Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take. Obviously, this is AU following OotP now…
Oh…and none of these people are mine.
What Might Have Been
Chapter Two
The last first-year had been sorted into Ravenclaw, and the Hogwart's headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, stood before the student body for his traditional start-of-term address. His blue eyes were somber behind his half-moon spectacles, but he did smile.
"Welcome back to Hogwart's," he said simply, and paused, as if to let that simple, incredible fact sink in. "There have been some changes since we were last here," he let his eyes flicker briefly to the empty seats scattered throughout the four long tables.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and Parvati sat in their usual places at one end of Gryffindor's table. The absence of several 7th year students, including Lavender, Seamus, and Dean, had not gone unnoticed. "I trust that you will remember that the sacrifices made by some have allowed you to return here today." Every student's gaze was fixed on Dumbledore, countenances grave; there was absolute silence in the hall, save for a half-strangled sob from Parvati. Not only had she lost her best friend, but Padma was not at the Ravenclaw table. "I trust you will join me in welcoming the returning Professor Remus Lupin as our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He has also agreed to serve as the head of Gryffindor house." The old headmaster's voice seemed to be rougher than usual at the end of his sentence. There were gaps at the faculty table too.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, and continued in a more matter-of-fact tone, "Some start-of-term notices… Quidditch has been reinstated, and the season will begin in a month. I suggest the teams take advantage of this time to reacquaint themselves with the sport. The Forbidden Forest is still strictly off limits. Trips to Hogsmeade will be an occasional privilege for those in the third year and higher…."
Harry's attention wandered. His eyes drifted over the wall hangings honoring the four houses of Hogwart's, as well as the faces of the teachers and students listening to the headmaster. There was a tightness in his chest, as he remembered the last time he had been in this room.
Where there had been motion, light, and noise: the sound of shouting, the crash of crumbling stone and the crack of splintering wood, the flash of spells cast, flickering off of the walls like lightning from a distant storm, now all was quiet. Faint smoke still wafted in the air, from hexes and curses. Mediwitches and wizards moved quickly and efficiently among the wounded and the dead.
Harry opened sandy eyes to see the brilliant blue sky of the enchanted ceiling, obscured only hazily by drifting smoke. His ears were ringing, and his skull pounded like a bass drum. He shifted on the hard floor, and tried to sit up.
"He's awake!" Someone exclaimed, sounding very far away. "Ron!" Hermione's face appeared in his field of vision, smudged with dirt, and smeared with blood trickling from a scalp wound. Her eyes were shiny, and she gently reached down to brush some hair back from his forehead. Her fingers came away bloody.
"Hermione…" he grunted, bracing himself on his elbows.
She shushed him, and said softly, "Don't move. Madame Pomfrey's coming."
He felt his vision clouding over again, and groped blindly for her hand. "Is - is Vold - is he -- ?"
"He's dead, Harry," came Hermione's voice, holding something like a combination of laughter and tears. "You did it."
"No…no, we -"Harry clutched her hand, trying to get his point across. He would not have succeeded without them. They had put their lives on the line out of their love for him. He thought of Justin…of Hannah…of countless others that had doubtless been lost. Guilt washed over him, nauseated him, and he could put none of it into words.
"Oy, is he all right?" he heard Ron's voice, as if through a long tunnel. And he slipped away again.
"And lastly, before we tuck in," Dumbledore announced, his voice resounding in the hallway, and pulling Harry back to the present, "let me introduce to you, our Head Girl and Head Boy this year, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter." The applause from the students quickly swelled in to cheers and whistles, the loudest huzzahs coming from Gryffindor table, who were extremely proud that both Heads had come from their house this year. There were some hisses from the Slytherin table, led by Draco Malfoy, but these were very half-hearted in nature.
Harry and Hermione stood, a little sheepishly, studiously refraining from looking at each other, as they had all evening, and sat quickly, both somewhat red in the face.
Ron glanced at both of their glowing faces, and chortled.
"You thought it was bad being the Boy Who Lived, mate?" he grinned, stuffing his mouth with a roll, as the food had appeared in the waiting trenchers. "Now you're the Boy Who Triumphed!" He raised his arms above his head in a gesture of victory, while Ginny and Neville snickered behind their hands. Harry gave Ron a look of mostly mock annoyance. "Seriously, though," Ron continued. "You deserve it, Harry. `Specially since you didn't get to be prefect, because of all the….you know, stuff."
"Besides, you two get your own rooms, and your own common room and everything," Ginny interjected excitedly. "We can pop in for a visit anytime, can't we?"
"Be a sight better than being stuck in the common room with all those little kids," Ron said, with as much disdain as he could muster, having a mouth full of potatoes.
"S - sure," Harry stammered, glancing briefly at Hermione, who happened to look at him at the same time. Neither one of them had thought of the fact that they would be, in essence, living together. He watched a flush creep up Hermione's cheeks, and they both quickly returned their focus to their plates. The memory of what happened earlier that afternoon flashed through his mind, and he felt his own face begin to burn.
She hadn't said one word to him since then, other than some official Head Boy/Head Girl stuff resulting from the dungbombs detonated on the train. She was probably embarrassed or annoyed or both. And now they were going to have to live in the same set of apartments, and… Harry was starting to get quite comfortable going along in this vein, when he felt a small brush against his leg.
It was Hermione, and she was reaching for his hand under the table. As she gripped his fingers, he realized that her fingers were small and fragile, and a little sweaty. He also realized that he never wanted her to let go.
When he awakened again, he was in a private ward at St. Mungo's. The room may have been the traditional sterile white, but Harry couldn't tell. His room was completely blanketed by giant gift baskets, arrangements of flowers, and a few sundry magical trinkets, that occasionally jumped or emitted sparks.
He was inexpressibly tired, all over, and his head felt as if it were gripped in a vise. His eyes burned, and he realized that the farthest corners of the room were blurry. Where were his glasses? He shifted, and the movement made his head reel. He groaned.
At the motion and noise, someone leapt to their feet from a chair in the corner. The door opened, and the person said, "He's awake. Someone get the healer."
Quiet footsteps trod back to his bedside, and Hermione's face came into focus.
"Welcome back," she grinned at him, but Harry could see the fatigue and sorrow behind her eyes. He wondered if anyone would ever look at him again, without those feelings lurking there…unsaid, unexpressed, but not to be ignored or forgotten. He had expected to feel as if the weight of the world had lifted from his shoulders with the death of Voldemort, but it hadn't. The burdensome pressure of survivor's guilt weighed him down, far worse than the pressure of being the savior of the wizarding world ever had.
Hermione must have seen something of that in his eyes, because her lips compressed into a thin line, and she squeezed his hand gently, saying nothing, but releasing a small sigh. She handed him his glasses, the sparkly newness of the lenses revealing that she had repaired them…again. He put them on, gratefully, and her face came into sharper focus.
There was a thin white line across her forehead, disappearing into her hair, denoting a newly healed laceration. Her face was clean, and her clothes fresh. She looked alive, almost vibrant, prettier than he remembered, placed in juxtaposition with the backdrop of death, destruction, and despair that he recalled last seeing.
"How long have I--?" he asked, his voice raspy.
"They brought you here four hours ago," she answered simply, her fingers threaded through his.
"They?"
"Professor Lupin…and Tonks." Hermione's answers were succinct, as if she didn't want to answer his questions, as if she were afraid of what questions he would ask.
"Ron?" was his next one word query.
"He's fine. Dove away from a killing curse, and broke his collarbone, but he's already been all fixed up. I think he's waiting down the hall." Her words seemed to tumble out over each other, now, as she tried to give him good news, so he wouldn't ask about the bad news. "Dumbledore has been holed up with a bunch of Ministry officials, talking about the Death Eater trials."
"Did we get them - them all?" He asked with effort.
"They don't think anybody escaped. There were only a dozen or so left alive by the end of the battle. Malfoy's father survived. So did Bellatrix Lestrange." Her eyes hardened at the names. "They won't see the light of day again," she said grimly.
"The - Weasleys?" She looked away from him, momentarily, and he saw her face quiver and nearly crumple. Something twisted in the pit of his stomach.
"We lost Percy. And Bill - Bill is badly hurt. They've got him up in the critical care section. It's touch and go, right now."
Harry didn't have the energy to cry, but tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, running down his temples into his hair.
"Who…who else?"
Hermione gave him the grim list, her voice breaking and stumbling over the names of their fellow students, old Mundungus, Madame Hooch, Emmeline Vance…Professor McGonagall..Parvati Patil had survived, but her twin sister, Padma, was gone. Harry shook his head, without words. There were no words, no way to describe the grief and guilt that crushed him. He felt as if something had been physically ripped from his chest, he was hollow, empty, yet burning. He wanted to scream, to swear, but his throat was a tight clog.
It was all his fault.
He didn't realize he had said the words out loud, until Hermione gasped.
"It is not. It is not!" she said, in a kind of savage, hysterical fury. Her hands gripped his shoulders, and he thought for one instant that she was going to throttle him. Instead, she embraced him. "Do you know how many more he would have killed, if not for you? If not for you!?" She said some other things, but they were rambling and incoherent, and he just hugged her back, without speaking, as their tears commingled.
Harry could not believe his eyes. The Head Common Room was almost as big as the one in Gryffindor Tower, and splendidly decorated in Gryffindor colors. There was a large stone fireplace at one end, with a crackling fire burning merrily in the grate. Hermione instantly noticed the pretty glazed pottery vase sitting atop the mantle.
"Harry!" she said in excitement. "This fireplace is connected to the Floo network!"
A cozy sofa and several squashy chairs were positioned in front of the fireplace, around a plush carpet. There were two end tables, burnished red-gold in the firelight, each with a lamp situated on it. At the other end of the common room, were two gigantic desks, with all sorts of cubbyholes and drawers. They were already supplied with rolls of parchment, quills, and ink bottles, as well as a black leather-bound volume, on which was stamped in gold, "Hogwart's Regulations and Head Duties". Hermione squealed in delight when she saw the tome, and Harry rolled his eyes, knowing that she would read it quickly, and expect him to have done the same.
Twin staircases ran parallel to each other at the back of the room, one arcing off to the left, and one to the right. Portraits of the previous Head Girl and Boy were adjacent to these staircases, and they waved and smiled at Harry and Hermione, who went up the indicated stairs.
Harry's room was large, with a gigantic four poster bed, wardrobe, another desk, smaller this time, and an arched window that had a beautiful view of the lake. They were up in one of the other towers, it appeared. On the table by his bed, a strange object caught his eye. The only thing on the table was a half-flattened Quaffle. He picked it up and felt the familiar hook behind his navel.
Sunlight streamed in from a doorway, and made Harry squint. A breeze from outside ruffled his hair, and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized he was in Gryffindor's Quidditch locker room. Only steps away the bright green field of the pitch glimmered. A goofy grin spread across his face, and he picked the crushed quaffle from where he'd dropped it. A moment later, he was back in his room.
There was a patter of rushing feet, and Hermione burst into his room, with a similar wide grin.
"Did you see your…?" she shrieked, gesturing toward the quaffle. Harry laughed, having rarely seen Hermione worked up into this kind of state. "Where does yours go?"
"To the Quidditch pitch," he answered.
"Mine's a broken quill. It goes to the library! Can you imagine? My own private portkey to the library!" Hermione was in ecstasy.
"This is really amazing!" Harry conceded, not necessarily talking about her portkey, but drawn into her mood. They grinned happily at each other for a few moments, when they both realized exactly where they were.
"Oh, I'm - I'm sorry, Harry. I just - I didn't even knock, and - "
"What if I'd been undressed?" Harry asked, in mock distress. Something feral flashed in Hermione's eyes for a moment, but quickly disappeared, as her face flushed red. "Hermione, I was only joking," he said hastily.
"Maybe we should…maybe we should talk about what - what happened this afternoon on the train," Hermione ventured, after a short silence. Harry felt his stomach rise up somewhere near his throat.
"What about it?" he asked evenly.
Hermione twisted her hands together. She usually reserved this kind of anxiety for exams or really long essays.
"Maybe it was an accident," she crinkled her eyebrows, apologetically.
"You don't mean that," he said, with more assurance than he actually felt.
"No - no, I'm quite sure," she said, pulling herself together and speaking in her authoritative Prefect voice.
"Quite sure? An accident?" Harry said, mimicking her serious tone. His heart was racing, as he walked toward her. When he reached her, he leaned in until their lips were only a hairsbreadth apart. She stood stiffly, rigid, as if poised for flight, but desperately wanting to know what he was going to do next. She nodded, two quick uneven jerks of her head.
"Whoops," he whispered, in the instant before his lips touched hers, gently at first, and then more insistently. Her knees wobbled, and he drew her up into his arms, without thinking about it. She raised her face to his, and began to kiss him back with all the ardor she possessed.
The world swirled away, until there didn't even seem to be a floor beneath their feet. There was nothing solid, nothing substantial except their arms around each other, and his lips on hers. Hermione felt as if she were on fire, and tried desperately to keep herself from gasping out his name.
They might have gone on kissing for quite some time, but as it was, they heard the thump of the portrait hole opening, and the excited voices of the youngest Weasleys. Harry sprang away from Hermione as if he'd been burned. They were pink-cheeked, starry-eyed, and breathing heavily.
"You told them the password?" Harry said, in a breathless whisper.
"I forgot to ward the door," Hermione replied, blinking in surprise. He didn't have time to wonder at this un-Hermione like behavior, because Ron and Ginny were calling their names.
"Shall we go down, then?" Harry asked her, trying to achieve a normal tone of voice. Hermione nodded, reaching up quickly to dash a bit of lipstick from the corner of his mouth.
"Ready," she replied in an even tone, and they started down the stairs to their common room.
TBC
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