's hair was a wild knot of exceptionally bushy tendrils even by her standards after having run her hands worriedly through it at least a thousand times these last few hours. Her face was pale, nearly translucent and he could just make out the beginning of faint blue rings under her eyes from lack of sleep. Though she hadn't cried for a few hours, her eyes were still red and puffy. Yet to Ron she was still the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

His heart ached for her. He'd tried to imagine what it would be like if it were his parents' fate they were waiting to learn news about and the mere thought had made him choke. Ron desperately wished he could take some of the hurt and worry from her but knew of course that he couldn't. All he could do was be there for her every minute and every second of the hell that was not knowing.

His hand was still rubbing her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner while the other held firmly onto her hand. He squeezed it comfortingly and was awarded with a weak smile as Hermione slowly tilted her head to meet his gaze.

"How're you feeling?" he asked softly.

Hermione shrugged and sighed. "Scared," she whispered hoarsely and he could see fresh tears forming. "What's taking so long?" she mumbled quietly.

Ron wasn't sure she was expecting an answer and therefore didn't offer any comment. What could he possibly tell her anyway other than speculations? Though there was nothing he'd rather be doing but reassure her that her parents would be just fine, Ron knew better than to get her hopes up. At this point things were in his opinion looking quite bleak, but Ron was not going to add to her worrying state by focusing attention to the fact that Hermione's worst fears just might become a reality, Silent comfort and support had thus become his strategy. Still he felt that it wasn't quite enough...

By now the only ones left in the waiting room was Hermione and a stoic looking wizard in his early thirties. In Ron's mind that was not a good sign.

Either their so messed up it's taking forever to heal them or they're...

Ron didn't feel confident in finishing that train of thought. Sometimes he had an uncanny knack of blurting out things that he thought to be rather unlikely just to have them come true not long after. Better be on the safe side, he thought determinedly returning his focus to Hermione.

"Are you hungry or something?" he asked quietly. "Or thirsty? I can get you a glass of water if you want. The loo's just outside in the corridor."

Hermione shook her head and Ron froze. Her head was still resting in his lap and any sort of movement in the close proximity of his... eh...Firebolt...was liable to set off a very unwanted reaction. Thankfully his nether region seemed to sense this was not the time or the place for such displays because nothing happened. Ron surreptitiously wiped the sweat from his forehead. Sure he was at St. Mungo's with Hermione waiting for news on her parents' condition after a freaking Death Eaters attack, but that was hardly any guarantee that there wouldn't be stirrings in his boxers. That part of his body simply had a mind of its own and was to Ron's personal chagrin more often than not completely disconnected from his brain.

"Okay," he murmured into her hair as he bent over to give her a light peck on her forehead. "Don't hesitate to ask if you change your mind."

"Thank you Ron, I won't," Hermione whispered throatily as she returned to staring blankly into the air. Ron sighed and wished he could reach his wand so that he could summon some water. He was parched and hungry beyond words. But then again when was he not?

Another twenty minutes passed unbearably slowly. Though he tried desperately not to Ron's eyes kept straying to the large clock on the opposite wall. Every time he did so his heart fell when he realized that it'd only been a few minutes at most since the last time he checked it.

Ron wondered were Harry might have gone. He'd been gone for more than half an hour and part of him felt that if he couldn't eat, drink or go to the loo then Harry sure as hell shouldn't be able to either. He was mentally scolding himself for being a complete arse and childish beyond years for feeling this way when the door creaked open and a pale and drawn Healer stepped through. Ron's heart began pounding hard in his chest as he realized that it was a fifty fifty percent chance she was here to fetch Hermione. Hermione on the other hand didn't seem to have noticed the arrival of the exhausted looking Medi-witch or if she had she made no sign to show it.

"Ms. Granger?"

Ron hadn't really noticed that he'd closed his eyes until a raspy voice just above his head made him jump slightly. Without a word he watched Hermione slowly, as if she was threading water, rise, slip off the couch and woozily get to her feet. She stumbled slightly as if she was dizzy and the Healer quickly grabbed hold of her shoulders steadying her.

"Are you alright to walk?" she asked softly and Hermione nodded. Ron tried to get up as well but as soon as Hermione had moved off his leg he was immediately subjected to a quite painful case of pins and needles. He remained seated utterly paralyzed and biting his tongue not to curse out loud.

"Please follow me," the Medi-witch requested and Hermione swallowed audibly.

"I'm coming with her," Ron stated firmly, clambering to his feet. Ignoring the pins and needles he moved to take Hermione's hand. The Medi-witch turned and shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely, "but I'm afraid it's close family only."

Ron opened his mouth to protest the madness of Hermione learning her parents' fate without someone there for support but the Medi-witch spoke before he could string together a single word.

"I promise to fetch you if necessary," she said giving him a weak smile. With a glance at Hermione Ron nodded reluctantly. She'd waited long enough for any news and didn't need for him to make a scene when the time had finally come. He squeezed her hand reassuringly and felt his heart constrict painfully when Hermione eyes once again clouded over with tears.

"Wait for me?" she mouthed as the Medi-witch steered her through the door.

"Always," Ron mouthed back and then the door closed. He braced himself for more torturous waiting.

* * *

Harry couldn't stop gaping at the sight before him.

It was deeply disturbing watching Neville Longbottom talking almost...well amiably with the person who when confronted by a Boggart in their third year had been exposed to be his biggest fear. Clearly something had changed Harry's dumbfounded brain concluded, though he couldn't for the life of him phantom what had prompted such a dramatic change.

Neville had continued to shiver fearfully, melt cauldrons and botch up every potion (unless he was paired with Hermione) ever since Snape had returned and pushed the ever patient and pedagogical Fleur out of the classroom, demoting her to a mere research assistant. This - civil and almost companionable conduct had to be a recent development, Harry deduced. The manner in which they were exchanging words looked more like a pair of old chums rather than feared teacher and intimidated student that much was certain.

The curious part of Harry was once again wide awake and demanding answers. Such a change couldn't just happen over night and without reason! With the skill brought by many hours of marauding the school, both with and without his beloved Cloak, Harry snuck closer to the odd duo.

It was a lucky thing that the ward was decorated with numerous large plants Harry thought thankfully as he dove gracelessly behind a particularly large and thickly grown piece of shrubbery (he made mental notes to brush up on his Herbology notes; he couldn't for the life of him remember the name of a single plant though he knew he'd seen them before). Crouching low he strained his ears to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"...seven foul tasting potions and a thick sticky balm smeared all over my head three times a day, can you believe it? The potions I can live with but that balm has an odour that makes Bubotuber pus smell heavenly in comparison. It's done nothing good for my social life, that's for sure."

Neville grimaced as he said this and Harry nearly keeled over in shock when the corner of Snape's mouth lifted slightly letting out a small chuckle.

"My heart is bleeding," he commented dryly and Neville stuck out his tongue in reply.

"Your compassion overwhelms me," he said sarcastically.

Snape raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, a small smirk playing at his lips. "Audacities aside, Longbottom, the Headmaster is anxious to hear how your treatment is going, and by that I mean the result of it and not the taste and odours of the medication you're given."

"I gathered as much," Harry heard Neville say casually. "I honestly didn't think you came because you were concerned for my health. I mean what would people think, the feared professor Snape making personal visits to his second least favourite student at Hogwarts? That could ruin your reputation that could."

Snape merely rolled his eyes, something Harry didn't think he knew how to do. Snape was acting almost...human. Harry hadn't been so shocked since he'd learned from Hagrid that he was a wizard!

"Okay, I'll get to the point," said Neville scratching his neck. "It's good news actually for once. I've had a major breakthrough, I'm happy to say."

Snape suddenly perked up earning a small grin from Neville.

"Good god, it's fucking surreal watching you get excited about something I've said."

"Just get on with it," Snape bit back sounding more like his usual charming self, "or I won't let you sit your potion's OWL."

"Ouch, touchy," said Neville cheekily. Snape looked fit to murder.

"I suggest you knock the amount of disrespect you're currently showing towards a teacher down a notch or three, Longbottom. I realise it's not a picnic being cooped up here for weeks and months but that doesn't give you the right to give me lip every time I see you. Just because I can't give you a detention or deduct points doesn't mean that I can't still punish you somehow. Be glad that Dumbledore and the Order are willing to go to such lengths to protect you from Voldemort and his Death Eaters. That attack at Gladrags was a close call and we don't want you falling into the hands of those evil bastards."

Snape paused and shot Neville an evil smirk. "At least not until we've restored the part of your memory that's been Obliviated. You're carrying important information of the life or death kind, Longbottom. Don't let that power get to your head. Better persons than you have succumbed to the allure of power and in my opinion you're showing disturbing signs of swift personality changes and disrespect. Consider yourself warned."

Neville was biting his lower lip and tapping his foot impatiently as Snape ranted. "Finished?" he asked inquiringly earning a sharp glare from the potions master.

"You cheeky little mongrel," Snape began in a low growl but was interrupted when a door suddenly opened and a grim looking Healer stepped through.

"What's going on out here?" he asked piercing Snape with a stern glare. Harry noticed Neville turning around faking a cough and grinning widely before he turned back arranging his face in innocent folds. Harry was deeply impressed. It was a performance worthy of the Weasley twins!

"Nothing," said Snape calmly looking more than a little miffed by the interruption. "I'm just getting the weekly update on Mr. Longbottom's progress. I've been told to expect his attending Healer in about ten minutes."

"He's running a little late," said the other Healer primly. "I heard raised voices and as I clearly remember pointing out to you on more than one prior occasion, Mr. Snape, shouting and loud voices are not permitted in this ward. The patients are here to heal and recuperate and aggravation and name calling are highly frowned upon. I suggest you conduct this meeting in a considerable softer tone of voice and without adding to Mr. Longbottom's already fragile state."

Neville had never looked more gleeful. Harry shared his glee wholeheartedly. If there was one man who truly deserved a stern dressing down, it was Snape!

"Have I made myself clear?" asked the Healer authoritatively.

"Crystal," retorted Snape dryly. The Healer looked far from convinced but left the duo none the less. When the door closed softly behind him with a dull click Harry saw Snape roll his eyes again.

"Don't you just love the staff here?" Neville asked smugly. The Potion master snorted. "To pieces. But charming Healers aside, you were about to tell me about your progress I believe."

"Sure, your Sourness," said Neville cockily and Harry had go clasp a hand over his mouth to avoid shrieking out loud in gleeful guffaws. Once again he wished Ron could be there with him to saviour this wonderful moment of Snape-bashing. Neville should be nominated for a bloody Order of Merlin, Harry thought in open admiration.

Snape for his part did a bang up job of living up to his new name when his face morphed into a scarily ugly version of his usual sullen scowl. For a split second Harry was sure Snape was going to hex his dorm mate into a real coma but Neville's next words however prevented him from lashing out the very scathing reply Harry just knew Snape was about to spit out.

"My memory has been fully restored actually," said Neville smugly, his round-faced head shaking excitedly. "The final pieces were put together today and the Healers are one hundred percent certain that everything's been restored to its original state."

"Great Merlin," Snape muttered looking openly excited. "Was it as we thought? Did you witness the Lestranges torturing your parents? Did your parents leave you some clues to where they hid it?"

Harry's head was spinning. Neville had been at St. Mungo's because they were hiding him from Death Eaters? The attack at Gladrags hadn't been a random hit as they'd all assumed? The Death Eaters had wanted to talk to Neville because they thought he knew where his parents had hid something? What?

He shook his head and focused on the bizarre conversation going on just a few feet away from him. Ron and Hermione were never going to believe this!

"No, no and no," Neville responded smugly and watched with evident glee as Snape's usually sullen face switched from excitement to pure surprise in a nanosecond.

"No?" he croaked. "No to which of my questions?"

"To all of them," said Neville with an air of haughtiness that Harry could tell Snape did not approve of.

"No it was not as we thought. I did not in any way watch those fucking bastards torture my parents into madness and no my parents did not leave me any clues what so ever about the hiding place of Slytherin's evil trinkets."

For the second time in just minutes Harry had to claps a hand over his mouth not to scream out loud. Neville's parents had obviously been Secret Keepers or something to that effect over Slytherin's potion (or should he say poison?) recipe and the magical object that was needed to correctly brew the lethal concoction.

They had been Aurors Harry remembered and bloody good ones too if the rumours about them were right. It made sense for Dumbledore to trust them with something like that. After all the old man could hardly keep every secret himself?

"Then am I to understand that this whole hospitalization and medicating frenzy has all been in vain?" Snape was back to looking sinister and foreboding again. "I've wasted precious time visiting you twice a week for Merlin knows how long?"

Neville shook his head in reply. "Don't get your greasy hair in a twist," he remarked amusedly. "My parents didn't give me any clues about the whereabouts of said stuff -"

"I think we've established that fact," Snape interrupted rudely piercing poor Neville with a glare that alone could melt cauldrons. Once again Harry found himself overwhelmed by the dramatic change in Neville's personality and attitude. A part of him couldn't help but wonder if the person in front of him was just a polyjuiced version because he honestly sounded and acted more like Malfoy than the fumbling round faced boy he'd shared dormitory with for more than four years.

" - my parents didn't," Neville continued as if Snape hadn't interrupted him, "my Uncle Gavin however did."

Snape looked positively floored. "Gavin? Gavin Harrington?" he asked disbelievingly. "That weak and idiotic Hufflepuff? What rubbish! How could he possibly known about the whereabouts of these objects?"

"Because Mum told him," Neville answered curtly. "He was her only brother and after having narrowly escaped the Dark Lord and his followers twice I guess she felt the need to secure that the knowledge of these important relics didn't just die with her and Dad if the worst should come to pass."

"I can't believe they'd be so careless," mumbled Snape. "They were top Aurors! They should've known better than to go against orders like that!"

Neville shrugged at this. "Sure, but aren't you glad she did? Now at least we have a chance of recovering them before those scoundrel get to them. And besides she didn't exactly tell Uncle Gavin in plain English where it was hidden and what it was either. She wasn't that thick!"

"No?" inquired Snape irritably. "She was a Gryffindor after all. You lot aren't exactly known for your dazzling minds."

"Perhaps not, but at least we're not feared and avoided like the plague like most Slytherins," retorted Neville evenly. "Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Go on," said Snape and Neville curtseyed. "Thank you, professor. As I said Mum didn't tell Uncle Gavin flat out about this secret. Instead she told him a story which she made him promise to tell me and make sure that I learned it by heart if something was ever to happen to them. Now that my memories have been restored I can recall it most vividly but that's not all that I remember."

He waggled his eyebrows teasingly. "Get this; just a few months after my seventh birthday Uncle Gavin died under very mysterious circumstances. Even though the Aurors that investigated the case never found anything incriminating there was no denying the fact that it left my Grandmother more than a little shaken up in the months that followed. Today for the first time in eight years I remember how my memory was lost."

Harry held his breath in anticipation and nearly lost his balance in the process.

"Who was it?" Snape asked eagerly. Neville let out a small chuckle.

"My Gran," he answered brightly and Snape spluttered.

"Your Grandmother Obliviated you? Why?"

Neville shrugged. "That was my initial question too but after giving it a bit of thought I think I know. I'm guessing she'd figured out that there was a connection between Uncle Gavin's sudden interest in telling me good night stories and his unfortunate demise. I haven't had the chance to ask her about this but I suspect she did it to protect me."

He fell silent for a moment, chewing his lip. "And I guess it was the right decision too. If she hadn't I guess I would've met a different fate that day in Gladrags..."

"We'll deal with your Grandmother's illicit Memory Charm and its consequences later, Longbottom," Snape interrupted rudely. "Right now I'm more concerned about the whereabouts of the artefacts that the Dark Lord so eagerly searches for these days. If you'd be so kind as to relate this to me then I can be on my merry way out of here."

"Sure thing," Neville said absentmindedly. After a brief pause in which Snape made a great show of tapping his shiny boots impatiently against the sterile white tiles on the floor, Neville cleared his throat and lifted his gaze to meet the cold stare of the unloved potion master.

"The story may have been wiped from my mind for many years, but now that it's restored I remember it most vividly. I'll just give you the executive summery if that's alright. Uncle Gavin was known for his lengthy and very detailed stories and I'd hate to keep you longer than necessary."

"Please do," Snape said tartly crossing his arms across his chest. Neville gave him a withering glare and Harry wholeheartedly shared his sentiments. Snape could at least try to act a bit more civilly. The poor chap had just had huge parts of his childhood restored, naturally it was a bit much to take all at once.

"To cut a long story short his fairytale told of a boy and a Vulture that lived together in a cottage made of stone, wood and a lot of magic. The boy was a kind hearted sort and the Vulture was as vultures often are; feared and despised. Still it was a caring and loyal pet if though a bit on the protective side. I won't go into details but it's clear to me now that the boy and the Vulture are supposed to be a picture of my Gran and me."

"I gathered as much. Get on with it, will you?"

Harry wanted to hex him.

"Well, the entire tale is all about the Vulture teaching the boy how to make Shepherd's pie from an old recipe. The recipe is complex and difficult and the pie is never successfully made unless the meat is cut with a special magical butcher's knife. The knife is silver and older than old."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Snape exclaimed loudly. A sour-looking matron immediately popped her head out from a doorway further down the corridor and shushed at him. Snape apologized and then turned back to Neville who were once again snickering at his professor's expense.

"That's the worst cover-story I've ever heard," he said bluntly overlooking Neville's titters. "You mean to tell me that the potion recipe is -"

"-to be found in my Mum's cocking book next to the recipe for Shepherd's pie? Yes I believe so."

"And the knife?"

"Gran's favourite cutting knife I presume," Neville said with a grin. "She's always gushing over it, making a point in telling me how it never needs sharpening. Apparently it was a gift from my Mother given to her shortly before they were attacked."

"Holy Agrippa," whispered Snape.

"Indeed," said Neville with a glance at his watch. "I believe it's time for my medication. Good day, professor."

And with that Neville turned on his heel and strolled back into the ward. He closed the door behind him before Snape could utter another word. Harry watched him mumble something about intolerable brats before he too turned around and strode off down the corridor, his robes billowing behind him.

As soon as his greasy hair had whipped around the corner Harry straightened up from behind the plant he'd been hiding behind. His back was killing him and he had the worst case of pins and needles in recorded history. All misery was however pushed to the back of his mind as he all but ran out of the ward and down a set of stairs. He had to get back to Ron and Hermione as soon as possible!

* * *

It had been almost an hour since Hermione had gone through that door to learn the fate of her parents and still she hadn't returned. Ron was surprised he hadn't stared a hole through it yet, so intensely was he keeping watch over it. Harry had returned some time ago looking flushed and excited but Ron had just shook his head indicating that this wasn't the time or place to discuss whatever mischief he'd landed himself in during the short time he'd been gone.

Some of the worked up air had gone out of Harry as soon as he realized that Hermione was not in the waiting room any longer. And so they sat there in silence watching the pale green door, almost afraid to blink in case they'd miss it opening. As if that could happen.

What's taking so bloody long? Ron wondered frantically. His hair was almost Harry-like after having run his hands through it so many times in pure frustration. A Medi-witch in training came by offering them a cup of coffee or tea but both had declined with a shake of the head. Ron didn't think he could hold a cup right now even if he wanted to.

Ron and Harry were the only ones left in the waiting room now and the silence was overwhelming. The clock on the wall that Ron had come to loath with an intensity rivalling his dislike for Draco Malfoy were ticking abnormally loud reminding him painfully of how very slow time really was. Time was killing him, that's what was going on he decided. The thought of Hermione all alone on the other side of that effing door facing the grief of whatever atrocities Voldemort and his Death Eaters had inflicted on her parents were somehow worse than if it had been his own family in there. He just felt so utterly helpless and useless and if there was one thing Ron Weasley hated it was being just that.

"I met your brother just now," said Harry suddenly. Ron startled at the sound of his voice and it took a while for his words to register.

"Oh, he said dumbly. "Which one was that?" he added next. Why on earth would one of his brothers be at St. Mungo's? Suddenly it was as if someone had just punched him hard in the stomach.

"Why? How..." he began frantically, unable to construct meaningful sentences.

"Oh, it's nothing like that," said Harry hurriedly obviously sensing that Ron was drawing the wrong conclusions. "It was Percy actually. He's perfectly fine, just a bit overworked and stressed." Harry offered a weak smile.

"Percy?" repeated Ron wonderingly. "What's he doing here?"

"He's here on behalf of the Ministry apparently," answered Harry, shrugging. "They felt they needed to send a representative over as soon as they caught word of what had happened and poor Percy's drawn the short straw. He was pretty frantic when I bumped into him, he hardly noticed me even though I was practically blocking his way."

Ron snorted in disgust. "Serves him and his precious Ministry right don't you think. They way they've been trying to hush everything up giving the public a false sense of security. Blown right up in their faces hasn't it? Bet you my last Galleon Fudge'll have to go for this."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Let's cross our fingers," he said pensively.

Ron sighed. "Yeah, I'll do that as soon as I've heard news that I can stop crossing them all for Hermione's parents."

* * *

At some point Ron must have dozed off because he woke with a jolt and promptly banged his elbow painfully on the cabinet next to the couch he had come to hate. Rubbing his sore elbow and muttering profanities under his breath Ron checked the clock again. He'd been out for almost half an hour. He sighed deeply and leaned back heavily, resting his head on the back of the sofa. Forlornly he stared at the ceiling.

Though he sorely needed some sleep his little slumber had been far from peaceful. Images of a grief-stricken Hermione had kept playing out in his mind and now he sat here bruised, bleary-eyed and woozy, feeling if possible even worse than before his little nap. Somehow Ron couldn't shake the feeling that even if her parents should pull through this ordeal, this would still just the beginning of what promised to be a very long, bumpy and, Ron feared, heart-breaking ride.

A slight movement to his right told him that Harry was awake. But then again Harry usually was. He'd never spoken about it but Ron knew his best friend had had trouble sleeping of late. More often than not Ron would wake one or two times during the night only to hear Harry tossing and turning in the next bed. And on the rare occasions when he did in fact sleep it was one of those restless, fretful slumbers that Ron suspected were more nightmares than anything else.

"How's that elbow?" Harry smirked half-heartedly at him. Ron grimaced and made an evasive gesture.

"I'll live." The words had no sooner left his mouth before he realized how utterly inappropriate they were. He cringed and looked apologetically at Harry. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," said Harry silently. He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"Have you slept at all?" asked Ron with concern and Harry shook his head.

"You've got to get some help with that soon. You should seriously ask Pomfrey for something 'cause you're starting to look a little pale and drawn, mate. And when a daft bloke like me is starting to notice these things then I'm telling you it's about bloody time to do something."

Harry put on what Hermione so fittingly had labelled his "Tormented Lone-Suffering Hero-face" that they both believed he thought fooled them into thinking he was perfectly fine. They'd seen through that years ago but Harry was evidently still in denial.

"What're you on about?" he asked defiantly making Ron snort out loud.

"Honestly, Harry just drop the act will ya? I know you're suffering from bloody insomnia or something and don't you dare deny it."

Harry looked floored for a moment by Ron's direct outburst but soon regained his posture.

"That's none of your business," he said through clenched teeth and if had been a couple of years ago Ron would've happily let the matter rest and leave it to Hermione to do all the confrontational shit. She however had other matters to attend to right now.

"Like hell it's my business," he retorted fiercely. "You're my best mate and I'd hate to see you collapse in the middle of your pudding one night from lack of sleep." He grinned cheekily. "Hermione and her revision tables are quite capable of doing that to us on their own you know."

Harry's mouth twitched slightly like he was suppressing a smile.

"We care about you," Ron added seriously. "Just promise to get some more of that Dreamless Sleep potion and at least use it a couple of nights a week."

To his immense surprise Harry nodded his agreement. It was probably because he was too exhausted to argue about it and Ron couldn't help but appreciate the irony of that.

At that precise moment the dreaded door that had swallowed Hermione an hour ago opened and both boys leapt to their feet. Ron's heart was pounding furiously and he felt cold sweat forming on his forehead. Please let them be okay, he pleaded silently.

The first person to step through the door was Professor McGonagall. Her face was grave but otherwise unreadable. Ron swallowed hard. That didn't seem like a good sign to him. She stopped when she'd entered the room and turned towards the person behind her. Ron's heart bled when he saw her.

Hermione's eyes were even more puffy and red then when she'd entered and her face was so pale it scared him. McGonagall laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and led her over the threshold and into the waiting room. Her eyes immediately sought out his and before Ron knew what hit him she'd sped towards him and flung her arms around his neck.

"Oh Ron," she sobbed and he instantly scooped her up and carried her over to the couch setting her gently down beside him. Her arms still remained firmly around his neck with her face hidden in his hideous Weasley jumper. Ron heard Harry conversing in hushed voices with McGonagall before he joined them on the couch. The door closed softly and they were once again alone.

After a while Hermione's sobs grew fainter and soon thereafter she slowly entangled herself from Ron and dried her eyes. Finally Harry found the courage to ask the much dreaded question.

"What happened to them, Hermione? Are they...?" He trailed off unable to finish the sentence.

Hermione blew her nose on the handkerchief Harry offered and cleared her throat.

"My Mum was hit with fourteen different hexes and curses," she began in a shaking voice. Ron's eyes bulged and Harry's mouth all but dropped to the floor.

"Fourteen?" Ron stammered and Hermione nodded.

"Yes, those bastards somehow managed to break through the Order's many high security wards and entered the house just as my parents were getting ready for bed. My Mum was in the bathroom and my Father had just gone to bed, reading a book. When the wards were broken the Order was instantly notified but when Sirius and Bill got there the Death Eaters had managed to subject her to a string of nasty magic."

Hermione sounded outraged as she talked and Ron had no trouble sympathising. "Luckily for her they likely thought they had all night to torture her because they hadn't used anything lethal on her by that time, but she's been through a painful hell and back that's for sure." Hermione closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

"Several bone-breaking curses, a burning hex on her stomach, and damage to several internal organs. She'll make a full recovery but it'll take time even with magic."

Ron was just about to say how good news this was when Hermione's eyes once again clouded over with unshed tears.

"My Dad however..." Her voice broke and once again she started crying in earnest. Ron immediately grasped her hand and pulled her to him. "Take your time, Mione," he said soothingly.

"Sirius said he'd probably been trying to get to my Mum in the bathroom because the bedroom looked like a war zone," she began hesitantly. "He never had a chance though; Muggles are pretty powerless against deranged Death Eaters. They hit him with the Crucatius. Repeatedly. He's like Neville's parents now."

At this Hermione broke down completely. "His body's fine and he looks just like Dad, but..." She trailed off and sobbed loudly. "But what made Dad dad is hidden so far inside him it'll probably never be restored. He might as well be dead," she chocked out between gut-wrecking sobs.

Harry and Ron just held her as Hermione grieved for the loss of her Father.