Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.
AN2: More action in this chapter…less navel-gazing!
Oh and none of these people are mine….
What Might Have Been
Chapter Fourteen
Harry and Hermione stood awkwardly in the corridor outside the hospital wing. With a breathy sigh, she came into his arms, and leaned against his chest.
"I wish…" she said wistfully, her voice trailing off. His arms automatically encircled her, and he rested his chin on the top of her head.
"I know," he said. They stood in silence for awhile.
"'S almost time for Charms," Hermione said, as if Charms were the last thing on her mind. Harry looked at her a little apologetically.
"I'm skiving off," he admitted. "I think the Headmaster will excuse me."
"Because you're the Head Boy? Because you're Harry Potter?" Hermione's eyebrows were nearly to her hairline. "Do you know how many school rules - ?"
"Hermione, relax! There are more important things at stake here than school rules." Hermione looked at him as if he'd said something sacrilegious. "I'm going back to our room to…." Harry groped for a believable lie.
" To Floo - where? Where are you going?" The phrase came out sounding more nagging than she meant it to.
"Gringotts," Harry said, unwillingly.
"Why?"
Harry felt defensive. "Maybe I want some money." Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, having none of it.
"You could owl them for money. I'm assuming this involves me! You're telling Ginny, and I don't know why you can't tell me too."
"It's too dangero - " Harry began.
"I've stood with you in front of Voldemort himself, Harry Potter! So do not lecture me on what is or is not too dangerous!" Hermione said in a ringing tone. Harry looked a little taken aback. "Besides, why aren't you Apparating?"
"Well, you have to walk all the way across the grounds to do it, and I thought I might see if Ginny was…" Hermione's eyes flashed fire, and Harry wisely stopped talking.
"You're going to Gringotts, right?" She raced on, at Harry's nod. "And I know you're not going there to make a withdrawal. You're going to talk with the bank manager, or something, aren't you?" Harry stared at her, and she took his silence for assent. "You're going to the Ministry too? What kind of information did Dumbledore give you about Fudge?"
"Hermione…?" Harry was looking a little frightened of her.
"I'm going with you," she said in a tone that brooked no argument. "If you're talking to goblins, you'll need to know how, and I know you never listened in Professor Binns' class."
"There's no hope for me to talk you into staying, is there?" he said in resignation. She smiled, and shook her head at him. He bent down, and gently captured her lips with his. For the first time in days, she relaxed into his embrace, and let herself kiss him back. She felt awash in sensation; she felt complete. How could I have thought that I could ever let this go? She wondered.
He pulled back from her to look into her eyes, and he saw them flit to the door leading to the hospital wing. A shadow flickered across her face, clouding her eyes.
Students began to trickle out into the corridors, and Harry and Hermione made sure to have a platonic distance between them. The trickle became a flow, and they made their way up to their common room.
"I'm sorry you've gotten caught in the middle," Harry offered, as they clambered through the portrait hole.
"Me too," Hermione said honestly. "If this does work…or I don't know, even if it doesn't work…do you think Ron will be okay? Do you think the Trio'll be okay?"
Harry sighed heavily. "I don't know, Hermione. Everything may be ruined, whether we succeed or not." Hermione stared off at nothing, and when she spoke, there were tears in her voice.
"I didn't want to hurt him."
"Hermione, I know that," he said gently. "And believe it or not, Ron knows that too." She nodded. Harry scuffed his shoes on the carpet.
"Are you ever going to show me that parchment?" she asked presently, her tone indicating a change of subject. He eyed her suspiciously.
"Do you notice everything?" he said in a teasing tone.
"Like it was so hard to hear it crinkling around in your pocket," she sniffed. He held out the crumpled paper for her to see. It was mostly blank, with something scrawled in the middle of the page, as if someone had written in a hurry.
Cornelius Fudge, third row, fifth from left…photograph taken with the Yorkshire chapter of the Pureblooded Alliance, June 17, 1957.
Harry watched as Hermione's mouth dropped open. Her eyes were like saucers.
"But - but there's no photograph? Where's the photo?" she asked.
"We don't have one. But I bet I know where it is…that's why we have the date," Harry said grimly. They exchanged glances.
"The Daily Prophet," Hermione concluded, and Harry nodded. "They're never going to let us anywhere near that picture."
Harry smiled, and there was a little twist to it that was sort of frightening. "That's one of the reasons we're going to Gringotts." He stood, and held his hand out to her. "Are you ready to go?"
She picked up the flower pot on the mantelpiece, and scooped up a handful of powder.
"Do you really think this will work?" Ron said, glancing over at Hermione with a look of anxiety.
"Of course it will work, Ronald," Hermione said absently, her quill scratching madly over the parchment.
"But you said - you said you couldn't find any… you know, proof…that anybody had ever done it successfully before." Hermione looked up at him, her eyes flashing.
"That doesn't mean it hasn't ever been done successfully, does it?" Confusion flickered in Ron's blue eyes.
"Well, no…I guess there - "he began.
"Thank you," Hermione said, as if he'd conceded the point. "Madame Pince will be closing the library soon. Did you finish reading?" Her eyes flitted to the open book in front of him, a narrow ribbon marking a page.
Ron sighed reluctantly. "Almost," he said, looking distastefully at the book.
Hermione slammed her quill down with such force that it snapped in half. Then she glared at Ron with even more irritation, as if he had broken her quill.
"Ron, don't you see how important this is? Do you actually realize what it is we're going to be doing?" Ron snapped the book closed, and glowered back.
"Bloody hell, Hermione! I'm not the blithering idiot you always make me out to be. I want to help just as badly as you do…and don't you ever think otherwise!"
"I never said you didn't want to help! But Dumbledore thinks that this may be Harry's - our - only chance.. We're it, Ron! You and me! We've got to be able to do this. And you've got to read the chapter on that spell."
There was a long silence. Hermione and Ron threw a couple of apologetic glances at each other, and Hermione turned back to her parchment, only to pick up her broken quill.
"Blast!" she said angrily under her breath, and repaired it with her wand. She shot a sidelong glance at Ron.
"You do realize that the battle's coming? Voldemort's coming?" she asked, anxiety darkening her brown eyes. Ron's countenance became grim.
"He's going to come after Harry," Ron said, in a tone of absolute certainty.
"And he'll find us," Hermione said, with quiet confidence. They exchanged a long, meaningful look. She turned back to her parchment, and he opened his book.
The ribbon marked a chapter titled "The Lux Prevalet Spell."
Harry and Hermione walked quickly down Diagon Alley to the large white building that was Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The weather was chilly, and Harry used this excuse to hunker down in the collar of his jacket, hoping no one would realize who he was. Hermione walked beside him, matching him stride for stride, and was hissing instructions in his ear.
"Don't ever show your teeth when you smile at a goblin. Don't try to shake hands. Don't address them by their name; use their title. And when you leave, say `May the wealth in your vaults never diminish.'"
"Merlin's Beard, Hermione!" Harry said, at the rapid onslaught of information. "Where do you get all this stuff?"
"I read," Hermione said in a complacent tone. "What are you going to do in there?" Harry's face was grimly determined.
"I need to buy something," he said, and then stopped suddenly outside the doors of the bank. "Listen, why don't you stay out here?" She started to protest, but he cut her off. "If anyone finds out I was here and starts asking questions, I don't want them to know you were with me." She opened her mouth to argue again, but the look on his face stopped her. "Please."
"All right," she complied, not looking happy about it. "I'll be in the bookshop." Harry nodded in confirmation, and entered the burnished bronze doors that led to Gringotts. He was walking with a slightly hunched posture, making sure his messy dark hair fell over his forehead and concealed his scar. The lobby was bustling, and everywhere Harry looked, there were goblins escorting customers various places. He walked up to one of the high wooden counters, where a goblin agent was not seeing anyone.
"I'm Harry Potter," he said in a low voice, leaning down toward the counter. "I'd like to see the director please."
The goblin looked at him as blandly as if he was nobody in particular, and Harry felt a wave of thankfulness that goblins were noted for their discretion. He consulted a rather large ledger, and pushed a series of levers on his desk.
"One moment," he grunted, and walked down to the end of the row of desks, conferring with another goblin there.
The second goblin said only, "This way," and escorted Harry down the marble hall to an ornate set of doors, opened them, and gestured for Harry to go inside.
"Thank you," Harry said, inclining his head graciously, careful not to show his teeth.
At the far end of the office, an impossibly large desk, apparently carved out of some kind of smooth shiny rock, was situated, and the director was seated behind it.
"Mr. Potter," he said, by way of greeting.
"Director," Harry said politely.
"You wished to make a transaction?"
"Yes…sir," Harry said, with a queasy feeling in his stomach, sure that he was going to mess something up somewhere. "I'd like to …invest some of my money…in a - a company."
"Which company?" the director said, making rapid notations with a quill. He was not looking at Harry.
"The Daily Prophet," Harry said, trying to sound nonchalant. The goblin shot a quick look at him, but continued writing.
"How much?" Harry swallowed.
"As much as it takes to buy…a majority of the paper." The goblin looked at Harry again, and this time, the look was longer and more calculating.
"It will be a moment, while I ascertain the availability of that much stock," the director said smoothly, and placed a scrawled memo in a shallow golden dish. The memo then vanished in a puff of purple smoke. Harry could have sworn that a ghost of a smile flickered briefly across the director's wrinkled face.
A new memo arrived in the dish, and Harry noticed for the first time, the faint purple haze that wafted around the large office.
"Very well, Mr. Potter. We'll finalize those arrangements. There will be some signatures needed."
"Of course," Harry said, in an attempt to sound like he made transactions like this every day. The director handed a roll of parchment to Harry. There were small red X's blinking to indicate where he needed to sign.
"Is there anything else, Mr. Potter?" the director asked, when Harry had scrawled his name in the fourteenth place.
Harry cleared his throat. "What I'm going to ask you next is probably illegal," he began in a classic understatement. "Have you heard of the new marriage law?"
The bank director nodded, his expression giving nothing away.
"There is injustice being done here by a corrupted Ministry. I believe there is proof of that, and I would be willing to bet that you have some." He met the goblin's eyes squarely. "You helped us - me - fight against Voldemort, and he has been defeated. Would you be willing to help me again?"
The goblin lowered his eyes back to his desk. He scratched out something on another piece of parchment, which he then placed in the platter on his desk. Purple smoke billowed over the shallow sides of the bowl. "I'm afraid what you ask, Mr. Potter, is highly unethical and quite impossible."
Harry's shoulders slumped. The memo reappeared in the golden dish, with something stamped across the bottom in red. The goblin looked at it briefly, and scrawled something across the bottom of a new piece of parchment, and tore it off.
"Have a good day, Mr. Potter," he said, and handed the scrap to Harry.
Owl post on Saturday, by 3 pm.
Harry looked blankly at the scrap of paper, and stared back at the director. "But I - I don't - I don't under - "
"It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Potter," the goblin said, smoothly overriding Harry's protests. His features were an impenetrable mask.
Harry grasped at the shreds of his manners. What the hell does this mean? "Thank you, director. May the wealth in your vaults never diminish." He made a slight half-bow.
The director gave him a look of pleased surprise, and bowed as well. Harry had his hand on the door, when the director spoke again.
"Reform is greatly needed, Mr. Potter. Good luck."
Harry nodded again, without speaking, and exited the ornate office. He looked at the scrap of paper again, tucked it into his pocket with a frustrated sigh, and charged out of the bronze doors into the bustling streets of Diagon Alley.
Hermione was still in the bookshop, and Harry wandered around the stacks of books, until he found her. She took in his agitated face, and sighed.
"You didn't get what you needed?" she asked.
"Not all of it," he said truthfully, his voice low. "I think something may be coming by owl on Saturday," he showed her the note given to him by Gringotts' director. "But that's going to be cutting it awfully fine," he added, referring to the upcoming wedding.
Hermione's expression appeared vaguely troubled, but she said, in a normal tone of voice, "Where to next?"
"The Daily Prophet," Harry said, and his voice was grim.
When they arrived there, the paper was a picture of bustling chaos. Everywhere, owls flew in and out of windows, people were shouting, there were quills, ink, and parchment scattered everywhere, interspersed with the clack of magically manipulated machinery, and the occasional flash of a camera.
Harry stepped up to the receptionist. "I'd like to look at some old back issues, please," he said pleasantly. "It's for a school project."
"Which issue?" the receptionist asked, smacking her gum, and sounding bored.
"June 17, 1957," he replied. She opened a file cabinet behind her desk, and flipped through a packet of paper.
"I'm sorry, but that's been restricted. Anything else?"
"No," Harry said, his voice still polite. "I'd just like to see that paper." Annoyance flickered in the receptionist's eyes.
"That's not possible. Have a nice - "
"If I told you I owned this paper, would I be able to see that issue?" Harry said, the polite mask dropping from his face. His nervousness had eased somewhat. These were not easily offended goblins, these were people, just people. Just remember, you fought Voldemort and won, he told himself. The receptionist stared, and Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that she had swallowed her gum.
"Excuse me?" she said, dumbfounded.
"You heard me," Harry countered.
"Just a moment please," she said, and contacted someone upstairs. Just seconds later, they were ushered up a spiral staircase to the editor's office.
The editor of the Daily Prophet was now a harried looking man, with graying hair, and glasses perched on top of his head. His robe was unfastened and the sleeves were rolled up. There was ink on his fingers. He looked at Harry and Hermione with exasperation when they walked in.
"What's this rubbish about you owning the paper?" he said abruptly.
"It's not rubbish, and I think you know that, or you would have had us thrown out of the building," Harry replied amiably. Hermione shot him a flashing look of admiration. "I am the majority owner of the Prophet as of this morning, and I want to look at that issue."
"You bought the paper because you want to look at one restricted issue," the editor said, like he was having trouble comprehending that. Harry shrugged. "Why?"
"The reason I want to look at it is the reason it's restricted," he said, leveling his gaze at the editor, who paled visibly. "And I want to copy it, and I want nothing printed about this and I want absolutely nobody to remember that I was here today. Or I will shut this place down." He raised his eyebrows, his look conveying do I make myself clear?
The editor rolled his eyes toward the ceiling, as if consigning himself to his fate. "Yes, sir," he said, in a dutiful fashion. "I'll show you to the archives."
The clamor of shouting and footfalls from the boys' dorm had awakened Hermione from a fitful sleep. She had leapt from the bed, with Harry's name on her lips, instinctively knowing that it was about him.
And then she heard Neville shouting her name.
When she saw him, fear struck her to her core, an icy frozen kind of helplessness that was paralyzing. He was rigid on the floor, his scar a searing red brand across his forehead; his jaw was clenched, but a strangled moan managed to escape his throat. When the fit had passed, he sat up, looking weak and tired, gazing at them all, as if with eyes that had not seen them before.
She put her fingers to his forehead gently. "Harry?" she said, her voice like a caress of tender concern.
"It has begun," he said. And the voice was inhuman and otherworldly, and for a terrifying moment, Hermione thought that it had begun, and in fact, was over. Harry had been taken.
But then color began to creep back into his cheeks, and his eyes no longer looked dim and forsaken. He looked up at Hermione for a long moment, seeming to block out the cluster of faces surrounding him. His face was inscrutable.
"It's time to go," he said simply. And he sounded like Harry again, a frightened boy-man, who was being thrust into a situation not of his making, and over which he had no control.
Hermione stood to her feet, and extended a hand for Harry to stand as well. She allowed herself to revel momentarily in the feel of his clammy hand in hers.
She and Ron exchanged a long look, fraught with meaning. She looked at the ring of faces anxiously watching Harry, and dismally wondered how many of them would see the end of this day.
Their errand at the Ministry of Magic did not take long. Amelia Bones had seen them immediately, and had been sympathetic to their plight, even as she made sure her office doors was shut, and spoke to them in hushed tones.
"Susan has been so upset lately," she told them. "This law…" she threw her hands up in the air, and sighed.
"Why is no one doing anything?" Hermione asked. "If this many people disagree…"
"It's not that simple, I'm afraid," the older woman said with chagrin. "People are afraid…"
"Of what?" Harry said, annoyed. "Voldemort's gone. The Death Eaters are disbanded, imprisoned. Cornelius Fudge is just a …"
Madame Bones cautioned him to hush, and he trailed to a curious halt.
"I think you and I both know that Cornelius isn't `just' anything. Right now, he's got the power of the Ministry behind him, and there isn't anyone else that the people trust enough with power. Voldemort has left a lot of people extremely wary, and they're scared of change. They - "
"But Dumbledore - " Harry began, but Madame Bones cut him off.
"Dumbledore is a good man and a wise man, one whom I respect greatly. Unfortunately, he is always one to deliver unwelcome news, and most people have come to associate him with that. He makes people nervous," she added. Hermione cleared her throat suddenly, sounding suspiciously as if she were suppressing a laugh. Harry glared at her.
"We've got Harry though," Hermione spoke up abruptly, her eyes shining. "Don't tell me that people wouldn't trust Harry." Madame Bones gave him an appraising look, her eyebrows raised.
"Mr. Potter?" she said, as if asking if he felt himself adequate to the task. Harry flushed red, and became absorbed in his shoes.
"Oh come on, Harry," Hermione said, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow. "After that attitude you got at the Prophet, I would think you would - "
"The Prophet?" Madame Bones leapt on the word quickly. Hermione looked at Harry, her mouth open in a small `o' of dismay. They exchanged a glance.
"I bought a majority share in the Prophet today," Harry said, managing to sound like he had purchased dinner or a birthday present. "But I would appreciate it if you wouldn't say anything about it, ma'am." It sort of sounded like a request.
"May I ask what you're planning to do, Harry?" Madame Bones asked, a twinkle flashing in her eyes.
The threads of a plan for a public confrontation began to gather together in Harry's mind. Saturday would be a perfect time. Ministry officials would be there, as well as the press. The wedding would make headlines around the country, and if Harry stood up to the Ministry there, the effects could be long-ranging.
"I can't say," Harry said, at length. "I don't know how much of a secret it will be that I was here, and I don't want to put you under any pressure." Madame Bones nodded as if she understood. "But, you will be coming to my friends' wedding on Saturday, right? The first one to take place under the new law?" That amiable note was back in Harry's voice, and Madame Bones eyed him suspiciously.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked in a dry tone, and Harry grinned, but quickly turned serious.
"You might want to have some undercover Aurors there…just in case," he said, and Amelia Bones agreed.
It was getting late, and Hermione was very tired, when they Flooed back into their common room. She stumbled unsteadily out the grate, and stopped short in front of the hearth, when she saw who was waiting there. Harry careened into her, upon his exit from the fireplace, and sent them sprawling in an untidy heap.
Headmaster Dumbledore sat in one of the overstuffed chairs near the fireplace. With him, were Cornelius Fudge, Narcissa Malfoy, and a couple of nondescript wizards in black robes that Harry assumed were Aurors. Harry also saw Ginny and a worse-for-the-wear Ron seated across the room at the desks. They were both scowling in Fudge's general direction.
Harry helped Hermione to her feet, and they both stood there, self-consciously brushing the soot from their clothes.
"Where were you today, Harry?" Dumbledore said placidly, as if he'd been told to ask. Harry let his eyes dart around the room at the assembly. He really did not want to say anything about his errands, particularly in front of these people.
"I - " he began. If only he weren't such a horrid liar!
"He was with me…in Diagon Alley," Hermione said quickly. "I'm - I'm getting married on Saturday, you know." She flashed a bright smile at Fudge when she said this. "He was helping me select some things…for the w - wedding."
"You took a boy with you?" Narcissa put in delicately, her beautifully arched eyebrows soaring.
"He's my… best friend," Hermione said, smiling politely, though Harry thought her teeth were probably gritted. "I couldn't very well take my fiancé, could I?"
"What is this all about, Headmaster?" Harry asked, eying the Aurors in particular. "What's going on?"
"I'm afraid that Draco Malfoy vanished from Hogwart's sometime this morning. Mrs. Malfoy said he had received some threats from you." Dumbledore said, his blue eyes grave. "The Ministry wants to put you under arrest."
TBC
Well, this chapter ended up much longer than I meant it to, but I hope you enjoy it. I wanted to get through all Harry's errands, and end it here…because I'm just that mean!
Next chapter: Cornelius Fudge's plan… and Ron and Hermione's wedding (it may be put off a chapter, depending on how long it gets). We're on the home stretch now!
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