In Perpetuum

Chapter 39

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.