What Might Have Been

lorien829

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 06/08/2005
Last Updated: 23/09/2005
Status: completed

A Marriage Law threatens Harry and Hermione's newly realized future. This will contain a non-H/Hr ship (that will be treated fairly), but it will end up H/Hr in the end. You have been warned.

Chapters

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

5. Chapter Five

6. Chapter Six

7. Chapter Seven

8. Chapter Eight

9. Chapter Nine

10. Chapter Ten

11. Chapter Eleven

12. Chapter Twelve

13. Chapter Thirteen

14. Chapter Fourteen

15. Chapter Fifteen

16. Chapter Sixteen

17. Chapter Seventeen

18. Chapter Eighteen

19. Chapter Nineteen

20. Epilogue

1. Chapter One

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 Quidditch had been cancelled, even though his lifetime ban had been rescinded, and trips to Hogsmeade were banned as well.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

Please review.

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2. Chapter Two

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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3. Chapter Three

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

AN2: I will be out of town this week, and this chapter is a little short, so I've uploaded a two-fer. Hope this tides you over. I would love to get back and see many reviews!!

Oh and none of these people are mine…

What Might Have Been

Chapter Three

Harry stood in the middle of the battle-scarred Great Hall, tapestries aflame, and great gouges in the heavy stone. Smoke filtered through the air like fine mist. The Death Eaters had the opposition backed into a wall. Harry saw their eyes, clear and unafraid, but knowing what was to come. He saw Hermione, Ron, Neville, Seamus, Lupin, Dumbledore, the other members of the Order and Hogwart's staff.

Hermione's gaze was dark and troubled, and she stared at him, with something like accusation. The Death Eaters had lined up before them, wands at the ready, and Harry trembled at what was to come. He clutched his wand, wondering why he still had it, and then realizing, with sickening nausea, that he couldn't save them. He would save one - who? - and then another Death Eater would stun him, and save him for Voldemort. Then, the one he'd saved would die anyway. When he saw the sneers of cruel laughter on the Death Eaters' faces, he knew he was right.

With muttered curses and flashes of light, one by one they fell. He saw them topple over each other like discarded dolls, and felt as if the agony would rip him into pieces. Ron was dead. Hermione was dead. He heard someone screaming, a raw primal scream full of pain and rage and despair. He realized that the scream was being ripped from his own soul.

“Now,” said a voice, brimming with malicious satisfaction. Harry turned slowly to see the Dark Lord standing nearby. “Now it is your turn to die.”

Harry felt his wand drop from limp fingers, and clatter noisily to the floor. What was the point? He had failed. They were all dead.

Burning pain scorched through him like acid flames. His body thrashed convulsively, but there was no escape…

There was no escape.

“Harry! Harry! Harry, wake up,” Hermione called him urgently, as he struggled into consciousness, writhing about, tangled in twisted bedsheets.

He looked around frantically, his eyes glassy, until they finally rested on her. His troubled countenance cleared, and he crushed her to him in a tight embrace.

“You're all right,” he said, his voice partially muffled by her fluffy hair, disheveled from sleep.

“Of course I'm all right,” Hermione tried to say lightly, but concern for him laced her tone.

“I - I had - I was dreaming. Of - of then,” Harry ran one hand shakily through his tousled hair. She threaded her fingers through his, and leaned on his shoulder comfortingly. “Only - only Voldemort - he won. And I had to watch everyone die. He killed everyone…he killed you. And then, what did it matter whether I lived or died?” He was staring at her, staring through her, seeing a painful scenario that had never happened, seared on an already tortured soul.

“Harry, Voldemort is gone. You won. Everybody didn't die.” Hermione said matter-of-factly, kissing him lightly on the lips.

Harry felt the effects of the dream slowly loosening their hold, and he seized on something else she had said.

“You did it again,” he pointed out. “Said that I won…when you and Ron were standing right up there beside me. Everyone keeps treating me like I'm the sole conquering hero.”

“Ron and I are certainly not lacking in the hero-treatment department, don't worry about that,” Hermione said with a small laugh. “Besides, you might have been able to defeat Voldemort without us, but we certainly couldn't have done it without you. You're still the Boy Who Lived, and no one begrudges you that, least of all me or Ron.”

“Speaking of Ron…” Harry began hesitantly.

“What about him?” Hermione said, in a slightly higher pitched voice.

“We haven't told him.”

“About what?” she asked faintly.

“About us?”

“Us?” she squeaked. Harry was starting to get annoyed. “We haven't told anyone,” she countered quickly. Harry eyed her suspiciously.

“You don't want to tell him,” he observed, watching her reaction.

“Maybe I don't,” she said defensively, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Why?” Harry asked, although he had not been too keen on telling Ron himself. He was worried about what it would do to their friendship dynamic.

“What if he feels left out, or betrayed, or something?” Hermione suggested, her brows knitting together in anxiety.

“Betrayed?” Harry was incredulous. “Why would he feel betrayed?” The color rose up in Hermione's cheeks. Harry's eyes narrowed. “What are you not telling me?”

“Ron asked me out over the summer holiday,” Hermione said, faintly, not looking at him. “I turned him down.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed. “That's an important piece of information that you conveniently neglected to tell me, Hermione!”

“Why?” she asked, in a little-girl voice.

“Why?!” Harry echoed. “Do you know how this looks? Do you know what he'll think?”

“But we never -" Hermione began, but Harry interrupted her.

“Doesn't matter. He'll still see me as a bloke who moved in on a girl he fancied. He'll hate me. How could you not have told me?”

“Okay, okay, you're right,” Hermione said, and she spoke in that voice that she used, when her mind was racing. “We'll tell him together, tomorrow. And I'll explain that you didn't know about his asking me out.”

Harry looked like he didn't believe it would work, but appeared slightly mollified. “All right, then,” he conceded, after a moment of thought. She smiled, and he watched her shoulders relaxed a little.

“I'm sorry,” Hermione offered tentatively. “I should have told you what Ron did. I should have told Ron why I said no.”

“Why did you say no?” Harry asked.

“Because I… I fancied someone else,” her voice was very low.

“Really?” Harry arched his brows in surprise, and leaned closer to her. “Do I know him?” A pink flush slowly stained Hermione's cheeks.

“Maybe,” she said slowly. She was unused to flirting, and it made her voice low and unsure, quite unlike the strident tone of confidence she normally used.

“Should I be jealous?” Harry whispered, almost breathing into her mouth. Hermione felt a tingly warmth all over, as her insides melted.

“Unh - " Hermione made a noise in the negative, and started to shake her head, when his mouth closed over hers. It was like the kiss in his bedroom that afternoon, heady and passionate and full of abandon. He pulled her closer against him, and then checked his movement suddenly, when he realized that she was in a short nightgown and in his bed. Harry pulled away from her, and she looked at him, a question in her eyes.

“Hermione,” Harry gasped with difficulty. “You should go back to your room.” A flash of hurt appeared in her eyes.

“Whatever you want, Harry,” she said evenly, and started to get up. He reached out and caught her arm, with a quick movement.

“What I want,” he said, hoarsely, opting for frankness, “is to … well, to do ungodly things to you, and … and howl at the moon, or something.” Hermione put one hand over her mouth, and a laugh burbled between her fingers. He shot her an annoyed look, but belied that with a gentle touch, running his hands up and down her bare arms. “I'm not teasing, Hermione. You need - you need - " His gaze ran up and down over her silhouette, just barely visible beneath her pale yellow gown. “Merlin, Hermione, I'm trying to be a gentleman.” He ran one hand shakily through his hair.

The corner of Hermione's mouth quirked up in a smile.

“I suppose it is all a little fast,” she conceded. “Thanks, Harry.”

“Don't mention it,” he croaked, looking like he desperately wished she would change her mind.

She brushed a light kiss across his mouth, that still somehow managed to crackle with energy, and then, like a golden wraith from his imagination, she was gone.

TBC

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4. Chapter Four

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

Oh and none of these people are mine…

What Might Have Been

Chapter Four

Hermione went back to her own bedroom, trying to ignore the way her heart was pounding like a drum. Her limbs felt weak and wobbly, and she was amazed that just a few kisses could do that to a person.

And it was Harry….of all people, after all this time…she thought, shaking her head in amazement. She had loved him for a long time, but had never even received the slightest inkling that he felt the same way. But after that…on the train…surely he must…she remembered thinking in bewilderment as they ate their first meal back at Hogwart's. Well, there certainly wasn't any doubt in her mind now.

She crawled into her bed, pulling the downy covers up to her chin, and snuggled down into her pillows, floating back to sleep with a smile playing across her face.

The healer flicked her eyes toward the door, when she entered, and Hermione immediately understood. She reluctantly unwound her hand from Harry's, and began to edge toward the door, over Harry's weak protest.

“I'll just be outside,” she promised him, as one of his arms lolled over the edge of the bed in a feeble attempt to reach her. She felt tears sting the backs of her eyelids. He was so tired; it broke her heart to see him so drained, so empty…and he had done it for them all.

“He's going to be fine, Miss Granger,” the healer said warmly. Hermione started vaguely at the friendliness in her voice, and then belatedly remembered that she was famous too. “His magical strength has been completely sapped, though, I'm afraid. I don't think he could even do a Lumos spell right now. After I finish the examination, he'll need to rest again.”

Hermione nodded, biting her lip, before she exited into the corridor. Ron was wandering aimlessly up and down the corridor, looking miles and miles away. His left arm was cradled up next to his body, his shoulder obviously immobilized with a Sticking charm that only his Healer could remove. He straightened immediately when he saw her, his eyes becoming quickly alert.

“How is he?” he asked, as if he feared the worst. Hermione's face crumpled, even as she tried to smile. Tears that she had bitten back rushed down her cheeks.

“He's going to be fine!” she burst out, after scaring Ron to death, and fell into his embrace.

“Hey, hey, easy!” Ron warned, leery of further injury. He patted her on the back gently, as her sobs subsided. “So, he's okay, then?” Hermione sniffed and nodded, dashing one hand across her eyes. “Thank Merlin,” Ron muttered under his breath, with fervent emotion.

Sunlight was streaming in her window, when next Hermione opened her eyes. She was startled to see a pair of green eyes quite close to her own, and jumped violently.

Harry misinterpreted her surprise, and said, somewhat defensively, “You didn't ward your door.” Hermione smiled, and stretched her arms out to him for an embrace and a kiss, feeling suddenly bold.

“No, I'm quite sure it's warded,” she said matter-of-factly, as he brushed her mouth with a kiss.

“I just came right through there - " he argued, gesturing back toward her open doorway.

“It's not warded against you,” she said quickly, her words tumbling over his. He stopped and looked at her in wonder, until Hermione blushed and looked down, thinking that perhaps she'd assumed too much.

After a moment, though, a grin spread across Harry's features.

“Really?” he asked. She pulled his forehead down to hers, and kissed him lightly on the lips again.

“Really,” she affirmed, and smiled at the pleasure he had at the trust she placed in him. He had sat down on the edge of the bed, and was softly caressing her fingers with his own.

“So how come you were stalking me?” she asked playfully. Harry blushed.

“It's time for breakfast,” he said, shyly. “I was about to wake you up, but… but you looked so…happy…” he shrugged, a little apologetically. “I was just enjoying it.”

“I was dreaming,” Hermione admitted.

“About what?” She fluttered a look at him up through her lashes.

“You,” she said, softly, and the simple reply went through Harry like a bolt of lightning.

They stared at each other, quite contentedly, for another moment or so, when Harry suddenly remembered their task for that day.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat, and garnering a more serious look on his features, “when are we going to tell Ron?”

“I dunno,” Hermione answered, looking a little anxious. “On the one hand, I suppose there's no time like the present. But…but maybe we should wait until we're alone with him, and not do it in the Great Hall at breakfast.”

“You're starting to make me nervous,” Harry said, running one hand jaggedly through his already messy hair. “Is he going to really get upset?” He paused, and looked at her, a note of jealousy in his voice, “Does he still fancy you?”

“No, of course not,” Hermione began, speaking rapidly.

“Then why are you so worried?” Harry countered. Hermione faltered, looking uncertain.

“Well, it hasn't been that long since he asked, after all,” Hermione said, trying to sound offhand. “And you know how Ron gets…he'll think we won't want him around anymore, and he'll get all weird and self-conscious around us…and he'll - "

Harry put two fingers over her lips, stemming the rising tide of words.

“He's our friend, Hermione,” he said. “Of course he'll want us to be happy. And of course, we'll still want him around.” Perhaps saying the words will make it true, he thought.

Hermione looked skeptical in the face of Harry's optimism.

“If you say so,” she sounded thoroughly unconvinced.

“We'll talk to him after breakfast, before we go to classes,” he said, with the finality of a decision made in his voice. He kissed her again, then moved across the room, turning at her door to smile at her, and say, “See you down in the Common room.”

She gazed at him for a moment, wondering at the happiness on his face, before she saw it…that lurking shadow of grief that darkened his green eyes. Still there, she mused, and wondered if it would be permanent in all of them.

Harry must have read some of what she was thinking on her face, because he winked at her, in a don't worry about me sort of way, and disappeared down the stairs.

“The prisoner is sentenced to life in Azkaban,” the austere witch intoned solemnly, reading from the slip of paper through a pince-nez. A shocked murmur rippled around the room, causing the judge to call for order several times.

Harry felt himself instinctively stiffen in a burst of outrage. How had Lucius Malfoy managed to escape being given the Kiss? He had broken out of Azkaban once already, fought openly on the side of Voldemort, killed at least 18 people, including Percy Weasley…and somehow…somehow…

Ron was sitting next to him, silent, but ears red with rage, his lips pressed into a thin, tight line. Mrs. Weasley sat on the other side of Ron, still, wooden, dabbing a handkerchief to the tears streaming down her cheeks. She made no sound, but clutched tightly onto Mr. Weasley's hand.

Harry could see the white-blond, elegantly coiffed hair of Narcissa Malfoy down on the front row, as she shuddered and began to sob delicately into a lacy hanky. Draco, seated next to her, patted her on the back and was gently hushing her. Harry felt his gorge rise. After Bellatrix Lestrange had been given the Kiss, Harry felt sure that Lucius would…but no, somehow the oily patrician had eluded justice once again.

Lucius Malfoy's handsome, but malevolent, face was turned toward him, but Harry soon realized that the older man was not looking at him, but to his right. He glanced quickly beside him, and was disturbed to find that Malfoy senior was looking at…

Hermione.

Somehow this bothered Harry very badly. He stretched one arm along the back of Hermione's chair, and leaned to whisper something in her ear, making sure to maneuver into Lucius' field of vision.

Harm Hermione, and you will deal with me, was his unspoken message.

Lucius lifted his chin and one corner of his mouth twitched, as if in acknowledgment of a challenge.

Harry was mostly silent on the way down to the Great Hall, mulling over the uncomfortable memory. He wasn't sure why he had thought of that now, but it had not yet failed to put him in a foul mood. He had mentioned it to Ron, but not to Hermione, and his best mate had seemed mildly concerned, but confident that the possibility of Lucius Malfoy hurting Hermione from Azkaban was slim.

“They'll lock him down the cellar of Azkaban,” Ron had said assertively. “He'll not see the light of day again.”

“Harry, what's wrong?” Hermione asked in concern, slipping one hand into his.

“Just thinking…'bout Lucius Malfoy,” Harry mumbled. Hermione arched her eyebrows in surprise.

“Harry, the war is over,” Hermione said gently, trying not to sound patronizing. “You can relax now. Nobody's plotting against you.”

“What about you?” he blurted, before he could catch himself.

“Or me either,” Hermione replied, puzzled.

Harry ran one hand through his hair, and heaved a shuddering sigh. He suddenly seemed very far away.

“It seems like that is the only way of life I've ever known. I don't know if I can let down my guard… I don't think I know how.” He looked at her then, and his green eyes were shining with guilt. “I keep thinking, maybe…maybe if I had done something differently, other people might have survived.”

He saw anger flare up in Hermione's brown eyes, much like it had in the hospital wing, when he said that it was all his fault. She squeezed his hand tightly.

“You didn't start this war,” she said, beginning a litany that was familiar to Harry, yet still comforting, “Voldemort did. Let the blame fall on his head, not yours. If you hadn't been there, nobody would have stopped him, and he… the killing …” she trailed off, as they both saw, without actually seeing, visions from their nightmares.

“I know,” Harry finally said, the words pulled from him with difficulty. He managed a half-smile at her, and mouthed the words “Thank you,” as they dropped hands, and entered the Great Hall.

Ron was already there, shoveling food in his mouth at tremendous speeds.

“Morning,” he said, thickly. “Didn't think I'd beat you lot down here.” Harry and Hermione's glances ricocheted off of each other, and they both flushed, remembering the night before.

Ron paused in his ravenous quest, and glanced at them, his eyes narrowing in thought.

“You two look like you've just been -" Harry's eyes widened in a kind of panic, but he was saved from response by the entry of dozens of owls, carrying the morning mail. Harry had a small envelope, which he was delighted to find, was a letter from Remus.

Ron, Ginny, and Neville all had packages, containing personal items that they had forgotten to pack and bring to school.

Three scrolls bounced down in front of Hermione, each sealed officiously with the Ministry's crest. Harry noticed absently that scrolls were delivered to a handful of other students as well.

He was in the process of opening his letter from Professor Lupin, shredding the envelope disgracefully, when Hermione broke the first seal, and opened the scroll. She paled visibly, and Harry watched with growing concern. Her hands were quite obviously trembling, as she picked up the second scroll.

Instinctively, Harry looked up to the staff table. The headmaster was looking at the Gryffindor table gravely, as the Head Girl reached for the third scroll, visibly distraught.

“Hermione?” Harry said softly, a growing knot of dread in his stomach, “What's going on?”

TBC

Ahhh…the fluffiness before the storm!

Come on and review. Make this pathetic author's day!

Hope to have chapter 5 up this weekend, when I get back!

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5. Chapter Five

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

Oh, and none of these people are mine…

What Might Have Been

Chapter Five

Hermione's reaction to the scrolls had caught the attention of most of their classmates, and their end of the table was nearly completely silent. She let the third scroll tumble through her fingers, without really noticing it, and began to frantically scrabble for her copy of the Daily Prophet. She found it, yanked it up, knocking over her goblet of pumpkin juice in the process, and began to read, her eyes darting back and forth across the front page.

She appeared not to have heard Harry at all.

“Hermione!” Harry raised his voice a little. “Hermione!” She started noticeably, and looked over the top of the paper at him. “What is going on? What's wrong?”

“Honestly, Harry,” Hermione began, her voice a shadow of its usual strident self. “Don't you ever pay attention to the news?” She folded the paper, front page out, and handed it to him.

Ministry Passes First Marriage Law Since 1632, read the banner headline. Ron was leaning across the table, trying to read the headline upside down, and several other Gryffindors were searching for another available copy of the paper. Harry cast a puzzled look at Hermione, not seeing what this particularly had to do with her…

…until he began reading the article.

In a historic move, the Ministry of Magic has passed a hotly contested piece of legislation now known as the Preservation of the Integrity of Wizarding Bloodlines Act. The concern regarding the rise in the number of Squib births, or births of children having weak or nearly nonexistent magical powers, has been mounting in recent years. The intermarriage among Pureblood lines has become suspect.

In an effort to counter this, the Ministry will be overseeing the implementation of mixed marriages. This will involve the marriage of Purebloods with either Half-bloods or those of Muggle descent. These new and hardier strains of magical ability are expected to revitalize the Pureblood lines.

Any Half-blood or Muggle-born witch over the majority age of 17 may be requested in marriage by a Pureblood wizard. She will be allowed to choose from her suitors, but is required by Ministry law to choose one of them. Any Half-blood or Muggle-born wizard will be allowed to marry a Pureblood witch. Under no circumstances will any further Pureblood-Pureblood marriages take place, until the Squib dilemma is judged to be well under control.

The Ministry will be available to enact marriage ceremonies, when they are required. The Ministry will not sanction any Muggle marriage ceremonies.

Further inquiries may be directed to….

Harry did not care who took care of the inquiries. He looked up at Hermione questioningly, handing the paper to Ron, without looking. His eyes suddenly fell on the three scrolls, and he understood.

“Those…” he gulped, gesturing toward the scrolls with one hand, “Those are marriage proposals?”

Hermione nodded, evidently not trusting herself to speak.

“Bloody hell,” Ron finally spoke, looking at Hermione with wide eyes. “Really? Who from?”

Hermione spoke in a low, strangled voice that sounded as if she were trying very hard to keep it under control.

“Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Marcus Flint.” Both boys gaped at her.

“But - but Mal - Malfoy always called you—" Ron stammered, unable to finish his sentence.

“Doesn't matter,” Hermione answered levelly, as evenly as if she were explaining the causes of the Eleventh Goblin Rebellion. “None of them will be permitted a Pureblood marriage, now, and…”

“Hermione's the most powerful and smartest witch at Hogwart's,” Harry finished dully, his statement not really sounding like a compliment. Hermione managed a smile at him anyway. “Any Pureblood wizard would want…” He couldn't finish his sentence.

“Miss Granger, would you mind accompanying me to my office?” came the familiar voice of their Headmaster. He gazed at her evenly, giving nothing away, but his eyes drifted significantly to the scrolls in front of her. She swallowed and nodded, looking up at him. Harry and Ron clattered noisily to their feet, but Dumbledore bade them sit back down with a wave of his hand. “I'm sure that Miss Granger will fill you in on everything when our meeting has concluded.” Dumbledore led the way out of the Great Hall, followed by several girls, including Hermione, all of whom had received scrolls from the Ministry.

They both sat back down somewhat sulkily, but Harry was almost instantly back on his feet. He ran down the length of Gryffindor table, and banged clumsily out of the double doors.

“Sir!” Harry yelled, panting slightly, “Sir! Professor Dumbledore!” The aged Headmaster turned, and all the girls stopped.

“Yes, Harry?” Harry got the sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore already knew what Harry was going to do, and paused. All the girls were looking at him.

“Um..” Harry cleared his throat nervously. “I'll do it.” He glanced at Hermione, and suddenly felt like he was alone in the room with her.

“Do what?” she asked, her forehead crinkling.

“I'll marry you. I'll - if I sent an owl to the Ministry, you - would you --?” Harry flushed, feeling like he wasn't making sense.

Hermione and Dumbledore both smiled at him, a little sadly, Harry thought.

“I'd love to, Harry, but -"

“I'm afraid, Harry,” Dumbledore interjected, “that since your mother was Muggle-born, you would not be permitted to marry Miss Granger, especially since she does have Pureblood marriage offers.” He sounded apologetic…and a little angry.

“But - but - she can't. They're all - Do you know how they would treat - ?” Harry sputtered, feeling bereft. He had not stopped to think what this would mean to his and Hermione's fledgling relationship…the fact that they could not marry, even if they were so inclined…the fact that someone else would…Harry grimaced, as if in pain. That didn't even bear thinking about.

He was at her side in three quick strides, taking both of her hands in his.

“Hermione, you know I - " She cupped his cheek with one hand, and they were once again oblivious to the onlookers in the hall.

“I know,” she said softly.

“What are you going to - ?”

“I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will come up with something,” she glanced up at the Headmaster briefly, with shining eyes.

“As much as the faith you place in me means to me, Hermione,” Dumbledore said, “I'm afraid there's not a lot I can do. The only leeway we have is that the selections themselves are not being controlled by the Ministry. You are all permitted to select your husbands from the available offers.” Harry could have sworn that Dumbledore gave him a significant look, as he was saying this, but couldn't fathom what the Headmaster was trying to tell him. “Ladies, if you please,” he continued, gesturing toward his office.

Harry realized that he was still holding Hermione's hands. He brushed a tender kiss across her lips, heedless of the others. “We'll think of something, Hermione, I promise.” She smiled at him again, silently thanking him for his concern, and disappeared down the corridor with the other girls.

Harry walked back into the Great Hall, where Ron was eating mechanically, as if his mind were not really on the kippers and eggs that he was shoving in his mouth. Harry sat heavily in his seat, looking glum.

“Wha's going on?” Ron asked, swallowing the gigantic mouthful of food.

“Hermione's got to be married,” Harry said. “I offered, but Dumbledore said no.” Ron boggled at this.

“You -- you offered to marry Hermione?”

“Well, it'd be a sight better than her marrying Malfoy, wouldn't it?” Harry said defensively, feeling a twinge of guilt that they hadn't yet told Ron what was going on between them.

“Well, why can't you then?” Ron said, and there was a funny tone to his voice. “Your mum and dad were both magical.”

“Mum was Muggle-born,” Harry said, twiddling his spoon around in his porridge, with a sigh, “If Hermione has Pureblood proposals, she's got to take one of them.”

They were both silent for several moments, each lost in his own thoughts.

Presently, Ron said, “Well, Zabini's not so bad, is he? He is a Slytherin, but he's definitely not as big a git as Malfoy or Flint.”

Harry said nothing. His mind kept drifting to Hermione's dreamy smile this morning, and her lips on his. He was losing something infinitely precious, and all because the blasted Purebloods kept marrying their cousins.

The first thing he saw when he stepped out of the hospital room that had been his home for three weeks was Hermione's beaming face. Her eyes were shiny with tears and her cheeks were pink, and he thought absently that she was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.

“Congratulations, mate,” Ron said, clapping him on the back. “Good to be getting out of this place, huh?”

Harry smiled, still stepping gingerly. “Wish I'd a better place to go home to than Little Whinging,” he said ruefully, though his smile did not fully vanish. Not even the Dursleys could ruin this day for him.

Hermione laughed, and it sounded like music.

“Why ever would you go back there?” she asked.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, and then stopped. Why would he go back there? He was of age. Voldemort was dead. He never had to go back to Privet Drive again.

Hermione and Ron watched him, grinning foolishly, as he realized his newfound freedom.

“But where will I - ?” he began, but Ron cut him off.

“Dad's already taken your stuff to the Burrow…as if you even had to ask!” Harry could not quell a grin. The Weasleys were his family in every way that mattered.

The rest of the summer had been an odd juxtaposition of complete peace and brooding anxiety. Finally, before his birthday, listless and jumpy, Harry had left the Burrow to wander around Europe.

He had returned just in time for the start of term at Hogwart's.

There was no opportunity to speak with Hermione during their classes, although she showed up only a few minutes late to Transfiguration. She answered questions and studiously took notes, but Harry could see something lurking behind her eyes. There were some murmurs from other students, but Hermione appeared to ignore them.

“So…Hermione,” Draco Malfoy leaned down on her desk before the start of Potions. Her name sounded odd and foreign on his lips. “Come to a decision yet?” Hermione glared at him, but said nothing. Harry found his fingertips winding around his wand, just in case. “There isn't a witch in England who wouldn't want the title and privileges associated with being Mrs. Malfoy.” There was insinuation in his tone that made the word `privileges' sound dirty.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Harry said firmly. Draco appeared to notice for the first time that Harry was even there.

“Oh, yes, Potter. Heard about your little impassioned proposal this morning,” he smirked, as if it were exceedingly amusing. “It's a shame that your mother was a Mudblood - " He had barely spoken the offensive word, when Harry pushed back his chair with a screeching scrape, and stood.

Hermione laid one soft hand over his.

“I wouldn't marry you if you were the last wizard on Earth, and Merlin himself was officiating,” Hermione said vehemently.

“That can be arranged!” Draco said in a low hiss.

Harry made an involuntary move towards Malfoy, but Professor Snape entered the room just then, and Malfoy had to settle for parting with a sneer. Harry sat back down reluctantly, but Hermione's hand remained on his for a moment longer.

She did not speak much the rest of the day, and Harry knew that she was worried over the validity of Malfoy's threat. He and Ron discussed that evening, up in the dormitory, and Harry could see that Ron was concerned as well. The redhead appeared preoccupied, and did not add much to the conversation, looking deep in thought.

The next morning, an owl brought Hermione two scrolls and an official letter from the Ministry on heavy parchment. Hermione read them all, and shuddered, looking positively grey.

“What's wrong?” Harry asked her, putting one arm around her tenderly. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Malfoy staring over at them with a triumphant leer.

Hermione spoke in a wooden voice, “Flint and Zabini have withdrawn their offers.”

TBC

Please please review. I'd really appreciate it.

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6. Chapter Six

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take. Thanks to all who have reviewed. I like that my story is provoking such reactions!

Oh and none of these people are mine…

What Might Have Been

Chapter Six

“What?” Harry breathed in shock. “Why would they do that?” Hermione appeared dazed, her eyes wide and staring.

“Malfoy paid them off, so he … so he could…” her words were drowned under a hiccupping sob. Harry was alarmed, seeing Hermione so close to coming completely unglued. He slipped one hand into hers under the table.

Ron watched them silently, stealing frequent glances over at Malfoy, and looking pensive.

“He'll pay off everybody….I'll have to marry him…I'll have to live at Malfoy Manor with his horrid mother…and …” Hermione was speaking lightly and quickly, and looked nearly hysterical.

“Hermione…” Harry pleaded, helpless to reassure her.

“Hermione, not everyone can be bought,” Ron finally spoke, and Hermione snapped back to the present, her eyes becoming clear. Her forehead creased with anxiety.

“I hope you're right, Ron,” she said finally, a shudder going through her frame, as she tried to calm herself down. “I - " she stopped, her eyes drifting over to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy was watching the trio with interest. He blew her a kiss, and she swallowed with difficulty, shaking her head violently. “I - I can't - " She stood quickly. “Tell Professor Lupin I'm ill.”

In a flash of black robes and a swirl of brown hair, she was gone.

“Ron, what are we going to do?” Harry said, his voice desperate, nearly cracking with urgency.

“I dunno, mate,” Ron said, his blue eyes following the path Hermione had taken from the Great Hall. Harry looked at him with exasperation, and stood too.

“Tell Lupin that I - " he paused, considering, then shrugged. “I don't bloody care what you tell him.”

He nearly collided with Ginny, who looked after him, startled, as she sat down next to her brother, and began ladling food onto her plate.

“What's going on?” she said.

“Damned if I know,” Ron muttered, watching the double doors of the Great Hall darkly. Ginny looked at him sharply, but refrained from further comment.

There was thunderous applause and more than a few whistles and whoops, though they perhaps did not fit with the solemnity of the occasion. Harry looked up into Dumbledore's somber gaze as he lowered the wide ribbon over Harry's head. The Order of Merlin hung heavily from his neck, swinging pendulously. He lifted his chin, looking into the noisy throng, and tried to smile graciously.

Ron and Hermione stood to either side of him, each with a medal as well. Hermione was smiling uncomfortably, and Ron was standing stock-still, red to the ears, but looking dazed.

Mrs. Weasley was in the front row, crying prodigiously into a handkerchief. Harry knew she was proud of Ron, but was fairly certain that he was not the reason she cried.

Bill Weasley had succumbed to his injuries five days previously. Harry had sunk down into a kind of despair, watching the Weasley family - his family - grieve. He was being lauded as a victor, a savior, but people had still died. People he should have been able to save. And this ceremony was more than he could bear.

He turned abruptly, clattering noisily down the stairs from the dais, and disappeared from sight. The applause trickled off and was replaced by a rush of whispers and murmurs. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances, and hurried after Harry.

They found him, crouched in a Ministry hallway, with his Order of Merlin some 5 meters away from him, a suspicious dent in the wall just above it.

“Harry?” Ron prodded, his voice a loud whisper in the silence of the empty hallway.

“I didn't ask for this,” Harry said, suddenly, looking up at them. His eyes were hard and set, his voice low, but his jaw trembled rebelliously. “I didn't ask to be everyone's hero!” A shudder ran through his hunched body, and he dashed a tear away angrily with the back of his hand.

“Harry, we know that,” Hermione said gently, kneeling beside him, placing one hand on his back.

“You don't understand,” he replied thickly. “There were - people - Bill… I should have…”

Ron squatted down in front of him, and put both hands on Harry's shoulders.

“Bill died fighting Voldemort,” he said, and Harry wondered how much it cost him to say those four words with such passion. “Just like any of us would have.”

Harry sat in silence for a long time, his two friends knelt beside him, lending him what wordless support they could give.

“Ron, I'm so sorry,” he finally said in a quiet broken voice. “Thanks.”

Ron stared at him for a moment, and Harry felt a closer communion with him than he'd ever had before.

“Don't mention it, mate. You'd have done the same.”

“Hermione!” Harry gasped, out of breath from having sprinted to their rooms from the Great Hall. “Hermione!” He took the stairs two at a time, loudly galloping up and careening around the corner into her bedroom.

She was staring out her window, sitting stiffly in a chair, dried traces of tears on her face.

“Are you all right?” he asked, rather stupidly.

“Do I look all right?” she snapped back, nastily, but apology immediately flooded her features. “Harry, I'm sorry. It's not like any of this is your fault.”

“If I were Pureblood -" Hermione cut him off by rolling her eyes.

“Harry, that's just ridiculous. Then you wouldn't be you.” She smiled a bit, but it fell off her face quickly. She stared out the window again. “I'm going to have to marry Draco Malfoy!” she said quietly, in the tone of one who is resigned to her fate.

“No, Hermione,” Harry said quickly. “There has got to be something we can do…some way that we can stop this. We can go away…just us, and we'll - "

Hermione shook her head miserably. “The wizarding world needs you, Harry. I can't take you away.”

“Well, I don't need them. I - " Harry protested hotly.

“Besides, I - I don't know if I want to leave…I wouldn't be able to live as a witch…I'd have to leave everybody I love…my parents…the Weasleys…”

“You'd rather marry Malfoy?” Harry said in a tone of disbelief.

“I just don't know if I could leave it all behind,” she said sadly.

Harry winced as he thought of never seeing Hermione again. The emptiness spread out before him in a vast chasm of years…years of just existing…years of wondering where she was and how she was doing…years of longing to see her again.

When he shook away his gloomy vision of the future, and looked up, she was staring at him. He felt himself flush under her perusal.

“Hermione, what are - ?” he started to say, but the words died on his lips, as she stood and walked wordlessly towards him.

“Harry, you know how much I hate having other people dictate what kind of decisions I make,” she said. Harry mulled this over, and nodded. Hermione had never been one who bowed to convention or popular opinion. “And yet, here, when Voldemort is dead, and we should all be free, my choices are being taken away from me. I'm being steered, I'm being manipulated…and I bloody well hate it!” Her voice rang out loudly in the quiet room.

“Hermione, I know,” he said, urgently, tenderly, “I know, and I wish… I wish there was something I could - "

“There is something you can do,” she said, her voice low and confident. Her face was very close to his. “There is something I can give you that I can never give anyone else.” He felt her body close to his in all the wrong places, and his face flooded with heat as he realized what she was talking about.

“Hermione - " he stammered, backing away slightly, while wondering why he was backing away. “Hermione, you're upset…”

“Of course I'm upset, Harry. But that doesn't mean I haven't thought about this,” her voice was passionate. “I have been in love with you for a long time. I've just had our future ripped away from me. Don't I deserve this one thing?” Tears were standing in her eyes, and she moved into his personal space again. Her lips were trembling just beneath his.

“Hermione…” he said helplessly, before his lips crashed into hers. He should have known that he wouldn't be able to deny her anything.

And then, so quickly that he wasn't sure how it was happening, hands were everywhere, his hands, her hands, discarding clothing at a fevered pace. Her skin was hot and soft, her eyes were dilated, and her breathing was rapid. He backed her up towards the bed, and when she pulled him down on top of her, all of the blood left his brain.

“Hermione, I love you,” he said, without stopping to think about it.

“Oh, Harry, always,” she gasped in reply.

Harry dimly wondered what the rest of the school would think if they knew that the Head Boy and Head Girl were skiving off classes to shag each other senseless. It was the last rational thought he had for quite some time.

Ron stood in the hospital corridor, gaze distant, drifting up and down the hallway in an aimless fashion. Now and then, his glance caught the closed door of Harry's room. Hermione sat inside, where she had been, unmoving, since Harry had been brought to St. Mungo's.

It had been hours. He had poked his head in the door once, to try to get her to eat something, and had been roundly scolded by a mediwitch, who said there could only be one visitor at a time.

“You stay with him for awhile,” Hermione said quickly, getting up from her chair. “I'm sorry, I've been monopolizing…” she trailed off.

Ron watched the pain flicker through her eyes, as she looked at the pale, prone figure on the bed. He could understand how she felt, perhaps even more so than she. He had grown up in the wizarding world, had heard the name of Harry Potter all his life. Harry was a symbol of hope, and, even with Voldemort gone, if he died…

…it would be the death of faith itself…

Ron sighed heavily, and winced as the pain of his broken collarbone shot across his shoulder. He had already lost Percy; they didn't know if Bill would make it; if Harry died too…his brother, in more than mere blood, his best friend.

He watched Hermione again, watched how she twisted her hands around each other, watched the crease in her forehead, the anxiety in her warm brown eyes. Her eyes had not left Harry's still, white face.

Bloody hell, Ron thought in some amazement. She's in love with him. The certainty shot through him as surely as if she'd confessed it aloud. And somewhere, there was a pang, a pinprick of jealousy, of hurt, of fear…

“No,” he said slowly, speaking as if from far away, preoccupied, “No, you stay, Hermione. Let me know if…if he wakes up.”

Hermione nodded absently, and Ron wasn't even sure if she'd registered what he said. With a backward glance at those pleading eyes fixed on that famous heroic face, he quietly returned to his post in the corridor.

“Where the hell have you been?” Ron asked in consternation, when Harry finally showed up for the last class of the day. “You skived off all your classes! You aren't going to miss Quidditch practice too?”

“No, no, I'll be at practice,” Harry assured him quickly.

“So, where were you?” Ron repeated.

“With Hermione,” Harry answered. “She was.. er…she was really upset.” He turned away to rearrange his books, not wanting Ron to see his hot face. He felt as if he had a neon sign flashing above his head that blared “Harry Potter just had sex with his best friend!”

“Anybody would be,” Ron agreed, his face going thoughtful again. “She still upstairs?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, “she'll be down for dinner, she said.” He tried to focus his mind, on anything rather than Hermione, but still had trouble taking notes for class.

Quidditch practice was a disaster as well, even though he was Captain. He was distracted, had trouble controlling his broom, missed several blatant opportunities to catch the Snitch, and finally had to take himself to the hospital wing, after a Bludger broke two of his fingers.

Harry stalked angrily through the corridors, causing younger students to fly out of his way, and trying to ignore the pain that was throbbing through his fingers and up his arm. Ron was walking quickly, in an effort to keep up with him.

“You all right, mate?” Ron asked.

“No, Ron, I'm not. I've two bloody broken fingers, in case you didn't notice,” Harry snapped. Ron looked taken aback.

“What's crawled up your arse?” he said, with no malice in his tone, just curiosity. Harry stopped, sighed, then continued on at a slower pace.

“I'm sorry, Ron. I'm just worried about Hermione.” He cast a sidelong glance at Ron, who was nodding sympathetically. “I feel so…so…bloody helpless. And all because of who my parents were.” Harry was speaking quickly, almost unintelligibly, as his words tripped over themselves. “I'd marry her in a second, Ron…you know I would, if I - if I wasn't…”

“Yeah,” Ron said slowly. “I know you would…” He was looking oddly at his best mate, his head cocked just to one side.

“Somebody's got to. Marry her, I mean. Anyone would be preferable to Malfoy,” Harry said, swinging his arm out for emphasis, and swearing suddenly and violently when his injured hand grazed the stone wall.

“D'you really think so?” Ron asked hopefully. “Mate, I was hoping you'd say that.”

Harry was a little slow on the uptake, still focusing on the incredible pain in his fingers.

“What? Why?”

“Because I sent an owl to the Ministry yesterday,” Ron said, simply, looking as serious as Harry had ever seen him.

Harry stared, the pain subsiding down to a dull ache in the face of this new and incomprehensible information Ron had just imparted to him.

“Sent…an owl?” Harry echoed stupidly, coming to a complete halt in the middle of the corridor.

“Yeah,” Ron said. “To the Ministry. She should get it tomorrow morning, I s'pose.” He bit his lip, and looked nervously at Harry. “D'you think she'll be mad?”

“Mad?” Harry said, still feeling like his brain was functioning in a lower gear. “Why would she be mad? You're a sight better than that ferret.”

“Thanks for that!” Ron said, with mock affront, but turned serious again. “It's just that…well, we fight sometimes, but I really do like her.” He shrugged, self-conscious. “I know she's not in - " He broke off suddenly, and became very interested in a tapestry just opposite.

Half of Harry's mind wondered what Ron had been about to say. However, the other half was occupied with many other important emotions, teeming around his head, vying for the majority of his attention. One was jealousy… he was in love with Hermione, he couldn't have Hermione, his best friend was going to get Hermione. Another was guilt…technically (and rather crassly) he had already had Hermione. In an extremely contradictory manner, he was also grateful. He knew Ron would never ill-use her. He would not have that same assurance with Malfoy. He was so busy analyzing what he was feeling, that he didn't realize that they had resumed walking.

“Well, I certainly appreciate it, Ron,” Harry managed to say, with false heartiness. “I know Hermione will appreciate it too.”

“I hope you're right,” Ron said, with his trademark, self-deprecating half-smile.

Harry mustered a genuine smile then, while his heart shattered into a million tiny shards, which assaulted him like tiny daggers.

“We'll find out tomorrow, won't we?” He clapped Ron on the back, as they entered the hospital wing.

TBC

Please review! (bats eyes hopefully)

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7. Chapter Seven

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take. The reviews have been lovely…I'm glad there is so much interest in my story.

AN2: This chapter is a little on the short side, but there was such a natural place to end it that I did.

Oh and none of these people are mine….

What Might Have Been

Chapter Seven

Harry was on tenterhooks for the remainder of the evening, and was colossally unable to hide his unease from Hermione. She had wanted… well, she had wanted the exact same thing that Harry had wanted…again…but Harry could not bring himself to go into her room. Not when he knew what Ron was planning…it seemed like betrayal in the worst possible way.

Of course, he couldn't tell Hermione why - he'd promised Ron, and it was a marriage proposal, after a fashion - and they'd had an enormous row - their first - and ended up slamming up to their individual rooms in sulky silence.

Oh God, Harry thought, this might have been my last night with her, and I have royally mucked it up. But, no…I couldn't…it'll be hard enough explaining about the other time…if Ron ever finds out.

He flopped listlessly down onto his bed, feeling thoroughly miserable. He wanted Hermione…in more ways than one. Their encounter that day had made him hungry for more. Like an addict, he wanted to know all of her; he couldn't get enough.

And soon, she would belong to someone else…maybe forever. One didn't hear about divorce often in the wizarding world. He imagined her, looking ethereal in white…lots of candles and flowers, I suppose…something sparkly in her hair. Hermione, his Hermione, pledging her eternal devotion to … Ron?

When Harry inhaled his next breath, it was painful, and he made a kind of hoarse, gasping noise. I can't do it. Bloody hell, I can't stay away from her.

In one desperate, fluid motion, he jerked himself up from the bed, and flew towards the door, swinging it open so wide that it hit the wall behind it, and nearly collided with Hermione.

Hermione had turned toward Ron and Harry, as Voldemort vanished with an echoing cry. There was a gleam of triumph in her eyes that she saw also beaming from Ron's. He had done it. Voldemort's hold over their lives was over. They were free.

A slight movement caught her eye, as Harry swayed back and forth for a moment like a sapling buffeted by a gust of wind. She had taken only one step toward him, one arm outstretched, when he collapsed.

And her world collapsed with him.

She loved him. She had for a long time. She had known it for a long time. It had never been said that Hermione Granger was a girl who didn't know her own mind. That it was hopeless she had also known and accepted for a long time. She had been content to be his friend.

In the instant between Voldemort's vanquishing and Harry's collapse, she had a shining moment of clarity in which she saw a beautiful, idyllic vista of a future. Voldemort was gone; Harry was alive.

She suddenly realized how wrong she might be, and dropped to her knees on the dusty, rubble-strewn floor of the Great Hall, at his side.

“Harry?” she said, hoarsely, chokingly. Tears left shiny trails down her dirty face. His scar had split open, and was bleeding rather copiously. He was so pale. She suddenly noticed his wand hand…a livid weal standing out across his palm, from the force of the magic that been emitted..

She distantly heard Ron shouting for a healer, but didn't look up, cradling Harry's injured hand in her arms, instead.

How much had he sacrificed to save the world? How much would she be required to give up if he didn't make it?

She was standing just outside his door, one hand upraised, about to knock. She blinked at him, startled.

“Going somewhere?” she finally asked.

“To see you,” he said simply, unable to take his eyes off of her.

“I didn't think you wanted to see me at all,” her voice was quiet, and hurt flickered in her eyes. His stomach clenched.

“No,” he said, unevenly, “no, it's not - it's not that - not at all. I just -" He let out a frustrated growl, looking helplessly around his room, as he ran his hands through his hair.

“Harry, what is it?” She took his hand in hers, concern on her face. “Why are you so upset? Talk to me.”

He couldn't look at her. He had been going to see her, and now that she was here, he couldn't meet her eyes. Ron, Ron, Ron, it pounded in his head like a pulse. Ron sliding a ring on her finger, Ron smiling in candlelight, Ron holding a red-headed baby, while Hermione beamed nearby, Ron…and Hermione…

“Harry?” Hermione tugged at his sleeve, her concern turning into anxiety.

“He's going to take you away from me,” he finally said, turning to gaze at her. The force of passion blazing from his green eyes was nearly tangible in the room.

“Do you think I care about the - the sanctity of marriage? With Malfoy?” Her voice was low, and she managed a shaky, strained laugh. “You know I love you.”

He smiled at her, but it didn't light his eyes. “Malfoy wouldn't stand for unfaithfulness, although he probably would share with his friends,” he said bluntly, but then waved his hand, as if Malfoy were of no consequence. “But I wasn't talking about him. I was talking about - " He broke off suddenly.

“Someone else is going to propose?”

Harry nodded once, his eyes far away once again.

“But that's good…isn't it?” Harry looked at her suddenly, as if he'd just remembered she was there.

“Yes, it's good,” he said shortly, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. His stance was that of pure tension, as he stood rigidly near one post of his bed, his hand clenched so tightly around the newel that his knuckles were white.

She took a step toward him, his hand still tightly twined in hers. “Harry,” she said emphatically. “I'm not married yet.” Her meaning was unmistakable. “I'm not even engaged yet.” She tilted her chin up, moving her head around so that she met his eyes. Their gaze met and locked, and Hermione felt her knees become unstable. “We should take advantage of the time we have left,” she murmured, before she kissed him.

And he kissed her back. And the kiss was full of passion and anger and despair and longing and hunger. Hermione's legs gave out completely, and she pulled Harry down with her. If the bed hadn't been right behind them, they would have tumbled to the floor. As it was, she was now prone, with Harry's comforting weight on top of her, and her lips being ravaged by his. His hand trailed sparks down the side of her face, through the tips of his fingers, and continued downwards, tracing her collarbone, the side of her breast, her ribs, and her hip. Hermione felt her breathing hitch, and there was liquid warmth in the pit of her stomach. She shifted her hips to more comfortably mesh with his…

Harry shot up as if someone had thrown cold water on him, and staggered unevenly away from her.

“Hermione, we can't!” he protested wildly. He looked frantic, and Hermione wondered at his extreme reaction.

“Why not?” She cried, feeling somehow foolish and wanton at the same time.

He didn't answer, but walked to the window and leaned against the coolness of the glass. He was still breathing raggedly. His pulse was rapid, and seemed to be pounding why not? Why not? Why not?

Hermione sat in silence on Harry's bed, with tousled hair, swollen lips, and starry eyes. She was beautiful. She watched Harry's back, tension and anxiety ever apparent, as he stared moodily out the window.

“Why won't you look at me?” she asked, as if she were inquiring how Quidditch practice went. There was silence. “Harry!” she cried angrily.

He wheeled violently toward her, his eyes blazing. “Because if I look at you, we'll end up doing that again,” he gestured toward the bed, “and we can't! Do you hear me? We can't!”

Hermione looked at him for a moment, regarding him silently.

“It's Ron, isn't it?” she said finally, and his name seemed to reverberate around the room. “Ron's going to propose to me, isn't he?”

Harry nodded, once, stiffly. For the first time, Hermione was fully aware of the depth of pain present in Harry's eyes.

“Oh,” she said simply.

There was a long silence.

“Now, d'you see why - ?” Harry asked desperately, wanting her to understand.

Hermione nodded. She did understand. She tried to imagine what he was going through, what it would be like to give up the person you loved to your best friend, knowing that it was what was best, saving them from an uncertain future.

“He was my first friend. No questions asked. I can't betray him, Hermione.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I wouldn't ask you to.”

“He won't mistreat you. I even think he still fancies you a bit,” Harry said, his tone light, but his eyes dark.

Hermione managed a weak, wobbly smile. The silence seemed to stretch out into years, as they gazed wordlessly at each other. The naked yearning in Harry's eyes brought tears to Hermione's.

“Oh God,” she finally choked, turning away from him, and struggling mightily not to sob out loud.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Harry soothed, his voice warm in her ear. His arms went around her, and she leaned back into his comforting embrace. He kissed her temple, and when she turned to look at him, her eyes dewy and wet, he kissed her lips.

This was not like their previous kiss. This was slow and tender, a benediction, Hermione thought distractedly. Harry was saying good-bye.

“I love you,” she murmured, her voice willfully tremulous.

“I know,” he said softly. “I love you too. And so will he.”

TBC

(ducks incoming stones) Okay, okay…don't anybody freak out. I'm just trying to make it as angsty as possible. I like Angsty Harry. Is a baby loophole too cliché? The trio could then deal with fall-out. Or do we have Hermione and Ron get married, but then kill Ron off somehow? I will repeat: I really do like Ron, and this will not be a Ron-bashing fic.

Thanks ever so much for the reviews. They are my sustenance!

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8. Chapter Eight

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take. This is not your normal Marriage Law fic. H/Hr and (some) R/Hr.

AN2: For all the people who have asked some variant of the question, “Why can't Harry and Hermione just leave?” Here is my answer…or at least some of it anyway. I'd like to think that they have more moral fiber than to just cut and run. Besides, if they did, the story would have ended like 3 chapters ago, with “So Harry and Hermione went to America and lived happily ever after. The end.” And how boring is that?

Oh, and none of these people are mine…

What Might Have Been

Chapter Eight

Harry and Hermione walked into the Great Hall the next morning side by side, but not touching. The tension in the pair was radiating outwardly from them, and was very nearly palpable. Their faces were stone solemn and rigidly set. One would have thought that an execution was going to take place.

They sat, wordlessly, at their customary end of Gryffindor table, and began spooning food onto their plates, more out of habit than anything else. Neither of them was hungry. Neither was happy with the way things had ended the night before, but neither could see another viable option.

Ron arrived a moment later, his face a unique shade of pale green, and began to load up his plate, although he didn't do much more than play with his food. He muttered some variation of “Good morning” at them, but didn't really make any sort of eye contact. Harry waited, tense and pensive. When the first owls began to flap into the room, he actually thought that Ron was going to bolt from the table.

As expected, a regal Ministry owl dropped a scroll onto Hermione's plate. Harry felt his stomach twist into a tight, uncomfortable knot, but managed to notice Malfoy paying particular attention to their end of Gryffindor table.

Hermione broke the seal, wordlessly, and read the scroll, her face pale and set. Harry saw the muscles in her slender neck clench, as she swallowed with difficulty. Ron was trying to give the illusion that he was eating, but was really eying Hermione as she read the scroll.

She finally looked up, and reached inside her robes for a quill. Her face had not changed. Harry watched her sign the scroll, thus indicating her acceptance of the offer, her hand steady, her handwriting as clear and precise as it always was. He felt like part of him was dying slowly, and pressed his lips together tightly, clamping down on any potential wayward displays of emotion…or breakfast, for that matter.

The scroll glowed brightly for a moment, rolled itself back up, and then disappeared with a noise like a thunderclap. Back to the Ministry, Harry assumed.

Ron looked slightly bewildered that everything had happened so fast, but he recovered quickly, reaching into his pocket for a small box. He raised his eyes to meet Hermione's for the first time that morning, and Harry was shocked at the jolt of jealousy that ran through him like electric current.

“Would you do me the honor, Hermione?” Ron asked in a steady tone, proffering the jewelry box.

Hermione lowered her eyes to her plate, and took the box, pushing it open with both thumbs. In it, was a pearl and diamond ring, not large, but ornately and uniquely set. It was quite obviously an antique.

“It was my grandmother's,” Ron said, by way of explanation. Hermione nodded, and her eyes seemed to glisten strangely for a moment.

“I accept,” she said simply. “Thank you, Ronald.” She slid the ring onto her finger, and the setting immediately tilted sideways, as the ring was much too large.

“Here, let me,” Ron said, reaching for her hand. They had by now caught the attention of most of Gryffindor table, as well as some of the other houses, who were gazing at the tableau, raptly. He held Hermione's hand gently in one of his, and waved his wand with the other, as he muttered the incantation that would size the ring correctly.

Hermione looked up then, and her gaze locked with Harry's. He had been as transfixed by the scene as anyone, wanting to look away, wanting to scream, to leave, but being unable to…because she was there. He watched her eyes glaze over with unshed tears, but she still did not look away.

She felt the metal wrap around her finger, as she gazed at her erstwhile lover. Her countenance seemed to shout at him, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, Harry. I love you.

Harry felt his jaw clench and his throat clog. He looked away quickly, blinking several times and breaking the spell.

“Congratulations,” he offered hoarsely, as Ron looked up at him, clearly quite pleased with himself, whether from the success of the proposal or the spell he had just cast, Harry could not tell.

Hermione smiled at him sadly, before she was surrounded by a throng of excited and surprised Gryffindors. “Ohmigod…you two! I had no idea!” he heard, in the ear-piercing squeal of Parvati Patil.

In the commotion, nobody took notice of the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy looked positively murderous.

“Where are you going?” The quiet voice sliced through the early morning air, and startled Harry.

He shrugged, even as he turned, to face the witch that mattered more to him than anyone else in the world.

“What are you doing here?” he said, not answering her question.

“I've spent a month with my parents,” she said, almost defensively. “I just missed everybody. I was antsy…I think I was getting on their nerves,” she half-laughed. “My mum's the one who suggested I come here. I just got in last night.”

There was a long awkward pause.

“So,” she proceeded, “how've you been?”

“Fine,” Harry answered laconically, offering no elaboration. She shot him a piercing glance that seemed to discern exactly what he was thinking.

“Then why are you sneaking out of the house at dawn?”

“Why are you up?” he fired back.

“Quit answering my questions with questions!” she snapped, impatiently.

“I'm not sneaking anywhere,” he mumbled, a little sulkily. “I talked to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley about it last night.”

“But not Ron or Ginny?” she chided playfully.

“I just need to get away…for a bit. I need to…” he trailed off, searching for words.

“Clear your head?” she supplied. He looked at her in surprise. She grinned, “That's what everyone says when they want to go off for no reason.”

He managed to smile back at her, and looked down self-deprecatingly. “It's all starting to get to me, you know?”

She smiled at him gently. She knew. She said so.

“Ever since that day when we got our Orders of Merlin…even when the Weasleys offered you a place, I've been expecting something like this.”

“Then you understand?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course I do,” she said fervently. “Just one thing…”

“Anything,” he promised.

“Promise me you'll come back.” She tried to keep the naked longing out of her voice, but it crept around the edges anyway. She hoped he wouldn't notice; she had waited for so long…she could wait a bit longer.

Their gazes met and held for a moment. The promise of something…someday…flickered briefly between them.

“I'll come back.” His voice was steady and confident, and his gaze did not waver from hers.

She lifted her chin, her eyes bright, as he reached out one hand to cup her cheek briefly.

“Good,” she said, with more assurance than she actually felt, dropping her gaze.

He picked up his knapsack and his Firebolt. She heard the click of the latch, and looked up quickly. He was gone.

Harry was sprawled out gracelessly on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room. He could have gone back to his own common room, but lethargy had taken hold. Besides, he didn't really want to run into Hermione.

It had been a long day, and Ron and Hermione had been the names on everyone's lips. As the closest friend to the two, Harry had been plied with questions all day long, and forced to answer them in as cheery a tone as possible. It had been trying work, and he was exhausted.

He felt someone plop down on the sofa next to him.

“You can't stay in here forever, you know?” came the wry voice of the youngest Weasley. Harry's shoulders slumped; he was not in the mood for this.

“Ginny, go `way,” he half-whined at her.

“You are doing a pretty good job, actually,” she continued, ignoring his outburst completely. She leaned closer to whisper conspiratorily, “I think most people really believe that you're okay with this.”

He looked at her warily. “I am okay with this,” he said.

“Sure you are,” Ginny said, as if to a small child. Harry glared at her, wishing she would leave him alone. “Don't worry. I won't tell anyone.”

“There's nothing to tell!” he said, more loudly than he meant to. Several third-years grouped around an intense game of Exploding Snap glanced their way curiously.

“If there's nothing to tell,” Ginny said, speaking in a low voice, “then why are you in here instead of in your nice private common room? Hermione's worried about you. She says you haven't spoken to her all day.” That caught Harry's attention, and he snapped his gaze to Ginny's face, riveted.

“You've talked to Hermione?”

Ginny rolled her eyes theatrically. “It's not hard. You could too, if you'd just get off your pathetic arse and - "

Harry threw aside any last pretense that he'd been clinging to. It was clear Ginny believed none of it anyway. His voice was deadly serious. “How much do you know?”

TBC

A little plot is slowly starting to form. There's going to be a conspiracy surrounding the Marriage Law, Draco's got more in his motives than just being a prat, and there will be some Ron/Hermione. I still consider the chief `ship of this story to be Harry/Hermione though, and they will end up together…I promise!

Thanks for the reviews. Please leave some more on your way out!

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9. Chapter Nine

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

Oh and none of these people are mine…

What Might Have Been

Chapter Nine

Ginny looked a little taken aback by Harry's intensity, “About what?” she asked.

“About all of it. What has Hermione talked to you about? What are people saying about the Marriage Law? About Ron and Hermione?”

“Where have you been?” Ginny's voice held a hint of teasing.

Harry was not in the mood for it.

“I've been in here since classes were over,” he said with a scowl. “People were starting to get on my bloody nerves.”

“Well, they're excited,” Ginny said apologetically. “Most people think it's kind of romantic. You know, two best friends, secretly in love, forced into an arranged marriage, as he tries to save her from the evil Slytherin…” She stopped, when she saw the shadow of pain dull his green eyes, and winced at her own insensitivity.

“Yes, well…they haven't got it all correct, now do they?” he whispered hoarsely. Ginny gazed at him for a moment, her brown eyes shiny with compassion.

“Why didn't you tell anyone?” She asked simply. “Why didn't you tell Ron?”

“I dunno,” Harry replied, with a shrug. “I guess, for a while, we were just seeing what would happen…it was like a big, lovely secret. Just us. We wanted to tell Ron…in fact, we were going to tell him, but that was the morning the scrolls came.” Just two days, Harry thought, and it seemed like a lifetime ago. Ginny seemed to read the bleakness in his expression, because she patted him on the back gently. He leaned his head on her shoulder. “When did you talk to Hermione?” he asked, after a moment of silence.

“After dinner. She asked if I'd seen you. She looked…sad…and tired,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “Kind of like you, actually.”

“I thought I could do this, Ginny,” Harry said, although seeming to speak half to himself. “I thought I could watch this happen, because it…Ron… would be best for her. She could keep her life; she wouldn't be in danger…I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I could give her up.” His voice was desperation itself. “Surely something could be done…there's got to be something.”

“He is in love with her, you know,” Ginny said gently, her eyes never leaving his face. Harry met her gaze, grim-countenanced, and nodded.

“I suspected something like that,” he said quietly.

“They could be happy,” she said, biting her lip, her voice tentative, almost making it sound like a question.

Harry mulled it over. He could see that. Hermione and Ron, living somewhere near the Burrow, with a couple of brilliant little red-headed kids. Ron would be working for the Ministry, and Hermione would have a job doing potions research, or something like that…and they would have big family dinners on special occasions…and maybe, sometimes old lonely Uncle Harry would stop by…

He gasped, sucking air in loudly, with the pain of it. He looked at Ginny again.

“What about me?” he asked evenly. “It sounds awful to say out loud, but what about me? Haven't I given enough, done enough? My entire life, everyone I've ever loved has been taken from me…now that Voldemort's dead, shouldn't it be enough? When do I get my chance?” His voice cracked in despair, and he was startled to realize that there were tears in his eyes. He tried to blink them back, embarrassed.

Ginny sat in silence for a long moment, eying him as if there were something she wanted to say that he might not want to hear.

“I suppose that you and Hermione could just go off together somewhere…America maybe,” she said slowly.

“But?” he prodded, with grim amusement.

“But…I mean, have you thought about what you could do if you stayed?”

“What I could do?” Harry's voice was bitter.

“Harry, you could have a lot of influence here. You're the bloody savior of the wizarding world,” she flung her hands wide, theatrically.

“Could I get this law rescinded?” he asked, shreds of hope creeping faintly into his voice.

“I doubt it,” Ginny replied, matter-of-factly, “not while the Ministry's in bed with the Purebloods.” Harry suddenly remembered Ginny's grim pronouncement on the train to Hogwart's. The Ministry can still be bought with enough galleons. Even from Azkaban. “Dad says most of the Ministry is pretty upset with the law; even Amelia Bones said she doesn't know how it got passed. But the people that complain…you know, out loud…well, they get transferred - or canned.” Her expression turned apologetic, “Dad needs his job,” she said. Harry waved away her apology with his hand.

“Nobody's blaming him, Ginny. So, what do we do then?”

“You could - we could…well, we could try to … you know, obey this law on our own terms. Like Ron and Hermione. She would have had to marry Malfoy otherwise. You know how the Slytherin Purebloods are likely to treat any Muggle-born or half-blood wives.”

“Like breeding slaves,” Harry said darkly.

“We could stop that….I mean, we could at least try. You have Grimmauld Place. We could help them escape, or help them make other marriages. There are other good Purebloods…like Neville, or - "

“What about you?” Harry asked suddenly.

“Me?” Ginny looked confused.

“You're a Pureblood witch. What happens to you?”

“Oh,” Ginny shrugged. “I have to marry a half-blood or Muggle-born, I suppose, after I'm of age. I have more options than Hermione does.”

“Why?”

“Because there are more half-bloods and Muggle-borns than there are Purebloods,” Ginny said. “Although, Hermione's so high-profile, what with helping you kill Voldemort and all, that she could have had any wizard she wanted, if Malfoy hadn't...”

“Bought them off,” Harry finished gloomily.

“What about you?” Ginny asked, nudging him in the ribs. “You're the Boy Who Lived. You're going to be able to have any witch you want.” Harry had not thought of that before, and the prospect filled him with dread.

“No I'm not,” he corrected her. “I'm not going to get the only witch I want.” Sympathy flooded Ginny's face again, and she sat with him in silence for quite some time. “We ought to get the D.A. involved in this,” he said suddenly.

Ginny looked at him, startled, until she realized that he was talking about her idea. She let out a cry of delight, and threw her arms around him. He allowed the embrace, patting her on the back, and felt himself smile for the first time in several hours.

“I should go talk to Dumbledore,” he said. “Do you want to come?”

Hermione dashed to the front window of the Burrow, and watched Harry walk, his back hunched slightly under the weight of his knapsack. The wind was blowing briskly, and his hair was flying straight back like a black banner over his head. She splayed her hand out against the window, her breath fogging the glass, as she watched him go.

And somehow this was harder than any time he'd left her before.

He reached the gate of the rickety fence that surrounded the Burrow, and she watched, with a sad half-smile, as he wrestled with the stubborn catch, finally resorting to kicking it open. He stepped outside the gate, and shut it gently behind him.

At that point, Hermione knew, he could Apparate away, and she leaned close to the glass, not wanting to blink for fear of missing his departure.

He stiffened suddenly, as if he had heard something, and turned back toward the house, brushing his hair impatiently out of his eyes.

She saw him see her, standing there in the window, one hand upraised. Her very posture was one of supplication…please don't go…

He raised one hand, not quite waving it, but obviously gesturing farewell. He shouted something at her, but the wind tossed the words away, and Hermione couldn't make it out. She pelted toward the front door, and flung it open.

“What?” she called, desperately, frantically, foolishly. “Harry!?”

He had Disapparated.

Hermione was sitting on the sofa of the Head common room, staring sightlessly into to the flickering flames. She was curled up under a blanket, and there was a cup of stone-cold tea sitting on the table beside her. She wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting there.

Her eyes drifted up to the flower pot on the mantle. I could just Floo away, right now. Get to my parent's house, catch a plane…go to Australia or America…

Even as she concocted these hasty travel plans in her head, she knew she wouldn't go through with them. She couldn't leave…couldn't leave Ron…couldn't leave him. She thought of Ron's face, as he handed her the family ring this morning, twisting the unfamiliar object around her finger as she did so. He had been so hopeful and nervous…almost the same way he had acted when he asked her out earlier that year.

Then she thought of Harry's face. The unbelievable agony on his face had almost been enough to bring her to her knees. She had watched him, her heart crumbling into pieces, as he brought a mask carefully over his real emotions, watched as the pain in his eyes became shuttered.

“Congratulations,” he had said, smiling. Oh, Harry…

She twirled her engagement ring round and round, pushing it with her thumb. Her eyes were glazed over, filled with tears that did not fall. Flames glowed orange and gold and yellow-white before eyes that reflected them, but did not really see.

“Harry…” she murmured brokenly to the empty quiet common room. And it was a sigh and a wail and a plea…and a thousand other things that she would have to turn away from forever. She wondered if perhaps it would have been better to have continued to love him, unrequited, unobserved, without ever knowing that he loved her back. She would have been able to love Ron, marry Ron, and her love of Harry might have faded as a delicious, but unattainable dream.

But, no…Her face crumpled in anguish, and she pressed a blanket-wrapped fist to her mouth, not wanting to give rise to the sobs that clogged and tightened in her chest. She had known the reality of Harry's love…still knew it, in fact. She had seen the light in his smile, the glow flaring from his emerald eyes; she had felt his arms around her and his lips on hers; she had heard the low, impassioned words for her ears only. She wound the blanket more tightly around herself. That was hers, at least, hers alone, and she would not relinquish it. No one could make her do that.

The portrait hole opened, with a slight squeak, and Hermione straightened slightly, blinking back the dampness in her eyes and composing her features. Harry, Ginny, and Ron were the only students besides herself with the password.

“Ron,” she said, managing a smile that she hoped looked natural.

The lanky redhead smiled when he saw her, and moved across the room to sit beside her on the sofa. His eyes searched hers briefly, and then flitted to her left hand.

“Do - d'you like it?” he asked, almost shyly, and Hermione wondered if they'd ever have a natural conversation again.

She extended her fingers to look at the ring. “Yes, I do, Ron. It's lovely.”

“I expect Charlie and Fred and George will be getting married before too long, but,” and here his grin was impish, “I asked first.” She smiled again, but quickly grew serious.

“I - I wanted to say thank you,” she said softly.

Ron looked at her in a bemused way. “For what?” he asked, his voice light. Her brown eyes were solemn and dark, with pools of light in them, reflecting the glowing fire.

“You know what. If you hadn't….if I…Malfoy…” she stammered incoherently.

“Don't thank me, Hermione,” he said, with a half-grin, “it kind of ruins it.” He looked down, self-consciously. “Besides, I - I - I wanted to.” They glanced at each other for a moment, before Hermione's gaze returned to the firelight.

“Been quite a day, hasn't it?” Ron said congenially, after a moment.

“Yes,” Hermione admitted, “it has been that.”

“You'd think nobody had ever gotten married before.”

“They're going to be affected by this law too,” Hermione predicted darkly. “You'd think they'd be more worried about their own futures.”

“They think it's romantic,” Ron countered, with a shrug.

“They haven't had to -" Hermione realized what she was saying, and blundered to a ungainly halt. Ron looked at her sharply, but said nothing, reaching over instead to take her hand in his. He tilted her chin toward him with one finger, forcing her to look at him.

“I'm sorry, Hermione.” He saw her swallow hard, and she looked at him almost fearfully.

“Whatever for?” she asked, her voice rising a little. Her heart was pounding double-time.

“That this is happening this way.” He lowered his hand from her chin, but his eyes did not leave hers. “That you're not getting the proposal of your dreams, the wedding of your dreams, and the m - the man of your dreams,” he muttered the last part, hastily and in a low voice, finally dropping his gaze.

Hermione started. He looked at her again, and her dark eyes were questioning. How long have you known?

“It's pretty obvious, isn't it?” Ron spoke in an odd mixture of anger and sadness.

“But you would do this,” she flung out her left hand, gesturing toward her engagement ring, “anyway? Why?”

“Do you really have to ask that?” Ron said, incredulously, his voice soft. Hermione darted a glance at him, and flushed a deep red.

“It's not very fair to you,” she mumbled twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“It saves you. It saves H - him. You should have seen him; he's been a wreck from worrying over you. He knows I - I'll - "

“Yes,” Hermione said in nearly a whisper. “He knows.” She cleared her throat, and continued. “What do you get out of it?” she asked, almost rhetorically, afraid to hear his answer.

“I get to know that I helped my two best friends out of a jam,” he said, shrugging, trying to lighten up the moment, but his blue eyes remained dark and serious. “And - and - I - "

Hermione knew then what he was going to say, and put two fingers over his lips. “Don't say it,” she pleaded, her face anguished. “Please…not…not right now.”

Ron looked crestfallen, but his eyes were looking over her face with concern.

“Whatever you want, Hermione, but just know that I do.” She nodded, and tears began to fall in earnest.

“I know,” she said.

And then he held her while she cried over the injustice of it all.

TBC

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10. Chapter Ten

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

Oh and none of these people are mine…

What Might Have Been

Chapter Ten

“Ah, Harry…” Dumbledore said, as if Harry had just dropped round for tea. “So good to see you. Won't you sit down? And Miss Weasley as well, of course.” He gestured toward the squashy chintz armchairs that he seemed to inexplicably favor. The two students exchanged glances, and each took a seat. “Now,” the headmaster continued, “what can I do for you?”

“We - we wanted to - we wanted to ask you about the Marriage Law,” Harry began, unsure of where he needed to start. Dumbledore looked at Harry astutely.

“Does this have anything to do with a certain engagement that I've heard about?” he asked. Harry's cheeks burned.

“Yes, actually,” he said shortly.

“There is not a lot I can do, I'm afraid,” Dumbledore admitted. “I was hoping, against all hope, as it seems, that this law would not be passed, but there are nevertheless some very powerful Purebloods in the Ministry.”

“Haven't they learned anything at all? From the war with Voldemort?” Harry burst out, angrily.

“Harry, I'm afraid there are some, who are saying that the reason Voldemort was such a problem was because he was half-blood.”

“They're not!” Ginny exclaimed, half under her breath.

“I'd hoped for Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger to become a couple,” Dumbledore continued. Harry remembered the piercing look Dumbledore had given him in the corridor outside the Great Hall on the morning that the scrolls first arrived. “It will keep her safe for now.”

“But what about - ?” Harry burst out, and clamped his mouth tightly shut, before it could betray him. Dumbledore looked at him with sympathy.

“Harry, I'm afraid whatever relationship you and Miss Granger had will have to come to an end, at least with things the way they are now.” Harry felt something swell inside his chest, and his breathing grew more rapid. Something about hearing Dumbledore actually say it hurt more than anything else so far.

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head, “no, I don't accept that! I refuse to believe that there is nothing that can be done!”

“I didn't think that I would live to see a day where a Marriage Law was once again enacted. After all that we've been through in the name of Purebloodedness….” Dumbledore seemed to be thinking of something long ago. “If it were anyone else but you and Miss Granger, I would marry you myself.”

“Why not me?” Harry asked, despair trembling in his voice.

“You're the Boy Who Lived… and Hermione Granger is the Girl Who Helped You. You two are extremely high-profile, and would find it rather difficult to just disappear. There is the added fact that young Mr. Malfoy seems to have taken an interest in Miss Granger. You don't think that his pride would be hurt enough to have his father's associates track her down?”

This gave Harry pause.

“Not to mention the enmity he feels toward you. And you would be breaking the law. There are some who would garner complete pleasure out of making an example of you. Mr. Weasley's marriage would be legal, and he has my implicit trust that he would keep Miss Granger safe.”

Harry's shoulders slumped in defeat. His eyes, when he looked back up at the headmaster, seemed devoid of emotion.

“What about the D.A., sir?” he asked. “Is there anything we could do to help?” Dumbledore looked pleased.

“The word should be spread for the students to follow Mr. Weasley's and Miss Granger's example,” he said, “Before too many of our young ladies are married off to rich Death Eaters old enough to be their fathers.” Harry's eyes widened at the undercurrent of anger in Dumbledore's tone. “It is also possible that the Order could get involved in …extreme cases.” He looked at the two young people in front of him. “I assume I can trust you two to head this up.”

“Absolutely, sir,” Ginny said, excitedly. Harry nodded, something inside him grimly pleased to have something to keep his mind occupied…and off of Hermione.

Ron was mildly surprised when he woke up the morning after Hermione's arrival to find Harry gone. Although, he supposed he really should have been expecting it. He had felt something of the desire to flee himself, and could only imagine how much more magnified it would be in Harry.

“Hey,” he said to Hermione, as he clumped over to the breakfast table, where she was eating a bowl of oatmeal.

“Hey,” she replied, idly. Her cheek was propped up on one hand, as she read a book while she ate. He watched her covertly, as he stirred honey into his own bowl of oatmeal. A cloud of steam wafted between them. He didn't even realize that he had continued to stare, until she looked up at him, impatiently, closing her book with a snap.

“What?” she asked. He gazed at her idiotically, for a moment not even comprehending what she was talking about.

“Er…so Harry's off, then?” he said, grasping for the first subject that entered his head. She always made him feel so awkward and stupid. Why was he so nervous around her?

Hermione slumped a bit, and she played with her oatmeal listlessly. “Yeah…” she said slowly, as if the information had been dragged out of her unwillingly.

“He's been under a lot of stress, lately,” Ron added, helpfully. Hermione appeared not to have heard him at all.

“I hope he's going to be all right,” she said wistfully. Ron was forcibly reminded of the vigil she had kept at Harry's bedside in St. Mungo's. She was in love with him.

And I'm in love with her, Ron realized suddenly. Bloody hell.

It was very late when Harry entered the portrait hole leading to the Head common room. He had walked Ginny back to Gryffindor Tower, and they had spent a few moments whispering plans by the firelight. Harry was exhausted, in his body, in his mind, in his soul. He wondered if all days without Hermione would feel this tiring.

He pulled his foot over the rim of the portrait, and stopped, standing as still as if he'd been petrified. The fire had burned down very low, and Ron and Hermione were snuggled together, asleep, on the sofa.

Jealousy surged inside of him like the thrum of a combustion engine, but Pain was nipping at its heels. Didn't take you long, did it Hermione? He thought bitterly, even as he noticed the dried traces of tears on her cheeks.

Instantly his anger dissolved, and all he was left with was the pain of powerlessness, the heavy burden of having no control over his life.

He turned to go upstairs to his dormitory, but he must have made some involuntary, scarcely audible noise, for Hermione stirred. He froze.

“Harry?” she said, as her eyelids fluttered open.

Harry shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, and eyed her uncomfortably. There was a long awkward silence, broken only by the even rhythm of Ron's breathing. Hermione extricated herself out from under Ron's arm, and stood in front of Harry, nervously smoothing out her hair and her clothing.

“That…” Hermione indicated the sofa by waving one arm, “was….I was upset, and he held me.” She said simply, but with a tinge of guilt in her voice that quite annoyed Harry.

“Don't do that,” he said, bleakly. She blinked at him, bewildered. “Don't say that to me like you're…confessing or something. You didn't do anything wrong. You're engaged to him. And I have no right to care.”

“You have every right to care,” Hermione's voice was tremulous. “I gave you the right to care. I love you! And I always will.” Harry held up one hand, as if he did not want to hear it.

“You shouldn't even be saying that to me,” Harry said, anger cracking his voice. “Don't you care how he feels?”

“Well, you certainly seem to! Have you given any thought as to how this makes me feel?” Hermione answered hotly, her voice growing a little louder. “Harry Potter is so damned noble, sacrificing his happiness for the good of all, while Hermione Granger blithely goes off and marries the first bloke she finds, and they live happily ever after!” Her tone had grown bitter and ugly. Harry was taken aback at the sudden geyser-like force of her ire.

“I - " Harry stammered, trying to come up with some kind of verbal defense.

“Isn't that what you've been thinking?” Hermione insisted. “Isn't it?” Her eyes were wild and red-rimmed.

“No, that's not what I've been thinking,” Harry countered, but without much conviction in his voice. Hermione continued on, as if he had not spoken at all.

“Well, it's not true. You think it's so awful, that you'll be all alone or something, but what about having to be with someone you're not in love with? Being forced to marry them and make babies with them, all because some Pureblood is bleeding afraid of siring a Squib?” Her anger faded, and her voice was broken and sad, “Having to watch your dreams turn to ashes and fall through your fingers? You think that's easy?”

“I know it's not easy, because I've been feeling the same way!” Harry said, in a tone so intense that it seemed to resound around the room, even though it was not loud. “I've been wracking my brain all day, trying to figure out if there might not be some way out of it, but no! I'm the damned Boy Who Lived, and people out there are just waiting for me to screw up, so they can throw the book at me!”

Hermione lanced him with a sharp look. “You've been talking to Dumbledore.” It was not a question.

“You have too?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Four times,” Hermione said, looking at her feet self-consciously. “We've tried to think of any possibility, any loophole. Unfortunately - "

“—there's not one,” Harry finished for her. Hermione sighed.

“Evidently, Ron's was the first marriage proposal to be accepted and sent back to the Ministry. They want to make a big deal out of this wedding, show how well the Marriage Law is working…Minister Fudge wants to be at the wedding.”

Harry muttered something about what Fudge could do with his desire to be at the wedding blackly under his breath. Although the Ministry's motives did make sense. Ron…Hermione…two people who were closest to the Boy Who Lived…happy, beautiful, young…It was great PR, Harry had to admit.

“When will it be?” he asked, in the tone of one asking how long they had before succumbing to a terminal illness.

Hermione's eyes flickered up to meet his briefly.

“Well, you have 21 days to consider and send in the accepted proposal, and then - "

“Twenty-one days!” Harry exclaimed. “Hermione, you sent it back immediately. You could have stalled for time!”

“I know!” Hermione admitted, apologetically, biting her lip. “I wasn't thinking. I wanted Malfoy to know there was no way in - "

“It's not your fault,” Harry interjected. “How long until the wedding?”

“The Law says within 6 months…with a child on the way within the first year of the marriage. If a child is not produced, or if the child is a Squib, the marriage shall be dissolved, and new partners assigned. The marriage may be dissolved under mutual consent from both involved parties after two children are born.” Hermione said dully, obviously reciting the law from memory.

Somehow in the back of his mind, Harry had managed to ignore the fact that Hermione would have to have a baby, more than one actually, very quickly. Despair nudged him again, with the tip of his fiery knife.

Hermione must have seen something of that flash in his eyes, because she looked at him seriously, her eyes luminous and concerned. He watched her forehead crinkle and her bottom lip go between her teeth.

“Harry, I - " she began, but he stepped very close to her, and bracketed her face with his hands.

“I love you so much,” he said, very rapidly, as if talking to himself. “I don't know why I never realized it before. You've always been there, and I should have seen it. I wish we had more time.”

“I know, Harry, I know,” she spoke with a shushing noise, like one would use comforting a small child. Her hands fluttered aimlessly, across his shoulders, in his hair.

Her touch was inflammatory. Before he knew it, his arms were around her, pulling her close against the length of his body. He was practically breathing into her mouth, and she was looking at him, wide-eyed and silent, but she did not move away.

“Hermione,” he groaned, the word ripped from his soul, as a plea, as a protest, as a pledge. He saw the pulse beating rapidly in her neck, saw her eyes grow shiny and dark, as her pupils dilated, saw her lips part in a kind of breathless expectation.

He kissed her then, roughly, as one giving in to a baser desire. She made a noise, a kind of sob into his mouth, and melted against him, her arms twined around his neck. And he knew, he knew then, that if he carried her upstairs, she would not stop him.

Even as he felt her body against his, and held her tightly in his arms, he felt rational thought seep back into his brain. There was a small chuffing noise and a shower of sparks as the last log cracked in two and settled firmly into the bed of embers. Ron shifted on the sofa.

He stepped away from her, and Hermione's straight posture seemed to sag a little. They both sighed heavily, in unison.

“Hermione, I - " Harry ran one hand back through his hair, appearing at a loss for words.

She managed an unsteady, tight-lipped smile at him. His eyes flickered up the stairs for an instant, and came back down to meet hers. “You know I want - "

Her eyes crinkled at the corners. “Me too,” she said, a little shyly.

“You know why we…can't,” the last word stuck in his throat.

“We've had this conversation already, Harry,” she reminded him lightly. He could not smile back.

“Right,” he whispered hoarsely, his gaze drifting to her mouth. He suddenly looked much older than his seventeen years. “I'm just going to go on up…” he trailed off, and turned toward the stairs, climbing them slowly, as if it took much concentrated effort. Hermione watched him until he rounded the curve and vanished from sight. He did not look back.

Hermione's shoulders slumped, and she started for her own set of stairs, when Ron's sleeping form caught her eye. She padded quietly to his side, and watched him for a moment. He shifted a little and screwed up his face.

“'Mione,” he mumbled, never opening his eyes. Guilt stabbed at Hermione with a rapier blade. She didn't deserve him. He didn't deserve this. She pulled a blanket from where it was folded over the arm of one chair, and softly covered him over with it.

“Good night, Ronald.”

TBC

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11. Chapter Eleven

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

Oh and none of these people are mine…

What Might Have Been

Chapter Eleven

“How many does that make?” Harry asked, tiredly. Ginny looked down the parchment that she was holding in her hand, her lips moving slightly.

“Seven,” she answered with chagrin. “And that's not including Susan or Parvati.”

“That's too many,” he said. “Who bid for Susan?” Ginny consulted her list again.

“A Slytherin named Bole, and two forty-somethings. Addison is under suspicion of Death Eater activity. There were two Ravenclaws who said they were going to offer, but she hasn't heard from him.”

Harry winced. “Did you talk to Dean yet?”

Ginny shook her head, and made a notation with her quill. “Not yet. I'll try to catch him tonight in the common room.” She sounded a little reluctant to speak about something like this to an ex, and Harry didn't really blame her.

“How's Neville doing?” Ginny grinned up at him.

“He sent his owl for Parvati in tonight,” she said, then her eyes flashed as she laughed. “I can't believe Luna had twelve scrolls the day after she turned 17!” Harry shook his head, and smiled wryly.

“Most of those men just wanted their hands on the Quibbler fortune,” he said.

“Ick, and they were all so old!”

“We'll find somebody for her,” Harry said. He had a soft spot in his heart for offbeat Luna Lovegood. They smiled at each other for a moment, before looking back to their notes and making sure they had covered everything of importance.

“Harry?” Ginny asked, presently, as they were packing away their parchments and quills from where they had been spread all over a library table.

“Hmm?” Harry said absently, rolling one particularly large parchment into a fat scroll.

“You haven't - have you -" He cocked one eyebrow at her in amusement, as she stuttered and then flushed. “Some of the boys have started getting owls now,” she finished lamely.

“I've gotten seventeen,” he said flatly. He hadn't been terribly surprised, but had expected this enough to have Hedwig deliver his mail to his room now, rather than the Great Hall. The wizarding world tended to be a little more archaic than the Muggle world, but he had been sure that witches would be sending scrolls of their own eventually. And to him, especially, given his cursed high profile.

Ginny looked a little surprised that he had even told her.

“Several were from witches that weren't even of age yet,” he said, with chagrin. “And a lot of them were old enough to be my mum.” He sighed, shoving a quill and ink bottle into his bag. “I'm sure that's only the start of it. Who wouldn't want to be married to the Boy Who Lived?” He threw out his arms, sarcasm dripping from his words.

“Well, then you ought to make the choice, Harry,” Ginny said quietly, “before the choice gets made for you.”

“The choice has already been made for me, Gin,” Harry said heavily, referring to Hermione.

“Right,” she said faintly.

Harry stood on the bridge over the Volga, and stared out into the rippling depths. He had been traveling for two weeks now, and had expected some change in his spirit. What kind of change exactly, he didn't know, but isn't that why he'd left?

Bill…Percy…Seamus…Lavender…Padma … The guilt drove him relentlessly onward, only to travel with him, eating at him, mocking him. It kept him awake at night; it preoccupied him during the day.

Perhaps, he thought, this was Voldemort's final revenge, to ensure that even though Harry had liberated the wizarding world, that Harry himself would never be free. Harry puffed air abruptly through his nostrils, and smiled a cynical smile. He supposed that on some level, it was rather poetic.

But then he remembered Hermione, fiercely grabbing his shoulders, as he lay recuperating at St. Mungo's, and furiously telling him that it was not his fault. He remembered Ron and Hermione and their unadulterated support, even in the face of loss.

It was not his fault. He rolled the words around in his mind. He said them out loud, testing the feel of them in his mouth.

“It wasn't my fault,” he said, hesitantly, almost making it sound like a question. He tried it again, a little more loudly and assertively. “It wasn't my fault!” A businessman strolling across the bridge, and a lady selling flowers nearby looked at him strangely.

“It wasn't my fault,” he whispered to the river, as it gurgled and sloshed around the pilings of the bridge. It seemed to be reassuring him somehow, and Harry found the sound soothing.

“It wasn't my fault,” he said again. Maybe if he continued to say it, then one day, he would really believe it.

He began walking again, crossing the bridge to the opposite bank, trailing one hand along the bridge railing.

It was a beginning.

Ron looked sidewise at Harry, as they entered Defense Against the Dark Arts together. Harry looked drawn and tired, and there were purplish circles under his eyes. Hermione was already seated, having come from Arithmancy, and she stiffened visibly as they approached the table where she was seated. Harry and Hermione had been stiff and uncomfortable and awkward around each other, lately; each unsure of what the other needed or required at the moment.

Harry stopped to let Ron go in first and sit by Hermione, and he sat on the other side of Ron, who paused. Hermione usually sat in between them, so that she could assist them both if the need arose. Ron looked at Hermione, who made a kind of choked noise under her breath, and began feverishly scratching on some parchment, quill flying.

He looked at Harry, who was slumped in his seat as if he had not slept in days, his eyes unfocused, staring off somewhere into middle distance.

“Oy,” he said, nudging Harry. “You sick?” Harry jumped.

“What? Oh, no, I'm just tired,” Harry replied.

“You look sick,” Ron said, undeterred. Harry arched his brows, and managed a weak smile.

“Thanks a lot, mate,” he replied. “I'm fine, really.” Ron began to dig around in his bag, while Hermione shot a pained look at Harry, who was studiously ignoring her.

“Susan, what's wrong?” Neville said in surprise, as Susan Bones had suddenly burst into tears, drawing the attention of the rest of the class.

“N-n-nothing,” Susan stuttered, completely unconvincingly.

“Her deadline is up tomorrow,” Parvati offered, her voice sympathetic.

“Oh,” Neville said softly.

“I - I sent a scroll for you,” Dean suddenly spoke, keeping his eyes fixed solely on the desk in front of him.

Beside Ron, Harry straightened in his chair, and smiled suddenly. Susan gulped back a sob, and turned to look at Dean, managing a tremulous smile.

“Th-thank you,” she sniffled. Murmurs ran through the classroom.

“What about Elinor?” Someone whispered, referring to Dean's sometime Ravenclaw girlfriend.

“Didn't you see her at breakfast? She was really upset,” someone else whispered back.

“Well, I think this is bloody ridiculous!” Hermione burst out suddenly.

The other students fell as mute as if she'd struck them all with a powerful silencing charm. There were numerous creaking sounds as everyone shifted, all eyes turning to the Head Girl.

“I mean, really!” she continued, after pausing for a moment in consternation, “Making us marry when we're barely adults ourselves, to become little baby-making machines,” here someone giggled nervously. “Minister Fudge has obviously become out of touch with modern wizarding society!” The silence was thunderous.

“There's not even an age limit,” Susan hiccupped, recovering some of her lost composure. “We shouldn't have to worry about marrying someone older than our parents!” There were murmurs of assent from the other girls.

“We shouldn't have to marry anyone at all…unless we want to,” Hermione pronounced, giving no quarter. Ron's ears began to redden a little. Harry stared at Hermione, aghast. Was she going to blurt out everything?

“But, Hermione,” Parvati said, pointing out what everyone in the room had been thinking. “You're marrying your best friend.”

“I know, and I'm very lucky. I realize that,” she shot a fond glance at Ron, and Harry wanted to double over under the force of the envy that shot through him from head to foot. His jaw tightened. “But it doesn't change the fact that we're still being forced. No matter what you read in the Prophet, Ron and I are both still being forced!”

“And that's what we fought against Voldemort for!” Neville interjected, and everyone looked at him, surprised that he spoke up and that he said the Dark Lord's name.

“How did this law even get passed?” Parvati asked dejectedly.

“The Ministry can still be bought,” Harry spoke wearily, quoting Ginny. He turned and looked deliberately at the Slytherins in the classroom. “Even from Azkaban.” A few eyes darted covertly over to Draco Malfoy. Harry sighed heavily, and spoke again. “Listen, if anyone's having any…problems…with their marriage offers, please just come see me… or Ginny Weasley. We've been…er—working on things.”

Another murmur of assent rippled through the room.

“Oh please,” came the smooth voice of Malfoy, slicing into the quiet. “You poor put-upon little witches! Whatever will you do?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, as he stood up. “First of all, it is we Purebloods who should be upset that we're being forced to sully our lineage! The others should be grateful that they're even getting to align themselves with a Pureblood heritage.”

“If it wasn't for us, your whole magical line would eventually die out!” Hermione said angrily.

“And good riddance to it!” Dean added, fire in his tone.

“The Malfoys don't have anyone to blame for their sullied lineage but themselves,” Ron said with withering scorn. Hermione smiled gratefully at him. Malfoy's face darkened.

“I'm sure that blood traitors wouldn't know anything about sullied lineage!” Draco observed. “Look at the mudblood trash you're marrying!” Harry and Ron flew to their feet, their chairs scraping noisily, their wands out.

“I'd be very careful how I spoke about my fiancée, if I were you!” Ron seethed, pulling his wand, adding venomously, “You're just sore because she didn't want you.” Malfoy pulled his wand as well.

“I've got news for you, Weaselby,” he hissed. “It's not you she wants either!” The entire classroom froze. Harry was afraid to breathe. Hermione stood up defiantly, threading the fingers of her hand through Ron's in a gesture of solidarity. She withdrew her wand as well. Draco arched an eyebrow in surprise at her movement, and his gaze raked over her, as he spoke with amusement. “Really, Granger? One shag as good as another?” He let his eyes go deliberately to Harry. Harry stared back at him in horror. How would Malfoy know? Or had he just made a nasty guess that happened to be accurate? Harry tried his best to look nonchalant, but figured that his heart was pounding loudly enough for the Care of Magical Creatures class outside to hear.

“That is enough!” Lupin spoke suddenly and severely, though not loudly, and several people jumped. Nobody had even seen him enter the room. “If you will kindly take a seat!” Most of the students stared at him, bemused. “You're lucky I don't take points from the four of you for pulling your wands.”

Ron stared at Lupin as if the professor had somehow done something underhanded, but put his wand away. Malfoy put his wand back in his robes, with an air like he was doing it because it pleased him to do so, not because Professor Lupin told him to. He slanted a cocky grin at Hermione, and fielded glares from both Ron and Harry.

Hermione's expression became worried, as Draco turned to face the front of the classroom. She had a sickening feeling that the blond Slytherin was up to something.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry filed slowly out of the Ministry courtroom, feeling like they had been cheated. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley followed just behind them, Mrs. Weasley still sniffling into her handkerchief. Ginny was patting her mum on the back, while tears ran down her face as well.

Ron was visibly slumping, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, and Hermione slipped her arm through Ron's, saying nothing, but just letting him know by her touch that she was there. He looked at her gratefully for a moment, and then included Harry in his gaze as well.

“Thanks,” he started hoarsely, then cleared his throat, “…for coming - coming with me - us, I mean.” He spoke clumsily, like one who is afraid that if he speaks, he'll give the tears clearance to fall.

“It was important to us, Ron. You're important to us,” Hermione said fervently.

“Percy was family,” Harry added, his green eyes darkened with sympathy.

They rounded the corner then, and stopped short, as they came face to face with Draco Malfoy, and his mother.

Ron stiffened instantly, his face flooding with color, and then going pasty white. Harry thought for a moment that his best friend was going to be sick. All over Malfoy would be nice, he thought.

Draco gazed coolly at all of them, his arm through his mother's, who still looked like she smelt an unpleasant odor. She had been sobbing audibly in the courtroom, but her eyes were neither red nor puffy.

“You got my husband thrown into prison,” Narcissa observed, as if she were discussing an item on a menu.

“Your husband killed my son,” Molly Weasley choked, rage and grief rendering her voice barely understandable. Mr. Weasley's arm tightened around his wife's, and Ginny and Ron both moved to flank their parents, contempt clearly stamped on every feature.

Harry's glare was reserved for Malfoy alone, as he clearly dared Malfoy to try something. Go on, he thought, pull your wand…pull your wand, and I'll hex you into oblivion.

Draco seemed to read his irate thoughts, and one corner of his mouth turned up in his trademark smirk.

“Come on, Mum…Dad,” Charlie said softly, having appeared just behind them. Without sparing one glance for the Malfoys, he helped Ron and his sister escort their distraught parents away.

Hermione and Harry turned to follow as well, but Malfoy's gaze remained fixed on them both.

“Waiting for something, Malfoy?” Harry asked coolly.

“I won't forget this, Potter,” Malfoy spat. “This is not over.”

Harry and Hermione were seated in their common room, the blazing fire the only thing in the room giving off warmth. Hermione was at her desk, books towering around her in neat stacks, her quill a blur against a roll of parchment that was already dangling toward the floor. Harry was sprawled on the sofa, a book open on his lap that he was not reading. The book had been a prop, in case Hermione decided to berate him about efficient time management.

She had not spoken to him, since they had arrived after supper.

The silence went on, complete except for the scratch of Hermione's quill. Harry continued to sit, tension mounting in his spine. Finally, he stood in one hasty motion, and hurled his book across the room. It ricocheted off the wall, and knocked over a lamp, which then shattered all over the floor.

“Damn it, Hermione!” Harry yelled.

Hermione carefully laid down her quill, and turned to Harry slowly, her eyes drifting from the fallen book to the broken lamp.

“If you wanted my attention,” she said blandly, “you've got it.”

Harry glowered at her, but said nothing, as she padded across the common room, repaired the lamp, and handed him his book.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, wearily.

“I'm not doing anything!” She protested. He was shaking his head before she even finished denying it.

“Yes… yes, you are! You're - you're treating me like a stranger! After… after all - all this—and you're just - just going to sit there, and treat me like some kind of - some kind of - of roommate?!” he sputtered.

“You are my roommate,” she said, her face a mask. Harry swore violently, and looked as if he would like to throw the book again, but he restrained himself.

“You. Know. What. I. Mean.” He said, his voice low and dangerous. They glared at each other, while the fire crackled in the hearth.

“You were the one ignoring me in class today,” she accused.

“What? We're keeping score now?” Harry said sarcastically. Hermione's jaw trembled mutinously.

“What is it that you want me to do?” she cried. “What are you expecting from me?”

“I want you to be with me!” He shouted, his voice cracking under the force of the emotion.

“Then do something about it!” She shrieked, her voice going up so high that it muted. “At least, Ron is being pro-active about this situation.”

“Damn Ron!”

“You don't mean that,” she said softly.

“Yes, I do,” Harry said hotly, “I - " but some of the fight went out of him. He didn't hate Ron. He didn't blame Ron. He looked down at the floor miserably.

“Maybe I should go - move back to Gryffindor, I mean. It might be easier if - " Hermione began, and then jumped when Harry laughed. It was not pleasant, but bitter and mirthless.

“Easier?” he said, pain rattling through his voice. “Easier to have not only your love taken away from me, but your friendship too? You think that would be easier?” His tone was that of incredulity.

“No,” Hermione corrected, looking shamefaced, “I meant easier for - for me.” Harry blinked at her, stung.

“Hermione?” He asked, looking at her like she was someone he didn't know. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she hastened to apologize.

“I'm sorry…I didn't think - I just - I - " she swallowed a sob, and continued, straining to keep her voice even. “I shouldn't have assumed - I know this is as hard for you as it is for me…”

He reached out and took her hand in his.

“If this is what you need to do to be able to go on…” he began, but she shook her head violently.

“No,” she gulped. “No, I'll - I - the Trio is the best thing we have. I won't - I'm not going to destroy it.” He smiled then, and kissed the back of the hand he was holding, startled to discover that his own eyes were swimming with tears.

“Hermione, I - " he started to say, when there was a muffled thump against the outside of their portrait hole, like something heavy had fallen against the wall. They exchanged anxious glances. “What the hell?” Harry said, half to himself.

He pulled out his wand. “Stay here,” he cautioned her, and walked quietly over to the portrait hole, pushing it open.

Hermione had completely ignored him, and was right behind him, wand out.

It was late, and the corridors were only dimly lit by the torch sconces on the walls. “Lumos,” Harry said, and his wand tip lit the hallway brightly.

There was something crumpled against the wall, just to one side of their passageway. Harry lifted his wand higher, and Hermione shrieked, clambering past Harry into the hallway.

“Hermione, wait, we don't - " Harry said frantically. Hermione looked at him beseechingly, cutting him off.

“Harry, it's Ron!” Harry joined her in the corridor, crouching down beside his two best friends.

Ron lolled his head toward the light, evidently barely conscious. Hermione gasped. His shirtfront was bloody, and his face was swollen and badly bruised. He was cradling one arm to his side.

“Ron?” Hermione cried, her brow knit with anxiety. His head slumped against her shoulder, smearing her shirt with blood, as he tried to speak.

“Warn…” he managed, before losing consciousness completely.

TBC

I'm so angry right now after reading a particular review, that I've half a mind to just delete this story. I can't believe people can't just read the damn story through to the end before deciding to do me bodily harm….or other disgusting things. Absolutely unbelievable! This is fiction, okay? It's not even original fiction! Geez…

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12. Chapter Twelve

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

AN2: To everybody that left a review of chapter 11…thank you so much. I was so angry and my feelings were very hurt with that terrible flaming review, and you all made me feel so much better. It is so gratifying to know that so many people have gotten emotionally invested in your story. Anyway, you are all too nice for me to ditch this story before the end. So here is chapter 12, with my thankfulness!!

What Might Have Been

Chapter Twelve

Madame Pomfrey clucked her tongue, as she ran her wand over Ron's injuries. Harry and Hermione stood to one side, watching anxiously. Harry was quite obviously holding Hermione up. They had levitated Ron to the hospital wing, but he had not yet regained consciousness.

“Somebody - probably more than one - has beaten him rather badly,” Madame Pomfrey said. “He has some severe bruising, and that laceration will have to be sealed. His left arm and three ribs are broken. There doesn't appear to be any organ damage…if that's true, he'll probably be all right.” Harry and Hermione sagged toward each other in visible relief.

“Do you know who did this?” came the familiar voice of the Headmaster, who had just entered the ward behind them.

“All Ron managed to say was the word `warn', before he passed out,” Hermione replied. Harry's eyes narrowed.

“It was Malfoy…or some of his goons,” he said, with certainty in his voice, thinking of Malfoy's warning in the Ministry the day his father was sentenced. This is not over.

“Harry, are you sure?” Hermione asked. Harry thought of Lucius Malfoy leering at Hermione from the chained chair in the courtroom. Had he known even then? The Ministry can still be bought with enough galleons. Even from Azkaban. His jaw set.

“I'm positive,” he declared.

Dumbledore did not appear surprised, but perhaps a little saddened that it had come to this. “I have something, Harry, that perhaps you would like to see,” he said softly. “If you would come to my office with me.”

Harry threw a questioning glance at Ron's bedside. Hermione was standing nearby, with one hand resting lightly on top of Ron's. Madame Pomfrey assured them that she would notify them if anything changed.

“Are you going to be okay here by yourself?” Harry asked Hermione. She looked up at him then, and the incredible surge between them would have been obvious to a blind man. Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey exchanged sympathetic glances. “Sir,” he turned to the headmaster, “if Ron was attacked because of He - because of the engagement, then Hermione shouldn't be alone.”

“I'll stay right here, Mr. Potter,” the mediwitch assured him, as she carefully applied salve to the worst of Ron's bruises.

With one lingering backward glance at his two best friends, Harry left the ward with Dumbledore.

He was in Greece when an unfamiliar owl arrived carrying his Hogwart's letter. He was a little surprised that he got it, but remembered the addresses on his first letter “The Cupboard Under the Stairs”…of course they knew where he was.

It was bulkier than those letters of years gone by, but he was still pleasantly surprised when the shiny gold emblem that was the Head Boy badge dropped into his hand. He supposed that he'd thought the honor would go to Ron, who had been prefect after all.

Head Boy…he was Head Boy. He knew Hermione would be Head Girl…there had never been any doubt in his mind that she would attain the position easily.

He felt a pleasant warmth seep through him at the thought of Hermione, and was vaguely surprised at himself. What was Hermione to him? His best friend obviously, but nothing more.

He told himself that emphatically a couple of times. She's my best friend. My best friend.

He thought of her fiery eyes and determined visage as she shouted, in unison with Ron, “Lux Prevalet!” She had never wavered; she had been there, at his side where she had always been, just when he needed her most.

Lux Prevalet. The light conquers. The light prevails. The power from the combination of the three wands had blasted Voldemort out of existence.

He could not have done it without them. Without her.

The light prevails.

She was his light.

Why had he not seen it before? Suddenly, he felt eager to return to school.

Harry rolled up the parchment after reading it carefully, and looked back up at Dumbledore, who had been sitting patiently and in silence at his desk.

“It's true?” Harry asked, unable to believe what he had just seen.

“We have no proof, only suspicions.” Dumbledore said. “But I think our faith has been misplaced long enough.”

Harry paused, unsure of what exactly the headmaster meant.

“What are you going to do, sir?” Dumbledore's eyes twinkled briefly.

“The correct question is, what are you going to do, Harry?”

“Me?” Harry asked blankly.

“It is obvious that Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are in more danger than I had previously thought. The law gives them six months, but I think that perhaps it should be sooner.”

“Sooner?” Harry's voice was a protest. He held the piece of parchment up, “But what about this?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, as if he'd just remembered about the contents of that particular scroll. “yes, something will need to be done about that.” Harry waited, but apparently that was all Dumbledore had to say on the subject. Harry felt himself growing annoyed.

“This is ridiculous!” he shouted suddenly. “We're just - we're leaving - Hermione and I - I'm just going to take her, and we'll go away. We'll take on new identities, and change the way we look, and we'll just go!”

“Then the people who passed the Marriage Law have already won,” the headmaster observed softly. “You are consigning every young witch and wizard being manipulated by this law to their fate.” Guilt prodded at Harry, and this irritated him further.

“What do you expect me to do?” Harry growled in frustration. “Why am I so bloody important? Why don't you do whatever it is that needs to be done?”

“The Wizengamot may have reinstated me, but I have far less credibility with those who are in power than I used to have. Harry, whether or not you like it, or even want to admit it, you are Harry Potter…the Boy Who Lived. And may I say, one of the most powerful young wizards I have come across in quite some time,” Dumbledore paused, and Harry wondered absently if he was thinking of Tom Riddle. “With power, there is also responsibility and obligation.” Harry gazed at him blankly. “People would listen to you, I think, if you chose to speak.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something else, but Dumbledore continued as if he had not noticed.

“On your way back to the hospital wing, I suggest you pick up Miss Weasley, and let her know about what has happened to her brother.” Harry stood up, understanding that he was obviously being dismissed. He was halfway to the spiral stairs, when the headmaster added, “You might want to speak to Miss Lovegood as well.”

“Luna?” Harry turned around, mystified.

“I believe the deadline you have to answer any marriage proposals is approaching. As is hers. She is Pureblood, I believe?” Harry sighed heavily, feeling weary beyond his years.

“But, Professor - " he protested. Dumbledore looked him straight in the eyes.

“All you are doing,” he said succinctly, “is buying time for Miss Lovegood,” then added, “and for yourself as well. If this can be stopped,” he gestured toward the crumpled piece of parchment in Harry's hand, “perhaps all hope is not lost for you and Miss Granger.”

Harry's eyes suddenly came alight.

There were still a few students in the Gryffindor common room when he arrived, and he had one of the older girls run upstairs and get Ginny. She came down, bleary-eyed and yawning, in a baggy t-shirt and flannel pants.

Her eyes became instantly alert when he told her about Ron.

“Is he okay?” Harry nodded.

“He's been beaten up pretty badly, but Madame Pomfrey thinks he'll be fine.”

“Was it Malfoy?”

“I'm pretty sure it was,” Harry said grimly, and then grabbed her arm, pulling her very close to him. “Listen,” he said. “Dumbledore just showed me something…can you keep a secret?”

Ginny nodded, her eyes wide as she looked up into his serious face. He spoke to her in a low whisper, showing her the parchment.

“If it's true, and we can prove it, we might be able to stop all of this. Let's go check on Ron.”

“Do you really think it can be done?” Ginny whispered, as they climbed through the portrait hole, headed for the infirmary.

“We're going to need to send out a few owls. And someone is going to have to keep an eye on Malfoy.”

“Where are we going to send the owls?” Ginny was mystified.

“Well, to Amelia Bones and Gringotts…and maybe a couple of other places. I'm not sure,” Harry admitted. “Dumbledore has given me some hints, but he's basically thrown this at me, without much other information.” He rolled his eyes. “I wish the old man didn't feel the need to talk in riddles all the time.”

Ginny smiled a bit then, though her eyes still betrayed her worry for her brother. “It's a wizard's prerogative. Didn't you know that, Harry?”

“It's damned annoying is what it is,” Harry grumbled, but he only half-meant it.

When they arrived in the hospital wing, Hermione was still sitting at Ron's bedside, her brow knit with anxiety. The low light in the ward glinted off of the stones in her ring. Harry felt despair take up its customary place on his shoulder. Ginny rushed up to Ron's side, and began plying Madame Pomfrey with questions. Harry watched, feeling helpless, feeling responsible, feeling guilty, and yet still part of him wanted to chuck it all and leave.

At that moment, Ron blinked and began to stir. Hermione let out an excited cry, and Madame Pomfrey turned from where she was talking with Ginny. The mediwitch started running some diagnostics over him with her wand.

“Ron?” Hermione said questioningly.

“Feel like…someone opened … crate of Bludgers…” Ron said raspily.

“Ron, who did this?” Harry interjected, his face looking deadly serious.

“Know…Goyle…didn't seem `em all,” Ron spoke with effort.

“How many were there?”

“I think … five..” Ron coughed, then grimaced, “..hurts to breathe.”

“You've some broken ribs, young man,” Madame Pomfrey said severely, managing to make it sound like Ron's own fault.

“What did they tell you?” Harry said, still sounding businesslike. “You said `warn' before you passed out. Who are you supposed to warn?”

“Mal…foy - Goyle said…you…'n'Mione - his father… and the law…he wants her to - I …supposed…take it back, so he can - " He coughed again, and then vomited weakly off the side of his bed. The other three students backed hastily away from the bedside, as Madame Pomfrey scourgified the mess, and began spooning a viscous magenta liquid into his mouth.

“That's enough,” she said authoritatively. “You three need to leave, and let my patient get some rest.”

“Please, Madame Pomfrey,” Hermione said, in an uncharacteristically hesitant tone. “May I stay with him?”

Harry saw Madame Pomfrey's eyes drift down to Hermione's left hand, and the mediwitch nodded. “Of course, dear.” Harry and Ginny had begun to drift towards the door, but had stopped when Hermione spoke. Madame Pomfrey shooed them the rest of the way out.

When they had gotten a few paces outside of the hospital wing, Harry startled Ginny by slamming one hand into the wall, and swearing violently.

“Harry, what's wrong?” she asked, her eyes wide.

He leaned against one wall, his head in his hands. Ginny noticed blood trickling from his knuckles, where the rough stone had abraded the back of his hand.

“She's staying with him,” he said, almost as if he did not believe it. Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but he plowed on. “And, why shouldn't she? They're getting married. But I really hate it…and what kind of person does that make me?”

“It makes you human, I think,” Ginny observed, sliding closer to him, until she leaned against the wall next to him. “But don't forget, she's his friend. She would have stayed if it had been you too.”

“Dumbledore wants them married soon,” Harry said. “After what's happened to Ron…” he trailed off for a moment. “He said this marriage would keep her safe!” Anger vibrated in his voice again. “You didn't see - " he thought of Lucius Malfoy, leering at Hermione. He thought of Draco's whispered threat, This is not over! “I'm not sure there's any way to keep her safe now.”

“Yes, there is,” Ginny said, confidence creeping into her voice. “We can stop this.” Harry looked at her gratefully when she used the word “we”. She glanced up at him uncertainly, eying him for a moment. “Have you - have you thought about talking to Ron?”

“About what?”

“About,” she swallowed, “Hermione.” Harry eyed her dourly.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because maybe he… if he knew, he - " She colored prettily, and could not finish. Harry arched one eyebrow at her.

“He could keep it a marriage in name only?” he said dryly. Ginny wouldn't look at him.

“If this works, they could have the marriage annulled…and everything would be fine,” she said.

“You forget that he's in love with her.”

“So are you!” Ginny protested. Harry's eyes drifted down the hall in the direction of the hospital wing, where Hermione waited, sitting with her fiancé. He felt bile rise in the back of his throat.

“Yeah…” he said vaguely.

Hermione slit open her Hogwart's letter, using a carefully placed “Diffindo” charm. A heavy golden object fell out into her palm. She stared at it, disbelievingly, for a moment. She was Head Girl.

If she allowed herself to think logically, she had known she was the most likely candidate. But there was still a little fear that she would not be chosen, born out of her innate fear of failure, fear of rejection.

It was part of the reason why she had never mentioned her feelings for Harry to anyone.

She could see him now, flushed and uncomfortable, looking away from her, completely embarrassed. “Hermione,” he would stammer, not meeting her eyes. “You're my best friend and you're very important to me. But I - I -" Don't love you. He would not be able to say those words out loud. He would look guiltily at her, as if he felt bad for not being in love with her.

And she would laugh, and say not to worry about it, and that she was just being silly. And she would try not to cry until she got back to her dorm.

And then everything would be stilted and awkward between them. They would stop studying together. Harry would find reasons to avoid her, and she him. Ron would drift back and forth between them in confusion, but he would eventually choose Harry.

And she would be alone. Again. Just like first year. Hermione the bookworm, the bossy know-it-all, with no friends.

She rubbed her thumb over the shiny patina of the Head Girl badge, and smiled.

No, she would never tell him.

Hermione quietly entered the Head common room, as the first rays of light were projecting over the horizon. The western sky was still a dusky purple-blue. She walked quickly to the stairs, hoping that she could get a couple hours sleep in her bed, before her first class. Ron was doing much better, but her step was heavy, her face drawn. Dumbledore had come to see them, just before dawn, and what he had to say had been most unwelcome.

Her foot halted in mid-air, as she was about to step onto the first tread of the stair. Harry was laying sprawled out on the couch, still fully dressed, evidently in a light uneasy sleep. She paused, started across the common room toward him, stopped, started back toward the stairs, stopped again. She looked back.

“Hermione, what are you doing?” Harry said, making her jump. He had not opened his eyes. She narrowed her eyes at him, but crossed the common room again, and sat in one of the chairs. He sat up, running both hands through his hair, and then pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I hate it when I fall asleep in my glasses,” he said, annoyed.

“What's the matter?” he asked, when he looked up at her. She was sitting on the edge of the chair, looking at him pensively. His eyes darkened in worry. “How's Ron?”

“Oh, he's fine,” she said, managing to smile. “He's a lot better. Madame Pomfrey said he might be able to leave tomorrow.”

“That's great,” Harry said, sincerely. They sat in silence for a moment. Hermione was watching him again. A beam of sunlight splashed through the window and landed in a puddle on the floor.

“Dumbledore came to see us a little while ago,” Hermione finally said.

“And?”

“He wants us to get married this weekend.” Harry shot to his feet, and then stared down at her stupidly, unsure of what he was hoping to accomplish.

“What? Why?” he stammered. Hermione was looking studiously at her feet.

“He thinks it will be safer. He thinks Malfoy will give up once the marriage has gone through. He thinks the pressure may be off of some of the other girls, once this `example' marriage has happened successfully.”

Harry sank back down to a sitting position on the sofa. “I am getting good and bloody well tired of what he thinks,” he said sourly. “Ron's supposed to be keeping you safe, but he gets beaten within an inch of his life… where does that leave you?”

“Professor Dumbledore's doing the best that he - " Hermione began, but Harry cut her off.

“And it's not good enough, is it? It's not helping us.” He leaned back on the sofa, and felt something crinkle in his pocket. The parchment. He jumped back to his feet, and Hermione looked at him in bewilderment. “There may be a way…” he trailed off, not wanting to say more, in case it didn't work.

“Harry…?” she said.

“I've got to talk to Ginny!” he shouted, and was gone, the portrait hole closing with a snap behind him. Hermione's face was a mask of hurt and confusion.

“Ginny?” she said aloud to the empty common room.

TBC

Next chapter: Ginny and Harry work on his plan. And a confrontation between the Trio.

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13. Chapter Thirteen

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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14. Chapter Fourteen

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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15. Chapter Fifteen

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

Oh and none of these people are mine….

What Might Have Been

Chapter Fifteen

“They - they want to - to what?” Harry stuttered, feeling unable to comprehend exactly what was going on.

Ginny and Ron had stood as one from their seats across the room, unsure up to that moment exactly what they were doing there. They were both shouting at the same time. Harry caught something about “bloody nonsense” and “everybody hates Malfoy anyway.”

“It's - it's not a secret that Malfoy and I were not friends,” Harry began tentatively, his voice strengthening as he continued to talk. He felt Hermione's reassuring presence close behind him, although they were not touching. “But…that could be said of Malfoy and a lot of people.” Narcissa let out an angry noise that sounded like half-sob, half-sigh.

“We've been in Diagon Alley all day,” Hermione said stridently. “We left after… after…” her eyes flickered over to Ron, and everyone in the room turned to look at him. He flushed slightly.

“They came to visit me in the hospital wing this morning…together,” he admitted, then swallowed, adding, “Then they told me they were Flooing to Diagon Alley… for wedding s - stuff.” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Harry was with me early this morning,” Ginny added, her face defiant. “We were studying in the library.”

“When did Malfoy disappear?” Hermione demanded. “What time was it?”

“I assume there are people at the shops who can verify your presence?” Cornelius Fudge was looking a little discomposed, ignoring Hermione's question.

“I - " Hermione hesitated. They hadn't been anywhere near any kind of shop that could be construed as having anything to do with weddings.

Cornelius Fudge flicked his fingers toward Harry, with a glance at the Aurors, who stood up, and advanced toward Harry. They did not look terribly thrilled at the prospect of arresting the Boy Who Lived.

“We went to Gringotts,” Hermione burst out suddenly. “And the Daily Prophet.” Harry looked at her, but she continued. “I wanted to have a wedding announcement posted. And we went to the bookshop.”

“Trust Hermione to go in a bookshop if there's one around,” Ron interjected, and she smiled gratefully at him.

“I didn't really see anything I liked at Madame Malkin's,” Hermione admitted. “We just looked in the window, but I think I'll try Hogsmeade tomorrow.”

The Auror flicked his wand, and Harry was immobilized. The other Auror relieved Harry of his wand. Harry and Hermione exchanged frightened, angry glances.

Dumbledore stood suddenly, in a surprisingly agile move for such an old man, and began to place himself in between Harry and the Aurors. At the same time, a shocked voice said suddenly,

“Cornelius!” It was Amelia Bones, who had just entered the common room through the Floo, evidently having found out where her boss had gone and what he was up to. “What is the meaning of this?”

“This young man,” Fudge gestured toward Harry with some distaste, “is under arrest for questioning regarding Draco Malfoy's disappearance.” Amelia's eyes snapped dangerously.

“As head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, why was I not informed of this?” Fudge opened his mouth to speak, but Madame Bones continued, “I could have saved you a lot of time and effort, Cornelius. I know that Harry and Hermione were in town today about the…wedding. They came to see me, as a matter of fact.”

“You?” Fudge said incredulously.

“My niece is quite good friends with them. They stopped by for a visit.” She turned toward Harry and Hermione and smiled. “You must do it again sometime.” Then her attention was on her Aurors. “You will release him at once, and return his wand to him.”

The Aurors wavered, their eyes flicking uncertainly back and forth between Fudge and Madame Bones. Finally, the one holding Harry's wand extended it back out to him. Fudge grew red in the face, looking apoplectic.

“This will mean your job, Wilkins!”

“That falls under my jurisdiction, Cornelius!” Madame Bones interposed. The spell on Harry was removed, and he moved his limbs around experimentally.

“Excuse me!” Narcissa had stood to her feet, looking imperiously haughty. “But what about my son?”

“Your son,” Madame Bones began, but then stopped, obviously trying to compose herself. She started anew, “Your son is seventeen years old. He has been missing for less than a day. It is much more likely that he has run off to do something irresponsible than this thing of which Harry is being accused. Without evidence, I might add.” Her voice rang across the common room. “It is a shameful way to treat someone who saved our lives and preserved our way of life for us. Where would we be without this young man here?” Harry began to grow red in the face at Madame Bones' praise. She looked reprovingly at the Minister of Magic, who, Harry began to suspect, was a little afraid of the head of MLE.

“Amelia, this young man is dangerous,” Fudge protested. “He is a rebel, a malcontent. There have been reports that he is helping young ladies break - "

“What reports?” Madame Bones overrode him smoothly. “I have seen no such reports. I suspect such rumors probably began at this school…and probably in Slytherin House.” She glanced disdainfully at Narcissa Malfoy, who bristled. “The next time you decide to arrest a student, Cornelius - "

“He's of age!” Fudge interposed hotly.

“ - make sure you have evidence first,” Amelia continued as smoothly as if Fudge had not even opened his mouth.

“I think it would be best if you leave, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said softly, looking slightly saddened by this turn of events, but his eyes still flashing with the force of someone to be reckoned with. Fudge looked as if he would like to speak again, but his eyes darted around to the audience present in the common room, and he appeared to think better of it.

“There will be an investigation into this disappearance, Mr. Potter!” Fudge said, as threateningly as he could, while quite obviously retreating. “If we find the slightest hint of your involvement….”

“You will be quite welcome to come arrest me, Mr. Minister,” Harry finished for him, somewhat cheekily.

Narcissa followed Fudge and the Aurors out of the portrait hole, looking at Harry as if he had been found standing over Malfoy's bloody corpse, with green smoke still trailing from his wand.

Harry quite visibly relaxed as the portrait hole snapped shut behind them, and he sank down onto the cushions of the sofa. Hermione was sitting next to him, one arm around his shoulders, protectively.

“Is it - is it true, Professor?” Hermione asked quietly. “Malfoy's really gone?”

“I'm afraid so, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore answered. “He did not arrive at his Potions class this morning, and there has been no trace of him seen since.”

“Do they - do they really think that somebody…did something to him?” Harry said, his voice sounding a little strangled.

“Wouldn't surprise me,” he heard Ron mutter, as the Weasleys came over to join the gathering near the fireplace. He felt Hermione's arm slide off of his shoulders.

“No one really knows anything yet,” Dumbledore admitted. “What the Minister did was ill-thought out and extremely premature. Apparently, he feels somewhat threatened by you.” Amelia Bones grunted in agreement. “Slytherin House isn't talking, of course, but we have had a few students from other houses report that Malfoy was boasting about something big that was going to happen soon.”

“Something big?” Hermione asked, her eyes wide. “What could he possibly do? The Death Eaters are in jail, or scattered. His father's in Azkaban. Voldemort's dead…”

“Well, if he left on his own, he's certainly not up to anything good!” Ron declared.

“And if he didn't?” Hermione said quietly.

“Good riddance!” Harry and Ron snorted in perfect unison, and then looked at each other sheepishly. Hermione looked at them reprovingly.

“I'll have the Department take a look at this,” Madame Bones said. “I feel that it's safe to say that nobody here is going to be arrested.”

“I would not have allowed them to remove you from Hogwart's,” Dumbledore said gently, looking intently at Harry, who nodded.

“I know, sir.”

Dumbledore stood then, and gave Harry another enigmatic look. “I trust your and Miss Granger's errands were… productive?” he asked. Harry stared back at him gravely, and gave one solemn, slow nod. Dumbledore gave him the slightest of smiles, before turning to the portrait hole.

“Madame Bones?” Harry asked in a low voice, as the MLE director stood and headed for the fireplace.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Do people in Azkaban - can they get owl post?” he asked. She gave him a wondering look at his seemingly bizarre question.

“Well, there are a couple of Aurors who guard the island that receive mail, but they don't actually stay in the prison itself. The dementors would make that quite impossible,” Madame Bones said thoughtfully. “I guess friends or family might send owl post from time to time, but the prisoners aren't really going to be in a mental state where they could respond.”

“Could you - " Harry began, and hesitated, still unsure of how many liberties he should ask for. Madame Bones put one hand on his shoulder, and looked directly into his eyes.

“Harry, if it is in my power to do, I'll do what you ask. Now tell me,” she said encouragingly.

“Could you make sure Lucius Malfoy is actually imprisoned?” he asked. “And can you find out if anyone is sending him anything, and who it is?” Madame Bones seemed surprised at his requests, but considered them gravely and nodded.

“I'll let you know if we find anything,” she said, before Flooing back to her office.

“So where were you today, really?” Ginny asked, her eyes flashing in excitement. “Did you get it?”

A grin made its way, unbidden, over Harry's features. “Yeah,” he said, smiling back at her. “You were right, by the way,” he added, as he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, and pulled out a small packet. “Buying the Prophet was a good idea.”

“Wait a minute,” Ron said, looking confused. “You told him to buy the Prophet? And you,” here, he looked at Harry, “did?” Ginny and Harry nodded. “Why?”

“I wanted to look at a back issue, and they wouldn't let me,” Harry said, as if it were the most natural course of action to take.

“Right,” Ron said, his look obviously saying that Harry was quite mad.

“Let me see it,” Ginny said, as Harry unfolded the paper carefully. He had magically made a duplicate of the page, which contained a fairly large photograph. Underneath read the caption “Yorkshire Chapter of the Pureblooded Alliance.” Every now and then, someone in the photo raised a clenched fist, or shouted a soundless taunt.

“There he is,” Harry said, pointing at a young man in the middle of the group. “Cornelius Fudge…third row, fifth from the left.”

“And look,” Hermione added, leaning in over his shoulder to point at the picture. “That's got to be a Malfoy…it must be Lucius's father.” The white-blond hair and haughty demeanor were undeniable.

“What's the Pureblooded Alliance?” Ron asked.

“It's what the Death Eaters used to be called,” Hermione told him flatly. Ron swallowed, and his Adam's apple bobbed visibly.

“Oh,” he said, not knowing what else to add. The awkwardness from that morning had been shunted aside in the fear of Harry's imminent arrest, but it had not disappeared. “So, what're you going to do now?” he asked, trying to sound natural.

“Can't do anything right now,” Harry said laconically. “I'm still waiting on something from Gringotts, and I'll have to hear from Madame Bones too.”

“Isn't the picture good enough?” Hermione asked, her voice strained. She darted a glance over at Ron, who wouldn't meet her gaze. Harry understood. She was trying to tactfully ask if the wedding would have to go forward anyway.

“No, not really,” Harry said reluctantly. “It might make a good story in the Prophet, and everybody would talk about it for a few days, but Fudge would just say he was young and foolish, and that was before everybody realized what the Alliance's agenda was. We've got to have proof of Fudge doing something wrong now.”

The four teenagers sat glumly for a moment. Ron was slouched against the arm of a chair, one hand flat against his side. Harry wondered if his ribs were bothering him.

“Damn Malfoy anyway,” Ron swore, as he shifted positions and winced. “We still have a score to settle.”

“You don't think he's planning something, do you?” Ginny asked, darting a quick glance at Harry.

“I wouldn't put anything past Draco Malfoy,” Harry said gloomily.

“Well, Luna said - " Ginny began, but stopped abruptly, when Harry suddenly sat up, and slapped his hand on the arm of the sofa.

“Luna! Dammit!” He exclaimed, and stood to his feet, looking frustrated and annoyed.

“What?” Ginny and Hermione said together, when no further explanation seemed to be forthcoming.

Harry rolled his eyes and looked self-conscious. “I was supposed to … our deadlines - mine and Luna's - are up tomorrow. I have to - Dumbledore said - "

“You're going to propose to Luna,” Hermione said dully, even as she tried to smile.

“Uh….yeah…” Harry said, running one hand through his chronically disheveled hair. He couldn't look at Hermione, but noticed that Ron seemed slightly more cheery. “I'm going to tell her…I mean, that it's just in case - you know, if nothing - if Saturday - " He was unsure as to how much he should say in front of Ron, so he just blundered to a stop. “I guess I should get something to the Ministry, and then go talk to Luna.” He proceeded over to his desk, and dipped his quill in a bottle of ink, and carefully wrote a few sentences. “I should take this over to the Owlery,” he said to nobody in particular. “Ginny, can you get me in Ravenclaw's common room?”

“Sure,” Ginny said cheerfully. “But you're Head Boy….you could get in there yourself.” Harry looked at her blankly, holding a scroll rolled up in his hand.

“Oh,” he said airily, as if he'd just forgotten that particular item, “of course.” She looked at him wryly for a moment, not fooled.

“But I'll go with you anyway,” she said, jumping to her feet, and opening the portrait hole.

It had been Hermione and Tonks who had found him.

The battle was over, the dead had been removed, and the injured had been evacuated. Harry and Ron had both been transported to St. Mungo's. Hermione had dashed away protests that she was hurt too, accepted a bandage for the cut on her head, and then proceeded to accompany Tonks, as the Aurors searched Hogwart's.

“I have to,” she said, simply, as Mrs. Weasley all but ordered her to St. Mungo's. “If - when Harry wakes up, he's going to want to know. I have to be able to tell him that we got them all.” Mrs. Weasley had fluttered her hands a little in protest, but had let her go.

And there he was…just around a corner, just out of sight enough so that Hermione nearly fell over him sprawled there in the hallway. Hermione's mouth curled downward as she took in his prone form. Draco Malfoy.

He was unconscious, legs and arms akimbo, as he lay where he had fallen or had been thrown. One lock of white-blond hair tumbled down on his aristocratic forehead. She knelt down beside him.

“He's been stunned,” Hermione announced.” Tonks located his wand, where it had rolled just a few feet away from him, and tested it.

“He didn't cast any Unforgiv…” Tonks trailed off, and Hermione gasped, as they both noticed the pool of blood at the same time. Malfoy's shirt sleeve was soaked in it. Tonks pushed it up to see a jagged, bleeding weal, slashing its way down the Slytherin's forearm, curving from his elbow to his palm.

“What're you going to do with him?” Hermione asked. Tonks pocketed Malfoy's wand.

“Take him to St. Mungo's,” she replied.

Hermione looked almost disappointed.

Harry had never been in the Ravenclaw common room before, and stood still for a moment, taking in the tasteful blue themed furnishings. Mahogany bookshelves lined a couple of walls, and there were several desks at the far end of the room. Typical Ravenclaw, Harry mused, and then grinned, as he thought how envious Hermione probably was of their common room.

Ginny stopped a younger student. “Is Luna Lovegood upstairs?” she asked, after not seeing her in the common room. The second-year went to go see, and a murmur threaded its way around the room. Harry flushed as he felt the weight of curious eyes on him. It would be quite obvious that this dealt with the marriage law, if he and Ginny were approaching someone together.

“How about a nice public proposal, Harry?” Ginny hissed in his ear, teasing.

“Sod off, Ginny,” he whispered back, and she snickered at him.

Luna came down stairs a moment later, appearing, as always, to drift rather than walk. Her hair was twisted into a spiky knot on top of her head, and her earrings were blinking red and yellow lights. Her eyes were as vague and dreamy as ever.

“Hello, Harry, Ginny,” she said with an ethereal smile. “Are you here to marry me off?”

Harry swallowed, having not expected her to be so forthright.

“Actually…” he began, and then paused, acutely aware of the observation of the other Ravenclaws. “Could we step outside?”

“Why not?” Luna said, showing no curiosity whatsoever. The three of them clambered through the Ravenclaw entrance, and stood out in the corridor.

“I wanted to let you know that I would be sending a scroll for you, Luna,” Harry said, in a rushed voice, trying to get it all out in one breath.

“How lovely,” was Luna's surprisingly normal response. “Thank you, Harry.” Ginny and Harry exchanged dubious glances. This was it? No remarks about Snorkacks or Nargles?

“I'm not in love with you though,” she said seriously, and Harry relaxed. Here it came. “So, don't get your hopes up.”

“I won't,” Harry said, equally as serious. Luna was a bit batty, but he really did like her. And he didn't like the way her housemates treated her. “I'm not in love with you either,” he said, whispering it confidentially. Luna beamed at him.

“Oh, good. Since Hermione's not in love with Ronald either, maybe we can get together for tea after we're married. We can all four of us be miserable.” She said this in a tone that sounded like she would not be miserable at all.

“How did you - ?” Harry asked, bewildered. Hermione and Ron had certainly not been dating before this marriage law came about, but there was supposed to be the at least generally agreed upon illusion that they were okay with it.

“Really, Harry,” Luna said, and Harry thought for a moment that she was channeling Hermione. She leaned forward again, whispering conspiratorially, “They say I'm a bit barmy, you know…but I am in Ravenclaw.”

“I know,” Harry said idiotically, blinking at her.

“Well,” she said, in that dreamy sing-song tone that she normally used. “I'll see you at the wedding - Ronald's, I mean, not ours,” she added. “I expect you'll have gotten rid of Fudge before we have to get married.” Harry looked completely flabbergasted, and Ginny couldn't keep back a snort of laughter. Luna continued to talk, as if this were a perfectly normal conversation. “Have you thought about spiking his punch with the Elixir of Leverenthalia?”

“I'll - I'll consider it,” Harry stammered, not really knowing what to say. “You should get the scroll tomorrow.” He walked away with Ginny, shaking his head as if there were cotton wool in his ears. Married life with Luna would never be boring, that's for sure, he thought to himself.

Harry had still been in the hospital when the article came out. He'd been able to hear Hermione and Ron arguing about it in the corridor.

“He should know about this,” Ron said, his voice carrying quite clearly through the door. The silencing charms obviously needed to be renewed.

“He doesn't need this right now. It'll only upset him, and he needs to rest! There's nothing he can do about it anyway,” came Hermione's practical tone. Harry was annoyed. He was almost an adult. He didn't need anyone coddling him, even Hermione…no, especially Hermione.

He picked up the nearest gift basket and hurled it at the door with all the strength he could muster. The bickering went silent at the heavy thunk against the door, and seconds later, two curious faces peered carefully inside.

Harry wanted to laugh. “Come in here, and show me that damn paper,” he said, holding his arm out officiously. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances, and shuffled forward unwillingly. Ron handed him that morning's issue of the Daily Prophet.

“Hogwart's Student gives Exclusive Interview” screamed the banner headline. It had been scarcely 2 days since the battle, and the Order of the Phoenix was trying to keep a reign on the information that was going out to the public. They had had to give a statement to the press, though, after a rumor began to circulate that Harry was dead.

Harry looked to see what idiot gave an interview against Dumbledore's express wishes. “Heir of Malfoy Fortune Tells Of His Harrowing Story Inside Last Battle”. He rolled his eyes. “Oh, that figures,” he said sarcastically.

He scanned further down the page. There was a quote from Malfoy saying, “When I heard the commotion, I knew Hogwart's had been breached. I immediately ran to assist. I took out two Death Eaters, but then I got hit…twice. I just feel badly that I couldn't do more.”

“I'm going to be ill,” Harry said succinctly.

“Convenient that the cutting spell hit him right where the Dark Mark would be, isn't it?” Ron said dryly. “And the stupid prat probably stunned himself to avoid any fighting.”

“The Malfoys have always known which side their bread was buttered on,” Hermione stated grimly. “He'll stay out of prison, mark my words.”

Harry awakened early on Saturday morning, with butterflies swarming in his stomach, and for a moment, he couldn't remember why. Then….it came back, sinking into him with a dull kind of nausea. Ron and Hermione's wedding was today. He tried to tell himself that it didn't matter, that Ron knew about his and Hermione's feelings, that the wedding would mean nothing, that the law would be overturned.

And yet it did matter. Hermione would be walking up an aisle. In a beautiful dress. And she wouldn't be walking to him, but to his best mate. It stung, Harry had to admit to himself. You're jealous, a snide little voice said. What if you fail, and Hermione decides to stay with the status quo?

She wouldn't do that, another little voice answered back feebly. It didn't sound as if it quite believed what it was saying.

Harry sat up, and tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes. His eyes darted around, looking for some kind of receptacle, if in fact, he did throw up. His gaze landed on Ron's bed, where the redhead was lying, his arms under his head, and his eyes wide open.

“Can't sleep?” Harry asked.

“Would you be able to if you had to get up in front of a bunch of people and recite a bunch of ruddy vows that don't mean anything?” Ron said, with only a little bitterness in his tone.

“No,” Harry replied, truthfully. There was a moment of silence. “Ron, I'm - " he started, but Ron waved his still bandaged hand at him, as if his apology didn't need to be said.

“You couldn't help it,” Ron said, gloomily. “I don't reckon you can choose who you fall in love with. And you came and told me the truth, so…” his voice trailed off.

You told me the truth, you told me the truth, echoed in Harry's brain, and the guilt assailed him. He looked frantically around the room again, sure he was going to be sick, but Ron's next words distracted him.

“You - you will - I should've asked you this before, but…” Ron shrugged. “You'll… stand up with me, won't you, Harry?” he asked, sounding suddenly vulnerable and unsure. “You don't have to, if it makes you feel weird,” he added hastily.

“No,” Harry said, firmly, “I'll stand up with you, Ron.” The two best friends exchanged glances. “I'm honored that you'd ask, considering…”

A scant handful of hours later found them standing under a kind of pavilion out on the grounds. They were both in black dress robes, and Harry found himself wondering vaguely if Hermione and Ginny had found what they were looking for in Hogsmeade. They had taken Auror escort, and had been gone for a very long time.

Mrs. Weasley had outdone herself in such a short amount of time. She wasn't any happier with the law than Mr. Weasley, but had been secretly hoping that Hermione and her youngest son would end up together. She was also aware that the Minister of Magic was going to attend, as well as several members of the Wizengamot and the press; this made her doubly determined to have a nice event.

Music began to play somewhere, and above the pavilion, birds soared into the air, singing beautifully. The murmur of the guests ceased, and Harry watched Ginny walk up the aisle, looking stunning in a jade colored dress robe. Watch Ginny, watch Ginny, Harry commanded himself, as he felt Ron shift nervously beside him. Nobody would fault you for watching Ginny.

But then he saw Hermione, and he was lost. She was on the arm of her father, who did not look terribly happy about his only daughter marrying at barely eighteen. Her robe was white, shot through with silver threads, and she had flowers in her upswept hair. She looked pale, but was smiling brilliantly. She was beautiful, and he loved her, and he was sure that his emotions were quite apparent to everyone there.

Up to that moment, he had been scanning the skyline anxiously, hoping to see the black speck against it that would be a Gringotts owl, or a message from Madame Bones, but nothing had come.

He had been hoping to avoid this altogether, and he could not help but glower at Minister Fudge, who was sitting on the front row, looking quite complacent at the success of his law. He could see several venerable looking old wizards, who he assumed were on the Wizengamot, but if Madame Bones had sent any Aurors, they were well-camouflaged.

Hermione had darted one quick, anxious, longing look at him, as she met Ron at the front of the gathering, but had not looked at him again.

Harry's heart sank, as Ron and Hermione turned to face Dumbledore. It was going to be too late…

TBC

Oh, these chapters keep getting so long. But I got everything I wanted in this one. The wedding scene and its aftermath are going to be long, so they need a chapter to themselves.

I was never seriously going to have Harry arrested. Just wanted to show that Fudge was an idiot, and a desperate idiot at that. I also thought it made a good way to disclose that Malfoy had disappeared. And it made for a nice cliffy too.

As for the wedding cliffhanger above…don't throw anything at me please!! Just wait….it's all about to hit the fan!

Only 1 or 2 chapters left…and maybe an epilogue....

-->

16. Chapter Sixteen

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

Oh and none of these people are mine….

What Might Have Been

Chapter Sixteen

The elaborate wedding ceremony plodded forward at a snail's pace. Harry's heart felt like lead in his chest. Even when he was fighting Death Eaters from every side, even when he had been lying injured in the hospital, he had never felt so powerless, so impotent.

Ron knows, Ron knows, he kept trying to tell himself. You have time. But Hermione was there, standing less than a meter away, marrying somebody else. He had caught Ginny's sympathetic eyes on him a couple of times, but Ron and Hermione had not looked at him at all. They had not taken their eyes off of either each other, or Dumbledore. Hermione's putting on a good show, Harry mused, but that thought was immediately followed by, What if it's not a show? And off Harry whirled on the roller coaster of self-doubt.

Dumbledore then pulled out a length of shiny, wide ribbon that was a deep crimson color, and Harry found his attention back on the wedding ceremony. He had never attended a wizarding wedding before. The Headmaster cast an incantation on the ribbon, which flared briefly with a bright, white glow, then faded back to normal.

“This is the Ribbon of Lifebonding,” Dumbledore intoned. “Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, please extend your arms.” Harry watched as Hermione held out her left arm, and Ron held out his right. Dumbledore looped the crimson ribbon around their arms, using his wand to twirl it into a loose knot, so that the ends of the ribbon dangled downwards. He then tapped it with his wand, and said, “Semperomnia.”

Nothing happened.

For the first time ever, Harry saw Dumbledore look discomfited. He held up his wand again, and Harry noted that his hand trembled ever so slightly. “Semperomnia,” he tried again.

Nothing.

There was a rustle of whispering that grew into a rush of murmurs. Harry looked at Ginny, confused. What was going on? What was supposed to happen? Ginny's eyes were wide with shock, and she looked at Ron and Hermione fearfully.

“Hermione?” came a pleading whisper from Ron, who was angled away from him. Harry saw Hermione's face then…she was ashen, and her eyes were wide with fright and bewilderment.

“No...” she whispered, half to herself. “No…it can't….” Ron was holding her hand now, the crimson ribbon linked loosely around their joined hands, forgotten. Ron was moving, trying to stay in Hermione's line of vision. She was desperately trying to avoid his gaze.

“It's got to be a mistake,” she said, and then for a brief, barely noticeable instant, she let her eyes flicker to Harry's.

And Ron saw it. He turned toward Harry, a bitter, disbelieving half-smile on his face. “You bastard,” he said, in a perfectly normal tone of voice, as if he were telling Harry hello. The rush of many voices grew louder, and Harry saw the flash of several cameras.

“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, I believe - " Dumbledore began, trying to regain control of the situation.

“What are you talking about?” Harry said at the same time. Ron threw a punch before the Headmaster could complete his sentence. It connected with Harry's jaw. There were some shrieks from the audience, and Harry heard Mrs. Weasley scream Ron's name, over the ringing in his ears. “Ron!” Harry shouted. “What the hell - ?” The Grangers had jumped to their feet, and were looking as confused as Harry felt.

Ron's face was red with anger and humiliation. “I was going to help you,” he said, clearly waiting for Harry to get up so he could continue the fight. “I thought you told me the truth.”

“I did tell you the truth,” Harry protested, not in any hurry to get off of the ground. Guilt needled at him. Could the magic somehow know that he and Hermione had…? “I don't understand what - " he gestured toward the ribbon which had fallen to the ground at Hermione's feet. He noticed Hermione then, standing in an odd slightly-bent posture, as if she were going to be sick. One hand hung limply at her side, loosely holding her flowers. The other hand was splayed at her waist. She looked like she was in shock. Ginny was standing right behind her, one hand on Hermione's shoulder. “Hermione?” he said, fear for her in his voice.

“I believe this has gone far enough,” came the voice of Arthur Weasley, as he came up on the pavilion from his seat in the front row. “In fact, it has gone too far. Mr. Minister,” he said, as he rounded on Fudge, “this law of your - "

Harry's ears had only just registered a muttered word from near the edge of the forest, when light zinged through the air, and Mr. Weasley dropped like a stone, hit with a stunning spell.

“Arthur!”

“Dad!” Mrs. Weasley and Ginny cried, flying to his side. Harry leapt to his feet, and looked around frantically. They were sitting ducks up there on the dais. Hermione was still standing, pale and wide-eyed, looking like she did not really comprehend what was going on. Moving in almost perfect sync, Harry and Ron grabbed Hermione and dove off the side of the platform, where they had at least partial cover.

The wedding guests began to move as one, jerking about in a chaotic motion, as if unsure where exactly to go first. The whispers and murmurs had turned to shrieks of fear and the cries of the wounded. Harry watched people crouch behind chairs and flower arrangements, and some tried to make it across the open ground to the cover of Hagrid's hut. Not many made it.

Harry jumped up to fire off a curse, as he saw a masked Death Eater come into full view at the back of the gathering. “Damn! Death Eaters!” he sighed. On the other side of the platform, he saw Dumbledore crouched near Ginny and Mrs. Weasley.

“Tell me what is going on!” He said ferociously, as he ducked back down to Ron. “What was supposed to happen?”

Ron scoffed in an ugly way, at Harry's continued insistence of unawareness.

“Like you don't know!” he said, as they both stood together, and took two Death Eaters down. Harry caught a glimpse of Remus dueling desperately with another masked figure. There was a flash of red at the edge of his vision, and he figured that Ginny and her mother were trying to drag her father out of harm's way.

“Why would I know?” Harry said with exasperation, ducking a flash of purple light that shot over his head, and exploded. Part of the canopy over the pavilion caught fire. “This is the first wizarding wedding I've ever been to!”

Ron had opened his mouth to retort again, but did a double take. For the first time that afternoon, it appeared that he had actually heard what Harry was saying. He swallowed, and sadness seemed to replace anger in his eyes.

Hermione appeared to have gotten control of herself now, and was crouched beside the boys, firing curses along with them. Harry wondered absently where she'd had her wand. She was still very pale and seemed preoccupied.

The stone altar on the dais, where the wedding party had stood, exploded from the force of a curse, with a low rumble. Shards of rock rained down on them, and Harry heard Ron swear as one gashed open his temple.

Harry peered out again, and saw several of the wedding guests fighting quite well, and guessed that these must be the Aurors that Amelia Bones had promised. Tonks had gotten herself backed into a corner, and Harry watched Remus fight vainly to make it over to her side. He ducked back down.

“We can't stay back here,” he whispered to Ron. “They need help.” He pointed Ron around the other side of the dais, and prepared to go around the near side himself. “You stay here,” he hissed to Hermione. Her eyes flashed, the first sign of life he'd seen from her in several minutes.

“Like hell I will, Harry Potter,” she exclaimed, and proceeded to follow him. Harry noted with bemusement that she had transfigured the full skirt of her dress robes into pants as she walked.

They skittered around the edge of the dais, and took momentary shelter behind the wide panel of heavy fabric where the corner of the pavilion was anchored to the ground.

“So what happened back there?” Harry hissed, knowing there were more important things going on, but unable to let it drop.

“Harry, for the love of Merlin,” Hermione sighed angrily at his timing. She peered around the corner, and fired off a hex. “There!” she said, with relief, “Remus got to Tonks. I think - " she broke off suddenly, whirling and pressing her back against the canvas, as a jet of purple light shot past her.

“C'mon Hermione, the entire wedding went to hell…evidently I had something to do with it, and I don't even know what the blinking ribbon was supposed to have done!” he said, in irritation. Bits of ash began to float down on his head, and he realized that the entire canopy was engulfed in flames. He grabbed her hand, without thinking about it. “We can't stay here. Go. I'll cover you.”

Hermione nodded, and hurried over to a large ceramic planter that held a beautiful arrangement of gardenias. Their heavy perfume wafted in the air, mingling oddly with the scent of smoke, burning fabric, and the hot acrid smell of curses. Harry followed her carefully, firing spells as fast as he could.

At the last second, he saw a solitary Death Eater standing on the dais, oddly enough, evidently unaware that he was making himself a target for the entire room. They saw each other at the same time.

The Death Eater acted first, firing off a curse that Harry was forced to dive away from. He landed hard on his right shoulder, at the base of the planter where Hermione was hiding.

“Damn,” he gasped, struggling to suck air into his protesting lungs.

“Harry?” Hermione said alarmed. Every now and then, she stood and fired a spell into the melee. He tried to push himself into a sitting position, but his right arm caved under him, and he swore at the pain that shot up his arm. “Are you okay?” she asked, concern creasing her features.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he repeated stubbornly. He managed to sit up, his right arm cradled to his side, and put his wand in his left hand.

“Your arm's broken,” Hermione observed, ignoring his question.

“Is that Death Eater still up on the platform?” Harry asked, looking at her sourly. Hermione peered through the blossoms, and replied,

“No, he's - "

“ - right here,” came a smooth voice. Harry cursed his inattention, and looked up at the masked figure standing over them. With a muttered word, the Death Eater had disarmed them both.

“Might as well take the mask off, Malfoy,” Harry drawled, despite the throbbing pain in his arm. “Although it does improve you somewhat.”

“You are hardly in a position to be insulting, Potter,” the figure spat, leaving no doubt in Harry's and Hermione's minds that Harry had been correct.

“What are you trying to pull, ferret?” Harry said in the weary tone of a mother who's constantly reprimanding her children. “Aspire to be the next Dark Lord, do you?” Malfoy snorted.

“Always so overdramatic, Potter,” he said, obviously amused. “I simply want to keep the Pureblood lines just that…pure.”

Harry figured that his mind must be operating a little more slowly than usual because of his arm. “But you…sent the scroll….for Hermione,” he said, with difficulty.

Malfoy actually threw back his head and laughed aloud. “That law was utterly ridiculous!” he said disdainfully. “My father is the one who `persuaded' the purebloods to sign off on it. There was never any intention of actually - " Harry watched him with interest, hoping Malfoy's ego would spur him on to greater revelations, but the blond Slytherin stopped suddenly, staring over Harry's head, a muttered swear word on his lips. He said two things that made no sense to Harry. “It didn't work!” and “Why are they here?” And then he flung Harry's and Hermione's wands out onto the green toward Hogwart's, and apparated away.

Harry and Hermione cautiously poked their heads over the edge of the planter. Wedding guests were wobbling around in disarray, looking in dismay at each other around the ruined wedding gathering. Fred, George, and some other Hogwart's students were spraying water from their wands to put out the canopy.

Harry looked fearfully around for casualties. He saw Mr. Weasley being helped into one of the chairs that was still upright, looking pale and shaky, but otherwise unharmed. There were several others clapping bloody rags to various injuries, obviously victims of cutting curses. Ron was across the aisle from him, anxiously talking to his father, and still bleeding from the cut in his temple, but looking well, considering. Harry tried to stand up, and bit back the urge to vomit, as the bones in his arm ground together. Hermione helped him make it to his feet, and he stumbled into her, swearing as he tried to catch himself with his broken arm. Their gazes met briefly, and Harry forgot he even had an arm.

“Hermione…” he began, but then noticed the red smoky replica of the Dark Mark floating at the top of the canopy. “What the hell?” he muttered, half under his breath.

“It must have been a signal,” Hermione said matter of factly. “It's what Malfoy was looking at, when he disapparated. Oh!” she cried suddenly, and trotted across the grass to retrieve their wands. “At least he left us these.” Harry tried to ignore the sensations that flew up his left arm, when her fingers brushed his as she handed him his wand.

“What in the world was he playing at?” Harry asked nobody in particular, mystified. Then he noticed a clot of people standing near the back, apparently Aurors, standing with Amelia Bones. Her eyes roved through the crowd, and landed on him. She smiled slightly, when she saw him, and nodded almost imperceptibly.

Harry felt his heart surge, a great leaping feeling in his chest. She had gotten something important, he was sure.

“Harry,” Hermione said, her voice low, her lips quite close to his ear, “I bet the Aurors' arrival is why Malfoy and the other Death Eaters left.”

His answer was precluded by a soft hoot from behind him. Perched on the edge of the planter was a regal horned owl, with a golden medallion around its neck. On the medallion was emblazoned the word, “ Gringotts”. There was something rolled up neatly in its leg sheath.

Harry turned to Hermione with a brilliant smile.

“It's three o'clock,” he said.

Harry couldn't sleep. He tossed listlessly in his bed at the Burrow, in the room that had once been Percy's. Soft snoring drifted down from Ron's room, and must have been absolutely deafening for anyone who might have been in there.

After a moment, he sat up in annoyance, deciding to go down to the kitchen and see what might be in there to eat. He crept quietly down the stairs, and was nearly to the kitchen doorway, when a voice spoke from the living room sofa, startling him.

“Can't sleep either?” Hermione said calmly.

“Are you going to make a habit of startling me?” Harry asked, grinning.

“Are you going to make a habit of sneaking around?” Hermione countered with a shrug.

“I'm trying to be quiet,” Harry answered defensively. “I was hungry.” Hermione continued to stare at him, one eyebrow raised. “I couldn't sleep,” he finally admitted, under her quelling gaze.

“Are you having nightmares?” she asked gently.

“No, not really…” he said, trailing off doubtfully. Were they still nightmares if they happened when you weren't asleep? Were they nightmares if you saw things that had actually occurred? “Just having trouble getting to sleep…”

She regarded him quietly for a moment. “Me too,” she said softly, her eyes looking far away. “I still see them.” Her voice was faint, as if coming from a great distance.

Harry knew what she meant. He didn't have to close his eyes, to see Hannah Abbott fall, over and over again. He could stop up his ears, but it wouldn't block the mocking sound of Voldemort's laugh, Ron's cry of anguish when they came upon Percy's unmoving body, Mrs. Weasley's sobs at the news of Bill's death…

“So do I,” he whispered hoarsely. She came toward him then, and he wrapped his arms around her mechanically, burying his face in her hair.

“You know you can talk to me if you ever need to, Harry,” she said, her warm brown eyes boring into his troubled green ones.

“I know,” he admitted, feeling himself grow warm under her gaze. His mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Thanks.” She looked at him again, curiously, as if she were searching for something. Something unidentifiable flickered briefly in her eyes. She lifted one shoulder.

“What're friends for, Harry?”

Harry ripped open the envelope and scanned the missive quickly. He couldn't stop a smile from flitting across his face. He looked up and searched the crowd, watching as the wounded were taken up to the castle, and people moved around in anxious knots, talking in low concerned voices.

“Nobody's dead,” he said aloud, suddenly.

“What?” Hermione exclaimed, having been trying to read over his shoulder.

“Nobody's dead. What kind of Death Eaters attack a wedding, and don't kill anybody?” he asked, almost rhetorically. Hermione latched on to what he was thinking immediately.

“The kind who are causing a diversion,” she answered.

“And I asked Madame Bones to check out Azkaban for me…”

“They were trying to break Lucius Malfoy out of Azkaban!” Hermione finished for him.

“That's what all this has been about…” he mused out loud, his eyes scanning the throng again.

He stopped when he saw the Minister talking animatedly to Mr. Weasley, Amelia Bones, and Dumbledore.

“… be letting them win, if we don't go on with the wedding…” Fudge was arguing, snatches of his words drifting to Harry. From what he could tell, the others did not seem to be in favor of this.

“It would be futile, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said. “Every person here… Lifebonding ritual did not … marriage now would be a complete farce.”

“Would you really seek to break up a family?” Madame Bones asked, her voice carrying clearly across to Harry.

Cornelius Fudge appeared to be quite upset that the showcase of his beautiful law would not be completed. He began to bluster and gesticulate again, and Harry caught the phrase “moral decline”. He felt his face flame. This was his fault….he had slept with Hermione, and thanks to Ron jumping all over him in the middle of the bloody wedding, everyone here knew it. At least it won't be all over the front page of the Prophet, he managed to think gratefully.

“Hermione,” he said, turning back toward her. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?” she asked, even as her face burned pink.

“For…I know it was my fault that the ribbon thing…and I'm sorry for …I know this has got to be embarrassing - I mean for everybody to know that we - " Hermione's color deepened as he spoke, and he finally broke off, swearing under his breath, and running one hand through his hair.

“I'm sorry too, Harry,” she said, her voice a low murmur. She wouldn't look at him. “I feel so stupid… I mean, I should have known, but - I would - I would have told you, if I had realized…”

Harry looked at her suspiciously, suddenly getting the feeling that they were not talking about the same thing.

“Hermione, what -- ?” he began, but was interrupted by Madame Bones. She pulled him off to one side, firmly.

“You were absolutely right, Harry,” she said. “Lucius Malfoy was on the island, but not in the prison. The Aurors had been instructed to allow him access to the guardhouse.”

“What?” Harry gasped.

“He was receiving post, and we managed to intercept a quite interesting one… from the Minister himself.” The tone of her voice was normal, but Harry saw danger flashing in her eyes. Wordlessly, he held out the parchment he had received from the Gringotts owl. After she had read it, she took Harry's arm - thankfully his left one - and steered him up to the platform.

“I think you need to address this gathering,” she said, in a tone that brooked no opposition. Harry blanched, trying to forget about the pain thrumming up his arm.

“But Madame Bones…” he began, desperately, as he saw some of the guests start to notice him.

“You are the Boy Who Lived, Harry,” she said, smiling at him. “You can do this.”

“Oh God,” he said, his voice barely a squeak. The murmurs begin to quiet down, and he wondered vaguely how foolish he looked standing on a ruined dais for no apparent reason.

“I - I have something - " he began, suddenly feeling very sweaty.

“Harry,” he heard a hiss from the side, and saw Hermione gesturing to her throat with her wand. “Sonorus,” she mouthed. Flushing uncomfortably, he magically amplified his voice, and started again.

“I - there is something that everyone needs to know about the attacks here today,” he said, swallowing with difficulty. He wondered how many papers would print front page photographs of the Boy Who Lived losing his lunch in front of hundreds of people.

He saw Hermione standing to one side, her hands and lips clasped tightly together, looking at him with a shining expression.

“The attack was a diversion… to mask the escape of Lucius Malfoy from Azkaban Prison,” he said, confidence beginning to creep into his voice. He heard the murmurs begin. Several flashes went off. He took a deep breath, and continued, “This entire plan was orchestrated by none other than Cornelius Fudge.”

The murmur became a roar. Fudge was saying something that Harry could not make out, his face red with rage.

“I think we should hear the boy out,” Amelia Bones was saying calmly. Harry heard Fudge say something about “pressing charges”.

“You'd better have proof, boy!” Fudge snarled. Harry met his gaze, a sudden calm washing over him.

“Yes, Mr. Minister,” Harry said politely, though his tone had an edge to it, “I certainly know how important it is to have evidence when you accuse people of something.” It was a direct reference to Fudge's attempt to have him arrested, and it caused Fudge to look slightly discomposed.

“Minister Fudge has been consorting with known Death Eaters for quite some time now,” Harry continued. “He has made it possible for Lucius Malfoy, a murderer and loyal follower of Voldemort, to live not in Azkaban Prison with the dementors, but to instead live in the guardhouse of Azkaban, in complete comfort.” His gaze flickered to Amelia Bones, who nodded serenely. “He was found there just this afternoon, when Aurors interrupted the escape attempt.”

Harry heard Mrs. Weasley's betrayed cry, and had to struggle to maintain his composure.

“I have bank records,” he said, as his voice cut through the exclamations of the crowd, “of transactions that took place between Malfoy family vault and Fudge's personal vault,” he held up the parchment from Gringotts as proof, careful to keep his injured right arm cradled to his side. More camera flashes. “There are also transactions,” he raised his voice, as the roar of the crowd threatened to overwhelm him, “from the Malfoy coffers, funding the Ministry itself!”

The murmurs turned into an angry grumble, and Fudge began to look quite unsure of himself.

“The Marriage Law propagated by the Ministry, was paid for by Lucius Malfoy,” Harry said, “and Mr. Minister,” he directed his statement to the irate politician. “You didn't even realize that you were being played for a fool.” He smiled grimly. “Malfoy and his cohorts wanted you out of office. They never intended for the Marriage Law to stand. They thought the wizarding public would never allow it, but they weren't quite right on that count. They were gearing up for your removal…and, with Malfoy out of jail, they were going to seize control during that gap and take over the Ministry.” Harry stopped for a moment. The crowd had gone completely silent.

“This boy was powerful enough to take on the Dark Lord…perhaps that power has gone to his head,” Fudge exclaimed. “He wants to control Wizarding Britain himself!” Spittle flew from the man's mouth, as his voice became almost incoherent. “This boy has a long history of mental instability!”

Rage flooded Harry so quickly that it surprised him, and he threw back his head and laughed suddenly. He could see the doubtful looks on the faces in the crowd, as they wondered if Fudge was perhaps correct. “The papers said I was mentally unstable when I was having nightmares about Voldemort. They said I was mentally unstable when he was trying to control my mind. They said I was mentally unstable when I said he was back. But I was right!” The roar of voices was back, and Harry thought he heard some scattered applause.

“Bet it was easy to convince your old friends from the Pureblooded Alliance to go along with your scheme, wasn't it?” Harry finished coolly, holding up the photograph that he had managed to acquire. Cornelius Fudge paled visibly.

“That's a fake! Where did you get that?” he stormed.

“From the Daily Prophet,” Harry said evenly. “It was restricted…I had to buy the entire company myself to get it.” He looked out at the guests, who looked understandably shell-shocked. “Is this the freedom that we fought Voldemort for?” The angry rumbling was back.

“I call for a vote of no confidence,” shouted a voice from the crowd, and Harry realized with a start that it was Ron. There were murmurs of assent, as the motion was seconded.

“The Wizengamot is here,” Harry said, gesturing toward the group of venerable looking wizards and witches. “Let's have the vote now.”

“You don't have a quorum,” Fudge shouted, furiously.

“Actually, I believe we do,” came Dumbledore's placid voice, as he stepped around from the far side of the pavilion, smiling amiably.

Harry beamed at the Headmaster.

The vote was taken in short order, and Fudge was escorted away ignominiously by two Aurors.

“For someone who loathes the spotlight, you sure manage to get yourself in it all the time,” Ron said, coming up beside Harry suddenly. His voice was congenial, but his smile was tight.

“Ron,” Harry said uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. Now that he had time to notice it, his arm still throbbed painfully. He swayed on his feet.

“Bloody hell, Harry,” Ron said, a little gruffly. “You're hurt.” He motioned for Ginny to join them, and they flanked him, heading for the castle. Several reporters noticed their imminent departure, and flung themselves towards the group, shouting questions. The actual words being spoken were lost in the clamor, and Harry threw one hand up against the strobing light of the cameras.

“What are you going to do about Miss Granger's baby?” one reporter shouted, the question falling quite loudly into a lull. Harry sucked in his breath suddenly, and he felt Ron stiffen beside him. He swallowed and stopped walking, but said nothing.

“Harry, is it true that you're the father of Miss Granger's baby?” the reporter repeated, sensing a story and pressing her advantage. Harry looked at Ron.

“Is that why…the - the ribbon… knew…?” he asked in a trembling voice. Ron wouldn't look at him, but nodded slowly. The reporters went nuts.

“Mr. Potter - Harry! Does that mean that you were unaware of Miss Granger's condition?” shrieked another reporter.

Harry turned slowly, searching for Hermione, ignoring the tumult that surrounded him. His eyes suddenly fell on Hogwart's, and he squinted against the late afternoon sun, thinking he had seen a glint of white flash at the entrance.

Ignoring the stabbing pain in his arm, he began to run toward the castle.

TBC

There now, we're almost done. Just a little bit more to finish everything off. I apologize if Harry seemed too William Wallace-y. He got a little carried away!

I decided to throw the baby thing in there anyway. Hope it's okay.

This chapter was a little hard for me to write… I hope you enjoyed it.

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17. Chapter Seventeen

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

Oh and none of these people are mine….

What Might Have Been

Chapter Seventeen

By the time Harry made it to the large double doors that comprised the main entrance to Hogwart's, he was out of breath, his chest heaving, and his arm nearly numb. He stood momentarily in the vestibule, watching the staircases realign themselves, and wondering where she would have gone.

He began a slow, painful climb up to their common room, thinking that, if she was not there, he could at least retrieve the Marauder's Map and locate her that way.

The portrait hole posed him some problem, as he struggled to clamber through it, using only his left arm. He was seeing stars, with black haze around the edges of his vision, when he had finally made it through and closed the portrait hole behind him.

She was sitting on the sofa, staring into the unlit fireplace, absolutely still.

“Oh, honestly, Harry,” she said, as he fought to stay upright and conscious. “Could you not at least go to the hospital wing first?” Her voice was distant.

“The reporters said - I didn't know what that meant - I thought it was just because - why didn't you tell me?” Harry said bleakly, struggling to find words.

“Harry, I didn't know!” she turned to face him then, and he could see the shiny paths of tears on her cheeks.

“But you knew after…didn't you?... when the ribbon didn't do anything,” Harry persisted, not really meaning to sound accusatory. But Hermione would have researched every aspect of the wedding ceremony, he was sure.

“Yes…” she admitted faintly. Harry thrust his hands into his pockets, and appeared absorbed in his shoes. He remembered the look of complete shock on her face, when the ribbon had remained stationary around her wrist. He tried to imagine what it must be like to discover news like that in front of a crowd of people…to realize that they would all know what it meant too…to know that they would think terrible things about her.

“I'm sorry,” Harry blurted idiotically. She shot him a sidelong glance, faint amusement flickering across her face.

“For what?” she said, smiling slightly.

“For …you know…that,” he stammered. She looked at him then, and the full force of the emotion emanating from her brown eyes made him weak in the knees.

“I don't regret it, Harry. I just - I wish you - we hadn't found out that way - I wish - I wish everybody in the wizarding world wasn't going to find out about it by tomorrow.”

“I'm sorry,” he repeated, his brow creasing in sympathy. If he weren't the Boy Who Lived, she would not be the focus of all this attention.

“You shouldn't be sorry,” she said, and turned back toward the fireplace.

“Hermione? Are you okay?” Harry asked, sidling a little more closely to her.

“It's just…a lot to process, that's all,” she replied. “I wasn't planning on this quite so soon.”

“I - "

“Please don't apologize again, Harry,” Hermione said tremulously, a sad little laugh escaping her lips. Harry felt terrible. He was sure there was something that he should say, but he wasn't sure what.

Any brilliant inspiration he might have had was stopped by a scuffle at the portrait hole, as Ginny blundered through.

“There you two are,” she said heartily. “Harry, haven't you got your arm fixed yet?”

“Er…right,” he said, looking longingly at Hermione, “I was just going.”

“You probably ought to see Madame Pomfrey too,” Ginny said to Hermione, her face completely bland. Hermione looked at her almost angrily, but sighed.

“I suppose so,” she said, and stood slowly from the sofa. “Did you see my parents?” she asked Ginny, who looked back at Hermione warily.

“They're…fine,” she drew out slowly. “I did hear some yelling…from your dad…but I don't know how much Dumbledore told them.” Harry watched as Hermione's face slowly burned a dull red.

“He's going to kill me,” she said, in a quietly resigned voice.

“Hey,” Harry said softly, stepping over to her side. “I know this wasn't on anybody's schedule, but… I'm - I'm not going anywhere. Maybe he'll kill me instead,” Harry tried to joke, actually privately thinking that this was quite likely. His fingers stroked her back with the barest of touches.

“I don't want you to feel you have to stay…because of the - of the - the baby,” Hermione said, her eyes filmed over with a sheen of tears.

“Hermione, I love you,” he said, sincerity cracking his voice. “I took on the government because of you - because I love you. Do you really think that's changed now - just because you're going to have a baby?”

“I thought you took on the government because the law was wrong?” Hermione said, with a small half-smile, peering up at him through her lashes.

“Well, that's what I'm telling everybody else,” Harry muttered. “Makes me look better.”

Hermione laughed in spite of herself. Ginny pushed the portrait hole open, and ushered them out.

When they arrived at the hospital wing, they were separated by the tumult of people inside. Hermione was swept up in her mother's arms, and Harry was escorted over to a bed by Ginny, who skedaddled back out the door, while Madame Pomfrey forced him to swallow a number of digusting concoctions. He winced at the familiar discomfort that occurred as his bones began to knit themselves back together.

He watched Hermione talking to her mother, watched her mother brush tears off of her daughter's cheeks. He saw her father standing over both of them watchfully, and felt a knot of fear grow in his stomach. How much had Hermione told her parents? How much of the wedding ceremony had they understood?

He slid off of the bed, flexing and extending his arm experimentally, feeling only a slight twinge of soreness, and made his way over to the bed where Hermione was sitting. Madame Pomfrey was just starting to pull the curtains around the bed for privacy.

“Mr. Potter, if you'll excuse us…” the mediwitch said politely.

“I want to be here,” Harry returned, feeling his insides quiver, “seeing as how I'm the baby's father.” He heard the slight intake of breath, as Hermione's mother gasped at the outright admission of these unfamiliar words. Hermione smiled tentatively at him, and reached her hand out to thread her fingers through his.

“That's why Ron hit you?” her father asked. Harry swallowed.

“Yes, sir,” he replied, wondering if Hermione's father was going to repeat the action.

“Can't say I blame him,” Mr. Granger said gruffly.

“Neither do I … sir,” Harry admitted truthfully. “I made a fool out of him at his own wedding,” his eyes shifted downward, and he wondered if Ron would ever be able to feel friendship toward him again.

“Well, we appreciate what you've done…getting that marriage law revoked,” Mrs. Granger put in, her eyes flashing anxiously up at her husband. Mr. Granger made a noncommittal noise, and glowered briefly at Harry, as if to say I am not finished with you yet.

Madame Pomfrey muttered an incantation under her breath, and her wand glowed a soft gold. She began to run it over Hermione, scanning her body. Hermione's fingers clenched tightly around Harry's.

Harry felt his heart somewhere around the region of his throat. Hermione's abdomen glowed briefly, and a small roll of parchment began to stream from the tip of Madame Pomfrey's wand. The mediwitch pulled it straight, and began to read it, occasionally nodding or making “mm-hm” noises.

“Madame Pomfrey?” Hermione said, finally, unable to stand it any longer.

“Everything looks just lovely, Miss Granger,” Madame Pomfrey said. “You look to be about six weeks along…does that sound about right?”

Hermione nodded, but Harry blurted, “Six weeks and five days.” Everyone looked at him in astonishment, and he added, somewhat defensively, “Well, it was the only - " But then he realized to whom he was speaking and what he was saying, and stopped. Hermione's eyes slid shut with embarrassment, and Harry turned brick red.

“I want to see you once a month for a checkup,” Madame Pomfrey continued, her expression bland, but her eyes danced with suppressed laughter. “I'll give you a potion for nausea, just in case you need it, and you need to eat nutritiously and get plenty of sleep. I'll give you a note to give Professor Snape. There are certain potion ingredients that you should not be exposed to, while you're in this condition.” Hermione looked slightly pained at something else to further antagonize Snape against one of the Golden Trio.

Madame Pomfrey consulted the parchment again, and eyed the young parents-to-be speculatively. “Do you want to know the gender?”

“Yes.”

“No.” Harry and Hermione said simultaneously. They exchanged glances.

“No.”

“Yes.” They reversed their answers, and spoke in unison again. Mrs. Granger made a snorting noise, and tried to make it sound as if she'd been clearing her throat.

“Do you want to find out?” Harry asked. Hermione shrugged one shoulder, and looked down at her hands, feeling oddly shy at discussing something like this.

“If you do,” she murmured.

“But you said no first,” he pointed out.

“Harry…” she protested, but Harry had already answered for them.

“We don't want to know,” he said. Hermione felt tears pool in her eyes again at his casual use of the word “we”.

Madame Pomfrey nodded, and concluded her examination of Hermione. “It looks like your due date will be around the eleventh of June.” Harry and Hermione looked at each other.

“Five days after graduation,” Harry observed, needlessly. They looked at each other again.

“I'll be able to finish school,” Hermione said, slanting an odd, hopeful look up at her parents. “I'm sure I could take N.E.W.T.s a little early.” There was still danger in Mr. Granger's eyes.

“Can I speak with you for a moment, Harry?” Mr. Granger said. “Outside?” Fear flared up in Harry's face, as he was steered toward the corridor. He knew he would get no quarter from Hermione's Muggle father, who didn't care who he was, only knowing that Harry had done unmentionable things to his daughter and gotten her pregnant.

“You are going to take responsibility for this child - your child?” Mr. Granger said.

Harry cleared his throat. “I should think that that was obvious…sir,” he said, trying to gather some of the composure he'd had earlier that afternoon. I just overthrew the Minister of Magic, for Merlin's sake!

“How are you going to support this baby? Is Hermione going to be included in your plants?” The questions were rapid-fire. Harry thought of the towering piles of galleons in his vault at Gringotts, and had an urge to laugh, which he repressed.

“My parents….erm…left me - left me quite a lot of money, actually. I've inherited from my godfather as well - some money…and a house - two houses, really,” he rambled, before noticing the look of surprise on Mr. Granger's face. He looked up at the older man earnestly. “Hermione won't have to work a day in her life, sir, unless she wants to…which she probably will.”

“You love my daughter?” Mr. Granger asked, although it wasn't really in the tone of a question. Harry spoke without hesitation.

“More than anything in the world,” he said, swinging his gaze up to meet Mr. Granger's. His face blazed suddenly with the conviction of his emotions, and Mr. Granger had to admit to himself that he was impressed. “I'd like to ask her to marry me…with your permission, of course,” he added quickly. Harry wasn't going to take anything for granted, the fact that Hermione was pregnant notwithstanding. Mr. Granger regarded him solemnly for another moment, before nodding.

“I'm not saying that I like what happened, but you are both adults… and I believe you when you say you love her. That means a lot to me, Harry.”

“She means a lot to me, sir,” Harry said honestly, then amended, “She means everything to me.” Mr. Granger laid a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed briefly, before going back into the hospital wing. Harry loitered around outside, finally deciding to climb up in the broad sill of a low window, overlooking the Hogwart's green. The canopy had been pulled down, and was lying in a sloppy, black-splotched heap on the grass. Chairs were flying into the air, and stacking themselves neatly, and Harry could see Mrs. Weasley directing the entire effort with her wand. He wondered guiltily how Mrs. Weasley felt about this latest turn of events, remembering the cold treatment Hermione had received from her their fourth year.

“I faced Voldemort down with you, and I still nearly pissed myself, when I had to `talk' with Hermione's dad,” came Ron's voice from behind him. Harry started and looked warily at his best friend. Ron's hair was disheveled, and he was still in his wedding robes. His tie was undone, and hung askew around his neck, and his hands were shoved deeply into his pockets.

“He is a little scary,” Harry admitted, smiling slightly. There was a long, awkward pause, while both boys struggled mightily to ignore the elephant in the room.

“Your arm fixed?” Ron finally said, evidently groping for something to say. Harry stretched out the indicated limb, as if for inspection.

“Good as new,” he responded. More silence. Harry's rear end grew tired of sitting up on the stone of the window sill, so he hopped down, immediately regretting it, as this put him back to being several inches shorter than Ron. The silence seemed to stretch out ad infinitum, and Harry wondered if they were still going to be standing in this corridor silently when everyone went to breakfast tomorrow. “Hey!” he said suddenly, seizing on what Ron had said earlier. “You talked to Hermione's dad? When was that?”

Ron shrugged. “One of those nights you were in the library with Ginny, I reckon,” he said, without malice. “She wanted me to meet them…you know, before the wedding. They weren't very keen on the idea of Hermione getting married at all, at her age.” He gave Harry a sideways look. “Bet you're real high on their list now.”

“Actually, I think they're okay with it,” Harry mused. He looked at Ron hesitantly. “I asked her father for permission to - to marry her.” Ron sighed.

“Figured you would,” was all he said.

“Ron - " Harry began, but Ron interrupted him.

“What is it you want me to say, Harry?” Harry drew back, stung.

“You're the one who came up here and started talking,” he retorted defensively.

“I was looking for Hermione,” Ron shot back.

“She's in there!” Harry said furiously, flinging his arm in the direction of the door to the hospital wing. “Be my guest!”

“I just might!” Ron said, with biting inflection, purposely taking Harry's last statement the wrong way. Both of them froze, staring at each other, and Ron thought that he might have gone too far. In the next instant, Harry swung, and Ron found himself on the floor, with blood pouring from both nostrils.

Harry slowly lowered his clenched fist, breathing heavily. “Now we're even,” he said levelly.

“I didn't break your nose!” Ron retorted, trying to stem the flow of blood with the sleeve of his dress robes.

“Yeah, but you knocked me down in front of hundreds of people. This makes us even,” Harry said, without smiling, but a hint of laughter glinted in his eyes. He squatted down in front of Ron, putting them on the same eye level. “I love her. She's going to have my baby. I'm going to be a father,” he looked as if he had a little trouble believing that. Ron winced at the truths coming so baldly out of Harry's mouth. “You are my best mate, and I'll never forget how you befriended me on the Express first year. But if you can't deal with this… then I'm really going to miss you.” He stood, and offered Ron a hand up. “Don't make me choose.”

Ron took Harry's hand, and pulled himself up. “The ribbon was supposed to tie itself into a bow, and vanish in a flash of light,” he said. “When it didn't…I've never been so embarrassed in my life. I knew that Hermione didn't love me…but suddenly everyone there knew it too. And the Slytherins,” Ron made a disgusted face, “are going around saying something about me being `cuckolded'. I didn't even know what that meant. I had to go look it up!” Ron threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “And you know what? They were right! I was!”

“Ron, it was an accident! I didn't know. Hermione says she didn't know. And if she suspected anything, she certainly wasn't telling.” Harry sighed, and turned back toward the window. “She was so upset when Malfoy bought off the other contracts. But after you proposed, we didn't anymore - I swear.”

Ron wrinkled up his nose. “That's what you were doing when you missed all those classes that day?” He found another dry spot on his sleeve and applied it to his nose, muttering, “Lucky bastard.”

Harry took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, grinning in spite of himself.

“You look knackered,” Ron observed, laconically.

“It's been a long day,” Harry admitted, his eyes alighting as he saw Hermione and her parents step out of the hospital wing. Ron saw the look on his face, and turned. When he saw Hermione, understanding washed across his countenance. “Ron, are you going to be okay?” he asked, with concern.

“Yeah,” Ron replied, deliberately misunderstanding him. “I'm sure Madame Pomfrey can fix this right up.” He looked at his dress robes and winced. “I hope this can be scourgified, or you can just bury me in these, because Mum'll have kittens.”

Harry slanted a look at Ron that said I know what you're trying to do. Ron shrugged, as if to say, Yeah, well, what'd you expect? “Thanks,” Harry finally said, with more emotion than was masculinely acceptable in his voice.

Ron looked at him gravely for a moment, and then waved away his gratitude with one hand, and disappeared inside the infirmary doors.

Hermione came immediately to Harry's side, taking his hand in hers, concern radiating from her chocolate eyes.

“Is he okay?” she asked, biting her lower lip. Harry was staring at the doors where Ron had vanished.

“I think he will be,” he replied truthfully. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she said, with some chagrin in her tone. “I'm going to be on all the front pages tomorrow. And I'm going to be the size of a house at graduation. But other than that, I'm fine.” Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione pressed one hand against his lips. “Do not apologize, Harry Potter,” she warned.

They walked her parents to the front doors of Hogwart's, where Dumbledore met them with a portkey for the Grangers. Mrs. Granger kissed Hermione good-bye, with an admonishment to let her know how everything was going. Mr. Granger kissed Hermione good-bye, and shook Harry's hand, giving him an appraising look. Harry felt like he'd been told that he got the job, but would be on probation for awhile.

“Headmaster,” Harry ventured. “What happened after I - I left?” he asked.

“Cornelius Fudge has been taken into custody,” Dumbledore replied. “There will be a vote tomorrow, and I believe that Amelia Bones will probably get the job.”

Harry grinned, feeling gratified. He liked Madame Bones very much, and thought that she would be an honest and fair leader.

“What about the Death Eaters?” Dumbledore's face grew grave.

“The ones who were injured in the attack here have been apprehended, because they were left behind. There were several that escaped. Lucius Malfoy was unable to leave Azkaban Island. He has been apprehended as well. With these new charges against him, he may well receive the Kiss this time.”

“They haven't found Draco?” Harry said, in more of a statement than a question.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “He was one of the attackers then?” Harry and Hermione nodded. “I suspected as much. Aurors have surveillance on his house. They're hoping he'll return when he hears that his mother has been arrested as well.” Harry glanced protectively at Hermione. Malfoy's snarled words, This is not over, rang in his mind. He would feel much better when Draco had been located and jailed.

“I assume congratulations are in order?” Dumbledore said, changing the subject. Harry cleared his throat, and Hermione flushed a delicate pink.

“Yes sir,” they both murmured.

“I trust that this will not negatively affect your studies,” his voice was stern, and Hermione looked alarmed. But Harry did not miss the subtle twinkle present in the headmaster's blue eyes. He grinned, while Hermione hastened to outline her plan for completing her exams before the baby arrived.

At length, Professor Dumbledore bid them both good evening. “Perhaps you would rather take your evening meal in your common room, before…facing everyone tomorrow?” he asked knowingly. Harry sighed, remembering all the reporters at the wedding. His classmates would be just as bad, if not worse.

“Yes, thank you, Professor,” Hermione accepted politely.

“Students will be coming down for dinner soon,” the headmaster observed. He turned to go, and had nearly made it to the entrance to the Great Hall, when he looked back at them as if he'd forgotten something. “There is a reporter in the library that the Daily Prophet has commissioned to write a story about you, Harry.” Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Dumbledore overrode him. “They are a newspaper, and you are newsworthy, Harry,” he said, smiling. “I'm sure that the piece will meet with your approval before it is printed. However, she did have one question that needed to be asked and answered first.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged baffled glances, as Dumbledore's eyes sparkled enigmatically.

“Have a good evening,” was all the old wizard had to offer in parting.

Harry took Hermione's hand as they walked to the library.

“Harry?” Hermione said, tentatively. “Are you sure you're okay with this? I mean, I don't - I don't want to - to trap you or anything,” her voice wavered uncertainly on the incriminating word. Harry laughed, and steered Hermione over to the side of the corridor, backing her into the wall, and standing very close.

“I have no memory of my parents,” he said, looking steadily into her eyes. “I lived for ten years with people who loathed my existence. My godfather was killed because of me,” Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Harry shushed her. “I just found out today that I'm going to be a father.” There was wonder in his voice. “You - you - are giving me what I always wanted - a family of my own. And I can hardly believe my good fortune,” his voice had lowered to nearly a whisper, and he shyly laid his hand against her still-flat stomach.

Hermione swallowed hard against the knot in her throat, and laid her hand on top of his. “I love you, Harry Potter,” she said hoarsely.

“I love you back,” he said softly, kissing her gently on the lips. “Let's get married,” he said, so casually that she thought she'd misheard him.

“What?” He grinned, and kissed her again. She felt her knees wobble.

“You heard me,” he said impishly, but then turned serious. “Your father already gave his permission, Hermione. So, will you?” Hermione appeared stuck on his previous statement.

“You asked my father?” she said wonderingly. Harry leaned his forehead against hers.

“Answer the question,” he said, growling in mock frustration.

“Of course I will,” she said, barely audibly. The smile that spread across the face of the Boy Who Lived was brilliant, and he kissed her thoroughly, until the noise of students going to dinner drove them hastily into the library, which was almost empty.

Both of them scanned the quiet tables for someone who looked like a reporter, but they found only…

“Ginny?” Harry asked incredulously. Ginny grinned at them both, and put down her quill.

“I told the Prophet I could get them a front-page exclusive on you,” she said, smiling cheekily, “and it wouldn't be sordid garbage like the other papers would print. I'm almost finished.” She picked up her quill again, and poised it to write. “So,” she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, “did you ask her yet?”

TBC

Some much deserved fluff for our beleaguered couple! One chapter to go, and probably a shorter epilogue!

Hope you enjoyed it!

Oh, and I haven't forgotten about “Isle of Mists”, but after I discovered a quite embarrassing mistake, wherein I'd mixed up my two stories (it's fixed now), I decided to wait and finish this one, since it's almost done, and then concentrate fully on “Isle”. Thanks for your patience!

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18. Chapter Eighteen

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

Oh and none of these people are mine….

What Might Have Been

Chapter Eighteen

Harry gaped at Ginny for a moment. “You - you're - a … reporter?” he finished, trailing off the word “reporter” dubiously.

“Well, not yet…but I think I might like to be, once I finish school. The Prophet was just salivating for a story about you - that wouldn't get them all hexed - and since I know the owner personally…” Ginny grinned merrily, obviously thoroughly enjoying this. Harry rolled his eyes.

“How did you know he was going to ask me to marry him?” Hermione asked curiously, and Ginny all but crowed with glee.

“So, he did already? I knew he was going to, I just knew it!” She spread the parchment open for them to see. At the top, in large bold letters, obviously intended to be the headline, it read:

“HARRY POTTER TO WED SCHOOLMATE”

“You were assuming an awful lot, weren't you, Gin?” Harry asked, in amusement. Ginny blinked back at him, seriously.

“You would have completely messed up my lead-in, if you hadn't proposed, Harry.”

“Well, that was why I did it,” Harry muttered in an aside to Hermione. She elbowed him in the ribs, and he continued to scan the article. It appeared to be well-written, with numerous references to Harry and Hermione's long-standing friendship, and their involvement in the defeat of Voldemort in the final battle.

Not once was Harry referred to as the Boy Who Lived.

“The missing third of the famed Golden Trio is none other than Ronald Weasley, who had gallantly offered to marry Miss Granger, when her Muggle-born status placed her in peril under the now-void Marriage Law. When he was queried about his feelings regarding the relationship between Miss Granger and Mr. Potter, he said simply, `Harry has been through more in 17 years than most wizards see in a lifetime. Happiness has been a long time coming for him, and he deserves it.'” Hermione read aloud, and glanced at Ginny with misty eyes. “Did he really say that?” Ginny raised her wand formally.

“On my honor as a witch,” she replied.

“Is the Marriage Law really defunct?” Hermione asked, looking over the article with interest.

“Not officially…yet. But Madame Bones has said it's the first order of business once she's officially in office,” Ginny replied, sounding quite concise and confident.

Harry also noticed that there was a segment of the article dealing with the attack at wedding, as well as Harry's confrontation with Cornelius Fudge. However, there was no mention of Hermione's pregnancy or Ron's decking of him after the Lifebonding ceremony failed. He asked her about those omissions.

“I wanted to ask you first,” Ginny shrugged. “It's really not anybody's affair, but there's the slight problem that everybody's going to find out about it anyway.” Hermione and Harry exchanged glances.

“If people are going to hear about it anyway, it may as well be on our terms,” Harry finally said. The three teens huddled together over the parchment, with Hermione or Harry occasionally offering suggestions, while Ginny scribbled furiously. At last, she leaned back, and all three perused the sentence in question, after coming to the conclusion that simplicity was, perhaps, best.

“Mr. Potter and Miss Granger are overjoyed to announce that they are expecting a further addition to their new family by June, just after graduation.”

Ginny looked up at Harry uncertainly. “Are you sure that's enough?”

Harry glanced at the line again. “It's the truth,” he said firmly. “It's just an article, not an editorial or an interview. I didn't buy the Prophet so it could sing glowing praises of me. I just want people to know the truth.” Ginny nodded seriously, while Hermione fumbled with the cuff of her formal robe, obviously wanting to ask the younger witch something.

“Is this - is this going to … you know, tarnish Harry's reputation?” she asked uncertainly.

“I don't give a damn about my - " Harry began, but Ginny interrupted him.

“Do you mean, how many mothers will have kittens about `extracurricular' activities of their children's role model?” Harry turned crimson, but Hermione nodded. “Oh, loads of `em,” Ginny shrugged, with a don't let it bother you look. She consulted her parchment again, and chewed thoughtfully on the end of her quill. “Do you have a date?”

“To go where?” Harry asked stupidly. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, and Ginny snorted.

“For. The. Wedding,” Ginny enunciated slowly, smirking at him. Harry glowered at her, but then looked expectantly at Hermione.

“Well, when do you want to get married?” he asked her, his eyes twinkling.

“Oh, I don't know. How about tomorrow?” Harry looked at her in surprise.

“Okay,” he said, a little dubious about her unexpected response.

“Really?” Hermione looked dumbfounded, and Harry wondered if he'd called her bluff.

“Sure,” he replied, as he rolled the idea around in his mind. “Why not?” He wondered idly if there was any family jewelry in his vault, and thought that a trip back to Diagon Alley might be in order. “We can have Lupin and your parents here in no time, and everyone else is here.”

She looked at him again, with a shy, uncertain, almost tentative look. It would have been incongruous in anyone else, but Harry understood. He smiled crookedly at her. I know, he thought, I can't believe it either. He suddenly became aware of Ginny clearing her throat loudly, and wondered how long they'd been staring at each other.

When Ginny had declared the article complete, she hurried down to the Owlery to send it to the Prophet offices, and Harry and Hermione wandered up to their common room for dinner. Harry held her hand clasped loosely in his.

“Long day?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“No, it was kind of boring, really,” she said sarcastically. “I almost got married, found out I was pregnant with some other bloke's child, got attacked, and then got engaged.”

“Yeah, you're right,” Harry mused, in a similar vein, “That is fairly dull, compared to what we usually deal with.” Hermione grinned at him, and bumped him playfully with her shoulder.

When they arrived in their common room, they saw that the sofa and chairs had been replaced with a small table, set rather romantically for two. The lights in the room had been lowered, and soft music was coming from somewhere. Hermione glanced at Harry, a wisp of a smile trailing around her mouth.

“You put Dobby up to this, didn't you?”

“When did I have time?” Harry protested, innocently, but Hermione figured he had wrangled it somehow. They both sat down, and looked at each other rather shyly. Hermione flushed red when Harry's warm gaze appeared to be fixed on her. She rolled her eyes at herself.

“This is stupid,” she burst out suddenly. “I'm having your baby, and we've been suddenly robbed of the ability to make dinner conversation!” Harry grinned, and poked the roast beef that had appeared on his plate with a fork.

“It just doesn't seem real,” he admitted softly. “I had trouble believing that you wanted me…before all this marriage law nonsense started. And now…there's nothing standing in our way, and I can't believe it. Nothing in my life has ever gone this right before.”

Hermione thought of the events of the day, and chuckled. “I would say that I'd hate to see what your life looks like when it's going wrong, if this is what you call going right. But I have seen it, and when your life goes wrong, it does so in a spectacular fashion!”

“Well, I won't have mediocrity!” Harry said loftily, and Hermione giggled, looking surprised at the bubbly laugh that escaped her lips. His eyes snapped back to her, at her laugh, and he turned suddenly serious. “Hermione, I love you.”

Her eyes misted at his solemn declaration. “I love you too.”

“I meant what I said earlier.”

“'Bout what?” Her eyes were soft and limpid in the candlelight, and Harry felt his heart rate accelerate just looking at her.

“About you - the baby - this - being everything I ever wanted.” Hermione's heart clenched, and seemed to literally skip a beat. She'd always wondered if that ever really happened.

“I know.” They both sat in silence for a time, each just enjoying, savoring the presence of the other. They played with their food, occasionally taking a bite, but the interest was far more focused on the person opposite that on their plates. Ron would have been appalled. Hermione took a deep breath, and listened to the silence, broken only by the subtle crackle of the fire and the ting of Harry's fork against his plate. It was like life had been distilled down to its simplest essence….to be. Hermione thought that Harry had probably not had many moments like that in his life.

“Well,” Harry began, swallowing a bite, and speaking conversationally, as if they'd been engaging in small talk all this time. “Have you packed?”

“Packed?” Hermione echoed. “For what? We can't take a honeymoon now. It's the middle of term. I guess we'd have to go during Christmas. We certainly won't get a chance after the baby is born. I'm sure Mum would say something about the consequences of irresponsibility, but I don't…”

“Hermione!” Harry said, half-laughing, as her words picked up speed. “I wasn't talking about a honeymoon… but we could take one at Christmas, if you want to.” Hermione bit her lip, and her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

“Where do you want to go?” she asked, leaning forward with excitement. Harry shrugged.

“Doesn't matter to me. I've never been anywhere.” Hermione felt a pang as she considered the truth of this statement, but remembered Harry's comment about packing, and refused to be sidetracked thusly.

“If not a honeymoon, what then?” she said. He lowered his eyes for a moment, and then looked back up through his lashes. No boy should be allowed to have lashes like that. It's criminal. Hermione thought in fascination that he had no idea at all what an appealing picture he made. His eyes were crystalline in the fire light.

“I just meant that you wouldn't need your room anymore.” Hermione had somehow not thought of this yet. She felt her bones melt, and pool somewhere in her stomach, a delicious, leaden warmth.

“Oh…” she said vaguely.

Hermione Granger was getting ready to leave for her seventh year at Hogwart's. She had helped the Boy Who Lived face down Voldemort himself. She was at the top of her class, the brightest witch of her age, and Head Girl to boot. Why then was her hand trembling, as she adjusted the strap on her bag? Why was she standing out on the sidewalk, watching the students mill around, when she had just seen Harry, Ron, and Ginny board the train?

She wasn't sure if she could face him just yet. She had seen him standing there, unmoving in the stream of humanity, his face shadowed, thoughtful, far away. Where had he been this summer? How had he dealt with what he had been through? Was he going to let anybody in? Would he let her in?

Ginny had reached out and touched his arm gently. Harry had started from his reverie, and managed a smile. Ron had clapped him on the back. They had heaved their trunks and belongings aboard the Express…

And yet, Hermione stood, still, out on the sidewalk, shiny Head Girl badge affixed to the school robes that she had thrown on over her Muggle clothes, although the robes were still unfastened.

She stood by her earlier decision not to tell him how she felt. He had been through enough. She was doing it for his own good, really. She pushed down the surge of fear that thrummed through her when she visualized telling him. Some bloody Gryffindor I am, she thought hotly.

The Express whistle sounded, and she resolutely shouldered her bag, moving toward the train. Her expression was determined, giving at least the appearance of confidence. She was Head Girl after all, best friend of Harry Potter.

Best friend…

She sighed, and stopped just past a compartment, having seen a flash of red hair within. She inhaled again, deeply, cursing the part of her that was desperate to see how he had been doing. You can't let him know. You can't let him know, she said to herself, trying to be convincing.

She poked her head into the compartment.

“There you are!” she began, heartily.

They were sitting at breakfast in the Great Hall the next morning, when the morning post arrived. Harry and Hermione both eyed the owls nervously, wondering what the response of the wizarding world would be to the general debacle of yesterday. They had not missed the hissing murmur that followed them to the Gryffindor table, upon their entrance into the Great Hall. Hermione had felt her face began burning of its own volition, at the nudges and stares, but watched with fascination as Harry grabbed her hand firmly, and helped her sit down at her usual spot.

“Don't let it bother you,” he said. “You kind of get used to it after awhile.”

“It's all so personal,” she whispered, as he solicitously poured her a goblet of pumpkin juice. “And they all know we…”

“Yeah,” Harry said, buttering a piece of toast. “What're you going to do? Can't change it.” He shrugged. “You want grape or raspberry?” Hermione laughed.

“Harry, honestly! I can fix my own breakfast.” He had handed her the toast, with a gallant nod, but was teasingly holding the jam pot out of her reach, when the owls began to flap in.

Hermione noticed that for all Harry's blasé attitude about the gossip, he too was watching the owls carefully. The volume of chatter escalated noticeably once people started unrolling their copies of the Prophet and other periodicals. Harry and Hermione both received a fair amount of mail, but Harry was relieved to see no red envelopes in the mix…at least, not yet.

Ron had finally pried himself from the depths of his plate long enough to let out a snort of disbelieving laughter, and show something to Neville.

“Oy, Harry!” Neville called out, before Ron could stop him. “Have a look at this!” He shoved what was obviously some kind of wizarding tabloid down the table toward Harry.

Harry's eyes flicked over to Ron, who was watching a little nervously. They hadn't spoken since Harry decked him in the corridor outside the hospital wing, and there would be issues to resolve for some time to come.

The headline blared, “POTTER FIANCÉE TO BEAR YOU-KNOW-WHO'S LOVE CHILD”.

Harry's face darkened momentarily, and Ron looked a little fearful. He slid the paper over to Hermione, who read it and snorted in disgust.

“What rubbish,” she snapped. “Don't tell me there are people who really believe this?” She took a swig of juice, and promptly spit it all over the page, pointing to a subheader further down the column. “This actually says that that's why you killed him!”

Harry looked at her for a moment, his eyes widening in stunned disbelief. There was silence on their end of the table. Then there was the sound of an unsuccessfully repressed snort from Ron. Neville and Ginny snickered. Harry felt the corners of his mouth beginning to twitch.

“This is just sick on so many levels,” Hermione said to herself, still perusing the article, completely oblivious to the others at the table.

“Didn't you all hear Harry march up to Voldemort and demand to know whether or not he was shagging Hermione?” Ron asked.

“Yup,” Harry said agreeably, munching on a slice of bacon. “I AK'd him in a fit of jealous rage!” The two boys exchanged glances then, and Harry lost it. Ron was already pretending to bang his head against the table, amid peals of laughter.

Hermione finally looked up from the paper, and rolled her eyes. “Really!” she muttered half under her breath. “Considering that it's me that they're saying shagged Voldemort, I'd think you'd take it a little more seriously!” Something was glimmering fondly in her eyes that belied her words, as she watched Harry and Ron act idiotically. They hadn't been able to do that in a while.

“Ginny!” Parvati shrieked, from a little further down the table. “You wrote the Prophet article?”

“She sure did!” Harry said loudly, while Ginny blushed with self-consciousness and pride.

“It's bloody brilliant,” agreed Neville, who'd just filched Hermione's copy, and begun reading it. Murmurs of assent rippled down the Gryffindor table.

“Ron, about that article,” Harry began, seriously, stealing a momentary lull in the conversation, as people read Ginny's piece. Ron looked at him inquiringly, and Harry swallowed, hoping he wouldn't get all emotion and cause Ron to freak out. “I - you - thanks for what you said, mate. That really means a lot.”

Ron smiled crookedly at him, and his eyes drifted over to Hermione, then back to Harry. “I really meant it,” he said, trying to make the moment casual by salting his eggs. “Not that I'm glad, you know, about the entire bloody world knowing about my own bloody business.” He darted a look at Harry. “I did find out what the word `cuckold' meant though, so it hasn't been a total wash. I do think that I have earned the right to be the baby's godfather.” He shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. He was deliberately trying to be casual, much as he had outside the hospital wing. Harry knew that it was a Ron-way of dealing with uncomfortable things, and at that moment, he had never been so grateful to him for it.

“Wouldn't think of asking anybody else, Ron,” Harry said, truthfully.

“No other alternative at all, really,” Hermione piped in, having been listening surreptitiously for the last couple of moments. Ron smiled a little then, and Harry had a sudden flash-forward of them all sitting around a dinner table in somebody's house, talking companionably with kids shrieking in the background.

“Ron,” Harry said, breaking the pleasant thought, by speaking hesitantly. “I know I have absolutely no right to ask you this, but - " Ron slanted an unreadable look up at him.

“I'll stand up with you, mate,” he said seriously, before adding in a lighter tone. “B'lieve you owe me that too, actually.” Harry grinned back, and darted a quick look at Hermione to ascertain that she was once again immersed in her paper.

“I've got to go to Gringotts. I think my mum's jewelry might be in there, and I've got to get a ring for Hermione.”

“When are you going to go?” Ron asked.

“Got to be today. We're - we - we're getting married this afternoon.” He looked uncertainly at Ron, thinking that he'd seen something flash briefly in Ron's eyes. “Ron-" he said, but Ron cut him off.

“Want me to come with?” he asked, nonchalantly. Harry eyed him sidewise.

“If you're sure…”

A mere hour later found Harry and Ron strolling through Diagon Alley, having availed themselves of the floo in the Head common room, and their Headmaster's good graces. Hermione had muttered darkly about their missing so many classes, but had had the good sense to refrain from asking why they were going. They were crossing the alleyway toward the entrance of Gringotts, having been distracted only once by a special sale on Quidditch gear, and Ron was doing a quite passable impersonation of Harry telling Voldemort off for stealing his woman, when Harry stopped short, flinging up his hand in a signal for Ron to stop. Ron had been around Harry long enough to know that this rarely meant anything good.

“What is it?” he whispered, reaching for his wand. Harry stood, still and alert, for a moment longer, and then relaxed.

“I thought - but I must have been seeing things.” Ron was less convinced, and was still looking nervously behind them, as they entered the wide marble hall of Gringotts.

One wild and stomach-churning cart ride later (Harry was beginning to regret the second helping of sausage at breakfast), they were standing in front of his family vault. He opened it wide, quelling the uncertainty he felt at displaying his wealth in front of Ron, and said, “I don't know where jewelry would be. Perhaps in a case or something.” His best mate didn't wait to be asked, but moved into the vault with Harry, and began searching for a jewelry box.

A moment later, Ron held up a polished mahogany box, with a golden clasp on it. “I think this is it.” Harry took the case, flipped the latch, and exposed a velvet lined interior, with quite a few pieces of pretty jewelry. He found himself having difficulty swallowing, facing such tangible evidence of his mum's life. He fingered two rings, a largish diamond solitaire and a gold channel band, inset with several tiny diamonds.

“These were her wedding rings,” he whispered hoarsely. Had they been enclosed with her personal effects after she - ? Who had brought all of the valuables here? It was something that he had never considered before. Ron picked up a wide white-gold band that obviously a man's, and wordlessly added it to the two rings already in Harry's palm. He looked Harry levelly in the eye.

“I think Hermione'd be honored. And so would your mum,” he said simply. Harry tightened his lips together in resolve, and closed his fingers around the rings. He closed the box, and placed it back in the vault.

“I'll bring her back up here sometime, and let her look at the rest of it…see what she wants,” Harry mused almost to himself. The thought had an element of unreality to it - hell, his entire life did…still. This would be their vault…she was going to be his wife…they were going to have a baby… He rubbed the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses.

“You ought to get her name put on your vault too,” Ron put in thoughtfully. “You know, so she can access it…inherit it if any - well, anyway, you ought to do that, while we're here,” he finished hastily.

“You're right,” Harry said, that thought having not occurred to him either. They had a brief visit with a goblin at one of the high tables in the lobby before leaving, and straightened all that out as well. Hermione would have to come by herself and sign something, but everything was otherwise in order.

“So, are you nervous?” Ron asked Harry as they stepped back out of the bank, blinking at the sunlight, and headed back to the Leaky Cauldron.

“A little,” Harry admitted. “Were you?” The words slipped out before he could ponder the inappropriateness of them.

“I was afraid I was going to yak on Dumbledore. Or you…” Ron said, with a small grin. “If I'd known the way things were going to turn out, I would have yakked on you.”

“How long will I have to keep hearing about this?” Harry said with a mock-whine.

“Oh, for the rest of your blooming life, Potter!” Ron said cheerfully. “You owe me, remember?”

“Right,” Harry said, “and I suppose - " He stopped suddenly, at the intersection of Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, looking curiously down the crooked alleyway that always seemed dim, no matter what time of day it was. Ron was several meters further down Diagon Alley, before he realized that Harry was no longer beside him.

“Harry…” Ron said, with that wary look of someone who knows all too well that he was about to get tangled up in something most probably unsavory. He saw Harry's eyes grow steely, and his fingers subtly draw his wand.

“Malfoy…” Harry hissed, and flung himself down Knockturn Alley.

TBC

Almost done…there are a couple more loose ends to tie up!

Hope you enjoyed!

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19. Chapter Nineteen

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

Oh and none of these people are mine….

What Might Have Been

Chapter Nineteen

“Harry!” Ron hissed in frustration, as he looked down the maw of Knockturn Alley, in time to see Harry edge around a corner and out of sight. He did a couple of uncertain takes toward the alley, which would have been comical to anyone watching, tightened his grip around his wand, and strode in the alley as well.

He caught up with Harry around the next corner. Harry was lounging against the wall, looking out toward a rather crowded square, his stance nonchalant.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ron whispered, with an expression of disbelief.

“I saw Malfoy…he went into that shop just there,” Harry said, nodding toward a shop across the way. The windows were grey and grimy, and the wooden signboard hanging outside was weathered with years. Whatever was etched into it was unreadable, and Ron figured that was probably best for all concerned.

“Do you or do you not realize that you are about to get married?” Ron said, desperation tingeing his voice. “Hermione's going to be really hacked off if you get yourself killed. Let's go to the Ministry and let them know where we saw Malfoy.”

“He could be gone by then,” Harry said evenly, not taking his eyes off the shop in question. “Why don't you go, and I'll stay here, and watch him.” Ron looked dubiously at his friend, clearly not liking the idea of leaving Harry here in Knockturn Alley alone. Harry had pulled up the hood of his cloak as he'd lunged down the alleyway, leaving Ron only the edge of his profile to glare at. Ron sighed heavily

“Harry…” he pleaded quietly. Harry jerked his head to look at Ron full on, and leveled him with a glance.

“What?” he said shortly.

“What is it that you're trying to do here?”

“I should think that would be obvious, Ron,” Harry said, annoyed, then lowered his voice. “Malfoy has proven that he can get people to follow him…maybe only because of his money, but that doesn't really matter. He was plotting to get his father out of Azkaban! He had Death Eaters attack Hermione's wedding!” They both noticed that he intentionally left out Ron's name, but neither commented on it. “He is dangerous, and he needs to be behind bars with his father.”

“Let the Aurors do it,” Ron said softly. “That's what they've been trained for. Think of Hermione.” Harry's eyes were shuttered and far away.

“I am thinking of her,” he muttered almost under his breath. “Go get the Aurors. I'll watch him,” he said, his gaze never straying from the shop door where Draco had entered.

“Right then,” Ron said, letting his hand fall briefly on Harry's shoulder. “Be careful.” Seconds later, Harry heard the crack of Apparation, but did not look back.

Harry leaned against the cold stone wall of an apothecary shop for what seemed like ages. Various unsavory looking characters wandered the alley, browsing for merchandise and engaging in trade. Harry was glad he had brought his cloak, since the majority of people traversing Knockturn Alley were similarly outfitted. He reached his hand into his pocket and felt the smooth rounded metal of his parents' wedding rings. A smile graced his features of its own volition. Hermione…he thought briefly. She was going to kill him, he knew, but this was something he had to do.

There was a discordant jingle as some scraps of metal that were hung above the shop door clashed together when the door opened. Malfoy exited, looking first in one direction, then the other, and darting furtively up the alley. Harry straightened from his leaning posture, in what he hoped was a nonchalant fashion, and began strolling along casually, taking care to keep Malfoy in sight.

How long does it take to get help and Apparate back? Harry thought in some annoyance, as he looked back over his shoulder. If he was too far away before the Aurors arrived, they wouldn't be able to find either him or Malfoy. His attention snapped suddenly back to Malfoy, as the latter suddenly shot down a side street. Harry hesitated only a moment, before proceeding cautiously down the same lane.

The rutted alleyway was dim and misty and strewn with refuse. Harry picked his way through it, wondering what in the hell Malfoy was doing down here. I would have thought his aristocratic tastes would have screamed in protest at this place. He watched in dismay as the shadowy figure making its way before him slowly faded from sight in the mist.

Dammit! Harry shrieked inwardly, picking up the pace, but making as little noise as possible.

He stopped suddenly when there was a wand at his neck and a low menacing voice in his ear. His own wand slipped out of his pocket, seemingly of its own free will.

“Looking for me, Potter?” Malfoy hissed. Harry peered curiously at the empty alley, until the way behind him began to ripple slightly, like a disturbed pond, and peel back. Malfoy appeared out of nowhere, rolling up a wad of fabric and stuffing it in a knapsack. “Yours isn't the only invisibility cloak in existence, you know,” he drawled, keeping the wand trained on Harry.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry asked sullenly. Malfoy made a “who me?” gesture, all innocence.

“I'm not the stalker, Potter. That would be you.”

“Fine,” Harry replied. “I'll stop stalking you. In fact, I'll leave right now…” he turned toward the mouth of the alleyway.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Malfoy said quickly. Harry was instantly paralyzed, and could do nothing to catch himself as he fell face first onto the rough pavement. He tasted metal. “Do you really think I'd let you go? When you got my father put in prison? When you interfered with his escape? When you got my mother arrested as well?” His silver eyes glittered dangerously. “Your life is worth less than nothing to me.” He leaned closer to Harry's prone form, and whispered in his ear maliciously, “And after I've taken care of you, I'm going after your little whore.”

Harry's eyes grew wild with panic, and he wanted to scream and flail and… but he was trapped in his own body. Malfoy's smirk grew wider, as he apparently noticed Harry's inner struggle.

“Finite Incantatem,” the Slytherin drawled. “You had something to say?” Harry sat up, feeling his head swimming from his fall. Blood trickled down his forehead, and he brushed it out of his eyes.

“Hermione hasn't done anything to you,” he said heavily, still a bit bewildered that Malfoy had released the spell. His massive ego, Harry realized suddenly, could be my saving grace. Got to keep him talking.

“My parents -"

“You know, this fixation on your parents is very Hufflepuff of you,” Harry observed, interrupting him. “With them gone, you have no authority over you and all their money…wouldn't it be one big Slytherin party?” Malfoy raised his wand suddenly, and Harry wondered if he'd gone too far.

“You and your mudblood can place me at that wedding,” Malfoy said. “That is … unacceptable.”

“Killing the witnesses? Is that really why? Or are you just sore because a half-blood and a Muggle-born single-handedly buried the glorious Malfoy na - ?”

Malfoy's face blazed suddenly with fury, and he lowered his wand on Harry, before Harry could even complete his sentence. “Crucio!” he screamed.

Harry hit the pavement, his body convulsing as waves of pain buffeted him mercilessly. Someone was screaming, and the one rational part of his mind that managed to hold on realized that it was him. The seconds seemed like years, but when the pain ebbed, Harry struggled to sit up again. He spat blood out onto the street. He could see the bustling activity of Knockturn Alley not too far away, and noticed that people were passing by as if nothing out of the ordinary were going on. Crucio probably occurred on a regular basis in Knockturn Alley.

“That all you've got?” Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow up at Malfoy, “I'm amazed that you got those Death Eaters to do anything you sa -" All knowledge of language slipped away again, as Harry was cognizant of nothing but pain.

His head reeled, and he remained prone on the ground where he had fallen again. He tried to focus on the figure looming above him, but the image blurred and shimmered. He blinked his eyes hard. Apparate away…think of the village at Hogsmeade. His ears were ringing so loudly that he couldn't make out what Malfoy was saying. I'll end up splinched for sure, he thought dully, and when I'm with him, at least I know he's not going after Hermione. Where is Ron?

“Potter, you really are pathetic,” Malfoy said, clucking his tongue, sympathetically. “You think you're being subtle? You think I don't realize you're stalling for time?” He smiled. “You can't save her now.” Draco lifted his wand again, to administer what Harry had no doubt would be the Killing Curse. The Slytherin opened his mouth to speak, and…

Harry saw his opportunity. He reached up and pulled on Malfoy's collar, at the same time that he kicked upward with both legs, hoping to catch Malfoy in a sensitive place. This was evidently successful, if Malfoy's wheezing grunt of pain was any indication. The forward motion propelled Malfoy over Harry's head, where he landed with a satisfying crunch. He stood shakily to his feet, and retrieved his wand, intending to make sure Malfoy was carefully restrained, when he heard

“Stupefy!” a mere millisecond before everything went black.

“Hey, you okay?” came a soft voice, hesitantly, from the doorway. Ron turned from his slumped position at the common room window. He was still in his dress robes.

“I'm fine, Ginny,” he said, though his expression spoke volumes about how he really felt. Ginny said nothing, but merely raised one eyebrow, her face was skepticism personified.

“Really? You're fine? After what happened out there?” Ginny's tone was incredulous. “You know that the ribbon not tying itself up only happens for one reason, and that - "

“I know that, okay?” Anger began to creep into Ron's voice. “And so does everybody else at the whole bloody wedding.”

“That's what you're worried about?” Ginny asked in confusion. “All that's been going on, and you're embarrassed?”

“Wouldn't you be?” Ron retorted, then sighed. “It's not like I didn't know the way things were. I knew they were in love with each other.” He looked up at his sister almost accusingly. “And so did you.”

“Of course I did,” Ginny answered softly. “But I'm not as emotionally invested in it…as you are.” Ron shot her a sharp, discerning look.

“But you used to be.” Ginny smiled, but did not deny his words.

“That's neither here nor there,” she tutted, cuffing him upside the head. They sat in silence for awhile. “So what do you think happens now?”

Ron shrugged. “I guess they'll have a baby.” He paused. “Merlin, that's weird.”

“Are you mad at Harry?” Ginny probed.

“What are you trying to do? Be a mind-healer?” Ron asked, not unkindly.

“You didn't answer my question.”

“I guess I could be, but what's the point?” He looked at her ruefully. “It's not going to get me Hermione. Besides, after all Harry's been through…happiness has been a long time coming for him. He deserves it.”

“He's lucky to have you as a friend,” Ginny said fondly. “Are you going to talk to him? He's in the hospital wing, right?”

“Not unless I miss my guess,” Ron said. “He went looking for Hermione.”

“His bloody arm is broken!” Ginny exclaimed. Ron gave her a “that's Harry for you” look. “I guess somebody ought to drag them both to Madame Pomfrey.” She looked back at Ron, but his focus had already returned to the window.

Harry felt a jolt of energy surge through him, as he began to gingerly move reanimated limbs. The bright light seared his vision when he opened his eyes, and he knew instantly that he was not still in Knockturn Alley. He was in the hospital wing at Hogwart's.

“Malfoy!” he said, sitting up so suddenly that his head reeled and his vision faded. He saw Hermione's face come into his view, knit with worry, and he felt awash with shame that he had caused her anxiety. She smiled a little, though her eyes were still concerned.

“He's in custody, Harry. You did it.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners. Harry shifted slightly on the bed. Every muscle in his body ached.

“Malfoy…I threw him…and…” his expression turned quizzical. “Who stunned me?”

Hermione's look became chagrined. “That idiot over there,” she said, chucking her thumb over her shoulder. Harry craned his neck, and saw Ron, looking shamefaced.

“Sorry, mate,” he said. “Was trying to get a clear shot at the ferret, and you tossed him over your head, and stood up at the exactly wrong time.”

“Ron, you were supposed to…bring Aurors.”

“I did,” Ron said. “Shacklebolt nearly tore me a new one for Stunning you.” Harry grinned, adding,

“Serves you right,” with his eyes closed again.

“What'd you go running off after him for, Harry?” Ron asked.

“So…wouldn't lose him. What was the point of bringing Aurors…if I lost him?”

“Well, we heard you screaming about three blocks away. If Malfoy hadn't used…” he trailed off, looking uneasily at Hermione. Harry glanced up at her warily.

“We won't even get started on how angry I am at you right now, Harry James Potter!” Hermione said ferociously, her eyes glittering with furious tears. Harry heard a door slam shut, and looked to see that Ron had beat a hasty retreat.

“Coward!” Harry hollered after him.

“How many times did he use Crucio on you?” she asked.

“Hermione - " Harry protested.

“How many times?” Her voice was blurred with clogged tears.

“It was only twice,” Harry said, speaking rapidly. “Look, Voldemort did loads worse, and I'm fine really. He was coming after us, Hermione… because we knew he was at the wedding… he said so. He said after he dealt with me, he was coming after you.” After your little whore. “What was I supposed to do?”

Hermione's shoulders sagged, and Harry felt terrible as he saw two tears wend their way down her cheeks. “I don't know. I - dammit Harry!” He blinked and drew back, slightly surprised, as always, when she swore. “You scared me to death. Don't ever do that again!”

“Okay.” Harry agreed readily. She glanced at him then, her eye roving over him in a brusk, businesslike way.

“Get up,” she said abruptly.

“What?” Harry said, bewildered.

“You heard me.” Her voice was clipped. “Get up. My parents are downstairs. Professor Lupin is downstairs. Our friends are downstairs. Just because you acted with your “saving people thing” instead of your brain, doesn't mean you get to get out of this wedding.”

“I don't want to get out of the we…” he said, as he stood up. His pulse was pounding in his head, and the side of his face still hurt where it had hit the pavement. His voice trailed off, as she stood directly in front of him. Her hands fluttered nervously over him, and she looked at him, uncertainty and fear in her eyes.

“Are you really okay?” she said, undoing her previous abrasive words. “After last time…” He knew she was talking about her bedside vigil after the defeat of Voldemort, and he felt his heart melt.

“I'm fine, Hermione. I'm sorry I scared you.”

“I know you were only thinking of my - my safety,” Hermione admitted, leaning her forehead against his. “Now the Malfoys can't hurt anybody anymore.”

“I love you,” Harry breathed softly, kissing her lingeringly on the lips. She leaned into the embrace briefly, but then pulled away, handing him a vial of what looked like Pepper Up Potion.

“Drink this,” she said, as she rummaged in a closet and pulled out a set of robes. “I brought these down for you to change into.” Harry tossed down the contents of the vial at one go, and felt warmth surge through his veins. His head seemed to clear somewhat, and he noticed for the first time, that Hermione was in dress robes of a stunning, vivid green.

“Those are pretty,” he said, gesturing toward her gown, as he stepped behind a divider, and began to change. “Why the color?” He could sense, rather than see, her twisting her hands together nervously.

“I figured…there wasn't really any point in wearing white,” she half-laughed, a little self-consciously. “And I didn't want to wear the same robes as … as yesterday.”

“I should hope not,” Harry said, his voice muffled under the layers of robes he was pulling over his head.

“And I - I - " Harry fastened his robes, and came back around the corner, while she glanced at him shyly. “I wanted to match your eyes.”

“You're beautiful,” he said, in such a low, intense voice that she couldn't help but believe what he said. His eyes told her clearly what he would like to do with the coordinating dress, at the first opportunity.

They arrived a few moments later in Dumbledore's office, hand in hand, and they were both touched and surprised at the assemblage waiting for them there. Their Gryffindor classmates were there, as well as Professor Lupin, Tonks, and the Weasleys, including Charlie, the twins, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Harry wondered again how they felt about this whole absurd situation, and was uncomfortable in their presence, but, at the same time, glad that they had come anyway.

They stood hand in hand, facing each other, in front of a small podium, with a wide shallow bowl on it. Harry recognized it from the wedding-that-wasn't yesterday. Dumbledore was standing just behind it.

The headmaster began the wedding ceremony, taking Harry and Hermione step by step through the ritual. When he tied the ribbon around their joined hands, and said the incantation, “Semperomnia,” the ribbon swirled itself together, and vanished in a blinding flash of light, accompanied by a thunderclap that rattled the trinkets on Dumbledore's shelves. Somebody snickered - Harry figured it was Fred- and Hermione colored violently.

“And now,” Dumbledore said gravely, “if you will both please place your right hands inside the bowl.” And here, Harry noted that it was filled with water. Dumbledore pointed his wand at the dish, and said, “Animae commisceant.” The water glowed briefly, and when Harry and Hermione touched their hands to the shimmery surface, the water shot up in an arching fountain, falling down in golden sparkles that didn't get anybody wet. Harry thought he heard a chord of distant music. Dumbledore arched his eyebrows in what seemed to be amazement, and said, “Well, well.” Harry supposed that he had done something weird again. He looked at Hermione, expecting to see amusement there, but the love shining out of her eyes took his breath away.

“May the joining of your lives extend also to hearts, minds, and souls. May this circle continue unbroken.” Dumbledore said solemnly, gesturing that they place the rings on each other's fingers. His eyes twinkled, as he looked at Harry and nodded. Harry took this as his cue to sweep Hermione up into his arms, and kiss her soundly. There was a whoop from someone - Harry thought it might be George - and Dumbledore spoke to the assembly at large, introducing “Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter.”

Hermione's eyes were sparkling with tears, and she looked like she wanted to cry, but ended up laughing instead. She moved to hug her mother and father, while Harry shook Charlie's hand. Hermione hugged Ginny, who was wiping tears away, while Fred and George attempted to slip something into Harry's pocket. They were roundly scolded by Mrs. Weasley, while Lupin clapped Harry on the back, and said something about how proud his parents would have been. Hermione spoke happily to Neville and Parvati, and Harry found himself face to face with Mrs. Weasley.

“Mrs. Weasley, I wanted you to know how sorry I am for - for what happened …yesterday,” Harry said, tentatively.

“My dear boy,” Mrs. Weasley sniffed, “I blame that marriage law for what happened yesterday, not you.” She smiled at him. “You've been like another son to me…and that makes Hermione just as much like my own daughter as if she had married Ronald.” Harry was taken aback by the obvious love behind her voice.

“Thank you…” he whispered hoarsely, his throat seeming to close around his words.

Dumbledore brought a large cake, as well as a punch bowl full of steaming butterbeer, from somewhere, and the entire party fell happily into revelry. Colin and Dennis Creevey had also appeared from the back of the group, and were taking pictures like people possessed.

Several hours later, Harry and Hermione stood by the doorway to the Headmaster's office, hand in hand, ready to take their leave. There were cheers, whistles, and catcalls, as well as some suggestive innuendo by Charlie and the twins that caused Mrs. Weasley to clock all three of them in the back of the head.

Ron stood close to the door, hand on the knob, ready to show them out. The Golden Trio looked at each other for a moment, and Hermione felt her eyes well with tears yet again.

“Is this one of those pregnant hormone things?” Ron said, looking uncertainly at her. Hermione let out a laugh that was also part-sob, and whacked him in the arm.

“Why does this feel like good-bye?” she wondered aloud. “We'll see you tomorrow.” Ron regarded them gravely, and shrugged in his trademark style.

“It's the end of an era,” he said. He held out his hand to Harry, who moved to clasp it, but instead ended up embracing his first and oldest friend. They regarded each other solemnly, each taking the measure of the other. “Treat her right,” Ron said, making it sound like more of a request than a demand.

“Count on it,” Harry responded, with determination in his voice. Hermione watched them both, and wondered when her boys had become men.

The newlyweds strolled down the spiral staircase, and emerged from the opposite side of the gargoyle. When they arrived back in their common room, they faced each other uncertainly, relieved and amazed to finally be alone.

“Well, here we are, Mrs. Potter,” Harry said. Hermione felt her cheeks glow from the look in his eyes.

“Here we are,” she echoed, her voice husky and low, and her eyes full of promises. “I love you.”

“I love you back,” he said in a growly kind of whisper. He caught her up in his arms, even as she swayed toward him with a sigh. “Hey,” he whispered, as if a thought had just occurred to him.

“Mmm?” she looked up at him with limpid eyes.

“The deal with the water bowl…what was it supposed to do?” She smirked at him, sliding her body sinuously against his.

“It usually sprays a fountain of water into the air, but it doesn't turn gold, and I've never heard of music playing,” she said. “It's supposed to be a gauge of the strength and endurance of love.” Harry looked pleased.

“That good, am I?” he asked, burrowing his face in the crook of her neck, and causing shivers to run up Hermione's spine.

“Are you flattering yourself, Mr. Potter?” Hermione teased, speaking formally. “Or would you care to put your money where your mouth is?” She felt her insides melt, as Harry's eyes darkened with desire, and she led him up the stairs.

Words were no longer required.

TBC

Epilogue next! It will be a little short fluffy bit.

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20. Epilogue

Author's Note: Liked the idea of a Marriage Law, so tried to give it my own take.

Oh and none of these people are mine….

Epilogue

“Ohhh!” Hermione wailed, as the doors of the Great Hall closed behind them. She buried her face in her hands to mask the look of mortal humiliation. Harry looked alarmed.

“What? Hermione, are you okay? Are you in pain?”

“Nothing right now that changing my name and moving to another country wouldn't fix.” Harry looked at her with some annoyance. She picked the oddest times to worry about what people were thinking.

“That's what you're worried about? Right now?”

“Everyone in the school was in there. And their parents!”

“Technically, it's not everybody's parents…just the parents of the seventh years…” Harry tried to say casually, but Hermione glowered at him.

“It was in front of a large number of people!” She enunciated clearly, effectively ending the argument.

“I'm sure nobody even noticed.”

“Yeah, because you were so subtle, going all wild-eyed like that and yanking me out the door. Do you know how long this could take? We could have at least waited until Ron got his diploma.”

“I didn't go…all `wild-eyed',” Harry said defensively.

“What do you call this?” Hermione said, aping a frantic expression. Now it was Harry's turn to glare.

“I don't look like that when I - do I really look like that?” Hermione looked affronted, but the look soon changed into what looked to Harry to be intense concentration. “Hermione?” Harry asked, but Hermione held up one finger in a “just a moment” gesture. After a second, she exhaled slowly and said,

“Okay.”

“Okay? Okay? What was that? Was that a -" Harry paused in his rant at Hermione's nod, and added, “You really took it rather well.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said politely. “They haven't been bad at all, really. Aren't you glad I waited until we got our diplomas?” Harry looked at her as if he could not believe what she'd just said.

“You've been having these for awhile, then?” he asked, his voice dangerously polite.

“Since right before we got dressed for the ceremony,” Hermione answered. “I read that first labors can take hours, but since my water broke, I guess… I guess it's getting closer, now.” She wrinkled up her nose anxiously. “Do you really think nobody noticed?”

“In those robes? They're - " Harry stopped himself suddenly. He'd been about to say “huge”, but changed it to “dark. You said yourself that it wasn't much, since you were standing up when it happened. I'm sure nobody noticed a thing.”

“Until you grabbed me and yanked me out of the Hall,” she reiterated grumpily.

“You just leaned over and told me your water had broken! What was I supposed to do…say `Okay, thanks for letting me know!'?”

She didn't answer right away, but said, a moment later, a little breathily, “Yeah, I think we'd better go see Madame Pomfrey now.”

Hermione settled back against her pillows, and pulled the covers up over her waist, as she reached for her book, stopping to smile fondly at the small bump that was just barely visible under the thick coverlet. Harry came out of the lavatory, dressed for bed, and crawled up in the bed beside her, after dropping his glasses on his bedside table.

“Tired?” She asked maternally, holding her book with one hand, while she ran the fingers of her other hand through his dark hair.

“Snape is a monster,” Harry said, his eyes already closed.

“Harry!” Hermione chided playfully.

“D'you think it's because I'm getting some action, and he isn't? Maybe never has?” Harry asked, peeking up at her through one eye. She didn't say anything, so Harry opened both eyes. She was sitting quite still, staring off into middle distance, with one hand over her abdomen.

Harry sat up, jerking the comforter and knocking Hermione's book on the floor.

“Hermione, are you okay?” She smiled at him then, almost ethereally, and took his hand, placing it on the slight swell of her stomach.

Almost immediately, he felt the tiniest nudge, almost like a muscle twitching. His startled gaze leapt up to meet Hermione's. “Was that…?” She grinned brilliantly.

“I thought I'd felt movement earlier this week, but I wasn't sure that that's what it was until now.”

Harry snuggled down under the crook of Hermione's arm, his head quite close to her stomach, his hand placed flush against it. “Maybe he'll do it again,” he said, with hopeful anticipation. Hermione raised one eyebrow.

“He?” she asked wryly.

Hermione let out another keening cry of pain, as Harry's face went white. Madame Pomfrey leaned to check Hermione's progress, and nodded in satisfaction.

“You're almost ready to push. I'll be back shortly,” she said, and swished out through the privacy curtains that had been pulled around the bed.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked her softly, brushing tendrils of sweat-damp hair back from her forehead. She nodded, but her eyes were wide and starry with pain and fatigue. “Why don't you take the numbing potion? Madame Pomfrey said it wouldn't hurt the baby.”

“I - I wanted…” she stammered, and broke off, her face contorting with the effort to not cry out at the new wave of pain. Harry knew, watching her with anguish-filled eyes, that to Hermione, it was another thing to experience, to learn, and if she admitted that she wanted the potion, it would be a failure, an inability to get herself through this on her own. “I don't want you to think I'm weak,” she panted.

“Weak?” Harry said, in a dumbfounded voice. “When you've been doing this for six hours now? Bloody hell, Hermione, I think you're the strongest person I've ever known.”

“Really?” She smiled wanly at him, and he kissed her softly.

“Really,” he replied, reaching over for the rejected vial on the medical cart. He held it up for her to see, an obvious question in his eyes, and she sighed, then nodded. She drank the contents, and her body involuntarily shuddered at the foul taste. A few moments later, her eyes were clearer and her body more relaxed.

Madame Pomfrey bustled back in, and checked Hermione again. She eyed the empty vial, with something like satisfaction, but made no comment. “It looks like everything's in readiness. Are you ready to push?” Hermione looked at Harry, and then nodded at the mediwitch. Harry felt a nervous jumpy sensation somewhere near the region of his stomach. His child was about to be born.

“Look at this,” Hermione said, gesturing at her stomach in disgust. “If I get any bigger, I'll have to use a three-foot quill to write, because I won't be able to get any closer to this desk!” Harry looked at her from where he was sitting at his desk in their common room, sifting through the piles of paperwork covering every available surface, and chuckled. His searching grew a little more intense, and he turned and began to look on the floor.

“Hermione, have you seen the -"he said, sticking his head under the desk, to look for the wayward piece of parchment.

“Oh, honestly, Harry. Didn't I tell you that you needed to put that somewhere where you could find it later?” She said, gesturing superiorly at her tidy desk, with neat stacks and pigeonholed rolls of parchment. He straightened too early, and hit the back of his head on the underside of his desk, rapping out a muttered oath.

“How do you even know which thing I'm looking for?” He challenged.

“Aren't you looking for the one from Hogwart's?” she said, and he looked at her in surprise, as he rubbed his injured head.

“D'you really think they're serious?” he asked her, confirming her question, without really answering it.

“Why wouldn't they be?”

“I haven't even graduated yet. Why would they offer me a job teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

“Lupin's leaving to work in the Magical Creatures Liaison office. And your N.E.W.T. scores were excellent, Harry. Graduation is just a formality, anyway. Besides, you know more about defending against Dark Arts than anyone else alive!” Harry shifted uncomfortably under her glowing praise, but couldn't suppress a smile.

“But, if you want to work at that research institute in London, I could take the Auror training, and we could live there.” Harry pointed out.

“I can floo to London, just as easily as anywhere else,” Hermione said, shrugging.

“I just wish I knew how many of these job offers are genuine, and how many are to the `Boy Who Lived',” Harry said, looking forlornly at the piles of paper.

“Well, the job offer from Puddlemuck has got to be real. After all, you were the `youngest seeker in a century',” Hermione said, with a fond smile, but Harry was looking at her as if she'd said something offensive.

“It's Puddlemere, Hermione,” Harry said. Hermione gave him a “whatever” look.

“I would've thought you'd jump at the opportunity to play Quidditch and get paid for it. Ron certainly did.” Harry reached across the gap between their desks, and took her hand, gently caressing the back of it with his thumb.

“I don't fancy being away from you that much,” he answered softly, the look in his eyes making her stomach flip.

“Harry, I don't want to make you -"

“There are some things more important than Quidditch,” he said seriously, adding with a wink, “but don't tell Ron I said that.”

“One more push should do it, Mrs. Potter,” Madame Pomfrey. Harry stood almost behind Hermione, bracing her in a sitting position, and holding one hand. She pushed again, her growl of effort ending in a squeaky gasp of exhaustion, overlapped by the reedy wail of a newborn infant.

Harry stood, frozen by Hermione's side, unable to process exactly what had just happened.

“Mr. Potter,” Madame Pomfrey said, in a tone of one who was repeating herself, “would you like to cut the cord?” He came around to Hermione's feet, and pulled out his wand, looking questioningly at the mediwitch. “Just use `diffindo',” Madame Pomfrey coached gently, “nice and easy.”

Harry cut the cord neatly, and looked in awe at the tiny human being that Madame Pomfrey was scourgifying and wrapping snugly in a blanket.

“Madame - Madame Pomfrey…what - what is - ?” he began, but she gently put the baby in his arms.

“Go show your son to your wife.”

“Son?” Harry echoed stupidly, and Madame Pomfrey's lips twitched, as she inclined her head toward Hermione. He let his gaze travel over to his wife, who was trying to push herself up into a sitting position. Her face was flushed and weary, and her hair was damp and straggly, clinging to the sides of her face and neck. He thought that she'd never looked so beautiful in her life.

He proceeded over to Hermione's bedside, and carefully laid the baby in her arms, while magically inclining the bed to a more upright position.

“We have a son,” she said, awestruck, while her fingers danced lightly over the curve of his cheek, his downy dark head, and his tiny perfect hands. He let out a squeak of protest, and opened his eyes to stare suspiciously at the interlopers bothering him. They were a murky, newborn blue.

“His eyes are going to be brown.”

“They're going to be green,” Harry and Hermione said in unison, then looked at each other and smiled.

“He's beautiful,” Harry said, looking at Hermione. “You're beautiful.”

“I feel beautiful,” Hermione said, mystified. Her eyes welled with tears, as her husband leaned down and kissed her. She turned her attention back to their son. “Isn't he the most perfect thing you've ever seen?” Her hand trembled slightly as she touched his little ears and nose. “Can you believe we made him?” Her voice was an awed whisper. Harry felt his own throat clog up, and when Hermione reached up to gently brush tears away from his face, he thought he was going to come unglued.

“Dammit, woman,” he said abruptly, and Hermione laughed through her tears. Madame Pomfrey looked at him reprovingly from where she was bustling about at the foot of the bed, scourgifying the floor and changing the linens.

“There are … quite a number of people outside, waiting to hear the news,” the mediwitch said with pursed lips. Harry grinned, wondering how much Ron and Ginny had annoyed Madame Pomfrey during the course of Hermione's labor. He kissed his wife on the forehead.

“I'll go tell them,” he said, then looked at Madame Pomfrey questioningly. “Can they come in?”

“I suppose,” she said, reluctantly. “But they're to be quick and quiet.”

Harry was surprised at the number of students…and teachers… out in the hallway. At first, nobody appeared to notice his arrival. Parvati, Neville, and Professor Lupin were quietly talking, and Ron appeared absorbed in a Chudley Cannons magazine. Harry noticed with a grin, that he had changed out of his graduation robes, and was already wearing his Cannons' jersey. He saw a fragment of black billow from around the corner and disappear, and wondered in amazement if Snape could possibly be waiting for news too. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were standing a short distance away, looking tense and pensive.

“Ahem,” Harry cleared his throat softly, and created instant bedlam, as people leapt to their feet, and called out questions. “Hermione's fine. The baby's fine. It's a boy.” There were cheers and scattered applause. “Mr. and Mrs. Granger?” He opened the door, and gestured inward with his hand. “Ron? Ginny?” He re-entered the infirmary, while the others outside sat back down to wait their turn.

“He's so little!” Ginny squealed, leaning over Mrs. Granger's elbow, as the new grandmother beamed down at him. “Look at all his hair!”

“I don't think he's going to have very good luck in the hair department…genetically speaking,” Hermione said, with chagrin.

“Hey!” Harry said, looking offended.

“What're you going to call him then?” Ron asked, looking somewhat abashed. Harry and Hermione had kept the baby names they'd chosen a dark secret, telling no one.

“Jamie,” they said together.

“I like it!” Ginny said. “Is that short for - ?”

“James,” Hermione supplied, nodding. She looked at her parents. “After Harry's father.” Harry felt his throat close up again, and he closed his eyes, hoping to forestall any more tears. Dad, Mum, he thought, did you hear that? I have a son. He's beautiful. I wish you could see him. When he opened his eyes again, Hermione was looking at him, and he had the feeling that she'd known exactly what he was thinking. Sympathy shone in her dark eyes, and she squeezed his hand gently.

Mrs. Granger had passed the baby to Mr. Granger, who handed the baby to Ron, a few moments later. The redhead looked so gangly and out of place holding an infant that Harry had an incongruous desire to laugh.

“Can you imagine,” Ron said, somewhat irreverently, “the stroke Snape's going to have when another James Potter is sorted into Gryffindor in eleven years?” Harry and Ginny chortled.

“Professor Snape,” Hermione corrected automatically, but could not suppress a small smile.

“Did you want to tell them the rest of his name yet?” Harry asked Hermione. Hermione nodded her head, as all eyes turned inquiringly toward her.

“We're calling him Jamie. But his full name is James Ronald Potter,” she announced, biting her lip, and looking questioningly up at Ron.

The silly half-smile that had been floating around Ron's face while he looked at the baby fell off suddenly, and he gaped at them as if he'd been petrified.

“R - rea - really?” he stammered, and Harry wondered when he'd last seen Ron so flummoxed. His best friend's blue eyes looked suspiciously wet.

“Figured we owed you that too,” Harry said, echoing Ron's familiar refrain. Ron was visibly trying to gather the shreds of his lost composure.

“Of course you do,” he replied airily. Ginny and Hermione rolled their eyes. After a few moments, Ron reluctantly handed the baby back to Hermione.

“I guess we ought to let some other people have a go,” he said. “You lot really put a crimp in the graduation party. Nobody even cared.” Harry and Hermione exchanged abashed glances. “We'll be back before the Express leaves,” Ron added. Mr. and Mrs. Granger went out with Ron and Ginny, promising to come back later, after Hermione had rested.

Harry sat on the edge of the bed, one arm around Hermione, as he kissed her softly on the forehead.

“Well, we've graduated,” Hermione said, with an air of finality. “People are going to be leaving soon.” She stroked Jamie's soft head with one finger. “Have you decided what you're going to do…about the job?” Hermione had owled her acceptance to the research firm weeks ago, but Harry had agonized over the decision, wondering what would be best for his family, for him…

Harry's eyes flitted around the hospital wing. He had finally made his decision; indeed, it seemed as if it were truly the only choice to make. He felt sure that Hermione would look superior, as if she'd known it all along.

“Don't you think Hogwart's would be a great place for Jamie to grow up?” He asked almost rhetorically.

Hermione smiled.

THE END

There, it's done. And actually, not that much shorter than the chapters, but I was having fun.

I just wanted to take a sec and thank every single person who reviewed. Especially those who faithfully reviewed at every update. I didn't reply to all of them, or even most of them, but I squealed and clapped my hands every time I saw a new review.

Without your insights, questions, and suggestions, this story wouldn't have been what it was. It was originally intended as a shorter character piece, highlighting a love triangle in the Trio, and focusing on the angst of poor lovelorn Harry. It became so much more - and better, I think - than that, and for that, I thank you again.

Still working on “Isle”, so hopefully I will have a new update for that soon. Also, I have a new story in the outline-stage that I hope to start posting before too much longer. Hope you'll give them a look.

`Til we meet again,

lorien

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