Chapter Text
Harry felt as though he too were hurtling through space; it had not happened. . . . It could not have happened. . . .
“Out of here, quickly,” said Snape.
He seized Malfoy by the scruff of the neck and forced him through the door ahead of the rest; Greyback and the squat brother and sister followed, the latter both panting excitedly. As they vanished through the door, Harry realized he could move again. What was now holding him paralyzed against the wall was not magic, but horror and shock. He threw the Invisibility Cloak aside as the brutal-faced Death Eater, last to leave the tower top, was disappearing through the door.
“Petrificus Totalus!”
The Death Eater buckled as though hit in the back with something solid and fell to the ground, rigid as a waxwork, but he had barely hit the floor when Harry was clambering over him and running down the darkened staircase.
Terror tore at Harry’s heart. . . . He had to get to Dumbledore and he had to catch Snape. . . . Somehow the two things were linked. . . . He could reverse what had happened if he had them both together. . . . Dumbledore could not have died. . . .
He leapt the last ten steps of the spiral staircase and stopped where he landed, his wand raised: The dimly lit corridor was full of dust; half the ceiling seemed to have fallen in; and a battle was raging before him, but even as he attempted to make out who was fighting whom, he heard the hated voice shout, “It’s over, time to go!” and saw Snape disappearing around the corner at the far end of the corridor; he and Malfoy seemed to have forced their way through the fight unscathed. As Harry plunged after them, one of the fighters detached themselves from the fray and flew at him: It was the werewolf, Fenrir. He was on top of Harry before Harry could raise his wand: Harry fell backward, with filthy matted hair in his face, the stench of sweat and blood filling his nose and mouth, hot greedy breath at his throat —
“Petrificus Totalus!”
Harry felt Fenrir collapse against him; with a stupendous effort he pushed the werewolf off and onto the floor as a jet of green light came flying toward him; he ducked and ran, head-first, into the fight. His feet met something squashy and slippery on the floor and he stumbled: There were two bodies lying there, lying face-down in a pool of blood, but there was no time to investigate. Harry now saw red hair flying like flames in front of him: Ginny was locked in combat with the lumpy Death Eater, Amycus, who was throwing hex after hex at her while she dodged them: Amycus was giggling, enjoying the sport: “Crucio — Crucio — you can’t dance forever, pretty —”
“Impedimenta!” yelled Harry.
His jinx hit Amycus in the chest: He gave a pig-like squeal of pain, was lifted off his feet and slammed into the opposite wall, slid down it, and fell out of sight behind Daphne, Professor McGonagall, and Remus, each of whom was battling a separate Death Eater. Beyond them, Harry saw Susan fighting an enormous blond wizard who was sending curses flying in all directions, so that they ricocheted off the walls around them, cracking stone, shattering the nearest window —
“Harry, you’re back! Where did you come from?” Ginny cried, but there was no time to answer her.
He put his head down and sprinted forward, narrowly avoiding a blast that erupted over his head, showering them all in bits of wall. Snape must not escape, he must catch up with Snape —
“Take that!” shouted Professor McGonagall, and Harry glimpsed the female Death Eater, Alecto, sprinting away down the corridor with her arms over her head, her brother right behind her. He launched himself after them but his foot caught on something, and next moment he was lying across someone’s legs. Looking around, he saw Neville’s pale, round face flat against the floor.
“Neville, are you — ?”
“M’all right,” muttered Neville, who was clutching his stomach, “Harry . . . Snape ’n’ Malfoy . . . ran past . . .”
“I know, I’m on it!” said Harry, aiming a hex from the floor at the enormous blond Death Eater who was causing most of the chaos. The man gave a howl of pain as the spell hit him in the face: He wheeled around, staggered, and then pounded away after the brother and sister. Harry scrambled up from the floor and began to sprint along the corridor, ignoring the bangs issuing from behind him, the yells of the others to come back, and the mute call of the figures on the ground whose fate he did not yet know. . . .
Where’s Hermione?
His mind numbed at the mere thought of her being at the receiving end of a vicious spell by any of the Death Eaters. His magic pumped through his veins with rage at the repulsive thought, making his eyes burn with fury for whomever shall dare to touch her.
He skidded around the corner, his trainers slippery with blood; Snape had an immense head start. Was it possible that he had already entered the cabinet in the Room of Requirement, or had the Order made steps to secure it, to prevent the Death Eaters retreating that way? He could hear nothing but his own pounding feet, his own hammering heart as he sprinted along the next empty corridor, but then spotted a bloody footprint that showed at least one of the fleeing Death Eaters was heading toward the front doors — perhaps the Room of Requirement was indeed blocked —
He skidded around another corner and a curse flew past him; he dived behind a suit of armor that exploded. He saw the brother and sister running down the marble staircase ahead and aimed jinxes at them, but merely hit several bewigged witches in a portrait on the landing, who ran screeching into neighboring paintings. As he leapt the wreckage of armor, Harry heard more shouts and screams; other people within the castle seemed to have awoken. . . .
He pelted toward a shortcut, hoping to overtake the brother and sister and close in on Snape and Malfoy, who must surely have reached the grounds by now. Remembering to leap the vanishing step halfway down the concealed staircase, he burst through a tapestry at the bottom and out into a corridor where a number of bewildered and pajama-clad Hufflepuffs stood.
“Harry! We heard a noise, and someone said something about the Dark Mark —” began Ernie Macmillan.
“Out of the way!” yelled Harry, knocking two boys aside as he sprinted toward the landing and down the remainder of the marble staircase.
The oak front doors had been blasted open, there were smears of blood on the flagstones, and several terrified students stood huddled against the walls, one or two still cowering with their arms over their faces. The giant Gryffindor hourglass had been hit by a curse, and the rubies within were still falling, with a loud rattle, onto the flagstones below.
Harry flew across the entrance hall and out into the dark grounds: He could just make out three figures racing across the lawn, heading for the gates beyond which they could Disapparate — by the looks of them, the huge blond Death Eater and, some way ahead of him, Snape and Malfoy . . .
The cold night air ripped at Harry’s lungs as he tore after them; he saw a flash of light in the distance that momentarily silhouetted his quarry. He did not know what it was but continued to run, not yet near enough to get a good aim with a curse —
Another flash, shouts, retaliatory jets of light, and Harry understood: Hagrid had emerged from his cabin and was trying to stop the Death Eaters escaping, and though every breath seemed to shred his lungs and the stitch in his chest was like fire, Harry sped up as an unbidden voice in his head said: not Hagrid . . . not Hagrid too . . .
Something caught Harry hard in the small of the back and he fell forward, his face smacking the ground, blood pouring out of both nostrils: He knew, even as he rolled over, his wand ready, that the brother and sister he had overtaken using his shortcut were closing in behind him. . . .
“Impedimenta!” he yelled as he rolled over again, crouching close to the dark ground, and miraculously his jinx hit one of them, who stumbled and fell, tripping up the other; Harry leapt to his feet and sprinted on after Snape.
And now he saw the vast outline of Hagrid, illuminated by the light of the crescent moon revealed suddenly behind clouds; the blond Death Eater was aiming curse after curse at the gamekeeper; but Hagrid’s immense strength and the toughened skin he had inherited from his giantess mother seemed to be protecting him. Snape and Malfoy, however, were still running; they would soon be beyond the gates, able to Disapparate —
Harry tore past Hagrid and his opponent, took aim at Snape’s back, and yelled, “Stupefy!”
He missed; the jet of red light soared past Snape’s head; Snape shouted, “Run, Draco!” and turned. Twenty yards apart, he and Harry looked at each other before raising their wands simultaneously.
“Cruc —”
But Snape parried the curse, knocking Harry backward off his feet before he could complete it; Harry rolled over and scrambled back up again as the huge Death Eater behind him yelled, “Incendio!” Harry heard an explosive bang and a dancing orange light spilled over all of them: Hagrid’s house was on fire.
“Fang’s in there, yer evil — !” Hagrid bellowed.
“Cruc —” yelled Harry for the second time, aiming for the figure ahead illuminated in the dancing firelight, but Snape blocked the spell again. Harry could see him sneering.
“No Unforgivable Curses from you, Potter!” he shouted over the rushing of the flames, Hagrid’s yells, and the wild yelping of the trapped Fang. “You haven’t got the nerve or the ability —”
“Incarc —” Harry roared, but Snape deflected the spell with an almost lazy flick of his arm.
“Fight back!” Harry screamed at him. “Fight back, you cowardly —”
“Coward, did you call me, Potter?” shouted Snape. “Your father would never attack me unless it was four on one, what would you call him, I wonder?”
“Stupe —”
“Blocked again and again and again until you learn to keep your mouth shut and your mind closed, Potter!” sneered Snape, deflecting the curse once more. “Now come!” he shouted at the huge Death Eater behind Harry. “It is time to be gone, before the Ministry turns up —”
“Impedi —”
But before he could finish this jinx, excruciating pain hit Harry; he keeled over in the grass. Someone was screaming, he would surely die of this agony, Snape was going to torture him to death or madness —
“No!” roared Snape’s voice and the pain stopped as suddenly as it had started; Harry lay curled on the dark grass, clutching his wand and panting; somewhere overhead Snape was shouting, “Have you forgotten our orders? Potter belongs to the Dark Lord — we are to leave him! Go! Go!”
And Harry felt the ground shudder under his face as the brother and sister and the enormous Death Eater obeyed, running toward the gates. Harry uttered an inarticulate yell of rage: In that instant, he cared not what might happen to him. Pushing himself to his feet again, he staggered blindly toward Snape, the man he now hated as much as he hated Voldemort himself —
“Sectum — !”
Snape flicked his wand and the curse was repelled yet again; but Harry was mere feet away now and he could see Snape’s face clearly at last: He was no longer sneering or jeering; the blazing flames showed a face full of rage. Mustering all his powers of concentration, Harry thought, Levi —
“No, Potter!” screamed Snape.
There was a loud BANG and Harry was soaring backward, hitting the ground hard again, and this time his wand flew out of his hand. He could hear Hagrid yelling and Fang howling as Snape closed in and looked down on him where he lay, wandless and defenseless as Dumbledore had been. Snape’s pale face, illuminated by the flaming cabin, was suffused with hatred just as it had been before he had cursed Dumbledore.
“You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? It was I who invented them — I, the Half-Blood Prince! And you’d turn my inventions on me, like your filthy father, would you? I don’t think so . . . no!”
Harry had dived for his wand; Snape shot a hex at it and it flew feet away into the darkness and out of sight.
“Kill me then,” panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, but only rage and contempt. “Kill me like you killed him, you coward —”
“DON’T —” screamed Snape, and his face was suddenly demented, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them — “CALL ME COWARD!”
And he slashed at the air, releasing a bright blue lightning-like hex at Harry, who closed his eyes on instinct, awaiting the inevitable pain, even death, but what hit him was nowhere close to what he was expecting. It was a familiar embrace that made him feel warm.
His eyes could open for only a fraction of a second in which they saw Hermione holding him, her mouth open but her bright eyes smiling at him, relieved to see him again.
...
“Where’s Harry?”
“In case you forgot, he is not injured like you and hence has to attend his classes,” Susan said nonchalantly without even looking up from her Herbology notes that Hermione had insisted she read to her. The brunette witch didn’t want to get behind her classes after all, no matter how disabled she was at the moment. “I believe it’s Runes.”
“Yeah,” said Hermione, sighing. “Him and Greengrass.”
“Are you suspicious, Granger?” said Susan with a teasing smirk.
“You very well know I’m not,” said Hermione similarly. “That bitch won’t dare.”
Susan stared up at her friend for a quiet moment before bursting into laughter.
“You’re crazy, you know that?” she said, catching her breath.
“Only you think so,” Hermione quipped before giving another heavy sigh. “I’m so bored, not because you’re reading me your notes —” she added quickly before the redhead could say anything. “I just need him.”
“You’re lovesick,” Susan said, shaking her head, putting her notes back inside her bag.
“I guess I am.” Hermione shrugged.
“Oh, I just remembered something,” Susan said suddenly. “Madam Pomfrey said the school has contacted your parents about your current situation.”
“Crap,” Hermione mumbled.
As if on cue, her mirror vibrated.
“Fucking hell,” she said, pulling it from underneath her pillow. “What d’you bet it’s Mum?”
It was.
“Hermione Jean Granger,” Emma’s voice rang sternly, her face flushed red with anger; Susan winced. “Why are we finding out about your injuries from a school letter?”
“Hello, Mum,” Hermione mumbled in a small voice, giving her an awkward smile.
“I need answers, young woman,” Emma said haughtily.
“I’m sorry,” Hermione apologized promptly. “I wanted to tell you —”
“But what?”
But what could Hermione say? That she overheard a boy crying in a bathroom that led to a duel with the said boy which caused her these grave injuries and a fortnight of time confined to a hospital bed rendering her unable to attend her classes?
So, naturally, she stayed quiet, her head bowed low.
“Who’s with you right now?” Emma demanded.
Hermione passed the mirror to Susan, who accepted it with a wince.
“Hello, Emma,” the redhead said awkwardly.
“Tell me, Susan, what happened to Hermione, tell me everything,” Emma asked, but Susan too stayed quiet. “So this is how it’s going to be, huh?” Emma said grimly. “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”
Her lips trembled as she fought hard to not let the tears show.
“I’m done,” she said. “I’m done with this magic shit. There hasn’t been a single year when at least one of you haven’t found yourself in mortal danger. I can’t with it anymore. I’m seriously done.”
She disconnected abruptly.
“She was crying,” Susan said, looking shaken. “I feel like I did that to her. Thanks for making me awful, Granger.”
Hermione couldn’t quite find the words to make anyone feel better.
“She will come around,” she said at last with more confidence that she was feeling. “Won’t she?”
Her and Susan stared at each other, both trying to show hope in their eyes but failing miserably. Harry and Daphne’s arrival provided the necessary distraction.
...
“So, Hera, tell me one thing.”
The great beast feigned deafness, but Hermione was nothing if not persistent.
“What’s it feel like to be so old?”
Hera scoffed, visibly vexed.
“When you have seen the world for so long like I have, all you want to do after a while is stay away from annoying brats like yourself,” she said with an unconcealed hint of impatience in her voice.
Hermione laughed heartily, not minding the pun at all. After having conversations like these with Hera, she had come to the conclusion that Hera was indisputably old, always advocating for the good old ways of life, but equally wise. It was like talking to a sage, not that Hermione had ever had the fortune to do so before.
“It’s my misfortune that I got bonded to the likes of you,” Hera drawled.
“Yeah, yeah, right, poor you,” Hermione murmured, rolling her eyes. “Say, have you ever been in love before?”
“You are yet to learn a lot about matters like love, brat,” Hera lectured her. “But yes, I have had the fortune to be in love.”
“What happened to him?” Hermione asked curiously. “Is he alive? Or is it a she? I won’t judge, I swear. My best friends are lesbians.”
But Hera didn’t appreciate the frank way Hermione was adopting. She walked upto the brunette witch and showed her sharp canines to her. Hermione always stood only at so much distance from Hera that she could approach her any time without straining her shackles.
“Do you not like your head attached to your neck, squirt?” Hera growled, saliva dripping down her jaws. “I can chew it off for you if you like.”
“No thank you,” Hermione said quietly.
“Know your place, witch, and you shall continue to live.”
“One last thing,” Hermione hesitated. Hera’s eye twitched, but there was no other way around this. “You said you saved me from dying. Why?”
Hera let out a steaming hot breath, showering it on Hermione’s entire body, before she retreated her steps and sat down on her hunches, looking supremely unconcerned.
“You and I share a sacred bond now, but of course it’s above your puny understanding. In simple words, however, your death will be mine, and I plan on living for another few centuries. Now, leave me be or I won’t be civil anymore.”
Various nights like these had taught Hermione to realize when she was dismissed.
...
“I can’t — she’ll kill me —”
“We have to. There’s no other way around this.”
“I know,” said the first voice, “but —”
“Oh, I’ll do it,” said a third one.
Daphne stepped up to Hermione.
“Granger,” she said, clearing her throat. “We — Ginny, Susan, and I — need to tell you something.”
Hermione looked up from the pile of archives that she had collected during her extensive search for the Half-Blood Prince’s identity and pushed a rebellious strand of hair away from before her eyes.
“Yeah? Well, make it quick,” she said haughtily, not quite in the mood to do anything but her research. “I haven’t got the slightest bit of time for —”
“Harry’s gone.”
Hermione blinked, her brain struggling to process the two simple words. It’s funny the way her so-called know-it-all brain was finding it difficult to understand such a simple statement. She stared up at her blonde friend, then began laughing.
“Good joke, almost got me —”
“Hermione,” said Ginny, stepping forward. “He’s gone.”
“Gone? Where?” Hermione demanded, bouncing to her feet, sending a few scrolls flying off the table.
“With Dumbledore,” Ginny added.
These two words, although just as simple, had a profound effect on Hermione, for when she joined them with the previous two words, they shook her world and swept the floor off her feet, sending her crashing back down on her chair with a thud.
“Hermione!” gasped both Ginny and Susan, coming around her urgently.
“How do you know?” she asked, her own words sounding very distant to her, foreign like someone else had said them in her place.
“He told me.” Ginny told her. “I’m sorry, Hermione, I shouldn’t have let him go. I was in the common room when he came in a hurry and told me he was going somewhere with Dumbledore. I think they’ve got a Horcrux.”
Hermione held her head in her hands. Harry went off alone because I came here to search for the Prince? Her mind reeled at the possible implications of her rash behavior. She shuddered to imagine what might be happening with Harry and Professor Dumbledore, whose left arm had suspiciously failed to heal for a long time now, at the moment as they struggled to obtain one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes.
“The cave,” she suddenly said. “That’s the only place they might have gone to. I have to leave now!”
“Whoa, hold on,” said Susan, pushing Hermione back down in her seat. “You’re not going anywhere, girl —”
“The hell I am not, Sue —”
“No, you listen to me, Hermione,” Susan said strictly. “Harry left some instructions for us before leaving. We must follow them. He thinks Malfoy might —”
“Of course!” Hermione gasped, mad at herself for not seeing it sooner. “Malfoy will surely use this golden opportunity to finally do whatever he’s been planning to do now that Dumbledore’s away. We’ve to catch the fucking bastard, Sue. We’ve to catch him now.”
“I know,” said Susan, keeping her hold on Hermione’s shoulder tight. “Let’s just gather everyone from the H.G. and let them know about the situation, yes?”
Hermione nodded, jumping into action. Now that she had a mission by Harry, her mind was a lot clearer.
However, everything went down in a flash. One moment the H.G. was guarding the castle, the next a battle had ensued between the Death Eaters and them; they were aided by the Order of the Phoenix.
“Where did they come from?” Hermione yelled while duelling with a hooded Death Eater, sending a Reducto his way.
“No idea!” shouted Susan from behind her. “It’s like they Apparated in here!”
“But that’s impossible —”
“I know!” Susan grunted.
They were separated during the course of the battle. Hermione fought for another few minutes before she met Ginny, who said Harry had returned.
“Where did he go?” Hermione asked desperately.
“He didn’t stop to answer!” Ginny yelled back at her, rolling behind a pile of rubble to dodge a spell by a woman under the hood. Hermione sent a Stunning Spell her way. “I wish he’d stop doing that to me!”
“Can you handle this?” Hermione asked, dodging a blue curse that came out of nowhere. “I need to see Harry!”
“Go!”
Hermione pulled herself away, her eyes searching frantically for her boyfriend. She kept asking about his whereabouts to whomever she met along the way. Eventually, Neville guided her, and she shot straight towards the grounds to catch Harry just in time, although she did get hit by a spell of Snape’s that hurt almost as much as a Crucio. She fell into Harry’s arms, her eyes struggling to stay open. He seemed surprised to see her, but all she felt was relief.
He’s okay . . . he’s not hurt . . .
She need not worry. Everything else could be dealt with. What truly mattered was that they had each other.