White Bird on a Silver Thread

Chapter Five: Swaying Branch, Part Two

Ginny and Jennie came very suddenly upon the picnic carpet floating on the crest of the hill. "Ron?" asked Ginny, not daring to believe that her brother might be nearby. "Ron?"

They ran toward the carpet. Their lunch was spread out beautifully, but no one answered Ginny's call, and the two girls began to eat compulsively as they thought of what to do.

"I know how to steer these things," said Ginny, swallowing a slice of pie without really tasting it - which was a shame, as it was her favorite, pumpkin. "I say we take this carpet and search for the boys with it."

"But what if they come back?" asked Jennie. Cold chicken wasn't really that bad.

Ginny bit her lip. Then she brightened. "I know," she said.

She opened up Harry's knapsack and found a piece of parchment and a quill. She also found his wand.

"Oh, confound it!" she exclaimed, staring at the wand. "Harry doesn't have his wand." Stuffing it back into the bag, she hastily scratched a message, hid it beneath a stone, and stood back pronouncing a spell over it.

Jennie was mystified. "What was that?" she asked.

"I left a note," said Ginny patiently.

"So I noticed. But the spell?"

"Only our friends can find it."

Jennie nodded. "Let's get on the carpet and get moving, then. How high does it fly again?"

"It only flies five feet above ground," answered Ginny. "That's the legal height here."

Jennie looked disappointed. "In Malta, they let us fly to fifteen."

"But we're not in Malta," pointed out Ginny. "We have to be careful and not run into something. Pack up the food first, while I try to make this thing smaller."

Pretty soon she had folded down the little conveyance to a neat little five by three - big enough for her and Jennie to fit, small enough so that they could navigate easily through the trees without ripping their carpet to bits of thread.

The carpet really was a convenient thing. They wound in and out of the trees, floating over the thorny undergrowth. And it could fly up to sixty miles an hour, as Ginny discovered on accident, nearly tossing both of them onto the ground as the carpet accelerated with a sudden lurch.

Cautiously, their hearts pounding in anticipation, they headed back toward Hogsmeade, careful to stay hidden in the shadows of the trees.

***

As Harry came to, he nearly had a heart attack when he saw where he was. Ron, looking likewise harried, had also just wakened, and was perched precariously on a neighboring tree. The branches seemed firm enough, which was good, because they were about fifty feet in the air.

"Well, what are we going to do now?" asked Ron in a cross tone. He doggedly refused to look down.

"I suppose," said Harry slowly, "we could levitate each other to the ground." On the bright side, if there was a bright side to being stuck on a tree, the view was very nice. They could see for miles. Unfortunately, they could also see for miles down, and it did not look like a fun fall.

"Good idea," said Ron, fumbling for his wand.

He dropped it, and nearly lost his footing trying to catch it.

"Damn," said Ron, with feeling, as they heard it falling through the thick branches. "Well, Harry, it's up to you."

Harry reached into his pockets. "Double damn," he said. "I left it in my bag."

Ron looked horrified. "We're stuck up here?"

Harry lowered his head contritely. "Looks like it."

***

Something bounced off Jennie's head. "Ow," she mumbled.

It was a wand. "Hey, Gin," said Jennie, eagerly. "Look what this is!"

Ginny turned around, and they nearly crashed into a tree. "Oops," she said, parking the carpet midair. "That's - that's Ron's wand!" she exclaimed. "Where'd you get it?"

"Fell on my head," said Jennie.

"Then - then neither of them have their wands! Idiot boys," she said tightly, through gritted teeth.

***

"Do you hear someone talking?" asked Harry suddenly, leaning so far forward on his branch that he nearly fell.

"I think so," answered Ron, putting his fingers to his lips to indicate quiet. From below, they heard a female voice say, very distinctly, "Idiot boys!"

"Ginny," said Ron. He halloed loudly.

"Shhhhh," said Ginny, elbowing Jennie. "Did you hear that? Someone's calling."

They listened, and heard it again. "Oy, Ginny!" came Ron's voice. "We're up here! In the trees!"

Forgetting that the carpet could only fly five feet high, Ginny steered it upwards.

And they shot upwards immediately. Jennie was terrified.

"Oh, Ginny, do you know what you're doing?" she hissed, as they zipped past snow-covered branches. "I thought the carpets could only fly five feet high."

"I thought so too. This" - a branch broke as they flew into it - "carpet" - a shower of twigs - "was obviously" - Ginny nearly lost her hat, but Jennie caught it - "tampered with," she finished, as they broke free of the imprisoning branches and came to a halt directly above the bed of tree boughs.

"Hullo, Gin," said Ron, as though it was perfectly normal for him and Harry to be perched like roosting birds on tree boughs. "Ron," said Ginny, flinging herself at him and thereby nearly falling out of the carpet.

"Steady, sis, we want to get out of this alive. Come on, Harry, climb in, let's get going."

"Ron," said Harry ominously, "HOW DID THIS CARPET FLY UP HERE? ISN'T IT ONLY SUPPOSED TO GO FIVE FEET?"

Ron looked repentant. "Fred and George helped me Charm it," he admitted reluctantly. "We thought it would be funny."

"Where is Hermione?" asked Jennie, looking around and seeing nothing but treetops.

Harry turned white. "She's not with you?" he asked through bloodless lips. Ginny felt her stomach plummet.

"No. We never saw her," said Jennie.

"Oh, God," said Ginny. "Is she still in Hogsmeade?"

"I don't know," said Harry bleakly, looking as though he should like to be sick.

***

Draco and Hermione were resting under a tree, some two miles away from Hogsmeade. They could still see the smoking village, but they could no longer hear screams. Draco was panting heavily, but he held Hermione up by the shoulder. Pointing his wand at her, he said, "Enneverate."

It didn't work. She lurched forward, coughing up a steady stream of blood. Draco wiped it away with his sleeve.

"It won't work," rasped Hermione weakly.

"That much," said Draco snappishly, "is evident." He repented when he saw how sick she was.

"He used a" - she coughed violently - "he used a very powerful spell."

"Why the hell did you do that?" demanded Draco, lifting up her chin.

"Do what?" Her eyes were wide and innocent.

"Don't play dumb."

Hermione turned her head aside and coughed into her sleeve. "Well," she admitted, "I was only going to push you aside, but I wasn't fast enough."

"That was a brave thing to do," said Draco grudgingly. "Brave, and stupid."

Hermione didn't answer. She leaned her head wearily against his shoulder. "What now?" she asked.

"We'll get as far away from here as we can." Some time back she had lost her hair ribbon, and her long ropes of dark brown hair had come loose. He lifted his arm to brush aside a lock that had fallen across her face. His sleeve fell back, showing his arm, pale against her dark hair. Hermione closed her fingers around his slim wrist, tugging until she held his arm in front of her. Gently, she traced the smooth, unblemished skin.

"The rest of the Slytherins were initiated last week," she whispered. "Why weren't you?"

Draco gazed down at her. "How did you know?"

"It's old knowledge. New Death Eaters are inaugurated the week before Christmas in their seventh year."

"Does it matter?" he asked.

"It matters."

"I received no summons."

"But if you did?" Hermione's voice was soft, almost breathless.

"Would I have gone to Him?"

"Yes."

"I might have."

Hermione searched his face gravely. She was beautiful - very beautiful. Not like Blaise, the kind of beautiful that hits you in the teeth so you can't escape it. Subtle. And it was inside beauty, too. She saw inside people, and saw all their goodness.

At last, she took a deep breath and said, "I once read of a white bird - "

But Draco cut her short, saying curtly, "I don't want to hear of it."

"No - listen to me. There was a white falcon, free, proud, wild, a soaring thing that that went its own way seeking the bright stars and the sun. But the great wizard Mithran bound it on a silver leash, chaining it to the patterns of the earth."

He lifted his eyes to hers.

"You are asking me," said Draco quietly, "whether I will join Him or not."

"Yes. Is that what you want to be? A white falcon on a silver thread, to come at your master's call?" A strange, intense look came into her eyes, as though she could see into the future, and what she saw frightened her.

"Does it matter who rules our world? That fool, Fudge, or Voldemort, does it really make a difference?"

"The difference? Liberty. Hope. Justice. Can Voldemort offer you these? He can give you wealth and power - but after that, then what?"

His jaw tightened at her words. She met his burning gaze without faltering.

"You have no honor, no courage, no loyalty. So who are you, Draco Malfoy?"

"I am me," he retorted, but his eyes flashed.

"Right," said Hermione. "Well, I didn't think you were Dumbledore." But her face was serious.

Draco was silent before he said slowly, "All my life, I've been able to do what I want all the time. It's one of the things I'm most proud of, and it's one of the most confusing things to other people."

"You can let the world go hang, and it would mean nothing to you. It would all be so easy, wouldn't it, if we could all be like that?"

"There's no point in being a hero. And don't give me some trash about Potter. I don't want to hear it. He would sacrifice you all, you know, if it were for the greater good."

"We would sacrifice ourselves, willingly, for him, if it were for the greater good."

"Greater good?" Draco laughed bitterly. "Good and evil are merely opposite points on a circle, Hermione. Greater good is just halfway back to bad."

There was nothing Hermione could say to this.

***

"Harry, if you don't bloody know how to steer this thing, don't - " The carpet lurched. Ginny covered her mouth and tried not to be sick.

Harry ignored her. There was a steely glint to his green eyes as he steered the carpet through the trees. They were heading back towards Hogsmeade, but they all knew that there was little hope of finding Hermione there. The whole town was in flames; the people had all been rounded up by the Death Eaters. But Harry couldn't give up - not so soon. The woods sped by, but he saw none of it. Branches slashed at his skin. The air stung his face. He did not feel either. There was only one thought in his mind. He had to find her. The words seemed to form a rhythm, a soft pounding, in his head.

Where are you? Where are you?

***

"We can't stay here," said Draco, at last. They had been resting there for some while already; the sun was already low in the December sky.

"Is there anywhere else to go?" rasped Hermione.

"No," said Draco. "But anything's better than sitting here all night. Do you think you'll be all right if I carried you?"

Hermione nodded, gritting her teeth at the inevitable pain that came when he lifted her. He set out at a slow, even pace. They were silent as they walked through the still woods, the still air broken only by the soft crunch of Draco's shoes in the snow.

***

"Hermione!" came Ginny's voice. "Hermione, down here!"

Draco and Hermione had been walking aimlessly for some time when the voice spoke out of nowhere, startling them out of their respective reveries. They gazed about at the ground, expecting to see her lying there hidden in the snow, perhaps. But no, there was nobody.

The voice spoke again. "Hermione, look at the ground."

"It came from over there," said Hermione urgently. "It must be a time-echo."

"A time echo?" asked Draco.

"A message she's left for me, fixed to a stone. There, see the bit of parchment under the stone?"

Draco put her gently down, bent, and picked it up. Ron - gone with carpet to look for you. If you find this, stay here. We'll come back. - Gin.

"This note was addressed to Ron," said Hermione slowly. "But there's a small chance they might come back if they don't find them. It's nearing sundown anyhow; we can't travel all night. Let's just sit here and wait for awhile. You're probably tired, anyhow."

"I'm not," said Draco with dignity. "But we'll wait."

***

"Harry, Harry, it's no use, there's no sense in this - "

He shook of her arm. "Go away, Ginny," he said, savagely. "She wasn't your best friend, you don't understand. Go away."

Ginny drew back, stung. They were standing on the outskirts of a smoldering Hogsmeade, which, for some peculiar reason, had been blocked off by an invisible wall. Ginny deliberately turned her eyes away from the sight of the destroyed orphanage. They had been here for half an hour already, but Harry refused to leave. He kept on looking down the long main street that vanished into smoke as though somehow, he could will Hermione into running to him.

She turned, and as she did so, caught sight of something. A long red hair ribbon. She drew in her breath sharply, and bent to pick it up.

It was Hermione's.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, forgetting that he had just pushed her away in no uncertain terms. "Harry, look what I found!"

He turned and gazed down at her, kneeling in the snow with the long red ribbon in her hand. She nodded at the mute question in his eyes.

"Do you think . . ." he breathed, not daring to finish the question. "Do you think - do you think she was taken?"

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Ginny. "She must have gotten away somehow. I . . ." she closed her eyes. "I know! I left Ron a time-echo back where you guys had left the carpet. But it answers to Hermione too. She - she might have heard it. She - she might be waiting there. Oh, Harry . . ."

Her voice trailed off as she saw the hope flash through his eyes. "Come," she said, holding out her hand, but instead he caught her in his arms and gave her a warm, brotherly hug. "I'm - I'm sorry I yelled at you - I - "

Ginny was startled. "It's all right, Harry," she said softly, her face pressed against the scratchy wool of his scarlet cloak. "I understand. Let's go."

***

Harry being too nervous to do anything as important as steering a carpet, Ron sat in the driver's position, tugging on the little tassels as he tried to remember where he and Harry had parked the carpet earlier.

"Just up ahead," said Jennie excitedly. Ginny felt Harry give her hand a tight squeeze. She winced, but didn't complain. His lips were white and his features frozen in place on his face.

They came slowly into the clearing, holding their breaths in nervous anticipation. None of them were prepared for what they saw.

Hermione, coughing up blood on the snow, and Draco, kneeling by her.

Before anyone else had a chance to say anything, Harry spoke. "What have you done to her, Malfoy?" he asked, in a quiet, deadly voice.

Draco looked up, startled.

"Potter?" He looked past the other boy. His mouth tightened. "Ask her yourself," he snarled, his eyes flashing with rage. But Harry was already at her side, holding her up gently.

"Harry?" she breathed, and he whispered, "Yes, yes, yes, I'm here. I'm here, Hermione."

***

Night had fallen. Hermione, choking and gasping, had already explained everything in a faltering tone to the others. Ginny, very white, was pacing the length of the clearing. Jennie sat on a fallen log, watching her friend nervously, her glance flying between her and Draco. The latter was standing stiffly under a tree, his back to them all. Hermione had been set on the carpet to rest, and both Harry and Ron were tending to her.

After a few convert glances at Draco, Harry finally swallowed and started toward him. He had some things to say. Such as, Thank you for helping Hermione. And, I didn't mean to accuse you.

He walked up behind the other boy. His stance wasn't very encouraging.

Harry cleared his throat. "Um, Malfoy?"

Clear gray eyes slanted in his direction. A raised eyebrow. For one moment, all the tension that existed between the two of them was tangible in the air. Seven years of struggles, hatred, anger, hostility cackled audibly. Harry forgot what he had to say.

When two enemies finally meet to draw swords and battle to the death, there is always a moment in which there passes between them a mutual recognition of the same fixation; an acknowledgement of what locked them in opposition in the first place. We are enemies, yes, but in all the world, we alone understand each other.

Harry searched the pale, pointed face with its clear gray eyes and aquiline features. He opened his mouth, not knowing what he was going to say. But the word came out on its own.

"Why?" he asked, his green eyes bright. And as soon as the question slipped from his tongue he knew it was the right one. Why help him now, when his whole life had been set in opposition of his? But then, as if sleep had been wiped from his eyes and he is suddenly, for the first time in too many years, fully awake, Harry saw and understood.

"You love her too, don't you?" he asked. "You love Hermione."

And Draco, in acknowledgement, squared his slender shoulders, turned, and walked away.

***

"Wait! Draco, wait!" Hermione tried to rise from her position on the carpet, but fell back. "Harry, stop him," she ordered.

"Let the bastard go - " began Ron, but Harry had already gone after him, slipping and sliding across the frozen ground.

"Wait! Malfoy! Wait!"

Draco did not stop walking. Harry, panting, caught up with him, darted in front of him, and blocked his path. "Wait."

Draco stopped. "I'm listening."

Harry paused. What was he going to say? He grabbed the first convenient phrase at hand.

"We need your help," he said, lamely.

An arched brow. He might have been a statue, standing there, pale hair and pale skin and pale eyes, each beautiful line of his profile defined against the darker background of a rough tree trunk. "Since when has a Gryffindor needed my help?"

"Today," said Harry. "Now."

Silence. Taut and tension-filled.

"Very well." said Draco, at last. He paused, then continued. "I might be coward and a bastard and many other things, and I might still despise you, but I will help you. For your sake, for mine."

Harry nodded. A weary but genuine smile suddenly stretched across his face. "What are we waiting for, then?"

***

They were all tired. Ron's watch read midnight. They had traveled for many miles by foot, since the carpet was used as a stretcher for Hermione. They were no longer in the forest, following instead a wide, unpaved road that lead away from Hogsmeade. They had no direction in mind. They simply walked without thinking, losing track of where they were going and how far they had traveled.

At first they had considered going back to Hogwarts. But, as Hermione pointed out, Hogwarts was probably under attack, just as Hogsmeade had been. Wherever they were going, it was safer than what they had left behind.

The moon was bright in the sky, illuminating the silhouette of a cottage up ahead. It was the first sign of civilization they had seen for hours.

"Let's stop here for the night," said Harry, his voice limp with fatigue.

Ron, ever prudent, frowned. "But what if - "

"Hermione needs rest," cut in Draco coldly. "A proper bed. Food. We don't have any other choice. There's no other place for miles. It's past midnight, the girls are tired."

Harry nodded in agreement. Resolutely, he walked up the flower-bordered path to the front door and knocked. He waited for a few minutes, then knocked again, louder.

The door was swung open. The silhouette of a tall, slim woman wearing long, loose white robes filled the doorway. The other five, in a single file line led by Jennie, drew closer.

"Um," said Harry. He blinked the sleep from his eyes. "I'm sorry to trouble you. I realize it's late but my friends and I need a place for the night. We - we're very cold," he finished, lamely. There was a hysterical giggle from a weary Ginny.

"And hungry," she added, in a high, unnatural voice. She looked slightly feverish. Jennie was worried. She had seen Ginny's stricken expression when Harry had accused Draco of loving Hermione. She had watched the emotions play across her best friend's face - first pain, then sorrow, then hopeless, weary resignation.

The woman lifted the candle she held in her hand. The flickering light illuminated her features.

Strangely, it was a face that had no flaws, despite the obvious age of its owner. High, firm cheekbones. A straight and perfect nose. Her black eyes, curtained by lashes sweeping and dark, were fixed on Jennie. Long white hair flowed down her shoulders.

And Draco, staring at her, recognized her immediately.

She was the woman in his grandfather's painting.

***

Chapter Six: Lady of the White Bird. In which Hermione must answer a riddle. And we discover how bad Herm's condition really is. The beginning of the journey.

Thanks to flower0519 for reviewing.