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Author: Dellaran Story: The Man Who Wasn't There Rating: Young Teens Setting: Pre-OotP Status: Completed Reviews: 0 Words: 11,675
Chapter Six: The Miracle in Hermione's Bed The full moon shone brightly onto Hermione's bed, casting a silvery glow over her rumpled blankets and against the far wall. She stared unseeingly at the sparkles reflecting from the stone wall, trying to make some sense of the day's incredible events. She could hear the hubbub of the ongoing party in the common room down the stairs. Dumbledore had sent all the students back to their common rooms, initially as protection in case the fight in the Great Hall had merely been a charade to cover a real attack. Rumor soon leaked out, though, that all the signs anyone could find seemed to indicate that Voldemort was actually dead, his power broken. The tense air in Gryffindor Tower had turned to incredulous, giddy relief, Harry's absence notwithstanding. Neville had been paraded around the room on his fellow Gryffindors' shoulders until he was dizzy to the point of fainting again. Professor McGonagall had finally appeared and scolded them to let the boy go to bed as Madam Pomfrey had ordered. No one was much closer to an explanation for Voldemort's defeat than they had been that morning. Hermione had heard some of the whispered conversations in the Infirmary as she lay recovering from the attack. The unconscious Death Eaters had been moved there, tightly bound, and Madam Pomfrey was highly indignant about their presence. Professor Snape had been discovered among them and revived; apparently he remembered little beyond an unavoidable early-morning summons from Voldemort. Hermione had finally been released with strict instructions to lie in bed and rest, but she had made Ron take her to the library on the way back to Gryffindor Tower, and spent the afternoon alternately dozing and poring through Safety in Numbers: Cooperative Defensive Charms. The book was frustratingly short on the details of Servitorum Defensus, which apparently involved a great deal of Dark Magic, but its description was clear. The spell used the magical strength of the wizards present inside the circle in which it was cast, and as long as those wizards all remained near the object of the spell, he or she was protected almost to the point of invulnerability. If any one of those defenders was absent, however, not only was the spell ineffective, but its integration with the object's own defenses meant that even that person's normal resistance was dangerously weakened. That, thought Hermione, was the only way Neville had been able to touch Voldemort at all; although Neville had improved dramatically over the last few years, he was still one of the weaker seventh-year students, and certainly no match for Voldemort under normal circumstances. But… "Hey, Hermione, are you awake?" Ron stood at the door of the dormitory, and Hermione turned to smile at him. "Brought you some pumpkin juice." "You know you shouldn't be in here, Ron," she said, but smiled as he entered anyway. The other seventh-year girls were down in the common room, and Ron had taken advantage of their absence a couple of times during the day to sneak up to see her on the pretext of checking on her or bringing her a drink. They had talked about the day's events and about what Hermione had found in her reading; neither of them was ready to believe completely that Voldemort was gone, but Hermione felt a bubble of optimism rising inside her that was hard to ignore, especially when Ron was sitting on her bed sharing clandestine kisses with her while the rest of the Gryffindors celebrated below. Only when she thought about Harry did her hope waver. Ron handed her the glass of pumpkin juice and stroked her hair gently while she sat up to drink it. "What I don't get," he said, continuing their earlier conversation, "is how Voldemort - see, I said it - how he could have made a mistake like this. How could he not know someone was missing, if that's what it was?" "I still haven't the faintest idea," said Hermione, lying back down as her head started to throb. "Maybe it was Polyjuice Potion - maybe there was a spy there and he switched himself for someone else. Maybe he was in a rush to do something quickly after he had got rid of Harry. Only…," she frowned, "didn't it sound to you like he didn't know what had happened to Harry? How could he not know? I can't imagine…" Her voice trailed off as her head began to throb again. Dead or not, Voldemort had an amazingly powerful Cruciatus Curse, and Madam Pomfrey had told her the aftereffects would continue for a few days. Sensing her discomfort, Ron patted her shoulder and poured her a dose of painkiller from the potion bottle beside her bed. Hermione smiled up at him weakly and downed the potion with a grimace. "Ugh. That will make me rather groggy in a few minutes, I expect. Will you… hold me for a little while?" Ron glanced over at the half-open door, then down at Hermione, who slid over to make room for Ron on one side of the bed. With an expression that was half ecstatic and half fearful, he lay down beside her and gathered her into his arms. "You were so brave today, Hermione, and I was so scared for you. When he… cursed you, I thought I was going to die right there." Hermione snuggled back against him. "You would have fought for me, you know it. I'm so happy we made it through all this alive, Ron… I only wish…" Ron leaned up on one elbow and turned Hermione's face towards his own. "I know," he whispered simply, and leaned down to kiss her. Just as she was closing her eyes, she saw a shape appear above Ron in the air. She shrieked as it plummeted down and landed heavily on both of them. Hermione struggled to get away, and felt Ron push himself off the bed, ready to fight. Their "attacker," however, lay limp and motionless on top of Hermione, his face buried in the pillow. She finally fought her way free, and as she and Ron pushed the limp figure over, she gasped. It was Harry. He was unconscious, his face bruised and swollen. His cloak was ripped to shreds, leaving his chest essentially bare and revealing a pattern of livid purplish welts and scars. His hands were clenched tightly around his belt buckle. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing more or less normally. Hermione reached out instinctively to touch him, and he groaned and squinted up at her. "H'mione?" "Harry! You're alive! How…" Hermione stared at him, stunned, until she was distracted by the sound of feet pounding up the stairs from the sixth-year girls' dormitory. "Hermione? Was that you that screamed? Are you all right?" gasped Ginny, out of breath. "What are - oh my god, Harry?" She ran over to him and knelt next to the bed, taking his hand in both of hers. "You're here! What happened to you? Where were you? How did you get here?" Harry rolled partially on to his side, wincing, and peered hard at her, trying to focus. "Malfoy kidnapped me… said something ‘bout bringing Vold'mort back, my blood… owl came… cut me loose. You -" He frowned in confusion. "You were there. You saved me and sent me back. How did you…?" Ginny gripped his hand tight and shook her head. "I've been here the whole time, Harry. We all have." "Oh." He slumped back flat onto the bed, still holding Ginny's hand. "What'd he mean, bring him back? Voldemort's not gone." Seeing their expressions, he added, "Sorry, thought you were used t' his name by now… what?" Hermione opened her mouth a split second ahead of Ginny and Ron. "Harry, he really is gone. He attacked the school this morning, and he made Neville duel him, but something must have gone wrong, and Neville beat him. The professors sent us all up to our common rooms just in case, but as far as Dumbledore and the others can tell, he's dead. Really dead this time." Harry's eyes grew wider and wider. When Hermione finished, he burst out "Bloody hell!" in a voice that sounded much like Ron's. Hermione automatically started to protest his language, but Ron snorted, Ginny giggled, and suddenly they were all laughing hysterically. Hermione hugged Ron, trying to stay upright, and felt the tension of the last few days drain out of her body, like water from a cracked glass. Through the tears streaming from her eyes, she saw Ginny lay her head on Harry's shoulder, both of them laughing helplessly. Suddenly, Harry winced and clutched at his side. "Ow. I think I pulled something." He tried to draw a deeper breath and grimaced with pain. "Maybe it's a broken rib." "We should get you to Madam Pomfrey, Harry," said Ginny, wiping her eyes with her free hand. "Do you think you can walk?" Harry grunted and pulled himself to a sitting position, and then stood, leaning against Ginny for support. "I think so. Maybe I should just go lie down, though…" Ron eyed him skeptically. "Harry, mate, if that's as close as you can get to vertical, you're definitely going to the hospital wing. Though I'm sure Ginny doesn't mind holding you up…" Ginny stuck out her tongue at Ron, and they all started down the steps. When Harry and Ginny came into view of the Gryffindors in the common room, a hush suddenly fell over the noisy room. "Harry?" Colin Creevey finally choked out. "Is that really you, Harry?" Harry nodded, and managed to grin weakly. "I'm back." The room erupted into cheers even louder than before, and Harry was bombarded with questions from all sides. Hermione finally stepped in and made the crowd give room. "Not right now, everyone, we have to get him to Madam Pomfrey. He's had a rough time of it." The press of excited students slowly gave way, with some sympathetic murmurs as the closer ones got a better look at Harry's scars and bruises. Before he started towards the portrait hole, however, Harry turned to Ginny. "Ginny… I know you don't believe me, but I'm sure it was you that saved me. And…" Without another word, he leaned down and kissed her, gently, on the lips. The common room fell silent again for just a moment, and then erupted into the loudest cheers of all.
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