Through the Fire

Title: Through the Fire

Author: Goldy

Disclaimer: Still belongs to JKR. Still not mine. Still can’t afford to be sued.

Spoilers: Books 1-5, spoilers for Lines Crossed

A/N: This is the sequel to Lines Crossed, which needs to be read before this to make sense. Not that a whole heck of a lot happened in Lines Crossed, mind you.

A/N 2: Yes—I’ve finally gotten to the sequel. We’ll see how much success I have with this thing. I’m actually attempting a (*gasp*) plot this time around.

A/N 3: Indeed, the title comes from Buffy. Sorry. I’ve been listening to the Once More With Feeling soundtrack way too much this weekend and I’ve been tossing and turning over titles for weeks. At least I didn’t name it Under Your Spell, right? *hits head* I did my best! *wails*

Rating: PG13 for now—I might have to up that for later chapters. We’ll see what happens.

Special thanks to my betas James and Kristin for their awesome editing skills.

To save the day
Or maybe melt away

I guess it's all the same

So I will walk through the fire
'Cause where else can I turn?
I will walk through the fire

- Walk Through the Fire, ‘OMWF’

***

One month, two weeks, and three days.

Harry sighed as he crossed another day off the calendar hanging by his bed.

One month, two weeks, and two days, he said to himself.

The time seemed unbearably long. Flopping on his back, Harry stared at the ceiling of his small room at number four Privet Drive. The clock on his bedside table warned him that it was a little after midnight on a July, Tuesday morning.

Try as he might, he was unable to fall asleep. He glanced at Hedwig’s cage, unsurprised to find that it was still empty. Harry had left his window open so she could come and go as she pleased. With a small pang, he discovered that a little bit of company might have been nice.

Unwillingly, his mind drifted to Hogwarts and he closed his eyes, picturing the Gryffindor common room. So many nights he’d spent there trying to catch up on homework, or nights spent with Ron and Hermione trying to solve the latest mystery. Or, last year, nights spent with Hermione, just because…

One month, two weeks, one day, twenty-three hours and fifty-five minutes.

Harry was beginning to grow frustrated by his isolation at the Dursleys’. It reminded him of his feelings at the beginning of fifth year. He hated being cut off. Last year hadn’t been as bad. With the death of Sirius and the news of the prophecy on his mind, Dumbledore hadn’t dared leave him long with the Dursleys.

But now…

Now the war was even closer.

You must stay where you are safest, Harry. We are doing everything we possibly can. Rest assured, we will contact you should the need arise.

Owl Post was revealing pathetic little. Harry had even gone so far as to renew his subscription with the Daily Prophet, if only for a small snippet of what was going on in the wizarding world.

He couldn’t believe that Dumbledore was doing this to him again.

Not that he could have voiced his annoyance. He was under strict orders to keep his letters to the barest minimum.

In a pile on his desk was a stack of letters, some from Ron, most of them from Hermione. Though he was grateful she was writing him, her letters did little to satisfy him. They were sparse, a few lines scribbled together to assure him she was doing fine.

Not that his letters to her were any better. If it hadn’t been for her assurances of love in every letter, Harry would almost be able to convince himself that last year had never happened.

He missed her. And Ron, of course. But the way he missed Ron was completely different from the way that he missed Hermione.

He liked to think that their relationship was strong enough to survive the distance and uncertainty, but it was drawing near a month now since he’d last seen her. If he was brutally honest with himself, he could admit that some part of him was fearful that she’d move on or fall out of love with him.

Looking for reassurance, Harry sorted through the letters on his desk, and picked up the one Hedwig had delivered to him yesterday.

Harry,

Things are quiet here. I’ve been doing lots of schoolwork, that essay Snape assigned ended up being three roles of parchment! I hope you’re getting a start on your work, don’t leave it to the last minute, you know you’ll regret it.

I know your birthday is coming up, I only wish I could be there with you to celebrate it. This is maddening, being so far away. I miss you.

I hope you’re doing well and that your aunt and uncle are treating you all right.

I love you,

Hermione

With a sigh, Harry folded up the letter and threw it on top of the pile before lying back down on the bed. He eyed his calendar, the time until Hogwarts seeming unbearably long.

He knew he should write Hermione back.

I’ll do it in the morning, he thought to himself, closing his eyes.

***

The morning of Harry’s seventeenth birthday dawned wet and rainy. Harry, who woke up around five, lay in bed, listening to the rain pelt against his bedroom window.

I’m seventeen.

Hedwig blinked at him from his cage, as if confirming his thoughts. The floor out in the hallway creaked and Harry knew his aunt had just gotten out of bed to prepare Vernon’s breakfast before he went off to work.

Having passed seventeen birthdays at number four Privet Drive, Harry knew that his aunt and uncle were completely unaware of his birthday.

As such, they would have no idea that he was legally able to do magic.

Sitting on his desk was Harry’s wand. Harry had placed it there before falling asleep, so it would be the first thing he’d see upon waking up.

Pulling back the covers, Harry dressed quickly, shoving his wand in the back pocket of his jeans. He paused at the doorway, Hermione’s voice loudly chastising him in his head.

You know you can’t do magic around the Dursleys! There are strict laws about performing magic in front of Muggles, Harry. Don’t go abusing this power just because you can. You know you’re more powerful than them, there’s no need to go and prove it.

Harry felt a flash of irritation—annoyed because it was true. Not that it mattered. Harry was beginning to realize that he could get away with nearly anything.

He was the only one that had the power to defeat Voldemort.

And while he was unwilling to use that to his advantage, his annoyance at being kept in the dark the last few weeks left him feeling reckless.

He strode into the kitchen, where Uncle Vernon and Dudley were both gorging themselves on a plate full of bacon and eggs. Harry sat himself down at the table, grinning.

“Good morning!” he said cheerfully.

Vernon choked on his eggs. Dudley was paying too much attention to the television to notice what was going on around him.

“Why, yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry continued. “I would love some eggs. How nice of you to offer.”

Petunia turned around, holding the frying pan in the air and looking down her nostrils at him disdainfully. “Would you like so more, Duddlekins?”

Dudley’s eyes never left the television. He gave a grunt of consent and Petunia dished the rest of the eggs out onto his plate.

Harry sighed.

Vernon’s paper rustled as he turned a page. “Barely any news,” he grunted. “Nothing new. Only more disappearances.”

Harry’s head snapped up. “What?”

Vernon’s eyes narrowed. “Something interesting in that, boy?”

“Might be, yeah,” Harry said, trying to swivel his head around to look at the paper.

Vernon snatched it out of sight. “There’s nothing… nothing… no funny business… in these missing people.”

Harry snorted. “I’d hardly call Voldemort a laughing matter.”

Aunt Petunia dropped the frying pan at the sound of the name. Vernon slammed the paper on the table. Dudley didn’t look away from the television.

“You know what?” Harry said, waving a hand. “Forget I said anything.”

Getting up, he retrieved the frying pan from the floor and set about washing it. Back to his aunt and uncle, he hoped they wouldn’t ask him any questions. They were about the last people he wanted to explain the prophecy to. They remained silent and, after a moment, Harry heard Vernon beginning to flip through his paper.

Placing the pan on the stove, Harry went to get some eggs out of the refrigerator. “Do you know what the date is?” he asked.

“Of course I know what the ruddy date is, boy,” Vernon snapped. “What kind of question is that?”

“Then you’re aware, of course,” Harry said, breaking the egg on the side of the pan. “That today is my birthday.”

“What?” Vernon asked suspiciously. “You’re not expecting gifts or anything of the sort, are you?”

“My seventeenth birthday,” Harry said.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“It means,” Harry said, turning around. “That I’m legal in the wizarding world.”

Three blanks stares met his.

“I’m legal to do magic.”

“WHAT?” Vernon hollered, his paper shaking indignantly in his hands.

Petunia whimpered and looked faint.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Neat, isn’t it?

“You—you—I—better—not—catch—you—doing—funny business in my HOUSE!”

“Alright,” Harry said, flipping his eggs over. “But it would be good for you to remember, I can do magic. More importantly, I will if I need to.”

A loud crack from outside made Harry jostle the pan in surprise. Nearly spilling his breakfast on the floor, he quickly glanced out the window above the sink.

“That noise,” he said. “It… it sounded like a car backfiring.”

Vernon was still seething over the bombshell Harry had dropped on him. “One hint of—of—that nonsense and you are gone, boy, do you hear me? I will not tolerate it in my house!”

Harry ignored him, eyes still scanning the outdoors. He was sure he’d heard it—the crack of an Apparating wizard.

He was certain it had to have been a member of the Order, no doubt checking up on him.

But he had no way to verify it.

Constant Vigilance.

Harry reached for his wand and swallowed nervously.

Vernon’s eyes went wide. “Put that thing away!”

“Quiet!” Harry hissed.

Maybe it was the warning in Harry’s eyes, or maybe it was the fear caused by Harry’s wand, but Vernon followed Harry’s orders.

Wand pointed out in front of him, Harry crept out of the kitchen and inched along the hallway towards the door.

I’m safe as long as I’m in here, he thought to himself, creeping along.

Harry glanced behind him. The three Dursleys were huddled in the kitchen, watching him with wide eyes.

We’re safe as long as we’re inside, Harry thought again.

The doorbell rang.

Harry jumped, nearly yelling out a disarming spell from sheer instinct.

“Answer the door!” Uncle Vernon whispered from behind him.

Harry shot him a dirty look. “I’m trying not to get killed here, okay? Just… let me handle this.”

Harry crept forward, heart pounding.

He stared at the door, indecisive. It was probably an Order member.

Summoning up his courage, he held his wand in one hand and opened the door with his other.

The door had barely swung open when something launched itself into his arms. He stumbled back a step, nearly losing his footing and dropping his wand.

“Harry!”

For a moment, Harry was completely stunned into silence. The girl in his arms was pleasantly familiar—the scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, the way she felt against him.

“Hermione?” he managed hoarsely.

She pulled back away from him enough so he could see her face. Yes, it really was her—it wasn’t just his imagination playing tricks on him. She beamed at him before throwing her arms around him again.

“Hermione…” he said again, hardly daring to believe that he was really holding her in his arms in the middle of the Dursley’s doorway. “What—what are you doing here?”

“It’s your birthday,” she said. “I had to come. It’s been awful this summer, Harry, not being able to see you. I knew I had to be here today.”

“But—but… how did you get here?” Some kind of rational thought began to worm its way into Harry’s mind. “It’s dangerous, Hermione! You have no idea who could be watching! Did you at least ask permission from the Order? Dumbledore? This isn’t like you, you know—rushing off into danger.”

“Honestly, Harry… I was perfectly cautious. Don’t you know? I took my Apparition test after leaving school this spring. It only took me a few minutes to get here—it was hardly dangerous at all.”

“Yeah, but—”

“WHAT IN THE RUDDY HELL IS GOING ON HERE???”

Harry jumped. He’d completely forgotten about the rest of the Dursleys. Hermione sent him an alarmed look, backing up a few steps.

Harry cleared his throat. “Err… Uncle Vernon, this is my friend Hermione Granger. Hermione, these are my… relatives.”

Uncle Vernon’s face had gone several shades darker. Petunia looked faint and held on to the doorjamb to hold herself up. Dudley gave a leering smile.

None of them said anything.

“Well,” Hermione said brightly. “It’s nice to meet you. Sorry to drop in like this. I’m not usually this spontaneous, you should know. It’s just that, I wanted to surprise Harry… it being his birthday. And, well… here I am!”

Uncle Vernon seemed to be at a loss for words. “Bringing… your… people… my… house… not… proper…”

“I’m Dudley,” said Harry’s cousin proudly. He screwed up his features in an attempt to stand taller and puffed out his chest. “Your name was Hermy, was it?”

“Hermione,” Harry ground out.

“Right, sorry,” Dudley said. “It’s such an odd name, don’t you think?”

Harry glared. “I think that’s saying an awful lot, coming from you, Duddiekins.”

Dudley frowned, as if trying to decide whether or not Harry had insulted him.

Hermione was very red in the face. “I can go, if you want,” she whispered. “I didn’t—I don’t want to make things worse.”

“No, don’t go,” Harry said quickly.

“My house… cannot… bring… those… people… here… mine….” Vernon swallowed deeply and regained some measure of composure. “You will not invite your people here at will here, boy, do you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, slowly putting his wand back in his pocket, gleeful when he saw that the Dursleys were tracking the movement with their eyes. “Yeah—I hear you.”

Harry’s action had the desired affect. Vernon and Petunia both clamped their mouths shut, looking fearful.

“Don’t s’pose you’d want the neighbours seeing any… I dunno… funny business…”

“What is it that you want?” Vernon said, eyes bulging.

“Nothing much,” Harry said. “Bit of food, shelter, a roof over my head. Basic comforts, really. I want this to be the last summer that I ever have to stay here. And I want to spend my birthday with my friend. Undisturbed.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Hermione moaned. “They’ll think we’re… you know.”

“I don’t care,” Harry said back. “I don’t care what they think.”

The Dursleys stared at him as though he’d gone mad.

“Fine,” Vernon finally spat. “Just keep out of sight, boy.”

“Gladly.”

Petunia stared at Hermione with enough contempt to make Harry nervous. He took a few steps in front of her, challenging his aunt with his eyes.

“Just like that sister of mine,” Petunia said. “I knew she was gone when she brought that Potter boy home. Trouble, that was. And just look where it got her! Five-years later and she went and got herself blown up.”

Harry flinched. “Don’t talk about my parents like that.”

“You’re just like them,” Petunia continued, as if Harry hadn’t said anything. “We tried to force it out of you—tried to squeeze it out of you. But it was too late—it was too far ingrained in you. And now it’s happening again, just like before. The disappearances… the odd occurrences…”

“YEAH,” Harry shouted, something in him snapping. “That’s right, Aunt Petunia! Bloody fantastic reasoning, you’ve got. Figured it out, have you? Yeah, Voldemort wants to kill me—just like he killed my parents. But that’s not all—I might be able to kill him. Hear that? ME! The boy you LOCKED IN A CUPBOARD! I HAVE THAT POWER! ME AND NO ONE ELSE! So SHUT UP about THINGS YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!”

A stunned sort of silence met Harry’s angry tirade. Harry could hear the sounds of his harsh breathing echoing through the room, but all else seemed to be hanging on a standstill.

Sixteen years of abuse from the Dursleys seemed to pile up in front of him. Righteous anger continued flowing through him and Harry decided that he wasn’t sorry—he wasn’t a bit sorry.

“You deserve to know what’s happening,” Harry said quietly, looking at each of the Dursleys in turn. “You’ve spent decades pretending that my world doesn’t exist. Well, it does. It does and it’s here. It’s here and you should be aware of it.”

Harry chanced a look at Hermione, feeling a twinge of guilt. She’d barely just arrived, on his birthday, no less, and here she was, being forced to endure the confrontation with the Dursleys that had been building since Harry first received his Hogwarts’ letter.

Her mouth was hanging partially open, but her eyes told him that she supported him, and Harry found that was enough.

“Is…” Petunia’s voice was weak. “Is—are we going to… die?” She looked at Dudley fearfully. “When you go, are we going to be unprotected?”

Harry stared at her—he’d never once considered the ramifications on the Durlseys if he was no longer alive. He knew he was safe when he was with them because of the protection his mum had bestowed on him before her death. But without him there, the blood tie he shared with his aunt was all but useless.

“I… dunno…” he finally said.

“I see,” Petunia whispered.

For the first time, Harry felt a twinge of pity for his aunt. Vernon’s head was snapping back and forth between Petunia and Harry in complete incomprehension.

“Unprotected?” he spluttered. “With him out of the house? Petunia, what are you saying?”

Petunia seemed to snap back to herself and her eyes were cool as they regarded Harry. “Nothing,” she said. “Come along, you should finish your breakfast before work.”

Petunia ushered her husband and Dudley back in the kitchen, leaving Harry and Hermione alone in the entrance hall.

Harry released a breath when they left before slowly turning to face Hermione. She was still wearing a shocked look, but her eyes got brighter when she faced him.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s, er… nice to see you.”

“Happy birthday,” she said. “Did I come at a bad time?”

“Not any more than usual, no,” Harry said. “I think—I think that’s been brewing for a while.”

“I see,” Hermione said. “Well, they are a rather horrible lot, aren’t they?”

“You have no idea.”

“No, I don’t suppose I do.”

Harry began to feel a little awkward. He couldn’t believe that Hermione was here, in front of him, in the entrance to the Dursleys’ house. Her hair was damp from the rain pounding down outside, but her skin was tanned a light brown and the tip of her nose was beginning to peel.

“You look nice,” he finally mumbled, realizing he’d been gaping at her.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, do relax, will you? It’s not as if it’s been ages since we last saw each other. Honestly, there’s no need to act as though we’re strangers.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“That’s quite alright.” She gestured around her. “So which one is your bedroom?”

He blinked at her. “Hermione…”

“Oh, for goodness sake’s, don’t be getting any ideas… I’m just curious…”

She traipsed off towards the stairs and Harry followed behind her, his mind frantically trying to catch up with everything that happened to him that morning. Hermione waited for him at the top of the stairs, smiling warmly at him.

“Hi,” she said.

“Er… hi?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, you’re so daft sometimes, Harry.”

Without saying anything else, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and kissed him. She pulled away, wearing a self-satisfied smile.

Right, that kind of hello, Harry thought, somewhat dazedly.

“I missed you,” she said simply.

Harry felt himself go red and he desperately wanted to say something—anything… about how much he’d missed her, about how good it was to see her in front of him, at the Dursley’s, where nothing good had ever happened to him. But she was already turning and he lost his chance.

Not that it mattered.

Harry suspected that when it came to Hermione, she already knew.

“This is my bedroom,” he said, opening the door. She followed him inside, looking around curiously.

“Those are my letters, aren’t they?” she said, gesturing to his desk. She went over and began rifling through them. “How awful… they barely say anything at all.”

“It’s been…”

“Difficult, I know,” she sighed. “I understand the caution. But it’s hard, not being able to hear from you.”

“I know.”

Hermione set the letters back on his desk before turning to him. “So tell me now. How are you? How are you really?”

“I’m alright.”

She raised her eyebrows and shoved a pile of clothes out of the way to take a seat on the edge of the bed. “Honesty, Harry, you should think about cleaning up in here. How can you live like this?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t really expecting company.”

“Yes, but that’s hardly a good excuse. Neatness is important, you know. It helps to keep the rest of your life in order.”

“Fine,” Harry said. “If we ever move in together, I’ll be so neat you won’t even know it’s me.”

She smiled. “You think about us living together?”

Harry stared, going back over in his head what he’d just said. He blushed. “Err… apparently…”

She patted the spot next to her. “You’re awfully jumpy, you know. This can’t be that awkward for you… it’s barely been three weeks since the last time we saw each other. We’ve had longer breaks.”

“No… it’s not that, exactly… it’s just…” Harry gestured around him and swallowed. “It’s just…”

“Yes?”

Harry’s eyes lingered on the bed before meeting hers. She smiled knowingly. “Yes, I suppose we’ve never talked about… well… that, have we?”

Harry shook his head.

“Then let’s talk about it.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now,” she said. “Might as well.”

Harry resisted the rather strong urge to point out that his day could not possibly get any odder. Hermione was in his room, his room at the Dursleys, right after he’d just had what could be construed as an emotional row with his aunt, and she wanted to have the sex talk.

“For the love of Merlin,” he muttered. “Don’t tell me you want to wait until marriage.”

She laughed. “No—hardly. But I do think that we’re still too young, don’t you?”

“Sure.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Are you taking this seriously?”

“Of course I am.”

“Look,” she said crossly, obviously not believing him. “It is… something that I think… we should do for the first time together. I want it to be with you. But I’m not ready for it yet.”

Harry nodded numbly, entirely too uncomfortable.

Hermione stared at him expectantly. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“How do you feel about it?”

Harry swallowed, feeling like it was a question that entailed an entirely too complicated answer. Those thoughts were certainly things he thought about—dreamed about. Almost constantly. But like most things in his life, he had a sneaking suspicion that he’d find some way to mess it up—that it would be awful for her or he’d do it wrong. And thinking about that made him nervous, which in turn made him feel slightly sick to his stomach.

Realizing that Hermione was waiting for an answer, he sat down next to her and gave her a weak smile.

“I’m not ready either,” he said honestly, wondering what, exactly, “ready” would mean.

“Oh, good,” Hermione said, in relief. “I was worried you would expect… well, you know…”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I know you would never… it’s just…” Hermione sighed, frustrated. “I know that boys… and they… they…” her voice turned softer. “They… well, you know.”

Harry wasn’t certain he knew what she was talking about, but he decided to take a stab at it anyway. “Hermione, listen,” Harry said. “Yeah, I think about those things. Yeah, I’m a boy. But I love you. I respect you. And we won’t do anything until you’re ready—until we’re both ready. All right?”

“Okay,” she said. “Now… will you tell me about your summer?”

Harry felt a tremendous amount of relief that she’d changed the subject. “Well… to be completely honest, it’s been rather boring. I haven’t been doing… much. Certainly not taking my Apparating test or anything.”

“You can do that soon.”

“I s’pose. The Dursleys have been okay… leaving me alone, for the most part. What you saw today… that was unusual.”

“Was it true, what your aunt said?” Hermione said, peering at him curiously. “Are they—are they going to be unprotected when you leave?”

Harry jerked a shoulder. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I care.”

Hermione looked at him reproachfully and Harry felt a twinge of guilt.

“They’ve spent their whole lives pretending that our world doesn’t exist, Hermione,” he said. “The last thing they’re going to want is us forcing it upon them after I’m gone. Besides, what could Voldemort gain by attacking them?”

“Loads,” Hermione whispered. “You might say you don’t care, but we both know that’s not true.”

Harry found her eyes. She stared back at him, eyes warm and bright and he felt his mouth go dry. “No,” he said. “No… he wouldn’t bother. There’s… there’s many other people he could go after that would… be worse.”

He could see the change in her face immediately. She shifted closer to him, reaching out to grasp his hand.

“Oh, Harry, you’re right,” she said.

“You’ve been careful this summer, haven’t you?” he said, a little desperately. “You’re not going out much, are you?”

“Of course I’ve been careful,” she said briskly. “And, besides, there’s been almost constant supervision from the Order, day and night.”

Harry wasn’t much reassured, but he nodded anyway. “And when you Apparated to come here you…”

Harry trailed off, distracted by the look Hermione was giving him. Suddenly, he was hyper-aware of how close she’d gotten to him. He couldn’t remember when that had happened or when she’d started running her hand up and down his arm.

“Harry?” her voice was soft and she was very close, he could feel her breath on his cheek.

He might have said something then, but he wasn’t entirely sure.

“Didn’t you miss me?” she said, still in that soft voice.

Well, of course he missed her—it was a ridiculous question to be asking. But, he realized, she’d made her point—she had his full attention. He was seventeen and he was a boy and he was beginning to think that the whole “being ready” stuff was a load of rubbish.

So he kissed her then, control flying out the window. This wasn’t merely a kiss in greeting, but a real, tongue in mouth, hands fisting on shirts, pushing her down on his bed kiss. It was all so familiar, but wonderfully new at the same time—the feel of her hands in his hair, the soft noises of pleasure she made against his mouth, the way her breasts felt against his chest.

He wondered why he hadn’t done this when she first showed up in the doorway, hair and clothing splattered with rain. He kissed the corner of her mouth, trailing his lips to the hollow of her throat. She hissed in pain and he looked up, startled, but she smiled warmly and removed his glasses.

He couldn’t see as well, but it did make it easier to kiss her, so he went back to that. He pressed his lips to her throat and her chin and her lips, yes, her lips and their tongues met again and she was arching beneath him.

Blood had long since left the brain and it was getting harder and harder to remember what they’d just talked about. She arched again and they met right in that spot. Harry stopped kissing her with a gasp, pressing his face to her shoulder.

She moved against him then with a small gasp of her own and Harry wondered how she could possibly ask him to stop now—which he would, of course, if she asked, because he loved her and he respected her and he had plenty of self-control and when she moved again, he damned near groaned out loud.

And for the second time that day, there was a loud bang from outside—what sounded like a car backfiring.

They stopped what they were doing immediately despite his body’s protests to the contrary. Wordlessly, Hermione handed him his glasses back, going to the window to peer outside. Harry sat up, taking several deep breaths and attempting to picture Snape in his undergarments.

Hermione turned back around, face flushed. There was a small red mark on her neck and Harry couldn’t quite contain the manly thrill he felt at the sight of it.

Snape. Undergarments.

“Anything?” he finally managed.

She shook her head, looking worried. “I know what Apparation sounds like, Harry. And that was it.”

“Okay,” he said, willing his mind to think straight. He took another deep breath. “It could have been anyone.”

“Exactly,” Hermione said.

The words had no sooner left her words when there was another bang from outside—followed by a third and fourth.

Together, they ran to the window. The rain made it impossible to see anything clearly.

“Get your wand out,” Harry said, very quietly.

“You don’t think… surely it can’t be… you’re safe here, Harry, aren’t you?”

“Wand out,” he said again.

Eyes fearful, she took out her wand and looked at him expectantly.

“C’mon,” he said, heading for the door. She followed behind him. Harry went down the stairs first, instinct telling him to be wary.

He was nearing the bottom when he heard Vernon start yelling.

“WHAT IN THE DEVIL? WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE? I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANYMORE! OUT OF MY HOUSE, I SAY! OUT—OF—MY—HOUSE!”

Harry ran down the stairs, wand out in front of him. He skidded to a halt in the kitchen, completely forgetting about the danger. What he saw made his jaw drop and Hermione nearly crashed into him from behind.

Tonks, Moody, and Lupin were standing in his kitchen.

Harry blinked, certain he was imagining things. But, no, there they were again—they really were standing in the Dursleys’ kitchen.

Vernon was yelling at Tonks. Her hair was blue and curled around her head. Moody clutched a teapot close to his chest, eye whizzing over the kitchen. Lupin stood in front of them, looking tense.

After that, everything happened so fast.

Completely ignoring the Dursleys, the Order members strode towards them. From the looks on their faces, Harry could tell that something had happened.

“We have to get to Headquarters,” Lupin said. “Hermione, you will Apparate with Alastor and Nymphadora.”

There was sort of stunned silence and Hermione grabbed Harry’s arm, looking pale.

“Now, Hermione.”

Lupin didn’t yell, but his tone left no room for argument.

“Hold on,” Harry said, extremely wary of being split up from Hermione. “How do we know you’re who you say you are?”

Lupin looked frustrated. “Harry, I’m very glad you’re being cautious, but we must hurry.”

“And leave us with no protection!” Aunt Petunia cried out. “Once he’s gone… we’ll be completely defenseless!”

“Why?” Harry said, ignoring his aunt. “What happened?”

Lupin’s eyes flicked to Hermione. “There’s been an attack.”

Hermione let out a small whimper and Harry put an arm around her shoulders.

“An attack?”

“We’ll explain once we’re at Headquarters. I’m sorry, Harry, but there’s no time. We have no idea who else has been targeted.”

“Thirty-seconds,” Moody said gruffly.

Lupin’s voice turned more urgent. “Harry, you must believe us, you must—”

“Attack me,” Harry said. “Curse me—anything.”

Lupin stared at him.

“Just do it!”

“Twenty seconds!”

“Stupify!”

A blue jet of light hit Harry square in the chest and he felt his breath leave his lungs.

The curse had worked.

“Ennervate!”

As quickly as it had come, the curse was lifted. Harry found Hermione’s eyes and gave a small nod.

“Ten seconds!”

Lupin grabbed the teapot out of Moody’s hand and thrust it at Harry. Harry took hold of it and Hermione reluctantly let go of his arm.

“Portkey,” Lupin explained. “Alastor, Nymphadora, get her out of here, while it’s still clear—”

There was a familiar tug around his naval and Harry felt his feet leave the ground. He landed heavily, crashing to the floor. Lupin managed to stay upright and turned to help Harry to his feet.

Harry looked around, partly in dread. He knew where he was, of course—Grimmauld Place.

He hadn’t been back here since fifth-year, not since Sirius had died. It was clear that the Order had still been using it as Headquarters. It was much cleaner than Harry remembered and there were signs of life everywhere; jackets and scarves thrown about, crumbs collecting in the corner.

“Hermione,” he said immediately, whirling around to face Lupin. “Where’s Hermione?”

Lupin looked worn. “She’s—she Apparated to St. Mungo’s.”

“St. Mungo’s?” Harry repeated. “But why would she… what happened?”

“Harry, maybe you should sit down—”

“Her parents,” Harry said. “They attacked her parents, didn’t they? But they’re Muggles, they can’t go to St. Mungo’s… they…”

“Were attacked by magical means,” Lupin said heavily. “They’ll—her mother is in stable condition. Her father… we’re not sure if he’ll make it.”

Harry felt like his legs might give out. “Why did you bring me here?” he grit out. “I should be with her. She needs me.”

Lupin gave a weak smile. “I’m sorry, Harry. But we felt it would be safer for you to remain here. You’ll be told, of course, if there’s any change in their condition.”

“Safer?” Harry said, voice quivering with anger. “That’s—that’s rubbish! I have to be with her!”

“Harry, calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Harry yelled. “You lot—you’re all still treating me like I’m a child! I can make my own bloody decisions! And right now I want to be at St. Mungo’s with my girlfriend!”

“Listen, Harry,” Lupin said, coming towards him, hands spread out. “They need the best care they can get. You are not inconspicuous. You will draw attention. It is better for the Grangers if you remain here.”

Harry heard what Lupin was saying and it further angered him. He couldn’t bear the thought of staying here, not when Hermione needed him. He could imagine what it must be like for her, Apparating to the hospital and being told that her parents were attacked. It chilled him.

“Hermione will carry on,” Lupin said gently. “She is a strong girl. She’ll be moved here as soon as possible, Harry, I promise.”

Harry thought that if he had to continue looking at Lupin he might burst. His hand was itching on his wand. He stalked off, feeling furious and useless.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait on this one. Really – I’m trying to stay a chapter ahead of where I actually am. Hopefully (hopefully) it won’t take as long for chapter three to come out. Thanks, to the usual suspects, Kristin and James for the beta.

When Harry entered his room at Grimmauld Place, he was even angrier to discover that all his things were already there. New robes and books were sitting in a pile on his bed. Hedwig’s cage was in a corner. He tore open some of the drawers, finding his clothes neatly folded.

He slammed the drawer shut and sat down on the bed, breathing hard. They were still treating him like he was a child. Fat load of help it was being legal to do magic.

Harry’s thoughts drifted to Hermione’s parents and he shivered. It suddenly occurred to him that the only reason that Hermione wasn’t in critical condition at St. Mungo’s was because she’d been with him when her parents were attacked.

Stupid, leaving the Grangers unprotected.

Harry wondered how many Order members had followed Hermione to Privet drive—if it was because of her visit that her parents were attacked.

They’ll be okay, Harry thought, trying to calm the beating of his heart. They had to be okay. He didn’t want Hermione to have to deal with that pain—of losing her parents. Not yet. Not until they were old and went quietly in their beds.

There was a knock on the door. Harry straightened up, unwilling to see Lupin again.

“Harry?”

It was Ron’s voice. Harry felt a jolt of relief and scrambled up.

“Come in!”

Ron opened the door, looking frantic. “What in the blazes is going on?” he said. “We’re about to sit down for supper at the Burrow, and the next thing we know, the house is being invaded by Order members!”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I had a similar experience.”

“Mum’s downstairs now, trying to sort things out with Professor Lupin. Dad’s still at work, he didn’t want to draw attention away by leaving. Ginny’s gone to mope in her room, she’s angry because no one will tell her anything.” Ron focused on Harry for the first time and seemed to pale. “Hermione… where’s—she’s okay, isn’t she?”

Harry swallowed. “There—there was an attack.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open and the colour drained from his face. “Her—Hermion—Hermione?”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “Er… on her parents. There was an attack on her parents. Hermione’s okay. She’s with them now.”

Ron stared, looking shocked. “There was… on… her…”

“Parents, yeah,” Harry said. “She’s… well, I don’t know how she’s doing. They wouldn’t let me go with her.”

Ron looked sympathetic, though still dazed. “She’s Hermione… you know, go through it with your head held high and all of that.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I know. But she’s not supposed to go through this alone. I just don’t want… I don’t want her to think I’ve abandoned her.”

“She won’t think that!” Ron said. “You know she won’t!”

“It all went so fast… I don’t… I don’t really know what she thinks…” Harry said.

The earlier scene in the kitchen had been reduced to nothing but a confused blur of colour and noise. He could scarcely remember anything that happened.

Ron swallowed. “D’you know what happened?”

Harry shook his head. “There was an attack,” he said. “What else do you need to know?”

Ron narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “It’s not your fault, and you know it. I don’t reckon Hermione would want you blaming yourself.”

“I don’t know what Hermione would want,” snapped Harry. “I can’t very well ask her, can I?”

“No,” Ron said, alarmed. “Nothing you can do but wait, I s’pose. They’ll bring her here as soon as they can. Blaming yourself now won’t do much to help her.”

“Look, Ron,” said Harry. “If you’re not going to tell me anything useful, you might as well bugger off.”

Ron raised his eyebrows. “Okay, I’ll let that one slide by since you’re upset. But, Harry… what good is it going to do, locking yourself in here?”

“I was thinking,” Harry said. “Something you haven’t done. Her house was attacked when Hermione wasn’t home—”’

“She wasn’t home?”

“She was with me—for my birthday, Ron, don’t look at me like that—and that’s when they went in. Why? What could Voldemort gain from attacking her parents? Seems like it would have made more sense for him to… wait.”

“Wait for Hermione to come back you mean.”

Harry nodded gravely.

“Bloody hell,” Ron said. “I dunno. Maybe—maybe they were more assured of success this way. I mean, Hermione’s a right powerful witch, isn’t she? And they’re still hurting you, in a way. It’s like… you’re being told you’re not safe, no matter what you do.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, resisting the urge to kick something. “Yeah.”

“C’mon,” Ron said, looking worried. “Let’s go see if Mum’s made something for supper. I reckon it’d be a good idea for you to eat something.”

The last thing Harry was feeling was hungry, but he was unwilling to be left behind alone. It felt good to have Ron there.

“I’ll tell you one thing that’s for sure,” Harry said, without humour. “Her parents are going to be even less likely to approve of me after this.”

Ron cracked a smile. “You know, Harry, if you’d only picked any other girl in the wizarding world—I’m sure most parents would be beside themselves to know that Harry Potter was dating their daughter.”

“Unless they were Death Eaters.”

“Unless they were Death Eaters,” Ron agreed, grimacing.

Entering the kitchen, it became evident that Molly Weasley had outdone herself. On the stove, there was water boiling, vegetables frying, and soup bubbling. Salad, bread, and chips were all ready assembled on the table.

Harry and Ron exchanged nervous glances but refrained from saying anything. It was just like Mrs. Weasley—overdoing it on the food in order to try and cheer them up.

Her expression was sympathetic and pitying when she saw Harry. Harry immediately wished he hadn’t come downstairs.

Ron seemed to pick up on the tension. “Smells great, Mum. What are we having?”

“Well, I was thinking a nice carrot soup would be a pleasant way to—”

There was a large bang that interrupted Mrs. Weasley’s words. Harry tensed up, reaching for his wand.

He rushed into the living room. There, he was greeted by Tonks, holding a lamp in her hands and sporting a guilty expression. There was a large piece missing from it, sitting on the floor by her feet.

“Whoops!” she said cheerfully, setting the lamp back on the table. “Reparo!”

Harry couldn’t quite contain his disappointment. “Where’s… er…”

“Hermione?” Tonks continued brightly. “Still at the hospital. Don’t ya’ worry, Harry. Your girl’s holding up just fine.”

Harry was certain she was—that was Hermione. It would be just like her to put on a brave face.

“How are her parents?”

Tonks frowned. “Her Mum’s fine. Her father got the brunt of it. Transported them to Mungo’s right away, of course. He should pull through.”

“Good,” Harry said, feeling his stomach rumble unpleasantly. “I wish… I’d really like to see her.”

“She’ll be brought here tonight,” Tonks said and Harry felt a surge of relief.

“Really?”

“Yes,” Tonks said. “She’ll need somewhere safe to spend the night. But… Harry, if I were you…. Well, I don’t expect that she’s going to need to be coddled, if you know what I mean.”

She gave him a significant look and Harry blinked, uncertain. Instead of questioning her, he nodded and went back to the kitchen, Tonks following behind him.

Ron let out a large burp as he entered, looking proud of himself. Mrs. Weasley turned around, breaking into a large smile when she saw Tonks.

“Nymphadora,” she said causing Tonks to wince. “Sit, sit. We’ve got plenty. You must be starving.”

“You’ve outdone yourself, Molly,” Lupin said, folding a napkin across his lap.

Mrs. Weasley flushed with pleasure. She looked at Harry. “Go on then, dear. Why don’t you sit next to Ginny?”

Harry glanced around the table. There seemed to be an awful lot of people around it. His stomach revolted in protest. All these people and it didn’t matter. As far as Harry was concerned, the entire wizarding world could have sat at the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place and it wouldn’t have made much difference.

“Er… I don’t think… I don’t feel so good…”

Without looking at anyone else, Harry stumbled out of the kitchen. He went back upstairs, the dingy atmosphere of the house suiting his mood perfectly. He glanced at the fireplace on his way out, wondering if he could floo to St. Mungo’s. Perhaps while everyone was busy eating…

In a flash, his memories of rescuing Sirius came back to him. If Harry had learned anything it was that he paid for his recklessness. If the Order didn’t want him at St. Mungo’s with Hermione, then he had to believe that they had a good reason.

Reaching his bedroom, he flopped down on the bed, turning on his back to study the ceiling. There was a jagged crack, running diagonally from one side to the other. White paint was chipping along it, giving it a black outline. Like a scar.

There was a knock on the door and Harry sat up, feeling irritable. “Yeah?”

Ron opened the door. “Hey.”

“Go away,” Harry said, flopping back down.

Ron cleared his throat. “Mum says that she thinks you should come back downstairs.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“She baked a cake for you and everything.”

“That’s nice of her.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, coming further into the room. He shut the door behind him. “C’mon, Harry. We have all kinds of gifts and stuff for you. I reckon it’d do you good if you tried to enjoy it.”

“I can’t, Ron.”

“Sure you can,” Ron said, his voice cajoling.

Harry stared back up at the ceiling. “I’m not trying to make this about me—really I’m not. But it seems wrong somehow to celebrate my bloody seventeenth birthday while Hermione’s stuck with her parents at St. Mungo’s.”

Ron shuffled his feet. “You know what I think?”

“What?” Harry said.

“I think… well… I think that if you’re not careful, this might split you up.”

Harry snorted. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Hear me out, will you?” Ron said irritably. “You two… you’re right stronger when you’re together, aren’t you? Proved that well enough with a demonstration last year in the middle of the Great Hall. He must’ve known what he was doing when he attacked her parents.”

Harry thought about it. “Maybe.”

“He’s afraid of you, Harry,” Ron said, voice growing stronger. “Yeah, that’s right. He’s frightened of you. You and Hermione both. You can’t let him split you two up.”

“He won’t,” Harry said, with certainty. “He can’t.”

Ron grinned. “Aww, Harry, that’s sweet. You’re all secure in your relationship. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Come off it, Ron. Don’t you think it’s possible that I learned a thing or two last year?”

“Nope.”

To his surprise, Harry found himself reluctantly grinning back.

“Harry, I don’t reckon there’s much you can do at this point. Just come back downstairs, will you? There’s loads of presents for you and Mum spent a long time on your cake.”

Harry sighed. “Fine.”

“Great!”

Not feeling quite as enthusiastic as Ron, Harry followed him back downstairs. The rest of the household was gathered in the living room. To Harry’s astonishment, the living room looked much more livable than it had a couple years ago. It had been brightened up, the paint re-done, and the furniture replaced. A large couch, two pink armchairs, and a coffee table sat in front of a roaring fire.

Everyone perked up when Harry came in. There was a moment of awkward silence before Ginny cheerfully declared that she was cutting the cake and she didn’t care whether or not Harry wanted any because she did.

Everyone laughed and Harry felt himself relax. He was thankful no one mentioned his behavior from earlier. He had presents thrust at him from all sides while everyone was careful not to mention Hermione’s name.

Harry opened his presents, smiling in all the right places, while keeping one eye on the clock. He received a book on Quidditch theory from Ron and a new quill from Mrs. and Mr. Weasley. The twins had sent him what they were calling “a new millennium snitch,” which Harry carefully avoided opening. Lupin gave him a book on dark curses and their counter spells. Ginny gave him a gift certificate to Honeydukes.

When it was Tonks’ turn, she shifted uncomfortably before breaking into a hesitant smile. “Well… I’ve already cleared it with Dumbledore and he thinks it would be a good idea if you received your Apparition license as soon as possible.”

Harry nodded. “That makes sense.”

Tonks cleared his throat. “And I’m going to train you.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Er…. Happy birthday?” Tonks tried weakly.

Harry blinked a few times. “You’re going to teach me how to Apparate?”

“Yeah,” Tonks said, trying to sound cheerful. “I know it’s not a real gift, but—”

“I think it’s brilliant!” Harry interrupted, grinning. “Thank you!”

Tonks looked proud of herself. Mrs. Weasley frowned, but didn’t say anything.

The noise of the door opening and shutting echoed in the front hall. Harry stood up immediately, heart in his throat.

His hopes were dashed, however, when a loud male voice rang out. “Hello? Molly? Ginny? Ron?”

Mrs. Weasley stood up, looking relieved as Mr. Weasley came into the living room. “Arthur,” she said faintly. “You’re back.”

Mr. Weasley looked pale and tired, but came in to give his wife a kiss on the cheek.

“Come, let me get you something,” Mrs. Weasley said gently, putting a hand on her husband’s arm and leading him from the room. “You look exhausted, dear.”

“I’m fine, Molly, really… just been a long few days…”

“That job of yours, Arthur…”

Their voices faded away and the occupants of the living room exchanged several uncomfortable looks before Lupin gave a long stretch.

“Well, I think it would be wise if I turned in. ‘Night all.” He gave Harry a long look. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“I’ll stay up as long as I need to,” Harry said evenly.

Lupin gave a small nod. “Of course.”

“Turning in sounds like a fab idea, Remus. Especially if I have to give the Potter a lesson on Apparating tomorrow.” Tonks winked at Harry and Lupin frowned.

“You’ll have a hell of a time trying to keep her focused,” Lupin said. “I remember when Nymphadora was trying to get her Apparition license—she’d also Apparate everything within a three foot radius of herself!”

“Oh, I did not!” Tonks said. “I’ll have you kids know, I was among the first in my age group to pass my test.”

“Perhaps because you’d sent the judge to Australia.”

“Don’t listen to a word he’s saying, Harry.” Tonks shook her head. “He’s just having me on.”

“We’ll see tomorrow at any rate, won’t we?”

Smiling to himself, Lupin left them where they were. Grumbling under her breath, Tonks followed him. Harry couldn’t help his small smile. It felt good to see some levity, despite the dark cloud that seemed to hover over his head.

There was a small part of him that was relieved to see Lupin doing so well. There were times after Sirius’ death that Lupin had seemed defeated. It was a look Harry was accustomed to seeing on his old Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, but this was more profound. Almost as if the last bit of his hope had finally been sapped.

Seeing him surviving, laughing, joking… in Sirius’ old house, no less, made Harry feel lighter.

Ginny and Ron exchanged a look and Harry felt a pang of guilt.

“Go on,” he said, gesturing to the kitchen. “I’m fine, really. You two should see your Dad.”

Ron looked hesitant. “I reckon he’d love to see you too, Harry. You’re really one of the family, you know.”

“I know,” Harry said. “But you two go on. I think some time alone would do me good.”

Looking unconvinced, Ginny and Ron left Harry sitting in his pile of presents. Letting out a breath, Harry grabbed the Quidditch theory book Ron had given him and climbed into the armchair by the fire. He felt pleasantly warm with the flames flickering at his feet and he opened the book on the lap, leaning back in the chair.

If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that everything was fine.

***

Harry awoke with a sudden start, horrified that he’d fallen asleep. He shifted, trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain. Someone had thrown a blanket over him. The fire had turned to nothing but a lump of smoldering ash. For a moment, Harry had a sinking feeling he’d missed Hermione’s return.

The reason for his awaking quickly became apparent. There was a large clunk in the hall, an unmistakable announcement of Moody’s approach. Harry threw off the blanket and leapt to his feet, the Quidditch book falling to the floor.

He rushed to the hall, stomach clenching with nervousness. First he saw Moody, as conspicuous as ever. Behind him, clutching a small duffel bag and looking worn and tired, was Hermione.

Harry sagged with relief. He came forward, barely noticing Moody’s eye as it whirred all over the place. His only concern was Hermione.

Aware of his presence, she lifted her head to meet his eyes. For a breathless moment, they stared at each other. It was clear from the way she looked at him that she was exhausted. He took two steps towards her and his throat clenched when she took a startled step backwards.

Moody clunked off towards the kitchen, as if sensing their need to be alone.

Harry stood there—feeling stupid and useless. He could never say the right words. Here she was, needing his comfort more than ever, and he had nothing to offer her.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Can I… er… help you with that?”

Hermione pulled her duffel bag closer to her chest. “No, it’s okay. I’ve got it.”

Harry swallowed. “Are you tired? Hungry? Can I get you something?”

Hermione shook her head. Her voice was quiet, “I’d really just like to get some sleep. I want… I want to—to get back early to the hospital tomorrow.”

Harry nodded, wanting to kick himself. “Of course. I’ll… walk you to… your room, if you want.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Her words were gentle, but Harry felt himself fighting panic. He couldn’t believe it. She was pushing him away. After everything they’d been through—she was trying to pull away from him.

Harry gestured in front of him. “I want to.”

“Alright,” Hermione said. Clutching her duffel bag tightly, she started off. They climbed the stairs in silence. Harry studied her back as she walked, growing increasingly desperate.

Their silence wasn’t the calm, comforting silence of the past. This silence was prickling his skin. He needed to say something—only he wasn’t sure what. He searched his head over and over for the words that would make things okay—the words that would give her comfort.

He couldn’t find them.

They stopped outside her room. Hermione turned back around to look at him, her face pale. “Well, good-night.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Good-night.”

Hermione gave a forced smile before turning back around. She had one hand on the doorknob when Harry stopped her.

“Hermione, wait… hold on a minute, will you?”

She turned back around, biting her lip. “Harry, what is it?”

“I just… how are you, really?” Harry hesitated before reaching out to brush her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she reached up to grasp his hand briefly before letting go. She looked like she was holding herself in check only by sheer effort.

“I’m fine.”

Harry sighed and removed his hand from her cheek. “Alright, then. I guess… there’s nothing left to say, is there?”

Her eyes opened and she looked at his face. An emotional struggle passed over her features before she backed up. “No, I don’t suppose there is.”

She turned back around and Harry took a deep breath, feeling like he had to say something to bridge the gap that had suddenly sprouted up between them.

“I love you. You know that, right?”

Hermione opened the door. “I know,” she said, without turning.

She went into the room, shutting the door behind her.

A/N: So… I’m trying to be better about my review replies. I really admire all authors that manage to respond to all their reviews, it really shows wonderful appreciation. Anyway – for those times I miss, or for those of you I miss, and for everyone that takes the time to say a few words, thank you.

A/N 2: Thanks to my betas, Kristin and James, who got this back to me very, very quickly. *hugs them*

A/N 3: Yes, I tacked in a cheesy, yet somewhat appropriate Buffy quote. Old fandoms die hard, you know.

Buffy: Does it ever get easy?

Giles: You mean life?

Buffy: Yeah. Does it get easy?

Giles: What do you want me to say?

Buffy: Lie to me.

Giles: Yes, it’s terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after.

Buffy: Liar.

-Lie to Me

***

Harry rose the next morning with purpose. Some part of him felt like he’d failed Hermione last night.

Sun streamed into the room, but he was satisfied to see that it was still early. His body protested when he threw back the covers, but he ignored his need for more rest. Hermione was more important.

Ron was still sound asleep in the opposite bed, seemingly oblivious to the world around him. Harry dressed quickly, hands shaking with nerves.

He hurried downstairs, trying to be as quiet as possible so he wouldn’t wake the rest of the house. In the kitchen, Harry’s heart sank when he found its only occupant to be Lupin. He was sitting at the table, idly sipping a cup of coffee and flipping through the Daily Prophet.

Noticing Harry’s presence, he gave a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Alarm bells went off in Harry’s mind. Lupin had something to tell him and, whatever it was, Harry was certain he wasn’t going to like it.

“Good morning, Harry. You’re up early.”

Harry didn’t budge. “Yeah. I wanted to see Hermione before she went back to St. Mungo’s.”

Lupin sighed. “She’s—”

“Already gone,” Harry interrupted in a hollow voice. “Yeah. I picked up on it.”

Lupin studied him. “Why don’t you sit down?”

Harry would have preferred standing—it would have helped to make him feel more in control of the situation. But he pulled out a chair and sat down, fixing his old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher with a stare.

“Well?” he said. “What’s going on?”

Lupin set down the newspaper, looking old and tired. Harry felt a pang of guilt for his attitude. He knew Lupin’s life was far from easy. The last thing he needed was to become the subject of Harry’s frustration.

“Hermione has been… given a choice.”

“A choice?” Harry said blankly. “What d’you mean, ‘a choice?’”

“You must be hungry,” Lupin said in answer. “Why don’t you get yourself something to eat? Some orange juice, in the very least?”

“I’m not hungry,” Harry said. “I just… I need to know what’s going on. Why were her parents attacked? How are they doing? Are they going to recover? What choice?”

There was a moment of silence as Lupin considered Harry’s words, broken only by the creaks and groans of the house settling. Lupin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“One thing Sirius was adamant about was that you shouldn’t be sheltered. You were growing up faster than any of us would have liked, it would only prove more costly in the end to keep things from you.” Lupin gave Harry a ghost of a smile. “I rather think he was right about that.”

At the mention of his godfather, Harry stiffened. “He did?”

“He talked a lot about you,” Lupin said, watching Harry carefully. “Especially to me. I know you never properly got your chance to know him, but Sirius’s main concern was you.”

Lupin’s voice was slightly unsteady and Harry looked away, focusing on the wall behind him. An uncomfortable moment passed before Lupin cleared his throat. When he spoke, his words were steady, calm, professional.

“We believe Voldemort’s intent was to kill Helen and Robert Granger. He failed.” Lupin paused to let that sink in. “Both the Grangers should make a full recovery, in large part due to the quick reaction of the Order. We have not discounted the possibility that Voldemort will attempt another attack in the future. Several prominent people can be identified by Mrs. Granger as Death Eaters, something that, I am sure, will be made public. Their danger is no longer tied merely to their association with Hermione. They are… an asset… to the Order and an enemy of Voldemort’s.”

Harry’s mind was spinning. “They’ll need protection. Voldemort’s not going to want his key people identified—not if he can find a way around it. If they’re gone, they won’t be able to testify in court. They’ll need to be guarded, they—”

Lupin held up a hand, his face grave. “Yes,” he said simply. “And that is where Hermione faces her choice. Her parents will be put into hiding, under Order supervision. Where they will go, they will not be found by Death Eaters.”

“A Fidelius charm, then,” Harry said.

Lupin shook his head. “They’re Muggles,” he said softly. “It won’t work. Too many things could go wrong.”

“So what then?” Harry said. “How can they possibly be safe?”

“The Order has its ways,” Lupin said. “This sort of thing has happened in the past.”

It made sense. Harry supposed there must have been loads of Muggles that would have been valuable assets to the Order. There must be some way to guard them.

“What this means is that the Grangers will be re-located. They’ll be given new names, new identities. They’ll be supervised by a select few. Confidentiality is essential. All ties to their current life will be cut. They will not be permitted to correspond with… anyone outside of those that know their new identities.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, a sick feeling gathering in his stomach. “That means…” comprehension slowly dawned on him. “Hermione wouldn’t be allowed to see them, right? Not only that, but she won’t be able to keep in contact with them… talk to them…”

“More than that, Harry,” Lupin said. His voice turned gentler. “It means she has to choose. It is not our intent to separate families. If Hermione decides she’d rather be with them, she will be relocated along with her parents.”

Harry stared. “Relocated?”

Lupin clenched his jaw and nodded. “It is… her choice.”

“Her choice?” Harry repeated. “Her choice?”

“She is… old enough now to make those decisions,” Lupin said softly. “She’s of age now. If this had happened a year ago, it would have been made for her. As I said, the Order does not want to split up families. If Hermione were a minor, she’d be forced to go with them.”

Dull horror spread through Harry. “What kind of choice is this?” he said, disgusted. “Choosing between her parents, her family, or her life at Hogwarts, her home, her studies, her friends, m—”

Harry stopped, unable to go on. He sat back in his chair, feeling defeated. “Last night, she must’ve already known.”

“Yes.”

Harry stared very hard at the tabletop. Like most of the house, time had left cracks and bumps running over its surface.

“That’s an impossible choice.”

“No, it’s not, Harry.” Lupin studied him. “Hermione loves her parents, yes, very much. But her life is at Hogwarts. That is her home, as you put it. I have no doubt she will not give that up.”

Harry traced one of the cracks with his fingertips, understanding that this situation was now beyond his control. The idea of losing Hermione, now, when they had what they had, was unbearable. But he couldn’t imagine asking her to sacrifice her parents for him. He wasn’t certain he was worth that.

“How long does she have?” Harry said.

“Today,” Lupin answered. “She has… today. Her parents will be released from St. Mungo’s tonight and will be moved to a more secure location at that time.”

“Can I see her?”

Lupin hesitated. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Please,” Harry said, looking up. “I need to see her. This is a decision that—that she shouldn’t have to make alone.”

“I’m afraid it’s one she must make alone, Harry.” Lupin’s voice was gentle. “Hermione’s feelings are rather blind when it comes to you.”

Harry’s face burned. “I won’t try and convince her to stay, you know I won’t. Please, I just want to see her.”

Lupin got up from the table and went to pour himself a second cup of coffee. Harry continued to stare down at the cracks on the table—one, two, three, four…

“Please, Lupin,” Harry said again. “Please just let me see her.”

Lupin busied himself with his coffee and avoided Harry’s eye. “It is important that her decision isn’t influenced by any outside forces.”

“And what d’you think her parents are going to say?” Harry burst out. “They don’t much approve of me, you know. I reckon they’d do their best to keep her with them.” Harry waited a moment. “If you don’t let me see her, I’ll find a way. You know I will.”

Lupin set down his coffee, looking worn. “Very well. Let’s go.”

For a moment, Harry was certain he’d heard wrong. When Lupin’s words sank in, he jumped up from the table, startled. “What? Right now?”

“Yes,” Lupin said firmly. “Before Molly wakes up. She’d have a fit if she knew what I was about to do.”

“I—okay.” Harry followed Lupin into the living room, trying to flatten down his bangs as he went. His mussed appearance suddenly seemed to matter more than it had a minute ago.

Lupin grabbed a handful of floo powder. “Go on, then, hop in. I’ll toss the powder.”

Harry scrambled into the fireplace. “Hang on—is that it? What do I do when I get there?”

Lupin shrugged. “Do you have your wand?”

Harry nodded, feeling the familiar weight of his wand in his right pocket. “Yeah.”

“Fine,” Lupin said. “I’m going to get you there. The rest is up to you.”

“Up to me…?” Harry said. “But—but what about Voldemort and… and what about all that nonsense about being a danger to the Grangers? How will I get back?”

“Harry, the last thing I’m going to do is coddle you. You’ve been cooped up for far too long this summer. It is high time you be allowed to make your own decisions. You will go to St. Mungo’s to see Hermione. Your visit and the length of time you spend there will be left to your judgment.” Lupin paused. “Voldemort will not rest until he’s killed you, yes, but that does not mean you must be left sheltered. Make the best of your life while you have it.”

Harry met Lupin’s eyes and comprehension dawned. This is what Sirius never had. They forced him to stay inside, this house as a jail.

They can’t do it to me too.

Harry nodded. “I’m ready.”

Lupin tossed the powder. “St. Mungo’s, center 1127, codename ‘meatballs.’”

The unpleasant sensation of traveling by floo swept through Harry and he unconsciously held his breath while he swirled around and around in the fireplace. He landed with a thump, drawing in a large gasp of air. Feeling like he’d skinned his knees, Harry scrambled to his feet, checked to make sure he had his wand, and scanned his sorroundings.

He was obviously in some kind of floo-reception room. On one wall was a large blown-up map of the hospital. Next to it was a large window, sunlight streaming in. There was a potted plant next to the door, looking wilted and brown. Above the door was a sign labeled Reserved For the Order of the Phoenix.

It suddenly struck Harry that he was in a very different area of the hospital than he had been in when he’d visited Mr. Weasley back in fifth-year. Of course the Order would have its own wing at St. Mungo’s. From the password Lupin had given, Harry would have bet his Gringott’s vault that it was a secret wing, one known only to members of the Order.

Dusting himself off, Harry glanced out the doorway, looking in each direction. To his right, a large hallway extended before him, hospital rooms on both sides. Harry could see patients in some, others appeared to be empty. Harry glanced to his left and let out a small gasp of surprise.

There was only a waiting room. Inside, he could see white, plastic tables. Trays lingered behind on some, others were covered in black grime. There was a long counter following the length of one end of the room. Behind it was a bored-looking wizard, face resting on his palm, and he stared dispiritedly into a bucket of food before him.

But what made Harry gasp was the sight of Hermione and her mother, sitting at one of those tables. Hermione appeared to be eating, her spoon swirled around and around in a bowl of porridge. Her mother’s arm was in a sling and a long bruise marred the skin of her cheek. She was speaking to Hermione, who was nodding at appropriate intervals.

Summoning his courage, Harry walked towards them, pausing outside the waiting room. He felt like he was intruding. It suddenly occurred to Harry how personal this must be for Hermione. She was part of something he couldn’t understand. A family. Parents. Parents in the hospital.

Harry’s indecision came to a halt when Hermione looked up from her porridge. She went still when she saw him, eyes trained on his face. Her mother continued to talk, but Hermione wasn’t paying any attention.

She set her spoon down on the table, standing up and leaving her mother in mid-sentence. Harry took a step backwards, unsure of himself. Hermione’s face was expressionless.

He wasn’t used to seeing her that way. Hermione was a guarded person by nature, but she’d always seemed so open about her feelings in his presence. He’d seen every conceivable emotion pass over her face—anger, frustration, sadness, happiness. Now, faced with the coolness of her eyes, Harry found that he didn’t know how to respond.

“Hi,” he said, trying to smile.

She didn’t smile back. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Hermione’s mother rose from the table and came out to join them in the hall. Her mouth tightened into a thin line.

“Hermione, dear, what’s going on?”

Hermione sighed. “Mum, you remember Harry, don’t you?”

Harry thought that was a rather silly question to ask—it was clear from the look in Mrs. Granger’s eyes that she more than remembered him. She clenched her jaw as she surveyed Harry up and down.

“Er… hello,” Harry said, sticking out a hand. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Mrs. Granger didn’t make any moves to shake his hand and Harry slowly withdrew it, face flaming in embarrassment.

“Of course I remember Harry,” Mrs. Granger said. “He’s your… special friend.”

“Mum.”

“Well, what do you expect, dear?” she said shrilly. “What do you want me to say?”

“You could attempt to be polite, at the very least,” Hermione said, not looking in Harry’s direction. It sounded like she was repeating some well-rehearsed lines. “Harry hasn’t done anything to you.”

“Oh, he hasn’t, has he?” Mrs. Granger said.

“Mum, please,” Hermione said, voice more insistent. “Give us a moment, will you? I’d like to speak with Harry alone.”

Mrs. Granger clenched her jaw. “Hermione, we’ve—”

“Talked about this to death,” Hermione said. “I know, Mum. I know. I’m asking you to give us a moment. Please.”

Mrs. Granger shifted her eyes to Harry and he tried to smile, but his mouth felt awkward and frozen.

“I’m sorry,” Harry finally managed. “I never wanted… I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Granger stared at him with cool eyes, and Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He couldn’t blame her, not really. Not when he was the reason she might lose her daughter.

“Very well,” Mrs. Granger said. “Five minutes Hermione. Your father… well, he’ll want to see you.”

Stiffly, she turned away. Harry couldn’t bear to watch her any longer, and he focused on Hermione’s face, desperate for some kind of warmth.

Her face was still carefully blank. “What are you doing here?”

Harry was momentarily taken aback. “I… I wanted to see you.”

Her eyes closed for a moment as though she was summoning her patience. “Oh, Harry,” she moaned. “Don’t you ever think?”

Harry swallowed. “Yes, I do. Lupin… he told me the decision you were facing. I just… I just thought you might want some… support.”

“Harry, you know what my parents think of you—of us! What kind of greeting did you expect to get here?” Hermione seemed on the verge of tears. “This may be the last time I ever see them, I do not want to spend it fighting with them!”

Harry took a step back, startled. “I—I never thought of it that way.”

“No—you never do,” Hermione snapped. “Well, I’m sorry, Harry, but you don’t. You were only thinking about how you felt about the situation.”

Harry grit his teeth and reminded himself she was upset. “That was uncalled for.”

“Was it really?” Hermione said, raising her eyebrows. “I know you. I know you want me to tell you that this isn’t your fault and that I don’t blame you. But I can’t right now, Harry. I’m watching my father writhing in pain in a hospital bed, not because he suffered a heart attack or a stroke, but because he was attacked by Death Eaters!”

“I’m so—”

“I don’t want to hear about how you’re sorry!” Hermione said, her face turning red. “Just—leave, will you?”

There was a lump in Harry’s throat. It was with great difficulty that he nodded. “If that’s what you want. I guess—I guess coming here was a mistake.” Harry was horrified to hear his voice breaking. “I just… I wanted to support… whatever you choose.”

Hermione sighed and her eyes seemed to soften. “It wasn’t much of a choice,” she said gently. “I can’t just… you know Hogwarts is my home.”

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice.

Hermione took a tentative step towards him. “Look—Harry, you know how I feel about you. That hasn’t changed—that won’t change. But I really think I need some… space.”

“Space?” Harry choked out.

“Not like that,” Hermione said quickly. “I just mean… go back to Grimmauld Place, alright? I think… I think it would be best if I didn’t see you for a while.”

Harry closed his eyes against the pain that washed over him. When he spoke, it sounded like his voice was coming from far away. “Okay. Whatever you want.”

“Thank you.”

The stranger’s voice spoke again. “I’m here when you need me.”

“I know.”

Taking his chances, Harry reached out to grasp her fingers gently. “I really am sorry, Hermione.”

Hermione’s lip trembled. Quickly, she withdrew her hand and stepped back.

“I have to be strong for them.”

“You are, Hermione,” he said. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

Hermione’s eyes filled and the next thing Harry knew, she had her arms around him, face pressed against his shoulder. For a moment, Harry was too stunned to react.

“Hey—Hermione, it’s alright…” Harry said. “It’s—it’ll be okay…”

As suddenly as she threw her arms around him, she drew back, wiping at her eyes. She cracked a small smile and took a step back, gesturing to the waiting room.

“I’ll see you later.”

Hermione’s cool tone was back, letting Harry know that it was time for him to leave.

“Bye…”

With a jerk, Hermione turned away, setting off down the hall.

A/N: I know, I’m taking far too long between updates. I’m sorry. I wish I could say they’re going to go faster, but I’m worried HBP might have an impact on the future of this story. Whatever happens, there will be at least one more chapter, and, if nothing else, I’ll try and wrap up their summer satisfactorily. Thanks for everyone’s constant support and reviews. I know I’m a terrible responder, but I appreciate every one of you.

Buffy: If you don’t tell us what we need to know, then I’m gonna offer you to The First on a platter and let him chop you into tiny pieces.

Andrew: The first what?

Anya: The name of the evil thing that pretended to be Warren to get you to kill Jonathan.

Andrew: Oh, not very ominous sounding.

Dawn: It is if you understand the context.

Andrew: No, an evil name should be like Lex or Voldemort or –

-Buffy (duh), from ‘Bring on the Night’

Chapter Four

“Harry, I’d like to speak with you, please.”

There was a knock that accompanied Lupin’s voice, and Harry looked up from the essay he was doing. He couldn’t believe he was doing homework as a means to distract himself. Yet the focus required for one of Snape’s essays prevented him from dwelling too much on what had happened at the hospital.

“Come on, Harry. You know I can break in.”

Harry sighed and unlatched the door. He took a step back, folding his arms across his chest. “Come in.”

The door flung open and Lupin rushed inside, a harried look on his face. “Blimey, Harry, what’s going on?”

Harry shrugged. “Nothing. Why?”

Lupin narrowed his eyes. “You’ve hardly said two words since you returned from St. Mungo’s.”

“So?”

“So…” Lupin said, raising his eyebrows. “I may be getting on in years, Harry, but I’d hardly call myself stupid.”

Harry flushed. “It’s private, alright?”

Lupin considered him for a moment. “Give her time, Harry.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

Lupin sighed and paced the room, looking uncomfortable. “I rather think you should.”

“I rather think I should be left alone.”

“Look,” Lupin said, irritation creeping its way into his voice. “I know you’re not as close to me as you were to Sirius, but you need some kind of guidance in this, Harry. I know Ron’s your best mate and you wouldn’t trade him for the world, but it must be difficult to talk about this with him.”

“Talk about what with him?” Harry demanded.

“Love. Hermione. Your relationship.” Lupin sighed. “It’s hard sometimes, watching the two of you. You’re so young. You have so many years ahead of you. There could be an infinite number of people that could pass through your lives. And then… then I remember that your parents fell in love when they were only your age.”

Harry swallowed, the mention of his parents affecting him like it always did. He found that the glimpses he received into his parents’ pasts were blessings tempered with difficulties. The more he knew, the more he wanted to know. But his picture of his parents had been destroyed and rebuilt thousands of times over his last six years at Hogwarts. It was with a bittersweet acceptance that he realized he’d never truly be able to understand the people they had been.

“Did my father talk to you about… you know…”

“Lily?” Lupin asked. “Somewhat. Bit embarrassing for him, really.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “But I guess something between them must have stuck, eh?”

“I’d say so,” Lupin said, smiling. “Can’t say it was love at first sight. Well—maybe on James’s part. Lily was smart, beautiful, powerful… we all envied him a bit. We envied both of them. Love isn’t something you find every day.”

Harry thought of the way Hermione had looked at him at the hospital. It had been as if she’d pulled shutters over her eyes in her attempt to block him out. Whatever she’d been feeling, she hadn’t wanted him to know.

Lupin sighed. “Can I sit down?”

“I s’pose.”

Lupin took a seat on the edge of Harry’s bed, seeming to slump on his forearms. The frailness of Lupin’s clothing was more apparent than ever.

How does this man do it? Harry wondered, staring at him. He’s lost all three of his best friends—the only family he’s ever had, and, on top of that, he’s a werewolf, shunned to the side by the rest of the wizarding world.

“What happened?” Lupin asked again.

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. “She… wasn’t happy to see me.”

“Oh?”

“Said I was only thinking of myself… that I wanted her to tell me it wasn’t my fault.” Harry shook his head. “That’s rubbish. I just wanted—I wanted to be there for her.”

Like she’s always been there for me, he added silently.

“She told me I was only making things worse for her.” Harry paused. “She chose it, though. Hogwarts. She’s… she’s willing to separate herself from her parents.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know!” Harry said, growing more agitated. “They’re her parents. How can she—just—just—leave them behind?”

“Maybe they’re not worth her giving up her life.”

“Maybe,” Harry repeated, in a hollow voice. “I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t make me happy. I can’t imagine what I’d have done if she’d gone with them.”

Lupin nodded. “It’s a hard situation.”

“Dunno why you’d envy being in love,” Harry muttered. “Seems like it causes all kinds of difficulties.”

“That might be true,” Lupin said, standing up. “But you’ve got to believe that in the end, it’s worth it.”

A biting retort was on the tip of Harry’s tongue, but something stopped him from saying it aloud. Feeling defeated, he turned his gaze to the floor, feeling a lump rise in his throat.

“What d’you think I should do?” he finally asked.

Lupin looked hesitant. “Harry, I don’t—”

“Please,” Harry said, looking up. “Just… something. She said… well, she said she wanted… erm… space.”

“Space?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, shifting. “I don’t really know… I don’t know what she meant by that.”

Lupin looked thoughtful. “Hermione’s always been rather literal minded, Harry, hasn’t she?”

“I s’pose…”

“Give it to her, then. Give her… time. Let her come to you. Maybe that’s the best way you can help her.”

Harry brooded over that for a moment. “What if she doesn’t? What if she… what if she decides that’s what she wants? More space?”

“Then…” Lupin sighed. “Then there’s nothing you can do about it.”

***

Nothing I can do about it.

Harry hadn’t said anything at the time, but he thought Lupin was asking the impossible of him. A direct challenge. Nothing you can do about it.

It unnerved him, because Harry had always prided himself on being able to do what he could not. The more opposition he encountered, the harder he pushed—right from that moment he’d prevented Voldemort from getting the Sorcerer’s Stone when he’d been eleven.

Nothing I can do about it.

Nothing I can do.

About it.

Nothing.

Harry repeated the words in his mind all through dinner.

It was absurd. It was ridiculous.

He couldn’t just let Hermione walk away from him. He couldn’t do nothing.

“Okay, mate?” Ron asked, kicking his shin under the table in what was probably supposed to be a friendly gesture.

Harry winced. “Er… yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

It was only then that he noticed the rest of the table staring at him.

“What?”

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged a look.

“Well,” Mr. Weasley said carefully. “I’ve been discussing some… things… with Dumbledore recently and we think that, perhaps, it would be… a good idea for you to join in on our next Order meeting.”

Mrs. Weasley sniffed.

“Some of us think so,” Mr. Weasley amended hurriedly, giving a tight smile. “What do you think?”

“Er…” Harry said, still feeling distracted. “Sure.”

Ron threw down his utensils. “What? What d’you mean, ‘sure?’”

Harry stared. “Okay? Alright? That sounds fine?”

“Harry, the thing is…” Ginny gave her brother a reproachful look. “Ron won’t… I mean, Ron wasn’t… you were the only one invited.”

“Oh,” Harry said. Then, with more realization. “Oh.”

“Bloody hell, Harry! We’ve been discussing that for the last ten minutes! Where the sodding hell have you been?”

“Nothing!” Harry blurted. “Er… I mean… I was… it’s nothing.”

Ron frowned. “Harry, what’s—”

Ron’s words were interrupted by a large crash from the living room.

“Oh, heavens!” Mrs. Weasley said standing up. “That must be—”

“Hermione,” Harry finished dully, stabbing at his meat.

Ginny and Ron exchanged a look before jumping to their feet. They followed Mrs. and Mr. Weasley into the living room. Harry hung back, wondering what he was supposed to do now. What kind of space did Hermione want from him? Should he say hello? Just hello? Treat her as he would his best friend?

Lupin cleared his throat and Harry glanced at him, startled.

“Harry, I’m certain she won’t fault you for making sure she’s arrived here safely.”

Harry nodded, padding his way into the living room. Right away he could tell that Hermione’s arrival had brought with it a scene of confusion.

“Oh, dear, you must be starving! Let’s sit you down in the kitchen… get some food into you…”

“No, that’s alright, Mrs. Weasley, I’m not that hungry, I—”

“How is St. Mungo’s nowadays, Hermione? I know they’ve done some repairs since I stayed there two years ago. Bit of a strain on the Ministry’s budget, really… but worthwhile. What do you think?”

“They… things looked… they were nice, Mr. Weasley, but I’m—”

“Oh, Hermione! We all heard about what happened! It’s so awful! I can’t believe—what they made you choose! You must be feeling… oh, I can’t even imagine!”

“It’s… I’m alright, Ginny, really… but I’d really like to—”

“Er… would you like a cup of tea?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sakes, Ron! Tea! At a time like this!”

“Well—it might make her feel better… you never know…”

“I’d honestly just like to—”

“Tea sounds like a lovely idea—”

“I think Hermione just wants to go to bed,” Harry said loudly, causing everyone to turn around and look at him. A look of relief passed over Hermione’s face.

Harry was suddenly aware that the room was silent. I don’t want to make a scene, Harry thought, glancing around at all the eyes. He could almost feel Hermione’s unease.

Hermione seemed to come to herself. Hefting her chin, she pulled her bag close to her chest and marched out of the room. She walked by Harry without glancing at him.

Ron swallowed and pulled at the corner of his shirt, where the thread was beginning to unravel. “Well… that went well.”

Mrs. Weasley gave a large sniff. “That poor girl.”

Harry couldn’t listen anymore. Turning, he followed Hermione’s path upstairs. He paused outside her door. This door is only a few centimeters thick.

That’s all that’s separating us. A few centimeters.

Harry leaned closer, wondering what she was doing. Crying. Sleeping. Staring blankly ahead.

He wanted… no, needed… to be in there with her. She’s said goodbye to her parents for what could be the last time. She shouldn’t be alone.

Harry almost knocked. Almost. He stared at the door and imagined himself bursting in.

Hermione, you listen to me! I don’t care if you’re angry with me—or confused—or… or however you’re feeling! That doesn’t matter! I won’t just go away! Not after six years of friendship, not after everything we’ve done together. I won’t leave you alone. Not now.

The words echoed in his mind as Harry followed the hall around to his room. There, he flopped on his back and squeezed his eyes shut, unable to even bother changing.

He slept restlessly. He dreamed of spinning doors and the antiseptic smell of the hospital and a ticking clock that never ended.

***

When he woke the next morning, Harry felt an eerie sense of déja vu. Ron was sound asleep. There was sunlight pouring in through the window.

With a sense of panic, Harry threw his legs over the side of his bed and hurried downstairs. He spared little thought for his rumpled clothing.

He skidded to a halt in the kitchen, breathing heavily. A familiar sight greeted him. Lupin sat at the table, his morning coffee beside him, and a copy of the Daily Prophet open in front of him.

“Hermione…” Harry said, still out of breath. “Did you see her? Did she come down?”

Lupin looked up, startled by the desperation he heard in Harry’s voice. “Yes, of course. She came down a little while ago. She… took her food back to her bedroom.”

Harry slumped in relief.

“What’s going on, Harry?” Lupin asked.

“Nothing,” Harry said, going to pour himself some orange juice. “I thought… I just thought for a moment that maybe she’d changed her mind. That—that she’d decided to leave with them after all. I dunno why I thought that.”

Lupin smiled thinly. “She’s… well, I daresay she’s withdrawing into herself.”

“No kidding,” Harry said sharply. He slammed the orange juice down on the counter. “Why? Why is she doing this?”

“People handle grief in different—”

“She’s Hermione!” Harry said, whirling around. “Rational Hermione! She should know! She should—just—know.”

“Know what?”

“That it’s stupid!” Harry said. “She can’t keep this all inside—it’s dangerous! She needs us! She needs… she needs me! I know she does! She knows she does! Why won’t she let us help her? Why is she doing this to herself?”

“She’s…” Lupin’s eyes clouded over and he spoke softly. “She’s punishing herself.”

Harry gaped at him, the orange juice container frozen in his hands. “What?”

“She’s punishing herself,” Lupin said again. “She feels… she feels she’s to blame for the attack on her parents. She feels like she’s being disloyal to them by leaving them. She feels—”

“Like she needs to suffer,” Harry said, with sudden understanding. He set the juice down on the counter. His throat burned. “Oh, god.”

His earlier anger with her evaporated as quickly as it came. In a way, it made perfect sense. The reason she was avoiding him, the reason she was pushing him away… it made sense.

“I know what that’s like,” Harry said. “I know what it’s like to think that you’ve brought something… awful to the people you love. But you have to go on… it’s too hard… if you cut yourself off.”

Lupin stood up and gave a stretch. “Well, you said it yourself, Harry. Hermione’s a rational girl. Let us hope she reaches the same conclusion.”

***

Hermione’s self-isolation was driving Harry mad. It had been two days since she’d returned from the hospital. Two days.

Occasionally, she left her room to get food, to shower, to use the bathroom. Each time, she made sure to carefully avoid Harry.

Harry was nearing a point where he would have done anything to catch a glimpse of her. Just so he could reassure himself she was still alive.

The weight of Hermione’s mood seemed to hang on the entire house. They were quiet as they moved around. The Weasleys were tense and awkward. Ron and Ginny bickered constantly and Mrs. Weasley was constantly after them for not doing their part around the house.

Harry wandered the house in a daze, pausing every once in a while outside Hermione’s door and debating with himself. He told himself not to push her. He told himself to wait until she was ready.

His Apparation lessons with Tonks were turning into complete fiascos.

“Harry, you’re not focusing.”

I know, Harry thought. Bit distracted at the moment, thank you.

“You have to visualize the place you want to end up,” Tonks said, for the thousandth time. “Like—say you want to go to Paris. Picture yourself standing next to the Eiffel tower and then just… project yourself there… with your mind…”

“Right, the Eiffel tower,” Harry repeated.

“No!” Tonks said. “No! For Merlin’s sakes, Harry! You’re hardly ready to go all the way to Paris! Why do you think it’s so hard for a wizard to Apparate somewhere he’s never been? You have to be able to recreate the details exactly!”

Tonks was beginning to look frazzled. Harry couldn’t blame her. They’d already been at it two hours and he hadn’t even managed to splinch himself. The best he’d done was to flicker for a moment before reappearing in the same spot.

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on visualizing the room around him. He could see the two armchairs, the big couch… the fire in the corner. He focused on the fire. Now… concentrate on getting yourself over there… feel the fire on your face…

Harry opened his eyes and was disappointed to find that he was in the same spot. Tonks looked at him expectantly.

“Nothing.”

Tonks looked discouraged. “Well… you’ll get it eventually. It’s not easy for anyone… I’m sure it’ll be fine… all be fine…”

“You’re trying too hard.”

Harry spun around. Hermione stood in the entrance to the living room, arms at her sides and face oddly strained.

“Wh—what?” Harry said.

“You’re trying too hard,” she said. “You can’t force it. It has to seem natural. Use the magic around you.”

Harry’s heart was beating very fast. He didn’t know why she had chosen this moment to talk to him or to come out of isolation, but he was going to do his best to keep her there. He closed his eyes.

“Natural… natural…”

“Where were you trying to end up?” Hermione asked.

“The fireplace.”

“You want to make yourself believe you’re there. You can’t force it. If you can trick your body into thinking that’s where you are, it should take you there.”

Harry tried to relax, but he found that her presence was almost more of a distraction. In an attempt at following her advice, Harry thought of himself sitting down beside the fire, a Quidditch magazine out on his lap. He imagined Hermione curled up next to him, her face slightly flushed from the heat of the flames.

He heard a small plop and his insides gave a jerk. When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find himself standing next to the armchair beside the fire.

Tonks looked ecstatic.

Hermione was gone.

***

Ron was the first one to snap.

They were spending a Saturday afternoon together in the living room. Rain pounded against the roof; the only noise in the room. Harry and Ron sat on the living room floor playing chess, though neither of them was concentrating. Mrs. Weasley was curled up in an armchair knitting and Ginny was immersed in her homework.

The tension was palpable. Every once in a while one of them would look towards the stairs, their minds drifting to whom was missing. Tonks, Lupin, and Mr. Weasley were out on Order business and Hermione had secluded herself in her room.

Since Hermione had appeared in the middle of his Apparation lesson yesterday afternoon, Harry had been turning the incident over and over in his mind. He had the sinking feeling she’d been trying to tell him something. As usual, he’d completely missed her point.

“Your move,” Ron said.

Though Ron’s words were hushed, they pierced the silence around them. Mrs. Weasley’s hands stilled on her knitting.

Harry glanced blearily down at the game. “I’m sorry, Ron. I’m having trouble… I don’t know if this is such a good idea.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. With jerky movements, he began collecting pieces from the board, angrily tossing them into the box. There were boos and hisses from the pieces.

“Bloody hell!” Ron burst out, folding up the board and slamming it down on the floor. “I can’t take this anymore. We are going to talk to Hermione right now!”

Harry jumped up. “Ron, I don’t know if this is such a good idea…”

“Such a good idea? SUCH A GOOD IDEA?” Ron said, face turning red. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you think so?”

“Ronald—”

“Don’t bother, Mum,” Ron said. “We’re all thinking it.”

“Ron…”

“You don’t say anything!” Ron shouted, advancing on Harry. “You two—you’re supposed to have this grand love of all time, and yet you can’t even take two seconds to talk to her!

“Ron, please…”

“Don’t make excuses for yourself!” Ron hollered. “I’m sick and tired watching Hermione suffer! And you won’t do anything about it!”

Harry felt cold. He stumbled back a step. “It’s not like that,” he said, in a scratchy voice. “You don’t know—”

“I know enough!” Ron said. “If it was me, Harry, you know what I’d do? I’d stupefy her if it meant talking to her! I’d break down her bloody door! I WOULDN’T AVOID HER!”

“SHE’S THE ONE AVOIDING ME!!!”

“SO? YOU’RE NOT DOING ANYTHING TO STOP IT—”

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND—”

“WELL, SOD OFF, THEN! I’M GOING TO TALK TO HER, IF YOU WON’T!”

“Enough! I will not tolerate you shouting in this house!”

Mrs. Weasley’s voice seemed to pierce through the red haze surrounding Harry and Ron and they both took a deep, ragged breath.

“Honestly, what kind of behaviour is this?” Mrs. Weasley said. “Neither of you will help Hermione by shouting at each other.”

Ron snorted. “Well, one of us is never going to help Hermione, anyway…”

“Shut. Your. Hole.”

“Both of you be quiet,” Ginny hissed, standing up in alarm. Her notes fluttered to the floor around her.

Harry and Ron whirled around. Hermione stood in the doorway, watching them. Wide eyes stood out on her pale face. An endless second ticked by and Harry felt his legs weaken. No, no, no, NO, NO, NO…

Without saying anything, Hermione’s chest hitched and she ran in the opposite direction. Harry and Ron glanced at each other, dull horror creeping onto their faces.

“I hope you’re happy now,” Ginny snapped, bending down to pick up her notes.

Ron pressed a shaking hand to his eyes. Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“Ron,” he said quietly. “Please believe me when I tell you… I’m doing the best I can.”

Ron nodded.

***

When it happened, it was the middle of the night. Harry wasn’t even aware of what had awoken him. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, it slowly dawned on him that he wasn’t alone. Heavy breathing met his ears, and he went still, heart in his throat.

Then, there was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. “Harry… Harry, wake up… wake up, Harry…”

Harry sat up, shocked. “Hermione?”

There was a moment of silence and the hand disappeared from his shoulder. Harry wished he could see.

“Hermione…” he said again. “What’s—what’s going on?”

Harry held his breath, wondering if she’d left, if perhaps he’d imagined it all. He heard a sharp intake of air and his bed shifted as someone sat down on it. He barely had time to process all of that before her arms were around his neck, and her face was pressed up against his chest, her chest hitching in rhythm with her breathing.

She smelled like old books and tea and vanilla and Hermione. He could hear the rain still beating down on the house, and he pulled her tightly against him, a lump gathering in his throat.

“Hermione…” he said again, hardly daring to believe it

She pressed herself closer and Harry did the best he could to cover them up with his blankets, feeling a need to keep her warm and protected. She let out a tiny sob, the noise drowned out by the sound of the rain and the snores from Ron’s side of the room.

Harry moved his hands over her back, feeling her shaking and crying against him. Relief filled him, hot and powerful, and left his throat aching.

“Shh…” he said. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

Nothing was okay, and they both knew it, but it was exactly what Hermione wanted him to say. Slowly her ravaged sobs slowed to dull hiccups until she was breathing normally. She gripped him tightly around the neck and Harry’s shirt felt damp from the force of her tears.

She moved her head slightly, resting her chin on his shoulder. Relaxing, her hands slid down his back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be…” Harry said. “It’s… it’s alright, Hermione. I’m just glad you…”

“I know,” she said, her voice trembling. “Thank you.”

Harry drew back so he could cup her face with his hands. Still blind, he kissed her face everywhere he could, bumping into her nose, her ears, her cheeks. She gave a few more punctuated sniffs. She tried to kiss him back, and finally their lips made contact, awkward from their position and tears.

When they pulled back, he could hear her breathing, laboured from her tears. He ran his hands up and down her arms, squinting in the dark. She shivered before hugging him tightly again, as if he could ward off her chill and her fear.

He held her close, wishing he could do exactly that. Her legs slid and intertwined with his, her breath was warm against his neck. He could feel her body, so close to his, so real. Her arms around his neck, her face pressed just under his chin, and her hair spilled out around her…

Harry listened to the rain pounding on the house, beating against it in a constant drum. His bed creaked as he shifted, trying to get comfortable, trying to make sure she was comfortable. He wanted to kiss her again, or whisper in her ear, promises of his love, devotion…

But he knew she wasn’t ready for that. It wasn’t what she wanted. She just wanted him. She just wanted to hold on.

And he could give her that.