HP drabble - 4/?
Now with Harry torture (juuuust slightly) and Dumbledore bashing!
Also, to note, there will not - I repeat - NOT be Horcruxes or whatever those bloody things are in this story. At least I don't plan for them to be. They may be mentioned but you'll never see one. Mainly 'cause I do not understand the dang things.
---
Hermione was sitting with Harry weeks later when whatever had been done to him finally caught up - in some small part, at least. She had nearly dozed off, Hogwarts, A History almost falling off her lap as she slouched in her chair, when a gut-wrenching howl pierced the air. Staggering to her feet, she left the book abandoned by the chair and rushed to Harry’s side as he writhed and struggled against the straps that bound him.
She caught a flash of his eyes and saw that same wild beast in them but this time it was confused…no, afraid. It had no idea what was going on and why it was in pain - much like her. Though she at least knew what was happening somewhat.
It was in the dark.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she found herself whispering feverishly to the screaming, writhing form on the bed. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be perfectly fine…”
If only she could believe that herself.
A ripping noise caused her to look down and she gasped as she saw long dark claws growing out from under the nails already in his hands. Blood welled up as the old nails were ripped up and away and she winced, starting to draw her wand.
A vicious snarl made her stop and she looked at Harry’s face for a moment, taking in the panic there underneath the fear and pain. She looked down at her wand again then slid it back into its sheath on her belt, sensing that he was now afraid of the objects that focused their magic into what they willed.
Silently she damned Dumbledore to the darkest pit of Hell for what he’d done.
An hour passed before Harry finally collapsed bonelessly against his restraints, his chest heaving as he sought to get air back into lungs worn from pained screaming. Hermione moved carefully closer to him, her hand reaching out to touch his.
He jerked away from her and snarled weakly, wild emerald eyes glaring at her. She frowned and tried to touch his hand again, keeping her eyes locked with his, trying to get the wild animal to understand that she only wanted to help.
They stared at each other for a long moment before Harry huffed and looked away, which made Hermione smile. She then carefully lifted his left hand in hers, picking the old nails off and placing them on the bedside table. Not seeing a washcloth she could wash the blood away with anywhere, she held up a finger to him then walked to the bathroom to get one. As she wet the cloth in the sink then filled up a small bowl with more water, a soft keen came from the main room. Quickly finishing, she rushed back into the room, careful not to spill the water.
The panic in Harry’s eyes faded as she reappeared and she smiled at him, reassuringly touching his wrist as she went to place the bowl on the table. She then moved back to his hand and gently washed the blood there away with the damp washcloth before moving to his other hand.
As she moved to rewet the cloth, she noticed that the nails on his feet were in the same state as his hands. With a newly damp cloth, she moved to them and smiled a little when Harry twitched in response to her touch there.
He’d always been ticklish on his feet, she recalled. Once she and Ron had wrestled him to the floor in the Tower and had tickled him until all three of them were gasping for breath. Then they’d just lain by the fireplace for hours, sharing a slightly squished box of Bertie’s Bott’s Every Flavor Beans that Ron had produced from his pocket.
She smiled wistfully at the memory, which had been in much happier times. Before Voldemort had risen again and thrown them into the chaos that they existed in now.
A soft questioning growl made her look up from her ministrations and she found Harry looking curiously at her, his head slightly cocked to the side as he lifted it as far as he could. She smiled reassuringly and patted his ankle, murmuring, “I’m alright. Just…memories.”
He stared at her for a moment, the intensity of the feral gaze almost but not quite unnerving her. Then he laid back and she continued in silence. As she moved back to the table, she dropped the rag into the now light pink water then turned back to Harry’s prone form. She slipped her hand into his gingerly and smiled when it closed around hers, the new claws lying feather-light on her skin.
Brown eyes met green and she reached up to touch his face but stopped when he pulled his head back a bit. Nodding, she just laid her hand down on the edge of the bed and said, “I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you, Harry. And I know you can hear me in there somewhere.”
The feral eyes stared at her for a moment and seemed to soften, becoming more human before his gaze jerked away from her. A snarl bubbled up from within his throat and she pulled her hand from his just as Dumbledore entered the private room.
Harry howled in rage and anger and Hermione jumped back as his new claws slashed at the air and the sheets underneath him. She felt rage bubble up within her at the sight of the man who’d turned her friend into this mockery of a human being but she held it back, remembering Severus’ words.
Schooling her expression into one of confusion, she looked up at him and he smiled kindly at her. In another time she would have returned the smile, thinking he was nothing more than her dear old Headmaster. Now he was right up there with Voldemort in her book, maybe even higher, for what he’d done to Harry.
“I see there’s been no progress,” he said softly as he eyed the snarling, writhing figure on the bed.
“No,” replied Hermione in a short clipped voice. It was the only way she could keep anger from lacing her voice.
She wasn’t even going to inform the old man that Harry’s consciousness had surfaced once, that she’d spoken to him and he’d responded. Not after she’d spoken with Severus and found out that he was the cause of Harry’s pain and it wasn’t just some feverish rambling.
Dumbledore was about to speak again when Madam Pomfrey entered the room, obviously drawn by Harry’s snarls. She frowned angrily and strode forward, planting herself directly in front of the old wizard and pointed towards the door.
“OUT!”
“Why, my dear Madam Pomfrey, I…”
“I don’t care, Albus!” shouted the Mistress of the Hospital Wing. “All I care about is the health of my patients and it so appears that you are disrupting the care of this one. Now get out!”
Blue eyes looked at Hermione as though for help and she quickly averted her gaze to Harry. She took in the quivering of his limbs, the muscles strained already from the earlier transformation and now more so as he sought to free himself and assault the man who’d done this to him, and knew that if Dumbledore didn’t leave soon under Pomfrey’s stern gaze, she’d make him leave herself. Harry had been made her ward, placed under her care, her watch.
“Very well, my dear,” she heard Dumbledore say and looked up to see him heading towards the door, Madam Pomfrey on his tail. He turned slightly towards her and smiled, saying, “Good day, Miss Granger.”
Hermione gritted her teeth and replied, “Headmaster.”
He looked oddly at her for a moment then was pushed out of the room by Pomfrey, who closed and locked the door. She then placed a ward on it before moving over to Hermione and the now exhausted Harry.
“What in Merlin’s name was all that about?” she asked.
Hermione looked up at the door then turned away from Harry to draw her wand, casting an Anti-Eavesdropping spell around them. Pomfrey arched an eyebrow at it then blinked in shock when Hermione spoke.
“He’s responsible for what happened to Harry.”
The older witch looked at Hermione for a long moment then shook her head saying, “No, surely not. He couldn’t! Albus…he always liked Harry!”
Hermione snorted and snarled, “Only because he needed him. He had to have him to defeat Voldemort but then he apparently thought that Harry couldn’t do it on his own. And he couldn’t do anything about that whilst Voldemort thought he was alive.”
She turned and pointed a finger at the still form on the bed and hissed, “He’s the reason why Harry’s like this. He took him seventh year and held him, performing a number of spells on him that would turn him into what he wanted - what he needed.” Her gaze softened and she moved over to touch Harry’s hand, smiling slightly when it turned and the clawed fingers laid gently over hers. “He tried to turn him into a weapon against Voldemort.”
There was a moment of silence then Pomfrey breathed, “How do you know this, child?”
“Severus,” replied Hermione. “I spoke to him almost three weeks ago after…after Harry - the real Harry, not this shell - managed to surface for a little while. He told me that Voldemort wasn’t the one who’d done this to him.”
“And you trust Severus?”
The younger witch turned and looked at her for a moment then nodded. She then chuckled, a bitter sound thanks to the earlier encounter with Dumbledore, and said, “I didn’t think I would at first. Now, after all these years, I sometimes think he’s the only one I can trust.”
Pomfrey stared at her for a moment then spat out a string of curses in Welsh that made Hermione blink in surprise. She then shook her head and muttered, “Damn that man. I’m tempted to go and have a few well-put words with him…”
“No!” hissed Hermione, her arm lashing out to grasp the retreating woman’s wrist. “Severus warned me not to confront him. If we do, he may very well stop at nothing to keep us away from Harry. And if he does that, Harry won’t have a chance to come back. He’ll be turned into the weapon Dumbledore wants.”
Pomfrey nodded then looked curiously at her.
“Are you certain he can come back?”
“He’s done it once,” said Hermione vehemently. “He can do it again.”
She turned then and looked into the feral eyes that blinked wearily at her but refused to close. Smiling, she stroked the back of Harry’s hand and whispered, “You’re safe. I’ll keep you safe.”
Harry stared at her for a moment then growled weakly before he finally gave in to the exhaustion that had been trying for minutes to overtake him. Hermione looked fondly down at him and reached out carefully to brush strands of hair away from his scar.
“We’ll keep him safe,” amended Pomfrey, her eyes sparkling slightly. She wiped them and Hermione reached out to touch her shoulder reassuringly as she remembered that the mediwitch had become very protective of Harry. And well so as he’d visited her more often than anyone else in the school during their years there.
“Yes,” said Hermione, looking back down at her friend’s sleeping form.
Come back, Harry.
Also, to note, there will not - I repeat - NOT be Horcruxes or whatever those bloody things are in this story. At least I don't plan for them to be. They may be mentioned but you'll never see one. Mainly 'cause I do not understand the dang things.
---
Hermione was sitting with Harry weeks later when whatever had been done to him finally caught up - in some small part, at least. She had nearly dozed off, Hogwarts, A History almost falling off her lap as she slouched in her chair, when a gut-wrenching howl pierced the air. Staggering to her feet, she left the book abandoned by the chair and rushed to Harry’s side as he writhed and struggled against the straps that bound him.
She caught a flash of his eyes and saw that same wild beast in them but this time it was confused…no, afraid. It had no idea what was going on and why it was in pain - much like her. Though she at least knew what was happening somewhat.
It was in the dark.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she found herself whispering feverishly to the screaming, writhing form on the bed. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be perfectly fine…”
If only she could believe that herself.
A ripping noise caused her to look down and she gasped as she saw long dark claws growing out from under the nails already in his hands. Blood welled up as the old nails were ripped up and away and she winced, starting to draw her wand.
A vicious snarl made her stop and she looked at Harry’s face for a moment, taking in the panic there underneath the fear and pain. She looked down at her wand again then slid it back into its sheath on her belt, sensing that he was now afraid of the objects that focused their magic into what they willed.
Silently she damned Dumbledore to the darkest pit of Hell for what he’d done.
An hour passed before Harry finally collapsed bonelessly against his restraints, his chest heaving as he sought to get air back into lungs worn from pained screaming. Hermione moved carefully closer to him, her hand reaching out to touch his.
He jerked away from her and snarled weakly, wild emerald eyes glaring at her. She frowned and tried to touch his hand again, keeping her eyes locked with his, trying to get the wild animal to understand that she only wanted to help.
They stared at each other for a long moment before Harry huffed and looked away, which made Hermione smile. She then carefully lifted his left hand in hers, picking the old nails off and placing them on the bedside table. Not seeing a washcloth she could wash the blood away with anywhere, she held up a finger to him then walked to the bathroom to get one. As she wet the cloth in the sink then filled up a small bowl with more water, a soft keen came from the main room. Quickly finishing, she rushed back into the room, careful not to spill the water.
The panic in Harry’s eyes faded as she reappeared and she smiled at him, reassuringly touching his wrist as she went to place the bowl on the table. She then moved back to his hand and gently washed the blood there away with the damp washcloth before moving to his other hand.
As she moved to rewet the cloth, she noticed that the nails on his feet were in the same state as his hands. With a newly damp cloth, she moved to them and smiled a little when Harry twitched in response to her touch there.
He’d always been ticklish on his feet, she recalled. Once she and Ron had wrestled him to the floor in the Tower and had tickled him until all three of them were gasping for breath. Then they’d just lain by the fireplace for hours, sharing a slightly squished box of Bertie’s Bott’s Every Flavor Beans that Ron had produced from his pocket.
She smiled wistfully at the memory, which had been in much happier times. Before Voldemort had risen again and thrown them into the chaos that they existed in now.
A soft questioning growl made her look up from her ministrations and she found Harry looking curiously at her, his head slightly cocked to the side as he lifted it as far as he could. She smiled reassuringly and patted his ankle, murmuring, “I’m alright. Just…memories.”
He stared at her for a moment, the intensity of the feral gaze almost but not quite unnerving her. Then he laid back and she continued in silence. As she moved back to the table, she dropped the rag into the now light pink water then turned back to Harry’s prone form. She slipped her hand into his gingerly and smiled when it closed around hers, the new claws lying feather-light on her skin.
Brown eyes met green and she reached up to touch his face but stopped when he pulled his head back a bit. Nodding, she just laid her hand down on the edge of the bed and said, “I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you, Harry. And I know you can hear me in there somewhere.”
The feral eyes stared at her for a moment and seemed to soften, becoming more human before his gaze jerked away from her. A snarl bubbled up from within his throat and she pulled her hand from his just as Dumbledore entered the private room.
Harry howled in rage and anger and Hermione jumped back as his new claws slashed at the air and the sheets underneath him. She felt rage bubble up within her at the sight of the man who’d turned her friend into this mockery of a human being but she held it back, remembering Severus’ words.
Schooling her expression into one of confusion, she looked up at him and he smiled kindly at her. In another time she would have returned the smile, thinking he was nothing more than her dear old Headmaster. Now he was right up there with Voldemort in her book, maybe even higher, for what he’d done to Harry.
“I see there’s been no progress,” he said softly as he eyed the snarling, writhing figure on the bed.
“No,” replied Hermione in a short clipped voice. It was the only way she could keep anger from lacing her voice.
She wasn’t even going to inform the old man that Harry’s consciousness had surfaced once, that she’d spoken to him and he’d responded. Not after she’d spoken with Severus and found out that he was the cause of Harry’s pain and it wasn’t just some feverish rambling.
Dumbledore was about to speak again when Madam Pomfrey entered the room, obviously drawn by Harry’s snarls. She frowned angrily and strode forward, planting herself directly in front of the old wizard and pointed towards the door.
“OUT!”
“Why, my dear Madam Pomfrey, I…”
“I don’t care, Albus!” shouted the Mistress of the Hospital Wing. “All I care about is the health of my patients and it so appears that you are disrupting the care of this one. Now get out!”
Blue eyes looked at Hermione as though for help and she quickly averted her gaze to Harry. She took in the quivering of his limbs, the muscles strained already from the earlier transformation and now more so as he sought to free himself and assault the man who’d done this to him, and knew that if Dumbledore didn’t leave soon under Pomfrey’s stern gaze, she’d make him leave herself. Harry had been made her ward, placed under her care, her watch.
“Very well, my dear,” she heard Dumbledore say and looked up to see him heading towards the door, Madam Pomfrey on his tail. He turned slightly towards her and smiled, saying, “Good day, Miss Granger.”
Hermione gritted her teeth and replied, “Headmaster.”
He looked oddly at her for a moment then was pushed out of the room by Pomfrey, who closed and locked the door. She then placed a ward on it before moving over to Hermione and the now exhausted Harry.
“What in Merlin’s name was all that about?” she asked.
Hermione looked up at the door then turned away from Harry to draw her wand, casting an Anti-Eavesdropping spell around them. Pomfrey arched an eyebrow at it then blinked in shock when Hermione spoke.
“He’s responsible for what happened to Harry.”
The older witch looked at Hermione for a long moment then shook her head saying, “No, surely not. He couldn’t! Albus…he always liked Harry!”
Hermione snorted and snarled, “Only because he needed him. He had to have him to defeat Voldemort but then he apparently thought that Harry couldn’t do it on his own. And he couldn’t do anything about that whilst Voldemort thought he was alive.”
She turned and pointed a finger at the still form on the bed and hissed, “He’s the reason why Harry’s like this. He took him seventh year and held him, performing a number of spells on him that would turn him into what he wanted - what he needed.” Her gaze softened and she moved over to touch Harry’s hand, smiling slightly when it turned and the clawed fingers laid gently over hers. “He tried to turn him into a weapon against Voldemort.”
There was a moment of silence then Pomfrey breathed, “How do you know this, child?”
“Severus,” replied Hermione. “I spoke to him almost three weeks ago after…after Harry - the real Harry, not this shell - managed to surface for a little while. He told me that Voldemort wasn’t the one who’d done this to him.”
“And you trust Severus?”
The younger witch turned and looked at her for a moment then nodded. She then chuckled, a bitter sound thanks to the earlier encounter with Dumbledore, and said, “I didn’t think I would at first. Now, after all these years, I sometimes think he’s the only one I can trust.”
Pomfrey stared at her for a moment then spat out a string of curses in Welsh that made Hermione blink in surprise. She then shook her head and muttered, “Damn that man. I’m tempted to go and have a few well-put words with him…”
“No!” hissed Hermione, her arm lashing out to grasp the retreating woman’s wrist. “Severus warned me not to confront him. If we do, he may very well stop at nothing to keep us away from Harry. And if he does that, Harry won’t have a chance to come back. He’ll be turned into the weapon Dumbledore wants.”
Pomfrey nodded then looked curiously at her.
“Are you certain he can come back?”
“He’s done it once,” said Hermione vehemently. “He can do it again.”
She turned then and looked into the feral eyes that blinked wearily at her but refused to close. Smiling, she stroked the back of Harry’s hand and whispered, “You’re safe. I’ll keep you safe.”
Harry stared at her for a moment then growled weakly before he finally gave in to the exhaustion that had been trying for minutes to overtake him. Hermione looked fondly down at him and reached out carefully to brush strands of hair away from his scar.
“We’ll keep him safe,” amended Pomfrey, her eyes sparkling slightly. She wiped them and Hermione reached out to touch her shoulder reassuringly as she remembered that the mediwitch had become very protective of Harry. And well so as he’d visited her more often than anyone else in the school during their years there.
“Yes,” said Hermione, looking back down at her friend’s sleeping form.
Come back, Harry.