***
Just after the climax of GoF, Harry's friends ask Dumbledore for a spell
that will protect him.
***
He dreamt.
He dreamt of rain, pummeling, hammering rain, the kind of rain
that was a physical force in itself. Lightning clawed the sky, and thunder
shook the ground beneath his feet. Wind slammed into him like a fist,
sending him stumbling.
But the rain.
The rain was the worst, sleeking his hair to his skull, spotting
his glasses so that the world turned wavery, and soaking through his clothes.
He shivered convulsively, his teeth chattering against the cold that burrowed
deep into his bones, freezing the marrow.
Just a few more steps--Lord, he hoped Filch wasn't around; he'd get
expelled for sure--Ron reached for the door--
"Ron?"
He almost screamed, but that would have meant certain Filch. "Gark?!?"
he said instead, a sort of strangled half-croak, half-question.
"Lumos," said a familiar voice, and he blinked owlishly
in the sudden flare of light.
"Hermione? What are you doing down here?"
She stared at him. She must have been only a few feet behind him
the entire way. "Visiting Harry," Hermione said. "I assume
that's what you're doing?"
He stared back at her, then started to grin. "You've come under
evil influences, Hermione Granger; look at you. Sneaking out of bed at
night and wandering the corridors. Tsk tsk."
"Shhhh!" Hermione hissed, reaching for the door handle
that Ron still clutched. "D'you want to get us expelled?"
"Now that sounds more like Hermione," he muttered.
The infirmary was fairly well deserted, Madam Pomfrey off in whatever
mysterious place she whiled away the sleeping hours. A single light, however,
burned at Harry's bedside.
He was on his stomach, his face turned towards them. He was sleeping,
but not restfully. His face and shoulders were taut as harp strings, and
occasionally he made a soft moaning sound. His glasses were sitting on
the bedside table, beside the candle, and without them, he looked very,
very vulnerable.
Seeing his best friend's unsettled sleep made Ron's stomach twist.
He didn't know exactly what had gone on before Harry had tumbled to the
grass with Cedric Diggory's body--Great Merlin, body--clutched
to him. But whatever it was, it was eating at his soul.
Ron had been in here this afternoon, lugging his chess set with him.
It usually took at least a few minutes to talk Harry into playing chess
with him, since he was typically doomed from the moment he moved his first
pawn. But Harry had said, "Yeah, okay," and played.
Badly. Worse then usual. As if his mind wasn't even on the chess
pieces, who were bellowing advice at him until their little steel faces
turned bright red. And when, three moves in, he'd lost, he hadn't even
smiled.
Hermione said in a hushed voice, "This isn't fair."
Ron didn't have to ask what she meant. It wasn't fair that
a boy of fourteen should have lines around his mouth and ghosts in his
eyes and scars on his soul. It wasn't fair that a boy his, Ron's,
own age should have to even once face You-Know-Who, the greatest incarnation
of evil in centuries. It wasn't fair that Harry should have nothing
and no one to depend on except his own shaky skills and the nebulous protection
of a mother he'd never known.
But as Ron's mum often said, real life wasn't about fair.
Hermione was sitting at the end of his bed, her face pensive. "The
thing is," she said. "The thing is, half the things that happen
to him--"
"And everything happens to him," Ron said, staring
at Harry's clenched fists.
"Yes, it does. Anyhow, half of it is just because he's so--so--"
"Harry," said Ron.
"That's it. That's it exactly. Because he's so Harry
. There's no other way for him to be; he wouldn't even think of it. You
remember the second task. I'll bet you he never even thought of not
making sure everyone got out all right."
"Or with Pettigrew." Ron nodded, shoving his hands in his
pockets. "He saved his life. How many people would do that?"
"It's just the way he is. He can't be anything but himself,
and it makes it so hard sometimes." Hermione looked up at him. "It's
so easy to love him, and so difficult at the same time--" Ron gave
her a sharp look, and she threw her hands in the air and made a frustrated
noise in the back of her throat. "Oh, lord, not like that. Why must
everyone assume that when a girl loves a boy, it must be like that? I
love him the way you love him. Because he's simply the best friend I ever
had in my life. D'you know what it was like in grade school?"
Ron thought of the first two months of first year, when Hermione
had been utterly friendless. The more studious and goody-goody she got,
the more people avoided her, and he'd just lately realized that the more
people pulled away, the more she'd tried to avert loneliness by being
the perfect student. It would have been a vicious circle had the Halloween
troll never happened. "I can guess," he said.
"You know what I'm talking about, then. And I'll bet you've
never had a friend quite like him."
"No," Ron admitted. Before Hogwarts, and Harry, he'd always
been envious of Fred and George, or Bill and Charlie. They'd had what
he had not--someone so close, so attuned, that they could practically
read each others' minds. In Harry, he'd found the brother he should have
had. The twenty-four awful days of division between them at the beginning
of the year had been the worst ones Ron had ever spent at Hogwarts.
"You know what Fred and George call him behind your backs? Ron's
twin."
Ron gave a snort of laughter. "He's practically an honorary
Weasley. He gets the sweater and everything. A pity about his hair, that's
all. You saw my mum last night--I can remember her staying up all night
like that once when the twins had Muggle measles and nobody knew the charm
to avert it." He studied the scar on his friend's forehead. "'Cept
this is worse then measles, I reckon," he said in a muffled voice.
Hermione sighed, rubbing her thumb across the base of her wand. "I
just wish there were something we could do," she said. "Some
charm--some spell. Something. I hate being this helpless."
"I would think less of you, Miss Granger, if you did not."
Hermione's head jerked up, and Ron's heart leapt into his throat.
Dumbledore.
They were dead for sure.
Dumbledore's glasses winked in the candlelight, but the shadows concealed
his expression. "Students are not supposed to be out at this time
of night, I believe."
Ron swallowed his heart and stepped forward. "Please, sir, it
was my fault--I--I just wanted to visit Harry--"
"So did I," Hermione said, standing up.
"Hermione," Ron hissed. He was trying to keep her in Hogwarts
here, the least she could do was play along--
"We were worried," Hermione said. "We'll take whatever
punishments you give us, sir--"
"I think these count as mitigating circumstances." Dumbledore
came into the light, and Ron saw that he was smiling, very faintly. His
entire body sagged with the weight of relief.
"Th-thank you," Hermione stumbled, and Ron nodded, too
weak to say anything.
Dumbledore shrugged. "I know there is a great deal more nocturnal
student activity in this castle then the rules strictly call for. Some
professors would prefer me to be more severe about the whole business,
but it's really half the fun of being a student, isn't it?"
Ron nodded before he thought, and Dumbledore's smile twitched wider
for a moment. Then he sobered as he looked at Harry. "He isn't sleeping
any better tonight?"
"No, sir."
"I don't see how he gets any rest," Hermione added.
Dumbledore sighed. "I believe Madam Pomfrey administered a mild
Sleeping Potion tonight, when he didn't show signs of falling asleep.
He has been through a great deal in the past few days."
Ron couldn't keep the words back. "Sir? What did happen?"
Dumbledore was silent for a moment, and then: "It's his story
to tell, not mine. But I will say this--of all his many friends, he will
need you two the most, when he recovers enough to be sent back to the
dormitory. Your undemanding company and support will be the best thing
for him."
"Yes, sir."
Hermione looked up. "Sir? Don't you know a charm--or
a spell--or something?"
"For protection, you mean, Miss Granger?"
"Yes!" Hermione said eagerly. "Anything we could do--"
Ron was nodding. "Anything--" he echoed.
The Headmaster looked from one anxious face to the other for several
silent moments. Harry, still restlessly asleep, made a muffled gasping
sound in response to whatever dreams his mind was giving to him.
"Please, sir?" Hermione said.
"There is an--incantation," Dumbledore said slowly. "It's
very pervasive. It will work as long as you love him the way you do now."
"How do you do it?" Ron asked, grabbing his wand. He hoped
it wasn't too time-consuming, but even if it was, he'd do it. He just
wanted Harry to be protected as soon as possible.
"Hold your wand out in front of you, pointing to the crown of
his head."
"Both of us?" Hermione asked. "At once?"
"Yes--I think so."
They took up the positions, looking to Dumbledore for the next step.
"Now sweep your wand down his body to his toes, then up again,
saying Benedictio Amicorum as you do so."
They followed instructions, chanting the Latin in solemn, clear voices.
Ron was expecting--something, he didn't know what. A mist--sparks--something--but
the only effects were chills down his spine from the echo of Hermione's
and his own voices in the vault-ceilinged infirmary. Hadn't it worked?
But Dumbledore was nodding to himself. "Very good."
"Is that it, sir?" Ron ventured.
"Don't confuse simple with ineffective, Mr. Weasley."
"But nothing happened!" Hermione was examining her wand,
her brows drawn together.
"Its effects are very subtle. But, as I said, quite pervasive."
"Who's that?"
The new voice made them all jump, but Dumbledore called out, "No
need to fret, Madam Pomfrey. I assure you, your patient is quite safe."
Madam Pomfrey bustled into the circle of candlelight, her face screwing
up when she spotted Ron and Hermione. "Good lord, you two--as if
you hadn't seen enough of him during the day--shoo, now, back to
your dormitory--"
Ron looked at Dumbledore, glimpsing Hermione out of the corner of
his eye doing the same. The headmaster nodded at them. "In this,
I bow to Madam Pomfrey," he said. "You may see more of Harry
in the morning, when he is awake to enjoy your company."
Ron and Hermione looked at each other, sighed, and put their wands
back in their pockets. With one last look at their friend, they headed
for the door of the infirmary.
Madam Pomfrey watched them go, her arms crossed over her bosom. "A
credit to my Sleeping Potion they didn't wake the poor boy," she
muttered. "Traipsing about the castle at all hours of the night--and
you, Professor! Practically encouraging them!"
"They were worried," Dumbledore said mildly. "A credit
to them. As Miss Granger said, they love him very dearly."
Madam Pomfrey's eyes dropped to the boy in the bed, studying him
with a professional eye. "He's sleeping better now," she said
in surprise. "Well now. Was it that charm you gave them?"
"I gave them no charm, Madam Pomfrey."
She blinked at him. "Well of course you did. Benedictio Amicorum--I
heard them say it over him. Can't say that I've ever heard of it before,
but I've not studied as much as you, Professor--"
"That was a simple Latin phrase, which I allowed them to believe
was a protective charm. Their love for him already gives him more protection
then any piddling charm ever could. I felt, however, that the illusion
of one might soothe their minds somewhat."
Madam Pomfrey looked doubtful. "Well. Yes. I suppose."
She was silent, brushing Harry's disorderly hair away from his scarred
forehead. "Was it just gibberish then?"
"Gibberish? No, indeed, Madam Pomfrey. The phrase translates
to 'the blessing of friends'."
He dreamt.
He dreamt of rain, pummeling, hammering rain, the kind of rain
that was a physical force in itself. Lightning clawed the sky, and thunder
shook the ground beneath his feet. Wind slammed into him like a fist,
sending him stumbling.
But the rain.
The rain couldn't reach him anymore. A thick, soft cloak had settled
around him, covering him head to toe. The rain thundered down around him,
but within his cloak he was warm and safe. Not a single drop of icy rain
could seep through.
Shielded by his cloak, he lifted his head to wait out the storm.
