Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Damaged Bridges	By : Gandalfs-Beard Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 46870 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, all rights belong to Rowling and Warner Bros, nor do I make any money from the production of this work.

Chapter List
- 26
- 27
Catastrophic Circumstances

Another week passed slowly, but at least Harry felt like he was doing something, helping Hermione work her way through Number Twelve’s library with the rest of their friends—with Dora mostly as it turned out. Luna, Ginny, and Parvati were spending less time at it, busy as they were with the spell-book which Luna had discovered.
Hermione and Harry had left them to practice by themselves in a cleared-out space in the basement—which Harry felt was an excellent use of their time given that they were as keen as he was to be hunting Death Eaters and looking for Voldemort. There had been one awkward moment though, when Number Twelve trembled and the three in the library had rushed down to the basement to catch the other three in a compromising position.
“Gah! Bloody hell!” Harry shielded his eyes from the sight while Dora and Hermione giggled along with the three nude, redfaced girls still entangled with each other on a mat in the middle of the floor.
“I think it’s working,” Luna told Hermione, beaming as she peered at the three in the stairwell. “We made a load more than sparks fly this time—it was like fireworks—like when we came across you and Harry by the Black Lake—”
“I’m going back upstairs,” said Harry with a sigh, “maybe have a firewhiskey—have fun, guys.”
“I think I’ll join you,” said Dora, shaking her head and smirking and turning to follow Harry upstairs. “Just some coffee for me though,” she added when Hermione opened her mouth with a concerned expression on her face.
“You coming, Hermione?” asked Harry, who was still shielding his eyes.
“In a few minutes, Harry,” she replied, biting her lip as she regarded the pentagram painted on the floor within which Parvati, Luna, and Ginny were disentangling themselves and sitting up, looking a bit sweaty and disheveled; and she peered at the dripping candles carefully positioned around them. “I’m curious to see if it’s actually increased their magical potential. Aren’t you?”
“Maybe later—when everyone’s got some clothes on,” Harry sighed. “But if you want to join in with this lot, knock yourself out. I’m really not fussed—”
“Don’t be silly, Harry,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes as Dora chuckled and Parvati and Ginny giggled nervously.
“Are you sure, Hermione?” asked Luna, looking hopeful. “If Harry really doesn’t mind—”
“Yes, I’m certain,” said Hermione firmly. “I just want to see how it’s affected your spells.”
“Right, see you in a bit,” said Harry, and he continued up the stairs followed by Dora.
When he arrived in the kitchen, Harry laughed to see Dobby already waiting with a bottle of firewhiskey for him and Kreacher with a cup of coffee for Dora, and plateful of biscuits on the table. Apparently, the pair of house-elves had become well tuned to the inhabitants of Number Twelve’s needs and seemed to have settled into a routine of sharing chores quite nicely.
Harry sipped his firewhiskey and nibbled a chocolate covered digestive while reading The Guardian—Dobby and Kreacher were now regularly fetching muggle newspapers and magazines as well—and Dora was sitting on the other side of the table reading New Musical Express.
“Really hope we find a spell t’make electrical equipment work while we’re lookin’ for other useful spells,” she muttered. “That old-fashioned record player is alright, but I’d love to get a cd player and a proper stereo set up. Gary Numan’s got a new one comin’ out later this year—a telly wouldn’t be a bad idea too.”
“Yeah—that’d be cool,” said Harry absentmindedly, frowning at a report of a bombing in Newcastle and wondering if Death Eaters were responsible.
Dora felt a vibration in one of her pockets and reached in for her mirror, wondering if it was Dumbledore. She gasped and her face lit up when she saw who it was.
“Remus!” she said, grinning at the face in the mirror, “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
“Good to see you too, Dora.”
The paper fell from Harry’s hands, his eyes widening and his breath catching.
“Remus is alright then?” he asked eagerly.
“Looks it to me,” said Dora. “You alright, Remus? Got all your parts still attached? … Harry wants to know.”
“Never better,” Remus replied, his moustache twitching wryly.
Harry let out a sigh of relief, then glanced at Dora.
“So—er… d’you want me to leave you two alone?” he asked.
“That’s alright, Harry,” said Dora, “I know you’ve been worried about Remus too. … Hear that Remus? We both wanna know everything that’s going on.”
“Is Hermione there too?” asked Remus, “There’s no reason we can’t all have a chat.”
“Hermione’s… erm… a bit busy with Luna and Ginny—Parvati too,” said Harry, unable to come up with a better excuse for her on the spot.
“Is she now?” said Remus, looking a bit surprised. “Dumbledore never mentioned those three—though I suppose he’s got other things on his mind.”
“Don’t we all?” said Dora, a flicker of concern crossing her features. “I’m not sure I can take bein’ cooped up here much longer, knowing that you and the rest of the Order are out there fighting while we’re larking it up.”
“That—Dumbledore did mention, actually,” said Remus, his brow furrowing slightly, though he was still smiling. “I think he knows that he can’t sit on you and Harry too much longer without a mutiny on his hands.”
“That’s about the size of it,” said Harry, grinning. “Good to know he’s aware. … Anyway, how’re things going with the werewolves?”
“Very well, actually. I’ve joined up with a group of holdouts who were resisting Greyback’s recruitment efforts—”
“More than joined up,” said a woman’s voice, coming from just out of view beyond the edge of the mirror, “If it weren’t for you bringing us all together, half of us would’ve been forced to join Greyback, and the rest of us would either be dead or on the run.”
“Sounds more like you’ve been been organising the resistance,” said Dora, raising her eyebrows and half-smiling, “Erm… so, who’s that with you, then?” she asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
“Ah, sorry,” said Remus, looking a bit sheepish as an attractive, auburn-haired woman casually rested a hand on his shoulder and peered into the mirror, beaming, “I should have started with the introductions. Dora, Harry, this is Abigail—Abigail Spencer—she was in charge of one of the groups before we merged with the others—”
“Which was all thanks to Remus,” said Abigail. “Don’t let him fool you—he’s too humble for his own good.”
“Yeah—yeah he is at that,” said Dora in a slightly strained sort of voice, “That sounds like Remus alright.”
“Anyway,” Abigail continued, her smile becoming more subdued and sympathetic, “I suggested he might want to make contact with you and Harry and any of his other friends in the Order—things are bound to get rough sooner or later, and I thought… well…just in case…”
“Yeah—thanks loads, Abigail.” Dora kept smiling and blinked back her tears, trying not to show how she felt, and no doubt failing miserably.
“Okay, well…” Abigail gave her a hesitant look. “…I’ll leave you both and Harry to it then.”
Abigail straightened up and patted Remus on the shoulder, then stepped out of view and her footsteps faded as she departed from the kitchen at their end of the mirror connection. As soon as she was gone, Remus shot Dora a deeply apologetic look.
“I’m really sorry, Dora,” he said quietly. “I should have called sooner, but—”
“No, it’s alright—really,” she firmly interjected, struggling even harder to hold back her tears. “I get it—I really do. I would’ve tried calling you, but I reckoned it might not be safe.”
“Er… Yes, quite!” said Remus guiltily.
“She seems nice,” said Dora. Harry frowned slightly, a bit puzzled by her meaningful tone.
“Er… yes, she is.” Remus looked even more guilty, and Harry’s bewildered frown deepened.
“I’m—” Remus started to say.
“No—don’t—” Dora cut across him. “There’s no need to keep apologising, Remus. You’ve been doin’ that as long as I’ve known you! Abigail’s right! You’re too damn humble for your own good! … You just look after yourself and make sure you come out of this alive—you hear me?”
“I’ll do my best,” said Remus with a rueful smile.
“And Remus…?”
“Yes?”
“You look after her too!” said Dora fiercely, “Abigail I mean—she’s countin’ on you! … I’ll be just fine! … You got me?”
“Yes,” said Remus gently, an oddly grateful look on his face, “I do! Take care, Dora—we’ll all get through this—I know we will.” Then he gave Harry a look and another sad smile. “You take care as well, Harry. You’ve got the whole world on your shoulders—more than anyone your age should have to bear—but you don’t have to bear that burden alone. Give Hermione my best and look after each other—and the girls too.”
“Yeah—I will,” said Harry, nodding; he felt a band tightening around his chest, making it difficult to breathe, “You too, Remus…” He almost said goodbye but thought better of it. “…See you ‘round, okay?” he concluded, the words sounding hollow even as he said them.
“Of course, Harry—be seeing you, then.”
And then Remus’s image was gone. Dora began sobbing with her face in her hands, and Harry awkwardly put his arms around her, feeling helpless. He wasn’t exactly sure what had just happened, but he felt like Dora was crying about more than just saying goodbye to Remus in the middle of a war, and he wished Hermione was there. A few minutes later, she appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“Harry, their magic—it’s amazing—” she started to say, then her face fell when she saw Dora sobbing. “What’s wrong—what happened?”
“Remus just called,” said Harry. “He’s okay though,” he added quickly. “He just wanted to say hi—make sure we’re doing okay. It’s just—I dunno—with everything going on…”
Dora looked up at Hermione, tears dripping from her cheeks and a runny nose. Hermione quickly sat down beside her and passed her a hanky, then took her from Harry’s arms after she blew her nose, and held her tightly, rubbing her back. Hermione peered at Harry questioningly over Dora’s shoulder while she kept crying. Harry shrugged and shook his head, as perplexed as ever. Finally, Dora’s sobs subsided into sniffles and she relaxed her grip on Hermione, then sat up straighter and blew her nose again.
Dora smiled wanly at the pair of them.
“Thanks loads guys! I really dunno what I’d do without you two at the moment.”
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Hermione asked.
“Yeah,” Dora nodded, “I will be! I just—I really hope he makes it through this—Remus—he’s found someone nice—another werewolf—someone ‘e doesn’t have to worry about hurting when he turns—and he really deserves someone he can really be happy with.”
“Oh Dora,” Hermione squeaked, tearing up herself. “I’m so sorry—”
“No—don’t be.” Dora shook her head and blew her nose again. “I knew we could never really be together—that it wouldn’t be fair to him. That’s why I can’t tell ‘im about the baby—not now, anyway—eventually… I just wan’ ‘im to be with someone ‘oo makes him happy.”

~o0o~
Draco scowled as he searched through the bedroom, opening all the cupboards, lifting up the mattress, and opening all the drawers. He sneered at the muggle artifacts on the shelves, most of which he was only vaguely familiar with because of that stupid muggle studies class Father had insisted that he take: a bent rifle, a broken television, some sort of thing which looked vaguely like a camera
The only things left which he hadn’t touched yet was a load of books on a shelf—and it looked like they had never been touched by anyone else before, either. He wasn’t sure if it was worth it, but he reckoned it was better to not leave any stone unturned; there was a slim chance Potter might have stashed a letter or some such thing which might give a hint as to where he was hiding out.
“Homenum Specialis Revelio Potter,” he muttered, aiming his wand at the first book on the shelf. The book glowed. He picked it up and riffled through it. Nothing fell out and nothing glowed on the pages; there was nothing in the first Famous Five book, nor anything in the second, third, fourth, or fifth. He moved on to The Secret Garden and The Wind in the Willows, then several books by some bloke called Charles Dickens.
A dozen Just William and Jennings and Darbishire books, a monstrously fat book by some bloke called William Shakespeare, Robert Louis Stevenson, Tom Sawyer, and another dozen or so novels. Then there were a number of books about birds, nature, technology, great cities of the world… Bloody hell! Had Potter actually read all these books?
“Never reckoned you for a reader, Potter,” he muttered. His heart leapt when a piece of paper fluttered out of a book about famous castles of Britain and Ireland, then it sank again when he realized it was just a bookmark.
“Fuck!”
“Oi… Draco,” a voice called out from downstairs.
“Be right there, Cormac,” Draco yelled.
He hurried down and found Cormac looking in a cupboard under the stairs. The cupboard was full of spiderwebs as if it hadn’t been used in years, but it contained a small sunken cot and a threadbare, thin blanket, and one odd sock with a hole in the toe.
“I think Potter actually lived in here when he was a kid,” said Cormac, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
“No wonder he hated these muggles,” said Draco, “Dunno why he even gave a damn about muggles at all. You’d think he would hate them all.”
Cormac nodded, then he spotted a scrap of parchment poking out of the shadows under the cot and picked it up.
“Huh! … Just a piece of first year homework—maybe it fell out of his trunk.”
“Just more rubbish then!” Draco scowled. “Well this was bloody useless! No muggles to torture for information, and no letters from his godfather or Granger—nothing.”
“It was always a long-shot—shame that Black’s will went missing from the Ministry. That was our best bet—wouldn’t be surprised if Potter was holed up at his place.”
“Most likely,” Draco agreed, grinding his teeth. “Still, maybe we’ll find something at Granger’s.”
“D’we know where it is then?”
“The Ministry records for Granger are missing too,” Draco growled. “Must be a bloody mole still at the Ministry. If Percy Weasley weren’t Senior Undersecretary, I’d suspect him. But Dolores says he’s definitely on our side and she’s had him thoroughly vetted—”
“Could be it’s one of Dumbledore’s lot who already did a bunk from the Ministry,” suggested Cormac, “Didn’t some Aurors scarper?”
“Yeah—a few. Weasley’s father too, according to Yaxley. If anyone’d steal Potter’s and Granger’s records it’d be him. We just got lucky Dolores knew Potter’s address—”
“What about Hogwarts records?”
“According to Snape, they’re inaccessible—something to do with a magical book and quill. They only show records to the headmaster—Dumbledore in other words. They won’t open for Snape because they don’t think he’s legit. … We’ll just have to start tracking down all of the Grangers in the muggle records—we’ve got people in the right government departments—they’ll at least have records for Granger’s parents.”
“Crap!” groaned Cormac. “There must be bloody thousands of Grangers in Britain.”
“We won’t have to do all of Britain—Dolores is pretty sure Granger is in London.”
“That’s still hundreds.”
“Yeah,” Draco sighed, then his eyes lit up. “But I’ve got an idea. The Dark Lord is staging attacks to draw Dumbledore’s lot out, right? … We can do the same thing. If we start taking out Grangers in London—torch their homes—Potter and his Mudblood will have to respond. They’ll come to us after we do a few Grangers.”
“You know,” said Cormac, looking impressed, “that’s bloody brilliant!”
“That’s why I’m a Slytherin,” said Draco smugly.
Having decided on the best way to hunt down Potter and Granger, Draco and Cormac exited Number Four Privet Drive where several Snatchers were keeping watch. One of them stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight when he saw Draco.
“Find what you’re looking for, boss?”
“No,” Draco shook his head, “but we might as well cause some mayhem before we leave. It’ll be doing Potter a favour by the looks of it—still, it’ll be a bit of fun.”
It didn’t take long. Draco, Cormac, and the Snatchers unleashed a flurry of incendiary and explosive spells on Number Four Privet Drive, and for good measure, blasted the houses on either side. By the time they disapparated, the Dursleys’ house and several others were engulfed in billowing, orange flames, lighting up the night.

~o0o~
Harry felt sick and was unable to finish the poached eggs on toast and bangers which Kreacher and Dobby had cooked up for breakfast. He let The Guardian fall on the table and covered his face with both hands, rubbing at his forehead and itching scar while the others looked at him worriedly. It had been bad enough a few days ago reading about the inexplicable fire which had burned down half of Privet Drive and killed several people (thankfully most of the families had escaped the conflagration), but the new wave of attacks in London…
“Harry? What is it?”
“I… I can’t…” he muttered, pushing the newspaper towards Hermione.
She gasped in horror when she saw the headline.
Granger Families Targeted in London: Terrorism or Serial Arsonist?
Hermione unsuccessfully tried to blink back tears and bit her quivering lower lip so hard that she made it bleed.
“Harry… This—”
She was even more alarmed, and she trembled, when she looked up and saw Harry’s face, which was a mask of fury.
“To hell with this! That’s three more homes and more murders—I’m not sitting around trying to find spells to charm maps—I’ll be waiting at the next Granger home for the Death Eaters. We won’t need any spells for this anyway, just a phonebook—”
“—because they’re going in alphabetic order.” Hermione said in a small, shaky voice as Dora whipped the paper out of her hands. “I—I can’t let any more people die for me.”
“Nor me,” said Harry grimly.
“You won’t have to,” Dora snarled, flinging the paper on the table and nearly knocking over the teapot. “We’re all gonna be waiting for those bastards tonight, and we’re going t’do whatever it takes to bring ‘em down, Hermione—you too Harry. … And don’t you dareblame yourselves—it’s not your faults that Death Eaters are sadistic scum.”
“She’s right,” said Luna firmly, glancing at the newspaper and passing it to Ginny and Parvati. “It’s not your faults at all. They’re just doing the same as all the other Death Eaters around Britain—if they weren’t killing these people, they would just be killing other people.”

~o0o~
“Don’t reckon you’ve seen this yet, Albus!”
Moody angrily flung The Guardian across the table, knocking over Dumbledore’s teacup and sending the contents flying. Dumbledore wiped his wet beard on his sleeve, picked up the paper, and sighed, pushing his half-moon spectacles up his nose for a better look.
“I toldja, Albus—you can’t keep those kids outta things any longer! The Dursleys—Privet Drive, and now this! You know where Potter and his team are gonna be tonight, right?”
“Yes,” said Dumbledore calmly.
“And?”
“And you are quite correct, Alastor. Harry and his… team, as you so aptly put it—will be in wait for whomever is carrying out these attacks. … And you will be joining them—”
“And?”
“And then I shall keep them appropriately informed as to wherever such future attacks will be occurring and dispatching them accordingly to assist other members of the Order as needed. … Harry and Miss Granger and Nymphadora are all more than capable—and I had never intended to keep them out of things in any case. It was only due to the other three—”
‘Two of which were at the Ministry fightin’ Death Eaters last year, I should remind you!”
“That is true,” said Dumbledore, “Nonetheless, had we not showed up in time—”
“Barely! Those kids would’n’ve even had to fight ‘em if Snape hadn’t been sittin’ on his arse for six hours before lettin’ us know—six bloody hours while they were flyin’ to London and fightin’ Death Eaters all by their lonesome. … What the hell was up with that, anyway? You never did give me a straight answer.”
Dumbledore sighed again.
“Severus—yes, he could be problematic at the best of times—unfortunately he had a lack of motivation to act swiftly at the time. I am afraid that he had something of a blind spot when it came to Harry—a blind spot which on occasion caused his efforts to protect Harry to be rather halfhearted.”
“You don’t say!” Mad-Eye snorted. “Well how d’you know his heart’s really in it now? How the hell d’you know that you can really trust him?”
“All I can say at the moment is that he is now unequivocally committed—he and Harry came to an understanding and resolved some longstanding issues just before the Christmas holidays.”
“After that McLaggen kid raped Granger, eh? … ‘cause she’s Potter’s friend and somethin’ horrible happened to her? … Is that really what it took to get Snape to see the light finally?... another bloody catastrophe? … Black’s murder wasn’t enough for him?” Mad-Eye shook his head. “Well, I hope you’re right Albus—because we’ll need to be damn sure that he’s with us when we retake Hogwarts.”
“I am certain! And I must admit,” said Dumbledore quietly, “that I too was blinded—blinded by my own arrogance. And I too, had some damaged bridges to mend at the time.”
Moody’s electric-blue eye swiveled grotesquely as he raised both eyebrows.
“Well—that’s something,” he said. “Now, if you wanna keep those bridges mended, you know what you have to do.”
“Yes, I do!” Dumbledore reached into his pocket and retrieved his mirror.
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Damaged Bridges