Pursued

Phoenix Tears, Chapter Six : Pursued

DISCLAIMER : The characters and many of the situations described in this story are the property of the incomparable J.K. Rowling. I make no money from this story, which exists as a work of tribute. Dialogue marked with an asterisk is quoted from the original HP stories.

To LAxo and WriterMerrin, who once again graciously beta-read this for me, thank you.

Hermione couldn't understand why the Order had sent Harry back to the Dursleys'. Considering the scant few weeks of protection he had garnered from the arrangement, the risks of getting him out were astronomical. Not that she had raised this point in meetings...Mad-Eye Moody was still furious about her perceived disobedience. His magical eye followed her whenever he was in the house, glowering and spinning at her at every possible opportunity. As a consequence, Hermione kept her head down and her mouth shut.

So, here she was, standing in the Dursleys' kitchen, inhabiting Harry's body. It was weird to be a boy. When she'd stripped off her own clothes to put on something a better size, she'd found herself holding one arm awkwardly across her chest where her breasts should have been, although the Harry-who-was-really-Fleur seemed to have no such instinct. She's probably never felt embarrassed by her appearance in her whole life, thought Hermione, a little bitterly.

The Harrys-who-were-really-the-twins were clowning around, and Hermione found her mind wandering. She tried to ignore the sick feeling caused by nerves: knowingly becoming a decoy was nerve-wracking. It made her wonder how Harry felt on a day-to-day basis. She also spared a moment to wonder what Hogwarts house Mundungus had been in: he certainly wasn't displaying the traditional dose of Gryffindor courage.

Finally, it was time to go, and Hermione was relieved to be partnered with Kingsley. He had continued to treat her with warmth and respect even after the fiasco of her meeting with the Order leaders.

"In front or behind?" he asked her as he thoughtfully placed her hands on the body of the Thestral. She would be fine once she got on, but since she still couldn't see the magical animals, she required some assistance for the actual mounting procedure.

"Whatever's easiest for you," she replied.

Kingsley considered the question for a few moments. "In front," he decided, lifting her easily...despite the extra height of Harry's body...and depositing her on the Thestral's back. She could feel the wing joints pressing against her legs. "After all, " he added, "if we are attacked, you'll be safer that way." Kingsley swung up behind her immediately afterwards. His chest and thighs pressed against her back, and his arms reached around her, grasping handfuls of nothing that she assumed was the Thestral's mane. "Just between you and me, Miss Granger," he whispered in her ear, "I've no objection to an armful of Harry Potter."

The deep baritone hum of his whisper and the chuckle that followed sent a tingle down the outside of Hermione's neck and straight to her groin. The odd sensation of balls (that she hadn't realised that she had) tightening with arousal made her gasp, and as they shot skyward with a rush of energy, she was laughing. She squinted her eyes shut against the cold rush of the night air, weirdly disorientated by the lack of blustering curls that in normal circumstances would be pulling and blowing in such a wind.

Moments later, however, her hair and Kingsley's sexual proclivities were the last things on her mind. The seven odd couples of Harry's escape party had risen directly into the centre of a ring of Death Eaters, and the Death Eaters lost no time in seizing the advantage of surprise. The paths of their offensive spells lit the night with vivid flashes of green; from the ground, it must have looked like fireworks.

"Sweet Ganymede's butt crack," swore Kingsley softly, if fluently, into her ear as he twisted the Thestral towards the gap between the two nearest Death Eaters. Then he called out, as loudly as possible, "Hold on, Harry!"

Smart man, noted Hermione through her shock. She'd have been a poor decoy had those in earshot realised who she really was. In the sudden confusion, it was difficult to process what was happening; everywhere was a blaze of spells, the sounds of which echoed in her ears. Someone fell from their broom, though Hermione couldn't tell who it was, not even if it was one of the Order or one of the Death Eaters. She did know that he or she was dead. The proof of that materialised suddenly between her legs as the Thestral she was riding flickered once and then popped...horrifically, unmistakably...into view.

The sight of the dark hair of the Thestral's mane twisted through Kingsley's fingers brought the current situation into immediate focus. He had stunned the nearest Death Eater and blasted another sideways, making room for the wide wingspan of their mount to break through the circle into clearer space.

Both Kingsley and Hermione were right handed, and his left hand was tightly wound into the hair at the base of the Thestral's neck. Hermione wrapped her own left arm tightly around his and twisted her body across it, facing over his left shoulder towards the enemy. She cast the strongest shield spell she was capable of and was gratified to see several spells ricochet back towards their pursuers.

Four Death Eaters had peeled off from the group to follow after them. Though the Thestral was setting a punishing pace, Kingsley had it ducking and weaving in an attempt to avoid being hit.

"Well done, Her-arry," he cried, catching himself before he gave the game away. "I'll hold the shield and steer, you try and take out the opposition."

Hermione was too smart to shout her spells aloud and give her opponents the advantage of knowing what they were, but she was also concerned that one of her pursuers might be Snape undercover. It might not have mattered, since the moving targets proved difficult to hit from an unpredictably swerving flying horse, but Hermione limited herself to non-verbal disarming charms. Stunning someone at this height would mean certain death.

"Kingsley!" she shrieked suddenly, her anxiety causing Harry's voice to crack in a way that it hadn't for years. "It's Voldemort!"

She knew that she couldn't kill him, but somehow, the logic of that premise failed to halt the instinctive reaction of her body to his proximity, and Hermione cast the nastiest, darkest spell she knew. Sectumsempra, she thought viciously with her wand pointed directly at Voldemort. Terrifyingly, he laughed...a ghastly, high-pitched sound that bore no relation to humour...and waved the curse away with an almost nonchalant gesture.

Harry had described to Hermione the reptilian cast of Voldemort's face, but his description had failed to capture the sheer inhumanity of his curiously blank face and distorted features. He thinks I'm Harry, thought Hermione, panic a heavy weight in her stomach. It was all very well for Mad-Eye to have reassured them that the "Harrys" would be in less danger than the protectors...for the simple reason that Voldemort wanted to kill Harry himself...because now here she was looking like Harry and looking at Voldemort.

Kingsley chose that moment to send the Thestral into a dive.

"Hold on," he shouted over the violent rush of air. His words were barely audible.

Voldemort followed them downwards, his body streaking though the air with no visible means of support, effortlessly keeping pace with the Thestral's breakneck speed though they quickly outstripped the Death Eaters on brooms. Hermione fired curses at him as fast as she could string them together, but Voldemort continued to wave them aside. He was laughing as they flew, clearly convinced that he had Harry cornered. Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he swerved away and was gone.

"He's gone," Hermione shouted to Kingsley, almost as panicked by Voldemort's unexpected disappearance as she had been by his arrival. Kingsley slowed their speed, swinging the Thestral around in a quick circle in order to scan their surroundings carefully. Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. Their moment of hesitation, however, had allowed the pursuing Death Eaters to draw back into spell range, and Hermione slammed up another shield charm.

Unmistakably, the nearest Death Eater shouted Avada Kedavra. Luckily, he missed, because Hermione was certain that her shield was insufficient to withstand the Unforgivables. It did provide her with the certainty that it wasn't Snape under that particular hood, however, and she took careful aim. She was exulted when her stunner hit the target and horrified when the body dropped away towards the ground far below, the broom still clenched between his or her thighs.

I just killed someone.

A second Death Eater peeled away to follow the falling body.

Or maybe not.

Her body kept breathing, blinking and firing curses, though her mind seemed fixated by the possibly dead, possibly rescued Death Eater she had stunned.

But you tried to kill someone, even if they survived.

She aimed at one of the two remaining Death Eaters, but her spells went wide.

"Any second now," called Kingsley just before the noise and the spells of the chase were abruptly cut off.

The Death Eaters were no longer visible, and in less than a minute, the Thestral banked sharply, coming to land gently on a small square of lawn. Warm light spilled over the garden, throwing a bed of roses into sharp relief. Kingsley swung himself down at once, then lifted Hermione from the Thestral onto the ground. Her knees buckled under her own weight.

"All right?" he asked, one hand on each of her shoulders, as he turned her face towards the house in order to look her over more closely in the bright light that shone through the copious glass of the kitchen windows. Hermione wrenched herself away and promptly lost what remained of Molly's delicious cooking into an adjacent flowerbed. Kingsley patted her on the back solicitously. "Come inside," he said, "I'll make you a cup of tea."

Hermione rocked back on her heels and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. She vanished the small puddle of her vomit and rinsed out her mouth with an Aguamenti. After another thirty seconds or so spent composing herself, and desperately trying to put her worries over the others' safety out of her mind, Hermione rose and followed Kinsley up the ramp from the back garden and into the house.

The kitchen was unexpectedly modern: all stainless-steel surfaces and huge glass windows that fit incongruously with Hermione's experience of the wizarding world.

"Welcome to my house, Hermione," remarked Kingsley. "Well," he amended, "my sister's and my house, though she lives in the States. Have a seat."

He pointed towards a long, pale wood dining table that wouldn't have looked out of place in a glossy design magazine. Hermione had to assume that the rusty, bent coat hanger that sat on the otherwise empty tabletop like a centrepiece was the Portkey that would return them to the Burrow. She sat, startled by the news that Kingsley had a sister and still shell-shocked from her experience of the fight.

"We've got fifteen minutes," said Kingsley as he pulled two mugs from a cupboard under the counter.

Fifteen minutes didn't seem like long enough to make and drink a pot of tea, but Hermione hadn't factored in that Kingsley would conjure the water, boil it instantly, use a teabag and then apply a cooling charm so that the drink was immediately drinkable.

"Teabags?" she queried, momentarily distracted. She didn't think she'd ever seen teabags used by a wizard before.

"Sorry," Kingsley grimaced. "I got used to them at Downing Street. Not that the Prime Minister ever uses teabags mind you, but several of the other staff do. Drink up," he added, pushing one of the mugs into her hands.

No. Into Harry's hands. Hermione gulped a mouthful of the tea. "Kingsley," she asked, "why did he suddenly disappear?" She didn't need to specify who "he" was.

Kingsley sat down opposite her, with the Portkey between them. He looked grim. "I don't know. It's possible he realised you weren't Harry? Though I have no idea how." He paused, and if anything, his expression became fiercer. "Someone betrayed us."

"Do you think the others are okay?"

"We'll know soon enough," was the bleak reply.

Both Hermione and Kingsley looked at the Portkey before them. For a moment, Hermione thought she might be fainting, as Kingsley's bright, crisp kitchen blurred horrifically. Then she realised that the Polyjuice was wearing off. She pulled off Harry's glasses, and the room snapped back into focus. She ran a hand reassuringly along the long plait of her hair.

"I tried to kill someone," she said, her own voice sounding funny after her time as Harry.

The fierce edge of Kingsley's scowl faded. "They were trying to kill you, Hermione. You did nothing wrong. In fact, you performed remarkably well under pressure."

"Still . . ."

"Did you succeed?" Kingsley interrupted her.

"I stunned someone and they fell, but someone else flew after them."

"Pity," responded Kingsley with a shrug. "Levitation Charm, Summoning Charm, Cushioning Charm . . . there are myriad ways to save someone in that situation. We have to assume that you didn't succeed. I definitely Stunned one when we first burst into their circle. I hope he died; the only good Death Eater is a dead Death Eater."

Hermione stared into her tea. "I didn't know he could fly," she said suddenly. "I didn't know that was possible."

"Me neither," replied Kingsley. He glanced at his watch and drained his mug. "Listen, Hermione," he began, "I know that Harry has some task to do, with help from you and Ron. I'm not bothered by the fact that it has to be kept secret...even from me. That suggests exactly how important it is that Voldemort not know what you're up to, and now that we know there's a traitor in our midst, secrecy is more important than ever. I want you to know that we'll do our best to keep You-Know-Who's attention focussed elsewhere. But if there's anything that you need...anything that I can do for you or that the Order can do...I want you to contact us immediately. Just because knowledge of what you're doing is classified, doesn't mean that you're alone. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded without breaking eye contact. She found Kingsley's words as reassuring as he'd intended them to be.

"All you need to do is send a Patronus; cast the spell, then hold your wand to your throat and dictate the message. Now, finish your tea quickly and take hold of the Portkey. Let's see if we can find out what in Merlin's name went wrong."

Snape had sliced off George's ear. Snape had sliced off George's ear. Snape had sliced off George's ear. Hermione could not stop thinking about it, and it made her sick. Moody was dead, but that thought left her feeling empty and blank. Without a body, she couldn't help hoping that he would clomp his way through the door at some later stage; it didn't quite seem real. But George's ear...and the horrifically visible evidence of its absence...affected her terribly.

No matter how many times she turned the cool side of her pillow against her face and resolutely closed her eyes, sleep remained elusive. What was he thinking? While Hermione had an elevated assessment of Snape's talents, not even she could imagine him capable of controlling Sectumsempra from a moving broom; he had come so close to killing George.

Unsurprisingly, George himself had taken his injury in his stride. Though the wound had proved resistant to all attempts to transfigure a replacement ear, Fred and George had been experimenting with a range of glamours. As a consequence, one or both of them could frequently be seen sporting various humanoid or animal ears. The Weasleys had, on the whole, found this amusing; it just made Hermione sick.

For the most part, she was taking out her irritation on Ron and Harry. Not that they don't deserve it, she thought grumpily. The best suggestion Ron had had towards the looming Horcrux search was that she steal the remainder of Mad-Eye's Polyjuice, and he'd left the details to her. As it turned out, Mad-Eye had been left with so little of the potion that she'd had to supplement his stock with her own supply to ensure that Harry could transform for the wedding, but at least she now had an alibi for where she'd come by what she already had.

Hermione was also astounded that Ron and Harry had swallowed her lie about the Horcrux books. Leaving aside the fact that the pitch of her voice had risen dramatically when she had proffered the completely fabricated explanation of how she'd obtained them, the lie itself was among the worst she had ever come up with. Firstly, Accio just didn't work like that, and if the boys had ever bothered to pay attention during the more theoretical parts of Flitwick's classes, they would have noticed that at once. Plus, they weren't exactly "Horcrux books"...they were just books that mentioned Horcruxes. But there you go, Harry and Ron didn't even blink.

Thinking about the Horcrux books brought her right back to thinking about Snape. She rolled over, pushing him from her mind yet again.

In the dim light of the Burrow bedroom, her eyes found Ginny's sleeping form. The younger girl was trying hard to not take out her anger at being left behind on Hermione, although Ron had been less fortunate. Especially after he'd barged in on her birthday kiss with Harry.

That kiss.

They'd looked so . . . passionate. Hermione had felt guilty when Ron interrupted them, but also jealous. And, oddly, the memory of Ginny and Harry's kiss also reminded her of Snape.

Enough. Hermione gave sleep up as a lost cause and sat herself upright, propping her pillows against the headboard. Nonverbally, she conjured a screen to shield Ginny from her light and, for good measure, cast a Silencing Charm. Hermione pulled her beaded bag from under her pillow...these days, it was never far away...and extracted her Arithmancy notes. With the amount of work Molly had asked of them in conjunction with tomorrow's wedding, she'd had little time to devote to the calculations: all the more reason to make use of her sleepless night.

Forty-five minutes later, Hermione gave up on her equations, too. No matter how she ran the numbers, she couldn't get Godric's Hollow to figure as anything but an unmitigated disaster, though the numbers still showed Snape as working for the Order, which had to count for something. With a heavy sigh, she pushed the calculations back into the beaded bag and pulled out The Tales of Beadle the Bard instead. Perhaps if she read through "Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump" carefully, she'd work out Dumbledore's secret message.

Only an unyielding effort to block out all of Molly and Fleur's gossiping about the wedding had allowed Hermione to remain ignorant of Viktor's arrival, and the sight of him was a pleasant surprise. Ron's flare of jealousy was also rather pleasant...though it probably wasn't very admirable to have thought so...and it was fun to find Ron suddenly ready to dance rather than sulk about at the edge of the dance floor as he had been wont to do at each and every Hogwarts' ball they'd ever attended.

Hermione had slipped inside for just a few a moments to use the toilet when Viktor managed to catch her alone. He graced her with a wicked smile.

"I see that your friend Ronald has finally managed to notice vot vas right under his nose," he teased, leaning over her to whisper into her ear.

"Are you disappointed?" she asked, blushing.

"I vas hopeful, of course, but I am happy for your sake." Gallantly, he caught at her hand and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. It sent a shiver down her spine. "I vould be a poor friend to resent your happiness. After all, I have not been . . ."

"Faithful?" she teased as he tailed off. "I would hope not!"

"Go on," he urged, gesturing indulgently towards the dance floor. "You'd better to be making much of his dancing. If you vant me to make him jealous later, just let me know." Viktor punctuated his offer with a nonchalant shrug.

Hermione grinned, reassured that her friendship with Viktor was still as easy as ever. She caught hold of his hand and turned it, mirroring his gesture and pressing her lips against the soft skin of his wrist. "Thanks, I won't hesitate to ask if the need arises."

With the social niceties out of the way, she wanted to ask him about his work for the Order. "Hey," she added "about the Ministry..."

Viktor silenced her with one warning finger.

"Excuse me? Is this the queue for the toilet?"

"Ah, no," she replied, slightly flustered as she turned towards the new arrival. "I've just finished, go on in."

A rather heavy-set matronly woman, with a bosom large enough to balance a three course meal on, squeezed past Hermione and Viktor and navigated her way into the narrow bathroom.

Oops, she reflected. That was close.

"Later," mouthed Krum, giving her a gentle push back in the direction of the stairs. With a rueful grin, she continued on her way.

Not long afterwards, she passed Viktor in conversation with Arthur Weasley. Viktor was expounding on cultural differences between his own country and the UK.

". . . yes, in particular I am impressed with the mix of cultures that you haff here," she heard. "There are a number of Muggle-born guests, no?"

As she walked away, Arthur...obligingly...began pointing them out.

Hermione managed to wring several more dances from Ron before her own enthusiasm waned. As she danced, she watched Krum talk to a number of different people; often he exchanged business cards. He worked the room smoothly, except, that is, until he came to talking with Mr Lovegood. She couldn't fault Viktor on that, really. The man was even more infuriating than his daughter could be.

Sending her red-headed paramour in search of refreshment, she grasped the opportunity to sink down into a seat beside Harry, sliding off one of her strappy heels and prodding gingerly at the beginnings of a blister.

"I simply can't dance anymore," she groaned. "Ron's gone looking to find more butterbeers. It's a bit odd, I've just seen Viktor storming away from Luna's father, it looked like they'd been arguing..." Hermione broke off as she noticed the odd look on Harry's face. "Harry," she asked with concern, "are you okay?"*

Any answer he might have made was interrupted by a familiar silver streak of light. Hermione gasped as she recognised Kingsley's silver lynx Patronus and gripped reflexively at her beaded bag. She shoved her sore foot back into her shoe; this couldn't be anything other than bad news.

When it opened its mouth and spoke in Kingsley's sure, deep voice, her fears were confirmed: "The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."*

Both Harry and Hermione had their wands out before the Patronus had finished speaking, and Hermione cast around for some glimpse of Ron. She and Harry leapt away from the table, towards the bar where the drinks had been placed. She grabbed a handful of Harry's robes, but the movement of the crowd twisted her hold loose within seconds.

"Ron!" she shouted desperately. "Ron, where are you?"*

Hooded, masked figures were popping into existence all around her...at least that means there are no anti-Apparation wards in place, she rationalised...while her cries for Ron became more frantic.

When Harry's hand seized hers, she sobbed with relief. Moments later, Ron shouldered himself between two panicked guests and grabbed her other arm. Hermione twisted her fingers into the nearest piece of Ron's robes and felt her beaded bag knock reassuringly against her wrist. She tightened her grip on both of her boys and then turned into nothingness. She Apparated to the first place she thought of: Tottenham Court Road.

Less than twenty minutes later, though, they'd been found once more.

"Petrificus Totalus!"* shrieked Hermione as the explosion of the table she'd hidden behind gave her a clear shot of the remaining Death Eater. He fell with a sickening, yet reassuring thud, face first into the debris of the fight.

The silence afterwards was heavy with danger. How the hell did they find us? Hermione was more frightened by the sudden appearance of Death Eaters in Muggle London than she had been by their mass arrival at the wedding. How the hell did they find us?

She crawled out from the wreckage of the luncheon booth, her frilly, flirty party dress in ruins. Her hands were trembling so violently that her first attempt to cut Ron free from his bindings sliced into his leg by mistake. How the hell did they find us? Her mind was a stuck record, and only Ron querying the necessity to kill their attackers brought her back into the conversation.

"We just need to wipe their memories," responded Harry, to Hermione's inordinate relief. "It's better like that, it'll throw them off the scent. If we killed them it'd be obvious we were here."*

"You're the boss," quipped Ron, the sag of his shoulders and his suddenly more cheerful tone of voice signalling that he was every bit as relieved as Hermione. "But I've never done a Memory Charm."*

"Nor have I," chimed in Hermione, "but I know the theory."** She realised she'd fucked up the moment the words left her mouth. Harry didn't seem to have noticed, but Ron was giving her a strange, considering look.

As Harry turned away towards the window, Ron's fingers closed around her upper arm. "Who Obliviated your parents, then?" he hissed.

Hermione rolled her eyes aggressively. "Honestly, Ron," she hissed back. "I didn't Obliviate them, I modified their memories." She pulled her arm from his grip and turned her gaze towards the Death Eater sprawled at her feet. It was Dolohov, and convulsively, Hermione rubbed at the top of her scar. Luckily, Ron seemed convinced by her explanation and had stepped away. Taking a deep breath, Hermione engaged her Occlumentic shields and created an internal oasis of calm. It wouldn't last long, but it was enough to pull off the new spell without a hitch. "Obliviate," she exclaimed in a clear voice, swirling her wand with flawless technique.

From the suddenly dazed and dreamy look on Dolohov's face, the spell had worked.

"Brilliant!" Harry clapped her on the back with approval. "Take care of the other one and the waitress while Ron and I clear up."*

"Clear up?" asked Ron, glancing around blankly. "Why?"*

Hermione rolled her eyes for real this time and left the boys to it, feeling her way through the darkened café to the bench where the body of Thorfinn Rowle lay. With the magic at their disposal, it took a very short time to put everything back in order and for Hermione to Obliviate the memories of Rowle and the waitress, but Hermione felt breathless the entire time. If two Death Eaters had found them so quickly, then where were the others? What was to stop more turning up any second. Hermione felt like a butterfly, pinned out on a specimen board, horrifically exposed.

Harry and Ron clearly also felt on edge. Anxiety swirled through and around the conversation of where to go and the consideration of what had led the Death Eaters to them so quickly. They'd begun to bicker when Harry managed to stop the conversation cold.

"Grimmauld Place,"* he said firmly, raising his chin defiantly at the shocked looks on Hermione and Ron's faces.

Hermione recovered first. "Don't be silly, Harry, Snape can get in there!"* Snape sliced off George's ear. She should have considered more carefully the possibility that he was a traitor. No. Yes. No. Hermione was torn. Instinctively, she was convinced Snape was on their side, Arithmetically, she was convinced of it, too, but still, he had sliced off George's ear. Going to Grimmauld Place seemed foolish in the extreme. If I was wrong about Snape . . . The thought was too horrific to finish. Maybe he cares less about hurting someone than about keeping his cover. After all, he managed to kill Dumbledore. That thought, too, left her nauseous.

"Ron's dad said they've put up jinxes against him...and even if they haven't worked, so what? I swear, I'd like nothing better than to meet Snape!"* Harry looked fierce.

"But..."*

"Hermione, where else is there?" interrupted Harry. "It's the best chance we've got. Snape's only one Death Eater. If I've still got the Trace on me, we'll have whole crowds of them on us wherever else we go."*

There were a million objections that sprang to mind, but Hermione bit them back. To be completely honest, there was nothing she wanted more than to meet Snape herself; he had a lot to answer for. Despite his latest behaviour, she couldn't help the conviction that he did have some explanation...she just wished she knew what it was.

A/N : I just wanted to shout with glee and let you all know that the moment above, marked with a double asterisk, **, was one of the odd inconsistencies of canon that propelled this story into being. Why on earth hadn't Hermione used Obliviate before, I wondered, didn't she claim to have Obliviated her parents?