(A/N: Well, most of you have been waiting patiently for this chapter, and here's where patience is rewarded. That's all I'm sayin' for the moment.
Mary Caroline, as usual, has been my beta, and any errors of omission or commission that remain are strictly my own fault.)
(Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Oh, I have my own opinions about how what should happen to them in the Seventh Book, but so have we all.)
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"Restoring Hope"
by Paracelsus
*
10 August 2009 - Year 11 P.V.
*
Headmistress McGonagall was loitering.
To be sure, had anyone asked her directly, she'd point out in perfect accuracy that she was an eyewitness to the attack on Gringotts; that she was helping the Magical Law Enforcement agents sort out the various testimonies; that she was waiting while the Healers dealt with more serious injuries than hers… but truth be told, she was loitering. After Bill Weasley had hauled his younger brother back into Brasslock's office and closed the door so firmly behind them, she was very interested indeed in seeing what would emerge.
There was a reason, after all, that her animagus form was a cat.
Unobtrusively she glanced over as the door opened abruptly. Bill Weasley and Brasslock walked quickly out of the office, heading down the corridor, obviously intent on some errand. Luna Weasley followed them for a few steps, saying as she walked, "I know you'll both do what you can. Do please try to work quickly - in fact, if it's faster to bring them down completely and rebuild them later…"
"Yes, Luna, thank you, Luna, we know," Bill shot over his shoulder, as the goblin director stopped before a small side door and brought out a ring of ornate iron keys. He opened the door, led Bill inside, and closed and locked it after them. Luna watched them leave, completely unconcerned about giving advice to experts. With a shake of her head, she turned and went back into Brasslock's office…
…where Ron Weasley was lying on the floor, out cold.
Hope was kneeling by his side, worriedly shaking his arm. "Erm, Dad, wake up? Dad? Mum, is he all right…?"
"I think so, nightingale. Your father's always been a bit off after combat, you know… I remember the first time I ever saw him fight, in my fourth year, he acted quite peculiar, although that may have been because of the curses that hit him. Hummm…" Luna knelt beside Hope and drew her wand from her pocket. "Ennervate!"
She waited until she saw him begin to stir, then leaned down and licked his nose. Ron's eyes jerked open as he gave a sort of coughing snort. "Wha-wha!?"
"I would have let you continue dreaming," Luna said apologetically, "but time is pressing." McGonagall wondered briefly how Luna knew Ron was dreaming, then decided she didn't need to know.
"We have to find some other way of getting into our home, and that quickly," continued Luna. "William and Brasslock are seeing what can be done about the wards, but they might take some time."
"There…" Ron sat upright, rubbing the back of his head. "There isn't another way of getting into our home, Good Love, remember? It's sealed tighter'n a drum. We'll, uh, just have to wait 'til Bill's done. And let's try to stay calm 'til then… remember, we aren't sure how urgent it is…"
"But Dad! We can't take the chance! Forgenail could already be there! And Mother…" Hope's words stopped short as she noticed McGonagall through the open door. McGonagall immediately looked away, a touch of pink on her cheeks.
Easily, Luna caught the door with one hand and swung it. As the door closed, McGonagall could hear a few last words: "There might be another way, though. Ronald, I'm afraid it would mean you couldn't come along…"
*
It was odd that Hermione had never considered the matter before. But she now realized that portraits spent a lot of their time asleep.
Of course, she'd known that portraits slept at night, as living humans did - she'd lost count of the times she'd had to awaken the Fat Lady to be let into the Gryffindor common room - but more than that, portraits would go dormant if they didn't receive enough mental stimulation. Portraits needed that stimulation, she now knew: needed to talk, to interact, to be helpful. Really, it wasn't as though there was much else for portraits to do. She'd gone dormant in the years before she'd been delivered to Hope… and again, more recently, when Hope had hidden her away in a drawer.
So here she was, tucked inside Luna's purse, fighting desperately to keep her mind active.
Luna had left her here while she paid a visit to Fleur (Hermione had asked to taken along, so that the Weasley clan could be made aware of her existence, but no). Thank goodness the purse was still perfectly transparent from the inside: she could at least see the entire room from her spot on the coffee table. She'd spent the hours amusing herself by playing Sherlock Holmes, deducing the characters of the house's inhabitants solely from the contents of the living room.
A niche by the fireplace, holding a pot of powder - must be magical folk. A whole shelf of books on brooms and Quidditch, including "Flying With The Cannons" - must be at least one Quidditch fanatic. The Quidditch shelf is disorganized and messy, unlike the rest of the room, which is tidy - the Quidditch fanatic must be male, but a female lives here too. She's interested in, shall we say, exotic magizoology, judging by her shelf of books. And two mirrors in the room - concerned about her personal appearance, perhaps?
Not many photographs on the walls. One of an older gentleman, I'd guess it must be Luna's father. One of Hope, Ron and Luna together… another of Hope and Luna alone. A photo of the Weasley family, complete with spouses and children. Mmm, exactly one photo with me in it; I recognize it. Colin took it back when we were all at Hogwarts: with Ron and I in the center surrounded by our fellow Gryffindors. Harry's not in that picture… in fact, I don't see a picture of Harry anywhere in the room.
Hope hasn't told me how you died, Harry, or how I died… only that we died together. Is the real Hermione with you in heaven, beloved? God of all mercy, please let it be so, amen. I miss you, Harry, I never thought I'd miss you so much… Hermione felt tears collect in her eyes, and tried to move her mind to less maudlin thoughts.
She was startled by a sudden, harsh warbling that seemed to echo from the walls of the house. An alarm of some sort? I don't see any danger… Nonetheless, she spent a few minutes scanning the room for any suspicious changes. No danger seemed imminent, and she began to relax again.
Two hours later, the danger materialized. Literally.
With a series of snaps quite unlike standard Apparation, several dust-clad figures appeared in the room. Hermione suppressed a gasp as she realized they were goblins… and another gasp when she saw that one of them wasn't goblin, but human.
One of the goblins carried a shallow square tray; it held what looked to be irregularly shaped black tiles, about a dozen or so. Hermione immediately recognized them from her Ancient Runes classes at Hogwarts: runestones. Her classes had never discussed using them in this way, however…
The goblin plucked two runestones out of the pattern and switched them. "Back to full strength now," he said, and hacked a cough. "We won't be followed any time soon." He set the tray on the coffee table, next to the purse.
"Good," said the human - a witch about thirty years old, in stylish clothes that were somewhat the worse for wear. It looked as though she'd been crawling through dirt, or underground - as indeed, they all did. Like the goblin, the witch coughed, hacked, and tried to clear her throat of dust. Then she swept her wand theatrically around the room and cried, "Accio portrait!"
Sweet Merlin, they're here for me!
Hermione couldn't help cringing. She expected to be pulled out of the purse and fly to the witch's waiting hand… but nothing happened. An Anchoring Charm? she wondered. To counter the Summoning Charm? Luna said Hope had used one when she tried to hide me in her room, a few days ago… I suppose Luna could have used one on her purse. As long as this woman doesn't try Alohomora…
"Nothing," said the goblin contemptuously. "So much for you humans' precious wands. Are you sure there must be a wizarding portrait here?"
"Try to remember that you had no idea of what's been happening here, this last year and a half, Forgenail," the witch replied coldly. "You had to come to me for an explanation, didn't you? From your descriptions of who's said what, a portrait's the only explanation." She turned to the other three goblins, who had so far remained silent. "Search the entire house," she ordered them. "Tear the place apart if you must. You're looking for a painted portrait, flat, probably framed."
"How big?" asked one of the goblins.
The witch hesitated. "If it's like most wizarding portraits," she said after a second, "about so by so." She moved her hands in the air to describe a rectangle two or three feet on a side. Hermione smiled. That was much larger than her own portrait; they'd be looking in the wrong places.
Two of the goblins headed up the stairs to begin searching there; the third went to the kitchen. The sound of breaking wood started immediately. The witch smiled to hear it, then gave a quick grimace. She reached into a pocket of her robes and pulled out a stoppered vial. She uncorked it, sniffed at it, and tossed it aside. "Empty. Well, it's not as though I need it any more…"
"I still don't see why we are wasting precious time," said the goblin called Forgenail, "when we could be making our way to Koboldheim. What's so special about this portrait?"
The witch grimaced again, more strongly, and pressed her hand to her stomach. "The girl was brilliant," she said at length. "She worked with Dumbledore. She has the information we need." She spent a minute in a vain attempt to brush the dirt off her clothes… more to gather her thoughts than with any hope of being clean.
When she looked at Forgenail again, she wore a sly smile. "Come now, my ally," she said softly. "Just imagine how the balance of power will shift at the Royal Court - shift in your favor - when you arrive bearing these prizes. The very fear that you might use them to your advantage will be enough. You will gain prestige, influence…"
Forgenail cut her off with a slicing gesture. "Yes, you paint a pretty picture. Don't think I've forgotten." He examined the tray of runestones, then twisted one minutely. Hermione studied the arrangement of the runestones, trying to commit it to memory.
"Nor have I forgotten our covenant… ally," the goblin continued. "Your use of our Artifacts will benefit us both. You get what you want… and by showing the Artifacts can be used, my bargaining position becomes that much stronger." He met the witch's gaze levelly. "Still, I would remind you that we don't have the Artifacts as yet."
"We will." The witch spoke with absolute confidence.
The goblin nodded. "As you say. I trust that your new plan will prove more successful than your last."
"Once we have Granger's portrait in hand? Oh yes." The witch stepped to the wall, unaffected by Forgenail's sardonic tone, to look at the photo images of Hope and Luna. They looked back at her warily, the smiles slipping from their faces. "You must have heard it when you listened to them. The brat dotes on this portrait of her mother. Given a choice between it and the items in her vault - that she's had for barely a week, and doesn't understand in any case - which do you think she'll choose?"
There was a resounding crash from upstairs. Hermione guessed that one of Hope's bookshelves had been thrown to the floor. She concentrated on picturing the damage the goblins must be doing, preferring that to the image of herself held hostage by this woman. Who was she? And what vital information did she think Hermione knew?
"Hist," said Forgenail suddenly. He laid three fingertips delicately on the runestone pattern, concentrating, as though listening. He then looked up at the witch. "We're about to have visitors… attempted visitors, I should say. We've a few seconds before they arrive. I could strengthen the wards… set them to kill…"
The witch smiled broadly. "No! No, get ready to open the wards and close them again. This is perfect." She raised her voice. "All of you! Get back in here, now!"
The goblin underling entered from the kitchen, his face a sullen mask. Hermione guessed he wasn't used to being bossed around by a human; she wondered why Forgenail, who seemed to lead these goblins, permitted it.
"Stand on either side, there, and be ready," the witch ordered, as the remaining two goblins came down the stairs. She gestured at the fireplace, from which a low whooshing sound was coming. Floo travelers, thought Hermione, beginning to panic. Who would have to include the only member of this house who can't Apparate yet… No!
There was a rush of green flames in the fireplace. Faintly Hermione heard a voice say, "Oh dear. I'm sorry, urchin, it looks like Floo access is still blocked…"
"Now!" hissed the witch. Forgenail removed one of the runestones from the tray. The witch flicked her wand at the green fire. "Accio!"
With a sliding thump, Luna and Hope fell out of the Floo and onto the floor. Immediately the goblins grabbed them - one on each of Luna's arms, the third holding Hope by both elbows - and roughly hoisted them to their feet. Forgenail restored the runestone to its place.
"No, I take it back," Luna said cheerfully. "It wasn't blocked after all. Well, it probably is now, I suppose." She didn't seem to object to the goblins holding her arms.
Hope certainly objected to hers. She yanked one arm free and used it to wrap her cloak around her. Its mild Aversion Charm wasn't doing any good at the moment, with everyone's attention focused so strongly on her, but the act of wrapping it seemed to comfort her.
"Why, hello there," said the witch genially. "So good to meet you again, child. I was hoping we could continue our little dialogue from earlier today."
Hope didn't reply. Her features had gone as blank as Hermione had ever seen them.
The witch gestured with her wand. "Accio wands," she murmured, and looked somewhat surprised when no wands appeared. She smiled slightly at that.
"Hope, dear, were you having a discussion today?" asked Luna, blithely unconcerned that they'd been shown to be without wands. "I didn't think you two knew each other."
"Well, actually," smiled the witch, "I've known her since the day she was born…" She closed her eyes and turned to one side, as a spasm racked her body. "Ugh… I hate this part," she added, remarkably calm as her face began to melt and transform. Hermione recognized the symptoms: those of Polyjuice Potion finally wearing off. It should have been extremely painful, but the witch seemed used to pain; she bore it stoically, giving only a final gasp as the transformation ended. Then she turned to face Luna and Hope again.
Hermione remembered that face all too well, from the battle in the Department of Mysteries. Bellatrix Lestrange had changed since that day, in ways far more profound than simply losing her Azkaban gauntness. Her skin looked tighter and duller, almost waxen, and her cheeks and brow were indefinably distorted. But what caught the eye was a long, blood-red scar, running from her hairline to her upper cheek. It looked ready to ooze thickly, as though it had never fully healed - small wonder the woman could bear the pain of the Polyjuice.
"There," Bellatrix announced. "Much better. Now we can talk more openly. I'm hoping you'll agree to a small favor I need to ask from you." Her smile was colder now, and supremely self-assured. "You have a portrait of Hermione Granger. I want it."
"I don't…" Hope clamped her lips together.
"You do. Please don't try to lie to me. Oh, I'll want your Gringotts vault, too, but first I want the portrait."
"Really?" asked Luna, all interest. Hermione was pleased to note that Luna's eyes hadn't once glanced in the direction of her purse. "Now that's not what I'd have expected. I know why Hope wants the portrait, it's of her birth mother. But you do know, don't you, that Hermione's parents were Muggles?" She shook her head in wonderment. "I can't imagine why you might want a picture of a 'Mudblood'." The quotation marks were clear in her voice.
"Actually, you can. You're one of the few who can," said Bellatrix. "You were there, after all… according to my reports."
Luna blinked. She was honestly puzzled now.
Bellatrix sighed and turned to Hope. She spoke almost gently. "Many years ago, when Dumbledore was still alive, he and the Ministry became enemies… and the Ministry may be incompetent, then and now, but they still outnumbered him, and he was forced into hiding. So with Granger's help, he built a weapon - a weapon designed to bring the Ministry down. But even Dumbledore couldn't have built a weapon so powerful, in so short a time - unless he started with goblin weapons. The ones taken from the goblins after their last rebellion. The ones kept in safekeeping by the Headmasters of Hogwarts."
She crouched to bring her face on a level with Hope's. "The ones now in your vault."
I don't believe this, Hermione fumed. She's talking about my bluff with Umbridge, in her office! And Malfoy, that odious little toad Malfoy, told his aunt Bellatrix all about it. He must've been in contact with Bellatrix even then! And Bellatrix fell for my story just as thoroughly as Umbridge did. The… the idiots!
Her disgust became fear again. Bellatrix would never believe that there'd been no weapon, that she'd been lying that day because it was the only way to save Harry. She'd have to bluff again, this time to save Hope and Luna. But what could she say? She'd never even seen these strange goblin devices…
Bellatrix was still speaking. "So you see, my dear, I really need to talk to Granger. And I need you to give me your vault key. You can transfer that to me, you know, just by saying the words, and it will be magically binding."
Hope's eyes flicked to Forgenail, and her lips compressed further. Still a thief, her posture shouted.
With a sigh, Bellatrix rose. "I'd hoped to spare you this," she told Luna. "Your blood is pure… unlike hers." This, with a sneer at Hope. "Bad enough when we thought Weasley was her father. But the union of a half-blood and a Mudblood? A travesty of nature. Utterly unworthy of the magic she wields." A buried gleam of fanaticism flashed in her eyes at this last statement.
Bellatrix pointed her wand at Luna. "But, as my ally will tell you, the vault transfer isn't valid if done under physical coercion." With no warning, a fearsome snarl blossomed on her face. "Crucio!"
Luna screamed - a terrible, heart-rending cry, doubly so for coming from Luna - and collapsed to the floor. She writhed in agony and continued to scream as Bellatrix kept her wand trained on her. The two goblins who'd held her backed away, as if afraid the curse might affect them, too.
"Mum!! NOOOOO!!" Hope cried, and struggled to go to her. "Oh, let go of me!" she snapped over her shoulder to the goblin who still held her arm. "Mum!"
It was too much for Hermione. She had to call out, she had to stop this, she had to surrender herself to keep the Cruciatus Curse off poor Luna or, God forbid, Hope. She filled her lungs, opened her mouth…
… and a hand came out of nowhere, to clamp down on that mouth.
Furiously she whirled, ready to confront this intruder - it had to be another wizarding portrait, although that was impossible, she knew there were no others in the house - and froze at the sight of unforgettable green eyes, so dear to her, so close to hers. For a moment, her concern for Luna and Hope vanished utterly, replaced by a flood of longing such as she hadn't felt for months.
Before she could move, Harry put a finger over his lips, silently imploring her silence. Hermione blinked once in puzzlement, then once again in agreement; he took his hand from her mouth, grabbed her arm, and tugged. For the first time, she had the odd experience of moving beyond the boundaries of her portrait, and into another.
Meanwhile, Hope had finally broken free from her captor, and had flung herself onto Luna's prostrate form. "Stop it!" she screamed at Bellatrix. "You're hurting her!"
Bellatrix lowered her wand. "Well, yes, girl, that's the idea." Sweet sympathy filled her voice as she added, "It's your fault, you know. If you'd just hand over the portrait and the vault, your mother's pain will stop. Otherwise…" She raised her wand again, nonchalant, chillingly casual. "It's up to you."
"But I don't know!" cried Hope. "I don't know where Mother is! She's gone missing - it's the truth!"
"Oh?" Bellatrix considered Hope carefully, then turned to Luna. "But surely you know where the portrait is?"
Luna's face was almost unrecognizable. Its customary serenity had crumbled away: instead, it was taut and drawn, twisted by suffering, streaked with tears. Her entire body trembled as she raised her head.
But when she spoke, it was with her usual otherworldly calm. "I'm afraid I don't know, either. We've tried looking for it, but…"
"I heard you speaking with it just a few days ago," interrupted Forgenail. He looked at Bellatrix. "Enough of this. Torture them both. Sooner or later, one of them will talk." He grinned nastily and added, "Which means the other of them will have been tortured needlessly."
"You're lying," blurted Hope. "You said you couldn't take my vault key if I was, was coerced!"
Forgenail's smile broadened. "There are other ways into the Gringotts vaults - ways that not even my former fellow directors know. Do you think I don't know the bank's defenses from top to bottom?" He jerked his thumb at the tray of runestones. Not even his ally Bellatrix was prepared to call his bluff - if it was a bluff.
"Well?" Bellatrix still had her wand raised. "One last chance."
Fearfully, Luna began to crawl away from Bellatrix, towards the wall of the room. Bellatrix smiled and used the Cruciatus Curse, just a touch, on Luna's leg. She laughed as Luna collapsed to the floor again, reflexively drawing up her feet - trembling, nearly in a fetal position. Hope came up and hugged her, glaring at Bellatrix.
The move had brought them close to one of the room's mirrors: a full-length mirror propped against the wall. Luna started to uncurl, gave Bellatrix a pitiable beseeching look, and drew a shaky breath.
And before she could speak, the mirror gave two quick, low chimes in rapid succession. At the same moment, a voice spoke from the empty air. "Got her! GO!" Bellatrix gasped at the sound of that disembodied voice - the voice of a dead man, the murderer of her Lord.
Luna's entire attitude changed in a heartbeat from supplication to triumph. She tapped the frame twice with one hand as she grabbed Hope firmly with the other. The glass went transparent - to reveal Ron, standing with his wand drawn and ready, posed to attack.
If Bellatrix had already been surprised by the voice of Harry Potter, it was nothing compared to her shock at seeing her own mortal enemy before her. For one crucial instant, she stood frozen, trying to wrap her mind around the sudden turn of events - and Ron took full advantage of that instant. "Accio! Accio! Accio!"
The three Summoning Charms worked perfectly: Hope, Luna and the purse sailed through the air, through the Speaking Glass, and into the bedroom at Grimmauld Place.
Forgenail gave a wordless yell of anger - whether it was because his unbreachable wards had been breached, or because he saw his future flying out of his grasp, no one could tell. At any rate, his shout awakened Bellatrix from her paralysis. Her eyes flashed with pure hatred; her scar visibly pulsed. "You!" she spat, and aimed her wand.
"The name is Weasley," said Ron with a savage grin. He gestured again with his wand, and did the last thing Bellatrix expected him to do: he broke contact. The Speaking Glass became a simple mirror again.
"Weasley!!" roared Bellatrix. "Damn you, Weasley! Face me, you coward!" Furiously she cursed the Speaking Glass and blasted it into a thousand shards. "WEASLEEEY!!"
"Forget him!" snapped Forgenail. "We've lost! We need to leave this place now!" He began playing with the runestones, getting set to lower the wards.
"Not before I leave him my regards!" In blind anger at her frustration, Bellatrix began firing Reductor Curses randomly, destroying bookcases, pictures, furniture, everything within reach. "And perhaps some special surprises for when he returns… something that will wait for an appropriate moment to strike, yesssss… What was that?!"
From outside the house came a new voice, amplified by the Sonorus Charm. "Lestrange! Forgenail! This is Special Auror Shacklebolt! We have the house surrounded!"
"What? No!"
"What's more, we've covered the house in an Anti-Apparation jinx," Shacklebolt continued. "You're outnumbered, and you can't escape! Throw out your wand and surrender!"
"To be sent back to Azkaban?" Bellatrix muttered. "Never."
*
At number 12 Grimmauld Place, a double reunion scene was playing itself out. Ron had Luna in one arm and Hope in the other - Hope had both arms around Ron's neck, and Luna had hers around his waist - and The Hugging Contest To End All Hugging Contests was going into overtime. At the moment, Hope appeared to be in the lead, with a shivering Luna close behind. None of them said anything: words would only get in the way.
While within the folds of Hope's cloak, another reunion seemed to be overflowing with words. At least at first:
"Thank God you're safe It's you It's me How did you Dean painted me He painted me too Oh Merlin I've missed you I've missed you You're safe You're here We're here Don't leave Never I love you I love you more That's not possible Okay you're right It doesn't matter Right What matters is that we're here Right When I never thought I'd see you again Hermione Yes Shut up and kiss mmph Mm-hmmm Mmmmmmmmm…"
Words were in short supply after that.
*
Faced with a new crisis, Bellatrix was regaining her composure and her wits. She turned to Forgenail. "Keep your wards in place. In fact, if you still can, set them to kill. They'll never be able to get through them - we can hold them off indefinitely."
"A stalemate is not a victory." Forgenail was patently controlling his temper. Clearly, only the wand in Bellatrix's hand kept him and the other goblins from subduing the witch and tossing her to the Aurors outside. "And should Brasslock discover how to undo my modifications, the wards will be no defense at all!"
"Then we'll have to leave before then." Bellatrix thought for a long moment, her eyes never leaving her erstwhile allies. "You still have control over your wards?"
"For the moment, yes."
"Then expand them. Burst their Anti-Apparation spells apart. Once they're opened, we can leave…"
"Except the wards block Disapparation. That is what they're designed to do. And if I open the wards to allow us to Disapparate, your Aurors' spells will fall back into place." Reaching a decision, Forgenail barked a command in Gobbledegook to his minions. They moved to obey, albeit hesitantly.
Their hesitation cost them their lives. Three purple flames flashed from Bellatrix's wand and struck them in their chests. With resigned looks on their faces, as if this was the fate they'd always expected, the three goblin rebels fell dying to the floor.
Bellatrix whipped her wand around to cover Forgenail, whose hand was in his pocket. "Leave it there, ally."
Neither of them moved for a long-stretching moment. Forgenail broke the silence. "A stalemate is not a victory," he repeated, velvet-soft.
"Lestrange! Forgenail!" came Shacklebolt's voice from outside. "This is your last warning! Surrender now!"
She set her mouth grimly. "Very well, then. Expand your wards and break their spells. Then drop the wards on my signal. I'll Disapparate at the same moment… before their spells can fall back." She gave a Gallic shrug. "You can do the same, or you can surrender. Whatever you like."
Forgenail shook his head and gestured at the front door. "I choose not to risk it. Imprisonment is still better than death." At Bellatrix's scornful sneer, he pointed at the runestone tray. "Your timing would have to be perfect… nothing less than perfect. If you brush the wards at full power, human, you will die."
Bellatrix smiled confidently. "Oh, I don't think so. Dying is for lesser beings."
*
She hadn't known physical pleasure since she'd awakened. Now she was luxuriating in it, tasting Harry's mouth, running her hands through Harry's hair, welcoming the touch of Harry's hands on her waist, on her back, exploring her inch by inch. The sound of Ron's voice seemed light-years away… but, unfortunately, it did penetrate:
"Um, Harry? Hermione? You might try to remember that there's a minor present."
The minor was, in fact, watching them raptly, probably taking mental notes for later revising. Hermione reluctantly broke off kissing Harry, though she didn't let go of him. With one hand she made a futile effort to straighten her messier-than-ever hair. "Hope dear, did you…? How?"
Hope nodded happily as she began to unfasten the (now double) portrait from the inside of her hood. "When you said that Mr. Thomas spent that Christmas sketching everyone, I took a chance… and it worked!" She beamed at Hermione. "I thought it was the least I could do, after, you know, everything…"
Harry smiled. "Thanks, Hope," he said simply, but in a way that made Hope and Hermione blush.
"Never mind that now," said Ron impatiently. "What was up with Bellatrix? Am I going to have to join Kingsley and face her now?" He made to separate himself from Luna, but Luna refused to allow herself to be separated. It was an odd contrast, her calm visage versus the iron grip in which she desperately held onto Ron.
"Shacklebolt'll have things well in hand," said Harry. "For once, let's let the professionals do their job."
Ron nodded and tried to relax, but he continued to grumble. "I just know I'm gonna have to get Bill in to check for curses, now she's been in our home… So what happened?" He looked down at Luna, still shivering uncontrollably in his arms. "My Good Love?"
"Perhaps I should tell it," said Hermione, after Luna failed to reply. She gave a concise synopsis of Bellatrix's visit. As she spoke, Luna's trembling began to subside. "Luna took the Cruciatus Curse twice," she concluded. "But she wouldn't give me up. Thank you, Luna."
"What else could I do?" asked Luna. Hearing Hermione's dispassionate explanation had calmed her considerably - possibly it had touched the Ravenclaw in her. "She would have used you, as leverage over Hope - and to learn about your mythical 'weapon'. And she'd have destroyed you once she was done with you, I feel quite sure."
"And that would have been immediately, once she learned that the 'weapon' was a hoax. You know, Ron, that I made up that story about a weapon to fool Umbridge. Dumbledore would never use the goblins' Artifacts that way… he'd have considered them a sacred trust."
"Which doesn't mean they weren't weapons originally," put in Harry thoughtfully.
"We'll never know, I daresay," said Luna. "Even the goblins don't know what the Artifacts in Hope's vault can do."
"In the vault? Maybe not. But…" Harry looked around the room significantly. The others followed his gaze.
Until Hope's birthday, the master suite of the House of Black had remained undisturbed for eleven years. Ron had forgotten all the bric-a-brac, now heavily coated in dust, that filled the room - Dumbledore's Pensieve, and his old books, and boxes of potions, and… strange silver instruments.
"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron said at last. "You really think Dumbledore…?"
"I think Dumbledore had a reason he sent these Artifacts here, rather than to my vault," said Harry.
Luna nodded. "I think, little heiress, when you offer to share your vault with the goblins' Royal Court, you might limit your offer to the vault," she told Hope. "Well, these things do belong to her, don't they?" she added to the adults. "Perhaps later, we can all look them over. Together."
Hermione bit her lip and wrapped both arms around Harry again. Wordlessly, with a squeeze and a nod at Ron, she told Harry what she wanted to do. With an upward quirk of the corner of his mouth, he agreed.
"Perhaps we can, later," she said. "But for the moment, Luna, Hope, could Harry and I talk to Ron alone?"
"'kay," said Hope, handing the portrait to Ron. "Mum, does this, um, Place have a library?"
"I think a more important question is whether it has a kitchen," said Luna, and led Hope to the door. She paused to listen, wondering if she was right about what was to happen next.
"Ron," she heard Harry say, "did you know that Bellatrix has made a Horcrux?"
"I'd guessed it," Ronald admitted. "But you know it for sure?"
"I remember one of Dumbledore's Pensieve memories of Voldemort… before he changed completely. He had the same look. Still, I don't think she's made more than one."
"We need more information, before we can help you," Hermione said. "Ron - Harry and I need you to… we need you to tell us how we died."
Ronald didn't answer straightaway. "I can't take you into the Pensieve," he finally mumbled. "You're not, well, you're not…" Alive, he didn't finish.
"Well, you can give us all the details you saw in the Pensieve, with Hope and Luna," said Hermione, kindly but firmly. "But we need you to tell us, Ron."
Luna didn't wait to hear more. With a tiny smile, she shut the door behind her and led Hope down the stairs. She hoped the kitchen was magically self-stocking, otherwise there'd be nothing edible in it. And Ronald would certainly need something to eat, once his best friends were done helping him.
*
11 August 2009 - Year 11 P.V.
*
Ginny dropped the packages onto the coffee table, kicked off her shoes, and sighed in relief. She fell into the comfy-chair in her flat and let herself relax. Clan Weasley had celebrated her birthday at the Three Broomsticks, and for once she'd actually looked forward to it. Certainly after the momentous events of the day before. Why did everything seem to happen to Hope?
Well, Ron too. And Luna, come to that… She sighed again, not in relief this time.
Forgenail was in custody, awaiting extradition to Koboldheim. Bellatrix was, predictably, nowhere to be found. Bill, after working with Gringotts to repair their security, had gone to Ron's house to check for any clever curses that Bellatrix might have left behind. He was still checking, and until then Ron and Luna were guests at Ma Maison.
And Hope had been forced to return to Hogwarts. Sometimes Ginny thought a crateload of unhousebroken baboons could do a better job than the Ministry of Magic.
She felt the need for something stronger than butterbeer. A wave of her wand brought a bottle of well-aged mead and a glass from the pantry. She poured herself a drink, sipped it, and relaxed back into her chair.
Well, if today's Prophet were any indication, the Child Welfare Committee were going to find it very hard to take Hope from Ron and Luna permanently. Very hard indeed. Ginny got no small satisfaction out of that. Don't mess with Clan Weasley, fools. That goes for you too, Bellatrix.
She'd warned Ron about becoming a father-and-daughter media darling… but at least it was working to their advantage.
She took a larger sip of mead before setting her glass down and looking over her birthday presents. Most of them were the usual gifts she expected from her family - a knitted scarf from Mum, something from Fred and George that she'd wait to open until she could inspect it carefully, and (she had to laugh) a Speaking Glass from Ron and Luna.
And two quite unexpected gifts.
She picked up the first gift and opened the box again. The emerald necklace glittered at her, reminding her of Harry's eyes… but this time, bringing no tears to her own. It had been Hope's gift to her: she'd included Harry's scribbled For G's 17 note, with a card that said merely, He wanted you to have it.
"It's very nice," she'd said when she read Hope's card, "please thank Hope for me. It's just that… it's not quite the same, is it? Only I wish I could've heard Harry say so…" She'd noted Ron, Luna and Bill exchange a glance, but she couldn't fathom what it meant.
Setting the box down, she picked up the second gift. It was a framed sketch, done in pencil with charcoal highlights… a sketch of her, in her sixth year at Hogwarts. A birthday gift from, of all people, Dean Thomas.
Ginny gave a quirky half-smile, indulging in a moment of nostalgia. She of course remembered exactly when Dean had done that sketch - she'd always encouraged him in his art, and besides, she genuinely enjoyed modeling for him. But she was surprised when Angelina told her that Dean had kept every sketch he'd ever done of her - kept them all. And doubly surprised that Dean had remembered that this one was her favorite.
She picked up her glass and took a gulp.
Included with the framed sketch was a ticket to some Muggle art showing in London: Soho, or somewhere. Angelina had mentioned that Dean was a successful Muggle artist these days… was this one of his own showings, then? And he'd invited her?
He'd invited her.
Another large gulp of mead, and another, and Ginny stood. She carried the necklace into her bedroom and over to the dresser. Drawing out her wand, she tapped one drawer with its tip and whispered a password. The drawer unlocked with a quiet click, and she opened it smoothly. This drawer stayed locked at all times: she'd shown it to no one, told no living soul. Not her co-workers, not her family, not any of the men she'd brought home for an evening and then forgotten. None of them could possibly understand.
Inside the drawer was a collection of memorabilia. Clippings of every article that mentioned Harry's name, from the Daily Prophet, the Quibbler, Witch Weekly, many others; fragments of Harry's first broom, the Nimbus 2000, smashed to pieces by the Whomping Willow; a lock of raven-black hair, from a barbering session with Mum at the Burrow; a carefully preserved wildflower, which he'd picked by the lake and put behind her ear, that wonderful night they'd first kissed.
It was a shrine to Harry James Potter, the Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived.
The one item missing from the shrine was an icon. Ginny hadn't been able to find a photo of Harry, Harry alone: the photos had always included the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, or the other Triwizard Champions… or Ron and Hermione.
Delicately, she laid the emerald necklace into the drawer. "Thank you, Harry," she said to it softly. "It's beautiful. And very thoughtful, too… I'm so glad you remembered my birthday. I'll always cherish it." She sniffled. "And you."
In her mind's eye, she could see Harry smiling at her. Harry had always smiled at her, in her mental image of him. Tonight, for the first time, she could see that his smile was warm and friendly… but no more than that.
"But…" Ginny sniffled again. "But… you know…" She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and continued doggedly. "But I… I think I'll wait for an appropriate moment before I wear it. You understand, don't you, Harry? It's not like I could wear it to… to…" She had to swallow hard.
Harry nodded encouragingly.
"… to an art showing," she finished, and felt a great weight lift itself from her heart. Even though her cheeks were slick with tears, saying those words somehow released her. Or, at least, made a start.
Silently she shut the drawer, and locked it again with her wand.
*
20 August 2009 - Year 11 P.V.
*
"Well, this has been most enlightening," said Agatha Beldam, as she looked around at the other members of the Child Welfare Committee.
"Indeed it has," said Headmistress McGonagall. "I think we're all agreed that young Miss Potter has been well cared for, these last eleven years." She gestured at Ron and Luna, who sat across the hearing table from the Committee.
Muriel Manwaring sniffed in disbelief.
"The girl's been well fed, well clothed… all in a warm, loving, nurturing home," McGonagall elaborated.
"And learning to use some of the most dangerous magic possible," retorted Allan Goodlett. He was an elderly man who, had he been a Muggle, would have made the perfect village rector. "'Twas bad enough she was fighting Death Eaters at Hogwarts two years ago - but this is beyond acceptable!" He thrust the issue of the Daily Prophet away from him in disgust.
The paper was dated the day after the battle at Gringotts. Its headline screamed: "ASSAULT ON GRINGOTTS THWARTED!! Death Eaters, Goblin Rebels Captured!" Prominent on the front page was a photo taken by one of the spectators in Diagon Alley that day (and for which the Prophet must have paid through the nose). The photo looked from the street into Gringotts through its ruined front doors, to show Ron and Hope standing back to back, wands still poised, seconds after the doors had been blasted down. And the photo's caption?
"Learning The Family Business. Hope Potter, daughter of the Chosen One, and her foster-father, Ron Weasley, clear a path for Ministry of Magic Aurors (see main story, pp.1, 2, 4)."
"I trust the Committee will properly disregard the opinion of the press when it reaches its decision," Manwaring said acidly.
"Nonetheless," said the Committee's fifth member, Hezekiah Smith, "even disregarding public opinion, we do have a fair amount of evidence to consider." He picked up the draft of Harry's will and scanned it again. "Potter and Granger were a married couple at the time of the girl's birth. Potter's wishes for the girl are clear, even if not legally binding. The girl herself wishes to remain with Professor and Madam Weasley. They are respectable members of the wizarding community…"
"Mr. Weasley broke several laws by concealing the girl's identity," injected Manwaring.
"With the girl's best interests at heart," Smith responded.
Chairwitch Beldam cleared her throat. "Our primary concern is the child's home environment," she reminded the Committee. "Her safety and well-being are paramount." She looked sternly at Ron and Luna. "You can see why we'd be concerned that you're training an underage witch in the use of some rather powerful spells."
"Actually, Ma'am, she mostly taught herself," said Ron diffidently. "You may have noticed how smart she is. She takes after her mother - both her mothers, that way." A not-so-subtle reminder that Hermione Granger had likewise practiced magic at an early age.
"Still, to have a child - a child! - engaging in pitched battle with Death Eaters, repeatedly…" began Goodlett.
"Bellatrix Lestrange is still at large," Ron reminded them. In an instant he'd turned grim, and somehow imposing. "The Death Eaters are still at large. And now everyone knows whose daughter Hope is. Where could you place her that she wouldn't be in danger? At least you know we're able to protect her." His glance at Goodlett managed to be somehow bland and yet convey scorn. "And if she learns to protect herself in the process, what exactly is wrong with that?"
"She'll begin learning Defense Against the Dark Arts next month, anyway," Luna added.
"It's true she'll be starting at Hogwarts very soon," said Beldam thoughtfully. "I'm simply concerned about her having a suitable environment to return to, once the school year ends."
"Well, do you think a larger family would be more suitable?" asked Luna.
Beldam was nonplussed for a moment. "Er, I suppose so."
"Oh good," said Luna brightly. "Because when Hope comes home next summer, we'll have one for her. One brother, I think, since that's most usual for Weasley genes, but it could be two. I haven't asked yet." She smiled at her husband.
Ronald had obviously not been paying close attention. "Uhhhh, say that again?"
Still smiling, Luna took Ron's hand and pressed it to her stomach. "It was Lammas, remember?" she said, ever helpful. "A cross-quarter day… I'm sure Hermione explained about the cross-quarter days, since Hope was conceived on one. I was thinking Taine would be a good name for a boy. Valborg for a girl, of course."
Ron blinked in bewilderment at her stomach, where his hand was still pressed. It seemed to take a very long minute for his wife's words to percolate through his brain. When they did, he turned, moving in slow motion, and faced the Committee. "Would you excuse us one moment?" he asked courteously. Then he stood, picked Luna up and slung her over his shoulder. He strode unhurried out of the room, with Luna waving a cheerful goodbye to Beldam. The door closed quietly behind them.
"YYYEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAHHHHH!!!" Possibly there were wizards in the Orkneys who didn't hear Ron's exultant cry. McGonagall couldn't quite manage to smother a quick grin.
The Chairwitch cleared her throat. "Well," she said, "ladies and gentlemen, is there any more to be said? Are you ready to vote?"
*
When McGonagall emerged from the Committee meeting room, all the assembled Weasleys knew from her expression how the Committee had voted.
"Ronald Bilius Weasley, Luna Lysandra Lovegood Weasley," she told them formally, "it is the decision of the Child Welfare Committee that Hope Justinia Potter be remanded into your care and keeping, according to the stated wishes of her deceased parents." McGonagall waited for the roar of cheers to die down before continuing, "If you wish to begin adoption proceedings, you may apply with the Ministry of Magic's Department of Wizarding Services, any time during Miss Potter's minority. Congratulations."
Fred and George cheered again and pounded Ron on the back; Luna, Angelina, and Fleur all hugged one another, laughing and crying simultaneously. In the background, Arthur and Molly watched silently, holding hands and smiling wide enough to hurt their faces.
Only Hope thought to include McGonagall in the jubilation. She knew better than to try to embrace the Headmistress, but she did hold out her hand. "Thank you," she said sincerely.
"You're quite welcome," said McGonagall, taking her hand and shaking it. "I'm very pleased it all worked out for the best."
"Yeah, me too," said Hope. She lowered her voice confidentially. "Uncles Fredngeorge were saying they were ready to go to court to get me home again."
"Mmm, I would have hated for that to happen," McGonagall said in all seriousness. "Because, you see, unlike statements before the Committee, court testimony is given under oath."
Hope tilted her head curiously, a habit she apparently had picked up from Luna.
"And under oath," continued McGonagall, "I would have had to say that, while the handwriting on that draft of your father's will was definitely his, and the parchment was many years old, the ink was barely dry."
Hope froze in place.
"Then there was the Levicorpus spell you used at Gringotts. As it's non-vocal, there was no way to learn that by observation… someone had to have taught you the spell. Mmm, your father used it a few times, as I recall."
By now, Hope's eyes were huge. Her mouth formed a perfectly round O, but no sound came out.
McGonagall smiled slightly. "You are a very clever young witch, Miss Potter… but there's much to be said for experience." She raised a hand reassuringly. "I've kept many confidences over the course of my life. You can certainly trust me with yours."
"I'll remember that," said Hope quietly, before she was captured by Isabeau and Michelle. "Oh, this is brill," they told her as they dragged her away, "you can come to our birthday party now, Mama and Papa are holding it in the Leaky Cauldron, and we're spending the night there and taking cars to King's Cross…!"
As McGonagall watched them go, her smile broadened. So dear Miss Granger - well, she shouldn't be called that anymore, having been declared Mrs. Potter posthumously - so Hermione had found her mate after all. And a Quick Quotes Quill in the Gringotts vault, brought into place by Miss Potter, and who was the wiser? Certainly not Muriel Manwaring…
Bless the girl, she had so much of all her parents in her. At that moment, McGonagall wouldn't give a leaden Knut for Bellatrix's chances. And, she was positive, Hogwarts's next seven years were going to be… interesting? Eventful? Memorable, certainly.