Several Miles from the Sun

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE MARK OF THE PHOENIX

Because Pansy refused to come out of her room and Regulus was taking in a nap, lunch was to be shared between Harry, Ron and Hermione for the first time in a long time. It was rare for the trio to be able to spend time together without Regulus's remarks or Trelawney's usual blabbering, so this lunch time was deemed a special occasion. Ron had even produced a bottle of wine that had been carefully hidden from Trelawney.

Hermione decided that this would be the best moment to share her thoughts about Regulus and his spell. She waited for everyone to sit down, admiring all the hard work Dobby had gone to in making the meal. Ron uncorked the wine, poured helpful quantities into their glasses, and smiled as they drank a toast to health, friendship and a long life without regrets. Or, as Ron put it, a life with lots and lots of sex.

Boys, thought Hermione fondly.

When they were midway through the meal, Hermione found it the best moment to begin. "There's something I think you should know," she began.

Harry and Ron stopped their playful Quidditch banter and gave her their full attention.

Hermione continued. "It's about--"

"Harry Potter, sir, Arthur Weasley is at the door." The whip-like sound that crackled through the air indicated Dobby's presence, bowing obediently, and smiling graciously at Harry.

He says it's urgent and you must come."

Harry turned to look at Hermione. "Can it wait?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, of course," she said. "Do you want us to come with you?"

Harry shook his head, took a last bite of his lunch, and followed Dobby to the front door.

That had been four hours ago, and Harry had not returned.

Hermione and Ron had gathered in the living room, trying to entertain themselves with bits of conversation. Regulus was sitting by the fireplace, contently reading a book, laughing every so often at one of the passages. His legs were draped over the arm of the chair, and every few minutes he'd twitch about, trying to get comfortable.

Hermione could not help but feel anxious. They hadn't heard a word from anyone since Mr Weasley had stopped by to whisk Harry away. Perhaps Harry had run into some sort of danger? She felt tempted to contact an Order member, and wondered if she was exaggerating things.

"There's an owl at the window," observed Ron.

Hermione glanced over and saw a small owl pecking furiously at the glass. She got up and opened the window, startled as the owl zoomed past her ear. It fluttered around the room, finally dropping a carefully wrapped newspaper onto Regulus's lap. It hooted annoyingly and left the room.

"It's the Daily Prophet," Regulus said, as he carefully unfolded it. "Odd, this is a second issue for today."

Hermione suddenly felt faint. A second issue of the paper could only mean something horrible had happened. Didn't they say bad news travelled fast? When Regulus held up the papers, her worries were confirmed.

There, on the front page, in a very large image and wearing his Hogwarts robes, was Neville Longbottom.

"Regulus, please read it!" Hermione said, leaning over his shoulder. Ron, too, had moved in closer, and was looking pale.

Regulus quirked an eyebrow, but obeyed. "Earlier today the Longbottom Residence was attacked by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's followers in broad daylight. The Longbottoms are well known for their ancient bloodline and support of the Right Side. Furthermore, two of the Longbottoms, Frank and Alice, formerly Aurors, are currently in St. Mungo's after bravely standing up to the Wrong Side many years back. There is only one survivor from the attack, their son Neville, who is currently seeking treatment in the intensive care unit in the same establishment. However, Healers believe that the young boy does not have much of a fighting chance, and will probably take a turn for the worse. It continues page five."

Hermione felt her bottom lip tremble and her eyes begin to water. "Poor Neville!" she exclaimed.

"That must have been why they called Harry," Ron said. He awkwardly patted Hermione on the arm. "Cheer up, Hermione. I'm sure Neville will get through this. I mean, he's got tough skin, right?"

"This is just horrible! Why do people we know have to die?" Hermione's resolve finally broke down, and she had a hard time fighting the tears back. "It's not fair!"

Regulus wasn't very successful in getting her to stop crying, and Ron had to go and get some tissues. It seemed forever until the front door creaked opened, and only when Harry's voice echoed in the hallway did Hermione try to stop her hiccupping and tears. She was having a hard time.

"Harry, we read the news," Ron said, as he pulled Hermione along. "Horrible stuff about Nev--Oh, hi, Neville." He came to a sudden stop, and stood awkwardly, rubbing the back of his red hair with a sloppy grin.

Hermione almost choked on her tears.

Standing before them, looking quite alive, was Neville Longbottom. "Er, 'ullo," he said shyly. He was wearing clothes that looked like they could do with a good wash, and his general appearance was quite changed from the last time Hermione saw him at school. He looked thinner, as if he hadn't been fed properly in a while, and his skin had taken on a rather unfetching tinge of yellow. And, just like most people these days, he looked worn out from stress.

"Definitely made out of tough skin," said Regulus, approvingly.

"Neville will be staying with us for a while," Harry said. "Except we've sort of run out of rooms, so Ron, you'll have to share."

"No problem," Ron said gallantly. "Er, food, right? Yes! Mum always says food cures all ills. You look like you could use plenty of it, Neville."

"But we read in the Prophet that Neville was--was about to die!" Hermione said. She hugged Neville tightly. "Not that we aren't happy to see you!"

Harry grinned. "Well, the Order doesn't think that the attack on Neville was random, so we're keeping him low profile for a bit. He's suppose to be undergoing treatment in St. Mungo's for a few days, and then we'll decide if he survived it or not." Harry laughed uncomfortably at the thought.

Pansy, who was descending the stairs, stopped short as she saw the crowd gathered. "Oh, bother, not another one of you," she said, a hint of disgust in her tone.

"Oh, it's you," said Neville, matching her tone. "Harry did mention that he was having a bit of a pest problem."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she could see that Harry and Ron were just as surprised that Neville had managed to inject that much cruelty into his tone. Even Pansy looked impressed.

"Potter," she said, turning her attention elsewhere. "I have a sudden... burn that won't go away. I don't suppose you have a balm I could borrow?" She seemed to be staring a hole into his forehead.

"Is that a code for sex?" Regulus asked. "Because it's quite awful."

"Shut up, Regulus," snapped Harry, scratching as his scar and looking tired. "I'll find you something, Parkinson. You're welcome to join us for a late supper."

Pansy snorted and stormed back to her room.

Hermione led Neville into the kitchen. "You must see the garden! I think you might enjoy it. And there's a patch that is currently bare. Maybe you'll want to work on it while you're here?" she said cheerily.

Harry and Ron trailed behind. "The burn really is a pain in the arse, Harry," Ron whispered, and Harry rolled his eyes.

-!-

Harry was having a hard time getting to sleep. He was painfully aware that his house had turned into a motel for the helpless and homeless, and he couldn't help but think of all the warnings the people who plagued his dreams had given him. And, amongst those worries, was Regulus.

Crouch wanted Regulus dead. Crouch, Cedric, even the many of the members of the Order, they all wanted Regulus gone. Could he be that much of a threat?

Did Harry have to kill Regulus? How would Hermione react? But he couldn't kill Regulus; he had Vowed protection, safety.

He needed to find Voldemort's next Horcrux. The Cup; it had to be somewhere right under their noses. But Dumbledore hadn't left them any clues. His pensieves were confusing, undecipherable. The portraits knew nothing, and not even McGonagall had been told everything.

Harry opened his eyes, and got out of bed. He reached over for the jar that lay on his table, a large wad of paper stuffed in the mouth to stop Lucius Malfoy's memories from leaking. It was time to delve deeper, to see what secrets Malfoy hid. Harry took out the make-shift stopper, watching as the grey mist swirled in a sort of dance. He focused, taking a deep breath, as he was pulled in.

It was dark. And hot, but mostly dark.

Harry found himself in a large room. There seemed to be a lack of air, and he figured it must be because of the number of people around him. The windows had been covered in thick curtains, and only a few candles had been lit, giving the people the appearance of being nothing but mere shadows.

"You are all fools," a voice said, echoing off the walls.

It was Voldemort's voice. Even though Harry couldn't see him, he could recognize the voice. Harry moved towards the front of the room, until he could make out a large throne. Sitting upon it was Voldemort, flanked by Lucius Malfoy on one side and another person, hidden in the folds of his robes, on the other. Voldemort continued to speak, mostly insulting his followers, but Harry took the time to look around him. He only recognized a few faces, including Snape's, which sent a new rush of anger through his body.

Voldemort finally ordered his Death Eaters to leave. "Lucius, stay behind," he added.

Harry placed himself directly in front of Voldemort, beside Lucius who had turned to bow. The cloaked figure stayed too, shaking slightly in the shadows.

"I would like you to meet someone," said Voldemort. "Wormtail."

Harry couldn't help let out a gasp of surprise as Wormtail came out of the shadows, throwing off the cloak that had covered him. He felt his stomach tangle in knots, and he clenched his fists, trying to calm himself down. This was just a memory; there was nothing he could do. And, yet, he would have liked nothing more than to reach out and punch the man.

"Potter's lapdog?" Malfoy asked, looking shocked. "But Master, he's--"

"Decided we're best for his health," Voldemort said pleasantly. "Isn't that right, Wormtail?"

"Y--yes, Master," Wormtail muttered.

"Wormtail is quite an intelligent little lapdog, Lucius. He already has quite a decent plan set up to deliver the Potters to us." Voldemort laughed. "I do so love a re-enactment of Judas, don't you?"

Lucius cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "My Lord, about the Potters. Don't you think it's a waste of time to go after them?"

"A waste of time?" repeated Voldemort dangerously.

Harry watched with interest as Lucius practically shrank under Voldemort's glare. "They're under Dumbledore's protection, My Lord," he tried.

Voldemort laughed loudly as though he and Malfoy had just shared a joke. "Soon even Dumbledore will fear me." Lucius looked like he was about to put his foot in his mouth when Voldemort lifted a hand. "Dear me, it seems as though we have a guest."

For a moment Harry panicked. And then Voldemort said, "Regulus, do come in. You seem to have impeccable timing, as always."

Harry turned around as the large entrance door squeaked open and Regulus stumbled in, looking guilty like he had just been caught red handed.

There was no physical difference in this Regulus and the one Harry knew--except that, and he didn't know how exactly, this Regulus seemed more alive. It wasn't like he was glowing or anything obvious, but Harry just seemed to see Regulus and think, "So this was him alive."

"Regulus has quite the knack for being present at conversations that don't concern him," Voldemort said to Lucius.

"I--I just wanted to let you know that Felix and Barnaby haven't returned," Regulus said, desperately trying to prevent his voice from breaking.

"Did you?" said Voldemort sweetly. "Lucius, would you please allow me and the young Black a bit of privacy."

Harry was only aware that Regulus was about to feel a lot of pain as Lucius scampered out of the room, closing the memory off.

-!-

Neville's arrival bought an entirely new sort of busy in Chadwick. Neville and the Order frequently went to the Longbottom house, searching through the rubble and trying to find information about the raid. In a way, Hermione supposed it helped Neville move on.

Despite this, it was an obstacle to catching Harry and Ron alone, and before Hermione knew it, she had (perhaps magically) forgotten about it, and was spending her time doing other things. On one of these occasions, she found herself in Regulus's bedroom, with Regulus on top of her, looking pleased with himself.

"You are such a boy!" she scolded.

"As opposed to?" Regulus asked.

"A man," sniped Hermione, hitting him with a pillow, although she couldn't seem to help the smile that spread across her face. "Get off. If anyone walked in they'd get an entirely wrong picture about this--and--why are you taking off your shirt?"

Regulus sighed dramatically and stopped on the third button. "Well, Miss Granger, let me explain something you parents should have told you about. When a man and a woman are quite fond of each other, they tend to have a lot of fun in the bedroom."

"You don't love me," Hermione said. It wasn't said in surprise or question, but as a statement; a reassuring of the facts.

"No, I don't," Regulus said earnestly.

"Then I don't want to--what is that?" Hermione was staring intently at Regulus's chest, and her look wasn't one of desire.

Regulus was momentarily confused before it dawned on him. He quickly adjusted his shirt, trying to cover up the phoenix that had been burned into his skin. "A rash. I think I ate something that caused an allergy. Molly had a look, though. Nothing a bit of cream won't take--oi."

Hermione had managed to push him off, and was demanding to see his chest. "That didn't look like a rash! Did you cut yourself?"

Even though Harry had never told Regulus that he couldn't show off the mark of the phoenix on his chest, he had more or less figured that it wasn't something to go parading off--especially not to Hermione.

This was only confirmed as he allowed Hermione to see him, and saw her usually pretty face twist into one of utter horror and disgust.

"Who--how--" For once she seemed to be speechless. She gaped at him, demanding answers, but found herself unable to ask the proper questions. "Please tell me it wasn't Harry," she finally said.

Regulus briefly wondered if he should come up with a lie to protect Harry. It took him a very short time to decide he owed Harry nothing. He kept silent, knowing it would be answer enough.

The look of absolute horror would not leave Hermione's features. She did, however, stop gaping, and march out of the room, leaving Regulus on the bed with his shirt off.

Because of unusually bad luck, Harry happened to be arriving home, and was just on the way to his room as Hermione stormed out of Regulus's. Unfortunately for Harry, he thought Regulus had been the cause of her anger, and stopped Hermione to ask her what was wrong.

"Did you do this to him?" Hermione demanded, as Regulus came out of the room. She did not wait for Harry to answer. "Harry, have you gone insane? How did you even do this? Does Remus know?"

Hermione's screeching had been enough to bring out Ron and Pansy from their rooms. Not to mention one startled Trelawney who had predicted they were about to become the victims of an earthquake. Neville, who had arrived with Harry, tactfully stood behind a potted plant.

What's going on here?" Ron demanded. "Have you all gone nutters? Why isn't Black wearing his shirt?"

"Did you know Harry marked Regulus?" Hermione asked, turning on Ron.

Ron's eyes widened and he stared at Harry. Harry was looking livid.

Pansy let out a loud laugh. "Your sidekicks didn't know, Potter? They didn't know you brand yours just like the Dark Lord brands his? What a hypocrite you are, Potter!" She lowered the collar of her shirt, not looking the least bit embarrassed at showing off most of her breast. Hermione's mouth dropped open again opened as she saw the identical phoenix mark. "Want to know a little secret, Granger?" Pansy said sweetly.

"Shut up, Parkinson," Harry ordered.

"Oh, Harry..." Hermione looked like she was about to cry.

"When I was marked, Potter said I was the third," Pansy continued, not afraid intimidated by the appearance of Harry's wand. "Now, if Regulus is one, and I'm one, well, I'm sure a smart Mudblood like you can do the math."

Hermione immediately turned to look at Neville. Neville, who had paled considerably, shook his head in the negative.

"Who's the third person, Harry?" Hermione demanded.

"I think," said Ron, raising his voice above everyone else's, "that Parkinson should return to her room. As, perhaps, should Black. I think that I will speak privately with Hermione in the library." He gently grabbed Hermione by the elbow, and, much against her will, led her away.

"Why are they marked, Ron? Why? It's not to call them; they don't need to be called." Hermione looked ill, and Ron did not blame her.

"They were marked to remind them of their loyalty," Ron said softly. "Harry had them marked to remind them which side currently held their... lives."

"He's gone mad. Harry's gone completely--"

"Harry has become a leader of a band that has been betrayed twice before," Ron said firmly. "Hermione, I know it may seem beastly to you, but think about Harry. Twice have the people he loved been killed by traitors. Can you really blame him?"

It dawned on Hermione, as Ron spoke, who the third person might be.

"Please take off your shirt," she said.

Ron looked at her curiously, but obliged. Hermione let out of sigh of relief as she saw no mark on his chest. "I'm sorry, but you're his Secret Keeper, so I thought...."

Ron smiled as she hugged him. "Please understand him, Hermione," he begged.

Hermione nodded, looking a bit teary-eyed. "I don't think I can understand this," she said earnestly. "But if you truly think that this entire... thing is within reason, then I won't object, and I won't press the matter." She gave Ron a kiss on the cheek, and left the library.

It was a pity she never turned around, for she would have seen the mark of the phoenix nestled on Ron's left shoulder blade.