Author's Note: I honestly didn't expect this final chapter to be so late. Obstacles? I feel like I just escaped from the maze during the Triwizard Tournament. I still have scorch marks on my backside from outrunning the Blast-Ended Skrewt. Thanksgiving weekend, power outages, dead phone lines, and a cut finger all contributed to the mayhem. I hope it was worth the wait. But that's not for me to say, is it?
As compensation, this chapter is more than twice as long as any of the others. A good bit of re-writing was involved, some of which will be addressed at the bottom of the page. For better or worse, here it is. I hope it does not disappoint.
Note from Fae Princess: Actually, I'm the reason the chapter is so late -- I've had this chapter in my inbox for days now, and I just haven't had the time or the energy to post it. I haven't even been on the computer -- unless I'm strictly doing homework. Hell, I haven't even had a chance to write in my lj all this weekend. So for the lateness of this lovely conclusion, I am DEEPLY sorry. You're gonna love it anyway, no matter how late it is. Enjoy!
The Weasleys' small living room always lent an atmosphere of intimacy to gatherings within its friendly confines. There was no door to separate it from the hallway and adjacent kitchen, but there was an unspoken agreement that whatever was said in this, the very heart and soul of the Burrow, was never repeated carelessly outside its walls. Therefore, it was with calm sureness that Harry looked into Hermione's eagerly petitioning eyes and began his tale.
"It all starts with the Dursleys," he said, his face taking on the slightly tortured look he invariably wore when speaking of his only living relatives. It always reminded Hermione of a patient in her parents' dental clinic describing a particularly excruciating toothache, the memory of which was as unpleasant as the pain itself.
"Has something happened to them?" Hermione asked with genuine concern.
Harry smiled inwardly. Who else but Hermione could find it in her heart to worry over the welfare of such horrid people as the Dursleys, even after all the suffering they had caused Harry for so many years? It was one of the reasons she was so precious to him.
"They're fine," Harry said through a light chuckle. "You know the old saying: The devil takes care of his own."
They were sitting in an antique loveseat at the very hub of the living room. Its wooden frame was scratched, its finish dull. The upholstery was worn thin in places, frayed and patched. It was easily their favorite piece of furniture in the entire house; its very presence emphasized that the Burrow was more than just a house -- it was a home.
Each of them sat at a slight angle, Hermione's legs arched over Harry's. His left arm rested on the back of the seat, his hand on Hermione's shoulder as they cuddled close. Harry sighed deeply, an indication that his story was about to begin in earnest.
"You know the truth came out only recently about why I had to live with the Dursleys all these years."
"Yes," Hermione nodded. "Your mother's sacrifice protected you against Voldemort when he tried to kill you." As always, she was careful to speak Voldemort's name very softly, lest she alarm Arthur and Percy. "Dumbledore was able to place a protective spell over you based on the fact that your aunt is your mother's -- and your -- last blood relative."
"There's nothing more powerful than blood magic," Harry nodded. "It's the cement that seals a magic spell, makes it virtually impregnable. By accepting me into her home, Aunt Petunia triggered the protective magic that my mum left in me when she died trying to save me. That catalyst is what makes Dumbledore's spell so powerful. And it doesn't matter that Aunt Petunia doesn't care two hoots about me, because Dumbledore told me a long time ago that the magic is in me. The blood-tie merely activates it. So, even though I spend ten months a year at Hogwarts, returning to Privet Drive for even a short time energizes the protective spell and keeps me safe."
"All because your mother loved you enough to die for you," Hermione said reverently. "I've heard Dumbledore say that love is the one thing that Voldemort can't understand, so he can't fathom how to break through the spell."
"The trouble is," Harry said flatly, "living with the Dursleys for even a few weeks a year is only marginally preferable to the prospect of being killed in my sleep by a Death Eater." The smile he flashed briefly at Hermione was decidedly humorless, further intensified by the grim hardness of his eyes. "For as long as I can remember," he said longingly, "I've wanted nothing in the world so much as to get away from Privet Drive and never look back. But Dumbledore was adamant. If I stay away from Aunt Petunia too long, the blood-bond that powers the spell will be severed. And with Voldemort getting stronger every day (like Hermione, he was careful to speak Voldemort's name in subdued tones in the presence of others), I can't honestly say that I don't appreciate feeling safe when I'm away from Hogwarts.
"But I'm damned if I intend to spend another sixteen years under the same roof with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia -- and it might take that long, or longer, to break Voldemort. His first reign lasted for eleven years, despite everything the Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix threw at him. If he hadn't done himself in by attacking me as he did...well, we're not going to get that lucky again, are we? So it's anyone's guess how long it'll take to sort him out this time."
"But you still haven't told me what you were doing while you were away," Hermione said, controlling her anxiety with the greatest of efforts.
"It's a long story," Harry said with an indulgently solicitous smile. "I don't want to leave anything out. As I said, it all begins with Dumbledore's blood-spell. It protects me only so long as Number Four Privet Drive is officially my home. But what happens when I leave school next year? I'm damned if I'll go back to the Dursleys," he repeated with quiet vehemence. "I'll go live in the Hogwarts owlry before I set foot in that house again. But where will I go? That's the thousand-Galleon question, isn't it?
"I know where I wanted to go, of course. Ever since we saved Sirius from the dementors, I was determined that, as soon as could be, I'd go live with him. I wouldn't have cared if we set up housekeeping in that ruddy cave outside Hogsmeade -- it would still be a step up from Privet Drive. But," Harry said heavily, "that all went down the loo when Sirius was lost."
Hermione had noticed that Harry never spoke of his godfather in any manner that signified finality. No matter that none had ever returned from beyond the veiled archway in the Department of Mysteries, Harry would not abandon hope that Sirius was still alive, waiting somewhere beyond the veil to make his triumphant return to the world of the living.
"But even if Sirius was here," Hermione postulated, "you still couldn't have gone to live with him in safety. You said Dumbledore's spell only works with a blood-tie, and Sirius wasn't a blood relation."
If Harry resented Hermione referring to Sirius in the past tense, his expression did not show it.
"Well," he said mysteriously, "he wasn't, but he was." He smiled at the puzzled look that appeared on Hermione's face. "And that brings us back around to the original topic. You see, there are certain aspects of wizarding society that are valued far above such transients as wealth and power, and chief among these is family. Thus, any ritual ceremony pertaining to family is sealed with the most potent magicks.
"When Arthur and Molly got married," he said with a nod in Arthur's direction, "the ceremony involved more than simple vows. They were bonded together with a magical ceremony, unifying them in every respect. It was the same with my parents. So, when the time came to appoint Sirius my godfather and legal guardian, there was more to the process than having a solicitor file a document at the Ministry. In order for Sirius to become my surrogate parent, he joined with my mum and dad -- and me -- in a ceremony that literally made him a member of the Potter family."
"Blood-magic," Hermione said with sudden understanding.
"Exactly," Harry said. "A spell was cast wherein Sirius mingled his blood with that of my mum and dad and me. When it was done, Sirius literally became a blood relative. And when my parents died, he was entitled to take me and raise me as if I were his own son."
"Then why didn't Dumbledore want you to go with Sirius when your parents were killed?" Hermione asked. "Hagrid said he had strict instructions from Dumbledore to take you straight to the Dursleys, no matter what Sirius said."
"He had good reason," Harry said, a concession he likely would not have made only a year earlier. "When my parents were killed, everyone knew that the only way Voldemort could have found them was if their Secret Keeper had betrayed them. Everyone thought that Sirius was the Secret Keeper. When the switch was made at the last moment, Sirius let everyone go on believing that he was still the one, to draw attention away from Wormtail. Even Remus thought Sirius was guilty all those years, remember? It wasn't until all the facts came out that night in the Shrieking Shack that the whole truth became known. Dumbledore himself was convinced that Sirius was guilty, until he talked with Sirius up in Professor Flitwick's office, and we backed up his story. So Dumbledore can be forgiven if he was hesitant to turn me over to the man whom everyone believed was responsible for my being an orphan in the first place."
The tragic note in Harry's voice was not lost on Hermione. Had Sirius lived, Dumbledore's protective spell could easily have been transferred to Grimmauld Place when Harry came of age and could legally choose with whom he would live. Sirius might be a fugitive, but Hermione knew that that small detail would not have given Harry a moment's pause. And she was equally certain that Dumbledore would have respected Harry's decision and complied with his wishes. But for that tragic encounter in the Ministry of Magic, who knew how differently things would have gone? But even as Hermione's face reflected Harry's sadness, it was mingled with a confusion now renewed to even greater proportions.
"But all this still doesn't explain what you've been doing these last couple of weeks," she said.
Harry was drawing breath to resume his story when Arthur Weasley spoke up.
"May I, Harry?" the balding wizard asked hopefully.
"Of course," Harry smiled. His emotions appeared to be getting the better of him, and he seemed relieved to hand the narrative over to Arthur.
"It's like this, Hermione," Arthur said pleasantly as he shifted in his seat (he, like Percy, was sitting in an armchair facing the loveseat) and crossed his long legs comfortably. "Once we learned about the special Charm Dumbledore placed on Harry, I began to think long and hard about how we could get Harry away from those wretched Muggles -- oh, sorry, luv -- I keep forgetting."
"Not a bit of it," Hermione smiled. "I know you weren't tarring Muggles as a whole. And I couldn't agree more -- the sooner we get Harry away from those vile Dursleys, the better I'll like it.
"But -- how can you? Dumbledore's spell can only activate Harry's protective magic with a family member acting as a catalyst, and Sirius was the only family Harry had. And so long as Voldemort is loose in the world, I don't want Harry taking any chances."
Harry squeezed Hermione's knee reassuringly as she gasped at having spoken Voldemort's name aloud. Arthur and Percy both flinched, though the father not nearly so violently as the son.
Arthur was, like Harry, a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore had declared in no uncertain terms that no member of the Order would ever refer to Voldemort as "You-Know-Who," or "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," in his presence. To his credit, Arthur had begun to speak the name more freely in the company of his fellow operatives. But it still gave him a feeling of dread to hear his own voice sounding the name, even in the secure venue of Grimmauld Place. He was wise enough never to use Voldemort's name in general company, and most certainly not in his own house. Percy had nearly leaped out of his chair upon hearing Hermione speak the name. Harry would have found it funny were the situation not so serious. As Dumbledore had told Harry following the incident with the Sorcerer's Stone, "Fear of a name increases fear of the thing." Such fear was a weapon for Voldemort, who had far too many weapons at his disposal already. The sooner that unreasoning fear was stamped out, the better.
Regaining his composure, Arthur continued: "As I said, I was tossing some ideas around in my head, and I saw that the time was coming when some sort of action would have to be taken. When Harry and I finally got together and started hashing things out, I knew we had to work quickly. I had to make a few inquiries before we could proceed in earnest. Didn't want to get his hopes up too soon, you know. I knew it would be a tricky business, especially with Harry having to return to school so soon. I began to wonder if I could pull it off at all.
"But seeing the two of you together in Diagon Alley last month made up my mind. I knew that, come what may, I had to give it my best shot. But I knew it wouldn't be easy. There would be more than a few people involved. So many things could go askew in so many ways. Secrecy was paramount, of course. Dumbledore made us promise never to speak about it, even amongst ourselves. Too many ruddy spies about. After Rita Skeeter, even a fly on the wall could be an Animagus working for You-Know-Who."
Harry grinned, recognizing that Arthur had spared Percy the shock of hearing Voldemort's name spoken twice in the course of a single conversation.
"We had to see Dumbledore first," Harry told Hermione. "Without his consent, not to say his magical support, it would all be just a pipe dream."
"Right," Arthur said. "And once we got Dumbledore on our side, the next step was to go to the Ministry."
"And that's where I came in," Percy said importantly, breaking his polite silence at last. "Ruddy miles and miles of legal bollocks, don't you know. Mountains of forms to sign and notarize and file. Could have taken months. And normally, there's a standardized waiting period so the participants don't go off on a short fuse, so to speak. But I dug my heels in, didn't give an inch. I told them, 'If you can't bend the rules for Harry Potter, after all he's done for the wizarding world, and all he's yet to do, then what's the point of having a Ministry of Magic at all? Might as well just hand the key to You-Know-Who and have done with it.' Well, that put the fear of Merlin in them, let me tell you." Percy puffed out his chest like a rooster displaying his majesty to a yardful of chickens. Harry turned his head toward Hermione so Percy could not see his smile.
Hermione felt as if she were dancing on razor wire. She looked to Harry, to Arthur, to Percy, back to Harry. "Well?" she said sharply. "Is someone going to let me in on the bloody secret?"
"Should we tell her, Arthur?" Harry said with an overemphasized weariness in his voice.
"Reckon so," Arthur said lightly. "You want to do the honors, Harry?"
"Not if you'd rather," Harry said. "You're entitled."
"No, no, I insist," Arthur returned.
"You're sure?" Harry said.
Hermione shrieked, sending spiders scurrying in their dark corners, and startling the ghoul, five floors above, into dropping a heavy object with a dull thud.
His compassionate eyes belying his laughter, Harry looped his left arm around Hermione's neck and pulled her face to his. He pressed his lips against her bushy hair until he could feel her ear underneath the cascades of chestnut brown. As Harry mouthed words none but she could hear, Hermione's eyes exploded like twin flashbulbs. Arthur chuckled with satisfaction while Percy grinned proudly.
"NO!" Hermione said weakly. "You don't mean it!"
Suddenly energized, Hermione jerked this way and that, looking like Crookshanks trying to find the source of a hidden nest of giggling garden gnomes. She whipped her wand out of its cleverly-disguised pocket in her khaki shorts, pointed it at the staircase and shouted, "Accio Hogwarts pouch!"
Percy looked as if he were about to tell Hermione off for doing magic outside of school (he knew that she, unlike Harry, was still underage and thus bound by the Ministry's Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery), but indecision was his undoing. In his moment of vacillation, Hermione's pouch sailed down the stairs and flew into her waiting hands, nearly knocking Percy's glasses off as it zoomed past his head. She tore open the flap and began to toss objects frantically in every direction. Arthur barely caught her ink bottle before it smashed on the floor. One of her new quills barely missed stabbing a picture of Uncle Bilius squarely between the eyes; he was able to duck aside with barely an inch to spare.
With a cry of triumph, Hermione pulled out the object of her frenzied search: a roll of parchment bearing the Hogwarts seal, abetted by a crimson-and-gold Gryffindor lion. She unrolled it madly until she reached the very end. Holding the parchment open with trembling hands, Hermione read upwards from the bottom. And her breath caught in her throat.
Her eyes were fixed on three names in the W column. The first read 'Weasley, Ginevra 6 G P.' The third name was 'Weasley, Ronald 7 G.' And sandwiched in between them in what in Hermione's eyes could only be interpreted as a loving, familial embrace:
Weasley, Harry 7 G H
"It's all legal," Harry said as Hermione looked up to see the broadest grin Harry had ever worn in her presence. "The papers are filed at the Ministry, with duplicate sets in both our Gringotts vaults. I'm now officially the adopted son of Molly and Arthur Weasley."
"And that means," Arthur concluded, "that Harry can now live here at the Burrow and be just as safe as he ever was on Privet Drive -- once Dumbledore transfers the spell, that is, which he should be doing directly now that everything is final."
"B-but," Hermione stammered, "I don't understand -- Dumbledore's spell works only with family -- and if Harry is only adopted -- "
Hermione's voice choked off, and both Arthur and Harry nodded with satisfaction.
"It took you long enough to figure it out, Miss Head Girl," Harry laughed.
"Well, now, Harry," Arthur said gently, "in all fairness, this isn't something they teach in Muggle primary school, is it?" He chuckled, and Hermione turned from Arthur back to Harry, her eyes wide with understanding.
Blood-magic! Harry had said that the wizarding world revered family over all else, and all ceremonies pertaining thereto were sealed in blood: the marriage ceremony...the godparent ceremony...and...adoption! Hermione sprang forward and embraced Harry before turning her face toward Arthur, her eyes almost adoring.
"When Molly and I first discussed the possibilities with Harry," Arthur said, "we asked him if we could become his godparents. That would have been enough to empower the Charm, and we didn't want to presume too much. We never dreamed -- "
Arthur's voice choked off, and he removed his glasses on the pretense of wiping them on his robes. But Hermione saw the tears forming in the elder wizard's eyes, of the type she had seen in her own father's eyes many times.
"There was never any doubt in my mind," Harry said with a warm smile directed at Arthur. "I already felt like I was a member of the family. All I did was make it official.
"The adoption ceremony is far more complex than the one for godparents," Harry told Hermione knowledgably. "It's not something to be entered into lightly, and the Ministry doesn't tolerate any mucking about. The ritual is very stringent. They reckon that anyone who can't be bothered to go through it isn't fit to adopt in the first place. The whole thing took nearly a week, not even counting the legal aspects. It was an ordeal, I'll tell you. Made our O.W.L. exams look like a holiday at Brighton Beach. Try to imagine a month of Potions classes with Snape jammed into a few days and you'll get the idea."
"You went through all that," Hermione said in a trembling voice, her misty eyes on Arthur, "for Harry?"
"It wasn't entirely selfless," Arthur said soberly. "The protective magic in Harry's blood covers more than himself, you know. It covers all of us now, every Weasley right down to Ginny. Remember, You-Know-Who knows about the Order of the Phoenix, and of my part in it. Even if he doesn't suspect that most of the family are in with me, they could still be targeted as a means of influencing my actions. As Harry said, this could be a long, hard war, and nothing is more important to me than my family. I knew that by helping Harry, I would also be helping myself -- all of us. Altruism had very little to do with it, luv."
"And after I nearly killed Arthur at the Ministry two years ago," Harry said, recalling the vivid experience of the snake's fangs -- his fangs -- sinking repeatedly into Arthur's body as he guarded the entrance to the Department of Mysteries, "I reckoned it was the least I could do." The smile he wore now was very thin, and Hermione knew Harry was maintaining it only by sheer force of will.
"And as an added security measure," Arthur said, "we're going to tack on a Fidelius Charm, like the one on Grimmauld Place. When we're done, the Burrow will be the safest house in Britain. Molly and I will be able to sleep peacefully again for the first time in ages."
"The Fidelius was never an option with the Dursleys," Harry told Hermione. "Muggle house, you know -- Statute of Secrecy and all that. Can you imagine the chaos if everyone in Little Whinging suddenly forgot where the Dursleys lived? And how would Ron and the twins have rescued me that time if they didn't know where to fly the car?" Harry winked at Arthur, who chuckled silently; Percy frowned slightly but said nothing.
"I can't tell you what it means to me to know that my family has a place where they can come at need and be completely safe from You-Know-Who," Arthur said earnestly. "No matter how far they may scatter, they'll always know that they have a haven waiting for them here at the Burrow when things start getting dodgy. So whatever you do, Hermione, don't thank Molly and me. After today, we owe Harry far more than we can ever repay."
Harry looked ready to rebuke Arthur's declaration, but instead he turned and caressed Hermione with his eyes, their warmth surging through her like an Incendio spell. He drew her to him, and they hugged with a tenderness mingled with unbreakable steel. When they drew apart, Hermione's hands slid along Harry's arms to take his hands in hers. But her left hand paused to trace along the surface of Harry's right forearm. Her eyes rose questioningly, and Harry nodded.
"A lot has happened with that arm," he chuckled. "First, that git Lockhart removed my bones. Then the basilisk drove his fang through it only a few months later. And let's not forget Wormtail taking my blood to bring back Voldemort." He shuddered mildly before stretching his smile to its widest point. "It's about time something good happened to it, don't you think?"
Hermione's fingers traced almost lovingly along the thin white line marking the place where she knew Harry had given his blood, not forcibly this time, but willingly, to become the adopted son of Arthur and Molly, and brother to the seven Weasley children. Harry placed his hand atop Hermione's, and his index finger followed hers along the line of his newest scar.
"I could have had the Healer remove the scar," he said. "But I didn't want it removed." He sighed softly, his eyes taking on a slightly haunted look for a moment. "For the longest time, I couldn't look at my arm without remembering...that night. But now, this mark will always remind me of today -- the day I finally got what I always wanted more than anything in the world -- a family." His smile returned, brighter than ever, and Hermione responded in kind.
Snuggling close once more, Hermione followed Harry's eyes as they came to rest on Arthur, who was now holding out his own arm to show a mark like unto his newly adopted son's. Hermione had the idea that Arthur was more proud of that mark than he would have been of the Order of Merlin, First Class.
Without warning, Arthur's expression flickered, like a shadow passing across the face of the moon. Though she was pressed too closely to Harry to see his eyes, Hermione strongly suspected that he had just given Arthur some sort of silent signal.
"Blimey!" Arthur rumbled, bolting up from his chair. "I haven't eaten since yesterday! And that breakfast smells absolutely ripping! Come on, Percy! Let's go fill our plates before Ron eats the lot out from under us!"
In two shakes of a centaur's tail, Harry and Hermione found themselves alone in the living room. Hermione wrapped her arms tightly around Harry, not wanting to let him go.
"I was so scared, Harry," she said, her relief still stained with a trace of her earlier fear. "When I didn't see your name on the school roster, I thought..."
"You thought I'd gone off with the Order of the Phoenix to fight Voldemort," Harry said, his arms tightening around her in a sort of wordless apology. "I'm so sorry. It never occurred to me that the Hogwarts roster would be changed so quickly. Arthur and I only started working on the details two weeks ago. With all the Ministry red tape to wade through, we weren't even sure we could pull it off before September first, and that would have meant a delay of months, until the Christmas holidays.
"But Dumbledore must have had more faith in us than we had in ourselves. Either that," he smiled wisely, "or he pulled some strings at the Ministry to hurry things along. I suppose being Chairman of the International Confederation of Wizards, not to mention Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, has its advantages. He probably ordered the roster changed the moment we left his office."
"I'm so glad you're not going away," Hermione breathed into Harry's robes as her face pressed against his chest.
"But..." Harry said hesitantly, his voice straining as if the words did not want to be given voice, "...you do know that I'm still a member of the Order. And when the time comes, I will have to go and do my part."
"I know," Hermione mouthed so softly that Harry heard more by heart than by ear. Aloud, she said, "But now, thanks to Arthur and Molly, you'll have a safe place to live where Voldemort can't touch you."
"Yes, well," Harry said slowly, and Hermione felt a delicate tremor pass through Harry and thence through her. "That's only part of it, actually."
Hermione lifted her head, and she saw that Harry was looking at her strangely. She knew him well enough by now to recognize the signs of a great conflict going on behind the emerald windows of his eyes, beside which the coming clash with Voldemort paled.
"What is it, Harry?" she asked, instantly appropriating his concern and making it her own. "Is there something you haven't told me?" In reply, Harry locked his arm even more securely around Hermione's shoulder and cast his eyes out, his vision reaching far beyond the walls of the Burrow. Though her curiosity was bursting within her, she patiently waited for Harry to speak, encouraging him silently by placing her hand atop his and gently massaging it with her thumb.
"This all started," Harry said at last, "when Arthur and I were leaving a meeting with Dumbledore at Grimmauld Place. The subject of the meeting was security."
"Is Dumbledore worried that Grimmauld Place isn't safe?" Hermione asked. "I wouldn't blame him, after Kreacher went and betrayed Sirius to Narcissa." But Harry brushed away her concern with a shake of his head.
"Dumbledore assures us that, even though Narcissa knows we're using the old Black manor, she still can't find us. Oh, she knows the manor is out there somewhere, but thanks to the Fidelius, she doesn't remember where it is or even what it looks like. That was the essence of the meeting, actually. There are other key spots in the resistance that aren't as well protected as Grimmauld Place. If we could make those places as safe as the main headquarters, everyone would sleep better at night. And that's what got Arthur to worrying, see. After the attack that sent Arthur to St. Mungo's, there's no doubt that Voldemort knows he's a member of the Order. Arthur said he can't stop himself from imagining what it would be like to come home and find the Burrow a smoking ruin, with the Dark Mark blazing in the sky overhead. It happened to my mum and dad," Harry said grimly, "and there's no reason to think it can't happen again. And he kept saying that there was nothing he wouldn't do to protect the people he loves. And every time he said it, he got more and more worried. I started to feel this sort of heaviness growing inside me, and it got bigger every time. Finally it got so big that I knew I had to do something."
"And that's when you suggested transferring your mum's protection from Privet Drive to the Burrow," Hermione said.
"Yes," Harry said. "But not for the reason you think." When Hermione looked at Harry curiously, he said quickly, "It's not that I wasn't glad to do what I could for the Weasleys. I'll never forget the look on Molly's face when she saw her family lying dead that time -- you know, when she was trying to sort out that boggart at Grimmauld Place. I never want to see that look on her face again, because the next time it won't be a bloody shape-shifter. It'll be real."
Hermione trembled slightly, and Harry applied a gentle, reassuring pressure with the hand encircling her shoulders.
"Anyway," he went on, "when the meeting broke up, Arthur surprised me by asking where I was planning on living after I left school. Well, I hardly need to tell you it's been on my mind for a long time. I'd originally intended on moving in with Sirius, of course. But when that went down the plug hole -- " Harry paused to draw a short, pained breath, " -- I wasn't sure if I wanted to live at Grimmauld Place. It'd be safe enough, according to Dumbledore, but, well..."
Hermione gave Harry's hand an understanding squeeze, and he smiled down on her gratefully for a moment before turning away again.
"So," he went on, "I was lying awake on my camp bed in Ron's room that night, and I kept thinking about everything Arthur and I had talked about. And every time I remembered how he said he'd do anything to protect the people he loves, the fear in his voice kept getting sharper and stronger. And I knew exactly how he felt, because...because I feel the same way."
"Harry?" Hermione said, her voice trembling slightly. "What are you saying?"
His eyes still staring fixedly at the far corner of the room, Harry said in a voice tinged with something close to anguish, "I'm saying that I didn't do all this for the Weasleys, or for myself. I did it -- " He turned now and fixed her eyes with his, which look embraced her more fervently than the arm encircling her shoulders. "I did it for you."
"For me?" Hermione said weakly.
With a deft reversal, Harry took Hermione's hand in his and said, "You've been a part of my life for six years now. But it's only in the last few weeks that I've come to realize that, somewhere along the way, you became the most important part. And I knew that, whatever happens from now on, I couldn't go on if something happened to you. I knew that I had to keep you safe -- because if I ever -- " Harry's voice thickened until he could no longer speak. Summoning a calm he did not wholly feel, he said, "Arthur wondered what he'd do if he found the Dark Mark hovering over the place where he'd last seen Molly. In his place -- if it were you -- I -- don't think I could go on. I wouldn't want to go on."
Suddenly, as if a cloud blocking the sun had been blown aside, Harry's face began to glow with a soft, warming radiance.
"So, the very next morning, I went to Arthur and told him what I wanted to do. I told him to go talk it over with Molly, and that I'd abide with their decision. And, well -- you know the rest."
Hermione felt as if an iron weight had settled at the bottom of her stomach. She stared at Harry with a mixture of fear and wonder.
"Harry," she said weakly, hardly daring to voice the words. "Are you saying...what I think you're saying..."
Some of the light faded from Harry's face. "I'm sorry," he said, lowering his eyes and turning his head slightly. "I never should have -- I mean, just because we -- " His hand fell away from her shoulders, dropping behind the loveseat. "I'm sorry," he said again, shaking his head. "I'm an idiot."
"If you are," Hermione said, her voice tightening, "then so am I."
Harry jerked his head around, his eyes going wide.
"Are you serious?"
"I've never been more serious about anything in my life," Hermione said, her eyes beginning to glow wetly.
Harry wrapped his arms around Hermione and held her as if he never wanted to let her go.
"I was so afraid," he said, his lips pressed against her bushy brown hair. "I was afraid that I was -- that you didn't -- "
"I thought the same thing," Hermione said. "I was sure that -- that I wasn't -- that you couldn't -- "
"That I couldn't what?" Harry asked, pulling back so that their faces were nearly nose-to-nose.
"That you couldn't possibly -- " she choked softly, " -- couldn't possibly love me the way that -- that I love you."
"If I hadn't been such a blind git," Harry said with a small, self-chastising laugh, "I'd have seen the truth ages ago. When I look back now, it seems that I'm the only one who didn't see it."
"I think Voldemort may have had something to do with that," Hermione smiled. "Bit of a distraction, he is. Someone should sort him out, don't you think?"
"What I think," Harry said in a calm, sober voice, "is that no wizard ever deserved to be loved by a witch as beautiful as you."
"I think you need new glasses," Hermione said with a slight downcast of her eyes.
"With my glasses or without," Harry said, "you're the most beautiful witch in the world. And...I love you."
"Will you say that again?" Hermione said imploringly, a faint, hopeful smile returning to her face. "I've imagined hearing those words for so long, I need to know this isn't just another dream."
"If this is a dream," Harry said, "then I hope I never wake up. I love you, Hermione Granger."
"And I love you," Hermione said, hesitating as she added with a smile, "Harry Weasley."
Hermione was surprised when Harry's face suddenly clouded over.
"What is it?" she asked in a startled voice.
After a long pause, Harry said, "That's...the first time anyone has ever called me that." He paused again. "I wonder...I wonder what my parents would think about all this...I mean, it was the only way -- without the adoption ceremony, the spell wouldn't -- but it still feels like I...I dunno...like I betrayed them."
"Rubbish," Hermione said gently. "From everything I've heard about them, they'd understand perfectly. They both died trying to save you. When they went into hiding, do you think they'd have hesitated for a moment to change their names if it would keep you safe from Voldemort? And that being so, if they'd succeeded in hiding from him long enough, you would have come to Hogwarts with a different name altogether. But that wouldn't matter, because you'd still know inside that you were the son of James and Lily Potter." Very slowly, Harry's face relaxed, and Hermione smiled and said, "I think Shakespeare said it best: 'That which we call a rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet.'"
"I'm a rose now, am I?" Harry grinned. "A bloke could take that as a swipe at his manhood."
"You're my rose," Hermione returned sincerely. "Thorns and all." She paused for a moment, her finger tapping her lips thoughtfully. "You know," she said at last, "when this business with Voldemort is all done, maybe the Ministry will let you change your name back -- if you still want to. I'm sure there must be some books on wizarding law that deal with this sort of thing. Quick as we get back to Hogwarts, I'll pop into the library first thing and see what I can turn up."
"Now that's the Hermione I fell in love with," Harry laughed, the words falling easily from his lips. Caught by a sudden inspiration, Harry drew his wand and, with a great flourish, conjured a single red rose from mid-air. He handed it to Hermione, who took it gleefully. As she twirled it about appreciatively, one of the thorns pricked her thumb. She let out a squeak of surprise and brought her thumb to her mouth.
"Sorry," Harry said sheepishly. "Don't reckon McGonagall would give me full marks on that, would she?"
"What's a rose without thorns?" Hermione smiled over her upraised hand. "The risk is part of the excitement, isn't it? It makes the outcome all the sweeter."
As Hermione withdrew her thumb, the taste of blood still on her tongue, her eyes fell on Harry's arm, coming to rest on the thin white line of his new scar. She reached out and ran her hand along it, lifting her eyes to meet Harry's. The meaning was plain, but she was surprised when Harry sank back heavily against the loveseat and let his head fall back until his eyes were looking up at the ceiling.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione asked. "What is it?"
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
"For what?" Hermione said curiously as she carefully set her rose on the seat beside her before turning back around.
"This isn't right," he said darkly.
"What?" Hermione said, startled by Harry's unexpected remark.
"Damn Voldemort!" Harry hissed through clenched teeth. "Damn him!"
"Harry?" Hermione said, her worry increasing. Harry turned his head in her direction, and she could see the pain clouding his eyes.
"This isn't the way it should be," he said scornfully. "Some courtship, this is. I just pop in and announce that I've set things up so we can be safe from Voldemort without so much as a by your leave. Never mind that the only way to place you under the protection of my mum's magic is -- " Harry flung his arm out in a whip-like motion before letting it fall onto his lap.
"Harry -- " Hermione began in a placating voice, but he turned sharply and cut her off.
"You don't deserve this," Harry said, seemly on the verge of tears. "We don't deserve this. We should be having a proper courtship, like normal people. We should be walking hand-in-hand down garden paths...making chains of flowers and hanging them around each other's neck...having picnics under blue skies, with the sun in our faces and the birds singing in the trees.
"But because of Voldemort -- damn him to hell -- the sky isn't blue -- it's dark, and clouded, black as a Death Eater's mask. The sun isn't shining...and there's no guarantee it'll ever shine again. The last time around, Voldemort terrorized the wizarding world for eleven years. He fought the Aurors and the Order of the Phoenix to a standstill. He might have gone on forever, if not for this." Harry pointed meaningfully to his scar. "He won't make that mistake again. There's no telling how long it'll take to sort him out this time -- if we can do it at all." Catching up Hermione's hands, Harry said in a sort of tragic apology, "We can't count on tomorrow. The only thing we have is today. And you deserve so much more. How can I ask you to..." His voice trailed off as his head sank heavily onto his chest.
"In the first place," Hermione said calmly and forcefully, "your mum and dad got married straight out of school. They were members of the first Order of the Phoenix. Voldemort was at the height of his power then, just as he is now. They understood that tomorrow was guaranteed to neither of them -- just as it's guaranteed to neither of us. And speaking for myself, I don't care what tomorrow brings, just so we have today. That's all I want, all I'll ever ask for. Just so I can spend that today with the man I love."
"Why the hell couldn't Trelawney have kept her ruddy mouth shut that day in the Hog's Head?" Harry said with a tragic laugh. "I never wanted any of this rubbish. All I ever wanted was to be like everyone else."
"If you were like everyone else," Hermione smiled, "I never would have fallen in love with you."
"It's not fair," Harry said. "It's not fair to you. It's no wonder this ruddy scar on my head is shaped like a bolt of lightning. I'm a sodding lightning rod, and anyone near me is in danger of being caught in the storm. There ought to be a sign stamped across my face, Danger -- Mad wizard -- Approach at your own risk. I don't have the right -- "
"The right to what?" Hermione responded shortly. "The right to be happy? After everything you've been through, if anyone deserves to be happy, it's you."
"I wish it was that simple," Harry sighed.
"Love is never simple," Hermione returned. "It was meant to be complicated. We have to wade through bogs and climb mountains -- and fight mountain trolls," she said with a wry twist of her lips. Despite himself, Harry smiled. "Love is the most valuable thing there is," Hermione said. "But like anything of value, it has to be earned. It doesn't just fall from the sky. We have to work hard to prove we deserve it. So the harder we have to fight, the happier we'll be in the end. Q.E.D."
Clearly torn, Harry squeezed Hermione's hand, seeking reassurance from her touch. He could feel her heartbeat pulsing through her wrist, and in his fancy it was timed perfectly with his own.
"I want to do what's right," he said helplessly. "But how do I know what the right thing is?"
"Well," Hermione said thoughtfully, "I remember Dumbledore telling everyone at the Leaving Feast more than a year ago that we all have to choose between what is right and what is easy. So what we need to do here is apply basic Sherlockian logic."
Harry raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Hermione's knowing expression sharpened.
"Sherlock Holmes said that once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. So, applying that template, all you have to do is eliminate whatever is easy. Once you've done that, whatever remains must be right."
Looking thoughtful in his turn, Harry said slowly, "The easiest thing to do would be to pretend that this conversation never happened. We'll go back to school and go on as we always have, with no one the wiser. I'll tell everyone I went through the adoption so I could be safe from Voldemort. There's more than enough truth in that. No one would ever know that you were in any way involved. I'm sure we could trust Ron and Ginny to keep quiet. After that, we all go on like we planned, take our N.E.W.T.'s as if nothing was amiss. And when I leave school, I'll go off and have ruddy tea and cakes with Voldemort, just like Trelawney's prophesy says. Maybe I'll come back -- maybe I won't. I don't reckon you can get more easy and straightforward than that.
"There's only one problem with that," Harry said with a pained smile. "If I didn't know you were safe and sound here at the Burrow, I wouldn't want to come back. I'd -- I'd want to grab a handful of Voldemort's robes and drag the both of us through that ruddy veil and never look back."
"You're assuming quite a bit, aren't you?" Hermione said, her lips pursed even as her eyes twinkled with amusement. "Just because I'm not a member of the Order of the Phoenix now doesn't mean I won't be later. Your mum and dad were both members of the original Order, remember. I expect when my final marks come in, Dumbledore will be asking me to join so fast that it'll set Peeves' bow tie spinning like a propeller. He knows by now that, one way or another, I'll do everything in my power to help bring about Voldemort's downfall. Better I should do it under the auspices of the Order, don't you think? So if you fancy that I'm going to sit here swapping recipes with Molly while you go off and play 'Dodge the Cruciatus' with a pack of Death Eaters, you can ruddy well think again, Harry James Potter Weasley."
"I love you," Harry said softly.
Hermione's heart leaped at hearing again the words she had waited to hear for so long, and secretly feared she never would. They seemed to imbue her with a powerful resolve, sweeping away the cobwebs of her last lingering doubts. Very slowly she turned her arm over and, as she had done with Harry, traced an invisible line across her forearm with her index finger.
"It took a blood ceremony to transfer the protective magic of your mum's sacrifice to the Burrow," she said slowly. "And it will take another, different blood ceremony to place me under that umbrella." She reached out and took Harry's hand, turning his arm over so she could press the imaginary line on her forearm against the very real line on his. The radiant smile she conferred on Harry was warm as the sunbeams peeking through the living room curtains. But instead of returning her smile, as she expected, Harry frowned slightly.
"I want you to be safe more than anything," he said as he stared at the point where their arms crossed. "But is that enough reason for us to..."
"No," Hermione said, placing her hand emphatically under Harry's arm and pressing down meaningfully with her own. "It isn't. Whatever the circumstances, there's really only one reason for two people to share that ceremony. I said I love you. I meant those words with all my heart. Did you mean them when you said them?"
"Yes," Harry said, his voice thick with emotion. "So much that I can't put it into words."
"Then we don't need words," Hermione said.
Their lips drawing each other's like magnets, Harry and Hermione came together in a slow, timorous kiss that sent waves of comforting warmth flowing through them. It was a kiss such as neither of them had ever experienced. Over the course of numerous Hogsmeade dates and lakeside walks, of quiet nights spent snuggling before the fire in the Gryffindor common room or stolen moments in the pumpkin patch behind Hagrid's cabin, they had shared kisses beyond number; kisses of youthful exuberance, of hormonal passion and playful indescretion. But now, as a rising tide of volcanic heat surged through them like an intoxicating draught, it was as if they were kissing for the first time -- indeed, as if they had never known how to kiss until this moment. Borne on invisible wings, the love so long tethered within them was loosed, bearing them to heights immeasurable in earthly terms. They became for the first time a single song, their individual notes blending like a chorus. It was eternity captured in a moment, and neither wanted that moment to end.
Panting softly, his brain turning light, Harry pulled his lips from Hermione's and stared into the soft deeps of her eyes. Having scarcely the strength to remain seated, he slipped down and sank to his knees at Hermione's feet. He took her hand and drew it to him, holding it close to his lips, which were curving into an imploring smile.
"Hermione," he said in a choked voice, "will you do me the great honor of becoming Mrs. Harry Weasley?"
"Nothing in the world," Hermione said breathlessly, her free hand caressing Harry's face, "would make me happier."
Harry swung Hermione down, spinning so that his legs swung out in front of him. He cradled her in his lap, hugging her until she gasped for breath. It took a sharp jab of her finger in his ribs to effect her release.
"I wonder if Hogwarts has a rule about students being engaged?" Harry wondered as his fingers danced playfully along his new fiancee's back.
"Since when do you worry about rules, Mr. Harry James Potter Weasley?" Hermione laughed. "What would the Marauders say?"
Looking over the top of Hermione's head (even sitting down, he was noticably taller than she), Harry spied the rose lying on the cushion near where Hermione had been sitting. Reaching behind Hermione to catch up the rose, he drew his wand and tapped the stem repeatedly. At each tap, one of the thorns vanished.
"You know," he said softly (and somewhat embarrassedly) as the thorns melted away one by one, "I kind of like the name Rose. We might keep it mind for when we...you know..."
"Yes," Hermione said, blushing in her turn as she allowed Harry to tuck the now thornless rose into her hair above her left ear. "But what if our firstborn turns out to be a girl?"
Harry stared at Hermione blankly for a moment before he burst out laughing.
"I love you," he said softly as his fingers traced along the petals of the rose glowing redly in its sea of bushy brown.
"And I love you," Hermione said, her finger tracing along the lightning scar on Harry's forehead. "Thorns and all."
They shared an exuberant kiss, which ended abruptly when Hermione pressed forward a bit too enthusiastically and caused both of them to tumble backward in an awkward tangle of arms and legs. Harry laughed again as he braced his hand to right himself, his laugh coming up short as he slipped on a piece of parchment that was part of the ejecta from Hermione's school bag. He righted himself again, giving Hermione an accusing stare as she sat back against the loveseat, making no effort to help him up. Surveying the room closely for the first time now, Harry grinned at the spectacle that met his eyes. An explosion from one of the Weasley twins' dangerous inventions could hardly have wrought more mayhem, in his opinion.
"Look at this mess," he scolded playfully, enjoying turning the tables on Hermione after hearing her go on endlessly on the subject of his (and Ron's) careless disregard for organization. "And what's this?" Harry had picked up a small card with a red number 7 on it. Hermione twitched nervously for a moment.
"Oh, that's...just something I picked up in a shop in Diagon Alley last month."
"What kind of shop?" Harry asked, turning the card over a couple of times as he regarded it curiously.
"A...fortune teller," Hermione admitted reluctantly. Harry laughed out loud.
"I thought Trelawney put you off that sort of rubbish," he said with a gleam in his eye.
"Oh, she's still an old fraud," Hermione declared, snatching the card from Harry's hand and smiling at it in a very curious manner. "But it really isn't fair to judge all seers by their worst example, is it?"
"But what does it mean?" Harry asked, his eyes on the card, which Hermione seemed to have no intention of relinquishing.
"It means," Hermione said dreamily, "that I'm going to be Mrs. Hermione Weasley. I don't know when -- maybe next September -- we have so many plans to make between now and then -- but it will happen -- just as I knew it would."
"Oh?" Harry said in an amused voice. "And just how did you know?"
"It was in the cards," Hermione said with a joyous twinkle in her eye, her finger tracing along the bright red number 7. "It was all...in the cards."
Author's Note: This story was written before Order of the Phoenix came out. In the original draft, Sirius was still alive and no one knew exactly why Harry had to return to the Dursleys every holiday. In retrospect, the changes I was forced to make elevated the story a few notches. I can't deny, Sirius' absence definitely sharpens the essence of the plot. But oh, the headaches! It might have been easier to chuck the whole story, but I couldn't bring myself to murder one of my "children" so callously. Plastic surgery was the only answer. I hope the new face was to everyone's liking. It was the best I could manage, so I'll try to console my flagging spirits with that thought.
Next up (after a suitable break to gear up for the Christmas season) is an angsty little one-shot called Visiting Day. Technically, it follows the prescribed ship, but...um...Harry doesn't exactly appear in the story (though he's definitely a part of it). He's there, but he isn't...Well, you'll understand when you read it.
Thanks for waiting so patiently, and for the kind words (deserved or not). I hope to return before year's end. Until then, happy holidays.