AN: To all those who have reviewed, thanks ever so! And now I'm going to be utterly greedy and ask for more!
Disclaimer: Not mine, as if you lived under a rock and thought it was.
PART I: The End of the Beginning
Chapter Three: Research and Regards
Hermione and Ron dragged an unwilling and by turns, protesting and sulking, Harry Potter back to the hospital wing after their meeting with McGonagall.
"I said I was fine," he muttered, managing to sound like a petulant child. Hermione told him so, irritating him further. He was still allowing them to steer him toward the infirmary, so Hermione suspected that he was much more fatigued than he was letting on.
"Intramural Quidditch?" Ron murmured sadly to himself, appearing to be thinking of brighter days, like the day last year when Gryffindor won the Quidditch cup, even though Harry was in detention. He shook his head, as if the sport had disgraced itself somehow. "Reckon we could get in a game sometime?"
Harry thought of flying on his broom, the wind blowing through his hair, the utter freedom and exhilaration of sweeping through the air, the graceful rush of diving after the Snitch. He missed Quidditch.
"Harry's in no condition to be swooping around on a broom," Hermione said snippily, still annoyed at his recalcitrant mood. "While he's in hospital, we ought to go on down to the library, and get started." Ron rather looked like he'd prefer to be almost anywhere other than in the library with Hermione on a rampage, but he said nothing.
"I could play Quidditch," Harry muttered mutinously.
"And if you got dizzy? And fell off your broom? And broke your neck?" Hermione said, in her most confrontational voice.
"Then everybody's little weapon to kill Voldemort would be all ruined!" Harry said, in a nasty sing-song voice, as he slammed into the infirmary. Hermione stopped, stunned.
"Harry, that's not what I - " he heard, before the doors shut behind him. She turned to Ron, leaning up against the wall adjacent to the hospital wing doors. "That's not what I meant."
"He knows that, Hermione," Ron said in an unconcerned voice. "He's just in a pissy mood. Wouldn't you be?" Hermione looked at the floor and said nothing. "Why don't you lay off him, though?"
"I'm not -" she started to protest.
"He knows what he has to do. He knows what's at stake if he mucks it up. He doesn't need you constantly reminding him about it," Ron said forthrightly. "He's an adult. He doesn't need a mum. He needs us."
Hermione looked at Ron like he'd betrayed her. "I would have thought you'd be on my side, Ronald Weasley!"
Ron was aghast. "Side? What side? We're all on the same side, Hermione. You know, the opposite one from Voldemort?" He stopped suddenly and peered sharply into her face. "How much sleep have you been getting?" Hermione drew herself up to her full height, which was still considerably less than Ron's, and said,
"Plenty."
"Liar."
"Harry needs me," she said, in a much less strident tone.
"He needs you to not kill yourself for him. Weren't you just telling him something like that?" Ron got to watch in satisfaction as Hermione Granger was at a loss for words. "Go up to the suite, and go to sleep. I'm sure Dobby's already got our stuff in there. I'll go to the library and start looking - what? Really I will," Hermione had shot him a dubious look.
"Do you even know what to look for, Ronald?" Hermione asked with a long-suffering voice. Ron grinned, because the fact that she'd even asked the question meant she was going to do what he said.
"Gryffindor. Ravenclaw. Stuff that they left at Hogwart's." Ron said, shrugging, but stopped at the look on Hermione's face. "You really don't think I can handle it, do you?"
"Of course you can handle it," Hermione said, clearly lying. Ron rolled his eyes and stomped off toward the library, his voice carrying distinctly back to Hermione, as he muttered something about why enemies were needed when your own best mates thought you were a bleeding moron.
Hermione started toward Gryffindor tower where the suite was located, near the common room, but stopped, and looked uncertainly back toward the hospital wing. She looked over her shoulder in the direction that Ron had gone, but he had already disappeared from sight. She took a deep breath, and entered the doors to the infirmary.
Harry was sitting on a bed, the same one he'd used that morning, in the otherwise empty ward. He wasn't looking at her, though he'd clearly realized she'd entered.
"I can hear you yelling at each other, you know," Harry said, still looking away.
"I know," Hermione said, twirling a strand of hair around her fingers, and rocking on her heels uncomfortably. "I didn't - I didn't - I shouldn't have said…" she stammered.
"I know you didn't mean it. And I'm sorry for snapping at you," Harry said, finally looking at her, with sympathy shining out of his green eyes. "I know I'm not the only one under stress here. If one of you were under an almost-certain death sentence, then I know I'd be -"
"Harry!" Hermione protested at his choice of words, but he gave her a dry, "let's not fool ourselves" look. There was a moment of silence. They could both hear Madame Pomfrey bustling around in the adjacent room.
"Lupin came to see you last night before he left," Hermione said finally. "He'd been talking with Professor McGonagall, but he didn't want to wake you. He went to London to file a report about Malfoy."
"I was wondering where he was," Harry said. "Did they take Malfoy to the Ministry?" Hermione nodded. "Were you in here last night?" he asked curiously. Was it just his imagination or did slight color stain Hermione's cheeks?
"Ron and I both were. We didn't really fancy going up to the dormitories in the middle of the night, and we - well, we wanted to keep an eye on you." She watched him hesitantly, as if he'd explode at the idea of needing a minder.
"Yeah, you two really looked like you were keeping an eye on me this morning," he said with a slight smirk, jerking his chin toward the chair they'd both been sitting in when he awakened.
"Honestly, Harry!" Hermione said, rolling her eyes, her color heightening further.
"So…er…how's that going anyway?" he asked, gesturing again toward the chair. Hermione's finger twirled up in her hair again, and she wouldn't meet his gaze. She shrugged, a little unwillingly.
"It's not really a very good time for a relationship, Harry," she mumbled, sitting on the next bed over, and swinging her feet.
"It's the perfect time!" Harry protested. "Didn't McGonagall say that Dumbledore would be glad there was a little more love in the world? Look at Remus and Tonks…or Bill and Fleur."
Hermione looked mortified. "Who said anything about love?" she said, and then looked like she wished she hadn't. "Ron's just - we're - we wanted - I was…" she gave up, throwing her hands into the air. "We're fine." Harry eyed her suspiciously. "Really!" she insisted, flushing brilliantly. "What about you and Ginny?" she asked suddenly, in a retaliatory tone.
"There is no `me and Ginny'," Harry said, looking warily at Hermione. "There hasn't been since … since Dumbledore's funeral. And…and there's not going to be."
"Does Ginny know that?" Hermione said with a rather appraising tone, thinking of the scene from the Great Hall at breakfast.
"Of course she does," Harry answered carefully, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
"Of course," Hermione murmured in agreement, but Harry got the impression that she didn't mean it at all. He opened his mouth to say something about it, but Madame Pomfrey came in then, and thrust three different potions at Harry, with the obvious expectation that he drink them. He looked like he was deciding whether or not to protest, but Madame Pomfrey said,
"If you take those, I will let you sleep in your room tonight… provided that you let me see you again before breakfast."
"All right," Harry muttered resignedly, taking the three elixirs in rapid succession. Almost immediately, his nausea lessened, and the swimmy feeling in his head abated somewhat. Madame Pomfrey nodded with approval, and whisked the empty containers back into the other room. Hermione slid off of the bed, and looked in askance at Harry when he did not immediately follow.
"What is it?" she said, in a "don't try and pretend nothing's wrong" tone of voice.
Harry's fingers kneaded the bedsheet where he was sitting, and he looked ill at ease.
"Hermione, I -" he faltered and then stopped. She stepped back over to him, standing so close that her midsection was nearly touching his knees, and looked him straight in the eyes.
"You can tell me anything, Harry. You know that."
"I don't - I don't want to mess everything up!" he burst out suddenly, and she looked at him in bewilderment. "Between you and Ron," he added. "You shouldn't put things on hold because of me…I - you - you're only seventeen. You deserve to do normal things…like - like go on dates, and - and snog…and …stuff…" he trailed off, embarrassed. She regarded him with an amused smile.
"Why should we do `normal' things, if you don't get to?" she asked, arching one eyebrow.
"I do `normal' things," he said, a little sulkily. This time, Hermione arched both brows, with a "really?" look.
"What about what you said before?" she asked quietly. "'There is no me and Ginny. And there's not going to be.' Why is that exactly?" He let out a frustrated sigh, and ran his hands through his hair.
"You know why."
"Tell me anyway," she said tersely.
"People that I love end up dead," he replied, refusing to make eye contact with her. And I'm not even sure that I'm in love with Ginny. What kind of an arse does that make me? He added silently.
"Harry, nobody died just because they loved you."
"Yes, they did!" he said, his voice rising. "My mum and dad did. Sirius did. And - and Dumbledore…If it hadn't been for me…"
"Harry, you're - you're special," she said feebly, obviously groping for a word. She raised one hand, as if to thread her fingers through his hair, but she stopped herself. "Love for you doesn't mark people for death. They loved you, and wanted you to live. So much that it didn't matter to them how that was accomplished. That's an amazing kind of love. That's what you have that Voldemort doesn't. And you…you… inspire that in - in - people…" She looked up at him briefly, a half-smile curling the corner of her mouth. "Voldemort may try to use love against you…against us, but he'll fail in the end. None of us are going into this blind. And you need to let me…let Ginny…let Ron… make our own choices. Because we do love you, you know. And nothing is ever going to change that."
Something in Harry's stomach lurched oddly at her last words, and he wondered if the potions he'd been given were going to make him sick.
"I don't think I could face knowing that I had lived when you should have," Harry managed to choke out.
"Then I won't die," Hermione said in a tone that was suddenly and strangely breathy. Her face suddenly seemed very close to his, even though neither of them had moved, and he was having trouble swallowing. There was a fleeting instant of…something?...that Harry couldn't even begin to analyze. And just as quickly, Hermione turned, her hair swirling out in an arc behind her, speaking briskly,
"Are you ready to go?" He blinked at her.
"Go?"
"To the Gryffindor Head suite."
"Right," Harry said slowly, feeling somewhat idiotic. He slid off the bed and stood for a moment, as he had earlier, testing his balance. He nodded at Hermione, who was looking at him questioningly, and they walked out of the hospital wing together.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ron clambered noisily into the portrait hole that led to the Head Suite - including a large common room, bathroom, and two dormitories - several hours later. He was dragging a large knapsack that appeared to be straining at its seams, and had his arms piled up with several rather ponderous looking tomes. He staggered across the room with difficulty, and nearly threw the books down on a desk, having been favoring his injured arm and thereby unbalancing himself. Belatedly, he remembered that Harry and Hermione were both under instructions to be asleep, and he cursed under his breath, hoping that he hadn't awakened them.
He settled in at one of the three desks lining the left wall of the common room, and, with a roll of parchment and a quill and ink on one hand, and the first of the ponderous tomes on the other, he began to read, also jotting occasional notes.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed, when he finally heard footfalls on the stairs that led to the dorms, and felt two arms encircle his neck.
"You'd better be Hermione," he said gruffly, and he heard her soft laugh, felt her breath on his ear. At the sound, he turned around, and looked at her in amazement. Laughing was something none of them did that often, and Hermione was more serious than most on a good day. "Now I know you're not Hermione!" he said. "What have you done with her?" She smiled slightly, but her eyes fell on the stack of books and the scrawled-on parchment and lit up.
"Did you find anything?" she asked eagerly, and the moment was gone.
"Not much," Ron said in resignation. He gestured toward the book he'd been scanning, which was titled The Founding Four: A History of Hogwart's. "Ravenclaw had some jewelry, but no mention of whether that was ever at Hogwart's. They've mentioned Gryffindor's sword, of course…and the Hat. But those have never been out of Dumbledore's office."
"The sword has been in the Chamber of Secrets," Hermione corrected him. "There could be other times as well…times we don't know about."
"But Dumbledore ruddy well would have," Ron argued. "And he never mentioned it to Harry."
"Maybe he meant to, but didn't get the chance," Hermione said, shrugging one shoulder.
"Do you have to argue with absolutely everything I say?" Ron said, thoroughly annoyed. "Is it some kind of reflex action with you?" Hermione looked highly insulted.
"Honestly, Ron! If you're going to go around saying things that are obviously not true!" She replied haughtily. "You know that Gryffindor's sword has been out of Dumbledore's office. You were there…in the Chamber!"
"Behind a bunch of rocks from a bloody cave-in!" Ron exclaimed. "With an Obliviated Lockhart! I wasn't exactly in a position to see anything!"
"You came out of the Chamber with Fawkes…and Harry…and the sword." Hermione's tone was just short of scathing. "Details are important, Ronald! Especially with…"
"…Harry's life at stake! I bloody well know that, Hermione!" Ron said angrily.
"Then you know why it's important that we - "
"I don't know that anything about this conversation is important," Ron interrupted her. "What does this have to do with - ?"
"The sword - " Hermione began again.
"If the sword was made into a Horcrux, then the `outing' we're talking about should have happened years ago! The fact that Fawkes took it to the Chamber of Secrets less than five years ago is utterly irrelevant, Hermione!" Hermione looked a little startled as Ron ground her name through gritted teeth. Ron was on a roll now, and stood from the desk, gesticulating wildly. "You don't have a corner on this, Hermione. You aren't the only one who can help him. You aren't the only one who wants to help him. And you aren't the savior of the Wizarding world. He is." Hermione drew back as if she'd been slapped.
"I never said I - " she began in an affronted tone.
"How many times have we had this argument - this exact one - in the last three months?" Ron sounded weary. "You want to live and breathe and bleed Harry Potter, and I want… I - I want…" He stopped suddenly, seeming unsure of what it was that he wanted. Hermione looked at him as if he were a stranger.
"Are you jealous?" she asked, finally. "Of Harry? Or of my trying to help Harry? This isn't a contest to see who can help him the most, Ron."
"No, I'm not jealous," Ron said, making a face at her, though most of the fight seemed to have left him. "And I'm not the one with the issues about competition." Hermione inhaled deeply, ready to begin another spiel, but he continued speaking. "What is it we're trying to accomplish here, Hermione?"
"We're trying to help Harry defeat Voldemort," Hermione said, deliberately misunderstanding him.
"I meant with us, Hermione. What are we trying to accomplish? I thought I knew - I thought - I - but I - I don't anymore."
"Ron?" And for the first time in that conversation, there was fear in Hermione's voice.
There was a long silence.
She held out her hand to him. "Do you want to go for a walk? Around the lake?"
He regarded her for a moment. His eyes fell on the stacks of books that he had brought back from the library.
"Those will keep," Hermione said lightly, her voice on the verge of breaking. Ron stood and took her hand, his gaze never leaving hers.
"All right then," he said, and his voice was almost a whisper.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When Harry awakened and ventured down into the common room, it was empty. He hadn't the faintest idea where Ron and Hermione were, but there were stacks of books on one of the desks. He scanned the titles, and saw that most of them had to do with Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, the founders in general, or Hogwart's itself.
He sat at the adjacent desk, which was empty, and grabbed the open book from where it lay. He began to flip the pages listlessly, wondering at his own discontent.
Where are they? Why aren't they here…helping? He found himself thinking petulantly, before he caught himself. They could be down in the library. And even if they're not, wasn't I just telling Hermione that she needed to do normal things. He sighed gustily, annoyed with his hypocrisy. And yet he could not quell the sense of rejection, of unease, of abandonment that pervaded him at that moment. He was alone, and they were somewhere…perhaps together. You don't even know that much. But somehow he knew they were.
And maybe that was his biggest fear. Not the deaths of his friends in and of themselves, but the fact that they might die, he might live, and he might be condemned to live long years without the close companionship that he had come to rely on. He tried to imagine life without Ron…without Hermione…and he could only see a vast emptiness, a shell of a life, without any real substance.
And if they end up married? A snide inner voice said. They'll be alive, but you'll still be alone. Maybe you're destined to always be alone just like you always have been. No parents, no godfather, no mentor…no Hermione…Alone, just like Lord Voldemort…
"NO!" Harry shouted at the empty room, slamming the book shut. A cloud of dust wafted up, and the motes were caught in the lamplight. His heart was pounding rapidly. He wasn't sure where that voice had come from…had it been his? Or had the thoughts insinuated themselves inside his head from somewhere else…someone else?
What if you're more like him than you realize? You're rich, famous, magically powerful… if you defeat him, who could stand against you? You could do anything you wanted, have anyone you wanted…
Hermione flashed briefly in his mind, and he recoiled from the desk in shock, as if he could somehow remove himself from his own thoughts.
"No!" he said again, out loud. "I won't become like him. I won't!" He was oddly reminded of his own Sorting, where he had vehemently argued with the Sorting Hat that he not be put into Slytherin. And then he heard Dumbledore's gravelly voice in his mind,
"It is our choices, Harry, that show us who we truly are, far more than our abilities."
"Choices…" Harry muttered to himself, a tranquil kind of sadness embracing him as he thought of the headmaster. He clenched both fists. I can choose not to be like him…just like he chose his path… His head ached vaguely, and he rubbed his fingers absent-mindedly over his scar.
"Harry?" came a sudden voice, and Harry started violently, banging his knees on the desk in front of them and swearing colorfully. Ginny was peeking around the edge of the portrait hole, looking at him with an amused expression.
"Aren't you supposed to be in class?" Harry asked irritably, rubbing his knees in an injured fashion. Ginny took this to be her invitation to enter and be welcome, and came the rest of the way into the common room, closing the portrait behind her.
"I'm done for the day," she said simply. "Ron gave me the password. I hope that's okay?" She looked at him with a wistful face that was half-hopeful, half-apologetic.
"Sure," Harry said vaguely, making a mental note to himself to thank Ron later. "You saw Ron?"
"Yeah, a while ago. He and Hermione were on their way down to the lake, I think," she answered.
Down to the lake. Harry recalled his own visits to the lake with the pretty redhead in front of him. Once again, he felt a yearning well up within him…nothing more than a heartfelt desire to forget who he was and just…be. To come out from under the shadow of his destiny, of his duty, of his calling, and enjoy a date, a snog, his final year of school. Is that really too much to ask?
Something of his gloom must have showed on his face, because Ginny looked at him with compassion. "Harry, what's wrong?" she asked. He regarded her for a moment, watching the way the warm lamplight created pools of fire in her eyes and made her hair into a flaming gold nimbus around her head.
He wondered if he could talk to Ginny. He couldn't talk to Ron or Hermione… Ron would fidget and look uncomfortable, and he was afraid that he was already burdening Hermione with enough. She would fret and worry even more than she was already, and would sleep and eat less. He looked at Ginny doubtfully, wondering how he could sum up the deepest desires of his heart in one sentence.
"I just wish it was over." Ginny pressed her lips together in a small, sympathetic smile.
"I know you do, Harry," was all she said. "I wish I could help you."
"Some things have to be done on one's own," Harry said, trying to sound nonchalant, and not completely succeeding. There was a silence, which stretched from being a lull to being awkward, fairly quickly. He didn't remember silence ever being a problem before, but he supposed that most silences between them before had been taken up with snogging. He looked up at her, and found her watching him, with a quiet, discerning look in her eyes.
"Ginny, we - " he began, blurting the words suddenly, without having any really clear idea of what he was intending to say.
"You don't have to say it," she cut him off, her smile reworking itself bitterly. "I know." Harry was genuinely curious.
"What?" he said. Ginny rolled her eyes.
"I know that nothing's changed between us. I know that just because you're back at Hogwart's doesn't mean your battle's over. I know why we still can't be together. And I understand." Harry watched her with obvious relief that she had known so well what he was thinking.
"I wish things were different," Harry said honestly, thinking of other things than just the wedge between him and Ginny that was the coming battle with Voldemort.
"So do I," she replied. "It was awfully nice to see you this morning, strolling into the Great Hall like a conquering hero." She flushed and laughed a little at herself. "I just - I wanted to pretend…for a little while." Harry felt his lips quirk upward in a return smile.
"Is that why you hugged me?" he asked. "Hermione was wondering about that." Something odd flashed in Ginny's eyes for a moment, but was gone so quickly that Harry figured he must have imagined it.
"Can't blame a girl for trying," she said gaily, performing much better than Harry had with his nonchalance. "You know you can come to me anytime you want to talk." Harry leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest, the stacks of books on the neighboring desk catching his eye.
Ron and Hermione are down at the lake, was the thought that rolled somewhat incongruously through his mind.
"No, I can't, Ginny," Harry said slowly, thinking of the destroyed horcruxes and the one they had yet to locate. "But I appreciate the offer." He pulled his grandmother's brooch out of his pocket, and ran it absently through his fingers.
Her expression was wistful. "Maybe after - " she began, but he cut her off, sitting forward so suddenly that the chair creaked ominously.
"No no no no, Ginny," he said, speaking rapidly. "No maybes. Not now. I can't deal with maybes." He watched with horror as her eyes filled up with tears, and she turned toward the empty fireplace, not wanting him to see her cry. She said something in a clogged voice that he didn't quite catch. "What?" he asked cautiously, shoving the brooch back into the pocket of his jeans, rising from his chair, and stepping toward her.
"You may not want to deal with maybe," she said suddenly, whirling on him, tears streaking her cheeks. "But `maybe' is all I have."
And then suddenly, his arms were around her and her cheek was against his chest and he was murmuring something over and over again into her hair. It took a moment or two before Harry realized that he was saying, "I'm sorry." I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry.
He pushed her back from him, both hands gripping her shoulders, so he could look into her face. Her brown eyes were awash with unshed tears, and he watched as she blinked them back and tried to compose her face into a stoic expression.
"I can't - I can't promise…anything, Gin," he said in a voice full of emotion. "I don't know how much time I - " have left. He swallowed the last two words, and did not say them. "I don't know when it's going to end, how it's going to end…. I - " I don't even know whether or not I'm in love with you. "I can't…ask anything of you…it's not fair…I - won't…" It seemed a feeble echo of the earlier conversation that he'd had with himself. I won't be like him. I won't.
"I won't ask for promises," Ginny said evenly, her face composed. "I won't even ask for maybe. All I'll ask for is what you can give…and when you can give it."
He looked at her again. Her hair was long and shiny, vibrant in the yellowy light of the common room. Her cheeks were flushed and wet where tears had been shed, and her eyes were still damp, but clear and penetrating.
An image of Hermione, hunched over a book, eyes intent, fingers clutching a quill, flashed into his mind of its own accord. He shoved the thought away, completely frustrated with himself. Dammit! he thought ferociously. What the hell's the matter with me?
His gaze went reluctantly back to Ginny, stabbing him with guilt through her wide, serene eyes.
"We'll talk…later," was all he said, unable to totally reject her. Something inside him moaned and writhed in irritation. You know you don't love her, Potter, came a voice that sounded oddly like Malfoy's, you're just leading her on. He saw the hopeful smile that flitted across her face, and guilt stabbed him in the gut. "Ginny - " he began again, putting his hand on her arm to catch her attention. She turned back toward him, and her face was only centimeters from his.
"Sweet Merlin, warn a person, would you?" came Ron's voice, as the portrait hole suddenly swung wide. "I may never recover!"
"Sod off, Ron," Ginny said amiably, even as she flushed a brilliant red. Harry felt heat fill his own face, and he glanced at his other best friend, standing next to Ron, with her eyes going back and forth from him to Ginny and a bland expression on her face. He wondered why he suddenly felt as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have.
"We can come back later," Hermione said suddenly, clutching Ron's arm, as if to pull him back out into the corridor.
"We most certainly can not!" Ron argued, pulling his arm out of her grip. "We aren't leaving them in here alone!" Harry stepped away from Ginny, leaving a more obvious distance between them. Hermione looked like she'd rather be anywhere else other than where she was.
"For the love of Merlin!" Ginny said irately, throwing her hands up in the air. "There's - we're not - he - we don't have to explain ourselves to you!" She let out a kind of shriek of annoyance and disgust.
"We were just talking," Harry mumbled quickly, finally glad to get a word in edgewise.
"We really ought to get to work," Hermione said in a business-like tone, moving over to sit at the desk laden with books.
Ginny looked inquiringly at Harry, who said, "McGonagall's given us an independent project to do."
"So you won't be in any classes?" She sounded rather disappointed. Harry felt guilty. How many times had he lied to her? He shook his head. "Mind if I stay?" she asked, inclining her head toward the sofa. "I'll be quiet."
"Ginny, you can't," Ron said quietly, "there's some…other stuff - the Order - erm…" Ginny looked at Hermione, who was studiously tapping her quill into her ink bottle, and would not meet the other girl's gaze.
"Harry?" Ginny said finally, looking at her erstwhile boyfriend. Harry looked pained.
"I'm sorry, Ginny. You can't stay." Ginny inhaled a shuddering breath as she lifted her chin.
"I see," she said primly, squaring her shoulders and not meeting their eyes. "I guess I'll see you around then."
Harry and Ron both flinched as the portrait hole slammed shut. Ron and Hermione turned to look curiously at Harry, who cleared his throat noisily and ignored his two friends, sitting down at his desk, and opening the book he'd been trying to look at earlier.
"So…er, Harry?" Ron began.
"Don't want to talk about it, Ron," Harry said in a monotone, keeping his eyes on the page, but absorbing none of the words on it. He could feel rather than see Ron staring at him, and finally heard Hermione hiss,
"Leave him alone." Harry could not stop a smile from twitching at his lips. Did they really think he was deaf?
"I think we ought to look for artifacts mentioned as being owned, especially particularly prized, by Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. The horcrux would be something well-known, I think. Voldemort wouldn't stand for second-best of anything," Hermione said authoritatively.
"He was in Slytherin, you know," Ron pointed out. "He might think himself right clever if he made the horcrux from Gryffindor's old sock, while everyone was out looking for a bejeweled…something or other." Hermione rolled her eyes in a quite exaggerated fashion, and retreated to her book in a huff.
There was silence for awhile, marred only by the rustling of pages and the scratch of Hermione's quill.
"Rowena Ravenclaw had a pet Kneazle," Ron said, apropos of nothing.
"Ron, that Kneazle would be over a thousand years old by now. There's no way that - " Hermione began.
"Did I say that the Kneazle was a horcrux?" Ron asked, incensed. "No, I was just remarking that Ravenclaw had a Kneazle. Nothing more, nothing less."
"Well, if you'd stick to the topic at hand, you'd - "
"I thought it was interesting…I thought you'd find it interesting, considering that ill-tempered hairball you call a pet is half-Kneazle."
"You leave Crookshanks out of this!" Hermione sputtered in outrage.
"Will you two give it a rest?" Harry finally said, his even voice cutting into their bickering, but not betraying his annoyance. "Do you two ever not argue about anything? Is it some kind of foreplay for you?" Oops. He hadn't really meant to say that out loud. Hermione blushed to the roots of her hair, and resumed writing. Ron eyed him suspiciously.
"I'd better not find out that you learned what that is with my sister," he said in what would have been a menacing tone, if he hadn't looked so nauseated. Harry looked at him dourly.
"I'm seventeen years old, Ron. Do you know any seventeen year olds who don't know what that is?" Now Ron was refusing to look at him too. Great. "Okay, look, I'm sorry," Harry finally said, flipping a page with annoyance. "I shouldn't have said that, but I just - " he trailed off as he saw what filled nearly the entire page: a finely done engraving of Godric Gryffindor's sword. "Hey, look at this." There was a caption at the bottom of the page, highlighting the dimensions and details of the beautifully wrought weapon. "It says that the - "
"Harry, give me your grandmother's brooch," Hermione interrupted him in a trembling voice, her eyes fixed on a page with something akin to horror.
"What? Why? Hermione, what are you on about?" Harry said, looking at her with curiosity and concern.
"Please," Hermione said, forcing herself to sound calm, even though she did not look it. "May I see it?" Harry leaned over and passed the brooch to Ron, who handed it to Hermione. Both boys were watching her with reserved expressions. She leveled her wand at it.
"Hermione - " Harry protested.
"Finite Incantatem," Hermione said, and the brooch emitted a bright glow, which quickly faded. She was staring at the jewelry in awe, and held it up for them to see. It was beautiful, a bright silver, etched with blue accents. The raised "R" stood out in sharp relief, and the filigree was vivid. Underneath the letter was a graceful engraving of an eagle in flight. "There was a glamour charm on it... disguising it."
"How did you know that?" Ron asked, mystified. In answer, Hermione held up the book she'd been looking at, showing a picture of the very brooch she now held.
"It belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw."
"How in the world would a brooch belonging to Ravenclaw end up in Harry's house?" Ron wondered aloud. "Lupin said it was Harry's grandmother's. You're not related to the Ravenclaws, are you?" The last statement was directed at Harry, who was thinking furiously, and did not respond.
"Think, Ronald!" Hermione said sharply, and Ron was so caught up in the mystery that he did not respond to her biting tone. She began to read from the book she held.
"'The Ravenclaw Brooch, known as `Eagleflight', had been passed down from mother-in-law to daughter-in-law for generations. The magical etching was done by Eriseld Algernon, a master of his craft, whose work has never been equaled. The brooch was displayed at the Ravenclaw manor house until 1853, when it disappeared after the house burned down. It was never seen again.'" Hermione looked at her best friends, her eyes shining with discovery. "Don't you see? Voldemort must have found it. He tracked it down, and had it, and made it a - "
"You mean we've had the damned thing all along?" Ron groaned. "Why did Lupin talk about Harry's - ?"
"Professor Lupin didn't say the brooch was Harry's grandmother's," Hermione corrected him. "He said, `Your grandmother's name was Rose.' He assumed that because the brooch was in Harry's house that it belonged to Harry's family. And it had the glamour charm on it. There was no reason that Professor Lupin would have recognized it."
"So, how do we get rid of it?" Ron asked, eying the jewelry cautiously.
"We don't," Harry finally said, speaking flatly. "It's not a horcrux."
"Harry, how can you know that for sure?" Hermione asked.
"Everything fits, mate," Ron echoed, backing her up.
"No," Harry shook his head. "No, it doesn't. Think about it. Why would Voldemort take Ravenclaw's brooch into my h - my parent's house? To make a horcrux with it. I don't think he used it after my father or my mother's death. Dumbledore thought he made horcruxes with significant murders. He was waiting for me. He was going to kill me and make a horcrux."
"But you're not dead," Ron pointed out, rather obviously. Harry gave him a "really?" look.
"That's why it's not a horcrux," Hermione said dully, looking a little disappointed. "By the time he tried to kill you, he was weakened and defeated and couldn't have made the horcrux." She didn't mention Ron's theory that Voldemort hadn't been using the killing curse at all. It seemed they were quite wrong about that after all.
"It was a brilliant theory, really," Harry hastened to reassure her.
"But that's good, right?" Ron said, moving onto another tack. "If that horcrux failed, then there's only six horcruxes. That means we've found them all."
"No, I think there's another one. I think Voldemort used Nagini as the last horcrux, when the brooch didn't work, after he came back. Dumbledore was wondering about the logic of using something alive, but if it was a - a backup plan, then that makes more sense. Voldemort probably felt that he needed seven - since seven is such a powerful number."
"So we're back to square one, then?" Ron said gloomily.
"No, I think - " Harry turned back to his book, pointed at the engraving of the sword. "I think - it's got to have something to do with Godric Gryffindor's sword. It's easily the most well-known thing he ever owned."
Ron and Hermione came over, and leaned over Harry's shoulder to examine the picture.
"But Harry, if that sword had ever been stolen - even removed from the headmaster's office for a short time - it would have been noticed immediately. That kind of thing is just too big to smuggle ou - " She stopped as Harry tapped his finger on the text at the bottom, and read what he was indicating. "'The sword is over one meter long from pommel to tip, and the hilt is elaborately carved and inset with rubies, chosen for their large size and near-perfect clarity.'" She looked at Harry with awe in her eyes. "Rubies…" she repeated.
"It would be easy to smuggle a ruby out in your pocket, wouldn't it?" Harry said thoughtfully. "Tom was Head Boy. He would have been in the headmaster's office any number of times. Maybe - maybe he stole the ruby after his conversation with Professor Slughorn. Maybe he was thinking, even then, of making one." Hermione shivered suddenly.
"Let's go look at the sword," she said abruptly.
"What for?" Harry and Ron said in unison.
"Hermione, if he took the ruby to use for a horcrux, then it's not there," Harry finished patiently. Hermione smirked at him.
"Don't you think it's brilliant? If he had just put it back? Who would ever think to look for a horcrux - one ruby out of several - on a Gryffindor sword that was prominently visible in the most guarded room of one of the most secure places in Britain?"
Harry and Ron gaped in amazement, and stood, wordlessly indicating that she should precede them out of the portrait hole.
"And you think you should have been in Slytherin?" Ron said in an aside to Harry, open admiration in his voice.
TBC
-->