Chapter 39: Ex amicis auxilio parvulo
Hermione staggered under the weight of her Headmaster. She knew that the potion would somehow incapacitate Dumbledore, perhaps even kill him. She hoped that he would hold out just a little longer. Just until she could get him to Aberforth.
For the life of her, she did not know why he wanted to go to Aberforth. What on Earth could he be able to do that could help the situation?
Hermione thought that it would have been better to go and find Professor McGonagall or at the very least Professor Slughorn. He might be able to create some kind of antidote.
Dumbledore and Hermione trudged along the main street of Hogsmeade, inching their way across the path in the dark. There had been sightings of Dementors in the village in recent weeks and Hermione desperately hoped that they would not come across one. She really did not need the attention and the trouble.
Finally, they got to the end of the road. Hermione stood in front of the heavy oak door that she knew to be the back door of the Hogs Head, and knocked upon it with the tarnished brass knocker.
An elderly man with a scraggly beard speared within an instant. Apparently he had been expecting them.
Aberforth quickly shut the door behind them after he had peered around it suspiciously. He ushered them into a small room, off to the side, which turned out to be a bedroom. In her haze of exhaustion and shock, Hermione noted that there were several dusty bottles of various assortments on a table at one end of the room. The other end housed a narrow bed, complete with bedside table.
It was on this bed that Hermione set Dumbledore on. Aberforth bustled into the room behind them, and immediately set to working with the bottles.
Hermione did not know that she had been staring vacantly into space, her mind blank, until Aberforth had thrust a tankard of strong-smelling liquid into her hands. This was followed by a bunch of grimy-looking rags.
“Drink it,” he said gruffly, “It’ll do yer good. The cloth is for your wound.”
Hermione pressed the cloth to her forearm, temporarily stemming the flow while she meekly took a sip from the tankard. She choked slightly and let out a small cough as the liquid burned her throat. She recognised the drink to be Firewhisky. It was usually banned from underage wizards, however, Hermione had the impression that Aberforth Dumbledore knew more than what he was letting on. He was, after all, Albus Dumbledore’s brother.
He took the other tankard that he had been carrying and helped Dumbledore up from his slumped position, so that he would be able to drink whatever was in the tankard. As Aberforth moved across the dimly-lit room, Hermione noticed an orange-tinged vapour following him. She supposed this was some kind of antidote, or at the very least something to buy them more time.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered how Aberforth had known what to brew, but she was very tired. She felt Aberforth pull her up roughly, by the shoulder.
“You can use my Floo to get yourself back home. Wouldn’t want your mother to be worrying about you, now?”
“What about Professor Dumbledore?” she asked, feeling drowsier by the minute.
“I’ve got it all sorted, you just worry about yourself.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Hermione as she stepped into the emerald green flames that were already in the fireplace, “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
It was several days before Dumbledore was well enough to be able to sit up properly in bed, and maintain his own posture.
In the days following this improvement, Dumbledore continued to reside with his brother, as he maintained his slightly less than good health.
It was during one of these days that Hermione had been well-enough herself, to come and visit. It was also the first time that Ma had allowed her to get out of bed for long enough to be able to do so.
Despite having sent an owl to announce her visit, when she Flooed over, she found the brothers deep in conversation when she arrived.
“So, have you sent out the messages,” said Dumbledore in hushed tones.
“I’ve done my best,” replied Aberforth in an equally quiet voice. “I’ve managed to convince Molly and Arthur, Molly’s brothers, Gideon and Fabien. Old Figgy said that she would do her best with whatever she is able to do, given her position.”
“Good,” replied Dumbledore, “Is there anyone else?”
“Alastor almost hexed the bollocks off me, but once he calmed down, he was somewhat partial to the idea. ‘Safety in numbers’ is what I think he said. I still haven’t forgiven that mangy Dung Fletcher, so don’t be expecting me to be askin’ him.”
Dumbledore chuckled weakly.
“But surely, whatever he did wasn’t that bad?”
“I ain’t saying nothin’ and he ain’t getting another foot back into my pub!”
Dumbledore let that matter rest, but he continued to speak.
“I have managed to convince some of the staff to join. Minerva and Filius, for example. Hagrid, of course, was more than eager,” chuckled Dumbledore.
Aberforth grunted at this. “We’ll be needing all the help we can get now that you-know-who is getting stronger-”.
At this he broke off the sentence. He had seen that Hermione was standing awkwardly at the door, unsure of whether or not she should interrupt the conversation.
“Ab, I’d like to introduce Miss Hermione Potter; Miss Potter, this is my brother, Aberforth.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr Dumbledore. Thank you for all your help the other night; it was really appreciated.”
“S’nothing,” grunted Aberforth as he left the room, leaving the headmaster with his pupil.
There was a tense silence, for a minute, as Hermione tried to work out what it was that she wanted to say.
“You are looking much better, professor,” she said in a small voice.
“For that I am truly gracious,” replied Dumbledore.
“However, I am even more gracious that you, Hermione, had the courage to keep going and to keep me drinking that potion.”
“Sir!” said Hermione completely flabbergasted, “How can you say that?! That potion could have killed you!”
“Perhaps,” said Dumbledore with an air of complacency, “but even if I had been, in Voldemort’s opinion, disposed of, I know that I would be able to count on you. If I had been killed because I drunk that potion, I would be the only one to suffer. Had I not drunk the potion, many others would perish.”
Hermione flushed with embarrassment.
“I...err...suppose,” stuttered Hermione.
“I have complete and absolute faith in you, Hermione.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Hermione, very humbly.
“Now, speaking of Voldemort,” said Dumbledore, briskly changing the topic of conversation, “That was the last horcrux to be destroyed. Correct?”
“I’m pretty positive,” replied Hermione.
She ran through a list, aloud, so that she and Dumbledore could double check.
“The Harry and Nagini horcruxs are not yet created, so we don’t have to worry about them. Marvolo Gaunt’s ring, check; Ravenclaw’s diadem, check; Hufflepuff’s cup, check; Slytherin’s locket, check; Ridd-”
She stopped.
“What was that?” said Dumbledore sharply, bringing Hermione out from her reverie.
Hermione swallowed with great difficulty.
“Riddle’s dairy,” she said, just a fraction louder as she felt all the hope drain from her, “we forgot about Riddle’s diary.”
A plethora of emotions ran through Hermione as she contemplated the consequences of this oversight.
Hermione had miraculously been able to avoid any members of the Malfoy family. They were, very fortunately, older than Hermione’s present age, and they had already graduated from Hogwarts. Now she would have to retrieve and relive the memories by going near that place again.
Hermione had no doubt that the diary, at this very moment, was somewhere in Malfoy Manor. She just had to figure out where it was, and how to get it.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
Despite Dumbledore’s near death experience, he made a reasonably speedy recovery. In fact, his recovery was so fast that he was able to procure and destroy Tom Riddle’s diary within weeks of Hermione’s realisation that it had not been accounted for.
During that week’s meeting, Hermione baulked at the simplicity of it all. It seemed too fast and too easy to be plausible.
“But how?” was all that Hermione was capable of responding with.
Dumbledore had replied that Lucius had needed only a little persuading to give it up.
Hermione noticed that Dumbledore flexed his wand arm as he said that. Hermione did not ask any further questions. She simply didn’t want to know what spells Dumbledore had used to swipe the horcrux right out from Dumbledore’s nose. [A/N: lol. It’s a figure of speech]
“So now,” said Dumbledore, we can rest assured that Lord Voldemort is mortal once more.”