The End of All Things

Chapter 12: Correspondence Course

McGonagall left, after confirming the rumor that Hogwarts School would continue through correspondence courses for the coming school year. Hermione, jolted out of Harry's letter momentarily by this news, immediately plagued her former head of house with questions as to how exactly it would work, to the amusement of all assembled.

McGonagall had told her that all students' work would be sent to their Head of House to be graded by the teachers, who would meet at the Ministry daily for the purpose, and then would be sent back, graded, with a progress report included so students could track their grade throughout the year. Relieved, Hermione immediately started in on her first assignments.

It was only after the house had settled down that it occurred to Hermione that she should probably write to Harry. She did so, reminding herself several times that it was not her goal to chew him up and spit him out, but to reassure him that she understood (albeit grudgingly) his motives, and that she expected to at least see him for her birthday (if the Order let him go, that is).

She was torn over how to conclude her letter. His had been concluded, “Yours forever” and while she was sure he had meant that in a platonic sense—at least, she thought, blushing, she was pretty sure it had been meant platonically—it made signing her letter with just her name, or “your friend” seem a little flat in comparison.

She'd also left the salutation out, for the moment. “Dear Harry” didn't accurately convey her feelings toward him, and anything else seemed overly formal. After several minutes' contemplation, she simply put his name as the salutation, and at the end wrote,

I forgive you. Be safe.

Hermione

His reply came early the next morning, via the Floo network, carried by Moody who didn't seem to have time to linger.

After assuring her he'd arrived safely, Harry's letter continued.

Dobby has been drafted by McGonagall to be the resident elf here, along with Kreacher, who is to remain in Dobby's custody, so to speak.

The Order has let me in on their meetings, and I've begun to see why they wanted to protect all of us. Some of their knowledge is…well, let's just say I'm glad I've been forbidden to tell you. Nearly all of it makes me want to vomit, particularly the fates of some of the war's victims.

I'm glad you understand why I came here. If it makes you feel any better, I still feel guilty about it. And will probably continue to feel guilty until the next time I see you, safe and sound. Then I'll be reminded of why I'm doing this, and I'll feel better until I leave again.

I still feel awkward around some members of the Order; I sometimes feel as though they're blaming me for something, though McGonagall assures me that they're all more than willing to help. That at least, is true. They've already begun searching into probable places Voldemort might hide a Horcrux, based on what we know of his life. Hogwarts seems to be the most likely location, so they've been concentrating their search efforts there.

Maybe it's a good thing school hasn't reopened.

Speaking of which, I don't suppose you'd be willing to check over my essays before McGonagall grades them? She actually told me that if I want to take `academic leave' until the war is over she'd swing it for me. I never thought I'd hear her say something like that. I almost took her up on her offer, until I remembered what you'd say…

Anyway, let me know about checking my homework, okay?

The one exception to the blame thing with the Order members is Derek. He's an American wizard, and graduated from Salem Institute some years ago. How he got into the Order is beyond me. He's like a big kid, and says he wants to teach Muggle Studies someday. I'll say this much for him: he's certainly qualified. Most of what he talks about has nothing whatsoever to do with the war, or even magic at all, in fact. (Although that is a bit of a relief.) I can hardly get a sentence out of him that doesn't mention Muggle culture in some way, usually an allusion to music or movies. He does impressions, and always seems to expect me to laugh along with him, even though I don't catch most of them. He's got an interesting sense of humor, though I get the feeling that most of his jokes come from stuff he's read or seen, because they sometimes sound a trifle rehearsed. Anyway, he's interesting, and never stares at my scar, which is also a relief.

He also doesn't seem to do much for the Order, at least not much that I've seen. He's at most of the meetings, and provides insights now and then, but I've never seen him head out with a search group. McGonagall says his work is more `specialized.' Whatever that's supposed to mean. Though now that I think about it, he does claim to be a James Bond fan. Hmm. I wonder…

Anyway, whether or not the Order blames me for this mess, I certainly do. There's always been this nagging voice in my head, ever since Voldemort returned, that says if I'd just up and died when Voldemort A.K.'ed me all those years ago, things would be so much better. Dumbledore or someone else would have defeated him, I'm sure.

Anyway, time to stop guilt-tripping. McGonagall's yelling at me to get downstairs for the meeting. Apparently they've found a possible clue to a Horcrux location.

Yours in utter harassment, Harry

It didn't take much effort on Hermione's part to read between the lines, and realize that Harry, in his own way, was asking for reassurance that this was not his fault. But how could she address this fear, without admitting she'd realized what he'd been asking for?

After assuring him that they were all fine, she chewed the end of her quill for a moment, until she thought of a way to tell him he wasn't to blame.

My mother once told me that there are two kinds of people in this world: those who blame only others, and those who blame only themselves. I think there should be a third category; people who know where the blame truly lies. I consider myself to be a part of this newly formed category, and as such, I feel it is my duty to pass sentence on you.

Harry James Potter, you stand condemned before the world. What is your crime, you ask? I'll tell you. Too much effort put forth in the protection of those you care about, to the exclusion of all else, even your own happiness. A virtue in some ways, but a fault in that no one should sacrifice their own happiness to the extent you have.

Don't you realize Harry? You want our safety and happiness. We want the same for you, but we realize that safety may be asking too much when it concerns you, at least for the time being. So if we cannot have that, we at least want you to be happy, and modesty aside, we know you are happiest when you are with us. I think everyone in the Order thinks that too; they all know how important you are to all of us, and if they weren't willing to help you, they wouldn't be in the Order. I don't think they blame you when you think they're looking at you; I think they're looking up to you, expecting you to help them equally. And if they are a little disappointed in you when you seem to fall short of what they think you should be I'm also sure that they understand that it is not fair to expect you to be their answer to everything. You're only human Harry, and if you were everything people expect you to be, Voldemort would be defeated already.

But that's okay. No one person is perfect by themselves. I think that's one reason people need other people; so that their own personal good qualities amplify each other, and help to make up for the less-than-good that everyone has.

She finished by mentioning some incidents around the house, including Luna Lovegood showing up unexpectedly at the last inter-family Quidditch scrimmage, apparently to watch Ron, and hum, “Weasley is my King” softly. Hermione told of her amusement when Ron had noticed Luna sitting with her on the edge of the paddock, and promptly slid off his broom, barely managing to remount in time to block Fred's attempted goal. Ron had also, in an attempt at casualness, looked over at the pair after Fred had flown off again, running his hand through his hair in what he clearly thought was a cool manner.

Luna had smiled, and nodded at him, silently telling him that she'd seen.

Ron flew a bit better, after that.

Hermione decided not to mention this to Harry.

--

Harry's reply (arriving with Tonks on September first) was that Derek agreed with her on the contents of her letter.

That prat read my mail before I did! I came downstairs this morning to find he had snatched Hedwig out of the air and grabbed your letter before she could bring it to me.

I told him that if he valued certain parts of his body, he'd hand the letter over and never do anything like this again.

He replied that he was a rather good Legilimens, and that if he really wanted to, he could've found out the contents of your letter anyway.

I considered telling him that I'd learned Occlumency, but all he would have had to do was try to probe my mind to learn that I'd never really mastered it.

He laughed and said

Here the beginnings of a sentence had been scratched out, so Hermione never learned what Derek's reply had been. Or how it had made Harry feel.

Derek had laughed, and proving in a paragraph of words that he could read Harry's mind, said,

“I don't think being an effective Occlumens has anything to do with the amount of magical abilities people have. I think Professor Snape was right when he said you wear your heart on you sleeve. It may be hard for some people to see, but not for me. You try so hard to live up to people's expectations of you, often sacrificing your own comfort and wishes to do so. It is just as clear that this is not who you are. I can tell that what you want more than anything is to defeat Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and live as normal a life as possible afterwards. We both know it's too much to ask that the wizarding world leave you alone for the rest of your life. People will be looking for a new figurehead, after all. And if you defeat Voldemort…well, we'll face that when it comes.”

He smiled, and left the kitchen, leaving Harry holding the letter from Hermione.

The letter continued on the next line, leaving Hermione wondering just what it was Derek had said to Harry.

Well, never mind what he said. The point is, I don't really feel bad about not knowing Occlumency anymore. At least not as much as I used to.

Your letter made me realize something though. After one of my talks with Derek, I got to thinking about the difference between those in power, and those under them. I think that one is the duty to protect, and the other is the right to receive protection. In some ways, I have both situations here. The Order may be here to watch over me, but in turn, all of us are watching over the wizarding world, in a way.

I never did have much of a childhood, but back then I also didn't have the responsibilities I have now. I may have great powers, in some cases, but I do not have all the privileges I would like. Protection—and happiness—must, I think, be put aside with childhood's other toys.

His letter had strayed to less serious subjects after that, but again, Hermione could tell that something was wrong. She read his letter over several times, but she was sure that whatever was bothering Harry had something to do with what Derek had said to him, because she couldn't gather anything from the rest of the letter.

The time for being subtle had passed.

Dear Harry,

I know something is bothering you. I know that I'm in no position to help you like I normally would, but can you please tell me what's wrong?

Your concerned friend, Hermione.

She considered adding more, but feared that any other subjects she could write about would be interpreted as an excuse for him to take her plea less seriously.

She asked Mr. Weasley to see it was passed on to Harry, and went to bed, sure that he would write back tomorrow.

Harry came downstairs after a fruitless nap, the afternoon of the day Hermione had sent her letter.

He found Derek sitting at the kitchen table, reading a Muggle comic book. Before him on the table, Hedwig sat, staring at Derek out of the corner of her eye, while crouching protectively over Hermione's next letter.

Derek noticed Harry looking, and grinned. “I think she's onto me.” he said, nodding at Harry's owl.

“She knows who her enemies are,” Harry said smarmily.

Derek collapsed from his chair dramatically, clutching his comic to his chest.

“Harry! You wound me!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Drama king.”

Derek propped himself up on his elbows, grinning impishly. “I used to be in theater you know. No-one ever performed the numbered villagers with more dedication!”

“Numbered villagers?”

“You know… the people in the crowd who only have one line, and don't merit a name in the script? They're always called `villager number one' or `townsman number six'”

Harry smirked. “I guess your directors didn't want to run the risk of you ruining a major role with your antics. Either that or you just weren't good enough.”

Derek, still lying on the floor, pulled a chocolate frog from his pocket. He opened it, nodding fairly at Harry's words. “I suppose that's possible. The people who got the major roles were amazingly talented. Still, the world needs background and chorus people too. Not everyone can be in the spotlight.” He nodded in agreement with his own words, and bit the head off his chocolate frog. Closing his eyes, he sat quietly, content as the milk chocolate melted in his mouth (and not his hands).

Harry, deciding he wouldn't be interrupted for a while, sat down at the table and opened Hermione's letter.

Minerva McGonagall stepped into the front hallway of Grimmauld Place, shaking off her umbrella. The rain suited her mood perfectly.

Derek poked his head out of the kitchen, a lollipop stick firmly in the corner of his mouth.

Without preamble, McGonagall asked, “Well?”

Derek sighed. “Well, it's just like you thought. She got to him.”

McGonagall grimaced. She hated herself for what she had to do next.

*

Dear Hermione

It's hard to believe I've only been here about ten days. Maybe it's the time of year; we are normally together every day in September. Maybe it's with everything that's going on around here, but I need you here.

I need you here to tell me when I'm being stupid. I need you here to give me encouragement. I need you here to talk to you face to face.

If these days apart from you have made me realize anything, it's that I can't be without you for very long without going crazy. I need to see you, if only for an hour.

Please come. I need you here badly. You know I would not ask otherwise, given the circumstances.

Harry

McGonagall stared grimly at Harry over the rims of her spectacles.

Harry kept his gaze on the tabletop.

“Well, how do you explain this?” She gestured at the letter on the table between them.

Harry said nothing.

“I was under the impression that your first priority was to keep your friends safe. Yet it seems you can't manage being without them for two weeks before you beg them to come and see you.”

“You wouldn't understand.”

“Understand what?”

Harry raised his head. Betrayal and hurt were reflected in his eyes.

“Some things can't be put in a letter Professor. It's not like I'm asking her to move in here. I just wanted to talk for a while.”

“What about? What, of any importance, could have happened in your time here that you haven't been strictly forbidden to reveal?”

Harry sighed. “Incredible as it may seem, I do have a life outside the Order, professor. Things do happen here that have nothing to do with it.”

“Then why can't you talk to one of us about it? Derek for one. He's not so much older than you.”

Derek, standing against the wall, raised his hands in denial. “You misunderstand me. When I said I came here to help Harry, I only meant in the capacity of an Order member. I'm not one to pretend to be his best friend.”

“And you aren't, are you?”

Both adults looked at Harry.

Harry was glaring daggers at Derek. “You've been spying on me! Every time I read my letters from Hermione, you were always nearby. It's so you could tell what she was saying to me without having to read her letters yourself, isn't it?”

Derek pointed at McGonagall. “Her idea, not mine.”

“Don't try to blame this on me!”

“Why not? You're the one who was concerned that she would get to him in the first place.”

“And I was right! He asked her to come here!”

“So let her! What harm could an hour's visit do?”

McGonagall sighed. “There's more at stake here than just a visit.”

Harry raised his hand. “Um, I'm still here, you know.”

McGonagall turned to Harry. “Could you excuse us for a moment?”

Without waiting for an answer, she dragged Derek out of the room.

“I don't suppose you're going to tell me the reason for the new bruises on my arm?” Derek said peevishly, once the door had shut behind them.

McGonagall closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips.

“You truly have no idea, do you?”

“Enlighten me.” Derek leaned back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest.

McGonagall sighed. Where to begin?

“How much do you know of Hermione Granger?”

“Only that she's important enough to Harry that he was willing to fight us tooth and nail to say good-bye to her before we brought him here.”

McGonagall filled the man in on what she knew of their relationship since their first year. Derek's grin grew wider as he learned of each incident involving the two, from saving the school several times to saving each other.

“What are you smirking at?” McGonagall asked wearily when she'd finished.

“Come now, Professor. When you told me of kidnapping young Mr. Weasley and Hermione as hostages for the second task two years ago, you let a certain thought slip. I think you know which one I'm talking about.”

McGonagall avoided his gaze. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Of course you do. The only reason you took Hermione to be Krum's hostage was because for him, there were no other candidates. Harry on the other hand, had not one, but two best friends. We both know that even if Mr. Krum had had another person to be held hostage, Hermione would still have been on the bottom of that lake—and young Mr. Weasley would have stayed high and dry.”

“Indeed,” McGonagall replied. “He did in fact try to save her too.”

“So, you're afraid that they'll fall in love?”

“If they haven't already.”

Derek laughed. “If you think that, then why try to keep them apart?”

“They obviously haven't admitted it to each other. If they had, we wouldn't have been able to separate them at all.”

Derek's grin vanished. “Oh. I see.”

“Exactly! I think it best that we stop all communication between them. We'll tell Hermione that for reasons of safety, we've suspended communication between Harry and anyone outside this house.”

“That may make her stop trying to contact him, but what about Harry? If we tell him the same thing, that it's for her protection, he'll undoubtedly want to know why she's not here, if she's in that much danger.”

McGonagall looked grim. “That's where I'll need your support.”

--

Miss Granger,

Due to matters of security, we have decided to suspend all letters going into and out of Grimmauld Place. Members of the Order will communicate via more secure means.

Unfortunately, this includes any letters you may want to send to Harry.

We're sorry for any inconvenience this may cause.

M. McGonagall

The letter lay discarded by Hermione's bedside.

She could understand why the Order would want to keep things more secure, but that didn't stop her from being more than a little annoyed at their timing. Just when she'd told Harry that he could confide in her…had he even gotten that letter? Or had Mr. Weasley been unable to deliver it?

Her musings were interrupted by a knock on her door.

An old woman entered, who Hermione thought looked vaguely familiar, but couldn't place.

“Arabella Figg. I was Harry's neighbor when he was growing up. I'm also a squib,” the woman explained, holding out her hand to Hermione.

“Why are you here?” Hermione said, returning a handshake.

“I assume you've been told not to write to Harry anymore?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think you should see this.” She dug around in her string handbag.

Hermione accepted the charred piece of paper. “What is it?”

“I found it in the kitchen fireplace at headquarters. There'd been some sort of row between Harry and Minerva; Harry seemed to be demanding to leave and come and see you to ask you something, but McGonagall forbade him. She had one of the Order members--Derek I think his name was—escort Harry rather forcibly up to his room, then threw this in the fireplace after they were gone.”

Hermione could only make out a few words of the badly burned paper, but she recognized that Harry had been meaning to see her.

Wait, does this mean the Order is trying to keep me from seeing him?

She looked over at Mrs. Figg.

“Why did you bring me this?”

Mrs. Figg sighed. “I've known Harry longer than anyone else, probably. Heaven knows, there had been many a time I wish I could've done more for him, but…well, this time I'm not going to just sit around. The Order members have all taken oaths to protect Harry. I feel that it is more important to obey the spirit of the law than the letter of the law sometimes. The fact is that Harry needs you. He needs your help. And I'm going to do all I can to make sure he gets it.”

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