A/N: Sorry this took so long, but school got in the way. They finally found a way for me to do homework. Damn! Anyway, next chapter shouldn't take as long, I'm hoping, and here's to my lame attempt at stepping up the action, slowly.
Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, still not mine.
*****
A Day without Mirth
When Mrs Weasley finally arrived at the house just after lunch that day she found Harry and Emmeline in the midst of a fierce game of Wizard's Chess. As per usual, Harry was losing. Ron's worthy opponent had finally been found, though she was a bit startled at the "violence" and at once fascinated by the moving pieces.
"This is much more fun that what I usually play, Dad plays it with me all the time!" she exclaimed as her knight took one of Harry's cowering pawns.
"Why didn't you tell me that you played before then? Why am I always stuck with the good players? And I'm sure you're cheating!" Harry protested as he tried to think of a way to save his queen.
Emmeline laughed, "You stink at this."
In his bedroom, Hermione was still asleep, the sheets now half off her form revealing her smooth legs and her hair spread out on the pillow behind her. When he had last gone to check on her, he was guiltily reminded of that afternoon in the shed and carefully drew the sheet up further before going out and shutting the door.
Mrs Weasley came in then, bringing heaps of clothes, food and advice and dropping hints every now and then about the "loneliness at the Burrow" and the fact that Emmeline "needed a mother". Harry took care to make as much noise as possible when she spoke then; the last thing he wanted was for Emmeline to be upset. Sometimes Mrs Weasley could be too kind.
On sighting Hermione in his bedroom she had nothing to say. She merely commented that he should wake her in a while for something to eat though it was clear that she was dying to say something.
Eventually though, she could take it no longer and asked, "Harry dear, where are you going to sleep?"
"Oh… in the next room, she can have mine," he replied casually while hoping she wouldn't ask why.
No such luck.
"But Harry, why don't you let her sleep in there, this is your house and that's your room, she would be just as comfortable." Mrs Weasley told him.
Wondering if there was some way he could get out of this without explaining some of the finer points of the situation he said, "It's nothing Mrs Weasley, I don't really like that room anyway, too close to the street… I like the back bedrooms better. I actually wanted one of them to be my room instead."
"There's plenty of privacy at the Burrow," she pointed out, "and plenty of room and people for you to talk to… Ginny will be home soon, they say in a few days in fact."
Harry had nothing to say to this other than to offer a nervous smile. Mrs Weasley then must have taken this as affirmation that he knew he was doing wrong and said nothing more.
She was content to let him muse over it for the rest of the day while she helped Emmeline into some clean clothes (some of Ginny's old things) and left fresh laundry out on the sofa for Hermione. She warmed their food and tried to get him to wake Hermione, but he refused. And when the phone began to ring with anxious calls from Granger relatives, as all calls to the family home in High Wycombe were being diverted to his house, she was there to help him go through them.
The inquiries followed a distinct pattern as each caller asked first if the reports were true, (it had even made the Daily Prophet under the headline "The Nightmare Continues: Attack in France Claims Parents of Friend of Harry Potter!") then if the girls were alright and then finally, the arrangements being made for the funeral. They came in an exhausting flurry that made Harry wonder if this was always the case when someone died. These were questions Harry had never had to answer before.
For his parents, Dumbledore and Ron, the arrangements had been made by others. For Sirius, Percy and Arthur there were no bodies to bury, and the Weasleys had held a simply memorial service. The only thing that Harry had had to do in the case of each was either learn that he had inherited money or some other thing, or suffer silently at the shock.
This was very, somewhat frighteningly, new.
Of course, if he thought about it, he was the one who had stated that he would take care of Hermione and Emmeline. This was just a part of that, the part that no one outside of it really saw. He was very glad then, that Mrs Weasley was there, and especially when one Granger relation enquired as to why he was the one arranging everything when he wasn't a member of the family.
Just before she left though, Mrs Weasley once more brought up the topic of the emptiness of her home without the people who once filled it. Harry still offered no reply to this and with a sad, but optimistic glance back at Emmeline, who was now sleeping on the sofa, she was gone.
Gone, to her home full of life, whilst Harry sat in his filled of stifling gloom, and waited for the hours to pass for the day to end.
When the day did finally end, Harry immediately proved a lie the story he had told Mrs Weasley about the sleeping arrangements and climbed into his bed beside Hermione.
She had slept all day, not even waking to eat and he was quite sure that she would be hungry now. At least, and thankfully at that, Emmeline had fared better than her sister.
But when he turned under the covers to face his roommate, it was to find that Hermione was wide awake now and staring listlessly at the window. It was much like that night he had slipped into her room in St Mungo's, her expression was blank.
And then the question was with them again, between them on this very bed, as they lay in the darkened room where slivers of the moonlit night crept through the curtain every now and then. "What are we going to do now?"
And just as before, he had no answer.
The next morning, Harry awoke alone. The sheets had all been piled unto him and all that was left of Hermione was the faint scent of parchment, sweat and a soft perfume.
In an instant he was up and heading out of the room to find her. He was not at all keen on heading back into the graveyard again; it was not so easy to go past his parents' graves as she would think. It was hard enough standing there trying to argue with her the morning before while wondering if he was committing some great wrong.
He did not have to go far though; Hermione was standing in the kitchen before the sink staring out at the daylight-bathed street.
As he released that breath he had been holding and tried to draw out of the room before she noticed she asked, "Why do you live here?"
He was surprised, that was not the first question he thought she would ask. Something about the funeral perhaps, or maybe the living arrangements, why he had not bothered to wake her or even if he would allow her to leave to visit her relatives with Emmeline, he had thought, but not this. But then it was very like Hermione to want to know the reason behind everything that he replied, "It's my home Hermione."
She said nothing for a while and continued to stare out the window. He wondered at what, though he was sure that he could hear the sounds of children in the street. Then she spoke again.
"Doesn't it hurt to be here?" she asked, her voice tentative and yet firm.
He replied at once, "Hermione, if this is about yesterday, I was not joking or lashing out… (A blatant lie, he knew.) I don't think it's a good idea for you to leave. Forget the promise, it's already done with, this is about your safety, Emmeline's… you two won't be safe with your relatives…"
She turned away from the window and he fell into silence. She looked so tired he had to wonder if she had slept at all the day before. It would have done quite nicely for her to lie in bed all the while and pretend to be asleep as they came in just so that she would have time to herself. He was sure that she had slept though; most of this weariness was in her eyes.
"Why do you want to live here? Your parents' house is just on the next street. Their graves are just down that lane. Their hopes, everything died that night at Halloween. Why would you want to be surrounded by that?" she asked.
Harry looked at her and suddenly found himself hoping that this was not about Ron. He knew that they had been a couple during the war but he had not seen much, and if he wanted to be honest, he didn't want to see. If this was about Ron then too, was this why she ran, why she kept running? Their hopes and dreams dying in the seconds it took for Ron to breathe his final breath? He didn't want to know that, it would make everything worse.
Somehow though, he found the voice to reply, "Because I feel safe, I guess… this was where I might have grown up, this was where, if they had won the war instead of I being destined for it, they might have lived out their lives. This is home Hermione."
Before anyone else he was sure that he would have been embarrassed to say it. Before Hermione though, it was almost the most natural thing in the world. It was also good that most of his anger to her had dissipated somewhat.
And then she completely surprised him.
She unsteadily made her way over to where he stood and wrapped her arms around him. He could feel almost every contour of her frame, shaking slightly from her hunger, and that faint scent from the bedroom, though now a fragrance enveloped them.
He tried a joke, "Why Miss Granger, I believe you need a bath."
She ignored it as she said, "Then if this is your home, I'll stay here with you, because you make me feel safe too."
And before he could react she freed herself from him and headed away, just as Emmeline came into the kitchen for her own breakfast.
"Is she okay now?" she asked, peering at her sister's retreating back.
"I'm not sure," he replied, wondering slightly, what had brought on her change of mood.
"She will be, you'll see, she always is," Emmeline said confidently, and for the smallest of moments, Harry was reminded of Ron.
When next she would appear though, it would be much later after she had showered and changed to some of the clothes she had abandoned at the Burrow. She didn't have the decency to show guilt about it either.
She only took a sandwich and juice and then headed off to his study, there were dozens of books there and he was quite sure that she was going to look at a few. Emmeline settled herself before his television set, which had before been a useless decoration, and he took a seat at the window watching them.
Looking at them then, it was almost as if the world had gone away and nothing at all had happened in the last few days. There was no Draco confessing, no Ginny waking, no strange panic attacks, no red-haired man stalking and no murder in France.
His lips formed a half smile.
If they added that grinning, moving picture of Ron on the fireplace that Emmeline was yet to notice, this little "family" would be almost complete. And strangely, that thought both terrified and pleased him.
As with the story of his life though, he would not have the liberty of dwelling on it for long.
When half an hour passed and Hermione had not turned a page, Harry rose from his place at the window and went to her seat in the study.
Just as before she was staring out at the street, the book in her hands still open on the first page and she did not notice when he approached. When he clasped it shut before her and pulled it out of her hands though, she did.
"What?" she asked.
"Hermione Granger does not sit in a chair with a book in hand and not read it. What's wrong?" he asked seriously.
She did not take her eyes off the window.
"Nothing, I didn't feel like reading that's all."
He laughed, "Vairy funny, Mees Granger," a near perfect imitation of Fleur in Fourth Year, "now what's wrong?"
"Nothing," she replied as before, "I…" and her voice trailed off.
Harry turned to the window now for the source of her distraction only to have his heart temporarily lodge itself in his throat. He was not sure, for the next second it was gone, but he may have caught a flash of someone standing in the shadows between the houses across the street. A figure shrouded by them and dark robes but with a head of bright red hair…
At once he was on his feet and drawing the heavy drapes shut. In a second then, he rounded on her and demanded, "Was that… was that him?"
Hermione suddenly came alive and flashed a nervous look to Emmeline. Thankfully though, the television had been loud enough to conceal his voice and Hermione's following reply, "Him…?"
He was angry in an instant, "Don't play dumb with me Hermione!" he forced his voice into a low but fierce whisper, "Was that the red-haired man you keep seeing?"
Her eyes widened in surprise, clearly she did not know that he knew this. It took her a while then, to stumble out her reply, "N-no… how-how did you know about that?"
"Your mother told me Hermione…" he explained irritably, "Was that him? Did he follow you here?"
"I was just looking out the window Harry… there's nothing wrong with that…" she said firmly though her eyes were brimming with tears.
He went to her on the sofa and roughly drew her up, and with a quick glance at Emmeline he dragged her off to the bedroom. She did not struggle, she just allowed him to lead her. She did not even attempt to cry out at his vice grip or the way he pulled on her arm or even when he walked into the bedroom and shoved her in before locking them in the room. But when he demanded again, "Who was that Hermione?" this time she spoke.
"He's no one, he's not real Harry, I thought him up to deal with this, I know I did," she quickly told him.
"He can't be a figment of your imagination if Draco, your parents, and now I think me, saw him too, who was that Hermione? Does he have a face to you? A few days ago I learned that he scared you, now you're calmly staring back? What's going on here Hermione?" he asked as sternly as he could.
But she was in too much shock at learning that not only she could see him to say much else. As a matter of fact, in what was fast becoming a pattern for her, Hermione fainted.
In the days that would follow, Harry made no attempt to breach the topic again. As a matter of fact, for the rest of that day he spent much of the time scolding himself for attacking her like that without getting most of the facts.
There was clearly more to this story than Hermione was letting on, and apparently there were parts of it that she herself did not know. He could not even bring himself to sleep in the room with her either, for after that incident she once more retreated into herself and the sight of that would be too much. He was only grateful then that Emmeline noticed nothing.
As a matter of fact, Emmeline seemed to have entered her own little world in the house. After that first morning in the kitchen, she never cried again, and as a matter of fact, displayed not one sign that she was grieving.
He found it strange, when Cedric died who was someone he barely knew, he had had nightmares for months. With Sirius he had been so depressed he had stopped eating, and for Professor Dumbledore, after days of sadness and shock the realisation hit him and it hit him hard. But Emmeline, he had inklings that something was wrong with Emmeline.
Back to her sister, Hermione seemed to be in two worlds. One was dominated by the grief at the loss of her parents, and the way they had died and for the fact that she had been somehow incapacitated during the fight.
Moody had actually come round and told him that Hermione had offered little to no resistance at all to the Death Eaters, they would have killed her and Emmeline if they had ever breached the closet. When they had burst down the door she must have just run with Emmeline, that, or her parents, and Harry hoped, had chosen to conceal their children for their safety. If not, then it would add to the strangeness of Hermione's behaviour since the war's end.
Then Harry had noticed himself that Hermione also made no use of her wand. She did everything the Muggle way, and as a matter of fact, he had not seen her wand in a while.
He could only hope that it was not lying around somewhere in France.
The other world though, was scarier than the realisation that she was now an orphan with a younger sister to raise and no clue as to where to start.
This was the world dominated by nightmares of a red-haired man in the shadows. A sense of failure for not saving Ron, a guilt (he hoped) at breaking her promise to him and the nightmares of someone who had had to grow up too soon, see too much and learn too fast the many ways to survive in a dangerous world.
And somehow, everything in that world had to be connected to one moment, though for the life of him he could not tell what.
Harry wished he could pull them both back to whatever was normal for them before but he couldn't. In the first place, he didn't know how to begin to do that. Secondly, he was now setting up the final arrangements for the funeral with Mrs Weasley. And in particular, in the midst of dealing with Hermione's now sometimes belligerent relatives, none too pleased that a stranger, a teenager, was in charge of the funeral of two of their members and taking care of the two girls, he also had to fight with Mrs Weasley about the date.
The conversations always followed the same format.
"Why that day, of all days Harry… they could wait, they can wait!" she would protest.
"No, they can't. Hermione and Emmeline can't, you said it yourself that we should take care of this, too many questions to answer, we can't keep the Grangers waiting any more than we have them now."
She would let it go at that but then remain slightly fuming for a while, clearly peeved that she could not influence Harry anymore as she would like to, before changing to a dreaded topic.
"Why haven't you been back to see Ginny, she's so worried about you, especially after what happened the last time. She must think that it's her fault."
Harry would sigh slightly, feeling guilty as he replied, "Ginny's alright, she's awake now, she's going to be okay, but Hermione isn't. Her parents made it through the war alive only to have their lives taken from them after. I have to deal with them first."
Mrs Weasley would not accept the excuse though and the badgering would continue for the rest of the day. Harry tried his best to be a good "son" and pretend to listen to her while praying she would leave. But he was grateful, very grateful. She was the mother he had never had the opportunity to know, and it was something he was sure he could never repay her for.
*****
The black Rolls Royce had been reversed far into the graveyard where the funeral for Drs Stephen and Alice Granger were to begin, and yet still, the nine year old girl in the backseat refused to come out or turn her head. It was almost that if she refused to see what was occurring behind her, it would not be real. Harry did not even attempt to join the others trying to get her out, this was her way of dealing with it, strict avoidance and he could not stop her. Besides, the frail, bushy haired young woman, slumped unto her haunches on the grass before the caskets was in a worse state than her.
Rising slowly from his seat when he had had enough, he walked across to her and said carefully, "Your sister doesn't want to leave the car."
She raised her head and would not look at him but replied, "She doesn't have to."
He arched an eyebrow, "She does not have to?"
"No," she affirmed, eyes staring silently at the two ebony caskets, "but she doesn't have a choice."
She made to stand and he helped her up and then walked with her to the car parked carefully amongst the tombstones. When she got to it, her relatives and the others cleared a way for her to get through to the door. She opened it with ease, reached her hand in and clasped Emmeline's.
"Come on Emmy," she said and pulled.
The child resisted, her hand jerked to her sister's but she would not move.
Her sister pulled once more, this time without speaking and to everyone's surprise, Emmeline stepped out behind her. Her head down while glistening tears made paths down her rosy cheeks, Emmeline followed her all the way back to the graves and sat with her. The guests and Harry then followed them behind, now they could begin. No matter how much none of them really wanted to.
When Harry, Hermione and Emmeline all appeared at the Granger home for the funeral that morning, it was to find their anxious relatives all ready and waiting for them. They had come by car, dressed in black and both girls' eyes were red with tears they had begun to shed as they were dressing.
No one spoke or tried to protest when Emmeline refused to go to her own grandmother, clinging to her sister instead until they both went. No one questioned the decision that they would not spend the night at the house after or that Hermione may actually sell it. (It was actually Harry to sell the house but they didn't need that little detail.) No one even asked for an explanation of how two ordinary British dentists, in fine health, simply dropped dead while vacationing in southern France. (The media had already handled that one plenty.) All they cared then, for the time being that was, was to get through this day knowing that they would never see their relatives again.
Officiated by the minister who had married them, and who had never expected to bury them as well, the ceremony was only supposed to hold the Granger and Puckle families, Harry, Mrs Weasley for moral support and Lupin, who was out and about due to the passing of the full moon, with Tonks. However, on the sidelines there were two types of media, curious onlookers at the spectacle that drew the media and someone no one else noticed, at first.
The weather above them today, had apparently decided to follow their mood. The horizon was darkest grey, with the rumblings of a thunderstorm in the distance while the wind blustered with all its might. Few birds were to be seen squawking about, and a silence save for the errant voices of the onlookers easily descended. It was nothing like Cedric's or Ron's or Dumbledore's funerals. This was a day for sadness, a day without mirth.
When the ceremony ended and the caskets were lowered, Emmeline started screaming and Harry had to restrain her. She kicked and scratched at him; much like her sister had done in the forest and screamed all the while, "No! They're not dead! You can't put them in there! Don't put them in there! Stop…! THEY'RE NOT DEAD! DON'T PUT THEM IN THERE! LET THEM UP! STOP THEM! HERMIONE STOP THEM!"
Her maternal uncle, Dr Michael Puckle, who had read the eulogy, came and took her away but she kept screaming. He brought her head to his chest and let her cry into him all the way back to the car in which she had earlier sought refuge. As they went Harry was sure that he heard Mrs Weasley sniffle and the others gave uncomfortable, pitying looks.
Hermione though, had remained silent throughout the entire exchange as if she had gone numb. She had been brought to a chair during the ceremony and was now just looking at the graves, listening to the near rhythmic thud of the clumps of earth on the caskets…
Taking a page from her book, Harry gripped her hand and pulled. She came up easily and then froze again, this time staring straight into the crowd of people who were now being held back by the police someone had called.
She just stood there still, even when he began to move, staring blankly amongst the crowd gathered. It was as if she had been enchanted.
When he pulled her arm again and she did not move, this time he turned and saw, to his abject horror, the figure that had haunted her dreams for weeks.
It was the "red-haired" man.
As before, in that panicked moment in the hospital and Dr Granger's letters and the flash across the street, he was standing in the shadows, dressed in black, red hair flying wild. As before, he could not see his face, he seemed no more than a shadow himself but Harry knew, he knew that he was real.
At once he yanked Hermione's arm again, "Come on, we have to go."
She would not move though, she still just stood there, staring at her stalker as if he were no more than part of the scenery.
He did the only other thing that came to mind. Slipping his arm beneath her calves and the other around her back, he lifted her up and walked to the car.
He ignored the querying or even more saddened looks, whispers and flashes that came from around him. He ignored when she finally snapped to consciousness and began to struggle against him though whispering fiercely, "Put me down! He's not real! Put me down! He's not real!"
The driver simply opened the door for him and he put her into the backseat carefully before getting in himself and then signalling for them to be taken home.
Mrs Weasley and the others would return the way they came, he had had enough.
As the car made its way out of the graveyard, the heavily-tinted windows concealing the view from without, Hermione, like her sister beside her, began to calm down again. Once they had past the gates, she was entirely silent.
Harry kept his eyes trained on the windows though, he had to see if they were being followed, if this red-haired man was content being a stalker or was planning something more in his pursuit. He was uneasy and tense, his foot tapping almost entirely of his own accord and he was hyper-sensitive to the movement of everything around him. It was a left-over from the war that served a wonderful purpose now, but it was also unnecessary.
There was no one with red hair randomly popping up anywhere and the few that did were ordinary citizens on their own affairs. Either he was just waiting until Harry was not looking to appear or he was gone. Harry chose to settle on the latter.
He relaxed a bit, but only just, until he was safely at home again, and his home, not the High Wycombe residence, he would not. Then the safety of wards and countless charms would allow him to.
But Hermione's voice coming from nearby proved more relaxing than the thought of home had. In a soft voice, no doubt weakened and slightly hoarse from her crying, she said, "Today should have been happier you know?"
He looked at her confused, wondering what she meant, and she continued, if possible even sadder, "It's your birthday. Happy Nineteenth to you, you made it."
She could not know then, how much her words meant.
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