A/N: Thanks to everyone for being patient with me over the delay on this chapter! I hope it's worth the wait. This'll probably be my only post today. My parents are coming into town this afternoon, so I'll be rather busy. On the bright side, they'll be heading into Connecticut tomorrow for a wedding (to which I wasn't invited… but don't get me started on that) and won't come back to the city until Monday, so I should be able to get part 18 (hopefully, the final part) written and posted sometime tomorrow. It's hard to believe this story is almost over! *sniffles a little* Big thanks to all the wonderful people who have sent me reviews throughout. Enjoy the chapter, and bonus points to anyone who recognizes the source of Ron's dream mumblings!
Section 17:
Harry knew he probably looked impossibly silly, but he couldn't wipe the grin off his face. Never, not even on a broom, had he ever felt so free. The wedding that he had been dreading (and hating himself for dreading) was no longer on the horizon. The break-up that had preyed on his mind for most of the previous day was over, with no hard feelings left behind. All that was left in his future was Hermione, and the thought made him so happy, he was amazed his feet touched the ground at all.
Running up the last stairs, he threw open the door to the boys' dormitory and pounced on a sleeping pile of Ronald Weasley. As he expected, Ron only muttered something about roller skates in his sleep and rolled over, reverting to snoring as soon as the words were out of his mouth. (No one else in the room noticed the disturbance. Over the years, Ron had developed a snore that could make the walls vibrate. Harry, Dean, Neville, and Seamus had learned quickly that silencing spells was the only way to get any sleep.)
"Ron, wake up!" Harry whispered loudly, shaking Ron's shoulder.
"No, I'll wear the purple shoes," Ron muttered. "Who painted the kitten?"
"You have to help me pack," Harry insisted, continuing to shake him. "I'm going to Switzerland."
"I know - put my earmuffs on the cookie," Ron murmured.
"I'm in love with Hermione."
A single blue eye cracked open slightly. "Huh?"
"I said I'm in love with Hermione," Harry repeated, beaming proudly.
"Funny," Ron whispered sleepily. "I've never had a dream about that before." Shrugging slightly, the eye started to slip closed once again, but Harry continued to shake him far too persistently.
"Go 'way, Harry," Ron mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow as he tried to turn away from Harry's pushiness.
"Lavender called off our engagement. She told me to go after Hermione. I'll be leaving as soon as I pack." No response. Well, no response except for snoring. "Luna's standing over there wearing nothing but a feather boa!" Harry finally called out as a last resort.
"Luna?" Ron asked eagerly, opening both eyes and sitting up. "Where are you, love?"
"Okay, I lied about the Luna part," Harry admitted sheepishly. "But the rest of it is true."
"The rest of it?" Ron asked, moving to lie down again.
"Oh no, you don't," Harry muttered, grabbing hold of Ron's arm and forcing him to remain upright. "I'm in love with Hermione. Lavender's called off the engagement. I'm leaving for Switzerland as soon as I pack."
"You're in love with Hermione?"
"I'm in love with Hermione," Harry agreed, the same foolish grin from before covering his face.
Slowly, a similar grin spread across Ron's face. "It's about time, mate," he chuckled.
"What?" Harry stammered. "You mean… you knew? How could you have known? Even *I* didn't know!"
"Ron the Great knows all," Ron teased through a massive yawn. "Just look at my divination scores."
"You make your predictions up."
"Doesn't stop them from coming true."
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again, then closed it again. "I'm in love with Hermione," he finally said a moment or two later.
"Yeah, you mentioned that," Ron grinned. "Mighty fond of saying it, aren't you?"
Harry only blushed and smiled in response.
"Falling in love with Hermione's made you downright goofy, mate," Ron replied. "You even look different."
"I do?" Harry asked, looking down at himself. Everything looked normal from his perspective. "What looks different?"
"Your face," Ron answered. "You look… happy."
Harry's smile grew so wide, Ron started to wonder if he was going to sprain something. "I am," Harry whispered. "So happy, you've no idea. I'm…" he shrugged, at a loss to describe just how he felt. "I'm in love with Hermione," he concluded as if that explained everything. He was right; it did.
"Now get up, you lazy git," he said, punching Ron on the shoulder as he got off the bed. "I've got to go to Switzerland to see about a girl, and you're going to help me pack."
Fifteen minutes later, Ron finally managed to haul himself out of bed and into the shower. He threw some clothes on and found Harry, also showered and dressed, in the room he and Lavender were supposed to share, loading his stuff into his trunk and humming something tunelessly but enthusiastically. Harry's grin from before was undiminished, but Ron's had faded. He'd thought of a problem.
"Harry," he asked tentatively, "do you, um, have any idea where you're going?"
"Switzerland," Harry answered cheerfully.
"Yes, but once you *get* to Switzerland?" Ron pressed.
"I haven't the faintest idea," Harry admitted breezily. "But that's alright. I'll find her."
"You've no idea the kind of protection spells a place like Bankhead puts up," Ron warned him. "Finding it won't be easy if you don't know where to look."
Putting down the sweater he was folding, Harry crossed the room to Ron and placed both hands on Ron's shoulder. "I'll find her, Ron," he promised quietly, "because there isn't any other option. I need her, and I love her, and I won't stop looking until I find her." Grinning at his best friend, Harry returned to his packing.
"There… is one other possibility," Ron stated hesitantly.
"Oh?" Harry replied distractedly, trying to remember if he had packed everything that he would need.
"If you knew someone who's been to Bankhead, they would be able to tell you how to get there," Ron elaborated, his voice still very cautious.
"Hmm…" Harry answered, only half-listening. "Pity I don't know any healers."
"There is someone else…" Ron added slowly. "Someone who I know has been there; I remember seeing the pictures in the paper."
"Really?" Harry asked, growing slightly suspicious. It obviously wasn't going to be someone Harry would want to talk to; if it was, then Ron wouldn't be choosing his words so carefully.
"They donated a whopping pile of money earlier in the year, him and his mum. Dad said it was tacky, the way they were trying to buy back their good name, but it *did* have results. They got some very positive press out of it."
"No," Harry whispered, going pale. "You don't… you *can't* mean…"
"I know you hate him, Harry, but who else can you ask? And he's still around, you know. His final project for his Potions N.E.W.T. isn't complete for another few days, I think."
"I didn't see him at lunch yesterday," Harry replied numbly, seating himself rather abruptly onto the edge of the bed.
"He and Snape worked through lunch," Ron explained. "They both showed up to dinner."
"Oh," Harry replied weakly, absorbing this new information. "You can't be serious," he stated a moment later.
"He's your best bet, mate, really he is," Ron stated, as encouragingly as he could, cautiously seating himself next to Harry. "As…unpleasant as the idea may be."
"Unpleasant?" Harry snorted. "Unpleasant is the Care of Magical Creatures kennel on a hot day. Unpleasant is bubotuber puss. Unpleasant is detention with Filch. Having to ask Draco Malfoy for a favor is more than unpleasant."
"It's still the best way to find out," Ron replied. "Isn't Hermione worth it?"
"Hermione's worth anything," Harry answered, automatically and instinctively, "and of course I'll *try* to get the information from him. But… do you really think it will work?"
Ron shrugged philosophically. "There's only one way to find out."
Numbly, Harry nodded his agreement. Packing abandoned, he picked up an old, worn piece of parchment and informed it that he solemnly swore that he was up to no good. Moments later, the map of Hogwarts blossomed across the parchment, and it didn't take long for Harry to find what he was looking for. Draco Malfoy, so the map informed him, was already up and about and apparently taking breakfast in the Great Hall. With a solemn nod in Ron's direction, Harry went off to face the dragon.
Draco was in the middle of a very nice omelet when his morning was spoiled by Harry Potter walking into the Great Hall. With a groan of disappointment, Draco huddled behind his Daily Prophet and hoped that the other boy would keep his distance. He had promised Hermione that he wouldn't pick any fights with him, but the temptation grew almost unbearable whenever the git was in range. Deciding that distance was the best way to keep his promise, Draco started shoveling down the omelet, hoping to finish his breakfast and get out of the Great Hall as quickly as possible. To his shock and dismay, his plan was foiled when Potter, with an expression of fierce determination on his face, approached the Slytherin table.
"Malfoy," he stated with a slight nod.
"Potter," Draco replied.
"I need to talk to you."
Draco raised a single eyebrow. "No, you don't," he retorted a moment later.
"Malfoy…" Harry growled.
"There's nothing pleasant I wish to say to you," Draco explained in as condescending a tone as he could manage. "And I imagine there's nothing pleasant you wish to say to me. And since I promised a certain lady that I wouldn't start a fight with you, there's really no need for you to talk to me. Ever." Draco picked back up his paper and his fork, determined to ignore the scar-headed annoyance in front of him until he went away. Sadly, the annoyance didn't seem to get the message.
"I heard you know how to get to the Bankhead Institute," Harry stated as bluntly as he could, knowing that would get a reaction. It did.
Down went the newspaper. Down went the fork. "No," Draco replied, harshly biting out the word.
"You don't know how to get there?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"I know how to get there," Draco amended, "but there's not a chance in hell that I'd ever tell you." Abruptly, Draco rose to his feet and walked out of the Great Hall without so much as a backward glance.
Harry's face hardened as he hurried after him, following him as he headed down the hallway, grabbing hold of his arm and forcing him to turn around. "You're not getting rid of me that easily," he growled.
"I didn't expect to," Draco answered coolly, shaking off Harry's touch with a look dripping with disdain. "I just thought it might be best to have this conversation somewhere *other* than in full view of the professors at the head table."
"Oh," Harry replied, momentarily taken aback. "Right. So… are you going to tell me or not?" he demanded.
"Not," Draco stated firmly.
"Malfoy, if you'd just-"
"No."
"But why can't you-"
"No."
"If you'd only let me expl-"
"And still the answer is no."
"Why do you have to make this so difficult!" Harry yelled, his temper stretching to the breaking point in spite of his best intentions to stay calm.
"Because I can," Draco answered calmly. "Because you deserve it. Because I know how badly you hurt her. Because I was the shoulder she cried on every time you crushed her heart a little bit more. Because every single tear made me want to put your head through a wall, and only my promises to her stopped me from trying it. Because I have no inclination at all to make this easy for you after what you've put her through. But most of all, because I promised her that I wouldn't, and I'm not about to break my word to her just for *you*."
"I can make her happy, Malfoy."
"No, you can't," Draco scoffed. "Haven't you realized that yet? You can't just go over there; in between preparations for your *wedding*, I might add; and try to make her happy with your friendship when what she wants is your *love*."
"She *has* my love," Harry replied softly.
For the first time in as long as Harry had known him, Draco Malfoy looked truly lost for words. "Come again?" he managed a few moments later.
"I'm in love with her, Malfoy," Harry stated solemnly. It felt odd to share something so essential with someone he despised, but if baring his soul was what it took to get the directions to Bankhead, then he'd do it. He'd do whatever it took.
"Prove it."
"What?"
"Prove it," Draco repeated. "You say you're in love with her, but last week, if someone had asked you, you'd have said you were in love with Brown." Draco paused and gave Harry a cold glare. "I assume the wedding has been called off?" Harry nodded and some of the iciness in Draco's stare thawed. Some. Not much.
"If you want me to believe that you really are in love with her and that you aren't going to decide *next* week that you're in love with a Patil, or she-Weasel, or Weasel himself, then you're going to have to prove it."
"How?"
"Tell me what you love about her," Draco demanded.
Harry blushed hotly. The soul-baring was about to get worse, *much* worse, and the thought made him intensely uncomfortable. Talking about his feelings with anyone, even Ron, was difficult for him. Talking about them with Malfoy would be excruciating. He closed his eyes and pictured Hermione to give him strength. It worked. Harry kept his eyes closed, kept that image of his love in the forefront of his mind, and began to speak.
"I love her smiles," he stated at last, hesitation fading from his voice as he pictured some of her many smiles in his mind's eye. "She has so many of them: her I-know-the-right-answer smile, her you're-being-silly-but-it's-funny-anyway smile, her chocolate-cake-for-dessert smile, her I'm-so-proud-of-you smile, and so many more… I love her hair; it's so soft and warm and defiantly energetic, just exactly like her. I love the way she concentrates, getting that wrinkle between her eyebrows as she faces down a homework assignment, or a pair of knitting needles, or a sketchbook, determined to triumph over any obstacle…"
Harry forgot Malfoy was there. He forgot that he had any audience at all. With his eyes closed, all he could see was Hermione, and she was all he could think about as he admitted, out loud and in careful detail, all the tiny things about her that he adored. It was the first time he had thought to list to himself all her lovable characteristics, and he soon became far too caught up in the recitation to remember anything else.
He had no idea how long he talked, but he didn't much care. He could talk about the things he loved about Hermione forever. He was in the middle of talking about how much he loved the look on her face when she opened a new book when a voice cut him off.
"Take the train to Zauberer and exit the station, heading north. You can take a carriage to the town of Kuhstadt, but the carriages only come once an hour, and it's not a far walk, if you'd rather do it on foot. On the edge of the town, near the dairy, you'll find a low, stone wall. Follow it until it leads you to the base of a hill with a tall cluster of bushes. Tell the bushes your name and who you're there to see. I don't know if they'll let you in or not, but that's the entrance, all the same."
Harry's eyes flew open and he listened to Draco's careful direction with his mouth hanging open slightly. At the end of the directions, Draco turned on his heel and began walking away.
"Thank you," Harry managed to choke out.
Draco turned around and looked Harry in the eye. The stare he gave Harry wasn't particularly warm or particularly friendly, but it held a measure of respect that no Malfoy had ever granted a Potter before.
"Make her happy, Potter. You're the only one who can."
Harry nodded. Draco bowed slightly in reply, and left.