Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.
AN2: I really was fond of this chapter, especially the last scene. I hope all of you like it as well!
What Might Have Been
Chapter Thirteen
Harry and Ginny were hunched together at a table that was tucked back in a little-used corner of the library. Harry finished writing with a flourish, and blotted the parchment.
"Do you think that's enough information?" he asked. Ginny scrutinized the letter, her brow wrinkling in concentration.
"But you don't even know that for sure, do you?"
"Well….no, but they don't know that," Harry said, a little sheepishly. He rolled the finished letter, and sealed it. "Did you finish the one to your dad?" Ginny nodded, and gestured with a sealed scroll. "What do you think he'll say?"
"I'm his baby girl," Ginny said loftily. "I think he'll do whatever I want!" Harry snorted, and started laughing. Ginny watched him laugh, with a satisfied expression. The laugh was a good thing, she figured. It signaled a return of hope.
She looked at him, as he began to pack up the writing materials. "What about Gringotts?" she asked.
"I think that one requires a…personal visit," he said, looking more determined than she'd ever seen him. She wondered at the change in him, and decided that perhaps the tension over Hermione combined with the attack on Ron had been the straw that broke the hippogriff's back.
"Personal?" she said in astonishment. "How are you going to get to Diagon Alley? It's the middle of the school year."
"I've been the Boy Who Lived for seventeen years," he said, and there was steel in his voice, "and I've never asked for a single, bloody favor." He darted a sideways glance at her, and one corner of his mouth turned up slightly. "That changes today." He jerked his head toward the library door, tucking the two sealed scrolls under his arm. "Let's go."
As he exited the library, he rounded the corner, only to be met with the business end of a wand under his chin. He tried to back up a little, causing Ginny to crash into him when she came out of the door. The wand followed him, poking him in the throat rather painfully.
"I want to know what is going on right now, Harry Potter!" The voice was level and deadly serious.
"Hermione, that hurts!" Harry said in annoyance, pushing the wand away from his neck. "Nothing's going on."
Hermione arched both eyebrows, and let her eyes flicker over to Ginny and back. "Oh?" she said, sounding politely surprised. Harry turned and looked at Ginny, then back at Hermione. Ginny was trying very hard to melt into the wall.
"You - you think - you think th-that…I - we…oh God, are you serious?" Harry said, with almost total incoherence.
"Don't be ridiculous, Harry!" Hermione snapped. "You two are up to something. What is it?"
Ginny, who had just worked out that she had been insulted, opened her mouth in protest. "Hey!"
"Hermione, she is helping me," Harry said, keeping his voice calm. "You asked why I wasn't doing anything about the marriage law. Well, now I am." Hermione regarded him for a moment, and Harry realized with a start that she looked…hurt.
"She can help you and I can't?" Hermione said softly. She had always been the one to help him before.
"I - I just…thought you would rather …" Harry stammered, then remembered what Dumbledore said when he had explained why he had not made Harry prefect. "I thought you had rather enough to be going on with."
"I will never," she said through clenched teeth, "never have so much going on that I can't help you. I don't care who they make me marry."
They stared at each other, motionless, the air between them crackling with intensity. Ginny watched for a moment, agape, but then sprang suddenly into motion, pulling the scrolls out from under Harry's arm.
"I'll just nip these over to the owlery," she said, slinging a nervous smile over her shoulder, as she dashed down the corridor.
Neither Harry nor Hermione appeared to have noticed particularly that she was gone.
"Harry," Hermione said, with a voice that trembled slightly. "Harry, it's nothing - it's not - illegal, is it?"
"I don't think so," Harry said seriously, "At least, not technically. And anyway," and here he scooped her up in his arms, and backed her further against the wall, "if I can stop this, fix this…it'll be worth it."
Hermione tilted her head back to look into his eyes, and smiled, beginning to melt into a puddle in his arms. "Wait a minute," she said, straightening up, "what do you mean, technically?"
Harry grinned at her, knowing that it would infuriate her. "I've got to go," he said. "I'll talk to you later!" Then he added, his feelings for her plain to read on his face, "It's going to be all right."
"Where are you going?" she called out after him, as he started down the corridor, in the opposite direction that Ginny had gone.
"I'm going to see Ron," he said, and watched her visibly relax, before adding, "and then I'm going to London."
The Weasleys stood outside of a surgical ward in one of the meandering, identical corridors of St. Mungo's. They were grouped in a kind of formation…Charlie was huddled with Ron and Ginny. Fred and George were standing close together, and appeared to be communicating without speaking aloud. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were together too, with Molly leaning on Arthur's chest, his arms holding her up. She had been crying, and was holding a damp handkerchief in one hand.
Harry and Hermione stood a little ways distant, their presence marking their concern and love for this family, but their removal testifying that they were not quite sure that they belonged here in this atmosphere of anticipation and dread.
My fault, my fault, my fault pounded in Harry's head like a relentless drum beat.
Bill had been rushed into surgery, earlier that morning. There were seven healers in the room with him, some of the most acclaimed medical minds in all of Wizarding Britain. And so, the Weasleys waited, waited for the healers to save Bill's life, waited for Bill to die; they stood on the edge of a precipice, clinging to hope by their fingernails.
Hermione leaned on Harry's shoulder, and he had his cheek on top of her head. One leg still had a vague arthritic ache, and he was terribly tired. He had been a patient here only last week. He shifted his weight, purposely standing on his weak leg, as pain shot up from his knee to his hip. He treated it as a sort of discipline. He deserved it. This was his fault.
There was a soft squeak, as the door opened, and Harry looked up, lightning-quick, the first one to have noticed. And he could tell, instantly, from the posture of the healer coming out to speak with the family; he could tell it in the drooping shoulders, the slack posture, the limpness of his fingers on the door handle.
Bill was dead.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley knew it too, as soon as the healer's eyes met theirs. Harry watched, as if seeing a train wreck, as the effect rippled outward, and the Weasleys converged in on each other in grief.
His knees buckled, and he felt Hermione's arm under his, supporting him, helping him stand, even while tears coursed down her cheeks.
It was his fault, his fault. He shifted his weight again. His leg was throbbing.
Harry walked slowly into the hospital wing, his step hesitant, the look on his face one of pure trepidation. He did not want to have this conversation. His palms felt sweaty, and his throat felt clenched and tense.
Ron was sitting up in his bed now, albeit propped up with pillows. His skin stood out stark white, except where it was mottled and purple with bruises, in contrast with his fiery hair. He smiled when he saw Harry, and his face crinkled up around his swollen slit of an eye rather grotesquely. He caught Harry's dubious glance.
"Look that bad, do I?" he asked dryly.
"You look like you single-handedly took on Hagrid's Blast-ended Skrewts," Harry said frankly, "And maybe a couple of centaurs too." He grinned.
"You're bloody well enjoying this, aren't you?"
"Well, you make it so easy!" Harry teased, feeling a pang that their friendly camaraderie would probably be coming to an end.
"Consider yourself lucky that giving dirty looks hurts my face," Ron said in a companionable tone.
"Is that what's wrong with it?" Harry rejoined, and Ron gave him a dour look. Harry felt a stab of guilt. Ron's injuries had been because he had been trying to help Hermione. And now…Harry was going to take that away from him. There was a moment of silence. "So…er, how are you feeling?"
"Loads better," Ron said cheerfully. "Those potions of Madame Pomfrey's may taste like dragon dung, but nobody ever said they didn't work. Of course I look like hell…and - did Hermione tell you what Dumbledore said?"
"Yeah…" Harry said slowly, but Ron rattled on.
"Can you imagine getting married when you look like this?" He grimaced. "Bad enough that there's a law saying you have to get married…but this face," he gestured toward his own discolored visage, "would scare away anybody, really. Maybe somebody can take a picture with one of those magically touched-up cameras, you know, the ones that can make Millicent Bulstrode look like a Veela." He waited for a remark from Harry, something like "I don't think the cameras that have that much magic in them," but none was forthcoming.
Ron sighed. "Are you still worrying about Hermione?" he asked. "You know I'll… I'll take care of her, right? I mean, I know she doesn't want this, not now, and not this way, but I'll - I mean, at least we're friends. Who knows? She could - " fall in love with me someday. The words resounded through the room loudly, even unspoken.
Harry met Ron's eyes then, and the redhead was stunned by the misery in Harry's expression.
"Bloody hell, Harry, what's wrong?" he said, gazing at him through puffy eyelids.
"I'm going to take on the Ministry," Harry said, in the same tone that he might have said, "I'm going to have some tea." Ron was looking at him, however, as if he'd said, "I'm going to eat Voldemort for lunch."
"The Ministry? Fudge?" Ron said, aghast. "Whatever for?"
"You know that this law is a travesty," Harry said, and watched with bitter amusement as Ron tried to figure out what `travesty' meant. "It's unfair, it's wrong, it's stupid, and I'm going to stop it."
Ron appeared to contemplate this for a moment. "Well, you are Harry Potter," he said finally. "You've already defeated Voldemort. What's one blind, stupid, dirty politician?" He paused, adding, "You have some dirt on him?"
"Not yet," Harry said, "but I'm working on that." He smiled, but his expression was bleak.
"Then why do you look like somebody died?" Ron asked, with his usual directness.
"Er…Ron…are you still planning on marrying Hermione?" Harry asked, hoping that his face did not flush red.
"Of course, mate," Ron said, eying him strangely.
"Even though, I'm going to put an end to the law?"
"Well, it's not a done deal yet, is it?" Ron said reasonably. "Malfoy's still running around being a menace," he lifted his bandaged arm as proof. "Dad's always railing about how long it takes to get anything done at the Ministry. Better to keep her safe, until we know for sure, don't you think?"
Harry had his head down, his hair falling forward and obscuring his face from Ron. He mumbled something that was utterly incomprehensible.
"Sorry?" Ron asked.
"Idon'twantyoutomarryHermione," he spoke quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush, as if they were afraid that they would be bitten back and bottled up again. He looked up nervously, expecting Ron's ire, but instead saw his best friend blinking at him in confusion.
"What?" Ron asked, looking completely bewildered. Harry looked up at him this time, his eyes squarely meeting Ron's, and took a deep breath.
"I don't want you to marry Hermione," he said, and exhaled spastically. There was a long silence, and Harry felt the tension begin to build up in the room.
"I thought you agreed that this was best for her," Ron said, slowly, an odd tone creeping into his voice. He peered curiously at Harry.
"It is what's best," Harry agreed, and then paused, looking uncertain as to how next to proceed. This had been Ginny's idea. He should have thrown her in here, and made her tell Ron. "She needs to be married…it will keep her safe from Malfoy."
"But?" Ron asked coolly, arching his brows as best as he could.
Harry swallowed, feeling like there was a Quaffle in his throat.
"I - I - I want you to - to marry her, but just-just on…paper," he colored violently, and weakly tacked on the last word. "And you know…the ceremony…so - so the Ministry…" He could not finish. He felt vaguely nauseated.
"So the Ministry is satisfied that a proper Pureblood/Muggle-born marriage has taken place," Ron finished neatly for him, looking absorbed in his hands and the white sheet backdrop under them.
"Yeah…" Harry said lamely, running one hand through his hair, darting a glance at Ron, whose face remained strangely impassive. Dangerous, he thought.
"Ron, I'm in love with Harry." The new voice rang out in the ward, and caused Harry and Ron to both look up, startled. Hermione stood in the doorway, ramrod straight, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. The fluffy ponytail on top of her head caught the light that poured into the large room, and seemed to sparkle. Harry felt his heart constrict at the sight of her. He should have known that she would follow him up here; he should have told her he was breaking into Dumbledore's office or something.
Ron snorted derisively. "I knew that already…and you know that, Hermione," he said, still looking at his hands. Harry ripped his gaze from Hermione, and whipped his head around to stare at Ron.
"You knew?" he asked, in amazement. He looked back at Hermione, "And you knew?"
"What I didn't know," Ron said, copying Harry's emphasis on the verb, "was whether or not you loved her. Until just now, that is." Ron's tone was flat, and Harry still got a dangerous vibe from it…like an explosive about to ignite.
"I am in love with her, Ron," Harry said, quietly. "I didn't realize it at first, but I think I have been in love with her for a long time."
"So have I," Ron said, in that same dead voice. Hermione stood, still in the doorway, her shiny dark eyes going back and forth from Harry to Ron.
"Listen, mate, I - " Harry reached out a placating hand toward his best friend.
"Don't," Ron began fiercely, the first sign of anger spilling out of him, "call me mate."
"Ron!" Hermione pleaded, her chin wobbly and her voice tearful.
"So, how long have you two been…sneaking around?" Ron asked, his voice strangling over the last phrase.
"We haven't been!" Harry said vehemently, beginning to grow angry himself.
"We only just realized - how we-we felt at the beginning of term," Hermione said quickly, conciliatorily. She desperately wanted to keep them from destroying their friendship. "We were going to tell you - " Ron snorted disbelievingly. "We were! And then the scrolls came, and everything happened so fast."
"And you were still…?" he gestured between the two of them with his good hand. "Up there in your private suite? Wearing my grandmother's ring?" Ron said, despair causing his voice to crack.
"No! Nothing's happened!" Hermione said swiftly, both palms up, almost in a gesture of surrender.
Since she got the ring, Harry supplied mentally, but agreed with Hermione's decision. What was the point of telling Ron about their liaison anyway? He had defeated Voldemort, and really had no desire to die at the hands of his best mate.
Ron suddenly rounded on Harry, as his mind put the last pieces of the puzzle together.
"Is that what you came here to ask me? To keep the marriage one in name only, so you two could…"
"Ron, I am in love with her! I love her! And she loves me! And we had barely started figuring out what that meant, when all of the sudden, the bloody government says that we're not allowed to get married ever…and worse! She has to marry somebody else. Can you possibly imagine what that feels like?" Harry burst out suddenly.
Ron looked at him. "What it feels like to have the person you love taken away from you? Before she ever really belonged to you in the first place? Yeah, I think I might know what that's like." Harry looked down at his feet, feeling terrible. There was a strangled sort of sound from Hermione.
"Ron, I - I didn't mean - " Harry began.
"I know you didn't," Ron said heavily, and he leaned back against the pile of pillows, suddenly looking and sounding very, very tired.
The Golden Trio remained silent, the pulsing nothingness filling up the large, otherwise empty ward, as they tried valiantly to avoid each other's gaze. Ron winced as he shifted positions in the hospital bed, and his eyes slid closed.
Harry and Hermione glanced at each other.
"Harry…" Hermione stammered in a low voice. Harry got up from his place at Ron's bedside, and crossed the room to stand next to her. "Maybe…maybe we shouldn't… this is too much to ask of anyone."
"Are you saying we should give up?" Harry said in an icy tone. Hermione's chin trembled dangerously.
"He's doing this because he loves me. He got injured because he loves me. I don't want to keep hurting him!"
"Do you think I - ?" Harry began, but was cut off when Ron spoke again.
"Damn it, Hermione! I don't want your compassion or your pity!" he said fiercely. "I want your love." She stared at him for a moment, and Harry felt strangely left out. Her gaze wavered, then dropped to her shoes.
"I'm - I'm sorry, Ron," she apologized softly. Ron swore wrathfully, and Hermione flinched.
There was a long moment of silence that seemed to stretch out for an eternity. Harry began to wonder if he should just leave.
"I won't take the risk that they might dissolve our marriage and send her off to be married to some other Pureblood," Ron finally spoke, addressing Harry, his voice even, but his gaze far away, removed from either of them. "The law requires a child on the way within the first year." Some distant part of Harry was amazed that Ron was speaking of this without flushing red. "We're still getting married this weekend; it's safer…but I - we - I'll give you some time to get this law undone."
Beside Harry, Hermione let out a slow, tremulous breath. She looked at him like she wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. He felt a smile begin to tentatively spread itself across his face, and then she threw herself into his arms, and he reveled in the feel of her there.
She was laughing and crying, and she was saying something in his ear incoherently. All he could make out between the sobs was his own name. Harry, Harry, Harry.
A choked noise stopped both of them, and they jerked away from each other, instantly ashamed. Ron was in the bed, rigid, his head turned determinedly to one side, not looking at them. His hands were clenching the sheets so tightly that the veins in his good arm were standing out.
"Ron - " they said in unison.
"Please," he managed to grit that word out. Harry could hear the emotion clogging his throat. A kind of sympathetic understanding lanced through Harry, and he touched his hand gently to the small of Hermione's back.
"Let's go," he said softly.
Hermione twisted the engagement ring around on her finger, and took a long look over her shoulder at Ron. He was still looking away from them, his jaw jutting defiantly in his refusal to face them. She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind one ear, and mouthing the words, "I'm so sorry," I didn't mean to hurt you, she followed Harry out.
TBC
Next chapter: Harry goes to town. And Draco goes missing.
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