The Unfortunates

Now, this might not be the most exciting of chapters, but at least I hope there\'s some interesting info coming here. Anyway, enjoy!

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: CONFRONTATIONS AND CONCUSSIONS


He looked so... old. So weary from years he’d yet to experience; so much older than he in fact was; so much more... distorted.

His face was scarred, but not terribly so. His eyes were still bright, still shining with hints of the old spark contained within them, and his grin was still there, still a bit crooked and still mischievous.

He was still Ron.

“Hermione?” he said, his slightly hoarse voice loaded with surprise and disbelief.

“It’s me, Ron,” she whispered back, not knowing what else to say, just feeling relieved at the sight of him, and of the fact that her glamour had long worn off.

And then, as could only be expected, she threw herself into his arms, just as he did the very same to her, grasping her to him as if grasping for life he’d believed was long gone. He was sobbing into her shoulder, and Hermione realized that she probably was sobbing into his too, but didn’t care.

Ron was alive.

It wasn’t until she remembered the presence of so many others in the strange stone hall that Hermione pulled away from her long lost friend to gaze around her.

The sight was astounding: Filling the whole cave there were at least fifteen-twenty people, most of them raggedly clad as wizards, though some too in Muggle clothes, and all of their eyes were upon Hermione.

She suddenly discovered, to her great astonishment, that she knew others there besides Ron: She spotted Fred (or was it George?) Weasley behind Ron, and next to him sat none other than Arthur Weasley himself, looking quite thin and tired but still quite alive.

There were several students from Hogwarts, both past and present ones; even the ever sceptic Zacharias Smith suddenly made his presence known in a corner to the right. A few people Hermione had never seen before locked eyes with her, too, and then there were some that she felt she’d seen before but couldn’t place...

“How did you all end up here?” she asked Ron then, desperate to learn what they were doing, hiding in a cave like helpless refugees.

“We’re just trying to stay alive, Hermione,” replied Ron, with close to none of the old cheer in his voice. “We’ve grown over the last six months, mind you; at first Fred and Dad and I were on our own – then we met loads others who were in as tight spots as we were...”

“Tight spots?” Hermione couldn’t help but ask.

“No wands, you see.” Ron shrugged, his eyes scanning the small crowd. “We’re all wandless here, and quite a few of us are badly hurt as well. With close to no magic, it’s hard to heal wounds.”

“Yeah, sure is,” said Fred Weasley then, stepping up to give Hermione a pat on the shoulder. “So good to see you... Here, take a look.” He bent down and lifted his left leg up with his hand, placing it on a rock. Pulling the bottom of his trouser leg up, he revealed what looked unmistakably like a big log where his leg should have once been.

Hermione backed away in shock.

“Yeah, it’s not pretty,” said Fred with a slight grin. “Lost my leg, as you probably figured. Could have died from it too, if it hadn’t been for Jen Marie – she knows how to fix things the Muggle way, she does. As morbid as it may look...”

“Jen Marie?” Hermione raised her eyebrows.

Ron waved his hand in direction of a group of girls, and one of them, a shy-looking one with mousy hair and Muggle clothing, took a step forwards, smiling hesitantly.

“She’s all Muggle,” explained Ron, “but she met with a bit of trouble with the Death Eaters... We found her,” he added, “and she’s been loads of help. Knows a lot about how to live without magic, of course.”

“So... so you’re all refugees, then?” asked Hermione sadly, her gaze flickering across the people in the small cave hall. “All just escaped and in hiding?”

“Yeah,” confirmed Ron. “And we thought we were the only good guys left alive, too – until this very bloody second, when you decided to drop by.” He grasped her by the one shoulder, and the look in his eyes suddenly turned desperate. “What’s happened? How did you come by us here, and – what’s happened?”

“I – there’s so much to tell,” sighed Hermione, dropping to sit on a rock, lifting a hand to her face. “I don’t quite know where to start... I – we – we all thought you were dead, Ron! You, and the rest of you – all of you...!”

“We’re not,” said Zacharias Smith helpfully.

She couldn’t help but smile at him – something she would have otherwise never done. Strange, that.

“Ron,” said Hermione, grasping his arm firmly, catching his eye. “Listen to me: Harry’s alive.”

There was a great silence throughout the hall at that point; only the crackling from the torches could be heard as all the refugees let this news sink in.

“Harry’s alive?” asked Mr. Weasley hoarsely.

“He is,” confirmed Hermione intently, “and we’ve got to get you all back to the Rebels! Killengreen’s got room enough for all of you, I’m sure of it – oh, if only I knew how to get to the Black Isle from here...”

“The Black Isle?” echoed a voice to Hermione’s right.

“Yes,” she confirmed, turning to face the man who had spoken. She knew she’d seen his old, weary face some place before, but she couldn’t place it. “Have we met?”

“Perhaps we have, yes,” he said, “once back when I still had my shop. The name’s Francis Flourish. I used to sell books.”

Hermione gave a small, sad smile.

“Now, the Black Isle, you said? Off the coast of Scotland?”

“That’s right – the Rebels’ refuge is there.”

“That’s not far from here; we are in Scotland now, young lady, not far from Inverness. I could get us from here to the Black Isle.”

“Really?” exclaimed Hermione happily, jumping to her feet again. “That’s brilliant! But – but how are we to travel? We can’t simply walk there in broad daylight; we’ll be caught for sure.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Ron then, “we’ve got broomsticks.”

Hermione was silent for a second, waiting for him to tell her it was just a joke. But he didn’t, so she had no choice but to ask.

“You’ve got what?”

“Broomsticks.”

“Stop kidding.”

“I’m not, Hermione,” said Ron, half smirking. “Even though we’ve been hiding here for six months it’s not as if we’ve never left the cave. We needed food, after all. A group of us came across an old Quidditch field on the other said of this place called Nairn; it was completely abandoned – no wonder, what with all that’s been happening – but all the equipment was still there, so we brought back about twenty brooms in all. Could come in handy, after all. Though we’ve got no means to conceal ourselves, we can still fly if we must.”

“That’s – that’s brilliant!” said Hermione. “We’ll just have to take the chance, because I just lost my wand.”

“How?”

“It’s – it’s a long story.” She smiled at her old friend. “You should all gather up what belongings you have, if there are any. We wait for the cover of darkness, and then we fly to Killengreen tonight. There you’ll meet with the resistance group.”

“You still fight... You-Know-Who?”

“Harry’s still alive, Ron. So yes, we do.”

He smiled.

“And while we wait for night to come, there’s something I need to show you.”

As the attention devoted to Hermione subsided amongst the refugees, and they began their small talk and scarce packing, Ron took Hermione’s hand and guided her through the stone hall, bringing her around a corner in the other end to what looked almost like a small room, secluded from the rest of the cave. In it, there was arranged for a bed with what resources had been found; there was a stern-looking woman fussing about in the room, and on the “bed” there lay an old woman.

It was Minerva McGonagall.

“Professor!” exclaimed Hermione the minute she saw her, and rushed over – but the other, stern woman stopped her.

“Miss Granger?” she said, staring wide-eyed.

“Madam Pomfrey?!”

“You’re alive! Oh, goodness me, we never thought –” She grasped her chest, and then a smile spread across her lips. “Oh, but I am glad to see you, you know.”

“Harry’s alive, Poppy,” said Ron from behind her.

“He is?!”

“‘Poppy’?” echoed Hermione, glancing sceptically at Ron.

He shrugged. “We kind of gave up on formalities at one stage.”

“Professor – Professor McGonagall,” began Hermione then, moving to approach the bed again, but still Madam Pomfrey stopped her.

“Don’t, Miss Granger,” she said. “I doubt you, one of her best students, would want to see her like this...”

“Oh, honestly,” begged Hermione, and pushed her way past Pomfrey to get to the bed; she kneeled next to it and scanned Professor McGonagall’s weary, old face nervously. She still looked like herself, though older, and the familiar, stern frown was long gone. In its place there was confusion.

“Professor McGonagall?” said Hermione hesitantly. “It’s Hermione Granger... How are you feeling?”

“Who?” said Professor McGonagall, locking eyes with her former star student.

“Hermione Granger,” insisted Hermione. “I went to Hogwarts, remember?”

“Sorry?” asked McGonagall’s weary voice, frowning as though trying to remember who Hermione was. “Went to what?”

“But you – you’re –” began Hermione, but she never finished the sentence. It was all too clear what happened to her dear mentor, though she almost didn’t want to believe it was true.

A hand touched her shoulder then.

“Come on, Hermione,” said Ron. She allowed him to lead her out, and they sat on the outskirts of the hall, both their faces turned down.

“She’s been Obliviated, then,” said Hermione. It was as much a statement as it was a question.

“Yes,” said Ron. “‘Fraid so. Dad and Francis found her about a week after the battle. At that point she was barely alive; it’s only thanks to Poppy that she’s still breathing. Mind you, she would have been well again save for the memory loss had we only had a wand.” He sighed. “Still, Poppy’s been great. Without her and Jen Marie I don’t think half of us would have made it.”

“I’m so sorry about Fred’s leg,” said Hermione then.

“Yeah, but you know Fred,” said Ron, grinning slightly, “he constantly cracks jokes about it; doesn’t seem to bother him at all. He says things like, ‘finally I’ve become one with nature’ and the likes; I don’t think there’s any need to worry about him.”

Hermione caught his gaze. “And what about you, Ron?”

“Eh?”

“How are you? Really – I mean, how are things?”

“They’re... Gods, I don’t know, Hermione,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t think I’ve quite realized you’re really here yet. For months now I’ve thought we were the only ones left. Can’t even begin to imagine Harry still being alive...”

“Haven’t you seen the ‘Most wanted’-posters?”

“Hell no; we don’t go near any town or any place where there’s people if we can avoid it,” replied Ron. “It’s not as if we could defend ourselves or resist much, were we to be seen... It’s been all about survival; you know?”

Hermione smiled sadly. “I know.” Drawing a deep breath, she then continued, “So who are all these people, really? I don’t know all of them.”

“I’ll give you the guide,” grinned Ron, and they both turned a bit to face the hall and the people within it.

“Well, you know Dad and Fred are here, obviously,” began Ron, “and Poppy and Professor McGonagall. Then there’s Francis Flourish, from Flourish & Blott’s ; Zacharias, who needs no introduction... You’ve met all them, right?”

“And Jen Marie,” added Hermione.

“That’s right, yeah,” said Ron wistfully, “Jen Marie... Jenny Marie Austen. She’s truly a brilliant Muggle, that one. Anyway, let’s see... There’s all these students from Hogwarts, like Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet – they’re over there; then there’s Elenor Branstone and Laura Madley – right there,” he pointed, “and apart from them we’ve got the bass player from the Weird Sisters, Donaghan...” He waved towards the punky dressed musician, who waved back, “and one Ministry representative, actually: Judge Amelia Bones.”

“Who was present at Harry’s trial?”

“That’s the one.”

“And who are those?” Hermione pointed towards two boys about her age and a man in the far end of the hall; they seemed busy packing what little they had of belongings and checking their brooms for the evening’s journey.

“Didn’t know them when I first met them,” replied Ron, “they never went to Hogwarts. That bloke to the left, with the long, wavy dark hair, that’s Gawaine Nycthorpe, and his mate’s Theodore Hacker. Both nice guys, though perhaps a bit paranoid.” He grinned. “Don’t have any clue what they’ve been doing with their lives... They won’t tell anyone. Haven’t seen them do any magic either, but then again we’ve had no wands here, and they’re definitely not Muggles.”

“And that last one? That man?”

“That’s Jim Higsley,” replied Ron, frowning slightly. “A bloke in his thirties or something, I think – he never talks much about himself. He’s Scottish, mind you. He is... strange; he’s kind of melancholic and dark, you know? A man of few words, most of the time.”

Hermione smiled.

“Now,” said Ron. “You’ve got to tell me: What the bloody hell is Killengreen?”

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His head was banging.

Or rather, to be more exact it felt as though someone was banging something very hard and blunt straight into his skull, slowly pushing him nearer the edge over which he would fall when he died from the pain.

Then a single word jumped into his mind: Hermione.

And suddenly the banging didn’t matter anymore; he was wide awake, scrambling to his feet and taking in the surroundings, desperately trying to remember where he was and why he was there and why the hell his head was hurting so.

He couldn’t remember.

He remembered Hermione. He remembered meeting her here, in this very room, and he remembered their talk and the niceness of the time spent with her. And then...

Yes, he remembered that too – Malfoy’s entrance.

Malfoy had come.

Severus frowned, willing the desperate ache in his head to just go away.

Had Malfoy seen him? Recognized him? Thinking reasonably, Severus quickly decided that this couldn’t be the case; had it been, he would not have been alive now. But then, what had happened?

When he had awoken he’d been lying on the floor, facing the abandoned bed. Glancing around the room now, Severus slowly felt his senses returning to him.

And then he discovered... He was not alone in the room.

“Professor Snape?” she said, her voice shaking as she slowly moved out from her hiding place in the corner of her brothel room. “Is that you...?”

Irritated, Severus frowned, squinting as though trying to recognize her. His brain was still not fully cooperating; how long had he been out for anyway? And did he know her? Was there any –

He couldn’t finish his trail of thought as he felt his knees weaken underneath him. Reaching blindly into the air for support he staggered forwards, desperate to keep his balance, and she – it was Mandy Brocklehurst – jumped out to catch him, pushing him onto the bed before he caused them both to fall from his weight.

“Oh gods,” moaned Severus, his hand coming up to rub his temples.

“Relax, Professor,” said Mandy Brocklehurst, who seemed to have regained her common sense, “you’re obviously not well. You might have a concussion; just lie still for a moment.”

“Can’t...” he muttered angrily; he wanted to get back up again but found to his terror that his couldn’t; he was too dizzy and unwell, couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t feel properly...

“You’re not well,” repeated Brocklehurst with confidence. “Lie still.”

“Her...” began Severus, wanting so to give into the softness of the bed; oh, but he did feel tired, and unwell... But not so much so that he couldn’t stop himself from uttering her name. In stead, he said:

“Mira.”

Mandy Brocklehurst the Ravenclaw blinked. It took her a second to regain her composure; obviously she was full of questions, but Severus wasn’t in a state to answer any of them now.

His eyelids were betraying him.

“Just sleep,” said Brocklehurst uneasily. “I’ll get Mira. Sleep, Professor.”

He did.


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A/N: What do you think? As always, a huge thanks to my dear beta JessiokaFroka; couldn\'t have made it without her. :)

And I bet some of you are wondering why Mandy Brocklehurst didn\'t react more to the sight of her former Professor being Mira\'s strange customer... Well, she\'s a sensible girl, and the poor man has obviously been attacked, so - as is stated - there are limits to what kind of questions she can ask him. ;) Just figured I had to argue this point... :)

As always, thanks so much to all my wonderful reviewers! Really appreciate it! :)