Harry Potter and the Last Recourse

“Harry Potter and the Last Recourse”

* * * * *

Chapter Two – Harry and Eve

* * * * *

After finally putting an end to the celebration by kicking everyone out of the room, including Hermione, Harry realized that he was in the middle of the longest night of his life.

He didn’t want to go inside the bathroom. He didn’t want to take the chance of confirming what he was suspecting. It was midnight and Harry was lying on the bed, staring up at the bland orange wallpaper as if there were shapes moving on it. Normally he would be pacing, but he couldn’t now.

Maybe he could just forget about it. He’d act as if it wasn’t there. But no, it would show. It was no good – he had to see for himself.

* * * * *

The next morning, Harry was still staring at orange when Neville Longbottom came in.

“Hey, Harry – oh, good, you’re awake,” he said. “We’re having breakfast now – come on down.”

“Er – maybe a bit later, thanks.”

Neville looked concerned, but then smiled and shut the door. Harry went back to staring.

* * * * *

He never did go down to breakfast, or lunch. It seemed as if he didn’t want to end his streak of not eating for a hundred straight days. Hermione brought him a plate of chicken late in the afternoon and forced him to sit up and eat. Harry had gone through a great ordeal, but Hermione appeared to sense that there was something else troubling him – something she wasn’t aware of.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Harry,” she said while he was chewing his first bite of chicken.

“Can’t you see I’m trying to eat here?” he said with his mouth full. Hermione just stared at him, waiting. Harry swallowed. “What? Is it not true that we’re currently living above a gun shop, hiding out from the police and death eaters, without magic . . . all of which I caused?”

“Tell me what’s wrong, Harry,” she said in the same tone as before.

There were so many ways he could answer that. He could postpone the inevitable and make up something. He could tell her everything – the full truth. Or he could tell her only what she needed to know.

“You’ll never do magic again,” said Harry. “None of us will.”

He was impressed that she kept a straight face. He then realized that she must have been preparing to hear that for three months, so it couldn’t have been too much of a shock. It was probably even a relief in some ways, not having to worry about it again.

“How do you know this?” Hermione asked. “Are you sure?”

“I – I just do,” he said, clearly holding something back. “People will do magic again, though.”

“What – who?”

“My children,” said Harry. “My descendents.”

“How do you know this?” she asked again, very intrigued but growing more frustrated.

He couldn’t say it out loud. He couldn’t imagine even writing it down. He would have to tell her, though.

“I know it because . . . because . . . Blimey, this is embarrassing.”

That surprised Hermione.

“You can tell me,” she said, “it’s all right.”

“Okay, okay,” Harry said, still holding the plate of chicken. “But listen very carefully because I’m not going to say it again.” Hermione nodded, leaning in. “I first felt it when I got out of bed last night. I didn’t know what it meant, but I started to put the pieces together in my head. I guess it made sense. . . . My, um . . . testicles . . . are a lot bigger than they were in June.”

“Well, Harry, there could be a medical reason for that.”

“Could there be a medical reason for the new pinkish tint on them?”

“Oh,” said Hermione, understanding. “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t remember seeing a pinkish tint, although I tried not to look --”

“What – what are you talking about?” said Harry, his heart racing. “You’ve never seen my . . .”

“Who do you think has been bathing you for the past three months?” said Hermione, blushing.

“You?” blurted out Harry. “I can’t believe this. Why? I thought there were twenty two people here.”

“Well, all the girls take turns doing it,” she explained calmly. “It was going to be Neville’s gran’s turn tonight. She really looks forward to them.”

Harry’s face was boiling now, but he knew screaming wouldn’t solve anything. Girls seeing him naked was really meaningless compared to the task at hand, which would actually involve girls seeing him naked anyway.

“Okay, I’m going to forget I ever heard that now,” he said.

Hermione couldn’t suppress a smirk.

“Well?” she said.

“Well what?” asked Harry.

“Take off your shorts – let me see.”

“You’re insane!” he said, pulling the bed sheet over the boxer shorts that he had never worn before.

“Harry, you’re being childish. And it’s not like I would have to see your . . . your . . . you know. You can leave that covered.”

“No!” barked Harry. “End of conversation. It’s there, believe me. It’s faint, but it’s there.”

It looked like Hermione wanted to press the issue, but thought better of it.

“I believe you, Harry,” she said. “Now that I think of it, my mum did mention how big it – they are. We weren’t sure if it was abnormal for you, though.”

“This would be abnormal for anyone, Hermione. I can hardly walk!”

“Oh, dear,” she said, looking down. “Well, you’re going to have to do something about that, you know.”

“Like what?”

“You know . . . lighten the load?”

It finally hit Harry. Then something hit Hermione.

“Ooh, this could be a good indication of finding out if your theory is correct, too.”

“How?”

“Well, you know . . . it might look different.”

“Right . . .”

“Eat all your chicken,” said Hermione, rising from her chair, “and I’ll be back in a half hour.” Harry looked anxious as he gulped down some water. Hermione looked back before going out the door. “You can use that cup.”

* * * * *

Twenty-seven minutes later, Harry’s bed was empty as Hermione entered the room. She walked over to the closed bathroom door.

“Harry?” she called. “How are you doing?” There was no answer. “Come on, Harry, it can’t be that hard.” Something pressed against the door, making her pull her ear away. “Harry, are you all right? Harry?”

Hermione was starting to get worried when the door opened and Harry walked out, holding a plastic cup. He looked her in the eye with an unreadable expression, then handed her the cup. Looking inside, it was clear to both of them that something of interest was there.

“It looks like melted vanilla ice cream with pink swirls,” said Hermione. “And it’s glowing – do you see that?” He nodded. “Harry, this is incredible. It’s like you have to start a whole new species, or revive it at least.”

“I know,” Harry said, feeling the pressure. “It’s like Adam and Eve.”

“Right . . .” said Hermione. “But who’s going to play Eve?”

It was a very important question – one that Harry had been considering all day. It made him think of Cho. Hermione kept trying to meet his eyes, but, having no answer, he simply shrugged his shoulders.

“Harry, if something were to happen to you . . .”

“I know.”

“You’re going to have to make a lot more of this,” Hermione said, holding up the cup. “We’ll store it – just in case.”

Harry gave her an exasperated look, but silently agreed. It was all just too much.

Four months earlier no one would have believed that a time would come when Harry Potter would be standing in a room with orange wallpaper above a gun shop, next to Hermione Granger, who was holding a cup filled with what it was filled with.

* * * * *

“Everyone, come quick!”

Just when Harry had fallen asleep for the first time since waking from the coma, a girl’s screams jarred his eyes open.

“Help!”

Harry recognized the panic in her voice and jumped out of bed, bolting out of the room. Adjusting his eyes to the light of the hallway, which he had never been in, he realized he had no idea where to go. A staircase was to his right. He went down it and found himself in what must have been the back room of the shop. No one was there, but the screams were coming from even lower, and Harry saw an open hatch on the floor, with a ladder going underground. Racing to it, he was down in a flash.

Turning around, prepared for anything, he saw a massive bomb shelter, with many steel rooms and corridors. The yells had stopped, but the chattering was coming from the other end of the shelter. Arriving at the scene at last, Harry held his hands up in fists, something he thought he’d never have to do again after arriving at Hogwarts five years earlier.

But his hands were quickly lowered.

Dean Thomas was gripping Lavender Brown’s shoulders, trying to calm her down.

“Everything’s fine, you’re safe,” he said. “Now tell us what happened.”

“Look for yourself!” she screamed, pointing at an extremely large television set against the wall.

Everyone was too worried about her to notice it before, but what was obviously the build and shape of a small television was now over one hundred inches tall – its antenna was poking against the ceiling.

“Magic!” yelled Fred and George Weasley in unison.

“I was sitting on the couch here, watching TV, when I heard a female voice say ‘engorgio’,” Lavender explained, “and then a red beam hit the TV, going right over my head from behind! And it just grew and grew!”

“Did you look back?” questioned Dean. “Did you see who it was?”

“I dove under the table! I thought we were being attacked!”

“Where did the spell come from?”

“It must have been” – looking around Dean, she was pointing her finger until it was aiming right at Harry under the door frame – “right there.”

Everyone gasped.

Lavender ran to Harry and threw her arms around him, tears streaming down her face. The others seemed confused and worried by his sudden appearance. Two people Harry didn’t recognize – a dark haired boy and a blonde man – were circling the room with guns. Hermione appeared to be in shock before Harry was spotted, but that gave way to what looked like jealousy as Harry comforted Lavender, holding her tight. The Patil twins didn’t look very happy about it either.

* * * * *

There were still no answers the following morning. Harry slept for twelve hours, and when he finally woke, he saw Hermione sleeping next to him. She looked so peaceful. No one else was in the room. He wondered if she had slept with him while he was in the coma. It wouldn’t have bothered him. He could hear people talking down stairs.

“Hermione,” he whispered. “Hermione, wake up.”

Her eye lids fluttered to life.

“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry, I should go,” she said in a rush after realizing where she was. “What time is it?” She checked the clock, then the door.

“What’s wrong – it’s all right.”

“No, I should go,” said Hermione, getting out of bed. “Breakfast is almost ready. Follow me down in a --”

“What’s that?” said Harry, pointing at the wand still clutched in Hermione’s hand. “That’s Gryffindor’s wand. Did you sleep with that?”

“Oh, yes – I’m sorry, Harry,” she said, putting it back under the mattress. “It – it . . . I know it’s silly, but it just makes me feel safe.” Harry nodded, understanding, trying to show her that he didn’t mind. Hermione opened the door, and before walking out, said, “Just like sleeping with you does.”

Harry had a lot to think about before going down to breakfast for the first time in his new home.

* * * * *

In the largest room of the bomb shelter, three round tables were placed in a row, with twenty three people cramped around them. Eating bacon and eggs at the table nearest to a wall of canned goods were Neville, Lavender, Parvati, Padma, Dean, Fred, George, Harry, and Hermione. It was strange seeing them all in Muggle clothing. The middle table featured Max Daniels and five other young students – none appeared to be above fourth year. At the table nearest to a wall of weapons and ammo sat Max’s dad, Neville’s grandmother, Hermione’s parents, Bill and Charlie, and two other adults.

“So let me get this straight,” started Max’s dad, a short, thin man, who exuded confidence, “some wizard, that can somehow do magic when none of you all can, broke in here – using magic of course, since there’s no other way – and all he wanted to do was give me a big screen TV?” He laughed at this, but no one else did. “Nah, I’m not buying it. There’s something fishy going on here.”

He and Harry were essentially sitting at the heads of the three tables – both of their backs were up against the walls on either side of the room. They directly faced each other, but twenty feet and twenty one people separated them. Max’s dad was holding court, with his back to the guns, while Harry’s was to cans of peas.

“Now this girl here” – gesturing to Lavender – “says the voice sounded like Patsy, some bad girl you all knew --”

“That’s Pansy, dad,” said Max.

“Now why would she do that?” asked Max’s dad. “What’s in it for her?” No one had any idea. “No, the way I figure it is that someone right here did it.”

“But dad --”

“Now everybody was accounted for when it took place. Everybody but two – this girl, the one who made the claim” – Lavender – “and the boy with the scar.”

“Dad, Harry couldn’t have --”

“Couldn’t?” said Max’s dad, getting emotional for the first time. “I learned a long time ago that there’s no such thing as ‘couldn’t’ in the wizarding world. Your mother taught me that.” Max bowed his head. “Somebody’s doing magic – we know this now. And that boy is the one that took it away. Makes sense that he’s the one that brought it back.”

He was looking at Harry, who was pretending not to listen, eating his breakfast. But then he stopped and did look.

“Why would I want to give you a big screen TV?” he said.

Before anyone could answer, a brown owl flew down the hatch, clipping a feather on the ladder, and dropped a note on Bill’s lap. The owl tried to eat from Max’s dad’s plate, but he pushed it away.

“What’s it say?” asked George.

“We have to go,” Bill said, going white in the face. “Right now.”

Max’s dad took the note from his hand, which had spots of blood on it, and read, “Come to the burrow immediately. McNair’s heading for you. Mum’s dead.”

“No!” cried almost everyone.

“We’re staying,” said Fred gravely. “We’re gonna kill that bastard.”

Max’s dad nodded.

“No,” said George. “Ron and Ginny – we have to get to them.”

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. You know something’s gone terribly wrong when Fred and George are arguing.

“Fred, George, you’re coming with me and Bill,” said Charlie, getting up from the table.

“I’m not,” said Fred firmly.

“Fine then, stay! We’re leaving right now,” said Bill, following Charlie towards the hall before stopping to address the group. “You’re all welcome to come with us. . . . I don’t know what we’ll find, but we’ll need help.”

“I’m going with you,” said Harry, rising to his feet.

“Me too,” said Hermione, with a glance down the tables at her parents, who looked very concerned.

* * * * *

After one hundred and one days of hiding out with nothing to do but wait, there was now a decision to be made and not much time to make it. They could stay and face McNair; they could leave the shop and hide out somewhere else; or they could go to the burrow. Everyone from Harry’s table had already followed him out of the room – except for Fred, who was still silently fuming as he watched George leave him; Hermione, who was trying to convince her parents to let her go (and come with her of course); and Neville, doing the same as Hermione with his grandmother.

“If only we knew who did the magic,” said Hermione’s father to the remaining people. “We may have to escape. No amount of guns can combat magic.”

Max’s dad almost popped a blood vessel in his forehead at those words, but he knew them to be true.

“It had to be McNair,” Neville’s grandmother said, and a murmur of interest followed. “Draco and Pansy haven’t yet learned how to apparate, which the culprit must have done to escape last night.”

“If McNair can do magic and he’s heading here,” said Hermione to her mother, “he’d kill us all.”

Max’s dad laughed.

“Obviously not, if he was here last night and all he did was --”

“It doesn’t make any sense to me, either,” Hermione said, flustered. “I’m going. I don’t care what any of you say. I have to make sure Ron and Ginny are all right. And don’t forget Harry.”

Just then, Harry appeared in the doorway, and said, “If any of you ever want to do magic again, come with us right now.” He then looked straight at Fred.

* * * * *

Two hours later, Harry sat in a blue van, staring out the window at a green field. Hermione sat next to him. In the back row of seats were Dean, Lavender, and – there he was – Fred. Hermione’s parents were in the front.

The road was deserted except for three cars following closely behind the van. In the end, everyone but Max’s dad had decided to go to the burrow. He didn’t want to lose the day’s business by closing down the shop. Most of them were surprised by how easily he let his son go along. Max, the Weasleys, and Harry were now carrying guns, and the rest could be at a second’s notice.

“Are you sure it was a female voice, Lavender?” asked Dean over the sound of the radio.

“Positive,” said Lavender.

“Why would McNair alter his voice like that?” Dean wondered. “Maybe it was Pansy, and all three of them figured out how to do magic.”

Hermione opened her mouth, but shut it just as fast. Harry didn’t want to think about it. None of it made any sense. If the death eaters could do magic, then even if Harry and his friends survived, it would be more than a dozen years until his future children would be old enough to fight them. But how could the death eaters do magic? What was the secret? Was it a spell you had to say? Did they find Gryffindor’s note? Was there a secret message in it that Harry missed that explained how to bring the magic back?

“Quiet – turn up the radio – what was that?” said Fred in a hurry – his first words of the trip.

“Thirty-eight year old shop owner Maxwell Daniels was killed in the robbery. Police say that over fifty thousand dollars worth of weapons were stolen. The suspect is described as a male teenager with a pale face and silver hair. A female teen is believed to have been driving the getaway car. Still on the loose at this hour, they are considered very armed and dangerous.”

It was all too much to process for any of them to respond outwardly yet. If Draco and Pansy could do magic, why would they want guns? When did they find out where all of them were staying? If they knew before today – and it would have been a huge coincidence if they didn’t – why would they strike the shop when the only person there to kill was a Muggle that they didn’t care about?

Harry felt the car slowing down and asked, “Why are we stopping?” He looked behind him and saw that one of the trailing cars had pulled over – a door opened and Max ran out into high grass. He stopped after fifty feet and dropped to a knee.

Turning away, Harry thought he could see the outline of the burrow off in the distance.