Chapter Twenty-Five.
After a Christmas dinner that turned out to be far more cheerful than Harry had anticipated, and a snowball fight in the grounds that Fred and George handily won (thanks to a charm that let them use a snowball like a Bludger), Harry, Hermione, Ron, and most of the Weasley family retired to the Gryffindor Common Room. Fred, George, and Charlie had received permission to stay the night there (as it was the holidays there were plenty of empty beds) while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were apparently accommodated elsewhere.
Thanks to the twins, who had managed to wander back down to the kitchens while everyone else was changing into dryer clothes after the snowball fight (the mutant snowballs resisted Hermione's drying charm), they spent a noisy, food-filled evening completely ignoring Voldemort and anything to do with him. By tacit agreement, neither Bill nor Percy were mentioned either, so as not to bring sadness into the occasion.
Still, despite the good cheer, Harry couldn't help but be aware that Hermione was trying to stay out of his way. She wasn't doing it particularly well - subtlety had never been her strong suit, he thought in amusement. He had hoped that the struggle under the table at Christmas dinner had put paid to that particular little problem, but he realised now that he was being naïve. They were going to have to talk about it, and Harry was definitely in two minds about that. On the one hand, he wasn't silly enough to think that it would be easy. He always seemed to trip over his tongue when it came to girls. Most of the time all they seemed to want to do was cry on him. But he wasn't prepared to spend the next term, or however long it was going to be, in some extended state of awkwardness. He had enough to worry about without adding that on top of it. It seemed that Hermione hadn't yet come to the same conclusion, which made him feel a little bit better in that he had found something where he could be cleverer than her, and he wasn't inclined to wait around until she caught him up.
If she wasn't going to face it, he was going to have to do it for them. And drag her along with him.
He just hoped she wouldn't cry.
Catching her hand briefly as the group headed off to bed, he whispered "Can you come back down in a few minutes? I think we need to talk."
Hermione looked unconvinced. "I don't know, Harry," she said, in a tone that was far too bright. "I'm really rather tired at the moment…"
"Then I'll come down early in the morning and wait for you, and we can go for a walk," Harry offered immediately. "Look, I'm sorry, Hermione, but I'm not going to go around pretending this didn't happen. I've got enough on my plate. This isn't going to go away, so you might as well deal with it."
She gave him a look, half-offended, half-pleading, and for one moment Harry felt like an absolute bastard, but forced himself to go on with the one thing that he knew would get her attention.
"I can always talk to Ron about it, if I can't talk to you," he said, knowing that he was playing dirty, and Hermione glared at him.
"Alright," she snapped, under her breath, and made towards the stairs. "But it'll have to wait a bit longer. Ginny's sleeping in my room tonight, and I'll have to wait until she's asleep."
"Fair enough," said Harry, realising that he would have to do the same for Ron. Without another word, he climbed up the staircase to his dormitory, and changed into his pyjamas, listening to Ron mumble on happily about his present from Charlie - a signed Quidditch bat from the Slovakian team (Charlie had spent a long weekend there recently on a break from his dragon-handling duties). Fred and George, the beaters of the family, were disgusted that it hadn't gone to one of them, but "I only have one," Charlie had said, grinning, "and you know how you always complain if someone makes you share a present."
"Of course they're near the bottom of the European League," said Ron happily, his voice furry with tiredness. "But that new coach is going to put them right, and I think they've got a real shot against Finland next month…"
A few minutes later he was snoring.
"Goodnight, Ron," said Harry, under his breath, and slid quietly from his bed, wrapping his dressing gown around him and searching for his slippers. Even with fires lit in the Common Room and dormitories, it was still the middle of winter and the castle could get rather cold. He fussed with the tie on his dressing gown for a few moments, and then gave himself a mental slap.
It's not going to get any easier just standing here, he thought. You were the one that pushed for this, so might as well get it over with.
He tiptoed down the stairs and into the Common Room, and settled into an armchair by the fire. It was nearly half an hour before Hermione came down, and she looked harassed.
"Sorry I'm late," she said, "but I've just had to listen to Ginny go on and on about Dean for the past forty minutes. It's really not pleasant. I tried to make her think that I was asleep but I don't think she cared - she just likes the sound of her own voice." Hermione's tone took on a high-pitched, saccharine quality. "He's so tall, don't you think, all dark and handsome…" She looked at Harry in disgust. "Doesn't it make you want to vomit?"
"I think it's kind of sweet," said Harry.
"You would," Hermione replied scathingly. "As long as she's not drooling over you you don't care who she's whittering on about."
"That's not true," Harry said hotly. "I'd have something to say about it if she was going on about Malfoy, for instance. But Dean's a good bloke. Besides, you're changing the subject."
"I wasn't aware that we were on any subject, Harry," said Hermione with dignity, although her cheeks were turning pink. He gave her a glare, and she visibly wilted. "Oh, all right. But what do you want me to say?"
"I don't know," said Harry in sudden consternation. He felt a bit foolish, and as if he should have expected something like this to happen.
"You were the one who insisted on this," said Hermione glacially, voicing his own thoughts. Harry was about to make a rather impolite reply when he noticed that her hands were wedged into a tight grip on her dressing gown. It appeared that she was as nervous and as upset about the whole thing as he was, and, oddly enough, it made him feel better. It made his irritation die down, and he opened and shut his mouth a few times. Oh, just get on with it, he thought in sudden disgust. You're supposed to be a bloody Gryffindor, aren't you?
"I thought it was a mistake," he said abruptly. Hermione's mouth dropped open, and her expression, after a few stunned moments, seemed to Harry to be equal parts relief, hurt, and sadness. He could have kicked himself for not coming up with a better opening line - any more like that and he was going to make her cry!
"That didn't quite come out the way that I meant it," he said, stumbling over the words in his hurry to get them out. "Look, I'm not good at this. Let's just agree to that and move on, shall we? I didn't mean for it to happen. I'm sorry if you hate me!"
"I don't hate you, Harry," said Hermione slowly. "I'm just… I don't know…"
"Surprised? Confused? Quietly freaking out and hoping not to get a Howler from Mrs. Weasley, or page time in the Daily Prophet?" Harry quipped nervously. The palms of his hands were damp, but he held them in as relaxed a position as he possibly could, trying not to seem as nervous as she was. He was relieved to see Hermione's hands relax a little on her dressing gown, and hear a small attempt at a laugh. That was better, he thought. Now try not to act like an idiot!
"How about all of the above," she said.
A further wave of relief swept through Harry, and it must have shown on his face.
"There's no need to look so happy about it," said Hermione, frowning slightly.
"I'm just glad it's not just me," Harry blurted, then cringed. Of all the times not to keep his mouth shut! But Hermione looked more relaxed than before, and he supposed that he wasn't the only one relieved to be in the same boat. Taking a deep breath, he tried again.
"I didn't mean for it to happen," he said slowly, "and today at lunch, I was thinking that it would be better if it never happened again. It's just… complicated," he trailed off lamely, not able to bring himself to look at her. "But then I started wondering if it really was…"
"It definitely is," Hermione interrupted him, nodding. He knew that they were both thinking about Ron - and Voldemort, of course.
"Could you not do that, please," said Harry quickly. "Interrupt, I mean. I'm trying to do this right and you're not helping." He gave her a quick glare, and turning even pinker, Hermione promptly shut up. "Ah. Alright then. I, ah… you're my best friend, Hermione, and I don't wan to lose that, but - I can't deal with this at the moment. It's too much. I can't concentrate on Voldemort while trying to keep a girlfriend happy."
"I'm not Cho, Harry," Hermione pointed out briskly. Her face was still pink. "Don't tell me not to interrupt, this is important. I know what you're up against - she didn't. I don't need to be entertained, or coddled. She did - don't forget the poor girl was dealing with Cedric's death at the time." Harry winced, and she shot him an apologetic look. "Sorry. It wasn't your fault, Harry - but it wasn't hers either."
"Yeah. I suppose." Harry never liked to be reminded of Cedric - a boy not so very much older than him, who had lost any chance at a future, thanks to Voldemort. The memory of Mr. Diggory's anguished cries over his son's body was something that Harry would never forget. Eventually, however, he became consciousness of another realisation.
"D'you mean you'd be willing to try?" he said, hesitantly. Hermione had, after all, just given him to understand that she was in a better position than Cho to cope with the difficulties of being involved with the Boy Who Lived.
Hermione's cheeks immediately flooded scarlet. "Um," she said hesitantly. "I don't know. Maybe?"
Harry gaped at her for a moment, floored, before being overwhelmed by a sudden gust of uproarious laughter. Hermione glared at him, her face turning harder. "Keep it down!" she whispered violently at him. Harry thought she was about to sock him with a pillow, she looked so enraged. He tried to gulp down his laughter, and gave a small sweep of his hand towards her.
"I'm sorry," he wheezed. "I am. But we're so pathetic at this - could it get any worse?"
Hermione's mouth began to twitch, and Harry was relieved to see her drop the pillow onto the floor. "I guess not," she said. Her hair, Harry had to admit, was a horribly tangled mess, her face was shiny from being rigorously scrubbed, and she was wearing what had to be the most hideous dressing gown know to man. With pink fluffy rabbit slippers. And yet…
"You're pretty," he said, without thinking. "You're pretty and my best friend and I think I might like to do this - but I still can't. It's just too much."
Then he shot bolt upright.
"Please don't cry!"
"I'm not crying" wailed Hermione, as quietly as she could manage - but Harry could swear there were big fat tears rolling down her cheeks, and cringed inwardly. After a few minutes in which he sat glued to his chair, frozen in position for fear of doing anything to set her off again, Hermione improved to sniffles.
"I actually agree with you," she said, almost normally, and Harry's jaw dropped open again. "Honestly, Harry. You're going to have to fight Voldemort sooner than either of us would like. You have to train, and study, and, and…"
"Not spending all my time snogging by the lake?" said Harry, and there was a little twinge of regret in his voice. Hermione beamed at him.
"Exactly."
"I know," he sighed - the decided to push his luck. "But afterwards? Hermione…?" And felt his heart jump in his chest when she smiled at him, shyly.
"After would be nice."
Suddenly he was grinning like an idiot, and stumbling over to her, tripping over the pillow, and cracking his knee on a side table. "Ouch." Hermione giggled at him, and he had to clear his throat before he could get his voice to work properly again.
"I don't suppose we could have a test run? Just this once…" he said. "You know, make sure it wasn't the Firewhiskey?"
It wasn't the Firewhiskey.
* * *
Hagrid continued to stolidly chew on one of his rock cakes, breaking off a great chunk and chucking it to Fang. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione doubtfully. Hagrid had never ignored them before. He tugged on his arm, and spoke a little louder - and was promptly knocked onto his backside when the half-giant turned, swinging out one arm in surprise.
There was a moment of silence, before Harry was pulled to his feet. Hagrid looked mortified, and was dusting him off with his great shovels of hands, nearly knocking him back to the floor again.
"I am sorry, Harry," he said, giving him one last buffet. "I didn't see you three there."
"How you could have missed Ron's bellowing at the door I don't know," Hermione commented, rolling her eyes in amusement at Ron's scowl. At Hagrid's guilty expression, she sobered. "Is everything alright, Hagrid?" she asked.
"Of fine, fine," said Hagrid dismissively, waving his hand. "It's just I had a wee bit of an argument with one o' the other giants, you see. She caught me a great wallop on the side of the head, and I'm afraid my hearing hasn't quite come right yet." He swivelled round to the side. "Better make sure you speak into this ear from now on," he said. "Rock cake?"
They took one each to be polite, and Hermione even nibbled on hers politely. It was alright for her, Harry thought, staring a bit distractedly at her mouth. With dentists for parents she's got teeth like steel gates. He was a bit afraid of eating Hagrid's cooking at the best of times, so settled for trying to crumble it in his hand in hope that he could slip some under the table to the dog. "We want to know how you got on with the Giants."
Hagrid started to mutter a protest, but it wavered out under three pairs of gimlet eyes. "I don' know how you three get all your information, I really don'", he said gruffly, but there was an undercurrent of amusement in his voice.
"We're very clever," said Ron, straight-faced.
"Lupin told us," Hermione said fairly. "Well, he told Harry, anyway. Did you go with Madame Maxime? Did you have a nice time?"
"Did you leave Grawp behind?" said Ron, under his breath. There was a hopeful look on his face.
"Never mind all that," said Harry, trying not to laugh. Hermione made a small face at him, but Harry was much more inclined to agree with Ron on the subject. Grawp made him distinctly uneasy, and was almost completely out of control. He wasn't too thrilled with the idea of being roped, once again, into English lessons. "Did you manage to convince any of them that Dumbledore was right?
"Well, to tell yer the truth, Harry," said Hagrid, "I don' think they were too impressed. Most of them seemed to think that they'd be better off under You-Know-Who. I tried to tell them, but…" He trailed off, staring hard at Harry. "You don't seem to be too surprised, if yer don' mind my saying so."
"Oh, it's becoming a habit," said Harry, in an offhand a manner as he could muster. "Giants, Centaurs, Goblins… I'm getting quite used to it. I don't suppose there's much you could have done to stop it, Hagrid. These things happen, after all." He wondered if he was being just a bit too flip in brushing it off in this way, but truthfully, Harry hadn't expected anything else, and Harry was in a good mood at present. The Giants were always going to be distinctly unhelpful, and the fact that there were none in Britain (apart from Hagrid and Grawp, of course, and Madame Maxime when she was on a break) meant that even if they had agreed, it was going to be difficult to use them. He supposed that was Voldemort's problem now - as was organising them at all. Even the greatest Dark Wizard of all time was going to have a problem getting a group of Giants to do his bidding (they were strongly resistant to any sort of magic), and Harry, while disappointed that yet another possible ally had gone down the tubes, wasn't sorry to have to give up the prospect of dealing with this particular batch. The Centaurs and Goblins at least could be reasoned with.
Hagrid looked at him suspiciously, and Harry decided to gnaw on his rock cake, trying to look as innocent as possible. After a long moment, Hagrid's shoulders slumped. "Ah well," he said, `that's as good a way as any of lookin' at it, I suppose. Still, I'm sorry I couldn't bring yer' any more help, Harry. A kid like you shouldn't have to do it on his own…"
"I'm not on my own," Harry said, and felt a distinct shiver of pleasure at the words, because he knew that they were true. "I've got a lot of people helping me. There's you, and Ron and Hermione, and a lot of people you don't know yet…"
"And Grawp," said Ron, under his breath, in a distinctly unconvinced tone. He pasted a smile on his face at Hagrid's glance in his direction. "He'll be a load of help, he will! Just make sure to get Hermione to ask whenever you want something done, Harry," he smirked, and narrowly missed the swipe she sent to the back of his head. "Got to be faster than that," he said cheerfully.
"One day I'll hex you when you're not looking," snapped Hermione, but she was smiling nonetheless.
"Promises, promises," said Ron airily, and Harry couldn't help but grin. He remembered briefly how he had felt when discovering the fact that the other species weren't lining up to help him, and the sick, empty feeling it had left in the pit of his stomach. He didn't have that now. Friends make all the difference, he thought - the knowledge that even now there were people standing with him and working for him (the memory of the Hufflepuffs setting off for their Christmas holidays, laden down with what Hermione had called "a little light reading" - she had made the lists of what needed to be researched, and Susan had parcelled the books out according to interest and ability, as she knew her fellow Hufflepuffs better than the other girls did) made it difficult for him to feel hopeless about anything. Even the youngest Hufflepuffs had their books to read, as Luna had carefully picked out the easiest topics and the simplest books for the youngest readers. The look of pride on their small faces had warmed Harry's heart, and he had made sure to stop and thank each of them personally - behind closed doors, of course.
"It'll be alright, Hagrid," he said. "You did your best, that's all that anyone can ask. You can't blame them really - things have just gone too far."
"Yer say that now," said Hagrid grimly, "but I think yer'll find them goin' a lot further in the future."
There was a slight pause. Then, "Cheers, Hagrid," said Ron. "Really makes us feel better, that does."
Hagrid just looked miserable.
"He's right, though," said Hermione hurriedly, obviously trying to smooth things over and make Hagrid feel better. She shot an exasperated look at Ron and Harry, who shot a quick what-did-I-do? look back at her. Her face softened slightly, before she turned back to the half-giant. "Hagrid, Harry's right - you shouldn't blame yourself, you've done your best. But - and don't take this the wrong way, I don't mean to imply that you didn't do it well enough - but are you sure that the other Giants realised what they were risking by not helping us? It's not like Voldemort won't turn on them once he gets the chance. Once he doesn't need them anymore."
Once we're all dead echoed silently through the hut.
"They're all like that, though, aren't they?" said Ron, in a surprisingly reasonable tone, Harry thought. The business with Bill had seen Ron's opinion of his fellow magical creatures do a slow but steady turn-around. Although Harry thought it was dreadful of him to find the situation a little bit funny, he couldn't help but have a private laugh over the fact that Bill had accomplished in a very few moves what Hermione had not been able to get to sink in with several years of nagging about SPEW. It wasn't really surprising, Harry thought, given the near hero-worship that Ron had always had for his oldest brother. He knew how much their friend valued Hermione, but even Harry had to admit that she wasn't cool like Bill was. At least, he amended silently to himself, not cool in the same way. He didn't think that Ron wanted to grow up to be like an older version of Hermione, for example.
"I mean, think about it," Ron was continuing on. "Goblins, Giants, Centaurs, all that lot - I don't mean it like that, Hermione, so stop giving me that look - they're all being a bit thick, really. Every time we ask them to help us, they don't, and alright, maybe I'm getting to understand why they don't, but they're not helping themselves at the same time either. Do they expect that we'll do all the work for them?"
"I think they're hoping that they'll be the only ones left standing, Ron," Hermione pointed out loftily, and her tone was a trifle snide. Ron reddened slightly, but opened his mouth to carry on, when Harry interrupted him.
"No, he's got a point," Harry said, and both Ron and Hermione stared at him in surprise. "I mean, Hermione's right when she says that they're probably hoping for us all to lose so that they can win - if that makes any sense - but I think…" he trailed off slightly, trying to catch the train of thought that had rushed through his brain at Ron's words.
"I mean," he said slowly, "do we know that they're expecting the other sides to help us? Not the wizards and witches, but - do the Goblins think that the Centaurs will help us? Do the Werewolves expect the House-elves to? We've been going along thinking about how they're dealing with us, but how are they dealing with each other?"
There was a moment of stunned silence, and Hermione fell back in her chair, looking ashamed. "I didn't even think of that," she half-wailed. "I'm so sorry, Harry! I've just been spending so much time thinking about how they might help you, that I-"
"Didn't see the bigger picture?" Ron chimed in, a little smugly. Harry kept out of it, thinking that Ron had earned that one.
Hermione shot him a glance, her cheeks turning pink. "I am sorry, Ron. It was a good idea of yours, it was. Really clever."
Ron seemed to swell with pride in front of her. "Well," he said magnanimously, "I suppose I could have put it a bit better. Can't expect you to know what I'm thinking all the time now, can I?"
"I expect not," said Hermione primly, and Harry stifled a grin. He was almost certain she was trying not to laugh and insult their friend again.
He turned to Hagrid. "D'you know anything about this? Have any of the other races tried to contact you at all?"
"It's not exactly somethin' I splash around, Harry," Hagrid replied. "Bein' half-giant isn't exactly fit for company, if yer know what I mean."
"We know, Hagrid, we do," said Hermione feelingly, coming over to squeeze his arm. "But ever since that horrible woman…" she seemed to inflate with rage, and couldn't go on.
"She means Rita Skeeter," Ron pointed out. He winked at Hermione. "Just because you can't read minds doesn't mean that I can't." He turned back to Hagrid, poker-faced. "There's some sort of grudge there. I wouldn't get in the way if I were you."
"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione began, but Harry cut her off.
"We know that Rita Skeeter plastered it all over the Daily Prophet, Hagrid," he said. "We were there, remember?"
"Evil cow," Hermione muttered under her breath, but just loud enough to be heard.
"Yeah, she is," Harry agreed, "but that's not the point." He looked back at Hagrid. "Have you heard anything from any of the other species? D'you know if they've been talking to each other?"
"No," said Hagrid, suddenly looking a bit brighter. "I don'. But I reckon I could find out for yer, Harry."
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