After the Second Rise
After the Second Rise
Disclaimer: I do not own rights to the story or characters of Harry Potter.
In Hells Jaws and Heaven's Doorstep
All was quiet on a small farm at the edge of a peaceful town in the rolling country lands of Great Britain. The Farmer and his wife had gone to bed hours ago; their small daughter had been tucked in even before that. The farmer was able to sleep peacefully after having checked his holding and finding nothing out of its place. The horses were locked up in their stables, the pig had a fresh trough of leftover vegetables and corn meal, and the dog was asleep on the bed at the farmer's feet. A sheet had gone missing a couple of days ago and it was still missing but the farmer and his wife had decided it would turn up eventually so that problem was now in the dust.
Nothing, (aside from the sheet), was out of the ordinary on this small holding, nothing strange or wondrous ever happened on the farm and the farmer and his wife liked things to be just as they were…normal. They wanted no association with the old Riddle Manor on the other side of their cozy little town, and being somewhat superstitious, they had built their home as far away from that gaunt place as they could please. Thus they enjoyed the peaceful, simplicity that a dull, normal life could offer on their tiny, undisturbed, little farm.
If the farmer had known at all that the lightshow at the Cemetery seven nights ago had anything to do with the missing sheet and very possibly the haystack in the stables as well. He would have probably grabbed his family and run as far away from the farm as his feet could carry him. As it was the Farmer, like all humans, had the innate ability to overlook the more obvious problems. So it was no surprise to anyone that when the farmer had done his routine check of the grounds he overlooked the unusually bulging haystack in the corner of the stable house. If he had checked the hay stack he might have found the missing sheet wrapped around a frail and very dirty looking boy not yet fifteen buried within the hay and sleeping fretfully.
Thankfully, the Farmer had not even the slightest clue that this child was anywhere near his farm and thus continued to allow the frail boy to rest buried in the hay in the corner of the stables.
So, the strange young man slept deeply, his unruly black hair now matted with hey and his unusually bright green eyes closed tight in peaceful unconsciousness. The boy had been running and hiding for the past seven days. He had had very little sleep in that time and had resorted to stealing food off of windowsills and out of animal troughs. Such was the life of the hunted.
His arm throbbed and a long cut could be seen stretching from his wrist, down his inner fore arm to his elbow. The cut was pussy and inflamed, the boy feared it was badly infected and had only just washed it yesterday night using the hose on the side of the stable. The missing sheet had been his doing and part of said fabric was wrapped tightly around the constantly bleeding cut. It was the cut that was slowing him down. The loss of blood was quickly becoming apparent to the young man and he had buried himself in the hay in order to try to rest and hopefully heal enough so he could continue running, but that had been nearly two days ago, and the boy was sure he was all ready sporting a fever.
Slowly his magnificent green eyes opened as hunger clenched at his empty stomach and the hay stack moved as the boy pushed himself painfully to his knees. His muscles screamed in protest and his bones cracked as he moved them, but the young teen pushed himself up with determination. He winced as he put weight on his bandaged right arm and remembered faintly the "rat" who had given it to him. He growled as his vision swam from the loss of blood and slowly sat back on his haunches, the hay falling off of him as he sat upright. He held up his injured arm and frowned when he noticed his makeshift bandage would have to be replaced.
The young man grabbed the sheet he had stolen and ripped another long piece off of its slowly diminishing form and set the clean fabric aside as he unwound the bloodied fabric from around his arm. He inspected the wound and decided it looked no worse then the last time he had inspected it. So he stood shakily and stumbled over to a bucket that the farmer had just filled with fresh water for one of the horses and shoved his arm into the cool liquid wincing as he did so. After holding his arm in the water for several numbing minutes he pulled it out and stumbled back to the hay where a strip of fresh sheet was waiting to be tied tightly around his arm again.
After re-wrapping his arm the boy looked around the stable that he had slept in for the past two days, his eyes lighting up as he glimpsed the fresh food in the pig's pen not too far from him. The young man stumbled to the pen digging his hands in the mushy substance that made up the pig's food and shoved the slush ravenously into his mouth. It wasn't the most amazing meal ever created but the boy was happy to have something to eat. Going nearly a week without any real sustaining amounts of food had taught the kid to take what little he could wherever he could get it.
After eating his fill he sat back satisfied that his stomach had consumed a relatively decent amount of food. He shuffled back to the hay stack and plopped down upon its scratchy surface thinking. His unruly hair fell from his face to reveal a most unusual scar situated in the middle of his forehead. The scar was in the shape of a bolt of lightning and the damned throbbing thing was responsible for shaping his life.
If it weren't for that scar…he thought that then perhaps, his parents would be alive and all of the things he had faced thus far in his youthful life would not have happened the way they had. Perhaps, if he had not ever received the scar then he would have grown up a normal…magical…life…
He shook his head violently shoving the "what-if"s and "what-would-have-been"s to the far reaches of his mind. Such thinking had never gotten him anywhere before and the young man with the unusual, life-shattering scar refused to dwell on such useless, depressing thoughts. He was in a bad enough situation as it was. He didn't need to allow his despair to pull him down if he ever wanted to survive long enough to see his friends again. If he wanted to see if Cedric had survived the portkey transfer…The boy mused that he wasn't even sure if the Avada Kedavra curse had actually hit Cedric before he was spirited away by the portkey.
It had been a quick, spare of the moment action that had led the young man to shove the trophy into his fellow schoolmate's hand the minute he had seen his parents traitor, Peter Pettigrew, standing in that god-forsaken cemetery. The portkey the boy had shoved into his companion's hands had activated at the same time as the sickly green curse was fired. Thus the green-eyed boy had absolutely no idea whether or not his former companion had actually survived.
Still, the horrors he had faced since then had not allowed him to dwell on that moment due to the fact that he had constantly been running and fighting for his own survival. This stable had been the first place in a week that had allowed the boy to relax and think about the tournament and all that had occurred afterward. This town, he had found, was crawling with the enemy. Everywhere he had hidden, everywhere he had gone had brought him right back into the villainous clutches of the cloaked men and women that called themselves "Death Eaters". They were the servants of the newly risen Dark lord known to the world as Lord Voldemort and the young man fleeing from their clutches? Harry Potter, the bane, and unwilling helper to the dark lord's existence.
The very cut on his arm was proof of the Dark lord's second rise into life: "The blood of the enemy unwillingly given". Harry's green eyes scrutinized the bandage and once again resisted the urge to simply cut off his arm in pure disgust at what the cut now represented to him. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back ignoring the dull throb coming form his arm and from the strange scar on his forehead. One more day of rest, Harry mentally decided, and then he resolved to try to find out where he was and how he was going to get back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in one piece.
He allowed himself to doze off silently his body shutting down as a deeper sleep began to take hold.
In what felt like minutes the condemned child awoke. He dimly wondered what time it was, but knowing he had no working watch with him simply decided that it was still dark out judging by the lack of light in the stables and the even breathing of the animals. Harry carefully looked around at the dry wooden beams that made up the walls and ceilings. Nothing was out of place, no dust molecules were seen swirling around in the stagnant air. Everything was quiet, and Harry, feeling a sense of deja'vu, even went so far as to risk being cliché and say that the stable he had hidden himself in was too still and too quiet.
Harry slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows, the crunch of straw beneath him sounding too loud in the sudden silence of the room. If everything was so quiet then what was it that had woken him? Harry reached down to his side, his fingers slipping into his baggy pants to finger the dark, thin stick that he had lashed to his thigh four nights ago. It was his only weapon, and his lifeline. The small dark stick was the only reason he had survived his encounter with Voldemort seven nights ago and Harry carefully pulled the object out to hold it in front of him offensively as he shakily stood. The boy winced as his vision swam from loss of blood and cursed such weakness silently. He carefully walked toward the large sliding door of the barn and pressed his ear against it, straining his senses for some hint as to what may lay outside his small haven.
"Bugger the stupid blighter." A harsh voice whispered dimly outside, "Are you sure our Lord is correct about where the brat might be?" Harry could hear the muffled swishing footsteps of the speaker as he/she cautiously approached the barn.
"Yes," a cold elegant voice intoned causing the hair on Harry's neck to stand on end, he knew that voice, "The Dark Lord and the child are linked you fool, he knows what is in the boy's mind and has interpreted his whereabouts to this…" Harry heard a sneer in the simpering voice as he silently made his way to the back of the barn to open the small wooden door that would lead to his escape, "Holding…" The voice trailed off as the footsteps stopped in front of the barn door just as Harry opened the back door with a faint creek.
Harry winced knowing the two death eaters had noticed the sound. The boy flung open the door and fled.
A curse sounded behind him and a spell that Harry had grown very accustomed to within the past week shot out of the silky voiced man lighting up the dark night with a stomach-clenching green glow. Harry didn't need to look back to know that the large image of a green skull with a writhing snake clenched between its teeth was hovering above him in the stars. He had seen the Dark mark twice before this night and had already sketched the image to memory. It was because of the multitude of abrupt popping noises that Harry's feet began moving faster through the high grass. The popping noises meant that other Death Eaters had apperated to the sign of their master's mark.
Harry instinctually dodged to the side as he felt the tingling heat of a violet curse slam into the ground beside him. He didn't pause to rest as he stumbled back to his feet hoping to make it to the distant tree line in front of him. He dodged another curse that was a sort of ill-colored yellow Harry was glad hadn't hit him and got caught by a tripping curse, of all things, for his trouble.
Harry cursed as he fell throwing his hands out in front of him to brace his fall. He landed jarringly on his left hand and cried out as the injured arm buckled under his weight. He tucked in his knees hoping to cushion the injury and heard a resounding snap as his knee landed on something smooth and thin.
Time seemed to still as realization hit him. Not only was he falling with Death Eaters closing in around him, but he had snapped his wand. That sound amongst the chaos of screaming curses and pounding feet echoed in his ear for what felt like an eternity. That wand had been his last line of defense, his last hope of finding a way to make it out of this hellish town alive. Hearing it snap was like hearing his life snap apart before he was even dead.
Time sped back to its original course as a searing pain erupted against his back. Harry arched backward his head flinging back to scream out in surprise at the white heat against his spine. Another ripping pain opened up on his lower back causing Harry to fall forward onto his hands and knees, another scream fighting its way out of his mouth.
The Death Eaters paused forming a dangerous ring around the adolescent relishing in the two deep slashes that had opened the skin on his back smearing his dirty blue t-shirt with dark cherry. The sight of his blood seemed to arouse them, their snickering laughter fueling an anger inside of Harry that he had felt only once before.
Harry reached down and clutched his broken wand, the feathery golden core poking out of the top of the lower half. His fist tightened around the familiar glossy wood and a small flame seemed to light the tip in response to his anger and pain. He shakily stood his eyes hooded under his unruly locks. The Death Eaters Laughed louder knowing the boy's effort was fruitless.
The laughter quickly turned to outrage as Harry pointed his broken wand at one of their own without looking at him and the masked man burst into flame. Harry began to move. His broken wand pointing at Death Eater's at random and each one he wordlessly pointed to became engulfed in a torrent of flame.
The grass filled field became a brilliant world of light and confusion as Death Eater's left and right ran around screaming as they burned. Harry, the boy with the cursed destiny, had lost himself to his pain and fear. His anger pulsed in his green eyes and fueled the unnatural fire that erupted soundlessly from his wand.
A scarlet spell ripped into his shoulder and a deep gash opened up immobilizing that arm so Harry switched the wand to his other hand and pointed in the general direction of the curse sender. He was rewarded with a scream.
Harry had no delusions about how powerful he was. He was only fourteen years old; he hadn't even taken his O.W.L.'s yet and didn't know half of the spells or dueling techniques that the monsters around him knew. Yet he fired off each powerful curse, (not knowing how he was doing it), with a practiced accuracy. All Harry was aware of was the need to survive, and the need to get out of the clearing. So he was cutting a path through his enemies allowing the wand to do the work for him. The phoenix feather core was burning in its casing giving the wand a powerful golden tip. The core was what was responsible for each towering pillar of fire.
Harry's burning rampage continued amidst more slicing and cutting hexes digging into his flesh. The Death Eaters were no longer running from the child but closing in on him determined to cut the boy down. A slice across the chest caused him to pause, a cut across the knees made him stumble…Yet Harry pushed on, determined to get away and survive.
It was a slicing hex to the head that finally stopped him. The curse cut across his right cheek stretching from his ear to curve up through his eye and onto his forehead. Harry screamed and fell clutching at his decimated right eye the blood spilling down his face. The broken half of his wand fell to the grass in front of him as the Death Eaters barraged his body with slice after slice in retaliation of their fallen comrades. Harry was soon on the ground appearing as though hundreds of knives had ripped at his small person. His body was covered in horrendous cuts and it was all Harry could do just to breathe.
The barrage stopped only to make room for rough hands to grab Harry's bloodied arms and force him up onto his knees. One Masked figure gracefully approached the young man and leaned down in front of him to pick up the discarded half of Harry's wand. The core still burned as the masked Death Eater picked the broken stick up with delicate pale fingers and examined the piece of wood with feigned interest.
"My, my, Mr. Potter." The silky voice from earlier drawled, "It seems you have gone and broken your wand…" No one laughed as Lucious Malfoy paused to regard the broken teen before him, "A pity. It was such a…nice little piece of wood." He sneered, "I wonder…" He looked at the golden feather that poked out of the wood as though trying to unravel a secret before he pulled the broken wand back and brought it forward unexpectedly, plunging the sharp object into Harry's side.
A searing pain unlike anything Harry had thus far experienced started from inside of him and spread up through his veins to the surface of his skin. He writhed and screamed against his captors' hold and the wood protruding from his side exploded sending burning slivers of wood out in every direction. His Captors let go of him and stepped back in a surprise that quickly turned to fascination as fire began to lick along Harry's bloodied flesh. Harry's scream never ended and a plume of heat clawed its way up his throat searing his vocal cords as it erupted out of his mouth in a pillar of golden fire.
Harry's undamaged left eye stared up at the dark mark unseeing as heat built up in his body just waiting to be released. A wave of burning air pulsed from the boy and incinerated his earlier captors on contact knocking down the rest of the Death Eater's who were yet to be dead. A second pulse ripped from Harry's trembling frame and lit the surrounding grass a-flame.
The remaining Death Eater's didn't wait for the third and final pulse; they quickly apperated out of the area sensing that if they stayed they would surely die.
It is fortunate the last Death Eaters apperated away when they had for the last and final pulse erupted in a cloud of flame that decimated the stables, the farm house, it's Muggle occupants, and half of the field.
As for Harry Potter, the bane of The Dark Lord and prodigy Boy-Who-Lived…He collapsed in the middle of the smoldering rubble with his clothes incinerated from his body, his wounds cauterized, and his mind blissfully unconscious.
News reports would later say that the mysterious explosion in Little Hangleton had been the result of a freak mixing of two volatile fertilizers. No news of who caused the accident; how ever, would never be revealed. For by the time the authorities had finally made it to the vacant site of the small farmstead no trace of the young Harry Potter would ever be found.
Three months after the mysterious explosion in the small town of Little Hangleton had a young woman with bushy brown hair uneasily crossing off a day on her calendar in the small moderate suburban home of her parents. Her pink lips twitched down in a frustrated frown as she gazed at the red marked date and held back the urge to simply break down in despair.
Over three months ago, the young woman approaching the tender age of fifteen had lost her best friend at a historic tournament at her school. He had been on the verge of winning the renowned "Tri-Wizard Tournament" when he and his schoolmate, Cedric Diggory had vanished. Not even ten seconds later, Cedric Diggory had re-appeared on the field, his dead, cold hands clutching the crystal handles of the "Tri-Wizard Cup".
It was that moment she'd realized the cup had been converted to a portkey and that her dear friend Harry Potter was not with the corpse on the shocked-to-silence field. Chaos had soon erupted on the stands, teachers, students, ministry officials, and parents alike flowing down onto the field to confirm the obvious. Yet she, Hermione Granger, the school bookworm and cleverest witch of her age…had stood on the stands refusing to look the obvious in the face; refusing to accept that her best friend was either dead or in very real danger of becoming deceased that very moment.
The rest of the day had been a blur for the young witch, Dumbledore, the school Headmaster, had confirmed that the cup had indeed been converted into a portkey, but where the portkey had taken the late Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter was anyone's guess. Not soon after that the defense professor, Alastor Moody, disappeared in such a hurry that he left all of his effects in his office. After a thorough search of his office the ministry found a frail, malnourished Alastor Moody locked up at the bottom of his own trunk and realized that the man who had been teaching the students for the past year had been an imposter. A search of the surrounding country and an unfinished warrant for the unknown imposter was released while a nation-wide search began to try to find the missing Tri-Wizard fourth champion.
After three weeks with no sign of Hermione's friend the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and their guests were sent home early after finishing their exams. Hermione spent a week with her other best friend Ronald Weasley and his large family in hope that news of Harry's re-appearance would reach her faster. Unfortunately any news about Harry's disappearance that was brought to the Weasley household was not good news and at the end of that first week the ministry had had to deal with a huge burst of magical energy somewhere in a small town in the Eastern British country side. When they went to investigate they found a completely destroyed ground with the dark mark hovering over the middle of the field and the broken tip of a wand that Mr. Olivander later confirmed to have belonged to Harry Potter.
The Ministry believed Harry to be dead. The newspapers printed the news of his death that next day, and Hermione and Ron refused to believe the ministry's claim. Harry had been through worse and survived, so they decided that he couldn't possibly be dead.
Hermione had left for home that very night and for three months after that had been researching every form of magic she could think of that could possibly help her find her lost friend. Thus she was now marking off the days until the potion she had found for just that purpose would be finished. It was an advanced brew and delved even into the ancient forms of blood magic which made it a bordering "dark magic"…but she didn't care. Hermione knew her friend was alive, she could feel that he was out there. She felt that he was alive somewhere and in terrible torment.
The search for Harry Potter may have ended for the ministry but it was not over for the young Hermione Granger.
She sighed and leaned her forehead against the wall next to the calendar, her palm resting on the numbered days and her eyes closed in emotional exhaustion. She wanted to find Harry so badly; she needed to know he was safe and well. She couldn't sleep at night knowing he was somewhere out there…she had difficulty thinking about how quickly the ministry had been willing to give up and claim his death. Ron warned her to try to sleep, though he admitted to having the same feelings as her. She just couldn't understand how he could sit back and wait for the miracle they both knew would not occur, while she ran around searching for ways to find Harry.
Yet, the feeling that he was alive and well was quickly fading. Each day that passed made her believe less and less that Harry was alive. It hurt to admit it to herself, but the knowledge that the boy had been missing for three months was a burden she had to accept. Even without the threat of a life in confinement under Merlin knew what conditions there was the frightening fact that he was somewhere out there alone. How would he survive on the streets or even in the country side for three months without money or food? The situation was beyond hopeless. Hermione knew this and yet…that voice in the back of her mind told her not to give up, not to stop looking. The voice told her he was out there and that all she'd have to do was step out and look.
Hermione pushed herself off the walls and walked to her desk to look over her notes again pausing on instinct to look outside her second story window at the quiet street that she'd grown up on. The street lights were lit, the moon was full and none of the house lights were on in the other homes across the street. The street was really quiet, but then she lived in a purely Muggle neighborhood. There would be no bangs from misguided spells as children got a hold of their parent's wands, and there would be no swoosh of flying broomsticks or popping noises of apperation.
Her neighborhood was as normal as the word could possibly get and it was the home she'd grown up in. She knew every nook and cranny of the street. Every crack in the paint of each house had been engraved into her mind since childhood. Every tree and weed that grew in the front yard of each consecutive house was a favorite painting to her mind and her memory noted each with a sense of deep comfort. She knew without a doubt the place of each trash can and each cobble of stone so it was no surprise that something looked off about her neighborhood on this dark, quiet, night.
Hermione narrowed her eyes confused scanning the street with careful care looking for that something that was off from her memory of the street and its current image. There, on the ground floor next to her house, was the anomaly. She supposed it could just be a stray cat but Hermione knew all of the strays in the neighborhood as she was the one who left food out at night for them to eat. No, she decided, scrutinizing the shadow that seemed to be leaning against the trash can placed on the curb for Sanitation to come pick up, this shadow was not a cat. It was far too large a form to be a cat and it moved hunched over as though in great pain. She watched the shadow as it stumbled and ran into the trash can knocking the metal bin over with a crash.
Hermione didn't even think as she grabbed her wand and ran downstairs ahead of her sleepy father. The book worm carefully opened her front door silently thankful her father had oiled the hinges just last week so that she didn't alert whatever it was that was outside. She held her wand in front of her and walked cautiously toward the huddled form that shivered beside the fallen trash can and dug through the bin with grimy, bony hands.
Hermione whispered a quiet "lumos" that lit up the tip of her wand and shed a soft glow over the dirtied figure. She gasped in shock at the severely deformed boy that flinched from her light as though it burned. The boy was covered in grotesque scars that made his skin look as though large chunks had been shorn off of his bones and then re-grown in the wrong way. His face she could barely make out underneath the awful build up of scar tissue that had formed itself over his right eye and the scarring on the rest of his barely clothed form was just as bad giving all of his limbs a deformed hunched and bent look.
His body was obviously malnourished, his skin seemed stretched over protruding bones and some of the scars she was surprised to see were new, terrible, pussy, wounds. What was more, his grimy wild dark hair seemed to fly around his face like a mane and his single good brilliantly green eye was narrowed at her in a look of extreme distrust. How the boy was alive and crouching before her was a complete mystery to Hermione. He looked as though he should have died long before he had been able to gain such scarring.
Yet…yet…There was something in that single green eye that pulled at her, recognition of sorts that she couldn't place with his deformed features. An urge to try to help him, to communicate welled up in her, and a sense that she was meant to find him thrummed through her being as they stared at each other.
Just as she was about to speak though, the boy spoke before her, his single bright eye having never left her own chocolate irises, "If you're going to try to hex me you might as well get on with it." He snarled.
Hermione's eyes widened, he knew what a wand was, and he expected her to hex him!
"I-I'm not going to hex you." She tried in a calming voice, "My names Hermione Granger and I want to help you."
The boy's eye widened as though shocked and then as quickly as the recognition of her name lit up in his eye it narrowed in sudden distrust. He shot out a hand and Hermione gasped as she felt hot air wrap around her throat and lift her up. She dropped her wand and grasped at her neck and the warm air that was closing itself around it.
"You lie!" The boy growled, "I won't fall for such tricks again Death Eater!" His fingers tightened and Hermione struggled against the invisible hand around her neck.
"Wait!" Hermione croaked gasping, "I am Hermione (gasp) Granger!" She coughed, "Why would," She opened her mouth painfully and pushed the words through her rapidly closing throat, "A Death Eater be in a muggle neighborhood?"
The boy narrowed his eye and dropped her. Hermione fell with a crack to her knees and the boy wasted no time in pushing her roughly to the ground with a speed and strength she hadn't anticipated a hand pressed over her throat. He kicked her wand away into the street cautiously and viciously leaned toward her face.
"If you're Hermione," He growled harshly, "Then prove it."
"How?" Hermione asked desperately wondering where her father was and why he had not come out with her to inspect the disturbance.
"In you're second year at Hogwarts," The boy growled, "What potion did you brew illegally and where did you brew it?"
Hermione gasped suddenly understanding the recognition she had felt when she had looked into his green eye earlier, "Harry?" She asked daring to believe that this unrecognizable creature was her Harry Potter.
"Yes, but you'd know that wouldn't you?" He snarled, "Now answer the bloody question!"
Tears formed in her eyes at his answer but she mustered her courage and spoke to him bravely. Her brown eyes stared unblinkingly into his exhausted green iris hoping that he would recognize her by this single act of defiance. She could feel him shaking as he held her to the concrete sidewalk and she noticed how pale and warm he was. He looked as though he was going to pass out at any minute and she feared he might even die after that.
"I brewed Pollyjuice potion in Moaning Myrtles bathroom so that you, Ron, and I would be able to infiltrate the Slytherin common room and find out who had opened the chamber of secrets." She intoned quietly her eyes never leaving his and her voice as gentle as she could muster it, "You and Ron thought it was Malfoy."
Harry jumped away from her in disbelief and shock at her honestly given answer. She knew that he was aware of the fact that only he, Ron, and she would know the answer to that question.
His breathing was layered with the effort of his actions and he looked at her in barely contained hope, "Merlin," He whispered hoarsely, "It's really you…" Then as though the strain was too much he collapsed to the ground unconscious.
Hermione panicked crawling over to her newly found friend frantically and cradling his unrecognizable head in her hands searching his scarred and dirty neck for a pulse. The boy was burning up with a high fever and some of his strange wounds were pussy and infected. She looked up and down the street frantically before screaming for her parents and trying to lift him enough to pull him inside.
Her father ran outside and took one look at the boy she was supporting before cursing and yelling to his wife. Lights flickered on up and down the street as her father and mother ran out to help her with her burden and it was decided to just put him in the car and get him to the hospital as soon as possible. Somewhere within the chaos of getting Harry into the car and to the hospital with neighbors helping to pull out the car and get him strapped in Hermione was able to retrieve her wand off of the street without raising suspicion.
It was only after The Granger's had checked the boy into the muggle hospital and he was carted off to emergency care, did Hermione owl Ron and Dumbledore telling them that she had found Harry. It was scant seconds later that the headmaster and his medi-witch Madam Pomfrey appeared in the hospital waiting room with two other wizard healers demanding to help treat the young boy. Only minutes after a heated argument with the Muggle doctors, which was won by the wizards, did a large group of red-heads tumble over to Hermione and her parents asking a multitude of questions that Hermione tried to answer with minimal confusion. Then after a blessedly long hour Hermione found herself scrunched between both of her families, (one by blood and the other by friendship), leaning her head on Ron's shoulder and crying in exhaustion and uncontained worry.
Right, so It's eddited/replaced. As always Constructive criticism is welcome. If you don't have anything helpful to say and you're just looking to insult someone please don't do it here I will report you. Thank you that is all.