Darkest Hour

Chapter 5: Complications

A/N: Welcome back one and all to the fifth installment of Darkest Hour! Wow... I have waited one too many months to do that again-oh well, I'm back again and hopefully to stay, as long as my muses and life don't run away with me again...

Yes, yes life does have a way of kidnapping a writer. Please don't murder me... I am a little bit soul-less now as a ginger (the wonders of hair dye); but I can assure that my lovely friends and writing community are now determined that I provide to their fanfiction needs. I'm currently trying to figure out a way that I can still work on both my fanfictions and my novel and not lean too heavily on one or the other. Summer is going to be chaos, of that I am already sure.

Well in any case, I better put some things straight for anyone that is confused so far with the story:

Cedric is not dead: Yes, you read that right folks, Cedric did not die in this story. When Harry made it back to the portkey in the graveyard he was flung into the world of Alegasia, meanwhile the twist of Fate (and some very ancient ancient magic) breathed new life into Cedric, giving an innocent a second chance.

On the subject of Eragon and Murtagh getting stunned: They were ganged up on, plain and simple. As powerful as the two are together, they are inexperienced to the different spells being cast their way.

One the subject of characters coming off as out of character: I'm taking a few liberties on the effects of Voldemort's reign and general anxiety with some of the characters, bear with me. On the subject of Harry's personality, his time with Murtagh and Eragon toughened him up. He is not strong and independent compared to book/movie Harry (which-ever you prefer to take into perspective). The Silvertongue nickname seemed perfect to me because of book-Harry's sass, and also the parts of his character that are a bit Slytherin, I pulled some more of his Slytherin side out and mingled it with his Gryffindor side, Ta-da!

Any-who, that should explain everything up to this point! I hope you enjoy chapter 5: Complications

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It could not get any stranger than this. Her living room had been taken over by three inert figures after the giant flare of light that had crashed into their forest from the sky; and so far, no one knew what to do with them. For the time being, She watched the other two from the corner of her eye as she set a wet towel over the dark-haired male's head-the one Cedric called Silvertongue. The former Hufflepuff had taken to the task of removing the swords from the other two males and placing them out of sight in the kitchen, beside the sword he had retrieved from the ill male had found in the woods; after the accounts from both Susan and the patrol, she nor he were ready to tread lightly around their unconcious new captives.

"You said you found him... with a dragon?" It was hardly the first time she had asked the older male, but she still could make her mind believe her ears. "Honestly, how in Merlin's name is he not torn to shreds right now?" Other than some range of bruising and minor scars that she had taken time to heal, her new patient was-physically-in one piece. His health was a different matter entirely; when Cedric and the twins had arrived the man was coated in sweat and his breathing was labored. Now, he was burning up. She simply could not understand what was going on with him and none of her spells were managing to make any improvement in his condition. What was going on here?

"I told you, Hermione. I found him with the dragon-the beast was curled around him like he was its babe when he finally passed out," Cedric explained from his place by their other two captives, both mens' hands bound behind their backs and strapped to the chairs they had been seated in for good measure. "It gave me a bloody death glare when I attempted to use that diagnostic spell you taught us; it wouldn't even let me near the guy until Fred and George showed up." Hermione sighed as she massaged her temples, leaning back to take a break from her challenging patient. Never before had she come upon a case so confusing-so complicated-she just wished she had had more time with Madam Pompfrey before the killing curse took her life. The loss of her teacher had thrust the apprentice she had left behind into the duties of keeping the last free wizards and witches of Europe safe.

Her patient-and their third captive-shocked her. Compared to the other two he looked relatively young, only now breaking away from his teenage years; but his facial features were angled, defined cheekbones and heavy black eyelashes. She almost wished those eyes would open for her now. Were they brown, or blue? Did his appear childish as she had first percieved, or was the door to his soul locked, and the key thrown away long ago? The sight of his dark-hair had even made her jump at first, as the old hope ignited in her heart again; instead of a lightning scar beneath his bangs there was nothing more than smooth skin, but to her surprise his ears tapered to a point, angled and defined like his facial structure. Absently she had reached out to touch his ear, and with her other hand she touched her own; how different they were, his pointed ears while her own remained round and boring. He was beautiful, she had decided, when she had checked him for other scars or bruising that she intended to heal-at least it would give her a job to do, when his illness seemed beyond her capabilities. His body was lean, but his muscles threw out the idea of the male becoming lanky in stature. While she had imagined that learning to wield a sword would come with injury consequences, his skin was flawless of scars or defects once she cleaned the remaining blood from his body. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him, so many things about him that made him so very queer and unusual-what exactly made him tick? Why wouldn't her healing magic help his fever when she could clear away his minor injuries with basic spells she had learned years ago?

"Hermione?" She blinked, looking up from her patient to find Cedric's hand waving before her face. "Earth to Hermione, anyone in that head of yours?"

"I was just thinking about his fever, it's a bit unnatural, don't you think?" Would he ever wake up? She watched as he stirred, his beautiful face distorting in what she imagined was agony. "I don't know what to do."

"None of us know what to do," the Hufflepuff took a seat beside her, his eyes watching Silvertongue from where he lay prone, stretched out to the length of her couch as she tried to comfort him by rubbing circles into his back as he coughed. "All we can do is wait for the others to come to a decision."

Once again the rebels would decide what to do in this situation in a conference at the town hall; a tactic that had managed to keep the most of them alive and well through the war-and Voldemort's reign of terror.

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"I don't trust 'em," Ronald Weasley declared, leaning back in his chair; his statement breaching the silence that had followed the retold accounts of those who had encountered the strangers and their dragon companions.

"Ron, we have been over this; there is no sign of the dark mark on any of the three-nor do they carry any wands that we know of. " Susan retorted, "If you ask my opinion, this all seems a little bigger than a raid from You-Know-Who." Several heads nodded from around the room.

"They could be spies Susan!" Once again the topic had turned back to where they had started, and she rolled her eyes at the ginger's claims.

"They looked rather lost to me," Ron's sister spoke up, adding her voice to the debate. "Didn't you see the way they looked at us? It was like we were the enemy. They seemed scared of us." Ginny's words echoed Susan's thoughts almost perfectly.

"Yes, and that perfectly explains why they came at us with swords, Ginny!" Ron seemed determined to keep up the argument, Susan decided. "And that magic... can any of you think of what that gibberish was they were shouting? It ain't any spells I know, I can tell you that." This debate would go one forever without anyone able to take the lead, she thought with a frown. If Cedric was here maybe Ron would listen, but he had volunteered to help guard the subject of their conference while Hermione tended to their wounds.

"Without any dark mark to distinguish them, we can not say they are death eaters without questioning them," an older man interrupted the flying hypotheses on what language the two strangers had used to cast their spells. "Under the effects of veritaserum we will be able to figure out just how our guests managed to get through the wards."'

"Then what are we waiting for? They should be stirring any moment now!" Ron bristled, cracking his knuckles as the conference dissolved to acquire the truth serum and create space in the town hall to question the captives.

Back in Hermione's home she watched the twins lead her two captives away, at Ronald's demand to question her patient she refused. "He's ill Ron, you have the other two to question as you please. You will not take my patient when he is burning up in a fever!"

"Why do you always have to be so bloody stubborn?" He was in a bad mood again, she knew it the minute he had walked in. Cedric had left with the others, so Hermione repositioned herself to shield the male behind her.

"A life is a life Ronald Weasley, even in war that remains the same." She whispered, realizing as her voice had raised that the strange male had shifted again. "Maybe for one you will pull your head out of your arse and listen to me." War did funny things to people-changing one's whole life around until no one was quite the same. She hated the way this had turned out. She wished she could go back to things were before, in that very first year when things were concrete and simple and the world was still the same.

"This is why we never worked out," he muttered, scowling as he turned his back on her. "We aren't in a war anymore; this is survival."

"You wouldn't be talking that way if Harry was here," she did not know why she said it, why she dared bring up the subject again that only made the both of them on edge. They avoided talking about their friend after fifth year. After Voldemort began to take over, people stopped asking where their savior was. People started dying, and hope was lost.

"Harry is dead, Hermione. Take your head out of the clouds and look around you: this is Hell." Do not cry; do not let the tears fall down your face. She did not bother to watch him leave, she could hear his footsteps and the slam of the door and she knew that their conversation was over. Even with the years after their break-up, Hermione could not stop the sorrow from taking over again; the deep, throbbing pain in her heart when she remembered how things had been-the way things should be now. A tear dropped unto the unconscious boy's face and he flinched.

"Oh goodness," she wiped away the tears, fretting over her charge once again, and for the first time the heavy lashes parted to reveal emerald eyes that peered up at her, unfocused at first and then confused before his facial expression took on a look of panic as he attempted to get up from his position. "No, no, don't get up, you're not well!" Too late, he lurched, and she dived forward to keep him from falling onto the ground head first as she made him lay down his head once more on the pillows she had provided for him; for the longest time both she and the man remained still, not a word more passing from either of their lips.

His eyes, never would she be able to forget his eyes; no number of years could erase the way they glinted under the light from her mind. She reached out, touching his cheek slowly, gently as if she may scare him off like a newborn fawn. This could not be real-it had to be a dream... And yet, here he was, different... here he was before her.

It was as if, if she said his name, he would disappear in a cloud of smoke. This man that Cedric introduced as Silvertongue-it was as if he were frozen in time, as if he were only still a boy the age of sixteen, but that couldn't be possible. He was dead, and she was almost twenty-six. She chcked on a sob, she could not keep getting her hopes up like this-and hugged him.

"Harry?" She whispered, needing him to be there, needing her friend back in her life-even if he was twelve years late.

"Hey Hermione," he croaked.