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Summer Story | ||||||
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Category: Post-OotP, Buried Gems Characters:None Genres: Action/Adventure, Fluff, General Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 392 Summary: Summer at the Dursleys’ is typical for Harry Potter who hopes his stay with his relatives will only last two weeks at most. In this sequel to You’re Still You and New Year, New Hope Harry learns that his role as “savior” of the Wizarding world is more complicated than he thought and that he needs his friends and mentors more than he ever imagined. Hitcount: Story Total: 135411; Chapter Total: 3965 |
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Chapter Twenty: Rescue Something was different. The Caterwauling Charm had gone off ages ago, but no one had come to the door. Has Dumbledore died? Harry thought. Am I the only one left? A heightened feeling of disquiet stole over him. Something was different. Someone was out in the tunnel beyond the door, but it wasn’t Death Eaters and it definitely wasn’t Voldemort because his scar didn’t hurt more than it usually did these days. If it isn’t the Death Eaters who is it? Will they curse me or use Veritaserum to try to get Dumbledore’s information? He listened harder. Something was different, he could feel it, but he daren’t open his eyes or let the Death Eaters know that he was lucid and fighting his fear-filled thoughts with every ounce of his will. If he screamed, they would laugh derisively and subject him to the drowning effects again, he just knew it. He waited some more and was rewarded a moment later when the door to the water room opened and two people entered. “Oh, God!” That voice sounds like Dudley’s. What’s he doing here? “Ron! Hermione! He’s here!” That’s Ginny. I’d recognize her voice anywhere. A moment later she sobbed, “Oh, God, Harry!” Footsteps running towards his table. It can’t be. No, it isn’t true. How can Ginny and Dudley be here? And Ron and Hermione? Here in this hell-hole with me? Are they prisoners, too? The idea sent Harry into pure, unadulterated terror and as another, heavier set of footsteps approached the table Harry began his backwards slide behind the walls he had built around his mind. Something was different. The hands touching his face and body weren’t callused or rough. The Death Eaters never touched him gently. He fought his Occlumency training to stay conscious. Concentrate on the sounds, Potter... Sounds of someone opening a zip and then rummaging inside a pack. “Oh God, Dudley, he’s cold as ice!” Gentle hands wiping his face dry with a soft cloth. “His forehead’s bleeding! Blast this dripping water!” “Do you have a plaster?” “Why would I have one of those with me? I have my wand.” Ginny sounded irritated. “I know my healing spells, Dudley. Anyway, a plaster wouldn’t stick to his skin, as wet as it is.” Harry didn’t hear Dudley’s reply. A little later, Dudley’s calmly commanding voice jarred him back to reality as much as someone moving his table did. “Help me unstrap him.” Strong hands gripped his ankles. “Bloody hell! No padlocks. How have the freaks locked him down?” Ginny’s answer came as a growl. “Sticking charms.” The gentle tapping of a wand at each hand and foot. “Finite Incantatem... Finite Incantatem... Finite Incantatem... Finite Incantatem!” One by one, the arm and leg restraints fell away. The pain of someone touching the raw patches on his wrists and ankles made it hard to concentrate. Harry’s awareness slipped a little. “Finite Incantatem.” The head restraint was lifted away from his face. Harry sighed, let his head roll to the side and lost his battle with consciousness. Ginny’s panicked, urgent tones. “I can’t get this one free. He’s gripping the bar too tightly.” Hermione’s calming timbre. “Try that warming spell you’re so good at to relax his hand. He may not have feeling in his fingers.” Murmured words, warmth relaxing his grip, gentle fingers easing his right hand open. Cast that spell on my shoulder, he pleaded silently as the gentle hands guided his right arm slowly to his side. He lay on the table unable to ease the ache in the shoulder. Pain, intense pain in his left shoulder as someone tried to reposition his arm, holding only his hand. Harry whimpered. Dudley intervened. “Careful, Hermione. That’s his bad shoulder.” “But look how bloody and raw his wrist is!” she protested. “I don’t want to hurt him.” Relief as strong hands supported his upper arm and elbow. Dudley’s voice again, calm and reassuring, “We’ll do it together. We won’t hurt him this way. Slowly, steady, easy now... that’s it. We’ll lay the arm across his stomach.” New pain as blood began flowing freely down his arm into his hand. Harry lost touch with reality again. The feeling of floating. Madam Pomfrey’s voice barking instructions. A softer place to rest. A drying spell on his clothes and hair. Ron’s voice saying, “Hang in there, mate. We’re getting you out of here.” Small warm hands–Ginny’s? –tucking something soft under his sides and round his feet, caressing him at every possible opportunity, the cocooning feeling of warm weight relaxing his body. He was so very tired. Peter Pettigrew’s shrill voice yelling, “You can’t take him! Expulso! ” A deafening crash, screams, yelled spells. Ron bellowing, “That’s Pettigrew! Don’t let him transform!” Fighting? I can’t help, not like this! Coloured light flickered past his closed eyelids. Harry, fearing for his life and the information Dumbledore had entrusted to him, sank completely behind the sheltering walls of his Occlumency shield. Pain in his scar, threatening to split his head open. His head pounding with the force of the ocean. Voldemort in a towering rage, surrounded by Death Eaters who had gotten away. “They’ve taken Potter and Dumbledore? Why wasn’t I informed earlier, Yaxley?” he roared. “We only just escaped, my Lord,” Yaxley explained fearfully. “You imbecile! You were in charge of getting that information! I needed the information Dumbledore gave Potter! You let him escape with it intact!” Voldemort raised his wand at Yaxley and shouted, “You’ll pay for this! Avada Kedavra!” Yaxley fell to the floor with a thump and the other Death Eaters broke out of their circle. They fled for the exits as Voldemort’s wand slashed right and left, felling anyone not quick enough to get out of the way. As the vision faded, a happy thought flitted through Harry’s head - Order of the Phoenix 2, Death Eaters 0. Harry can you hear me? You’re safe now, love. It sounded like Ginny trying to reach him through their connection, but he had been tricked before and he wouldn’t be tricked again... Later, warmth wormed its way under his Occlumency shield. It felt like little fingers of flame licking at the wall shielding his mind and body, as they would a burning log in the Gryffindor common room grate. He welcomed it, although at the same time it frightened him more than he wanted to admit. He sank back into the depths of his mind and waited for the next assault. It never came... The next time he stirred, he felt warmth surrounding him like his childhood blanket had so long ago, softness where before there had only been hard surfaces. His forehead, back, shoulders, wrists and ankles still hurt, but he could move freely; he was no longer stuck to the table with a spell and his arms were no longer trapped above his head. Instead, they had been arranged loosely across his abdomen. A relieved sigh escaped him and he sank into the first true sleep since his abduction. Voices penetrated his consciousness. He listened carefully, hoping against hope that the Death Eaters who held him captive were not waiting to pounce on him like they had the last time he had opened his eyes. He shuddered at the memory, causing whoever was speaking to stop. A cautious voice said softly, “Get Madam Pomfrey,” and was accompanied by the thump of big feet crossing a wooden floor and clattering down some nearby stairs. “Harry, dear, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand,” the voice requested encouragingly. He recognized the voice as Mrs Weasley’s and felt his hand being lifted just a little as though someone didn’t want to hurt him. Confused, he squeezed, and was rewarded when his hand was squeezed back. Can it be? Am I safe? “Harry, dear, you’re safe now. You’re at the Burrow. If you trust me, open your eyes. No one is going to hurt you any more,” Mrs Weasley’s voice continued. Did he dare open his eyes? The light coming through his closed lids seemed brighter; there was no dripping water driving him mad; he felt rested, less anxious. He wanted to trust the voice, he had to. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes. He was greeted by the blurry, tear-stained face of Molly Weasley. She was holding his hand and crying quietly. “Welcome back, Harry. Thank you for trusting me,” she sniffed. Harry tried to smile at her, unable to find his voice due to the incredibly large lump in his throat caused by the realization that he really was back at the Burrow and that he no longer needed to protect his mind quite so fiercely. Tiredness made his eyelids heavy. Mrs Weasley seemed to understand. “Go back to sleep, Harry. We can talk later,” she said, letting go of his hand and beginning to rise. His eyes flew open. He grabbed for her hand as she pulled away, catching her fingers and holding on for all he was worth. “Stay?” he whispered, his eyes searching her face. Mrs Weasley sat back down, this time on the side of the bed. “Yes, Harry, I’ll stay,” she said, smiling tiredly. She brightened as she said, “I’ve sent for Ginny. She will be back after classes end for the day, I hope. She’s anxious to see you.” She gently rested her other hand on his head and stroked his fringe back from his forehead with her thumb. Harry flinched at the touch and she murmured, “I’m sorry” as she moved the hand back to her lap. Harry closed his eyes, embarrassed by his reaction, but unable to deny that the gesture had made him wary of being hit or his head trapped and immobilized. However, her hand didn’t leave his and Harry gratefully drifted back to sleep. Mrs Weasley was still with him when he woke next. She had not let go of his hand, although she had shifted to a rocking chair beside the bed and was fast asleep with her head resting on a pillow wedged against the chair back. He wondered what day it was and how long he had slept. Ignoring the pain in his shoulders, he pushed himself up on his elbows, causing Mrs Weasley to stir and look over at him. “Harry, dear, it’s so good to see you awake,” she said. She fluffed his pillows and then poured some water into a glass from a pitcher on the bedside table. “Would you like some?” Harry nodded and tried to reach for the glass, but the effort seemed too great. “Where am I?” Harry croaked hoarsely. He didn’t recognize the room, but it had the familiar feel of home. Mrs Weasley held the glass to his lips and he took a small sip, savouring the fresh taste as it slid down his throat. “We’ve put you up in Bill’s old room, Harry. Dudley is staying in Fred and George’s room now that Percy has decided to move back home for a bit,” she informed him. He shook his head; all this information was almost too much to handle. The room began to spin and he closed his eyes against the motion. A few deep breaths righted the room and he opened his eyes again. “Careful, now. You don’t want to make yourself dizzy shaking your head like that too soon,” Mrs Weasley cautioned, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Harry shied away from her hand. As comprehension dawned in her eyes she murmured, “I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t think.” Harry let out a shaky breath and fell back onto his pillows, staring at the ceiling. “They hit me,” was all he could manage to tell her. Mrs Weasley sniffed loudly. “I know they did, Harry. One look at your face told us how you’d been treated,” she said searching in her pocket for her handkerchief. “Ginny saw me,” Harry said flatly, feeling very self-conscious. “Yes, she did. She and Dudley were the ones who found you. And if it makes any difference, all she cared about was getting you out alive,” Mrs Weasley said fervently, dabbing at her eyes. “It was Dudley who was concerned with your injuries, though. He helped the others take you off that table they found you strapped to.” “I remember,” Harry said, reaching up to touch his face. It felt normal, though a little bony as if he had been sick for some time. He supposed he had been. “Did Madam Pomfrey fix my face?” “No, she didn’t. By the time she reached you, Ginny and Hermione were nearly done. She fixed your teeth,” Mrs Weasley answered, smiling, “only because Hermione didn’t know the spell.” Harry snorted weakly and ran his tongue around his teeth. They were all there, they were all whole. “All fixed, every last one of them,” Mrs Weasley said, smiling. “I’ll have to thank them,” Harry said, feeling a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Madam Pomfrey should be here after dinner. You can thank her then.” Harry noticed she hadn’t mentioned Ginny, Ron or Hermione. He wondered why, but didn’t have the energy to ask. Suddenly, Harry remembered Professor Dumbledore and felt his stomach clench. How could he have forgotten him? “Professor Dumbledore... I have to give him his potion!” he whispered urgently. Mrs Weasley’s face crumpled and Harry knew something terrible had happened. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she said. “But Dumbledore is no longer with us.” “Where? The cave?” he asked, panic again rising inside him. “No, Madam Pomfrey found a note in the Headmaster’s robes requesting that he be taken to Hogwarts. He... he died there two days after we rescued you,” Mrs Weasley half-sobbed. “The members of Dumbledore’s Army were with him, though. Neville Longbottom set up a guard in the hospital wing and then one in Professor Dumbledore’s private quarters. No Death Eater, not even Professor Snape, went past the DA guard.” Harry turned his face towards the wall feeling horribly forsaken. “He’s gone,” he murmured as a tear slid into his ear. “I didn’t... say good-bye.” “Harry, dear, look at me, please,” Mrs Weasley requested gently. Harry turned his head back to face her not bothering to force his grief into the recesses of his mind as he longed to do. “Harry, you did everything you possibly could to keep Dumbledore alive. Madam Pomfrey was astounded at how well you looked after him given the limited resources you had and the condition you yourself were in. She couldn’t have done any better under the circumstances.” She offered him a handkerchief. She continued, “Dumbledore regained consciousness only briefly before he died and his only concern was for you, not himself. He seemed to sense that Hogwarts is a dangerous place for you right now and seemed happy that we’d brought you here. His last words were, ‘Harry is free.’” Harry tried to sit up again, despite the pain that wracked his limbs, and Mrs Weasley reached over with careful movements to help him do so. “Thanks,” he murmured over the giant lump in his throat. He blew his nose. “When... when will his services be? I need... to be there...” Mrs Weasley shook her head as she fluffed his pillows again. She helped him lay back on them. “There won’t be any, not with Voldemort in charge of the Wizarding world,” she said sadly as Harry’s eyebrows disappeared under his fringe. “And Fawkes?” Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Ginny and Ron said he sang for two days straight while the Death Eaters tried to find him. Then, he disappeared and Dumbledore’s urn mysteriously appeared on your bookshelf two days ago.” Mrs Weasley pointed across the room to an ornate pewter urn that sat on the shelf over the desk. “He brought it to me? Why?” Harry asked incredulously. “I think Fawkes trusted you, Harry. He knew you’d look after Dumbledore’s remains and give him a proper service when all is said and done.” Harry couldn’t speak. He just stared at the urn, wondering what he was supposed to do with it until he could have it interred at Godric’s Hollow. After a while, Mrs Weasley asked, “Can I get you anything? Another drink of water or some broth perhaps?” His stomach rumbled at the thought of food. “Some broth would be good,” he said. Mrs Weasley pushed herself out of her rocking chair. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she said. “Door open or closed?” Realizing that he had a choice, Harry answered, “Open, please.” She left it open and Harry leaned his head back against the headboard, not caring whether those passing his room could see him cry; he knew they wouldn’t hear the silent sobs that accompanied his thoughts: Dumbledore’s gone, just as he said he would go... I did all I could, but it just wasn’t enough... Fawkes has trusted me with Dumbledore’s remains. Why? I protected the information. The Death Eaters didn’t get it... What will Ginny think when she sees me like this? Wait, she found me... Dumbledore’s gone and Mrs Weasley is caring for me... I feel so helpless... Footsteps alerted Harry that someone was approaching his door and a moment later, Mrs Weasley appeared floating a tray loaded with food and drink in front of her. She set it on the bedside table and sat down in the rocker. “Harry, I have your broth. Would you like me to help you or do you think you can handle the bowl yourself?” she asked a little too briskly and he could tell she was trying hard not to show she had noticed his tears. He lifted a shaky hand. “I’d like to try,” he said, desperately trying to sound normal. She handed him the bowl. It was heavier than he had anticipated and he nearly dropped it. She helped him steady it as she gave him his spoon. He managed several shaky spoonfuls, but finally gave up after spilling most of it down his front. “I can’t,” he admitted, holding the bowl out to her with both hands. She took it, but instead of scooping up a spoonful to feed him, she set it on the tray and slid slowly onto the bed next to him. “You’re home now, Harry. You don’t have to do everything, not for a while at least. Let Dudley and me help you get back to normal,” she said, resting a gentle hand on his knee. Harry shifted nervously at her touch. “We, your family, missed you so much; we were so worried when you disappeared. I’m so glad you’re alive...” Silently, she leaned forwards and engulfed him in her embrace as sobs he could no longer hold back wracked his body. This time he didn’t flinch. I’m home now, I’m safe, Harry thought and lifted his own arms to return the hug. He had no concept of how much time passed, but finally, without letting go, he murmured, “Thank you, Mum.” At his words, the woman whom he had come to associate with love and comfort began crying just as hard as he was. A/N: Ever since I read “Chapter 8: A Mother’s Love” of Billie Bowtrunkle’s Consequence and Redemption in March of 2006, I’ve wanted to try my hand at writing a Molly-Weasley-comforts-hurt-Harry scene. I’ve read several such scenes over the last few years, some which were quite well done and others that sounded like a cheap imitation of the original. In every case, these scenes were written from Molly’s point of view, and like Bowtrunkle’s original, were all very touching because of the amount of love she showers on poor Harry. However, when I found myself staring at the outline for this chapter, knowing that I was about to make my attempt at writing this emotional scene, I made the decision not to tell it from Molly’s point of view, but from Harry’s. I knew that in no way could something I’ve written compare to the heart-tugging emotions that are involved in Bowtrunkle’s chapter, but maybe if I told the tale through Harry’s eyes it would be just as effective and almost as memorable. I hope you have enjoyed my attempt at writing this scene, because it is my desire that someone will remember it the way I remember the one that has stuck in my mind. My standard list of thank yous applies as follows: many thanks to jedi34 and GhostWriter for their pre-beta comments and encouragement as I was writing this chapter. And Aggiebell, my beta, I’m so glad you liked the format of the chapter enough to get all teary-eyed and then tell me about it. And to my readers, thank you for being patient and understanding about the cliffhanger from the last chapter. I think you’ll agree with me that there was no way than this to tell of Harry’s rescue than this. I look forward to answering your comments. ~~Arnel |
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