Hermione swallowed her guilt while performing all her pantomimed protection and sterilisation charms on herself.
Ginny had a bump that was beginning to require precautionary glamours, if only to fool Dobby, who Harry regularly spoke with.
The baby was a boy. Ginny already referred to him as James.
“She's the same, Harry. I'm sorry.”
His expression fell. He gave a listless nod and started turning to go.
He was deathly pale, and the eye that wasn't purple and yellow was sunken.
She reached out to stop him and touched his face lightly. “You're fighting again? When did you last sleep?”
He jerked. “A — a couple days ago. For a few hours.”
She cast a diagnostic charm on him; he had several fractures in his hands and his eye socket, and his torso was covered in bruises.
She took him gently by the arm and led him down the hallway toward the hospital ward. “Is it nightmares again? I can teach you a few more occlumency techniques, it might help. Come on, let me fix you up and get you some Dreamless Sleep.”
Harry gave a short, hysterical laugh. “I wish I had nightmares.”
Hermione paused and looked at him. “What do you mean?”
Harry's face twitched. “It's not nightmares, Hermione. It hasn't been nightmares in years. It's him. When I'm asleep, I'm him. I torture people and kill them, and I feel how he feels when he does it. I don't even have to be asleep for it to happen, it's just worse when I am.” Harry was trembling with exhaustion. “Last time I fell asleep, he was trying new curses and then he drank a goblet of unicorn blood, and when I woke up, I could taste it. I haven't — I haven't been able to eat—”
“Harry, you didn't tell me things had gotten so bad. You should have told me.”
He twitched. “What — are we talking again?” His expression was wounded as he stared at her.
Hermione's hand dropped away, and she looked back at him. “Tell me what happens.”
He shook his head, his eyes unfocused. “It's not so bad when I have something to focus on. When I'm on a mission — when I'm with Ron and Gin — when I'm remembering why I'm doing all this, I can keep him out. But — it's like there's a place in my mind that's an open door, and sometimes I step through it when I'm distracted. When I wake up — I don't always know who I'm waking up as.”
Hermione hurriedly pulled out several restorative potions. “Take these. I don't care how awful they taste, you're malnourished.”
Harry gagged two down and then vomited them both up again. Hermione banished the mess and pulled out a stomach settler and handed it to him more gently.
“Try this one. If you haven't eaten in a few days, it can help. Sip it slowly.”
“Hermione—,” he said between sips as she muttered spells and spread bruise paste across his face. “I think there's something wrong with me.”
Hermione's fingers twitched, and she shook her head sharply. “Harry — I really think practicing occlumency could help with this. I can help you with it. I've read several books now, I think I can do it more gently than Severus did; maybe it would go better.”
She cast another more complex diagnostic on him. He was underweight. He was chronically sleep deprived. He was worryingly frail. He was vibrating with magic in a way that he had for as long as she had known him. His magical signature was blurry and indistinct. It was the way Harry was; how he'd always been, Pomfrey had told her that when Hermione asked during her early years of training.
Harry pressed his hand against his scar and looked away. “Occlumency doesn't help.”
Hermione gave a frustrated sigh. “I know separating from your emotions can be difficult at first, but I think, if you try, it could—”
“It makes it worse,” Harry said in a hard voice. “Every time I try, it makes it even worse.”
Hermione swallowed and turned away to summon new restorative potions, her jaw tense. She handed the vials over wordlessly. Harry managed to keep them down.
She pulled out a vial of Dreamless Sleep without looking at him. “Well, we can at least agree that undisturbed sleep will help.”
He gave a small nod and downed the potion.
With all the restoratives in his system, it took longer for the potion to take effect. He sat for a minute before his head lolled, and he dropped it against her shoulder.
Hermione hesitated, and then wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him tightly. “I'm sure you'll feel better after you sleep.”
“I miss Gin.”
Her throat caught, and she rested her head on his. “I know. I'm sorry.”
Harry gave a low sob under his breath. “When I was with her, it seemed like everything was easier for a while.”
Her hands trembled. “I'm sorry, Harry.”
She held him while he drifted off. Then she tucked him carefully under a blanket and went to speak with Alastor.
Fleur was in the war room when Hermione reached the doorway.
“I 'ave not 'eard from Gabrielle so often lately. She 'as always sent word on ze wireless so I would not worry. A little joke or phrase so I would know she is alright. But there 'as been almost nothing. You must 'ave some way to contact 'er. She is my baby sister, I am responsible for 'er.”
Moody's mouth twitched, and his eye spun sharply. “Your sister has always worked on her own terms. I'll see what I can do.”
Fleur gave a stiff nod. “Thank you. Bill and I 'ave replaced the wards on all ze safe 'ouses once again, and we are renewing ze wards on ze cave. 'Owever, there are limits to 'ow much more we can do. We are nearly at ze capacity. We need a secondary location or ze magic quantities may compromise security.”
Moody gave a low sigh and nodded, his eye rolling suspiciously downward. He seemed to have aged a decade in the two weeks since Kingsley's death. “I'll have a team start scouting for new locations. We'll need new guards for it. You and Bill will need to train them.”
Fleur nodded again and departed.
Hermione studied Fleur's face as they passed each other. Fleur was a lovely, ethereal figure among an army that was increasingly grey and despairing, but the strain of the war was visible in her eyes. Fleur and Bill mirrored each other in their quiet guilt.
Fleur's parents had been early casualties when the war reached France. Gabrielle had survived by being at school rather than at home, but eventually the war had razed Beauxbatons too. Few members of the French Resistance had survived. Hermione suspected Gabrielle's veela allure had been what spared her. The way Gabrielle had continued to weaponise it seemed like a form of guilt-stricken restitution and revenge.
Gabrielle's methods had grown more vicious and vindictive over time. Flamboyant. Borderline careless. Hermione had started taking calming draught before even heading to the beach in Cornwall.
Hermione wasn't sure how much of Gabrielle's activity Fleur was aware of, but she imagined Fleur knew enough and suspected more about the little sister who was always so eager for her next mission.
Gabrielle's eyes were colder and older than even Draco's.
Hermione stared at Moody in silence for several seconds after Fleur left. He gave a low sigh and started casting privacy charms.
“I'm worried about Harry,” Hermione said when Moody sat back. “He seems like he's at the edge of a precipice. We need to get into Hogwarts.”
“We're trying to. Remus has a team there now.”