(no subject)
So, NaNoWriMo is well off the starting block. I had to restart, because my story was so utterly lousy, but I've got a fanfic tucked under my arm now, that is steaming happily away. As far as I can tell, it's going to be a Snarry, so I'm going to post it to the relevant community. However, it is in the early stages - and I have no set plot worked out in my mind. Here it is, though:
Title: Liberation
Author: CrimsonShinigami
Pairing: Severus Snape x Harry Potter - in the far future. Others are possible too.
Part: 1/?
Words: 3140/50000
Summary: After the loss of the Battle for Hogwarts, all of Britain was thrown into slavery to Voldemort's reign. Working as a Captain in the Resistance, Harry Potter has had to learn to live the hard way, as a fugitive - while earnestly fighting to save lives, and deliver liberty through Voldemort's end. But with more Horcruxes to find, the question of disquiet within the ranks of the Resistance, and his rediscovery by the Wizarding world: is it really going to be as easy as he might hope?
I hope you enjoy this story. Thank you for reading!
Chapter 1
With the crook of his hand, Harry motioned as though to go around the corner; and then brought his palm down towards the ground; a sign of silence. He touched his hand to his heart, and then counted out the number three with his fingertips. Pausing for only a second, he began to count down the seconds. Three thousand, two thousand, one thousand… As the last finger disappeared, he moved cautiously and quietly out into the open, content that he would be followed by the rest of his team.
They crept slowly across the black space, sliding seamlessly behind any objects that they could find as protection. As they reached the castle doors, Harry slid out his wand, glancing around cautiously as he did so. Slowly he approached the back door, bringing his wand up to touch against the building. An unspoken spell had the wards down within seconds, and one of the rest of the group made a short noise of surprise before being silenced by another teammate.
Harry froze, waiting tensely in case the noise had been heard. Nothing seemed to happen - no lights turning on in the house, no voices and no noises. Cautiously he moved across the short distance to the back door. A simple ‘Alohamora’ opened it, and he stayed still for a long moment, waiting for his team to join him against the exterior wall.
Moving ahead first, Harry led the way into the building, cautious for any booby traps - but the Wizards that lived here could hardly expect an attack. They moved through the parlor, and out into the kitchen beyond. Two members of the team were lagging behind; enamoured by the sight of the mountains of stockpiled food. Harry knew full well that they would have to wait. If they had a chance when they escaped - a little food could be taken without endangering the retreat - but food was not the purpose of this raid. A simple glare brought them into line; guns at the ready again, in case of attack.
In complete darkness, the group moved soft-footed into the building. When they reached the top of a drafty set of stairs, Harry posted a perimeter guard before descending. The guard was to shout if there was trouble - and the rest of the group would know to come out fighting. Down they went into the chill darkness, as silently as they could on the wet stone steps.
At the bottom, Harry wrapped his wand in his scarf and lit it, directing the pinpoint of light cautiously around the dungeon rooms. The walls were cold, and damp; the large cobbled stones underneath their feet slightly worn, to show their age. Further along the corridor, though, Harry could see rows of closed steel doors, and beyond those, iron bars.
“There won’t be any guards down here,” came a woman’s whispered voice in his ear, and Harry nodded, but made no motion to move forwards.
“It’s not a guard I’m concerned about. A single ward could spring a trap that locks down this chamber and alerts the sleeping wizards upstairs. Just stay where you are while I look for it.”
Harry decided quite swiftly that the most obvious place for such a safeguard to be designed would be the main exit to that corridor. Obvious, yes; that suggested that the real trap would be closer. Cautiously, he edged forwards, lifting his wand out before him. As he came closer to the source of magic, the lumos he’d ignited flared. He stopped instantly, and after a few moments had the wards down. He wasn’t happy though; he didn’t quite feel secure with how simple it had been.
Rather than barrel ahead, he reignited the lumos and advanced again - centimeter by centimeter. The light flared, stronger than before, and Harry stopped again.
When Harry finally deactivated the second ward, he felt the air actually change. The loss of the magic was like a weight off his chest, and he nodded, and moved forwards again, to the first of the steel doors.
A simple Alohamora had the door opened, and a half naked young woman with bedraggled hair and bright blue eyes was found to be the denizen of a room. Harry didn’t dare step inside. The entire room felt like a vacuum of magic; a deep black hole where it simply didn’t exist. It made a chill come over him, and he shivered, and turned to move on towards the next door.
Behind the second door was a surprise for Harry. The Muggleborn that had been contained inside physically rugby tackled him out of the room, knocking him painfully onto his back and scrabbling for his wand. His dirty, broken nails gouged Harry’s fingers, but could not break the grip on his wand before the young man was pulled to his feet by two of Harry’s team. A Silencio was necessary, to prevent the man from shouting and waking up the household, before Harry moved any further along the corridor.
The third and fourth doors held more Muggleborns, as far as Harry could tell. The fifth did not break under the Alohamora charm, and a more powerful spell was necessary to open it. This door wielded a Pureblood wizard who had obviously fallen on the wrong side of the law. He, however, recognized Harry, and knew instantly that he was being rescued. He fell into rank with Harry’s team, utterly silent as they moved along the corridor.
There were no more doors this far out - but lines upon lines of bars. Harry motioned his team to still, and moved along the corridor, cautiously stepping on the driest places to stop his footfalls sounding. Half way down the row, a voice came out of the darkness.
“You’re nawt from ‘ere,” he growled, in a rumbling, tortured voice.
Harry fell still, closing his eyes for a moment before turning towards the source of the voice. “No, we’re with the Resistance,” he replied, in an even whisper. “We’ve come to set you free; but we’ll need your cooperation. Will you help us?”
“Help y’set us free? I’d be crazy not ta,” replied the man, in a slightly more important sounding voice. “What d’ya need me t’do?”
“Wake everyone up,” Harry murmured. “Tell them to keep quiet under any circumstances. If they make a noise…well, I’m sure you know what happens to escapees who get caught.”
The man nodded, and moved away into the darkness, leaving Harry to ever so gently continue along the hallway. At first it seemed that he’d reached the end; but just as he was about to turn away, his hand brushed against a single stone that was a little further out from the wall than the others.
“Damn it,” he hissed, lighting his wand again, and guiding it over the wall’s surface. Three stones stood out, just like the one he’d brushed his hand over. He lifted his wand hand up to his temple, rubbing at one eyebrow with the heel of his hand, before bringing the wand down towards the stones, tapping them in turn. The first sequence didn’t work; neither did the second - but the third sent the stones rolling away, revealing a dark room beyond, which Harry cautiously lit up with his wand. Down on the floor, in the furthest, darkest corner, was a curled up ball of rags and hair.
Harry could feel the vacuum of magic in the room beyond where he stood. If he entered, he would lose his light; but the figure within did not seem to have enough strength to come out to him.
Cautiously, Harry moved into the dark, watching as his lumos dimmed, and then went out. He put his wand away as a lost cause, moving in the direction that the body had been by instinct. Some feet away, he stopped his approach, worried that he would walk into the body. He crouched down, moving a little closer, hands outstretched before him.
His words were soft, crooning and affectionate. “Hey there,” he murmured, “My name’s Harry; we’ve come to rescue you. It’s all going to be fine.”
And then suddenly he was thrown to the floor for the second time that night, by a body that clung to him insistently. He almost fought - the arms around his neck could have been dangerous. But after the first few seconds of shock not resulting in his death, he realized the true nature of this embrace, and he smiled.
“What’s your name?” he questioned the well attached figure.
There was no reply; only a muted sob into his chest, and Harry glanced up to find another of his team standing over him. Nodding, he helped them unlatch the young woman from his chest, and then stood up, brushing himself off. “Are we ready to move out?” he hissed, to his second in command.
“Sooner rather than later, if you don’t mind, Captain.”
Harry nodded, and moved forwards through the collected group, followed by his second. “Keep them quiet as long as you can. As soon as the last one is outside, activate the signal, and I’ll make the Portkey. You remember the old manger?”
“Got it,” breathed his friend, before disappearing again into the darkness. Harry finally got back to the stairs and moved up the first couple before making sure he was being closely followed. Silently he advanced, stopping once to check that the way was clear at the top of the stairs. Out they moved again, this time a little faster over the carpeted floor. He stopped once, in the kitchen, and once he was sure it was only a mouse he’d heard moving, he moved to the parlor door.
It was just as he reached the door that everything went wrong.
An enormous crash behind him; metal and water and human flesh - could only be someone falling over something in the kitchen, or trying to steal some food and misjudging in the darkness. Whatever it was, it would merit looking into later - but for now, he needed to get out, and get the Portkey made.
He broke out into a run, moving out through the back door and across the lawn, followed closely by the broken group behind him. They were terrified - Harry knew why. The lights in the house had all come on at once - two thousand candles lighting on their own. Somewhere in the house, someone was awake, and they would be looking to find out just what had made that noise; and perhaps suspecting the presence of an escapee. Harry skidded to a stop by the manger, just before the trees, and waited for the signal, his heart beating furiously in his chest.
The signal, however, came in the emergency manner, rather than the usual, discreet one. A gunshot that cracked across the vast lawn urged him to hurry up.
The amount of magic that it takes to form a Portkey is incredible - enough to wake up someone inside a house. That was why making Portkeys was the last possible thing that you did before you abandoned a site. It lit you up like a beacon, giving the person you were escaping from the perfect pinpoint to follow.
Harry wasted no time. He made a fifteen second Portkey of the manger, and then shouted out to the people coming towards him over the lawn. “Grab a hold of the manger; touch it with any part of your body. If you don’t, you’ll get left behind.” He took hold of one end of it himself, lighting up his wand brightly to check that everyone was holding on - but there was really no point by now. Already, the sickening sensation of Portkey travel was grabbing hold of him, twisting him through his navel.
Landing at the other end was no better. He stumbled back several steps, then found himself righted by a body to one side of him; the Pureblood wizard from the dungeon. He smiled, as encouragingly as he could manage, then took a good look around; which was helped by the torchlight that lit the chamber they’d arrived in.
“Everyone made it?” The question was almost irrelevant, because he could see that all the members of his team were there. It was more the comfort of being able to speak easily that he conveyed and treasured. The voices nervously bubbled up after that; giving an almost comfortable thrum of sound to the atmosphere of the chamber.
Harry moved forwards, patting his second on the shoulder in congratulations. “Well done, Jules. Pass them on to sector command, and get some rest.” He smiled, and then took another step forwards before being intercepted by another of his team.
“We’ve got trouble.”
Harry, automatically fearing the worst, turned to follow him to find the group parting in the direction they were moving in. Lying in the manger and thrashing furiously against the arms of those that held her, was the bedraggled girl from the hidden room. She was calling his name loudly; again and again.
He moved up beside her, gently moving to take her hand. She grabbed his wrist hard, digging her nails into it as he tried to flinch back.
“Harry!” she hissed again, her wide brown eyes finding his. In that moment the madness seemed to flee from her, and she breathed, “Harry,” again, in a gentle, motherly tone that was far too familiar to him.
Held tightly by the tight fingers, there was no escape for the violent realization that was seeing his friend’s face in the wild, bedraggled wreck that lay in the manger. He was forced to bear it out, standing as he was looking straight down into those deep, soulful brown eyes.
“Hermione?” he asked, tentatively, knowing that he was being watched - his heart beating erratically.
“Harry,” she said, nodding.
“Oh God…Hermione…” It was too much. He moved down to embrace her, though she could not move herself into the hug - simply letting himself be overcome by emotion.
Hermione, one of his best friends… He had given up hope of finding them again, since the great attack on Hogwarts at which the three of them had been defenders.
He was sure by now that they must all be dead. He had blamed himself. For many weeks he had abandoned contact with others, curling up as though to die. He had suffered for their deaths - suffered for everyone - knowing that he ought to have been faster at identifying the Horcruxes, and destroying Voldemort.
He had been too slow, that much was for certain. The Dark Lord still reigned; and Harry knew that not only was that the case, but at least three Horcruxes had survived his purge. What they were, he had no idea.
It was only the Resistance that had saved him. They were a group of Muggles who fought for their slight freedom, living hidden away from the Wizards. After Harry joined them, he had begun to take in Muggleborns, Half-bloods, and the like who had also succeeded in hiding; though very few still had their wands as he had. A natural leader, he had taken immediately to the role of Captain, leading Liberations and food raids on Wizard strongholds.
The fighting had given him a vent for his pain, but in these few moments it was coming back to him with insipid clarity: all that he had lost; the friends, family and allies - his entire life. It was all gone. All but this; Hermione had survived, and Harry had eventually rescued her - though what she had suffered from his continuing slowness, he could not say.
He barely noticed that he was crying; and as he leant back, he found Hermione still looking up at him, confusion in her brown eyes. “Harry?” she said again, questioningly.
“I’m okay, Hermione,” he groused, moving to rub the tears out of his eyes as he leant back. “I should be helping you.” There was a nagging feeling though, that something wasn’t quite right, even as he moved to lift her out of the manger. She was surprisingly compliant, letting him move her to her feet, though she could not stand on them at all, and instantly collapsed into his arms.
“Harry,” she said, in dull apology.
And then he realized what the problem was - the horrid thing that his senses had alluded to.
“Hermione,” he said, slowly, “What’s your name?”
“Harry,” she said, clearly; as though the name were her own.
“You said ‘Harry’,” he replied, evenly, though his heart had leapt back into his throat, gagging him.
“Harry!” she snapped, as though upset with him.
Gently he nodded. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”
“Let me take her, Mr. Potter,” came a voice from the darkness. Again the young, dark haired wizard that he’d rescued, making himself known.
“What’s your name?” Harry asked, gently moving to place Hermione in his arms, looking into her eyes one last time, before raising them up to the stranger’s.
The man smiled and pulled Hermione into a more comfortable position against his chest. “My name is Horatio Cadmus.” He half inclined his head. “I owe you my thanks, Mr. Potter.”
“That’s Harry, and it was my pleasure.” He moved to touch Hermione’s cheek, and then looked up to Horatio. “If you take her down the hall, someone in the first room on the left will be able to help you.”
“And I them,” he replied. “I’m a qualified Mediwizard - well, I was - before all this.”
Harry smiled; really smiled, and gave Horatio a half salute. “Thank you. I’ll be in to check on her when I have things settled down again. Thank you, Cadmus.”
“Horatio,” he corrected, before disappearing into the throng of people again. Harry turned back to the task of not only destroying the used Portkey so that it could be burnt, but also or organizing the last dregs of people that had been rescued. This was, perhaps, the most tiring part of a Liberation - finding food and bed room for the newcomers. It got more difficult with every person freed.
Harry liked to try and think that what the Resistance was doing made a difference; but every day he heard of further atrocities, and every day the same reports of slave markets and werewolf hunts. It was as though those few lives that they saved did not make the slightest difference - the Death Eaters ruled superior, and no small scale Liberations could stop their all consuming dominion.
When the hustle and bustle of Post-Liberation camp was settled, Harry was exhausted. There were few hours until the sun rose again, and he’d have to go to the General of Camp’s meeting; a debriefing, of course. It was strange how even the Resistance required that, but Harry knew how essential it was to share intelligence. And after that…he hoped to have some time to spend with Hermione.
* * * * *
Title: Liberation
Author: CrimsonShinigami
Pairing: Severus Snape x Harry Potter - in the far future. Others are possible too.
Part: 1/?
Words: 3140/50000
Summary: After the loss of the Battle for Hogwarts, all of Britain was thrown into slavery to Voldemort's reign. Working as a Captain in the Resistance, Harry Potter has had to learn to live the hard way, as a fugitive - while earnestly fighting to save lives, and deliver liberty through Voldemort's end. But with more Horcruxes to find, the question of disquiet within the ranks of the Resistance, and his rediscovery by the Wizarding world: is it really going to be as easy as he might hope?
I hope you enjoy this story. Thank you for reading!
Chapter 1
With the crook of his hand, Harry motioned as though to go around the corner; and then brought his palm down towards the ground; a sign of silence. He touched his hand to his heart, and then counted out the number three with his fingertips. Pausing for only a second, he began to count down the seconds. Three thousand, two thousand, one thousand… As the last finger disappeared, he moved cautiously and quietly out into the open, content that he would be followed by the rest of his team.
They crept slowly across the black space, sliding seamlessly behind any objects that they could find as protection. As they reached the castle doors, Harry slid out his wand, glancing around cautiously as he did so. Slowly he approached the back door, bringing his wand up to touch against the building. An unspoken spell had the wards down within seconds, and one of the rest of the group made a short noise of surprise before being silenced by another teammate.
Harry froze, waiting tensely in case the noise had been heard. Nothing seemed to happen - no lights turning on in the house, no voices and no noises. Cautiously he moved across the short distance to the back door. A simple ‘Alohamora’ opened it, and he stayed still for a long moment, waiting for his team to join him against the exterior wall.
Moving ahead first, Harry led the way into the building, cautious for any booby traps - but the Wizards that lived here could hardly expect an attack. They moved through the parlor, and out into the kitchen beyond. Two members of the team were lagging behind; enamoured by the sight of the mountains of stockpiled food. Harry knew full well that they would have to wait. If they had a chance when they escaped - a little food could be taken without endangering the retreat - but food was not the purpose of this raid. A simple glare brought them into line; guns at the ready again, in case of attack.
In complete darkness, the group moved soft-footed into the building. When they reached the top of a drafty set of stairs, Harry posted a perimeter guard before descending. The guard was to shout if there was trouble - and the rest of the group would know to come out fighting. Down they went into the chill darkness, as silently as they could on the wet stone steps.
At the bottom, Harry wrapped his wand in his scarf and lit it, directing the pinpoint of light cautiously around the dungeon rooms. The walls were cold, and damp; the large cobbled stones underneath their feet slightly worn, to show their age. Further along the corridor, though, Harry could see rows of closed steel doors, and beyond those, iron bars.
“There won’t be any guards down here,” came a woman’s whispered voice in his ear, and Harry nodded, but made no motion to move forwards.
“It’s not a guard I’m concerned about. A single ward could spring a trap that locks down this chamber and alerts the sleeping wizards upstairs. Just stay where you are while I look for it.”
Harry decided quite swiftly that the most obvious place for such a safeguard to be designed would be the main exit to that corridor. Obvious, yes; that suggested that the real trap would be closer. Cautiously, he edged forwards, lifting his wand out before him. As he came closer to the source of magic, the lumos he’d ignited flared. He stopped instantly, and after a few moments had the wards down. He wasn’t happy though; he didn’t quite feel secure with how simple it had been.
Rather than barrel ahead, he reignited the lumos and advanced again - centimeter by centimeter. The light flared, stronger than before, and Harry stopped again.
When Harry finally deactivated the second ward, he felt the air actually change. The loss of the magic was like a weight off his chest, and he nodded, and moved forwards again, to the first of the steel doors.
A simple Alohamora had the door opened, and a half naked young woman with bedraggled hair and bright blue eyes was found to be the denizen of a room. Harry didn’t dare step inside. The entire room felt like a vacuum of magic; a deep black hole where it simply didn’t exist. It made a chill come over him, and he shivered, and turned to move on towards the next door.
Behind the second door was a surprise for Harry. The Muggleborn that had been contained inside physically rugby tackled him out of the room, knocking him painfully onto his back and scrabbling for his wand. His dirty, broken nails gouged Harry’s fingers, but could not break the grip on his wand before the young man was pulled to his feet by two of Harry’s team. A Silencio was necessary, to prevent the man from shouting and waking up the household, before Harry moved any further along the corridor.
The third and fourth doors held more Muggleborns, as far as Harry could tell. The fifth did not break under the Alohamora charm, and a more powerful spell was necessary to open it. This door wielded a Pureblood wizard who had obviously fallen on the wrong side of the law. He, however, recognized Harry, and knew instantly that he was being rescued. He fell into rank with Harry’s team, utterly silent as they moved along the corridor.
There were no more doors this far out - but lines upon lines of bars. Harry motioned his team to still, and moved along the corridor, cautiously stepping on the driest places to stop his footfalls sounding. Half way down the row, a voice came out of the darkness.
“You’re nawt from ‘ere,” he growled, in a rumbling, tortured voice.
Harry fell still, closing his eyes for a moment before turning towards the source of the voice. “No, we’re with the Resistance,” he replied, in an even whisper. “We’ve come to set you free; but we’ll need your cooperation. Will you help us?”
“Help y’set us free? I’d be crazy not ta,” replied the man, in a slightly more important sounding voice. “What d’ya need me t’do?”
“Wake everyone up,” Harry murmured. “Tell them to keep quiet under any circumstances. If they make a noise…well, I’m sure you know what happens to escapees who get caught.”
The man nodded, and moved away into the darkness, leaving Harry to ever so gently continue along the hallway. At first it seemed that he’d reached the end; but just as he was about to turn away, his hand brushed against a single stone that was a little further out from the wall than the others.
“Damn it,” he hissed, lighting his wand again, and guiding it over the wall’s surface. Three stones stood out, just like the one he’d brushed his hand over. He lifted his wand hand up to his temple, rubbing at one eyebrow with the heel of his hand, before bringing the wand down towards the stones, tapping them in turn. The first sequence didn’t work; neither did the second - but the third sent the stones rolling away, revealing a dark room beyond, which Harry cautiously lit up with his wand. Down on the floor, in the furthest, darkest corner, was a curled up ball of rags and hair.
Harry could feel the vacuum of magic in the room beyond where he stood. If he entered, he would lose his light; but the figure within did not seem to have enough strength to come out to him.
Cautiously, Harry moved into the dark, watching as his lumos dimmed, and then went out. He put his wand away as a lost cause, moving in the direction that the body had been by instinct. Some feet away, he stopped his approach, worried that he would walk into the body. He crouched down, moving a little closer, hands outstretched before him.
His words were soft, crooning and affectionate. “Hey there,” he murmured, “My name’s Harry; we’ve come to rescue you. It’s all going to be fine.”
And then suddenly he was thrown to the floor for the second time that night, by a body that clung to him insistently. He almost fought - the arms around his neck could have been dangerous. But after the first few seconds of shock not resulting in his death, he realized the true nature of this embrace, and he smiled.
“What’s your name?” he questioned the well attached figure.
There was no reply; only a muted sob into his chest, and Harry glanced up to find another of his team standing over him. Nodding, he helped them unlatch the young woman from his chest, and then stood up, brushing himself off. “Are we ready to move out?” he hissed, to his second in command.
“Sooner rather than later, if you don’t mind, Captain.”
Harry nodded, and moved forwards through the collected group, followed by his second. “Keep them quiet as long as you can. As soon as the last one is outside, activate the signal, and I’ll make the Portkey. You remember the old manger?”
“Got it,” breathed his friend, before disappearing again into the darkness. Harry finally got back to the stairs and moved up the first couple before making sure he was being closely followed. Silently he advanced, stopping once to check that the way was clear at the top of the stairs. Out they moved again, this time a little faster over the carpeted floor. He stopped once, in the kitchen, and once he was sure it was only a mouse he’d heard moving, he moved to the parlor door.
It was just as he reached the door that everything went wrong.
An enormous crash behind him; metal and water and human flesh - could only be someone falling over something in the kitchen, or trying to steal some food and misjudging in the darkness. Whatever it was, it would merit looking into later - but for now, he needed to get out, and get the Portkey made.
He broke out into a run, moving out through the back door and across the lawn, followed closely by the broken group behind him. They were terrified - Harry knew why. The lights in the house had all come on at once - two thousand candles lighting on their own. Somewhere in the house, someone was awake, and they would be looking to find out just what had made that noise; and perhaps suspecting the presence of an escapee. Harry skidded to a stop by the manger, just before the trees, and waited for the signal, his heart beating furiously in his chest.
The signal, however, came in the emergency manner, rather than the usual, discreet one. A gunshot that cracked across the vast lawn urged him to hurry up.
The amount of magic that it takes to form a Portkey is incredible - enough to wake up someone inside a house. That was why making Portkeys was the last possible thing that you did before you abandoned a site. It lit you up like a beacon, giving the person you were escaping from the perfect pinpoint to follow.
Harry wasted no time. He made a fifteen second Portkey of the manger, and then shouted out to the people coming towards him over the lawn. “Grab a hold of the manger; touch it with any part of your body. If you don’t, you’ll get left behind.” He took hold of one end of it himself, lighting up his wand brightly to check that everyone was holding on - but there was really no point by now. Already, the sickening sensation of Portkey travel was grabbing hold of him, twisting him through his navel.
Landing at the other end was no better. He stumbled back several steps, then found himself righted by a body to one side of him; the Pureblood wizard from the dungeon. He smiled, as encouragingly as he could manage, then took a good look around; which was helped by the torchlight that lit the chamber they’d arrived in.
“Everyone made it?” The question was almost irrelevant, because he could see that all the members of his team were there. It was more the comfort of being able to speak easily that he conveyed and treasured. The voices nervously bubbled up after that; giving an almost comfortable thrum of sound to the atmosphere of the chamber.
Harry moved forwards, patting his second on the shoulder in congratulations. “Well done, Jules. Pass them on to sector command, and get some rest.” He smiled, and then took another step forwards before being intercepted by another of his team.
“We’ve got trouble.”
Harry, automatically fearing the worst, turned to follow him to find the group parting in the direction they were moving in. Lying in the manger and thrashing furiously against the arms of those that held her, was the bedraggled girl from the hidden room. She was calling his name loudly; again and again.
He moved up beside her, gently moving to take her hand. She grabbed his wrist hard, digging her nails into it as he tried to flinch back.
“Harry!” she hissed again, her wide brown eyes finding his. In that moment the madness seemed to flee from her, and she breathed, “Harry,” again, in a gentle, motherly tone that was far too familiar to him.
Held tightly by the tight fingers, there was no escape for the violent realization that was seeing his friend’s face in the wild, bedraggled wreck that lay in the manger. He was forced to bear it out, standing as he was looking straight down into those deep, soulful brown eyes.
“Hermione?” he asked, tentatively, knowing that he was being watched - his heart beating erratically.
“Harry,” she said, nodding.
“Oh God…Hermione…” It was too much. He moved down to embrace her, though she could not move herself into the hug - simply letting himself be overcome by emotion.
Hermione, one of his best friends… He had given up hope of finding them again, since the great attack on Hogwarts at which the three of them had been defenders.
He was sure by now that they must all be dead. He had blamed himself. For many weeks he had abandoned contact with others, curling up as though to die. He had suffered for their deaths - suffered for everyone - knowing that he ought to have been faster at identifying the Horcruxes, and destroying Voldemort.
He had been too slow, that much was for certain. The Dark Lord still reigned; and Harry knew that not only was that the case, but at least three Horcruxes had survived his purge. What they were, he had no idea.
It was only the Resistance that had saved him. They were a group of Muggles who fought for their slight freedom, living hidden away from the Wizards. After Harry joined them, he had begun to take in Muggleborns, Half-bloods, and the like who had also succeeded in hiding; though very few still had their wands as he had. A natural leader, he had taken immediately to the role of Captain, leading Liberations and food raids on Wizard strongholds.
The fighting had given him a vent for his pain, but in these few moments it was coming back to him with insipid clarity: all that he had lost; the friends, family and allies - his entire life. It was all gone. All but this; Hermione had survived, and Harry had eventually rescued her - though what she had suffered from his continuing slowness, he could not say.
He barely noticed that he was crying; and as he leant back, he found Hermione still looking up at him, confusion in her brown eyes. “Harry?” she said again, questioningly.
“I’m okay, Hermione,” he groused, moving to rub the tears out of his eyes as he leant back. “I should be helping you.” There was a nagging feeling though, that something wasn’t quite right, even as he moved to lift her out of the manger. She was surprisingly compliant, letting him move her to her feet, though she could not stand on them at all, and instantly collapsed into his arms.
“Harry,” she said, in dull apology.
And then he realized what the problem was - the horrid thing that his senses had alluded to.
“Hermione,” he said, slowly, “What’s your name?”
“Harry,” she said, clearly; as though the name were her own.
“You said ‘Harry’,” he replied, evenly, though his heart had leapt back into his throat, gagging him.
“Harry!” she snapped, as though upset with him.
Gently he nodded. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”
“Let me take her, Mr. Potter,” came a voice from the darkness. Again the young, dark haired wizard that he’d rescued, making himself known.
“What’s your name?” Harry asked, gently moving to place Hermione in his arms, looking into her eyes one last time, before raising them up to the stranger’s.
The man smiled and pulled Hermione into a more comfortable position against his chest. “My name is Horatio Cadmus.” He half inclined his head. “I owe you my thanks, Mr. Potter.”
“That’s Harry, and it was my pleasure.” He moved to touch Hermione’s cheek, and then looked up to Horatio. “If you take her down the hall, someone in the first room on the left will be able to help you.”
“And I them,” he replied. “I’m a qualified Mediwizard - well, I was - before all this.”
Harry smiled; really smiled, and gave Horatio a half salute. “Thank you. I’ll be in to check on her when I have things settled down again. Thank you, Cadmus.”
“Horatio,” he corrected, before disappearing into the throng of people again. Harry turned back to the task of not only destroying the used Portkey so that it could be burnt, but also or organizing the last dregs of people that had been rescued. This was, perhaps, the most tiring part of a Liberation - finding food and bed room for the newcomers. It got more difficult with every person freed.
Harry liked to try and think that what the Resistance was doing made a difference; but every day he heard of further atrocities, and every day the same reports of slave markets and werewolf hunts. It was as though those few lives that they saved did not make the slightest difference - the Death Eaters ruled superior, and no small scale Liberations could stop their all consuming dominion.
When the hustle and bustle of Post-Liberation camp was settled, Harry was exhausted. There were few hours until the sun rose again, and he’d have to go to the General of Camp’s meeting; a debriefing, of course. It was strange how even the Resistance required that, but Harry knew how essential it was to share intelligence. And after that…he hoped to have some time to spend with Hermione.
* * * * *