No Longer Helpless

Chapter Seven
Sweet Dreams

Unofficially, the meeting had ended and most members had left.

Remus went back to his study, Fred and George to their shop, Tonks was still in the middle of an assignment, so she left in a rush. Bill and Charlie hung around for a little bit, casting glances at Hermione every so often, before going back to their respective jobs and roles in the wizarding world.

Outside headquarters, they all carried on as actors, acting as though Voldemort wasn’t a threat and the Order of the Phoenix didn’t exist.

Ministry business called Mr. Weasley away, while Mrs. Weasley bustled about preparing a late dinner. Snape had excused himself before all others, feeling most uncomfortable in any surroundings other than a dungeon.

Dumbledore sat bemused, watching as Harry, Ron, and Hermione chatted away, and Draco and Moody were occupied by a deep discussion.

For the past few minutes Draco had been looking rather livid and talking heatedly with his new mentor. Seeming to have ended their debate, Moody growled, “It’s final boy!”

This seemed to catch the attention of everyone in the room. Mrs. Weasley turned back to the soup pot and began stirring the contents again, more content to do it herself and escape the growing tension than to use magic.

“Dumbledore, I have another matter to discuss,” Moody said, causing Draco to sneer. “Oh, don’t be that way,” he grumbled with a nudge to Draco’s shoulder.

Leaning forward in a show of apprehension, Dumbledore waited.

“Well, as you know, Malfoy’s training is coming along smoothly enough. But there was something that happened earlier that, uh,” His magical eye swiveled in Hermione’s direction, “caught my interest,” he finished.

“Go on,” Dumbledore encouraged, smiling as he waited for Moody to mention what he guessed the auror might.

“Quite frankly, that girl has moves like no other. She kept pace with Malfoy damn near the whole time. Granted, I wasn’t giving her anything to dodge, but her reaction to his fall.” He paused, seeming to realize he’d need to explain further since Dumbledore hadn’t actually been there. “I managed to get a hit in, the broom anyway. Malfoy was falling not a second before he used his most handy resource.” There almost seemed to be pride in Moody’s voice as he recounted the event. “And this one here,” he gestured to Hermione, “the kitten anyway, obeyed him quicker than I could send my next spell out. I’ve never seen a more suited pair.”

“Suited!” Ron nearly choked on his freshly served soup. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Quiet, Weasley,” Moody said sternly, not liking any interruptions when he was trying to develop a new edge for their side. “She has all the makings Dumbledore. Not to mention, if we trained them together. It’d be like Caster and Galloway.”

Harry and Ron were now very concerned. From the sounds of it, Hermione might not be rid of Malfoy for good like they had hoped. But since they were still severely lacking in the information department, they’d need to play along and not oppose Moody until they understood more.

“Caster and Galloway?” Harry asked, sensing a stiffness in Hermione posture now.

“You’re joking right?” Hermione burst out. “What happened before my mind was set straight?” she asked, disregarding the instinctive feeling of wariness she got from Harry and Ron.

Harry nudged Hermione in the side, demanding an explanation.

Complying readily, as though they were back in class and she was explaining something for him, she spoke quickly, “Gregory Caster and Connor Galloway were the two best aurors of all time. They were partners. Somehow, it hasn’t been soundly explained, they seemed able to read each others’ minds and work as though they were one person. They were unbeatable, literally. Not a single target even came close. They were best friends, who died in retirement together. In fact, their deaths were only minutes apart, as if one couldn’t go on with out the other.”

“That’s exactly what I’m on about, you see!” Moody shouted so lively that Mrs. Weasley sloshed some soup from the last bowl she was setting down for herself. “She has brains, and if she’s trained Dumbledore, we’ll have a greater advantage than we might have hoped for.”

Dumbledore nodded, only too happy that Moody had asked this of him, though it wasn’t his final decision to make. Hermione’s abilities as an Angelus were exactly what Voldemort was after, and exactly what they needed to use against him. He had planned on asking Moody to train yet another student. As it was, he’d already had to push to get just Draco in the experienced auror’s charge.

However, their discussion would be between the four of them, so as to rule out any biased influences. This would have to be Hermione’s decision, not Harry or Ron’s. There was also the factor of Hermione having enough to deal with at the moment. “We will talk about this tomorrow. During Draco’s training, we can meet on the pitch, so as not to deter the schedule too much.”

Moody nodded approvingly. Content with the positive sound of things and glad that there was a mutual understanding of how precious their training time was.

Several attempted arguments later everyone was dismissed. Moody and Malfoy made their exits. The old auror was visibly ignoring the seething glares sent his way by the blonde. As they moved out of sight muffled arguing could be heard.

It wasn’t until Hermione made to stand up that she realized she had no place to go. Where was she going to stay? Surly, she wouldn’t be passed of to her next of kin? She wouldn’t allow that, since she’d already managed to get her mother and father killed. She didn’t need to have Aunt Josephine finding out her sister and brother-in-law were murdered, her niece was a witch, and that she was going to die next simply for knowing Hermione.

Shaking her head slightly, knowing such thoughts were anything but productive, she sighed and rubbed her face. It suddenly felt like the weight of the world was pushing her down.

A gentle hand rested on her shoulder, drawing her in close.

Harry had seen the strain on Hermione and couldn’t help but sympathize with her. He had lost Sirius little over a year ago, and it hadn’t gotten any easier. He had only become used to the emptiness. Now they both shared a vendetta for Lestrange.

Harry’s greater concern for Hermione was that she was no murderer. Their Hermione was too pure and kindhearted to be something like that, even in times of war. Neither Ron nor himself could see her killing someone even in self-defense.

Long ago, Harry had become resigned to his fate of having at least one death bloody his hands. Sadly, somewhere along the lines he had also come to accept that there would likely be more than one life ended by him. While he had yet become a killer, it was written in the stars.

While he couldn’t help but become tainted, Hermione could. Both he and Ron would see that she never had to make such a decision. An angel would wither with the deeds of the devil. They wouldn’t let that happen.

Ron said his goodbyes. Even though he wanted to remain here with his friends, he left with Mrs. Weasley, promising to visit soon. It was summer after all, and while they would like to stay together at all times, they usually spent this holiday off on their own.

Ready to fall asleep standing up, Hermione closed her eyes for a moment and leaned back against Harry. Comforting arms held her, reminding her she still had her friends.

Harry placed a light kiss on the top her head before asking, “Are you staying here?” He was slightly hopeful. Company would be nice.

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to go,” she replied before a small cough drew them from their own little world, where nothing else existed but them.

Dumbledore stood near the door way looking expectantly. “Miss Granger, I think it would be best if you spent a night or two at Hogwarts. We have much more to discuss and I think the school is better fit to see to your needs at the moment.” It wasn’t a suggestion open for argument, not that Hermione would have, since it seemed more than a nice idea.

With a quick squeeze of Harry’s hand she headed towards the door, but she was abruptly pulled back.

Harry grabbed her hand again. “Wait,” he said walking to the other side of the table and picking something up off the bench. “Put your arms up.”

“Why?” she asked confused.

He gave her a look that seemed to convey the message that she should just humor him. So she did and was immediately engulfed in a sea of soft material. It was a dark grey robe, far too big for her. It must have been Harry’s, it was his size. There was an alluring scent to it, which made her eyelids droop in the pleasure of breathing it in.

“Thanks,” she said, grateful he had thought to lend it to her. She’d return it to him later of course. Wearing the all too big cloak, she drew near even with Dumbledore and followed him out into the sitting room.

A short floo later she was back at school, a temporary connection that was untraceable. It was curious how Dumbledore had not followed her, simply seen her off.

Standing straight she looked around her, not recognizing the room at all, but it was undoubtedly somewhere within Hogwarts. It was a common room, but for which house? Certainly not Gryffindor, and if the other houses had common rooms like their own then it would have been obvious by the color scheme.

The rug was a pale regal manor design of gold and silver. It was soft under her bare feet. A large light grey couch sat in front of the fireplace, with a matching loveseat beside it. Several bookshelves adorned the walls. Though, she normally would have been overly excited at this, she was too tired to care. There were tapestries, beautifully woven with intricate patterns and pictures.

Three portraits above the fireplace mantle supplied her with an answer as to where she was. A large frame contained the moving images of the Gryffindor lion and Slytherin snake, while two matching but smaller ones hung to the left and right containing the Hufflepuff badger and Ravenclaw raven.

‘Of course,’ she thought, ‘I should have known.’

She was Head Girl. Who else would they have decided upon? A near perfect record, with the exception of running off to help save the day a few times with Harry and Ron. Prefect since her fourth year and top grades since her first year. More than likely, Malfoy was Head Boy. He had the second to best grades, right behind her, and after tonight’s circus act, she wouldn’t be surprised if everyone declared their favoritism for the git.

There was a staircase leading up, to their bedrooms most likely, and another couple doors which lead off of the common room. Through one was a small kitchen, which was odd since Head Girl and Boy were expected to be in attendance of every meal. The other was their bathroom. Much like the prefects bathroom, only now restricted to the access of two people.

She sighed heavily resigned to take a soothing bath simply because one couldn’t help but do that upon seeing the large pool sized tub. Besides, she felt grimy and in desperate need of scrubbing herself clean.

The sound of water pouring into the gigantic basin reverberated off the porcelain tiling. Sweet scents filled the air, having chosen random handles to dispense the bubbles. She couldn’t tell if it was lavender or something closer to honey. She didn’t care really. At the moment there was another scent that she indulged in.

Not only had the robe she’d been wearing smelled like cologne that was almost sweet, but there was also a hint of cedar or perhaps pine, something like wood anyway.
All the scents were subtle and far from overbearing. This only made her want to smell it more, determined to place the scents. Not having enough to go by she almost pouted.

It was stronger on the clothes she was wearing, which she almost slapped herself on the head for not even noticing until now. She looked absolutely ridiculous. Why hadn’t Harry at least charmed them to fit her better?

‘Unless…’ A thought struck her. She searched the hem for the distinct marking. It was there. These were tailored clothes, designed for their wearer and resistant to all charms altering their size. ‘Since when does Harry wear tailored clothes?’ she wondered.

The water had finished pouring and steam was rising just above the surface over the bubbles.

Having discarded the clothes in a neat pile she smiled as she saw another set of fresh clothes, just as she would have worn if they’d been her own, in a crisp pile on the vanity table. The House Elves were always on top of their game.

It irked her that she’d lost everything. As if losing her parents wasn’t enough, she’d lost all her possessions. She couldn’t freeload off of the Headmaster and stay at Hogwarts. She’d need to see what affairs were in order as far as money went. For now though, she could spend a few days here.

‘And a few hours soaking in the bath,’ she surmised, as the hot liquid soothed her to the bone.

After scrubbing her hair and body furiously, almost making her skin raw, she climbed out and toweled off. The clothes left for her were a simple set of black cotton sweat pants, a comfortable white t-shirt, and most thankfully a set of undergarments. The pants were baggy. The thin summer material hung loosely over her legs, held by an elastic band at her waist. The t-shirt was well sized for her frame, though the thin cotton seemed to soak up the water from her hair fast.

Refreshing as the bath had been, she was tired and more than ready for bed. As she made her way out of the bathroom she paused a moment to scoop up Harry’s borrowed clothes. She left the shirt and pants on the chair, knowing the elves would actually be happy to wash them for her. But, she kept the robe with her.

It was hard to explain why she did this. There was something almost comforting about it, just holding it close. Perhaps it was like having her friend there to console her in her grief.

Her hair was still quite wet, but for the past year it didn’t become frizzy even if she let it air dry. Back in the common room, she looked from the stairway to the now roaring fire in the fireplace.

Summer or not, these stone rooms could become chilled even in the warmest of weather. Besides, the kitchen at headquarters had been practically boiling and she had still been freezing. So, while a comfortable bed seemed like a nice idea she found more appeal in the lush suede couch before the fire.

Practically collapsing into the soft cushions, Hermione lay on her stomach a moment before turning on her side and curling up. She pulled one of the square pillows to her and rested her head on it. Then she pulled the robe over her, just letting it rest on top. Fisting one of the sleeves she placed her hand up near her cheek, holding the material close enough to catch the comforting scent every few breaths. Shortly after, she fell asleep.

**

Drip, drip…drip, drip…drip, drip…

‘What is that?’ she wondered.

Drip, drip…

Rain was pouring down in sheets against the window pane, but inside a small drip echoed through the dark room. Hermione groaned, the sound of water was supposed to lull a person sleep, not wake them up.

Then another sound caught her ears. It sounded like a sniffle, someone was crying. The sobs were echoing more than was natural, even with vacant stonewalls and high ceiling room.

Her eyes fluttered open as the echoed sobs continued. She sat up in her bed, and clambered about the girls’ sixth year dormitory. There was a familiar bluish tint to all the shadows of the room, as only a small amount of moon light made it through the windows. It was a rather cloudy night anyway, testimony by the pouring rain.

The sobbing was so forlorn and hollow. Hermione couldn’t help but wander in the direction of it with intent to comfort the source.

Through the door and into the Gryffindor common room, it was odd how even the red color was diminished to a cool tone in the dark. A form sat huddled in one of the armchairs that Harry, Ron, and herself often occupied.

She approached quietly, wondering how she could still hear that same dripping noise when she was all the way downstairs. Slowly, she reached a hand out and touched the shoulder of the sobbing girl, who had her head buried in her arms with her knees drawn up tight.

The girl gasped in surprise and looked up, causing Hermione to gasp in turn. It was her. The sobbing girl was her, Hermione.

Face streaked and stained with tears, the girl who was her own split image didn’t seem to notice that they looked alike. Instead, sad eyes looked imploringly. “Please,” she sniffed, “Where is he?”

Hermione furrowed her brows in confusion. “Where is who?”

“I need to find him. I’ve been looking everywhere.” She sobbed again, her face cringing as she tried to speak at the same time. “He was right there in that one room with all those strange people. It was that man, the older one who made him go away.” More tears fell.

“What are you talking about?” Hermione had no idea what she on about. She tried a different tactic. “What’s your name?” If the other answered ‘Hermione’, then she didn’t know what she would do.

“Granger,” the other said as though it didn’t matter. “But, please, do you know where he is? I was good and listened to him, but then that man cast a spell and everything went dark. I was here, at the castle. But, then it started to rain so hard and storm. I tried checking the large field, but no one was flying today. And it’s so cold, so very cold, I can’t start a fire.”

“Who is it you’re looking for?” Hermione’s mind was running so fast trying to process so much.

“Draco, I’m looking for Draco. Where is he?” She started crying uncontrollably, rocking back and forth as she held her knees.

Just watching the other girl’s display caused Hermione tear up too. Nothing was making any sense. Was she dreaming? Yes, she must be. But there was something about the other’s words that didn’t sit well with her.

Being the clever witch that she was, Hermione’s logical side took charge. “When you said a room with strangers, who did you see?” she asked, hardly supporting the idea she had about what the girl’s answer would be.

It seemed like the girl was compliant enough, as she tried to answer even through her crying. “There was the boy with the scar, Harry, and the one with red hair, Ron. They call me ‘Hermione’. There were others who had hair like Ron’s. Twelve total, I think. Two of them were the same, they might just be one then. The old man with white hair, he’s the one who sent me here. And Moody, he was with Draco and me when we flew.”

Hermione was wide eyed. She wanted to kick herself. She should have demanded to know what had gone on exactly, since it would seem she’d been awake and moving about without remembering any of it for the passed day.

If only she had known more. Now, even though she had her theories about this girl, crazy as they might be, she couldn’t be certain about anything. “Will you be here again?” she asked, not knowing what to do.

“I can’t leave.”

“I’m going to leave, but I’ll come back. I’ll try to find Malfoy,” she promised, not certain any if what she’d said could be done. But she was unable to not help, since the girl seemed to be her.

“Ok, but can you make it stop raining? I can’t stand it, it’s leaking all over, and I haven’t been able to stay dry. And it’s so cold.”

“I can’t stop the rain,” Hermione pointed out the obvious, wondering if someone so, well, clueless could possibly be her.

“Yes you can,” the other replied with a conviction that sounded like she was surer of nothing else.

“Can I?” Hermione asked, uncertain as to whether she should lecture the girl on the science behind the weather.

“You made it rain in the first place. Please, could you stop it?”

“I didn’t make it rain.” Feeling like a two year denying something they didn’t want to get in trouble for, she refuted the accusation.

“Yes, you did.”

“How?” she conceded, knowing the girl would not relent.

Stiffly, the girl raised a hand and point to the arched cove that lead to the portrait hole. The cove was cast in shadow, eerie and seemingly too far away. “Through there you will see, the reason for the rain.”

As though something had taken over her body, Hermione stood up and began walking to the door. Although she probably would have checked it out anyway, she didn’t like having her feet take her there as if they were possessed. She also didn’t like how dark everything became once she was in the small alcove.

Tentatively, she pushed the door, which was the back of the painting. Before she had even cracked it two inches, fingers grasped it from the other end and wrenched it open all the way. Next there were hands on her robes, pulling her through. Such, ghoulish hands, she had seen them somewhere before.

Out in the large hall, shadowed figures stood surrounding her mother and father. She wanted to run to them, but the person who had pulled her through held her in place. Trying to turn her head back, she was stopped as someone yanked a fist of her hair to keep her turned forward.

Suddenly her whole body was unable to move. All she could do was watch and cry out as tears streamed down her face. One blow after the other, the blade cut through her parents flesh too easily. There was so much blood. It covered the walls and floor.

Between her strangled cries for them to stop and insults shouted in fury, was laughter from the shadowed figures. Finally, as her parents lay in an unmoving heap and the dreaded truth dawned on her, a cold voice whispered harshly in her ear, “You killed them mud-blood.” The voice clucked and put on a mock chastising tone. “Now, why did you have to go and do that?” Laughter followed.

Everything went dark.

**

“Granger!” yelled a stern voice. “Wake up.”

In one fast motion, Hermione’s eyes shot open and she sat up too soon for her own good. Her head was pounding now. Her throat was raw, as though she’d been yelling too much, and there was a familiar burning sensation in her eyes.

Tears had pooled down her cheeks and neck. She was still crying somewhat even now. It had happened all over again, only this time she stood idly by and watched.

Harry’s robe was strewn to the floor. It looked twisted like she’d thrashed a bit before it fell. Part of her wanted to reach down and hold it close. Instead, she looked upon another figure, Malfoy. He stood beside her, having been the one to call her back.

“It’s a wonder anyone got any sleep with you around, Granger,” he said coldly, knowing full well why she might have had a particularly bad nightmare. She made no snappy retort like she usually would have. Instead, her frightened and tearful eyes just looked at him. He was reminded of her other self.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” she whispered hoarsely, looking at him as though he was the only person in the world who could forgive her.

He was taken aback by this, not knowing what to do. He sat down on the edge of the couch. Her eyes held his the whole time. “Do what?” he inquired, almost softly.

“Kill them,” she choked out before sobbing.

“Are you daft? You didn’t kill your parents,” he replied, surprised that someone with her brains would have such an irrational idea.

Eyes staring forth in a daze, she confessed, “But I didn’t save them.” There was a scent, it was the same as the robes and clothes, only it was coming from Malfoy. Without thinking she leaned forward and held onto him, just as she would have done if he were Harry or Ron.

However, Draco was not Harry or Ron, far from in fact, and didn’t know what to do. It was a repeat of the earlier situation, only now it was the real Granger. He sighed, doing the only thing he knew how to in such circumstances, he pat her back and pulled her into the position she seemed to have preferred before. Draco laid his head back against the couch and let Hermione cry a bit before falling asleep against him, tucked warmly under his arm.


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