Disclaimer: Not mine, as if you lived under a rock and thought it was.
PART III: The Beginning of the End
Chapter One: Era's End
The first thing that Harry was aware of when his eyes fluttered open was that he couldn't feel his knee at all. The second thing was that there was something large, gold, and quite shiny very close to his face. It was almost too close for him to focus on without crossing his eyes, so he drew his head away from it.
"The Cup?" he said, in a voice of wonder.
"You caught the Snitch, Harry. Right before you fell off your broom like an ickle firstie. Don't you remember?" came the teasing voice of his best mate. "Can't imagine where you got the reputation for being an incredible flyer!"
A tired grin creased Harry's face. "Sod off, Ron," he said amiably, and tried to push himself up higher in the bed.
He groaned as he saw the ward blinking at the foot of the bed. His knee was in the restraint field attached to the bed again. "Aw, dammit!"
"Yeah," Ron nodded. "Healer Munson's going to be right pissed at you! After all the hard work he did fixing your knee." That reminded Harry of someone else who was going to be beyond pissed at him, and a look of trepidation spread across his face.
"Where's Hermione?" Ron's eyes widened, and he leaned closer to speak in a confidential tone.
"She was so mad that she stormed out… as soon as she found out you weren't going to die, of course."
"Figures," Harry rolled his eyes. "Might've saved everyone a load of trouble if I had, though."
"Harry…" Ron gave him a look that belayed all need for comment. "Besides, she did come to the game, even though she said she wouldn't. She was one of the first people down on the field, after you fell."
Something teased at the corners of Harry's memory. "But she wasn't there…at least, not until the end." He said, almost like he was thinking aloud. "I saw her out on the green…talking to Malfoy… that's when the Bludger nearly got me."
"Talking to Malfoy? Harry, are you sure? From that distance- " Ron began, then suddenly stopped. "Unless…" he pondered, thinking of their meeting with Malfoy in the corridor outside the Room of Requirement.
"Unless what?" Harry eyed him warily.
"Malfoy ran into Hermione and me outside the Room of Requirement a while back. He got up in her face a little, said some things about her…and you - just his normal dragon load. But he kind of made some threats too, said people were watching you both. I didn't really understand what he was getting at, but Hermione seemed to think he was trying to tell her something."
"That must have been the night we made up. I told her to let me know if … She told me she wouldn't -" He stopped abruptly and changed tack. "So she's been lying to me…ever since. But I don't understand why she thought she..." He looked at Ron with worried eyes, his jaw starting to set in anger.
Ron did not get to reply, as the door to the hospital wing creaked open, and they both eyed the door in an awkward silence. Hermione stepped into the room, and Harry could tell by the thin set of her lips that she had not come for a tearful reunion.
"Howler Time," Ron whispered, as she approached Harry's bedside.
"What the hell were you thinking, Harry James Potter?" Hermione seethed. Ron was right, Harry mused, she did sound kind of like Mrs. Weasley in one of Ron's glorious exploding red letters. "You've completely undone everything Healer Munson did to your knee, and you'll be lucky if you ever walk again without a limp!"
"It's not a total loss, Hermione," Ron said lightly, and Harry was pathetically grateful to him for taking his life in his own hands by speaking up. "Gryffindor won the C - "
"Sod Gryffindor!!" Hermione yelled, and both boys flinched.
"Well, now that was uncalled for," Ron said in an offended voice.
"'S a shame I'm still alive, actually," Harry said in an off-handed tone that fooled no one. "A little red smoke, sound like a tea kettle boiling over, and all our problems would be solved."
Hermione's eyes were filled with furious tears. "Harry, if you weren't so eager to die, I'd kill you myself! But as it is, I'll not give you the satisfaction." She watched as Harry and Ron exchanged glances, trying to figure out exactly what she meant by what she'd just said.
"Hermione…were you joking?" Ron tried tentatively.
"I never joke, Ronald," Hermione said primly. "Most especially not when my idiot boyfriend tries to kill himself playing a stupid game!"
"I thought he was your idiot fiancé," Ron supplied, quirking a smile at her. She did not smile back. Harry sat silently, trying to find the exact moment to bring up what he'd seen during the match.
"It's not funny," Hermione insisted. "I know you said you don't need a mum, but who's going to look after you, when you keep doing such boneheaded things, without even thinking. You could have been killed. You're lucky you didn't do more damage to yourself than you did. You haven't flown competitively in ages, yet you still tried to chase the Snitch like you do it everyday. It was incredibly dangerous and incredibly stupid! And for what? A cup?" She threw a scathing look toward the Cup by Harry's bed.
"It's the Quidditch Cup, Hermione, not some old water goblet," Ron said, casting a look of anxiety at Harry, who was watching Hermione with an extremely thoughtful expression on his face.
"Are you looking after Malfoy too then, Hermione?" Harry asked, in a tone that was carefully bland. Ron swallowed noisily, with an oh shit look on his face. Hermione stiffened noticeably.
"What are you talking about, Harry?" she asked in a neutral tone. Ron's attention was drawn to how tightly how her hands were wound in her lap.
"I saw you today, during the game, talking to him out on the grounds," Harry said, his voice still level. "What on earth could you have to say to Malfoy?"
"It was about the classwork Flitwick gave us," Hermione said, forgetting in her anxiety to call her teacher by his title.
"Liar," Harry said, and the label hung heavily in the room, upping the tension considerably. Hermione paled.
"It's none of your business," she bit back, looking him directly in the eye. Ron was looking back and forth between the two of them with genuine fear.
"Hermione, you - you and Malfoy aren't - aren't - er - you know?" Ron said, gesturing uncertainly with his hands.
"Don't be ridiculous, Ron!" Harry and Hermione snapped in unison. Hermione looked at Harry with a little surprise. At least he doesn't think that of me, she thought. Ron watched the two of them for a long moment; they seemed to be talking to each other without speaking. Finally, Hermione broke the stare and looked down into her lap.
"You said you wanted me to trust you again, Hermione? How can I, when you continue to keep secrets from me?" Harry said, his voice steely and his eyes shuttered.
"I kept a secret, because I knew you'd overreact. You always do." Harry eyed her suspiciously.
"Only when you're putting yourself in danger. So, what dangerous things are you doing, Hermione?" Harry asked in a polite voice that fooled no one. "Meeting Malfoy privately? Who knows what he could do? Or where he could take you?" His eyes went momentarily distant, as he thought of unexpected portkeys to dangerous places. "There are plenty of Death Eaters still out there who would love to get their hands on you!"
"You can lecture me about putting myself in danger? When you go darting about on a broom with a bum knee that - " Hermione finished her sentence with an angry sigh, flaring out her nostrils. She didn't really have a leg to stand on; she knew it, and Harry knew it.
"Tell me now," Harry said shortly, and in another situation, Hermione might have taken issue with his perfunctory tone.
"Malfoy knows about your being the last horcrux," Hermione said in a terse voice. "He figured it out, by watching us, seeing what I was reading. He said I'd never find anything here. I figured he must know where I could find something." Ron was gaping at her, with a look that clearly said "is that what he meant?"
"So I met with him up in the Room of Requirement, and struck a deal with him. He's been bringing me information on horcruxes from his father's library ever since." Hermione finished with her head held high, and looked at them with defiance, but her eyes flickered with uncertainty.
"What were his terms?" Harry asked, in a low serious voice. Hermione began to feel a little quiver of fear in her stomach. She had never seen him so angry…to the point where he wasn't really acting angry. She outlined what Malfoy had requested of her.
"And Tonks did it?" Harry said in a tone of disbelief.
"I asked her to; I - I told her that Malfoy was working for you now, and that the charms needed to be disabled so Malfoy could retrieve things from his home without being monitored. I said - I said that you had built a rapport with him after testifying at his trial, and you thought you could get him to name other Death Eaters," Hermione said, with a slight hitch in her voice. Heat slowly filled Harry's face, and his eyes seemed to darken until they were nearly black. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this upset.
"So you lied to other people and me and used my name to get what you wanted," Harry said, and Hermione made a strangled noise in her throat. Ron was watching them like one would watch a train wreck. Harry looked suddenly more sad than angry. "I never thought you'd be one to use me as a means to an end. I thought I knew you, and you're just like everybody else."
Hermione's chin trembled, but she did not drop her gaze from his. His last sentence went straight to her heart, and Hermione wanted to cry from the pain of it. "I did it for you," she said quietly. "I was wrong about keeping it a secret, and I should have told you, but I'm not sorry I made a deal with Draco Malfoy. I'd do it again, if it means we have a fighting chance to keep you alive."
"I don't care about Malfoy," Harry said, angrily. "I care that you evidently think so little of me that you have to lie to me and about me. Trying to protect me from myself, like I'm a child. I'm nearly eighteen years old, and - and you wanted to marry me." Hermione shifted a little at his use of the past tense. "Why? So you could fret over me all day, every day?" He was gathering up a full head of steam now, and Hermione could only stand motionless under the assault, feeling as if she deserved every word. "You used to treat me like a person - you were practically the only one who did. You never saw the scar, the dead parents, the hateful Muggle relatives, the `future' of the wizarding world… you just saw Harry."
"I still d - " Hermione tried to say.
"No. No, you don't!" Harry interrupted. "You see Harry, the poor pitiable bloke with the world on his shoulders, the horcrux in his head, and the hexed knees. But I'm still the same person I always was. And I am not a project for you to finish or a problem for you to solve!!" His voice had risen until he was all but shouting.
The room rang with silence. Hermione was obviously biting back tears. Ron looked as if he would like to leave, but wouldn't know what to do or where to go once he had.
"We used to take on things like this together, remember?" Harry continued, a little more quietly. "All three of us. What happened? When did we become less than inadequate?" He gestured a hand between himself and Ron.
"You're not - " Hermione choked out.
"Is this what I can expect, Hermione?" Harry said, very softly. "Are you always going to pass summary judgment on what you think I can and cannot handle? Can I expect lies any time you think you're `doing what's best'?"
"I was only - " Hermione heard the pleading note in her voice, and instinctively hated it. But she also had a dreadful feeling that perhaps this time, she had gone too far, and had altered things between them irrevocably.
"You should have told me. We could have all talked to Malfoy. We could have figured this out together…like we did the Sorceror's Stone or the horcruxes." Should have, could have, Hermione's mind whirled. It all sounds so final.
"Harry - " she stopped, as if she expected to get interrupted again, but he said nothing. "Harry, I'm sorry." The words sounded weak, lame, inadequate. Ron was sitting in the chair at Harry's bedside, looking for all the world like he'd been petrified. "I thought you'd be angry, that you wouldn't be able to handle it. You've handled so much more than a person ought… I wanted to - I wanted to spare you some of that. I thought I was doing what was best for you."
"Maybe you don't know me either, then," Harry almost whispered. "And maybe this was a bad idea." Hermione knew instantly what he was talking about, and her face set like stone. She began to toy with the ring on her finger.
Harry held up one hand in a gesture for her to stop. "Keep it," he said with a glum shrug. "I don't want it." He sounded so tired.
She would have said something else - she didn't really know what - but he made a quick movement with his raised hand that caused the door to the wing to fly open, so quickly that it banged noisily up against the wall.
She turned to go, but at the door, she pivoted on one foot to face her two best friends again. "All of it - " she began chokingly, then stopped and started again. "I can't bear to see you keep getting hurt. And now I'm the one hurting you. You can't possibly hate me any more than I hate myself right now."
"I don't … hate you," Harry said slowly. Hermione's face twisted into a bitter, distorted smile.
"You can barely say it," she observed, and slipped from the room like a wraith, without another word.
Harry swore violently, colorfully, and lengthily. Ron sat in silence, having arisen only to save the Quidditch Cup from being hurled across the room. He wasn't sure what to say, and he wondered if this is how Hermione had felt when he and Harry were fighting fourth year. Ron cleared his throat hesitantly.
"Harry…I'm - I'm sure this will all blow over," he began in an uncharacteristically timid tone.
"She looked me right in the eyes," Harry said, nearly to himself. "Looked me right in the eyes, and smiled, and lied. Without even blinking." He sounded like he could not believe it.
"Well, that should have been your first clue," Ron said lightly, without thinking. Harry gave him a dark look, and Ron winced, shaking his head rapidly. "Sorry, mate. Time and place, I know."
Harry resumed watching the door, still hanging ajar from where he had wandlessly thrown it. "I thought - I thought - " he lowered his head into his heads, his fingers threading into his disheveled hair. "I can't believe that she didn't trust me, that she didn't believe in me enough to tell me what she was doing. Can you imagine how much that hurts?"
"No, mate. I'm sorry," Ron ventured sympathetically. "But I'm sure Hermione realizes that she made a mistake, and she -"
"Were you not listening, Ron? She said she'd have done it all again, even though she knew it was wrong."
"She was just trying to help you. She only wants to see you safe, healthy, and happy. She loves you. People do stupid things for the people they love," Ron protested, and Harry looked at him with an air of betrayal.
"Whose side are you on?"
"Harry, you are not going to put me on a side," he said in a warning tone. "Or I'll walk out of here right now. I don't necessarily agree with what she did, but I understand why she did it, and I'm still her friend." Harry snorted air out of his nostrils in a bitter approximation of a laugh.
"Friends…" he said, trailing off. "I guess we've imploded the Golden Trio, now haven't we? Almost made it to graduation too."
"Harry…it's not over."
"It's over," Harry said, with an air of gloomy certainty. "Did you see her try to give back the ring?"
"Well, you certainly didn't try to disabuse her of that notion," Ron pointed out.
"How could I marry someone who acts like that?"
"She's not the only one to ever keep secrets from you! Dumbledore did on more than one occasion, Sirius did, my parents did. People were just looking out for you - and their intentions were good. It's not that anybody thought you didn't deserve to know, they just wanted to protect you from it - give you a normal life."
"I'm obviously not meant for a normal life," Harry sighed. "Besides, Hermione's different," he added softly.
"How is she different?" Ron demanded.
"Because I'm in love with her." Harry stared unhappily into middle distance, his eyes seeming to reflect endless vistas of sorrow.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione was sitting by the lake, staring blindly as the sunlight split into a million rays reflecting off of the wavy surface. It was as if the lake was sprinkled with jewels. The sky still shone a brilliant blue above, and warm wind wafted through her hair. The only sensations that Hermione was cognizant of were the salty tears on her face and the tight, painful clog in her throat. She was angry and ashamed and devastated and scared and…
You've messed up royally this time, Hermione.
I wanted to help him. Why can't he see that?
He's had people lying to him and shielding him and babying him his entire life. He expected more from you.
I didn't do anything wrong!
Except lie to the man you love.
Except that…but I've apologized. What else can I do?
Being apologized to doesn't mean you automatically forget the anger and pain inflicted on you. He needs time.
If he ever intended to forgive me, why did he break up with me?
You were the one who tried to give his ring back…again.
He didn't even want it. He doesn't want me. She thought of the way that the door had banged against the wall, driven by the powerful emotions behind Harry's wandless magic. He couldn't stand the sight of me any longer.
He loves you.
He hates me. And I hate him.
No, you don't.
Yes I do!
She stood, suddenly and fiercely, pulling the ring from her finger, and hurling it toward the lake with all her might. Even as it flew from her hand, she was running after it, shocked and horrified at what she'd done.
Without even being aware of what she was doing, she was on her knees at the water's edge, scrabbling around frantically in the reeds. "It didn't go in the water. It didn't go in the water. Please let it not have gone into the water," she was pleading in a low, trembling voice, as she pushed the grasses aside.
The swamping relief she felt when she saw it, perched against a clump of grass that was practically growing out over the water, nearly overwhelmed her. She clasped her shaky fingers tightly around the ring, as if fearful that someone would come and physically rip it from her hands.
Those are really the actions of someone who hates the person who gave her that ring, Hermione, a snide voice said in her head.
I can't give it up, she thought frenetically, feverishly. I can't give him up. What am I going to do?
Help him. Help him live.
He won't accept help from me…not now.
Help him anyway. Don't ask for permission. Continue your research, without asking anything in return.
"Hermione?" came a voice behind her. Hermione whirled, clutching her ring to her chest, her eyes wide like those of a startled animal. Ginny was standing behind her. "How's Harry?" Ginny asked. "I was going to go up and see him, but Neville and Seamus were waiting to go in, and I didn't want Madame Pomfrey to have a stroke."
"He's - he's okay. Messed up his knee again, though," Hermione said vaguely, and Ginny looked at her with concern.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she replied, even as tears trembled on her eyelashes, to her horror.
"Hey, it's okay," Ginny said sympathetically, completely misunderstanding why Hermione was crying. "He's had a setback, but he'll come back from that too, just like he always does. And as for the other…well, you'll figure it out, won't you? I'm going to help."
"We broke up," Hermione blurted suddenly, and looked moderately surprised at herself. Why did I say that?
"What?" Ginny looked astonished, her mouth hanging open. "Why?"
"He saw me - and Malfoy - talking, during the game. I guess Ron had told him what happened at our first meeting. Anyway, he's completely furious with me for lying - and I don't guess I really blame him. I - I treated him just like everybody always treats him."
"You were trying to save his life," Ginny protested.
"I lied," Hermione finished bleakly, remembering suddenly that she was still holding the ring tightly in her sweaty palm. She replaced it on her finger.
"You still have your ring," Ginny pointed out, rather obviously.
"He didn't even want it back," she said dully, the tears spilling over again, in spite of her best efforts.
"What are you going to do?" Hermione shrugged.
"What else can I do?" The glimmer of determination began to return to her eyes. "I'm going to figure this horcrux thing out. Whether he ever forgives me or not."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Thank Merlin, that's over!" Ron said in a tone of distinct relief, pulling his tie cock-eyed to loosen it, and throwing his robes in an untidy pile through the open door of his own room. He followed Harry into his room instead. "Who knew graduation ceremonies were so boring?"
"Don't tell me you haven't ever been to one!" Harry said, leaning the crutches up against the bed, and sinking onto its soft surface, rubbing his knee absent-mindedly.
"Well, you know Fred and George didn't graduate. And I think I got sent outside at Charlie's, after I made Ginny throw up. I think it was from something Fred and George gave me…It got all over this snotty witch's designer dress robes. Mum was so mad! Don't remember much about Bill's." Harry was shaking his head with a wry smile on his face. "Anyway, it was bloody boring - except for Hermione's speech, that is."
"She was brilliant, wasn't she?" Harry said, a little wistfully. Ron looked at him knowingly.
"And you were not bad yourself, Potter," he teased. "Limping across the stage, crutches thumping on the floor, look at me - Hero for the Light, wounded in the line of duty, what? Oh my goodness," he mimed an expression of surprise. "A standing ovation? Whatever for?"
"Shut it, Ron," Harry said, flushing crimson. He didn't know when he'd ever been so embarrassed. Ron chortled, while Harry dumped his robes into his trunk, and started looking around half-heartedly for anything he'd left behind. Ron noticed his look.
"Last night at Hogwarts," he observed.
"Yeah," Harry said distantly. The room already looked barren. He couldn't imagine loading up on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow morning, knowing he was never coming back … never coming back. He felt a little ambivalent about it. Hogwarts had been the first truly happy home he'd ever known, but it had also been the site of unbelievable horrors as well.
"Flat'll be nice, though," Ron remarked, trying to sound nonchalant.
"Yeah," Harry repeated. He and Ron had let a flat together just off of Diagon Alley, one of Ron's first major purchases with his signing bonus.
"You know what you're going to do yet?" Ron asked, trying to pry information out of his friend.
"Not yet," he said glumly. The job offers had poured in, but Harry had been extremely leery of a majority of them - thinking correctly that most just wanted a piece of the Boy Who Lived. "I can't be an Auror, and I can't play Quidditch…" His thoughts were decidedly morose. No Quidditch, no Auror training, no Hermione…hell, I don't even have my bloody destiny to fall back on anymore.
"I could put in a good word for you at the Cannons," Ron offered helpfully. Harry shot him a look. Ron had been over the moon when he had gotten the offer to join the team as Reserve Keeper. Evidently the scouts had been watching Ron this season and had been suitably impressed. "You were the youngest Seeker in a century." Harry waved a crutch at him, trying to smile.
"New and not improved, now with a game leg!" he said in an announcer's voice. "Thanks Ron, but no team would ever take me now."
"Well, I'm not going to let you mooch off me forever, you know," Ron said in a lofty voice. "You'll have to stand on your own two feet eventually," he teased, and then blanched as he realized what he'd said. "Er…" he began again, uneasily.
But Harry was smiling. "Prat," he said, slinging a pillow at his best mate. Ron looked relieved.
"You're just jealous…I'll be getting paid for playing Quidditch…and the girls - I reckon the girls will be besotted with a hot prospect like myself."
"Keep telling yourself that, Ron," Harry said, rolling his eyes and smothering a grin.
"And Hermione thought I'd never amount to anything."
"She'd still think playing professional Quidditch wasn't really amounting to anything…" Harry said, and then slowly trailed off as the smile wavered uncertainly on his face. For a moment, he appeared to be very far away.
"You should talk to her," Ron prodded, and Harry suddenly snapped back to full attention.
"I can't. You know that."
"Actually I don't," Ron said coolly. "I've been very good up to this point, playing your bloody go-between, sitting calmly in the common room during your stiff silences, trying to act like nothing's wrong. I think I've gone above and beyond, myself, and I'm really quite bloody sick of the whole drama."
"Ron, she threw my name around to get what she wanted. She lied - " Harry said, annoyed, and really not wanting to dredge this up before the party, on their last day at school.
"Boo-sodding-hoo," Ron intoned, rolling his eyes. "She also apologized. Either go talk to her, or move on. I'm tired of seeing you moping about. You're enjoying it too much, and it's getting on my nerves."
"Enjoying it?" Harry was dumbfounded. "Are you mad?"
"For putting up with the two of you? Yes, I reckon I'm bloody certifiable. She misses you, you know?"
"She puts on a damn good show, then," Harry sighed, narrowing his eyes and looking away. Ron threw his hands up in the air in frustration.
"Well, you're on your own tonight, Potter. I'm taking Luna to the party, and a bunch of us are going to Hogsmeade after…but I'm not babysitting you. Wallow in a corner, if you like." He went into his room, and Harry heard the door shut rather decisively.
A few moments later, he heard soft footfalls in the hallway. They paused uncertainly by his door, and Harry waited with baited breath, wondering if she would come in. There was a moment of absolute silence, broken only by Ron shuffling and thumping around in his room, probably packing.
The footfalls went on by, and he heard a creak and a click as her door opened and shut. The disappointment sat heavily in his gut like an indigestible meal. His shoulders slumped.
Hermione, what happened to us? he wondered, bleakly.
He peered out of his door, and saw no one, but noticed a large package wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. He picked it up, and was amazed at the heft of it. Curiously, he carried it over to his desk, and slit the twine with his wand, then crumpling the paper and throwing it aside carelessly.
It was a ream of paper, filled with notes, jottings, duplicated pages from books. Parts of it had arrows or underlines highlighting something in particular. Harry lifted a few of the pages, flipping through them with wonder. He noticed a few headers "Making a Horcrux", "What Happened to Aurelius Fitzosborne". Then he noticed the handwriting…scribbles in the margins like what if you added powdered asphodel? and extraction versus destruction.
Hermione. These were her notes. She'd obviously not stopped collecting them, and now she was giving them to him. What for? He wondered. Then, maybe it really is over.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A couple of hours later found Ron and Harry descending to the Great Hall, ensconced in their dress robes.
"Luna said she'd meet us down here," Ron said, looking a little nervous, tugging at his new robes uncertainly.
"Ron, you look fine," Harry reassured him, looking comfortable in the dark green color that he tended to favor.
"I wish I hadn't let you talk me out of the orange ones," Ron said.
"You can't be serious," Harry said, deadpan. Ron had wanted totally orange dress robes, in honor of his new contract with the Chudley Cannons. Harry had managed to talk him down to black robes, with only an orange vest underneath.
"What's wrong with orange?" Ron protested.
"There's Luna!" Harry pointed, feeling very glad to see her.
"She looks great, doesn't she?" Ron said, looking wistfully at Luna in a wispy silver dress. Harry wondered if he was seeing things, or if there actually were purple feathers on it as well.
Harry felt more and more useless as Ron gallantly took Luna's arm and escorted her into the Great Hall. Professor Flitwick had outdone himself, putting the entire Hall in the likeness of an exotic tropical locale. There was a waterfall in one corner, and the walls fairly dripped with vines, orchids, hibiscus, and other tropical flowers. The sky was inky black and studded with stars, and the moon looked somehow closer than it seemed to in England.
"This is bloody brilliant," he heard Ron say.
Maybe I shouldn't have come, Harry thought, looking idly for a corner to wallow in, as Ron had said.
Then he saw her.
She was wearing a frothy green one-shouldered dress shot through with silver that set off her hair and eyes perfectly. Her hair was swirled up on top of her head, and he could see silver sparkly things twinkling amidst the curls. She was a vision. He felt all the blood drain from his face, headed - he thought - for his stomach, as he suddenly became very queasy.
Her eyes darted toward him and then quickly away. Harry was amazed at how much even that brief glance affected him, knocking him for a loop. It had to have been Ron's mentioning it earlier, he concluded. He had seen her in class, and seen her at meals, and seen her in their common room, and he hadn't reeled like he was reeling now in quite some time.
Of course, it could also be that dress… he thought, swallowing hard. Memories sprang back unbidden, of her walking into the veritable mouth of the dragon, carrying the sword of Gryffindor, of her warmth curled next to him in bed, of her crying and wringing her hands as he knelt down in front of her. Hermione…
"Are you going to take my advice and talk to her, or just stare at her all night like some sort of creepy stalker?" Ron said, his voice suddenly jarring into Harry's consciousness.
"Creepy Stalkers aren't usually found this far south until late autumn," Luna said, somewhat battily, and Ron was momentarily distracted, looking at her with fondness.
"You really ought to -" Ron continued, turning back toward Harry, but he was gone.
Harry was halfway across the Great Hall before he even comprehended what he was doing, and by then, it was too late to stop. He had discarded the crutches in favor of the cane, thinking that they went better with dress robes, but the ache in his knee was already making him regret it. He halted in front of Hermione expectantly, but said nothing, unable to find any vocabulary to fit the situation.
Hermione had felt her heart backflip into her throat when she saw him walking carefully toward her. She looked at him with arched, questioning eyebrows, and managed to say in a cool voice,
"Can I help you, Harry?"
"I was - I wanted - " he stammered, and then grew frustrated. Her composure was disarming, and he swore under his breath. "Never mind."
"Walking away again?" Hermione said, blurting out the first thing that came to her mind. Anything to get him to stay. It worked; he whirled on her, his eyes narrowed irately.
"You're the one who walked away last time," he hissed.
"You opened the door for me," she reminded him, her jaw thrust forward mutinously.
"You didn't have to go through it."
"Oh, didn't I?" Hermione sounded as furious as he felt. "You gave me a hell of a lot of choice!"
"You lied to me. I was angry!"
"That seems to be a natural state for you lately."
"No thanks to you," he muttered, feeling churlish and petty.
"I said I was sorry. What more do you want?"
"I want - I - " What did he want? His mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Why had he even come over here? "Why did you give me those notes?" he sounded fatigued, and was leaning heavily on his cane.
"I thought you could use them," she said.
"So you're not -" he struggled. "So, that's it then?" She looked at him with the cool politeness that smacked of if you're quite finished, will you please go? Inwardly, she was writhing. "Well, er…thanks, I - I - " He looked at her helplessly as he abruptly broke off, and headed back in the direction from which he'd come.
Hermione felt limp, as the tension and anger drained slowly away, leaving only despair in their wake. She reached over with her thumb to feel the reassuring weight of the engagement ring, charmed to be invisible, resting on her fourth finger. She wasn't sure why she continued to wear it, especially when he made special effort to make it clear how much he despised her.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Many eyes had wandered to the bickering couple, and more still were dancing energetically as the music ramped up to a higher tempo. Ginny Weasley had taken the opportunity to slip through the crowd, while her escort for the evening, one Neville Longbottom, was getting them both some punch.
"I'm not in the habit of waiting on people, Weasley," Malfoy observed acidly, when she finally drew near to the shadowy corner where he waited.
"I'm sure you're not in the habit of doing anything that would even remotely inconvenience you. Hermione and I thank you from the bottom of our hearts," she replied, her words dripping copiously with sarcasm.
"This had several masking and concealment charms on it," Draco warned, passing her a package. "I couldn't break the last one, but I'd wager Potter's inheritance that it pertains to horcruxes."
"Maybe this will be what Hermione's been looking for, finally," Ginny said, shrinking the package and tucking it into her tiny handbag.
"If she can disable the last charm," Malfoy pointed out, "without ending up in the hospital wing. Although I do rather feel like celebrating!"
"As you should," Ginny said with mock seriousness. "Graduated from Hogwarts without getting put in Azkaban, and now you have all your father's ill-gotten gain to enjoy…thanks to Hermione."
"Granger wouldn't have done it, if she hadn't needed something from me herself. She's not really very different from me. Don't pretend that she is doing this because of her stellar moral fiber."
"She's doing it because she loves Harry. Something you wouldn't be able to understand, since you've never loved anyone but yourself."
"What more worthy candidate could I find?" Draco said, shrugging, with a casual smile.
"How long have you got?" Ginny asked dryly, and Malfoy just glared at her.
"Just tell Granger about the charm. We wouldn't want any…accidents."
"I'd put faith in Hermione's ability to break a charm any day," Ginny said, smiling winningly at him just to irritate him further, before she vanished back into the crowd.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Harry was halfway back to where Ron and Luna were standing, when he was suddenly buttonholed by a familiar face.
"Oliver!" he said with genuine surprise. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"Good to see you too, Harry," Oliver Wood said, shaking hands with his former teammate.
"How's Puddlemere treating you?"
"Can't complain, can't complain," Wood said contentedly. "But you! You're just the person I wanted to see. In fact, you are the reason I am here."
"Me?" Harry said. "But why -?"
"You haven't already taken a job, have you, Harry?" Harry shook his head, deflating a little. Most of his classmates already had jobs lined up or some kind of future plan.
"Good!" Oliver said, with a grin. "I made them wait, because I really wanted to bring the news to you myself. Unfortunately, this is the soonest I could get away."
"What are you on about, Oliver?" Harry asked curiously.
"Puddlemere wants to offer you a job!" Oliver said, as if it had been completely obvious all along.
"A job? But I - I can't - " Harry said, clenching his cane more tightly in his hand.
"Not playing Quidditch, coaching Quidditch." Harry looked at his former schoolmate as if he'd lost his mind.
"Excuse me?" Harry asked.
"The manager is retiring, and the assistant manager is taking over. The owners saw what you did with Gryffindor's team this year, even though you couldn't play, and they liked it. They know the Cannons got Ron Weasley. And they want you," Oliver looked inordinately smug, "to be the new assistant manager. We've had three players retire this year, and we've got to play a Reserve Chaser because Mitchell got hurt. We could use you."
"Assistant manager…of Puddlemere United?" Harry wheezed, as if he could not get enough air in his lungs. "You've - you've got to be joking."
"I assure you, it's no joke," Oliver slapped him on the back. "Pay's not extravagant," he said, naming a sum that still made Harry's eyes widen.
"I'd love to see what the real manager makes," he managed to say.
"You ought to see what the players make," Oliver laughed. "The owners and the new manager - his name's Reginald Bitewater - want to meet you in a couple of weeks, if that's okay." Harry nodded, still looking like he'd been bludgeoned. "Shall I tell them you'll be there, then?"
"Yeah….yeah, sure," he said, trying to recover his command of the English language.
"I'll owl you with the date and time. Where are you going to be living?"
"Near Diagon Alley, in a flat with Ron," Harry said.
"Oliver!!" Ron called out, coming up beside him. "What brings you here tonight?"
"Just offering your mate here a job." Wood was still looking as pleased as if he'd landed the job himself. Ron looked at Harry curiously.
"They want me to be assistant manager at Puddlemere United," Harry told Ron in a shell-shocked monotone. Ron's eyes widened to previously unseen levels, and he let out a piercing whoop.
"That's bloody brilliant!" he said. Harry met his friend's gaze then, and they both began to laugh, as Ron slapped him on the back.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was a raucous and noisy group of seventh years that made their way into the Three Broomsticks later that evening. It was a tradition to come down here on their last night of Hogwarts, and the teachers tended to look the other way, since seventh years had graduated and weren't technically students any longer. Ginny and Luna had managed to wrangle special dispensations and were present as well.
Hermione and Harry had drifted along with the crowd, careful to stay as far apart as possible. Harry looked distracted, though not as gloomy as he had at the beginning of the evening. He was quickly pulled up to the front of the knot of people, and excited voices and shouts broke out, as Ron related some kind of news that obviously pertained to Harry.
"Harry, no way! That's bloody fantastic!" Someone shouted. Hermione wondered what they were talking about, and remembered fondly a time when she would have been one of the first people he told.
Harry piled into a booth with Ginny, Ron, Luna, Neville, Dean and Seamus, who loudly and exuberantly ordered butterbeers all around.
"Oy, Hermione!" Ron called, waving one arm, toward his other best friend, who was shifting her weight uncertainly from foot to foot, looking from their booth to a table where the other seventh year girls were sitting. Her eyes darted again to Harry, before she seemed to make up her mind and move to sit with them. She slid into the end of the booth, next to Harry, who looked extremely discomfited.
"Assistant manager for Puddlemere United!" Seamus said in a tone of disbelief, raising his tankard to Harry. "Aren't you a lucky bastard?"
"I know, it's not a football team, Dean," Ron needled. "But it's still rather brilliant."
"I didn't say it wasn't," Dean offered companionably, raising his tankard as well. There were noisy cheers and whistles from not only their booth, but around the pub as well.
Hermione looked up at Harry from under her lashes. He's going to get a Quidditch job…something he always wanted. Thank Merlin.
"Do you remember," Seamus was saying, as the drinks arrived, "Neville's first flight on a broom?" Neville rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, while the other boys made noises like "oh-ho!"
"What about Ron's?" Dean called.
"I know how to fly a broom!" Ron protested.
"Was that before or after your broomstick broke your nose?" Harry spoke, and the table broke out into gales of laughter.
"Well, look at Harry's first flight….Youngest Seeker in a Century," Seamus said, enunciating so clearly that they could all virtually hear the capital letters.
"Well, if we're bringing Harry-memories into this contest, no one else has a chance," Ron snarked.
"I dunno, Ron," Neville piped up. "You both crashed the car into the Whomping Willow."
"Ron was driving," Harry pointed out quickly.
"But it was your fault we couldn't get through the barrier at King's Cross," Ron said, speaking over Harry's last word.
"That wasn't your year, was it Harry? What about when Professor Lockhart deboned your arm?" Dean said. There were some groans and shudders.
"That just wasn't right," Ron said with a grimace. "That man was a menace!"
"Hermione liked him though," Ginny grinned. Hermione glared at her.
"So did you."
"Maybe our judgment isn't the best," Ginny admitted, but then her eyes fell on Harry, and she froze. Hermione went very still, and there was a moment of awkward silence.
"So, how many nights have you spent in the hospital wing, Harry?" Dean asked quickly, returning to their previous topic.
"I have no idea," Harry said, going along with the spirit of the conversation, trying not to notice Hermione in his peripheral vision.
"He can't count that high," Ron grinned gleefully.
"Twenty-seven," Hermione spoke suddenly, her words dropping into deafening silence. Harry turned then, and really looked at her, for the first time since she'd sat at the table.
"Twenty-seven?" he asked her, sounding bewildered. She shrugged one shoulder, looking self-conscious.
"Twenty-seven," she repeated simply.
There was a moment of silence before Seamus and Dean went off into another spate of do-you-remembers. Harry and Hermione eyed each other uncertainly.
"You really know how many nights I've spent in the hospital wing?" he said in a low tone, meant only for her ears.
"You've been my best friend for seven years, Harry," Hermione mumbled, trying to make it sound like it was no big deal.
"Hermione, I - " he started, but was cut off by a shriek from another table. Lavender and Parvati were drawing their feet up into their chairs, as several little brown field mice scurried across the floor. The girls at Harry and Ron's table looked more than a little nonplussed themselves.
"Oh, ew!" Ginny exclaimed.
"You had six older brothers, and you're scared of mice?" Seamus asked in a disbelieving tone. "I'm sure they've set worse on you than that!" A bartender stepped around the bar, and began stunning the mice as he saw them, levitating them out through an unseen back door.
"Mice in a place where you eat food is gross," Hermione agreed. "And unsanitary."
Madame Rosmerta looked apologetically at her patrons. "Sorry!" she called out. "We've had a bit of an infestation lately. We've had all the food and drink under charms though; they're okay." Dean and Seamus exchanged ecstatic glances.
"Let's go get another round," Seamus said, nudging his best mates.
"It's still gr -" Ginny began, as the two boys made their way over to the bar, when she looked oddly at Harry. "Harry, what's wrong?" she teased. "Don't tell me that mice make -" she stopped speaking, and nudged Ron urgently. "Harry?" she said again.
Hermione turned toward him with concern. Please not again, not again, not again, she thought frantically, but to no avail, as the harsh rasping tones of Parseltongue began to issue from Harry's mouth, made audible by Harry's voice. His scar was glowing white again, and Hermione thought she saw something glint redly deep in his eyes.
"What the hell?" Ron felt instantly grateful that the commotion with the mice was distracting the other students. Nobody appeared to notice what was ongoing in their corner.
"Ginny - " Hermione began in a low voice.
"I know what I said," Harry said suddenly, looking like he'd been awake for days, but with clear eyes. "I - he - I -" He looked worriedly at Neville, who shook his head solemnly.
"I won't say a word, Harry," he promised.
"I said - he said `The Readunatio Animae ends all hope. They will come.'" He looked grim.
"Readunatio Animae?" Ginny said quizzically.
"It means `reunion of the soul,'" Hermione said thoughtfully. Neville just looked at them, mostly forgotten.
"You really know how to kill a mood, Harry," Ron snarked, but his eyes were sympathetic. Harry felt Hermione's hand snake into his own, her fingers twining with his.
"Who's they?" Neville asked, sounding a little nervous. Hermione looked helplessly at all of them, and shook her head.
"I don't know."
"But what does the other mean?" Ron asked. "Reunion of the soul. What - ?" he stopped suddenly. "Oh."
"It means," Harry said grimly, "that my time is nearly up." He got up and limped from the tavern, leaning on his cane, with the others trailing close behind, dodging the occasional mouse. Hermione walked beside him, saying nothing, but tucking her arm firmly into the crook of his.
As they vacated the booth, a particularly large, bright-eyed rodent specimen scurried out from under the table, ran along the wall, and disappeared into the shadows at the back of the tavern.
TBC
AN: Some notes….
One reviewer asked about the Trio's living arrangements post-Voldemort. They are still in the Gryffindor Head suites, where McGonagall allowed them to stay. I forgot that at the beginning I had Ron and Harry sharing the Head Boy room. I conveniently gave them all their own rooms when the whole shagging began. I will probably get around to fixing that eventually, and just give them all their own rooms from the beginning.
Secondly: Some very bright reader pointed out that Draco Malfoy would know who Tonks was, being a cousin of his, and would not have referred to her as "that auror". I could say that I was just having Malfoy be as contemptuous as possible, but the truth is that I just really forgot they were cousins. I suppose that with Malfoy being the way he is, the line still makes sense, but I just wanted to come clean.
As for the number of nights Harry has spent in the hospital wing, I completely pulled that number out of my … well, anyway, don't swear on it or anything. Totally made it up.
Also wanted to remind everyone that I don't intend to have D/G in this story, never did. I just found I really liked their spunky interaction with each other.
Thanks for reading. I got this chapter under a more manageable length this time. You may leave a review on your way out, if you like. It would be thoroughly appreciated!
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