Disclaimer: Not mine, as if you lived under a rock and thought it was.
PART IV: Denouement
Chapter Three: Coming Home
Hermione tapped lightly on the door of Healer Munson's office the next morning, and peeked her head around the jamb, on his muffled instruction to enter.
"Mrs. Potter," Healer Munson said formally, and Hermione flushed. "How's Harry doing this morning? I'll be starting my rounds in just a few moments."
"I - I haven't actually been in to see him yet today," Hermione admitted. "I wanted to apologize - for the way I spoke to you, yesterday." The healer smiled, his eyebrows raised, as though she'd brought up something that he'd forgotten about.
"You've been under a lot of - " he began, but she interrupted.
"It was inexcusable," she said firmly. "I did have a - a lot on my mind…I still do, but none of it was your fault, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
"Apology accepted," he said gently. "Mrs. Potter, I wouldn't presume that anyone could possibly want Harry healthy and well as much as you do, but it is one of the things that I am striving for, to the best of my ability."
Hermione nodded, and dropped her gaze. Her eyes fell on the desk, which had this morning's copy of the Prophet lying in the center of it, still folded. She had stopped by her work on the way in to St. Mungo's, and had left before Harry and Ron's copy of the paper had been delivered.
The headline blared across the front page: Secret Potter Marriage To Produce Heir. Hermione's expression was one of chagrin, although it really wasn't a surprise - indeed, she had been expecting it. Healer Munson's eyes followed her line of sight to the daily headline.
"Is that true?" he asked, and Hermione nodded, pressing her lips together tightly. "Well," he said, clapping his hands together in a more official way, gathering his charts up in his arms. "That will give your husband even more of an incentive to apply himself diligently to his therapy, will it not?" He opened the door for her, as they headed for Harry's room.
When they arrived, Harry was already awake, his face turned toward the window and his eyes glazed over as if lost in thought or remembrance.
"Good morning, Harry," Healer Munson said, moving to his bedside to check the wards. Hermione merely smiled, one that was barely more than a crinkling at the corners of her eyes. Whatever disturbing thing was occupying his mind flitted from his face when he saw her, and he smiled back. He reached out his hand for her, and she eagerly claimed the grasp.
"When am I going to get to go home?" he asked, in an almost plaintive way, directing his question toward the healer, though his eyes danced lightly across Hermione's features.
"I'd like to give you a few more days before we try to move that knee at all," Healer Munson replied. "Your magical reserves were lowered again this time, but you seem to be recovering more quickly. I'd hazard a guess that it is due to the fact that the horcrux is no longer present."
"The horcrux was hindering his recovery?" Hermione queried, tearing her eyes from Harry to look at the healer.
"I think so," he replied. "The last time he was injured, he had also destroyed a horcrux - well, two, if you count the piece in - in Voldemort himself," Munson said gravely. "You said he'd been ill every time one had been destroyed?" Harry and Hermione both nodded. "Well, this time the horcrux that had initially caused all the backlash was destroyed. No more backlash - faster recovery." His eyes flitted from Harry to Hermione, and she got the distinct impression that he was not telling them everything.
"So…the bottom line?" Harry asked. "How long?"
"It's dependent on your rate of recovery," Healer Munson hedged. "But I'd say ten days?" He arched his eyebrows questioningly. Harry nodded, feeling somewhat downcast, and looked balefully at the knee encased in the restraint field. When the healer had finished examining Harry, also making note of which potions amphorae needed to be refilled, he took his leave to finish his rounds.
"Ten days…" Harry said, sounding unhappy. He reached up one hand to caress Hermione's hair, drawing his hand down along her temple and the curve of her jaw line. "I hate being in here. I want to go home." His voice was nearly petulant, and Hermione could only imagine how frustrating it would be to have made so much progress, only to wake to so much regression.
"It'll be here before you realize it," she said softly, turning her head to softly kiss his fingers. She watched him draw in a sudden breath at the sensation of her lips against his hand.
"How - how are you feeling?" he blurted, trying to get his mind off of certain impulses that he would not be able to follow up on.
"I've felt better," she admitted, crooking up one corner of her mouth, as if it were not really that big of a deal. "I threw up in front of Ron this morning," she admitted, rolling her eyes at herself.
"Should I feel sorrier for you, or for Ron?" Harry said, half-laughing.
"Ron, I think," Hermione said, "but it was his fault anyway. He put Chinese take-away leftovers in the bin last night, and when I tried to put something in there this morning…well, it was lucky that the bin was right there."
"I miss you, Hermione," Harry said, winding her fingers up in his. "I - I want to - I want to be home with you…I want to be a part of this - this pregnancy," he fumbled.
"Even the throwing up part?" Hermione asked, amused. He gave her an "I'm serious!" look, but she smiled crookedly at him. "You weren't even awake this last month. How much more do you think I miss you?"
Harry looked down at his hands guiltily, and he apologized, feeling as if he had somehow been responsible for the state in which he ended up.
"I wasn't trying to make you feel badly," Hermione said hastily. "I just want you to know how glad I am that you're back. Take it slowly, so you'll get completely well, okay? I don't want you overdoing anything on my account." He looked back up at her then, and smiled.
"I feel like I've already missed so much, like I've let you down, by not being there for you when I should have." Harry's hands were now tracing invisible lines across her palms. "I - when Healer Munson told me how long it had been, I - it was such a shock…I remember it so clearly…for me, it really was like yesterday." He looked a little bewildered, as if he was unsure how to take into consideration days that, for him, had never really happened.
"Believe me, I'm not having any trouble recalling details about what happened that night either," Hermione said wryly. Dark remembrance overshadowed Harry's face.
"Did they - did anybody…hurt you?" he asked carefully, and she felt the power of his magic, even at reduced levels, and it was truly an awesome and intimidating thing.
"They banged me around a bit, but nothing serious," Hermione said, speaking lightly for Harry's benefit. "Nothing like…that," she added, reading the look in his eyes. "Death Eaters wouldn't stoop to sullying themselves with someone like me."
Harry looked at her somberly for a moment, and then a twinkle in his eye turned his expression cheeky. "I'll sully myself with you anytime you'd like."
"I'll let you," she countered, leaning toward him, and brushing a loving kiss across his lips. He moved his mouth against hers, allowing the kiss to linger achingly. She stood reluctantly, wanting more, but not willing to risk his health to obtain it. "Ron was coming by before practice…he should be here soon," she said. "I'm going down to the cafeteria, to see if I can hold down a cup of tea, maybe some crackers." Her face looked vaguely green at the thought of eating anything. "I'll be back in a minute."
"What about - are you off of work?" Harry asked curiously.
"They offered me leave, after - after… but I turned it down. I was working - well, anyway, I might take the time off now. "
"You were trying to help me, weren't you?" he said, with a look warning her not to evade.
"In the end, I didn't do anything at all. You came out of it all on your own," she shrugged, with a weak grin. Her thoughts suddenly recalled the odd look on Healer Munson's face, when he had talked about Harry's recovery. He had not been telling them the whole truth, she was sure of it.
"Hermione, you've got a baby to take care of now…" Harry started hesitantly. "I - I don't want anything to happen…"
"I know, Harry." She smiled indulgently at him, to let him know she didn't take offense. "The healer told me as much…and Ron - well, Ron worried me to death about it, even before I knew or he knew that I was pregnant."
"As well he should have," Harry returned.
"And don't you forget it either!" came Ron's voice, as he entered the room, with a sack full of something that smelled like warm pastry. "I brought breakfast. You haven't eaten in a month, after all. Can't imagine that you're not hungry."
"Ron -" Harry and Hermione said in unison, but Ron waved them off.
"I know all about the little vial of nutrients, or whatever," he said, gesturing down toward the silvery tape pasted across Harry's hand. "You cannot make me believe that that is the same thing as actually," he pulled a gigantic sweet roll from the bag, "eating."
Harry watched Hermione swallow hard and say quickly, "I think I'll just go for that tea now," and hastily leave the room.
"How can the smell of fresh pastry turn her stomach?" Ron asked with his mouth full, handing Harry the sack. "How're you feeling, mate?"
"All right, I reckon," Harry said candidly. "Better than last time. Reckon it'll get worse once they start lowering the painkillers." He pulled out another pastry, and eyed Ron carefully before eating it. "Thanks, Ron…for taking care of her."
"I dunno how successful I actually was," Ron admitted. "She's right stubborn." Harry rolled his eyes, and nodded in agreement, then tucked into his breakfast.
Exiting into the corridor, Hermione spotted Healer Munson emerging from another room, and made a beeline for him.
"What's wrong with Harry?" she said, without preamble, planting her feet and crossing her arms over her chest, as if prepared to stand precisely there until she got an answer. Healer Munson looked bemused.
"He's doing quite well, for someone who's been through what he has," he said slowly, as if not quite sure why he was being thusly berated. "His knee is going to give him the worst trouble, of course, but it's quite treatable."
Hermione's expression did not waver in the slightest. "When you were talking about his magical levels… there was something you weren't saying. What was it?" Her voice was calm and completely certain.
"It's not really anything wrong, per se," the healer hedged. He eyed Hermione, who merely gazed placidly back at him, unmoving. "I told you his levels were reduced, and so they were. But the rate at which they're rising…" he shook his head, and spoke in a lower voice. "I can't help but wonder if the horcrux had not been masking his innate ability for nearly his entire life. That this is occurring now, just after the horcrux has been eliminated, has to be more than coincidence."
"How high are they rising?" Hermione asked, a little warily.
"They've been rising slowly throughout the entire time he was in a coma. Once he awakened, they began to rise much more rapidly. He'll be at normal levels by…tomorrow or the next day, I'd guess. And - " He hesitated.
"And if they show no signs of slowing?" Hermione prodded. Healer Munson shrugged.
"He could become one of the most powerful wizards ever known."
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Draco Malfoy paced around the small confines of his hospital room, hands shoved into his pockets, looking very thoughtful - and it didn't appear that the thoughts occupying his mind were terribly happy ones.
"Are you sure? There are no other options?" His tone was clipped, the brief questions delivered in as an aristocratic manner as any Malfoy could ever hope to achieve.
Remus and Tonks exchanged glances. "It's not the only option, but we believe it is the best one." His cousin finally said hesitantly. She was so glad that Remus had come from Hogwarts to see Harry - so that she did not have to do this alone.
"And Mother?"
"She'll be welcome to accompany you, if you'd like. Indeed, it might be better that way…she can be kept safe as well," Remus put in
"You don't really think - I mean, Aunt Bella is dead…who else would come after us?"
"Your father," Tonks said gently, "Or any of the other Death Eaters who reckon they've been betrayed by you - it could be any of those that fell under Lucius' sphere of influence. They haven't all been accounted for by any means."
"There are also the trials to consider. They might be willing to do almost anything to prevent you from testifying," said Remus. Draco looked up at them sharply, a combination of fury and alarm filling his eyes.
"My father is in Azkaban. And I never said anything about testifying!" he said emphatically. "Do you know what would happen to me - or Mother - if I did?"
"That's why we want you to go into - " Tonks said, in a placating way.
"No, you don't understand how they operate." Draco sounded angry, and Tonks wasn't sure if he was angry at them or at the Death Eaters for the situation in which he found himself. "If I testified, it would never be over - never. As long as any of the affected Death Eater's family lived, there would be a blood feud - a score to settle between them and me. I'd never be safe - Mum - we'd never be safe…" The soft voice in which he finally allowed himself to use the more casual derivative went to Tonks' heart, but she forced herself to reply in a steely voice,
"And that's what you're really concerned with, isn't it? Better survival than justice?"
"Nymphadora - " Remus began, in a reproachful way, but Draco overrode whatever he'd been about to say.
"I don't believe this!" He spat angrily. "Where do all of you get off pretending like self-preservation means nothing to you? You can't expect me to believe that none of you want to live! Potter and all of his disgusting little friends - they're all just suicidal maniacs - I don't believe it! And do not say anything about the `greater good', or I will hex you out of here myself!" Remus had been opening his mouth to say something, but shut it at Draco's rampage.
"Your mother said that Bellatrix had two Death Eaters with her," he finally said softly. "There are at least two other people out there that you can identify as Death Eaters - two other people who know what you did. You think they won't tell others? You're already in danger, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco's shoulders slumped, and he paused near the window, looking out of it wistfully. He had been well enough to be released weeks ago - having not been under the effects of excess use of the Cruciatus Curse for nearly as long as the Longbottoms - but they had kept him here for his own safety. He knew that Remus and Tonks were right, yet he was loath to admit the need to give up the only life he'd ever known.
"When would I have to do it?" he asked quietly.
"As soon as possible. The new trials should be starting soon."
"Where would we go?" The question sounded nearly plaintive.
"Anywhere you want," Remus answered compassionately.
"When could we come back?"
"There's no way to know," Tonks said officially. "We'd contact you as soon as we thought the danger had been minimized."
Draco stared out the window again for a long moment, and when he looked back up at them, his face was bleak and bitter - he seemed to have aged before their eyes. A terse nod of acceptance was the only reply they received.
Remus had his hand on the doorknob, when Draco suddenly blurted, as if the question had been torn from him against his will,
"Can I see Ginny before I go - to say good-bye?" The request was decidedly gruff, and Remus and Tonks exchanged bemused glances.
"Ginny Weasley?" Tonks said, with some amazement. A stain of embarrassment covered Draco's normally pale face. "I think we could arrange that."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"This is your first day with the restraint levels turned down," Healer Munson argued, several days later, wondering - not for the first time - why he had been given the most stubborn celebrity patient ever to fly a broom. At least this time, Hermione seemed to be on his side, though she was mainly watching Harry face him down with a doubtful, worried expression.
"Neville Longbottom is my friend," Harry enunciated, bracing himself on the bed railings, to push himself into a more upright position. He winced, and Hermione saw him almost visibly beat back a wave of pain. "He came to help me in the graveyard, and look where it got him. I'll not abandon him now, not for the sake of a little pain."
"Harry, you can Floo your testimony into the courtroom," Hermione offered, still watching him anxiously. Healer Munson watched her. She seemed to be only going through the motions of the debate, as if she knew it would be to no avail.
"Wouldn't my actual presence have greater impact?" Harry asked, and Hermione reluctantly nodded. "Then I'll go. There might as well be some positive uses for being so bloody famous." The last sentence was nearly a growl, as if to remind them how much he hated his status.
"I'll have to note that this is against medical advice," Munson said, and Harry eyed him without blinking.
"Do what you have to do, Healer," he replied respectfully, adding, "and so will I."
After the healer had left, Harry and Hermione remained sitting in a somewhat strained silence.
"You don't think I should do this?" Harry asked, at length.
"No, I - I know you need to do this," she admitted. "I just - I just wish it was later. I guess that's stupid. You've been through so much, and that - that damn judge is just waiting for a chance to lambaste you in public, hoping to catch you out or something." She sat down, hopped up, and sat down again, twiddling nervously with her fingers. "Are you going to need a chair?"
"No, I won't be taking a chair. Where's my cane?" Harry asked, horrifying Hermione by sitting all the way up, and swinging his good leg over the side. He tried to move his restrained leg, and, when he failed, flicked his fingers toward the end of his bed, easily and wandlessly removing the ward that was keeping his leg motionless.
"Harry, it's too soon to use your ca - what are you doing?" The last part of her question was a frantic shriek.
"I'm getting up," he answered, and carefully moved his leg, which felt somewhat cumbersome in the restraint - like he was moving something that wasn't really there, something he could see, but not really feel - toward the side of the bed. He eased himself down, putting all of his weight on the left leg, which ached vaguely from disuse. His face had gone very pale, and sweat was beginning to trickle from his hairline.
Hermione looked as if she wanted to argue with him, but decided against it. "I brought you some clothes," she said inanely, walking across to the small wardrobe. Harry busied himself, staggering down the length of the bed, holding tightly to the railing with both hands, and trying to keep the breathy gasps of effort from escaping his parted lips.
He leaned heavily on her shoulder, as she directed him across the room to the chair, where he began pull the flimsy hospital gown from his shoulders. Hermione handed him the neatly folded shirt without looking at him.
"I'm going to need some help with my pants," he said, a moment later, in a voice that was oddly hoarse. Something flashed briefly in Hermione's eyes, when she gazed down at him.
"If you're still feeling okay, after this is over…" she trailed off, unmistakable meaning in her words. She knelt down, where she was on his eye level.
"I know a great door-sealing spell," he murmured distractedly. "I won't even need my wand."
"You should definitely have your wand," she said, her voice blurred with desire, as they kissed lightly at first, but then more lingeringly and deeply.
When they finally broke apart, they both looked askance at the pants in Hermione's hands.
"We're going to have to undo the restraint field first," he said critically, his mouth set in a thin line.
"Why can't you wear your pants over the restraint field?" Hermione asked.
"The field is invisible, but it still takes up space, like a brace. It's like a Protego shield. The pants won't fit over it."
"But that's going to - " She began.
"Hurt like hell," Harry finished for her grimly. "Yeah, I know."
The instantaneous throb of pain that surged from his knee, as soon as the field was brought down, nearly threw Harry from the chair, as he arched his back involuntarily. His fingers clutched at the arms of the chair whitely. Hermione was trying to gingerly lift the pants leg in question over his toes, trying not to move his leg at all.
"Just - just hurry!" Harry pleaded, and, shooting him a look of desperate apology, she pulled the material upward quickly, until it rested over his knees, quickly fastening the silver bands that controlled the portable restraint field into place. As soon as the beep signaled that the field had been reactivated, Harry visibly relaxed. He then lifted his haunches slightly, to slide the pants over his hips, and buttoned them. "That'll take your mind off of pleasurable things right quick," he remarked, trying to smile, but still breathing heavily.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Hermione asked anxiously. Harry nodded, no doubt or uncertainty in his face. She absent-mindedly summoned his cane from the still open wardrobe, and helped him painstakingly to his feet.
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Harry had stubbornly refused to use a chair, or be levitated - insisting that he `needed the practice' - and their progress was so slow that they arrived after the hearing had already begun. Hermione lifted her chin, struggling to keep her expression appropriately solemn, as Harry banged open the doors irreverently and loudly, obviously intent on making as large a disturbance as possible. You always did know how to make an entrance, Harry, Hermione thought impishly.
The noisy doors interrupted the solicitor for the Ministry, in the midst of an opening statement that was particularly eloquent, and the loud murmur that rippled around the courtroom further ruined it.
Harry paused in the middle of the courtroom, turning and addressing the judge respectfully. "I apologize for my tardiness, sir," he said, lifting his cane slightly from the floor. "It is a little more difficult to maneuver these days." The swirl of conversation began to still slowly, as Harry moved stiffly to where the spectators sat, fatigue causing him to all but drag his bad leg behind him. Hermione moved wordlessly with him, her arm through his making it seem as though he were escorting her, when she was actually helping him stay on his feet.
Hermione was impressed by Harry's restraint, as the hearing droned on and on, marked mostly by recitation of legal minutiae that bored even her analytical mind. Every now and then, the solicitor said something that made Harry shift uneasily in his chair.
Finally, Judge Pembleton began his ruling.
"Since the wizard in question has admitted that he indeed caused the death of one Bellatrix Black Lestrange, it is the decision of this court that a trial be waived. This court does recognize the mitigating circumstances," here there was a rather obsequious nod at both the Longbottoms and the Weasleys, "including, but not limited to, the fact that an Unforgivable Curse was not used. In light of this - "
Hermione turned to look at Harry with concern; he was practically squirming in his chair, glaring daggers at the judge. Clearly he had guessed what was coming, even though she had not.
"In light of this," the judge continued. "The court determines that Mr. Longbottom shall serve not less than 15 and not more than 30 months in Azkaban Prison. Parole may be granted for good behavior after the minimum sentence has been served. This court is - "
Before he could pronounce the last word, Harry slid his chair back obnoxiously, causing it to grate noisily across the floor. He stood, and made his way across the courtroom to where Neville was sitting in the chained chair - although he was not actually in chains. As Harry passed Mrs. Longbottom, who had begun to cry quietly into her handkerchief, he laid one hand gently on her shoulder, squeezing it briefly.
The somewhat ominous sound of the steady tap of the cane alternating with the scuff of his sole across the floor held a portent of doom - at least for Judge Pembleton, Hermione thought.
He made his way to the judge's high seat, and stopped before it, waiting politely. But Hermione had recognized the glint of danger in his green eyes when he arose.
"Does Mr. Potter wish to address this court?" Judge Pembleton asked in feigned surprise.
"He does," Harry said flatly, his voice somehow managing to resound clearly across the courtroom, which had been startled into total silence. "I would have thought that my presence here would have made that quite obvious." Hermione's heart was pounding so loudly that she thought others could probably hear it, and she reached across the empty chair that Harry had vacated to clutch at Ginny's hand.
"I'm sorry, I was not informed of your desire to speak, Mr. Potter," Pembleton replied stiffly. Harry merely waited, his silence definitively saying, "well, now you have been informed." The judge's eyes flicked uncertainly to the silent throng of wide-eyed onlookers, and imagined how this would look on the morrow's front pages. He nodded curtly to the young man before him, clearly quite put out.
"Was Neville Longbottom given Veritaserum?" Harry asked abruptly, directing his question toward the lawyer for the Ministry, who looked quite offended by Harry's effrontery. He glanced at Judge Pembleton, who jerkily nodded for him to respond.
"That has been the Ministry's standard procedure for 10 years," was the sulky answer.
"And you asked him if he killed Bellatrix Lestrange? And he said yes?" Harry inquired, still disarmingly polite. He received affirmative replies to both of these questions. "Did you actually ask about the circumstances under which she died? That there was a battle going on? That he was in a duel for his life? Or are you so eager to throw a friend of Harry Potter's in prison that you will deny him a trial, just like you did with Sirius Black?" He had whirled back on the judge with the last sentence, and Hermione was astonished to see Judge Pembleton pale visibly. Was he the one who presided over Sirius' case? Hermione thought in wonder, and how on earth did Harry find that out?
Without really waiting for an answer, he conjured up a chair, identical to Neville's, and placed it right beside the first one. There was a crescendo in the gasps and murmurs, as he effortlessly performed the spells; his wand, like everyone else's, had been checked at the door. He walked carefully and painstakingly over to the chair, and sat in it heavily.
Hermione pressed both fists to her mouth, realizing now what Harry was going to do.
"I killed someone," he said, sounding almost defiant. "It was in a battle for my life, and there were mitigating circumstances as well. But I am not in prison." He flicked one hand, and the chains sprang to life, encircling his wrists and ankles. "Is Wizarding Law so flimsy and inconsistent? If you send Neville to prison, then you have to send me as well. Our crimes were the same." The ripple of whispers among the spectators increased to a dull roar. A sidewise glance at Ron told Hermione that her other best mate was shaking his head, with a disbelieving grin on his face.
Someone in the crowd called out, "You can't send him to prison. He saved us all!" There was a swell of agreement, and the crowd shifted restlessly. The Aurors stationed at the exits grew more alert.
Judge Pembleton lifted unwilling eyes to the flock of reporters near the rear of the courtroom, knowing in his gut that the picture of Harry Potter chained up in a trial chair would be in every paper in the wizarding world by the morning. And the upstart boy had already brought up the debacle with Sirius Black, whom everyone in the Wiazarding world now knew to have been innocently railroaded into a decade at Azkaban.
"This court could not ever conceive of putting the Defeater of Voldemort in prison for that very deed," he began heavily. More like, you would put your career and life on the line if you did so, Hermione thought ferociously. "This court merely wanted to guard against the dangers of citizens taking the law into their own hands. Perhaps my own … good intentions caused the oversight." There was a loud snort here, and Hermione could see Ron's ears beginning to redden. "Perhaps Mr. Longbottom would be better served by a term of probation and community service?" He had not intended his statement to be a question, but it lilted upwards like one anyway, and annoyance flashed briefly across his face.
"Then I deserve that sentence as well, Your Honor," Harry said, sitting ramrod straight in the chained chair.
"Mr. Potter, you have not been formally presented with any charges. There is procedure that must be followed - "
"Then follow it!" Harry said sharply. "I expect to be arrested in a timely fashion!" A titter danced across the courtroom, Ron guffawed loudly, and the judge's already high color heightened further. A muscle worked in the humiliated man's jaw.
"The sentence stands as follows: six months of probation and six months of community service, to be served concurrently. This court is adjourned." Judge Pembleton rattled off quickly, disappearing rather unceremoniously through his door, before he could be accosted by young Mr. Potter again.
Harry extricated himself from the chair, and was very nearly throttled in an enthusiastic embrace by Neville Longbottom. His parents and the Weasleys who had attended drifted down to join them. Hermione's eyes went instantly to Harry, who had let the fatigue and pain seep into his face, as soon as most people's attention had been diverted.
"I have a feeling that none of this will ever find its way through the Ministry bureaucracy to either of you," Ginny said, her eyes twinkling.
"I was counting on that," Harry returned in kind.
"That was still a rather big gamble, Harry," Hermione put in. "The judge would have been well within his rights to at least charge you with contempt."
"He wouldn't have dared," Ron argued. "Did you see the look on his face? I thought he was going to wet himself when you started walking towards him. He was worried about his precious job and the public opinion!"
"Then he shouldn't have tried to imprison one of my friends!" Harry said defiantly.
"Does that mean I can go rob Gringotts?" Ron asked in a cheeky way. Harry gave him a dour look.
"If you do anything really wrong, you're on your own," was his rejoinder, as he sagged back down into the chair he'd conjured, almost without realizing it. Hermione was at his side in a moment.
"You need to be back at St. Mungo's," she said authoritatively. "I hope you're prepared for an earful from Healer Munson." She tried to help him up, and nearly staggered under his weight, which he was unconsciously placing mostly on her. Ron quickly stepped to his other side, and helped him stand the rest of the way.
"Maybe I should make Neville listen to it, `stead of me," he quipped, and his voice was slurred with pain. Neville looked stricken.
"Harry, I - " he began.
"Neville, he was glad to do it. He wouldn't hear otherwise. He's just tired," Hermione told him gently, but firmly. "Come on, Harry," she encouraged, as they walked from the courtroom. "You're going to have to help us out here, or I'm going to let Ron levitate you!"
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Tonks buttonholed Ginny in the Ministry lobby, while the others were occupied with Harry's transport, and relayed Draco's request.
"He wants to say good-bye to me?" Ginny was dumbfounded. Tonks shrugged and nodded.
"He's going to testify in a number of Death Eater trials," she said, her voice low and confidential. "There's no way to know how long he'll have to be under protection, unable to come back here. Speaking to you was the only real request he made." Tonks looked at the younger girl hesitantly, and asked, "Can you be nice to him?"
"Nice?" Ginny chortled, thinking of the snarky, insulting repartee they usually shared. "He wouldn't know what to do if I went in there and was nice to him." She looked back at Tonks, doubtfully. "I told the Headmistress I'd be back by dinner."
"I'll talk to McGonagall for you. I'm sure she wouldn't mind expecting you just a little later," the Auror answered. Ginny nodded, and Apparated to St. Mungo's with everyone else.
She slipped away from the group, as Hermione and Ron got an orderly to levitate Harry back up to his room, and soon found herself loitering awkwardly in Draco Malfoy's doorway.
Draco shot one look of disgust at her, and rolled his eyes theatrically. "For the love of Merlin, Weasley, wipe that compassionate look off of your face, before I have to be sick. It does not suit you at all! I suppose my idiot cousin told you what was going on."
"Couldn't you have had anyone brought in here for your little farewell-to-England rudeness?" Ginny retorted, more than a little stung. "Did it have to be me?"
"Most girls your age would commit murder for the honor," Draco said loftily, and Ginny let out an ill-suppressed snort of laughter.
"Commit suicide is more like it," she said levelly, glaring at him. "You have the most unbelievable ego of anyone I've ever met. How your gigantic head gets so far up your arse is beyond me." Faint color stained Draco's cheeks, which Ginny noted with some satisfaction.
"Then why did you come?" he spat angrily.
"Why did you ask me?" she countered, just as mad.
"Because I - because I am obviously an idiot and a glutton for punishment. Want to rip out a few of my fingernails before I go into hiding?" He asked sarcastically, and Ginny couldn't shake the insidious impression that he had been about to say something entirely different.
"I came because you helped us out when we needed it, and because you saved my friends' lives, because when the occasion arose, you actually behaved with honor," she was unable to keep the faint surprise from her tone. "You deserve our thanks."
"So you came because you're grateful?" he asked, pronouncing the word as if it were some sort of dreaded disease.
"There's nothing wrong with gratitude. Pity you've never experienced it!" Ginny bit back, growing even angrier when she discovered tears pricking the backs of her eyelids. Draco was staring at his shoes, his hands in his pockets, and his jaw thrust forward mutinously. "Are we quite done? Or do you want to verbally beat me up some more, so you can remember it fondly later, while you're deprived of it?"
"You were much more fun when you gave as good as you got, Weasley," Draco sniped, but his eyes were not alight with the malicious glint of amusement that they usually held.
"Only because when I acted like you, you could feel like less of an arse about it." He looked at her with faint surprise.
"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it - didn't find it exciting?" he asked.
"No, I don't get enjoyment out of abusing people with words! If it had been anyone else but you, I'd - " she stopped suddenly, and Draco chuckled under his breath.
"So I'm less worthy to receive the milk of human kindness from you? You're justified in being rude to me because I'm such a horrible excuse for a human being?" She froze for a moment, her eyes locked with his. His eyebrows were raised and his tone was challenging.
"I wasn't any less rude to you than you we - " she stopped again, realizing she was comparing herself to Malfoy, and Draco laughed louder.
"Have we painted ourselves into a corner?" he asked, jovially.
"I loathe you," she muttered, glowering at him. He looked up at her then, his eyes nearly hidden under the light fringe of his bangs, and sent a piercing look.
"No," he said quietly. "I don't think you do."
Heat flooded her face, and she took a step backwards toward the door. "You're mad," she said faintly. "Of course I do."
He stood up then, and regarded her appraisingly. "I think you find our conversations stimulating."
"Being hit with a stinging hex is stimulating!" Ginny replied almost automatically, backing up towards the door, as he approached her.
"I think you like me."
"As much as I like vomiting slugs," Ginny said. Her back hit the edge of the doorframe, and she stopped abruptly.
"Why are you backing up? Are you afraid of me?"
"Of you? Hardly. I'm in Gryffindor, remember?"
"Yes, I'm unlikely to forget that…unfortunately," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. Ginny narrowed hers.
"Can I leave now?" she asked.
"Do you need my permission?" he countered, smiling almost pleasantly. He was enjoying their verbal cat-and-mouse game, and be damned if she wasn't too, Ginny thought, annoyed with herself.
"I was trying to be polite," Ginny said through gritted teeth.
"You are full of contradictions, aren't you? Polite and rude. Full of honor and bravery and honesty - except when you're lying to yourself, of course." Like how you really feel, was the unspoken implication, echoing as loudly in the room, as if it had been shouted.
"Sod off, Draco!" she shouted suddenly, startling both of them, and he backed up a few paces. She pushed herself off of the wall, with an irritated air. He recovered quickly, quirking one eyebrow up at her, in a patronizing manner.
"Something bothering you, Weasley?" he asked gently. Ginny reached up both hands to tuck her hair behind her ears, feeling strangely nervous around him.
"You're bothering me, Draco," Ginny said, the statement somehow not coming off as annoyed as she wanted. She didn't even notice that she had used his first name again.
"You've been bothering me a lot lately, Weasley," he noted, his voice intentionally vague.
"I haven't bothered you in months," she replied, referring to their meetings at Hogwarts to transfer information.
"You bother me every day," he answered back, and this time, the undertone in his voice was unmistakable. Ginny felt her heart accelerate unwillingly, and she backpedaled until she came in contact with the doorjamb again.
"I would think that would be your problem," she said, trying to summon up the shreds of irritation that seemed to have vanished somewhere. "There can never be anything between us."
"We're both adults." Draco said, hedging, still not actually coming out and saying anything overt.
"My brothers would kill you, and Harry would hex the little pieces that were left over. My family would never accept you and - "
"Potter?" Draco's voice dripped with contempt. "I'd like to see him try!"
Ginny regarded him a little sadly before continuing. "And you would never accept them."
"But how would you feel about it?" he asked. Ginny hesitated a long time before answering.
"I would be…confused. Be safe, Draco," she whispered, and leaned forward quickly, brushing a kiss across his thin, pale cheek. She whirled around, and in a flash of shiny, red hair, had disappeared out the door.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Harry had pleaded with Healer Munson not to make the extent of his magical ability widely known. The healer had been astonished at Harry's magical levels, which were higher than any he'd ever seen. He'd wanted to contact some people on the continent, who were experts in that field. Harry wanted it left alone.
"You could contribute so much to their knowledge," he'd pleaded.
"Please," Harry said softly. "I think I've contributed plenty. And I really just want to go home and pretend I'm normal, if that's all right with you. This new strength is not something I plan to advertise at all."
Healer Munson had regarded him for a moment, and then finally nodded. "It's your choice, Harry." After a moment, he'd handed him a sheet of paper. "Here's your discharge. You're ready to go home."
Harry felt a swamping wave of gratitude well up within him upon those words. He had been awake for eight days, and had been champing at the bit to go home. They had expected the discharge at some time that day, so Hermione had gone on ahead to "get things ready," as she'd vaguely explained.
She'd already taken his things, so there was nothing left for him to do, but limp down to the lobby where he could Apparate home. As he did so, alone, he felt rather unceremoniously abandoned. Wasn't he the Boy Who Lived? Shouldn't he have an entourage of people to make sure he wasn't overdoing it? He rolled his eyes and smiled sardonically at his own ego.
When he arrived home, the flat was dark, quiet, and empty. He also noticed that it was pristinely neat, and knew that its state certainly was not Ron's doing. Hermione had been less frequently at his side, since he'd been more mobile, and he suspected he had her to thank for the cleanliness.
"Hermione?" he called out. There was no answer. Slowly, he reached for his wand, feeling more comfortable with the heft of it in his hand, even though he supposed he didn't actually need it much of the time.
He went into the kitchen, which was also empty. Part of him had started wondering if something was wrong, and the more rational side had posited that perhaps a surprise party was in the offing.
But there was no one here.
Maybe something really was wrong, the voice of Mad-Eye Moody whispered in his head.
There was a scrap of parchment on the kitchen table, held in place by a round, gold paperweight. Harry approached it cautiously, poking the paperweight with his wand, always remembering what happened when you picked up objects that looked like you were meant to pick them up - and the awful places they sometimes took you. Without picking up the paperweight, he yanked the parchment out from under it.
It simply read: Apparition Coordinates…followed by a series of numbers. He looked at the paper dubiously. He certainly wasn't going to blindly follow a set of coordinates left on his kitchen table - not when he didn't know where they went or who had left them…
Then, down at the bottom, scrawled almost as an afterthought, was a neat, precisely drawn heart and the letter W. Harry felt the relief seep into his bones like a penetrating heat. It was Hermione, and she had chosen W…W for wife, as she had in her last note to him. She was obviously anticipating him again, knowing that he would realize that only she would have written that - while anyone might have written H, it being the obvious choice.
He clutched the piece of parchment in his hand, concentrated on the coordinates, and Disapparated with a soft crack.
He reappeared in a small front hallway that was bathed in golden lamplight, startling involuntarily as he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in a small mirror hanging near the front door. Where the hell am I? he wondered.
"Hermione?" he called out hesitantly.
"In the kitchen!" she called out in a harried-sounding voice.
"Where the hell is the kitchen?" he grumped, and he thought he heard muffled laughter. He rolled his eyes, as he stomped down the hallway. He'd found his party, evidently, but was unsure why in the world Hermione had elected to have it here - wherever here was.
When he opened the kitchen door, his world virtually exploded in light, and he heard a resounding chorus of "Surprise!" Encircling the kitchen table, spilling back into the kitchen proper and points beyond were all of the people that he counted as his dearest friends and family.
"He doesn't look particularly surprised," Fred observed, in a loud aside to George.
"Of course he's not surprised. He's the Boy Who Lived."
"It doesn't follow that he's also the Boy Who Was Really Bright," Fred argued back.
"You knew, didn'tcha Harry?" George asked, addressing him. "You were probably out there checking the perimeter. Constant Vigilance!" He roared suddenly, startling his Mum and causing her to reach up and swat him across the back of the head.
"Here, sit down!" Hermione said suddenly, a worried look seeping into her warm brown eyes. She pulled out a chair for him. Harry considered arguing with her about it, but seeing as how he really was quite knackered… he sat.
"So whose house is this?" Harry said curiously, as Mrs. Weasley began to dish up food to all and sundry, directing Ron to pass out the laden plates. Harry's eyes had been tripping slowly over the guests, trying to determine to whom the house belonged. McGonagall? Wouldn't she have something done up in tartan frills? Remus and Tonks? He didn't think either one of them had money for a place like this. Perhaps it was Neville's grandmother's house, though he rather suspected that it didn't smell enough like an old lady's house to be true.
Hermione, for some odd reason, shot him a nervous look, her nostrils flaring like a skittish filly's. She mumbled something that he didn't quite catch, and dove through the knot of Weasleys to fiddle with something on the stove.
"Hermione?" he said in a loud, clear voice. "Whose house is it?" Everyone's eyes were on him, and he felt a flush rising into his cheeks.
"It's ours," she said so tentatively that it almost sounded like she wasn't sure. Panic was flooding her; she felt as if she'd awakened one morning to realize that she'd forgotten an important examination. What if she'd misjudged badly? What if he saw this as another attempt by an outside party to control his life? You're not an outside party, you're his wife! She chided herself.
"Ours?" he said uncomprehendingly. "We don't have a house, we have a flat."
"That we were sharing with Ron," Hermione said in exasperation. The twins snorted with laughter, and Ron said,
"Hey!" in an injured voice.
Harry did get up then, leaning heavily on his cane, and went to Hermione's side. He heard Lupin ask McGonagall something loudly, and a low buzz of conversation resumed. Harry was grateful to the werewolf for diverting everyone else's attention.
"Are you mad?" Hermione asked. "I - I thought maybe I should - maybe this should be something we did together, but then I thought that it would be nice for it to be all fixed up and ready when you came home, and so I picked it out - well, Ron came with me, but we both agreed - at least we thought you'd love it, and it really is the most darling house, and we didn't have a lot of time to decorate it, but we did the best we could…and - Harry - you're not saying anything. I've messed it up, haven't I?" She had been speaking very rapidly, but stumbled to an ungainly halt.
Harry wasn't quite sure how he felt about this unexpected turn of events.
"Can I see the rest of it?" he asked, in a tone that gave nothing away. She nodded and led him through another door at the rear of the kitchen. They circled back through a good-sized living room, and ended up back at the front hall where he'd come in.
"There's a parlor just there," she said, pointing to a door he'd passed by on his way to the kitchen. She then led him up a short flight of stairs, where there was a longer hallway, punctuated by four different doors, widely spaced. "There's a loo," she said, "and there's our spare room, and there's our room." She pointed at the doors in turn. "Do you want to see them? Harry, say something."
"What's that one?" he pointed at the door she'd left out, and limped toward it. When he opened it, he found the space completely empty, the walls painted a soft yellow.
"That's our baby's room," Hermione said softly. "I - I didn't finish it…time was so short, and I figured we - we could do it together." Harry was amazed at how quickly tears could rush to the eyes.
"I like the color," he finally managed.
"You're not mad?"
"You bought and fixed up a house for us. Why in Merlin's name should I be mad?" Harry asked, finally pulling her into his arms. As he buried his face in her hair, he imagined this room, with the faint glow of a lamp, Hermione sitting in a rocking chair in the corner, her eyes luminous and warm as she watched a tiny bundle in a crib, making little squeaky noises. The beauty of it nearly overcame him, and he held her tighter so that his heart wouldn't burst from the joy.
Presently, he stepped back from her, cupping her face in his hands, and kissed her softly, reverently on the lips.
"I love you, Hermione," he whispered.
"I love you too," she said hoarsely, tears standing in jeweled beads on her lashes.
"Thank you," he added.
"For the house?" she asked, a bewildered look creasing her brow. "It was mostly your money. I've been putting my paycheck in your Gringotts account, but it hasn't been very long, you know…" He put his fingertips to her lips to stem the nervous flow of words. He knew that Hermione would have made a prudent purchase.
"For everything," he corrected her. "For marrying me, for saving me, for having our baby…" his words trailed off into nothingness, as he kissed her again, more deeply this time, and he felt her back curve inwards, as she melted against him. "Can you believe it's finally happening?"
"What?" she asked, gazing at him with a rapt expression. His hand wandered down to her still flat abdomen, and rested there, warm and comforting above his child.
"Life."
Hope flared into his eyes like leaping flame as he breathed in the essence of the moment. He felt unfettered, unshackled, as if a burden that he'd not even realized was that heavy had suddenly fallen away. He wanted to laugh out loud, he wanted to cry, he wanted to - he wanted to see his mum and dad. He wanted to thank them, and wondered if perhaps the choice had been made, however instantly and unconsciously, with the hope that their baby boy would someday have a moment like this. Thank you, he thought soberly. Thank you for making sure I'd have this. I don't know how I could ever repay you.
Hermione had stood quietly, in the circle of his arms, watching the myriad of emotions cross his face. She wondered what it must feel like, to have spent one's entire life, first in a cupboard under the stairs, and then in a world where an overwhelming duty loomed over one…to suddenly be free?
She folded her hand into his, bringing it up to her lips, and kissing their joined fingers.
"We should get back downstairs to your party," she said softly.
TBC
Okay, just the epilogue to go.
Sorry for the delay, but Christmastime is upon us, and you know, to write fanfiction, you first have to be at home for more than ten minutes at a time!
But anyway, here it is. Hope you enjoyed it. I rather liked the ending myself.
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