(A/N: I'm genuinely sorry I've taken so long to update. You really don't need a lamentation on my Real Life, so we'll take it as said. On the other hand, this chapter's a bit longer than usual, to help make up for the wait.
I love my beta, Mary Caroline. You should all thank her as much as I do. And I thank her for every chapter.)
(Disclaimer: Not Jo Rowling. Not making money from this. Not believing in chest monsters, either.)
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"Restoring Hope"
by Paracelsus
*
31 July 2009 - Year 11 P.V.
*
"Perhaps this one," suggested Mr. Ollivander, handing Hope another wand. "Vine and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, sinuous."
Hope gave the wand a wave, with no more effect than before. "Not to worry, my dear, not to worry," Ollivander said, taking it from her. "I've never yet failed to match a customer with the right wand. Now, let me think…"
He puttered among the stacks of boxes, each containing its unique wand. Hope watched him curiously, secretly relieved that no one had noticed anything unusual. After her studies with Hermione and the Standard Book of Spells series, Hope felt quite sure she could do some simple magic with any of the wands she'd tried that morning. But she had to pretend she couldn't… if only to ensure she was matched with the right wand. The wand chooses the witch, she reminded herself.
Granddad sat nearby, watching the proceedings with interest. "It takes time, Hope," he reassured her. "The wand chooses the wizard, remember."
"I was just thinking that," said Hope politely, as Ollivander returned to the room. She loved Granddad, but sometimes his thoughts just seemed to be a step or two behind everyone else's.
"Try this one," Ollivander said as he offered her yet another wand. "I don't sell many with this core anymore, but perhaps…"
The moment Hope grasped the wand, she felt a delicious warmth spread from her fingers and down her arm. She waved the wand (deliberately not visualizing any spells), and was rewarded with a shower of crimson and golden sparks.
"Excellent," beamed Ollivander. "Laurel and phoenix feather, ten inches, nice and flexible." He plucked the wand from Hope's hand and, giving it a final polish, replaced it in its box. Granddad placed seven Galleons and eight Sickles into Ollivander's hand, as Hope put on what she was starting to call her Cloak of Anonymity. Uncles Gred and Forge had given it to her just that morning, and she was already very grateful for it.
They left the wand shop together, with Hope clutching the box tightly under one arm. "Happy Birthday, Hope," Granddad said as they made their way down Diagon Alley. Gran and Mum were waiting for them at Madam Malkin's, where Hope would be fitted for her Hogwarts robes.
"Thanks, Granddad," she replied, with one of her rare smiles. "I'm looking forward to using it… at Hogwarts, I mean," she added.
"Just remember, though, the first wand is a turning point in the life of a young wizard… er, witch," he continued. "Once you've your own wand, any magic you do can't be considered accidental - and Underage Sorcery outside school is…"
"I know, Granddad," she put in quickly. This was not a topic Hope felt like discussing in depth.
But Granddad had other ideas. "I only mention it," he said, lowering his voice, "because your mother practiced spells before she went to school… as soon as she got her Hogwarts letter, according to Ron. And I know…" Something about his tone brought Hope up short. She was forcibly reminded that Granddad wasn't as woolly-headed as he sometimes appeared.
"I know what you can do without a wand."
Hope gulped. How could he know? Her revision sessions with Hermione were absolutely secret! "I, uh, I don't…" she stuttered.
"Last year, during the attack on Hogwarts. You wandlessly cast a Shield Charm that stood up to a full Death Eater."
"What? No, no I didn't," Hope said. "I confused him, he just went away…" She grimaced. "I acted like a little girl…"
"You had your eyes closed - you didn't see. But I did. Trust me, Hope, you Shielded us." Granddad looked down at his lap. "Aren't a lot of wizards who can do wandless magic," he mused softly to himself. "The only two I've known were Albus Dumbledore and…" He broke off abruptly, as though aware he was saying too much.
For an instant, bitter resentment flared up in Hope's breast. Granddad knows! He knows something, anyway, and he's not telling me! Nobody tells me!! I… I hate it!! She clenched her fist in frustration… then immediately relaxed her muscles. The resentment died as quickly as it had appeared, quelled by years of practice. I'll wait. I'm sure they'll tell me when the time comes. I can wait, I guess. Maybe I can talk to Dad in private before I leave for Hogwarts…
No sign of her internal conflict showed in her face. "Well, now I've got a wand I'll be 'specially careful," she assured Granddad, as he maneuvered his wheelchair through the crowd.
At Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Mum and Gran had been joined by Aunt Fleur and the Twins. "Best take that off now, phantom girl," said Mum. "I can barely focus on you, and I know you're wearing it."
Hope nodded and removed her Cloak of Anonymity. Better than an Invisibility Cloak, it let her family still see her and talk to her, while keeping passersby from noticing her. The mild Aversion Charm woven into the fabric was just enough to cause strangers to not be interested in her. She folded it and stuffed it into her new bookbag, while reminding herself to thank her uncles yet again. Bake them some ginger biscuits, maybe…
"We're all getting our robes today," Isabeau told Hope excitedly as they entered the shop. "I want one of the new ones, the kind that changes with my mood…!"
"You'll wear the black robes that everyone else wears," Gran told her severely. "Once you're Sorted, you can have a badge of your House sewn on."
Isabeau clouded up at this, but before she could protest, Fleur said smoothly, "Plus, the dark robes will go well with your fair complexion, petite. I think you will stand out." She picked up Ghislaine, who had begun to wander through the racks of robes, and settled her on her hip.
Somewhat mollified, Isabeau permitted herself to stand on a footstool, her arms slightly spread, and let Madam Malkin drape a robe over her and begin pinning it up. "You don't have to do her," she told Madam Mslkin, nodding at Michelle, "she's the same as me, we're twins."
"You do have to do me," Michelle retorted haughtily, taking the other footstool, "because she stuffs tissues into her…"
"I'll just wait here," said Hope, timing her words to cover both Michelle's taunt and Isabeau's reply. She stepped away from her cousins as they settled into their fitting, and took an idle turn of Madam Malkin's. She found herself examining her reflection in one of the fitting room's mirrors. Skinny as a matchstick, she noted with a sigh, and same plain ol' face of a face. Boring and ugly. At least my hair looks better now…
There was a sudden commotion at the front of the shop. A streak of something bright and silvery flashed into the room and flew towards Granddad. It stopped before him, and took the form of a house cat. The cat sat on Granddad's lap and… seemed to talk to him for a moment, before it dissolved into argent mist. Gran rushed over to Granddad's wheelchair. "Arthur, is it…?"
"I'd better go now, dear," Granddad told her, his voice graver than Hope had ever heard from him. "Please stay here and keep watch. Luna, Fleur," he said, raising his voice slightly, "Madam Malkin, everyone, please stay inside. Keep the door closed - don't venture out into Diagon Alley until someone from the Ministry shows up." Without waiting for a reply, Granddad Disapparated
"What is it? Is it something to do with the Order?" Aunt Fleur asked Gran. Alone among the others in the shop, she seemed to recognize the silver cat - and understand its implications. Gran gave a curt nod, but her expression made it clear that she didn't wish to talk about it in public. Still, Hope guessed that "the Order" was the Phoenix Order that Hermione had told her about: a group of wizards, working apart from the Ministry, who fought against the Death Eaters.
Which means something's happened that the Ministry can't handle by itself. Which means Dad will likely be involved. Which means…
Even the Twins seemed to understand what was happening… at least some of it. They looked wide-eyed at Hope. "S'pristi," Isabeau whispered, "they don't ever let you have a fun birthday, do they?"
*
"I'm sorry, Ron," said Tonks. "We wouldn't have called you in, but…"
"But it was addressed to me," finished Ron woodenly, looking at the bodies of his two friends. Behind him, Professor McGonagall choked back a sob. They stood in the Ministry atrium as Aurors bustled about, trying to glean further evidence from the corpses. Arthur, who'd joined them moments before, reached out to grasp Ron's arm consolingly.
"They were sent through the Floo," Tonks continued. "No way of tracking where they came from, or who sent them. The only message was the note attached to her clothes… addressed, as you say, to you." She held out the slip of parchment, but Ron didn't immediately take it. He was too busy looking at Seamus and Lavender Finnegan… saying goodbye.
Seamus's body was terribly wounded: deeply slashed in some places, broken and crushed in others. His killers had obviously decided against subtlety and simply aimed for maximum physical damage, using every curse from Reductor to Purple-Flame. In a final desecration, the Dark Mark had been branded into his forehead - after death, to judge by the lack of blood. By contrast, Lavender's body was pristine and unmarked. "Avada Kedavra," guessed Ron. "Bellatrix is finally using it…" Reluctantly he took the note from Tonks and opened it.
It contained just four words. He had to read them several times before their sense came to him. "You've looked at this?" he asked Tonks.
Tonks nodded. "I couldn't help recall what you said to her Death Eater, that night Rodolphus was killed. She must've known about it, somehow."
"Ron?" Arthur asked. "What does it say?"
Ron held it up. "Who's unkillable now, Weasley?" He looked around grimly. "It's a challenge. Don't you see? It's Bellatrix's way of claiming Voldemort's title for real. She's telling me she killed Lavender herself, with the Killing Curse - and used that to make a Horcrux for herself."
"And by addressing it to you," McGonagall added, "she's making it personal."
"Like it wasn't already…" Ron muttered. But he understood what McGonagall was saying. In Bella's twisted mind, he thought with a touch of despair, the same way she's Voldemort's successor, I must be Harry's.
*
Ron wouldn't permit Hope's birthday party to be completely cancelled, despite the Ministry's announcement that unnecessary travel was to be curtailed. "We can have family over," he told Luna firmly, "even if her friends from Potter can't make it." Luna left the final decision to Hope; Hope merely nodded.
It was, nonetheless, a subdued Weasley family that gathered at Ron's home that evening. Verity had volunteered to baby-sit Ygraine and Ghislaine at her flat, and had corralled George into staying with her. This still left Lance, Tristam, Isabeau and Michelle to help Hope celebrate, and they were doing their best to keep things lively.
"'snot fair," grumbled Lance. "'m only a few months younger than you lot, I should be allowed t'go to Hogwarts with you."
"September first's the cutoff," Hope reminded him.
"This year's going to be so tiny… next year's class'll be huge," said Michelle consolingly. "All our friends from Potter."
"And besides, it'll give you an extra year to practice on your Comet Board," added Isabeau. "And yes, Miss Smarty, I checked," she informed Hope. "First-years aren't allowed brooms. Our Hogwarts letters didn't say anything about Comet Boards."
"Mine prob'ly will," Lance said gloomily. Given the trouble the Twins were likely to cause with their own Boards, thought Hope, it's a safe bet.
Thinking of brooms at Hogwarts reminded her of a more pressing concern. Hope glanced at Ron, who was standing by the table where the cake was ready to be cut. Normally, Ron was the life of the party - any party, much less Hope's birthday party. But the events earlier in the day had clearly left him shaken. And as usual, he hadn't told Hope anything about what was wrong.
Mum and Mother say he needs to talk about it someday, Hope said firmly to herself. It'd really help him… really. And this is my life I should know about. Mother said I shouldn't, but I know what to do…
Without really thinking about it, she found herself crossing the room to stand next to Ron. "Thanks again for the Honeydukes sweets, Dad," she said. "I'll try to make them last until I leave for Hogwarts."
"No problem, princess," said Ron with a half-hearted smile. Part of his attention seemed to be someplace besides Hogsmeade.
Hope looked around the room. Fleur and Angelina were talking by the fireplace, where Bill and Fred were bringing them burgundy and butterbeer respectively. Ginny, who for the first time ever had accepted her invitation to Hope's birthday, was making microscopic adjustments to the pile of presents; she seemed twitchy, and Hope remembered how Ginny suffered on this day. Molly and Arthur were together in the corner, apparently in their own private world, to judge by their handholding - and their slightly haunted expressions.
"I'm glad the family could come… I just wish all my school friends could be here, too," she said.
"It's just safer if people stayed home for a few days… until we have a better idea what's going to happen next." Ron shrugged. "People are scared to go out… understandable, really."
"Didn't stop Clan Weasley."
"Nothing stops Clan Weasley." Ron and Hope shared a quick grin, a real one, before turning serious again. "I am sorry your birthday's been so awful - again," Ron continued. "If there's something you'd like, something I can do…"
Which was the opening Hope was waiting for. "There is," she said quickly, and took a deep breath… this wasn't going to be as easy as she'd thought. "I want to hear about the night I was born. I want you to tell me what happened."
Ron's face lost all expression.
"Everything," Hope emphasized.
"What…" he began, and fell silent. He tried to speak again, but couldn't say anything.
Luna was instantly there beside her husband. "Hope," she started to suggest, "this perhaps isn't the best time…"
A flash of angry impatience surged through Hope… her nervousness smothered by irritation. "Well, when is the best time, Mum?" she demanded. "It's been eleven years… when's the best time?"
"Hope!" Gran scolded. "Don't talk to your parents that way…!"
"My parents!?" Hope whirled back to face Ron. "The Death Eaters are growing worse. We need to know how they were beaten last time, and you're the only one who can tell us. We need to know - and I deserve to know." Luna tried to say something, and Hope finished in a rush, "I deserve to know how my parents died!"
"You mean how your mother died…" Luna corrected her automatically…
And that was the straw that broke the Erumpent's back. Eleven years of pent-up emotion burst forth, released in one torrential instant. "NO!" Hope screamed at the top of her lungs. "Stop lying to me! No more lies!" She pulled out her new wand and waved it at her face. "Finite incantatem!"
If the assembled adults were surprised that Hope knew - and could perform! - that spell at her age, it was nothing to their astonishment at its results. Hope's bright blue eyes, so like Ron's, blurred and changed color. They became brilliant emerald green, sparkling with tears of rage.
And not an adult in the room had forgotten the last person who'd borne those eyes.
"When were you going to tell me, Dad?" she asked furiously. "Just before I left for Hogwarts? Was that the 'best time'? Or did you plan to visit me in the girls' dorm every week and charm my eyes blue, like you have up 'til now? Why didn't you ever tell me?!"
Luna was staring aghast at her husband. "Ronald?" she said softly, coolly. "Do you know what Hope's talking about?" Ron didn't respond. Frozen, horrified and mute, he could only stare at Hope.
"It's not just him!" yelled Hope. She spun and pointed an accusing finger at Arthur Weasley. Molly gaped at Arthur in amazement.
"I, I didn't know," Arthur said after a moment. "Not for certain… there were only hints, only suggestions…"
"But Ron knew," interrupted Ginny venomously. "Damn you." She stood and continued her rant as she marched towards Ron, who still sat stone-faced and silent. "God damn you, Ron, you knew! For eleven years, you knew! You knew, and you've been hiding it! Hiding the fact that your precious Hermione cheated on you! With your best friend, Ron!!" By now she was bellowing, her fists clenched so tightly that the veins stood out on her arms.
"Shut up!" Hope screamed at her. "Just shut up! You don't know anything! It wasn't like that! Tell them…" She gulped back a sob and finished, "… Dad."
Ron's mouth worked, but no sound came out. He continued to stare, horrified, at Hope. Hope, for her part, rounded out this day of firsts by bursting into tears. She ran from the room, bawling, and up the stairs. Seconds later, everyone could hear her bedroom door slam.
"You… you…" Ginny thrust her face forward until it was inches from Ron's. "You goddamned cuckolded coward," she spat. "You lied to all of us - much good it did you. I hope you're proud of it."
At that, Ron's face hardened. He looked around at the faces of his family, still without saying a word. Firmly he pushed Ginny aside, turned to face Luna, and finally opened his mouth to speak… but was stopped by Luna's face - which might have been carved from ice. Her expression was perfectly calm, but for once that calmness was a wall between them.
Ron closed his mouth with a sigh, and simply shook his head. With a sudden crack, he Disapparated and was gone from the room.
Ginny looked around at her family's shocked expressions. Her eyes began to glisten with tears - though whether they were tears of mortification or temper was hard to tell. She vented a final and heartfelt "Damn!" before she likewise Disapparated.
An echoing silence descended on the remaining Weasleys. "Well," said Luna brightly, "who's up for cake?"
*
Half an hour later, Luna left the party and walked upstairs to Hope's room. She was determined to bring Hope back downstairs to the party and apologize. Not for causing a scene, as such - Luna had been the center of any number of "scenes" when she was a girl, rather surprising given her passive nature - but for her hurtful comments. To her grandfather, to her aunt… to her, her, her parents… Luna faltered for a second, then continued walking.
She was about to knock on the bedroom door when she heard voices from within. Hope was carrying on with her shouting binge, apparently - with someone in her room. Not Ginny's voice, and not one of the family, they were downstairs. But this voice sounded familiar to Luna, somehow… painfully familiar.
"I did try to tell you it wasn't a good idea," said the voice.
"Well, what was I supposed to do? Dad needs to talk about it, everyone says so… and this is my life he's hiding from me! Just like you have!"
"Hope, I told you years ago: it's up to Ron and Luna to decide whether you were told certain things…"
"Right, that was real sensitive of you, Mother. Too bad I figured it out despite you…"
Recognition struck Luna like a slap to the face. She flung open the door… to see Hope talking to (or rather, arguing with) a hand-sized portrait of Hermione Granger.
Hope immediately stopped talking when Luna entered the room. Hermione's eyes flicked from Hope to Luna, back to Hope. "You said you were going to tell them…" she muttered sotto voce, before likewise falling silent.
Finally, Luna spoke. "How long?" she asked Hope clinically. She might have been discussing the weather. It was somehow scarier than Hope's screaming had been.
Hope didn't dare pretend to misunderstand. "She, uh, was inside the boxes with all the books 'n' stuff," she admitted, her earlier fury quite gone. "Uh, year and a half?"
Luna held out her hand. Meekly, Hope placed the portrait in it. Luna brought it closer to her face and inspected Hermione's image. Hermione gazed back, wary, waiting for Luna to speak.
It seemed to take Luna an eternity to speak again. "I could use an Incendio," she finally said, still in that disturbingly calm tone. "It's not as though you're still alive."
"You could do that," Hermione agreed steadily. "If you truly think I deserved it, I couldn't stop you."
"Deserve it? You've been going behind my back, undermining my authority…!"
"I'd never do that, Luna. Even if I would, I couldn't. I have no authority over Hope, you must see that."
Luna actually snorted. "You're Famous Hermione Granger. You're her mother."
"That's right," Hermione replied. "And you're her Mum." She waited a beat, then continued, "Given the choice between the two…" The longing, the wistful regret in her face were sincere.
Portrait in hand, Luna sat down on Hope's bed. "For the longest time," she said slowly, her voice growing warmer, "I was so jealous of you. Even when you were alive, I envied you. Did I ever tell you that?"
Hermione shook her head. "You were as intelligent as any Ravenclaw," Luna continued, growing dreamy-eyed as she recalled the past. "But you had friendships stronger than any I'd ever seen. Ronald and Harry. I never really made friends until you and Harry started the D.A., you know. Harry and Ronald became my friends… but their friendship with me wasn't a patch on their friendship with you."
"And then," Luna sighed, "and then you and Ronald started your love affair, and you two went away. Nobody ever knew why. Nobody heard from you, except that one visit at Christmas. The next I heard, you were in St. Mungo's having a baby." She looked Hermione in the eyes. "Ronald's baby. Ronald said so, and we all believed him. Why should he lie about it?"
Hermione didn't respond. Luna was almost sorrowful as she went on, "But he was wrong. He thought Hope was his, but he was wrong. You cheated on him, didn't you, Hermione? He loved you, he wanted to marry you, and you and Harry betrayed his trust and…"
"No, Luna, no," Hermione finally said. "Is that what you think of me? Is that what you think of Harry? Didn't Ron… oh, why couldn't Ron confide in you?"
"His first loyalty was always to Harry… and you." Luna maintained her unwavering stare at Hermione. "I told you I was jealous of you."
Hermione returned Luna's gaze. "Loyalty goes both ways, Luna. We wouldn't - I didn't cheat on Ron. No." She breathed deeply and continued. "You see, Ron and I broke up," Hermione said slowly, emphatically. "It happened almost as soon as we disappeared from public view. And Ron knew - Ron's always known, from before Hope was born - that Hope was Harry's."
"How could he know for…" Luna began, then blinked in surprise. "Oh! You mean, you and Ronald never…?"
"Well, of course not." There was a pause that filled the space between them.
"You truly weren't with Ronald when you and Harry…?" Luna asked in a small voice.
Hermione sighed patiently. "Harry and I were preparing to travel to Bulgaria, to meet with Viktor Krum," she explained. "Then on to Durmstrang to see if we could learn about… about some Dark artifacts of Voldemort's. And Ron… well, there was no way Ron could come with us. He hadn't any cover story, had he? Ron…"
She considered her words before continuing. "Ron objected strongly to my going… I don't know if it was Viktor's involvement or Harry's that he hated more. The night before I left, we had the biggest fight we'd ever had - and that was saying something. He called me… he accused me of…" Her voice broke off as she looked away.
"He made the same accusations I just made," guessed Luna. "Only with Krum instead of Harry."
"Krum as well as Harry," Hermione said sadly. "By the time the fight was finished, so was our relationship. We'd split for good, and we both knew it. Oh, Ron apologized profusely when I returned from Bulgaria, but the damage was done. We never got back together - if it hadn't been for Harry, I'm not sure we'd have remained friends. And the ironic thing is…"
She looked back at Luna. "The ironic thing is that his accusations were totally ungrounded when he made them, before we went to Durmstrang - and spot-on when we came back."
*
Hermione found it easier to walk wearing Krum's form than she'd anticipated. Viktor had always walked with a bit of a slouch, and a gait that was almost bowlegged. Considering how incredibly graceful he was in the air, it was remarkable how clumsy he was on the ground. Hermione could trip and bump into furniture as she grew used to the larger body into which she was Polyjuiced - and no one would think it at all amiss.
Leaving the library with her notes, she paused a moment to relish the sun on her skin - even in August, the mountain air was nippy. She walked across the Durmstrang courtyard, skirting the ornate fountain that played in its center, and approached a knot of faculty gathered near the entrance to the staff offices. Harry was there, wearing her body (badly, to her eye), and talking animatedly with several Durmstrang professors. One of the professors, looking up and seeing her, addressed her in a Slavic tongue.
"English, remember," Hermione said with a condescending smile, "for our guest's sake."
"Yes, of course," said the professor. "I vas merely telling Viktor, Miss Granger, that he must haff had quite the influence on you. I cannot recall ven I've enjoyed a discussion on Quidditch so thoroughly."
"Well, I've had to learn about it in self-defense," said Harry with a deprecating smirk. "All my friends are wild about Quidditch, obsessed really. And of course, Viktor's such a star Seeker… has there been any word on who Bulgaria will choose for their national team next year?"
"No one's said anything to me about it," Hermione interjected, in all truth. "So, Hermione," (she refused to butcher her name as Viktor always did) "we should be going soon. Have you enjoyed your visit to my alma mater?"
"Oh yes," Harry nodded. "I've seen the gardens, and visited the teachers' lounge…"
"She asked to visit some of de classrooms," put in an older teacher with an enormous handlebar mustache. "De Dark Arts classroom in particular… I had to explain dat it vas being remodeled, and no one vas allowed in. Perhaps on your next visit, Miss Granger."
"Ooh, that would be lovely," Harry enthused. Don't overdo it, Hermione thought sternly.
"Vith a little more notice," said the first professor, with a dark glance at Hermione, "ve could haff prepared a suitable velcome for your friend, Viktor. Please remember that, if there should be another visit."
"I'd like that," said Harry. "I mean, Hogwarts is a wonderful school, and of course I feel at home there… but I'd never realized how much Durmstrang benefits by its focus on pureblooded wizards. It trains them up well, if Viktor's any standard."
"Yes," said Mustache Professor complacently, "Viktor Krum is vun of Durmstrang's finest alumni. Ve can hold him up as an example to all our students, now and to come."
"And well he should be," said Harry earnestly. "Not as a Seeker, or as a former Triwizard Champion, but because he's as ready to befriend a Muggleborn witch as the purest-blooded aristocrat."
The baffled look on the professors' faces made Hermione want to burst out laughing. "Er, just so," was all Mustache Professor could find to say.
"We've heard tales of Miss Granger," put in a younger professor unexpectedly. "Muggleborn or not, she is a very impressive witch." He seemed to be repressing a grin.
"Well worth befriending, no matter her birth," Hermione said, trying to stay in character. She was already concentrating on the next task, what they'd do with her notes on Horcruxes once they returned home - and so she nearly jumped out of her skin (well, Viktor's skin) when, on impulse, Harry reached out and took her hand.
Well, it was in character for Harry to do that… she'd've taken Viktor's hand if Viktor'd said that about her, in public. And with the older professors chuckling indulgently - and the younger one positively leering - it was certainly in character for Hermione to lean over and kiss Harry… Viktor'd kissed her under similar circumstances. She had to kiss him, didn't she? To stay in character?
But somehow, her kiss with Viktor was nothing like her kiss with Harry.
Perhaps it was the gender reversal. A kiss, after all, was equally give-and-take from both participants - one would assume it would be the same experience for both. Surely gender wouldn't matter… But Hermione quickly discovered that it was very different for the man. Very different.
She wanted to explore her discovery in greater depth, but the altitude of Durmstrang's mountains must be affecting her lungs. At any rate, she was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. For sheer want of oxygen they broke apart - and simply stared at each other, stupefied, as the Durmstrang professors gently laughed and applauded. Harry's breasts were heaving, his face was flushed… he must be affected by the altitude, too.
*
"So," said Luna, trying to fully absorb the story. Accepting the existence of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks was trivial by comparison. "So. Is that when you and Harry decided to be a couple, then?"
Hermione didn't answer directly. "We had to use a Portkey to enter and leave Durmstrang… you can't Apparate there, since it's Unplottable. But Portkeys can be tracked, you know. We had to act naturally… when we left Durmstrang we had to go where they'd expect Viktor to go. Viktor's flat in Vidin." She stopped, at an uncharacteristic loss for words.
Luna waited for her to continue. "May I assume that you didn't Apparate straight from there back to England?" she asked eventually.
Hermione's entire face - indeed, every visible bit of skin - was bright red by this point. "It's… it's very different for the man," she managed to say again.
"Eww, gross!" cried Hope. "You mean you were doing it with Harry while you were still a guy?"
"HOPE!" shouted Luna and Hermione in shocked chorus, remembering too late that Hope was still present - and listening to every word. Hermione checked herself before she could say more, yielding to Luna with a quick sidelong glance. "How long have you been standing there?" Luna demanded.
Hope met her mothers' combined glares with a certain confidence. "Only it is my room," she said reasonably.
Luna had no ready reply to this. Hermione rushed in to fill the breach. "Eavesdropping is wrong, young lady, no matter where you are," she said sternly, taking the offensive like any good tactician.
"But I…"
"Hope?" Luna reproved, using the quiet voice that always commanded Hope's attention… and quite efficiently sucked Hope's confidence away.
"……… Yes, Mum. Yes, Mother. I'm sorry." Hope squirmed in place under Luna's and Hermione's combined dagger-looks. For once, her thoughts were clearly readable from her expression: Maybe having two mothers isn't such a great idea after all.
"And since we're on the subject of saying you're sorry," continued Luna inexorably, "you've a roomful of guests downstairs, to whom you owe an apology."
Hope nodded miserably. "Happy Birthday to me," she muttered.
Luna looked back at Hermione. "I think it would be better if I left you here," she said frankly. "I've a great deal to worry about for the moment, and your presence would be upsetting, I think. Especially to Ronald."
Hermione nodded in agreement. "It's only fair he be told about me before anyone else."
"Exactly." Luna set Hermione's portrait on Hope's bookcase. "I would be interested in talking with you later… about how you told Ron you were pregnant. I can't imagine he took it very well…"
"Your skills at understatement are undiminished," said Hermione.
"…and I'd like to hear how you handled it." Luna motioned for Hope to precede her through the door.
"Oh, and Hope?" called Hermione as they were about to leave. Hope looked back. "The Polyjuice Potion wore off eventually," Hermione said delicately, and waited for the implication to sink in. She smirked as it was Hope's turn to blush, and Luna found herself giving Hermione a conspiratorial smile.
*
"You're what?" Ron asked again. Hermione knew that rolling her eyes at this point would be counterproductive.
"Pregnant," she said again. She tried to say it gently, but at his flummoxed look she found herself reverting to old bad habits. "You know… expectant. Increasing. With child. In a family way. Anticipating a blessed event…"
"I know what it means!" Ron shouted. "I… I…" His face was ugly as he turned it away from her. "I know exactly what it means," he finished venomously.
She hadn't expected him to take it well, but… "Ron?" she asked tentatively. "Ron, please look at me?"
He kept his face turned away, but instead put out his hand with its palm towards her. Hermione had no idea where Ron had picked up that little bit of Muggle idiom, but for the moment she had other concerns. She steeled her fluttery stomach into composure before she turned to Harry.
If anything, Harry looked even more gobsmacked than Ron - he'd faced everything from mountain trolls to Dark Lords, but he seemed ready to faint when confronted by fatherhood. "Are…?" he began to ask, then gave a brief snort of mirth. Hermione had no trouble reading his thoughts: Are you sure? had been his question and his first thought. Followed immediately by Of course you're sure, you're Hermione.
"When?" he asked instead.
"I'm approximately two months along, according to Madam Pomfrey," she answered. She could see Harry counting backwards in his head… and beginning to frown. For the first time, Hermione realized that Harry might not be sure… not totally sure that he was the father. She knew who the baby's father was, of course, and Ron could figure it out - he'd certainly know it wasn't he - but she suddenly feared that Harry's next question would be "Who?" She felt her eyes begin to tear up. He couldn't be sure. He had no way to be sure…
With a face-splitting grin and a joyful whoop, Harry lifted Hermione and swung her around him in a circle, before enveloping her in a massive hug. He's sure, she thought in enormous relief.
And indeed, when he set her down again (as delicately as though she'd suddenly turned into a fragile china doll, for Merlin's sake!), his face showed no sign of doubt. Worry, yes, and fear, and a touch of puzzlement - and overall an overwhelming happiness - but not a trace of doubt, of her, of himself, of them. Her heart melted at the thought of this wonderful man whom she loved and who loved her, this amazing man who'd transcended a life of hardship to become a hero. Her hero. Harry Potter.
Of course, being Harry Potter, he dealt first with his worry. "A-are you all right? Who else knows?"
"We're in perfect health, and Madam Pomfrey. And now you," she said, waving a hand to include Ron. Ron still had his back to them. "No one else." Harry began to speak, and she silenced him with her fingers on his lips. "And yes, I agree, we should keep this to ourselves for now. For as long as possible. If Ginny was a potential target just for dating you, how much more of a target would I be?"
"Yeah… sorry, but that's just what I was thinking," Harry admitted. "It's… it's not like I don't want… I mean…" His face grew serious as he tried to find the right words to say. "I love you, Hermione, and… and believe me, honestly, if I had my way, I'd…"
"Shout it to the world?" she finished with a smile.
"That'll do to go on with." Harry returned her smile.
"And besides," Ron put in snidely, his back still towards them, "it'd so tarnish the reputation of the Chosen One if people heard he'd been topping off his friend's girl friend."
Harry's face darkened, but Hermione forestalled him. "Ron," she said with cold dignity, "if you're going to make that kind of remark, the least you can do is say it to my face." She waited a moment. "Ron?"
Sullenly, Ron turned to face them. "You and I split up in August," Hermione reminded him, trying to sound firm but reasonable. "Harry and Ginny split up back in June. I know you've spent the last four months in denial, but that doesn't change the facts."
Ron didn't reply. Hermione got the impression that, if the Room of Requirement's door had reappeared at that moment, he would have been out of it in a heartbeat.
She turned her attention back to Harry. The goofy grin was back on his face… and dammit, it was infectious. She found herself grinning back… any moment now she was going to start giggling, she was sure of it. "Pleased, then, are you?" she asked demurely.
Harry cupped her face in his hands, steadying it. She covered his hands with her own as he brought his lips down on hers. He kissed her, not as a seventh-year might snog his bird, but as a husband kisses his wife on their wedding day. "Yes," he said simply when they broke apart.
She closed her eyes happily and rested her head on his shoulder. "Scared to death, though," Harry admitted thoughtfully. Having dealt with his worry, he was now facing his fear. "I mean, we didn't even finish school! We're not really old enough to be, um…" He seemed to have trouble forming the word.
"Parents?" she supplied helpfully. "No, we aren't. And this is far from the ideal time." He looked down at her, surprised at her calm tone. "Well, I've had more time to think about it than you, haven't I? Oh yes, when Madam Pomfrey told me, I was scared, too - bloody terrified, actually, I thought I was going to throw up again." Her stomach churned a bit at the very thought.
"But here we are," Hermione concluded softly. "I've had a chance to think about what will happen… and as for you, I've never seen fear keep you from doing anything." She stepped close to Harry and wrapped her arms around his waist. "We'll deal with this together, one day at a time."
"Together," Harry smiled. "Absolutely." As though their thoughts were linked, their eyes flicked to Ron… wondering if he felt himself included in the word "together". Judging from the way he was still scowling, Hermione decided not.
"There is one thing, though," Harry said after a moment. "I'm absolutely sure I saw you cast the Infecundus Charm every single time we've made love."
There was a choking noise from Ron's side of the room. Hermione ignored it. It wasn't exactly the moment she'd have chosen to discuss this, but still…
"Harry," she said while trying desperately not to go into Fullbore Lecture Mode, "it was Hallowe'en. Barriers are, well, weakened on that night. Don't you remember Flitwick lecturing us on the magic of the cross-quarter days?"
"If it wasn't of immediate practical use… no, of course not."
"How typical. Well, as you can see, it can be important. Good heavens, Mr. Potter… why else do you think you were born on Lammas-eve?"
"Whatever. It's not important. What's important is…" Harry took her chin and lifted her face to look into her eyes. "We're going to have a baby. You and I." His tone made a sacrament of it.
The giggles inside her threatened to bubble out at any moment. She hugged him tightly… and couldn't resist adding, "Happy Christmas, Harry." And Happy Birthday, too, she added to herself, if Madam Pomfrey's right about the dates.
"You're being stupid," said Ron unexpectedly. "You're going to try to go it alone? You're barmy, the both of you. Which I expect of you, Harry, but not of her." He was looking at them now… confronting them, actually, an angry challenge in his eyes. "Tell somebody, for Merlin's sake. Tell my Mum. Tell your mum, Hermione. You said it yourself, you're scared. You shouldn't do this alone."
Hermione took a moment to answer. "It's not that I don't want to tell them - oh, God, of course I do - or that I don't trust them not to talk, Ron," she said slowly. "But we daren't. If I could cast a Fidelius Charm, I'd do it… but I can't cast it on myself, and neither of you are able. Short of that… the only way to keep a secret is to, well, keep it."
"You told me."
"Well, of course I did." Hermione's tone made it self-evident: she trusted Ron as she did Harry, or herself. For a second, Ron's anger was baffled.
"All right, then," he said after a moment, moving on. "So are you at least going to make an honest witch of her, Harry?"
"Hell, yes. As soon as poss…" began Harry.
"Not until Voldemort's defeated," declared Hermione.
"What?!" Harry stared at her as though she'd gone mad.
"I know it'd be wonderful to be married at once," she explained, "but I've given this some thought, too. Oh, shut it, you!" she added in exasperation at his amused snort. "I have given it some thought. We can't possibly keep our relationship a secret if we're married - marriages are a matter of public record, aren't they? And there's the witnesses, and there's the justice or the magistrate - and you are Harry Potter. The word will get out."
She put her hands on his chest as she concluded, "It's the same argument as before, don't you see? If we don't want Death Eaters queued up to kidnap me or worse, we can't marry until the Death Eaters are gone… any more than we can tell people I'm pregnant." She twisted her mouth wryly. "We always knew you had to defeat Voldemort, Harry - think of this as an added incentive."
"And supposing it takes longer than seven months to defeat You-Know-Who?" asked Ron. Hermione was amused to note that his hurt and angry tones were fading… with concern for her taking their place. A true friend, she thought in sudden fondness, if he's only given the chance.
Harry answered for them. "Well, if it takes long enough, the kid can always be our ring bearer." He glanced at Hermione. "Or flower girl?" he asked as an aside. Hermione shrugged; she'd declined Madam Pomfrey's offer to determine the child's gender.
"I'll marry her if and whenever she's ready, Ron," Harry said firmly. "I'm not ashamed of our having a baby. I mean, let's face it, even if married her tomorrow, she's already an expectant mother. Don't see what difference it'd make if we waited long enough for her to be an actual mother."
"And besides," put in practical Hermione, "it's not like we have a lot of time to spend on weddings. Even a quick trip to the justice would take too long. We still have to locate the last two Horcruxes - assuming it's the wand and the athame, of course - and then…"
"Hold on! You don't really think you're going to keep on hunting for Horcruxes, do you?" Ron demanded. "No way! Harry and I'll do that. You're going straight back to Grimmauld Place!"
"Oh, I am, am I?" Hermione shot back, her voice rising quickly. "Just sit at home and knit baby bonnets while you two testosterone junkies risk your lives without me? I don't think so, Ronald Weasley! Harry - tell him!"
"No, Harry, tell her! It's just too dangerous. She can't risk herself anymore! She's carrying your…" Ron stopped, as the full impact of his words struck him.
"Enough, you two!" Harry cried in annoyance. He waited until he had their attention, then lowered his voice and continued. "Ron? Have you forgotten Dzaferi so soon? Without Hermione, you'd be spending your days in Albania on a really low-carb diet." Ron shuffled his feet, and Harry knew his point was made.
"And Hermione? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're not going to be feeling quite up to snuff any time soon…"
Again, Hermione's stomach reminded her of its presence, rather unpleasantly this time. Harry would have to mention snuff.
"But as long as you can stomach it…"
The sadist was doing it on purpose. Hermione was certain.
"I can't think of anyplace I'd rather you be than with me," Harry finished, putting his arms around her… and thereby redeemed the male species.
"Tomorrow, then. We leave Hogwarts at first light and head for Godric's Hollow. If Gryffindor's wand is still there, we'll find it."
*
It was getting rather late, and Ron hadn't returned. Fred and Angelina, and Bill and Fleur, had taken their respective broods home to bed. Luna and Hope were waiting for Ron to come home… they sat quietly in the living room, Hope on the edge of sleep, her head on Luna's shoulder.
Arthur and Molly had volunteered to wait with Luna. They kept stealing glances at Hope, as though wondering how they could have missed the signs for eleven years. Hope's hair, brow and nose were Hermione Granger's, but her cheeks, mouth and jaw were identical to those of the youngest Seeker in a century.
"Especially last year," Arthur murmured, "when she drew that lightning bolt on her forehead. Why didn't we see it then?"
Molly shrugged slightly. "But oh, her eyes…" she whispered, and there was no need to say more. Arthur and Molly remembered Lily Potter well - and never would they forget Harry.
Luna sat almost motionless, only one hand moving, stroking Hope's hair. Where was her husband? He'd had his little bits of temper when first they were married, though Luna'd thought he'd calmed down considerably over the years. But not even in his wildest temper had he left the house like this, and come back so late.
He was coming back, wasn't he?
Perhaps she shouldn't have been quite so sensitive about Ron keeping things from her. He probably thought he was sheltering her. He could be quite protective of… of those he loved. Quite to the point of irrationality, sometimes. Luna understood irrationality.
There was a sudden crack of Apparation from the kitchen. Seconds later, Ron staggered into the living room, awkwardly carrying a full-length mirror. "Ronald? Where have you been?" said Luna, her tone simple curiosity. Hope yawned and sat up, rubbing her eyes.
Ron didn't answer. He got his good leg under him and, with a final heave, propped the mirror against the wall of the living room. He straightened the mirror, then Disapparated without a word. A moment later, the mirror gave two low chimes.
"A Speaking Glass?" asked Molly. "Luna, dear, I thought the Quibbler said Speculum couldn't sell any Speaking Glasses that large."
"We did. They can't." Luna stood and walked to the Glass. She tapped its frame twice, authorizing the switch to open mode. The mirror's surface shimmered, then grew clear - and Ron stepped out of the frame.
"Good, it works," he said to nobody in particular. He looked at Luna. "I've been to Speculum," he answered her, "calling in some favors. They had some full-length Glasses in their R&D department, and they kindly let me have two… after I'd reminded them all about how Harry and Hermione had saved their arses eleven years ago." He stepped to Hope and held out his hand.
Hope took his hand reluctantly. This was her Dad as she'd never before known him, not once in her life. There was no humor in his face or manner… no sense of fun hiding just under the surface. This man was cold as a judge, and she came close to treating him as she would a stranger.
With Hope in tow, Ron stepped through the Speaking Glass. He'd made no gesture of invitation to Luna or his parents… after a moment's hesitation, they followed him through anyway, with Molly helping Arthur's wheelchair over the bottom of the frame.
They found themselves in a large dusty room, a combined master bedroom and study. Its furnishings had once been rich, even opulent, but they'd been sadly neglected over the last few years and were badly in need of cleaning and mending. There was a desk overflowing with books, a bed long unmade, and numerous odd contraptions lying about. Arthur and Molly looked about in puzzlement.
"I… I've been here before, haven't I?" Arthur eventually asked. "It's like a dream…"
Ron nodded. "I can't tell you where we are. I mean, literally, I can't. This place is hidden under a Fidelius Charm." He paused a moment to think. "I can tell you that we helped you clean this place in the summer before Sirius's death."
"I remember!" cried Molly. "We used to come here to meet… to meet… I don't remember who, or the location of this place, but I do remember some of the furnishings now! Those weren't specified under your Fidelius, evidently."
"Well, this is where Harry, Hermione and I spent our year together: in hiding here, where we couldn't possibly be found, while we tried to find ways to defeat Voldemort." Still leading Hope by the hand, he walked around the desk to reveal a large stone basin carved in runes. "We used this a fair bit while we were doing it."
"That's a Pensieve," said Hope in awe.
"Yeah, I shouldn't be surprised you'd recognize it," said Ron, gazing down at his daughter. After a few seconds, her eyes came up to meet his. Emerald and sapphire orbs locked together… and held for a nerve-stretching moment.
Hope broke the silence in a very quiet voice. "You're sure, Dad?" Ron nodded once, curtly.
"Ron? I don't understand what…" began Molly.
"Ronald can't bring himself to tell Hope what she wants to know," explained Luna calmly, "so he intends to use the Pensieve. To show her what happened the night she was born. Am I correct, Ronald?"
Ron stared into the Pensieve and nodded again. Bringing up his wand, he touched it to his temple. He concentrated… and slowly, slowly extracted a silvery thread of memory. He dropped it into the Pensieve and watched it roil the cloudy surface inside.
"And you…" he said abruptly. With his free hand he reached for Luna's. "You deserve to know too, Luna. I couldn't ever tell you this… I still can't… but I can show you. And if Hope deserves to know, you do, too." He looked from the Pensieve to Luna's face. "If… if you want to, I mean."
Luna blinked mildly. "Why would I not want to? A trip through a Pensieve sounds intriguing. It can hardly be worse than the Nacarutu Vision Quest, can it?"
Ron almost smiled at that. "I don't reckon so. Come on then, Hope. This is what you wanted for your birthday, isn't it?" He put his hands, still clutching Luna's and Hope's, over the Pensieve's shining contents. "Mum and Dad, if you don't mind, would you wait here? In case of emergency?" At their nods, he said, "On the count of three…"
"Hello?"
They looked back at the Speaking Glass. Ginny stood on the other side, peering into the room… her face was ashen, her mouth set in a thin line. "I came back to, er, well, to apologize… Where are you?"
"Never you mind," said Ron roughly.
"Ron, I'm sorry. I was feeling so miserable, like I always do today… I was being hateful, lashing out at you, and it wasn't even your fault… those awful things I said, I didn't mean them. "
"Actually, you must have meant them," put in Luna reasonably, "since you were only saying what we were all thinking. I was thinking it, too. I don't know if I'd have used the word 'cuckolded', though," she added.
"I truly am sorry," Ginny repeated, sincerely contrite. Ron didn't respond. "Er… you're not really going to show Hope your memory of Harry's death, are you?"
"And my birth," said Hope. "Dad, can Aunt Ginny come with us? I think she should see this, too."
Everyone, in and outside the room, stared at Hope in astonishment. After a pause, Ron said carefully, "It's your decision, Hope."
"Aunt Ginny? Please?"
Surprised, Ginny stepped through the Glass into the room that had once belonged to the House of Black. She walked slowly to the Pensieve, never taking her eyes off Hope, and stretched her hand over its contents.
Ron's face was unreadable; his voice was toneless. "If you're coming, then… one, two, three!" They plunged their hands into the Pensieve… and darkness instantly sucked them downwards like an icy whirlpool.