A/N: And wherein I take liberties with JK's magical mechanics and offer an explanation you'll either accept or think is utterly ludicrous. Or both.
I also tease you with my final cliff-hanger. You have been warned.
Big thanks for all the lovely reviews for the last chapter- I'd really appreciate it if you could scribble down a few words once you get to the end again. The final chapter and the epilogue (I see no point in publishing them days apart) should be up by Saturday at the latest.
Love Will Come Through
Chapter Twelve: He Remembered
"Professor! Professor!"
The headmistress whipped around, jumping at the sudden burst of noise coming from the door of her office, and staring with surprise at the two very familiar students who appeared through it. Hermione Granger, red-faced and breathless, a beaming smile lighting up her face; and Harry Potter, breathing heavily behind her, looking rather humble and more than a little scared of his girlfriend.
"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall said in alarm. "What on earth-"
"He remembered, Professor, he remembered!" Hermione interrupted in a delirious rush, pulling Harry to her side.
The headmistress' eyes went wide. "You remembered what, Potter?" she asked sharply.
Harry, clutching at a stitch in his side, didn't answer immediately, but Hermione, it seemed, couldn't be stopped.
"We were up in the Astronomy Tower, Professor, we were talking about something that had happened there-" Hermione went looked rather bashful as she said this, and if she hadn't already been red in the face the headmistress suspected Hermione would have turned pink- "and he remembered it, Professor, he told me everything that happened, exactly as it happened!"
Professor McGonagall processed this information as quickly as she could manage, then waved her wand, conjuring two chairs for the two students to sit in- Harry looked deeply relieved to be off his feet. Hermione, however, was twitching so excitedly she could barely stay seated. The headmistress sat back down at her desk and looked at the pair scrutinisingly.
"You didn't show him this memory in the Pensieve at any point?" she asked, and Hermione shook her head vehemently. "And this was a moment solely between the two of you? There were no others present?"
"No," said Hermione, looking rather embarrassed again.
Professor McGonagall turned her glance to Harry. He looked at her rather meekly, so she removed her thin glasses and softened her gaze. "Do you remember anything else, Harry?" she asked kindly.
He took some rather shallow breaths before answering. "I don't know," he replied. "I mean, I could have, but how do I know that it's not just from Hermione or Ginny having shown me the memory?"
Hermione leant forward rather eagerly to interject. "But Professor, it's the feeling, isn't it- surely Harry would know-"
The headmistress held up a silencing hand. "The subject of memory is a very complex one, Miss Granger, and study of it has never come to entirely conclusive answers. However," she continued, for Hermione was looking rather disheartened all of a sudden, "I believe that in essence you are correct. Harry, if you had truly regained the memory of those moments, you be able to recognise the distinction." Harry looked mollified. Professor McGonagall put her glasses back on her nose and looked at him piercingly again. "What interests me, however, is why Harry has suddenly regained this memory, and whether the rest will follow."
Hermione was so near to the edge of her seat that she was in danger of falling off; Harry, however, still looked rather impassive. Professor McGonagall leant back in her chair and sighed. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she said, her brow furrowing, "was undeniably a very powerful wizard. In any normal circumstances, I would think that any memory charm he performed would be impossible to ever reverse by even the most talented," she said, glancing up at Dumbledore's portrait just to her right, which was currently empty. Hermione was frowning at her. "However, as we know, the memory charm performed upon Harry was intended as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's 'final revenge'- and, as such, was performed during his very final moments, possibly even as he died. Very rarely is magic ever performed at that moment- for most, of course, it is impossible.
"I have thought about this, long and hard, for the last month, watching the pair of you struggle from a distance- it was a personal matter, and I did not wish to entangle myself in things that did not concern me, at least not until I had good reason, and conjecture does certainly not fall under that category. But this does not mean I was not attempting to find a resolution, just as you were. Naturally, I interjected when I heard of Miss Lovegood's outrageously dangerous idea- as I told her, it was potentially life threatening, though I assure you, Miss Lovegood was not aware of this and did not mean to cause you any harm, Harry- quite the opposite," she added, gaining a brief smile from Harry.
"I researched the matter extensively, and I discussed it with Professor Dumbledore's portrait. However, even he knew very little about the matter- as I said, very rarely has this situation ever arisen before, and never, as far as we know, with a memory charm- 'final revenges' are usually more… violent in nature," she said with an ironic curl of her lips, though neither Harry or Hermione reacted much- both seemed too intently focused on her other words.
"So, as I said, I researched extensively- however, due to the uniqueness of the situation, I could ream very little information. So, what am I about to tell you is mostly guesswork, though it is based in fact."
"Professor Flitwick tells me you learnt about the memory charm earlier this year?" she asked- Hermione nodded vociferously, and Harry, after a pause, inclined his head. "Then you will know the theory behind it, and the techniques and thought process needed to practice it?" Similar nods from both. "Well," she said, with a deep breath, "my assessment of the situation is that, while He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was able to perform the body of the spell- the adjustment of the memories- he did not, even though it takes only a second, have the time to complete the charm-"
Hermione almost leapt off her chair. "The seal!" she squealed.
Professor McGonagall nodded. "Precisely. So, while the memories were masked over, their adjustment was not permanent- and it has taken this long for the process to begin its reparations. Without the seal, the spell is incomplete, and so your magic, Harry, will naturally work to mend the injuries." She paused, taking in Hermione's ecstatic expression and Harry's wide eyes. "This, as I have said, is purely guesswork on my part- I cannot begin to comprehend the true nature of the situation. However, this development is highly encouraging."
Hermione looked round at Harry quickly before turning eagerly back to the headmistress. "So will he remember everything?"
Professor McGonagall let out a breath. "I do believe he might," she conceded with a smile.
"How soon?" Hermione asked in a high-pitched tone.
Professor McGonagall sighed. "That is the cloudier area, I'm afraid," she replied. "However, I would think that the process will probably speed up- as your magic heals it, Harry, your memories will begin to come back at a faster rate. I do not know the volume of memories, and so I cannot know how long the process will take, even if I truly understood it in the first place. But it will come."
Hermione looked satisfied, and, after regarding her headmistress with admiration for a second, turned and grabbed Harry in a fierce hug, and Professor McGonagall glimpsed tears on her Head Girl's face for the split second before her face was buried in Harry's shoulder. Harry similarly leant his head into Hermione's shoulder, and Professor McGonagall, flushing at witnessing such an intimate moment, felt as if she should move away- however, she had more to discuss and knew that Hermione, if not Harry, would have more to ask her, so she remained.
She watched one of Dumbledore's mysterious metallic objects whirring on a high shelf as she waited, hearing only muffled noises from the entangled pair, noises that could have been speech or simply sobs. Eventually, Hermione drew away from Harry, and they returned to their forward-facing positions, both blushing and tear-stained.
Professor McGonagall leant forward, steepling her fingers before her narrowed eyes. "I do realise," she said, breaking the silence, "that this recovered memory is a highly personal one, and I hope you understand that I would not ask about it were it not of the utmost importance." Hermione went pink. "But I cannot hope to gleam any deeper understanding of why this has occurred unless I know of the details, so I must ask you, Harry, to recount the memory to me."
Harry bit his lip. "Okay," he murmured.
And he recounted it. Professor McGonagall of course paid close attention to his words, but she watched them too- Hermione was looked firmly at the floor, her face red as Harry described the intimate declaration of love he had made for her on the top of the tower, the cloudless sky lit up with stars; Harry seemed himself to have settled for a flat monotone, as though he would not be able to speak in any other way for fear of breaking down. As he finished, he glanced at Hermione; the headmistress could not help but notice the gentle interlocking of fingers that ensued between the couple.
The headmistress sighed. "Thank you, Harry. Hermione," she said, and Hermione straightened up, "I must ask you a similarly invasive question… I must know what was happening at the moment of recollection." Hermione looked at her rather beseechingly. "Perhaps you would prefer to transfer the memory to the Pensieve, and I will watch it alone?" Hermione nodded gratefully. The headmistress half-expected Harry to ask why this alternative had been offered to him- he said nothing, however.
"Come, then," said Professor McGonagall, standing and walking over the cupboard where the Pensieve was kept. Hermione appeared beside her as she was pulling the Pensieve's stone stand out.
"You know what to do, Miss Granger." Hermione lifted her wand to her head, closed her eyes momentarily in concentration, and pulled a long, silvery strand from her head, floating it into the translucent liquid before her. Swirling images of Harry and Hermione flashed before Professor McGonagall's eyes as she lent down, and then felt the familiar swirling into the nothingness.
When she emerged again, Hermione's anxious expression was almost amusing, and Professor McGonagall quelled it with a warm smile. "Thank you, Miss Granger," she said, and Hermione, flushed, retrieved the memory from the Pensieve and sat back down next to Harry. "Now," said the headmistress, leaning forward again, "once again, I must impress on you that this is guesswork, and the circumstances could be purely coincidental. However, as I am sure you realise, there were parallels between the two scenes… something you were possibly hoping for, Miss Granger, even if only unconsciously." Hermione smiled, slightly embarrassed. "It would appear, potentially, that the unique surroundings coupled with the unconscious parallels of the events that transpired there… may have sparked Harry's recollection."
Hermione, for once in her life, seemed confused. "So… you mean that he only remembered because I said the same thing to him in the same place?"
The headmistress smiled. "No, Miss Granger, not only… I think that he would have remembered something at some point, assuming that my theory is correct. However, the parallels did serve to spark this particular memory… it was the one most easily recovered, because so much of it was echoed in the new surroundings."
Hermione did not look pacified. "But does that mean we have to go back to everywhere… everywhere we were ever together, and say something the same, so he'll remember?"
Professor McGonagall looked alarmed. "Good grief, no, I would certainly hope not. That would be a nearly impossible feat, for one; and besides, as I said, I think that the memories would have returned eventually despite the circumstances… you may have simply made the process begin sooner."
Hermione smiled in relief. "Thank you, Professor."
Harry smiled too. "Yeah, thanks," he said quietly, and Professor McGonagall saw him rubbing his thumb across the back of Hermione's hand as the limbs dangled together between them.
Professor McGonagall nodded. "I haven't really done anything," she admitted. "I hope that you continue to rebuild your relationship; if I can say so, being your headmistress, you two are better matched for each other than any other pair I have ever seen." Hermione went pink again; they stood, murmured their thanks again, and left, hands still joined together.
Professor McGonagall smiled, sighed, and looked to her left; where, to her surprise, Professor Dumbledore had reappeared in his portrait, and he was smiling wisely down at her.
"Well, Minerva," he said with amusement, "it looks like things will be alright after all."
She smiled. "I hope so," she replied, eyes wandering to the door, which clicked shut and blocked out the fading sounds of two sets of rejuvenated footsteps leaving together.
*~*~*
Hermione had barely stepped off the last step of the spiralling stone staircase behind the stone griffin before Harry anxiously pulled her into him. His lips pressed to hers with what she sensed (at least before her mind lost control completely) was a mixture of confusion, desperation, and outright love. It was not, to her vague, distant disappointment, as his kisses were before this all started, but it was enough for her knees to go weak, for her to melt right in front of him, and to let herself grope hungrily back at him, hands flying through his hair and tugging ferociously.
He broke off with a yelp as she gave a tuft of his hair a particularly strong yank and she opened her eyes, seeing his deep flush and knowing, from the heat of her cheeks, that she must look pretty similar. But in his eyes gleaming the unbidden glint of adoration, and she shivered- her hope, her suffering, had been rewarded. He would come back to her. He would be complete again. He would love her.
"I love you," she whispered, still breathless from his kiss, and he smiled- so sweetly, so lovingly she almost melted again. "But that was… unexpected," she added, smiling coyly back.
Harry's face fell, and immediately she knew she'd said the wrong thing. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking at the floor. "I just wanted-"
She put a firm finger over his lips. "I wasn't complaining," she told him, and he frowned, confused. "But after… so much uncertainty, to have you suddenly… so passionate," she explained, "… it was a surprise."
Harry looked appeased. Once again, he slipped his hand into hers. "I just…" he started slowly, smiling. "I remembered, so suddenly, what it was like to touch you, to kiss you… to love you," he grinned, "that I couldn't wait to do it again."
Hermione grinned back, and leaned towards him, planting a soft, quick kiss on his lips. "Like I said," she winked, "I'm not complaining."
*~*~*
Ginny watched the people around her; they were all happy, laughing, carefree, joking with friends or kissing boyfriends and girlfriends, exploding decks of cards and comparing Christmas gifts. But Ginny knew that within some of them, there was a darker side, a sadness, for she had been one of those people, laughing and joking, hiding a secret within.
It did no good to hide a secret, she had concluded, for whatever it was just grew and grew until when it finally came out, it was a much bigger problem that it would have been had it never become hidden. Now her secret was out, and it was a relief to her- she could let it go, free herself of the guilt and pain it caused her, because she knew that it would not be answered, not be reaffirmed. Life had been a dangerous balancing act, but now she had finally finished walking that rope, and she could climb down.
Down to Neville. She turned to look at him; he had his eyes closed, head lolling back against the sofa's low back, but he was not asleep, for he sensed her movement and his head flew upwards, looking straight at her.
Ginny stuttered. Neville frowned at her. "Are you alright?"
Ginny shook her head to clear her mind. "Yes, I-"
But she stopped, for suddenly Neville was looking behind her, eyes wide with surprise, and she whipped around, understanding immediately.
It was Harry and Hermione, and, not only were they holding hands, they were both looking considerably happier than she'd seen them in ages. She stared at them; Harry sat down in the only free armchair; Hermione curled herself up in his lap. She chuckled at him, and they looked back at the shocked pair opposite them.
Ginny gaped at them. "What… are you… did you…" she stammered.
Hermione smiled at her; it seemed warm and friendly, but Ginny detected a hint of frostiness behind it, and she had a strong idea as to why. "Harry remembered!" she squealed in a rather un-Hermione-like fashion.
Ginny's eyes widened just about as far as they could; next to her, she heard Neville gasp. "What?" he said, shocked.
Hermione was almost bouncing. "We were talking in the Astronomy Tower," she continued, glancing affectionately at Harry, "and he suddenly remembered something that had happened there! Professor McGonagall said that he should remember everything eventually!"
Neville grinned warmly, but Ginny was frowning. "Just… just one memory?" she asked slowly.
Hermione's buoyant expression slipped slightly, but she replied, "Yes… but that's still a wonderful development, don't you think?"
But Ginny wasn't thinking about that. "But if it was just one memory," she continued, as if Hermione hadn't spoken, "then how are you… how can you be…" She gestured at their intimate position and clasped hands.
Hermione smiled. Ginny was sure, this time, that there was coolness directed towards her. "It was a pretty… special memory," Hermione answered, rubbing Harry's hand; he looked slightly uncomfortable, and his eyes kept flicking between Hermione and Ginny like he was afraid of an imminent explosion. "Harry knows he loves me."
Ginny paled. "You know, don't you," she said. It was not a question.
Harry's eyes went haywire; Neville froze; and Hermione's eyes narrowed, smile vanishing.
"I'm sorry," Ginny whispered; though the people around them were as loud as ever, to the four people in the centre of the room, it was as if they were trapped in a bubble that masked the sounds outside. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Ginny, it's not-" Harry began to say, but Hermione cut across him.
"I'm going to ask you something, Ginny, and I want the truth," she said smoothly, voice laced with ice. "Who was responsible for the kiss?"
Ginny looked at Harry, who just looked back with unchanged nervousness. She bit her lip. "I…" she stuttered, and Hermione spoke up again.
"I won't be angry with Harry for anything, Ginny. If he had anything to do with it, it'd be better for you if you tell me."
Ginny looked positively petrified. "I… I kissed him," she admitted slowly, "but only because it looked like he wouldn't stop me. But he did." Hermione raised an eyebrow. Ginny scrambled for more words. "I was stupid, I never meant-"
Hermione stopped her again. "Just don't do it again," she said archly. Ginny looked at her nervously for a second; then Hermione's drawn face broke into a smile. Ginny laughed in relief. Harry still looked rather nervous; Hermione, however, looked at Neville. "Besides," she added with rather strange amusement, "I think Neville might have just as much as me to say if you do…"
That did it. Harry blinked in surprise; Neville went a rather vibrant scarlet; and Ginny's head whipped round, eyes bulging as she stared at her companion.
Hermione, meanwhile, looked very pleased with herself. "Well," she said airily, almost jumping off Harry's lap, and pulling him up after her, "we'll leave you two alone." And with that, she dragged Harry rapidly out of sight.
Ginny stared at Neville, who was staunchly staring at the floor. "Did she… did she mean what I think she did?" she asked slowly. Neville, still examining the floor as if his life depended on it, nodded mutely. "You mean you…" Another nod.
Ginny sighed. "Oh, Neville," she exhaled, so softly and quietly he looked up by reflex. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Neville chewed his lip. "You had enough on your plate," he mumbled, "and besides, you and Harry…" He trailed off, not needing to complete the sentence.
Ginny ran a hand through her hair in frustration, then, on impulse, placed it on his knee. He jumped. "Were you ever going to tell me?" she asked.
He paused before he answered. "Eventually, I guess," he said quietly, looking down at her knees. "But you had to move past Harry… I could hardly burden you with my feelings with all you're going through."
Ginny almost laughed. "Neville," she said, leaning forward, "you are the sweetest. But what were you going to do, just sit and suffer while I wallowed in misery? How can you do that to yourself?"
Neville looked rather hurt. "Isn't that what you did with Harry?" he shot back.
Ginny flinched and considered this. "I suppose," she conceded. "But I've also proven that I'm an idiot, and that what I did was a very bad idea indeed. So I don't think you should be taking my lead."
Neville just looked at her blankly. They fell into an awkward silence, neither sure what to say; or, in Neville's case, not sure if what he wanted to say would receive the answer he desired. Eventually, however, he plucked up the courage; and, when they looked back on that moment, they muse that that was the moment their lives changed for the better.
"So is there… is there any chance? That you could… like me back?"
Ginny looked at Neville. He seemed so nervous, so pale, and yet she knew the incredible courage it must have taken for him to ask a question; one whose answer could crush him, or give him what he most desired. It was for this reason that she felt she should consider his question properly, instead of giving him a flippant reply.
So she thought. Matters of her heart had always seemed to come back to Harry- for years, even when she had dated others, Harry had always been the one she had imagined as the one she would be with, however foolish that idea was. But she could not have him, and, while recent events had flared up her hopes once again, she had, before that, slowly accepted the idea that it would never happen. Harry could not be her heart's desire. He was vacating that position, however slowly.
But Neville? Ginny wasn't a fool; she had noticed his touches, his glances, even if her brain had been too frazzled to process them properly. He was certainly someone she knew her mother would accept- sweet, rather plain looking, meek, and had even proven himself fairly smart within the past year, which meant good career prospects. Not that Ginny wanted to bend to her mother's wants, of course.
She looked at Neville. She knew that, right now, she did not love him- but how many people, especially of her age, could say that they loved anyone? She certainly liked him- he was a loyal, trustworthy friend, an innately good person, and she knew he would do anything for her. But could she ever like him in that way?
She watched him, watching her, fingers twitching nervously as he clasped his hands together, awaited her answer. His happiness hinged on her answer, and Ginny realized that she did not want to make Neville unhappy. And, in that moment, she knew that she had her answer.
"Yes," she said, making him jump. "I could." And, as Neville sat there, frozen in surprise, she planted a soft, chaste kiss on his lips, leant back, and grinned at him.
*~*~*
Hermione had not felt this content in a long time- she had almost forgotten what it felt like. But now, with her head resting on Harry's shoulder, feeling his cool fingers bending around hers, she felt that all the pain had been, in a strange way, worth it- this would only make them stronger, this test they had struggled through, almost torn apart but ultimately always knowing that they wanted to be together. It was only one memory, she knew, but somehow, even though Professor McGonagall's words had been cautious, she knew the rest would come. And even if they didn't, this Harry, the one with an arm around her, the one letting her lean against him, was one she could live with, for he loved her.
They were sitting in one of Gryffindor Tower's few alcoves, a secluded corner masked by thick velvet curtains, with one plush sofa that had become Hermione's- and Harry's- favourite place to sit, because there they could be alone, apart but not out of earshot of the rest of the common room. Crookshanks was on her lap, purring contentedly.
"Do you really feel something for Ginny?" Hermione asked quietly. She felt Harry tense. "I'm not going to be angry, Harry, I just want to know," she reassured.
Still, she heard him swallow nervously before he answered. "Ginny's been a wonderful friend throughout this whole thing," he started, rather obtusely. "I think I'll always be close to her. And, yes, for a while I thought maybe there was something else there. But I was confused, and now I remember the feeling of being in love with you, and I want to hold onto that," he continued, kissing the top of her head.
Hermione blindly reached up to pat his cheek, showing him that she was reassured by his words. "Good," she murmured. "'Cause you're all mine, Potter."
He laughed. For a few minutes they simply listened to the muted sounds of the rest of the common room, relaxing into each other. Harry felt slightly stiff. Hermione closed her eyes.
"Do you think everything we did helped?" she mused quietly to him.
Harry's fingertips tickled her knuckles. "I don't know," he replied, breath brushing her hair. "Maybe. But thank you," he added, surprising Hermione.
"What for?"
"I know it was hard for you," he answered, "showing me all those memories. I saw what it was doing to you… but you kept doing it anyway, even though it seemed to make no difference." He kissed her on the top of her head. "So thank you."
She felt tears pricking at her eyes; she used her free hand to hit him on the side of the head.
"Ow! What was that for?"
Hermione leant out of their comfortable position so she could look at him. "Harry, you're so…" He looked alarmed by the tears in her eyes. She smiled. "Don't you realize I'd do anything for you?"
Harry studied her for a second; then he smiled, and said, "Well, you see, I have this problem with my memory…"
Hermione, despite herself, laughed and hit him again, and he laughed with her, kissed her softly on the lips, and they settled back into their curled-up position.
"You're such an idiot, Harry," she said affectionately.
He tensed. She smiled gently, even though he could not see her face. "That was a joke, Harry," she explained softly.
Then, before Harry could reply, another voice was heard, footsteps slowly approaching. "Hermione? Are you… oh."
Ron pulled back the curtain, and froze as he saw them together, eyes widening in surprise. Hermione's eyes flared, but Harry gave Ron a quick smile and tentatively caressed Hermione's hand.
"It's okay, Hermione," he whispered. "What did you want, Ron?"
Ron went red. "I, um… I wanted to talk to Hermione."