Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take. There will be a non-H/Hr pairing in the story, but H/Hr will prevail, never fear! I
AN2: I am working on chapter 8 of "Isle of Mists", but my posting here has caught up with where I am in the story now, so updates may be slower. Hopefully this will help tide you over.
What Might Have Been
Chapter One
The sparkling scarlet engine of the Hogwart's Express shone in the sunlight, almost appearing to welcome the students to the journey back to school. There were a few glum faces in the crowd, and more than a few tearful first-years trying to act like they weren't clinging to their parents. Harry Potter, however, let a small smile play across his face, even though his eyes had something somber in them that rarely fully disappeared. He wasn't leaving home, he was going home.
What's more, he was returning to his 7th year at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His 6th year had been little more than a blur of training and endless tension, early curfews, warded doors, and professors murmuring anxiously to each other in corridors. Quidditch had been cancelled, even though his lifetime ban had been rescinded, and trips to Hogsmeade were banned as well. And when the long-expected attack had finally come…
Harry's grin fell, as he thought of those lost in the final battle in the very halls of Hogwart's. The student's under 6th year had been sent away some time beforehand (with Ginny Weasley protesting wildly all the way), but the older students had been permitted to remain and fight.
He had awakened in the pre-dawn hours of the fifth day after the younger students had been sent home, when the sky had lightened to a pearly gray. The atmosphere had been unnaturally still, heavy, ominous, as though portending some doom. Harry had sat up slowly, peering around the dimness of his room. The other 6th year boys appeared to be asleep. He wondered how they could sleep, as his dread was nearly palpable.
"Harry, you all right, mate?" the voice of his best friend came softly from the adjacent bed. Harry squinted, and could just make out a pale face and fiery hair.
"You feel it too?" Harry asked, but never heard the answer. At that moment, his scar seared through his brain like a brand. His jaw clenched, his back arched, almost as if he were having some kind of fit. He bit off a strangled cry.
"Harry?" Ron said, anxiety creeping into his voice. The other boys began to stir, coming awake quickly, as they saw what was going on. Distantly, Harry was aware of Ron shouting at Neville, of someone else shouting for Hermione, of a crowd of anxious faces ringed around him. Fingers touched his forehead gently. Hermione.
Harry looked at all of them in turn, with wild, staring eyes. His hair was sticking up all over his head, and his skin was as pale as death. He said three words, in an odd flat voice that was his, and yet wasn't his.
"It has begun."
"Harry!" a voice said in delight. Harry shook himself out of his reverie to see the two youngest Weasleys. Ginny and Ron both noticed his faraway look, and immediately knew what he had been pondering.
"Kinda strange to be going back, huh, mate?" Ron's face was sympathetic, his blue eyes troubled by haunting images, much like Harry's. Everyone involved had lost people, but the Weasleys, perhaps with more to lose than many families, had been hit harder than most.
"Yeah…" Harry murmured absently, sticking one hand in his pocket. His face clouded momentarily, and Ginny laid a supporting hand on his shoulder. He managed to smile at her, thinking that it should be him offering her consolation. He forcibly pushed his dark thoughts away, and said, in a more normal tone of voice, "Shall we find a compartment, then?"
Ron clapped him on the back once, and with no further words, the three friends hefted their trunks onto the train.
There were voices clamoring in the corridors, a chaotic blend of shouting and frantic footfalls. Green light glowed briefly, as a hoarse voice shouted the Killing Curse. Harry exchanged serious glances with his two best friends, flanking him on either side. Hermione nodded once, her face grimly resolute. Ron swallowed, and readjusted his grip on his wand. Without needing to speak, the three of them moved simultaneously around the corner into the fray. The other 6th years were close behind.
Inside the Great Hall, the faculty and the Aurors who had been stationed there in preparation for such a move were already fighting Death Eaters. Harry could also hear distant cries, as if the fight had already spread to other areas of the castle. He moved toward the entrance to the hall, deflecting a curse almost mechanically. After all, he wasn't going to die now, was he? Not when it was fated that only Voldemort could be the architect of his demise. The students made it through the wide doors of the Great Hall, and all hell broke loose.
Some minutes…hours?...later, Harry looked around frantically, having lost sight of both Ron and Hermione. The air around him sizzled with magic, as curses flew. To his left, he saw Parvati Patil take down a masked Death Eater. Then, across the room, he saw Justin Finch-Fletchley fall.
"Crucio!" he heard, from somewhere far away, and he barely managed a "Protego" to block it. He was going to have to pay more attention. He flicked a body-binding curse at his assailant, almost as an afterthought, and thought he saw a glimpse of red hair across the room, where the fighting was fiercer.
"Ron! Hermione!" He called. His voice cracked, and his throat was dry. And when had he started crying? Hannah Abbott went down, in a flash of green sparks, a look of surprise on her pretty face. He started toward the melee at the other end of the Great Hall, when he suddenly found himself on his knees.
The pain in his scar flared up so quickly that he was sure his head would split open.
"There you are!" came Hermione's voice, as she poked her curly head in the compartment door. "You know, we have to at least make an appearance up in the Prefect's compartment. We do have an example to maintain." Ron rolled his eyes, and she glared at him. Harry grimaced and stood up.
"All right," he said. "I still can't believe the Headmaster made me Head Boy."
"Well, who else was he going to pick? Ron?" Ginny cracked, and Ron cuffed her across the head.
"He might have!" Ron said defensively, but when he grinned at his best friend, Harry saw no jealousy or animosity there.
"I actually thought he might have chosen Malfoy," Hermione said matter-of-factly.
"Hermione, I hope you're joking," Ron said, a few seconds after her proclamation was met with stunned silence.
"It would have appeased the purebloods and the Ministry. And he wasn't a Death Eater."
"He wasn't on our side, either," Ron muttered darkly. "Bloody git should be in Azkaban with his
father. I can't believe they're letting him come back to Hogwart's."
"It just proves that even though Voldemort is gone, some things don't change. The Ministry can still be purchased for enough galleons. Even from Azkaban," Ginny's voice was grim, sounding far older than her years.
Harry nodded, as he and Hermione withdrew from the compartment, and headed toward the front of the train.
Harry struggled to his feet, his vision foggy from the pain that thrummed through his head like a drumbeat. His wand slid in his sweat-slick grip, and he found himself unable to swallow. The Dark Lord stood before him, pale, thin-lipped, and red-eyed, a sneer twisting his visage.
"So, at last, the prophecy will be fulfilled," Voldemort hissed. "Avada Kedavra!"
Harry was ready for him. The curse bounced off of a shimmery blue shield, and resounded like a gong.
Voldemort stepped back. Fear flickered briefly in his snakelike eyes, fear that perhaps he had underestimated this boy wizard. Harry stood before him, unafraid; the dread anticipation of this meeting had dwarfed the meeting itself. His shield charm still glowed translucently between them.
"You can't hold that shield forever, boy!" Voldemort observed, with unmistakable menace.
"You should hope that I do!" Harry shot back, his implication clear. If he dropped his shield, Voldemort would die. The Dark Lord snarled something incomprehensible, and raised his wand again.
This time, the curse sizzled around the perimeter of the shield, which then dissipated with a smoky tinkle.
It was the moment of truth. Harry lifted his wand.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" And then, several things happened at once. From nowhere, Ron and Hermione were flanking him, wands at the ready. Rather, than casting a curse at Voldemort, they turned toward Harry.
"Lux Prevalet!" The shout was in unison, washing over and colliding with Harry's voice. Two beams of purple light hit Harry's wand, causing the green beam to swell outward like a membrane, emitting a low vibrating rumble.
Voldemort was blasted backwards, and such was the strength of the magic coursing through the spell, that he was completely vaporized. His final cry of rage still echoed in the Great Hall.
Ron and Hermione stood motionless, panting heavily, wand arms limp at their sides. Harry wobbled, and, as the knife-pain of the scar reverberated back to him one final time, he blacked out.
Hermione slipped her hand into his, and looked up at him a little shyly. He smiled at her, and then looked away, but his grip on her hand tightened. There were times last year, when her hand in his had kept him from going completely mad with guilt and grief.
"You were thinking about it again, weren't you? Just then?"
"Don't you think about it at all?" Harry's voice was somewhat defensive.
"All the time," Hermione sighed. The world-weariness in her voice made her sound older. Harry looked over at her curiously. "No one is expecting us to forget about it," she elaborated. "Just to move past it, maybe, where it doesn't hurt….so much…" Her voice trailed off.
She looked toward him, then, and their gazes crossed and locked. Harry felt his heartbeat accelerate, until it was pounding in his ears.
"Hermione?" he said hoarsely.
"W - What?" she stammered, leaning toward him, almost imperceptibly. Harry was unsure of what this thing was that trembled between them. When had he started seeing her as more than a friend? Or had it always been so, and now was just the first time without his "destiny" hanging over him?
His green eyes held confusion…and something else… as he reached up to gently brush a wayward strand of hair back from her cheek. Tears shone in her eyes, but did not fall.
"So," she said, almost casually, "you finally noticed," she said, with a kind of half-laugh, half-sob, rolling her eyes at herself. "Sorry," she apologized.
Harry felt as if he'd been hit with a stunning spell. Her implication was paralyzing.
"How - how long?" he said, almost incoherently, but she knew what he meant.
"Over a year," she said, then blushed and looked away, dashing at tears with the back of her hand, embarrassed. Harry felt stricken. How could he not have noticed that he fancied her, and she him? And she had never said a word. He stared at her, and she appeared to read his mind.
"There was no way to be sure how… you felt, and I - I didn't want to ruin any -" she stopped and shrugged, laughing a little, "You know how I like to be sure about things."
A half-smile trembled on Harry's lips, and he leaned in. "Hermione," he whispered once, before his lips touched hers…
A compartment door burst open, and a foul stench issued forth. Several squealing first years erupted from the putrescence, and two second years followed, laughing. Harry and Hermione exchanged exasperated glances, and descended upon them.
TBC
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