(A/N: No, I haven't vanished from the face of the earth… it just feels like it sometimes. If you've stayed with this story despite the delays, I most heartily thank you for your loyalty. I know I don't deserve it.
As always, this story is brought to you by that lovely and talented beta, Mary Caroline. Any remaining problems, issues or mistakes are strictly my own.
The details in the vault scene are taken from SS/PS. I always wondered why some of those details were never repeated in later books; this is my take on it.)
(Disclaimer: Do I look like a super-wealthy Scottish mother-of-three?)
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"Restoring Hope"
by Paracelsus
*
31 July 2009 - Year 11 P.V.
*
Molly and Arthur gaped in astonishment as Ron, Luna, Ginny and Hope returned from the Pensieve - astonishment that immediately turned to concern. Not since she was a little girl had they seen Ginny bawling as she was now. She sank to the floor as though she'd lost the will to live, and cried her heart out.
Hope was sniffling, too, and even Luna was crying… though in Luna's case, it was simply a matter of water leaking from her eyes, and down her perfectly composed face. The scene of Hope's birth, and her parents' death, must have been more than Ron had ever described.
"Ron?" asked Molly after a moment. "What… what happened?"
"She got what she asked for," said Ron heavily. He wasn't crying, but his face showed a weariness and a sadness that made him look far, far older than his years.
Arthur hesitated, then moved to Ginny's side. "Ginny?" Her sobs subsided slightly, but didn't stop. Tentatively, he reached down and began to stroke her hair.
And Ginny surprised everyone, by doing something else she hadn't done since she was a little girl: She crawled into her father's lap and tucked her head under his chin. Arthur reflexively continued to stroke Ginny's hair, murmuring comfort to her; she continued to weep, but more gently now as she exhausted herself, safe in the sanctuary of Daddy's Lap.
Arthur glanced at Molly; they reached an unspoken consensus. "We'll take her with us to the Burrow for tonight," Molly announced. "Ginny, dear, do you think you're up to Apparating there? We can all go together."
Ginny nodded without speaking. "Right, then, on three…" said Molly. "Ron, Luna, we'll talk again tomorrow. Hope, dear…" She paused, and seemed to reconsider what she wanted to say. "Well, it's been a long day, hasn't it?" she finished lamely. "Good night."
With a series of loud cracks, the Weasleys Disapparated. Ron looked down at his daughter. For a moment, he was tempted to wish her "Happy Birthday" in his most sarcastic voice - twisting the knife, as it were.
But seeing the misery in her face, Ron found he couldn't do it. He couldn't. He didn't even have sarcasm to fall back on. He was pathetic. All he had now was his backbreaking sense of loss - and of failure.
"Yeah. It has been a long day," he said quietly. "And it's late." He gestured for Luna and Hope to precede him through the Speaking Glass. They stepped through the frame together, back into their Hogsmeade home. Luna looked back in time to see Ron, still at Grimmauld Place, reaching for the Glass's frame to break the connection.
Her hand shot out and intercepted his before it could touch the frame. "It seems a very depressing place to spend the night alone," Luna said mildly. She gave his hand a gentle tug, and after a moment he yielded to it. Ron followed his family home, as the Glass shimmered behind him and grew opaque again.
They stood in the living room for a long minute, motionless and silent: Hope's tears subsiding, Luna's face impassive, Ron's shoulders sagging. "We'll…" Ron began, and swallowed. He pulled his hand from Luna's and began again. "We'll talk in the morning." Unable to meet her eyes, he nodded in the direction of the stairs, then moved to the couch and prepared to bed down for the night.
Luna cocked her head and watched him curiously for a second. Then she placed a hand in the small of Hope's back and gently propelled her to the stairs, and their respective bedrooms.
*
Ron knew he'd be tortured by a memory that night. After the day he'd had, he should've expected it to be the most painful one possible.
"I should come along, too," Ron insisted. "Who knows what those Durmstrang wanks could do? They might be able to see right through Polyjuice… paranoids are good at that sort of detection spell, y'know…"
"We've been through this, Ron," Hermione repeated, carefully replacing the book on the shelf in the study at Grimmauld Place. Her temper was beginning to fray at last. "Viktor's invitation was for me alone… so only 'Viktor' and 'Hermione' can show up at Durmstrang. We simply can't bring you along. Look, I'm sorry…"
"I'll bet you are." He knew even as he said it that it was the wrong response. On the other hand, there were so many wrong responses he could have given, it seemed a shame to limit himself to one…
She stiffened, turning icy in an instant. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," he sneered, "nothing at all. Just that you'll be out of touch and far away - from anyone who might recognize you. Great chance for some one-on-one time with two really good Quidditch players, isn't it…" Merlin! After over eight months, her remark still hurt.
"Oh, please. Didn't we go through enough of this at school? Why not accuse me of seeing McLaggen on the sly, while you're at it?"
"You haven't had a chance," Ron said dismissively.
"Haven't - had - !" Hermione spluttered for a moment, face reddening, as she escalated from icy to volcanic. "How… how dare you, Ronald Weasley!" she yelled. "How dare you suggest such a thing! I thought… We're supposed to be in love! Is this your idea of love, then? I've stood by you since you were poisoned on your birthday, and now you give me this shite about…!"
"Well, you weren't stepping out with a couple of other blokes before now, were you?" he shouted back. "Leaving me behind, as usual! Good ol' Ron, he loves Hermione, he'll always be there! Hermione can busy herself with McLaggen and Krum and the Boy Who Effing Lived, but hey! Don't worry, she can always come back to good ol' Ron!"
She fell back a step, wide-eyed at his fury, while his tirade reached its crescendo. "And someday you won't come back to good ol' Ron! Someday Harry's going to die! And you're going to die! And I'll be left behind, again! ALONE! AGAIN! FOREVER! And it'll be my fault and it'll tear me up inside and I'll have to go on without you and I'll miss you and I'll hate you for it and it's NOT! BLOODY!! FAIR!!" His throat was raw, he was screaming so, and he had to take a deep breath for the next part of their argument…
Wait a minute. This wasn't how their argument had gone…
This… this wasn't a memory anymore. This wasn't August in Grimmauld Place, this was… this was…
"This is you finally seeing," said Hermione gently. He looked up to see her smiling at him now, serene, loving. "And about time, too," she added.
"H-Herm…?" he croaked. He staggered to a chair and collapsed into it.
"Right here," she said, still in that gentle tone. "And no, before you ask, this is still your dream, Ron. This isn't real… but that doesn't mean it's not true."
He put his head into his hands so she couldn't see the tears springing up in his eyes. "Oh Merlin, Hermione… I… I…"
She waited for him to find his words. Funny, she'd never done that while she was alive. "I… I'm sorry," he said in agony.
"Oh, Ron. You haven't done anything to be sorry for."
Ron had to look up at that. "I let you and Harry die!"
"Let us?" She sounded amused.
"I… I ran away! I…"
"We told you to run, didn't we? How else could you save Hope?" Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand. "And you did save Hope. That meant everything. Thank you so much."
"I should have stayed!" Ron cried. "If I'd only stayed…"
"Then Bellatrix would've stayed, too," Hermione pointed out reasonably, "instead of pursuing you. As it was, Voldemort was alone when we faced him… and we could finish him." She shook her head in wonderment. "Honestly, Ron. You beat back Bellatrix even with a gaping wound in your leg… how can you think yourself a coward?"
He hadn't said the word, but of course she'd know what he was thinking.
"You didn't run to save yourself - you ran to save a child's life," she finished. "You were a hero." She waited patiently while he processed this.
"Don't much feel like a hero," he finally told her.
"Well, can you take my word for it?"
"Feel more like..." Ron clasped his hands and looked down at them, avoiding her gaze again. "Like I abandoned you," he mumbled. "I mean, I left you to die, I went and married Luna…"
She startled him by laughing, merrily and loud. "You got so lucky," she informed him.
"Wha? What do you…?" he started to ask. Hermione silenced him by placing her finger on his lips.
"The Burrow," she suggested after a moment.
"Huh?" Ron was thoroughly confused now.
"The Burrow," Hermione repeated. "Hogsmeade weekends. Evenings in the Common Room. You must have some memories of me that don't involve arguing or Horcruxes or unpleasantness in general." She reached out both hands to cup his face tenderly. "I'd really like it if you could dream about those memories, now and again."
And she gave him a kiss, neither brief nor lingering - not with passion, but oh, with compassion. She stood and smiled on him as he sat, motionless, watching her. For a painful instant, he was afraid her final words would be "Good-bye."
But she said nothing more, simply walking to the study door and opening it. There was a bright light outside the door, bright enough to hurt his eyes, but it didn't bother Hermione: she walked into the light and was gone. The door stayed open just a crack, so that he had to squint as he…
… as he woke up with a start.
He was, in fact, squinting into a light - candlelight. Luna stood at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in a robe and holding a candle in a sconce. She was watching him steadily. "Luna?" asked Ron groggily. "What…?"
"You said we would talk in the morning," Luna replied.
He sneaked a quick glance at the wall clock. Yes, technically, it was morning…
Luna walked to the couch and sat down - Ron quickly drew up his legs to make room for her - and placed the candlestick on the end table. She regarded him meditatively for a minute, while Ron tried to figure out what was going through her mind.
"Do you still have Hope's Hogwarts letter?"
Definitely not what he thought would be going through her mind. "Do I…"
"Still have Hope's Hogwarts letter."
"Er, yes, it's in my office at Hogwarts…" Ron paused. "Um. I never told you I had it, did I?"
"Well, no. But you brought home her list of supplies, so we could shop at Diagon Alley. So I rather suspect the Headmistress had simply handed you the whole envelope and trusted you to deliver it, thereby saving an owl. Not that delivering it would have tired one of the school owls very much, since we live here in Hogsmeade, but it's the thought that counts."
Now that she'd begun her explanation, Ron saw where her thoughts were headed - and couldn't help but wince. "Yyyyyes, I kept back Hope's Hogwarts letter before I delivered the rest… and yes, it is addressed to Hope Potter." He sighed. "I know an enchanted quill writes those things… I was kind of hoping McGonagall hadn't noticed. She didn't act like she'd noticed." Luna merely looked at him, and he sighed again. "But then, she wouldn't, would she?"
"Hope made a perceptive observation, earlier this evening," Luna commented, "about how you planned to maintain the hoax after she started at Hogwarts. It would have been quite awkward, I think, if you'd tried to sneak into the girl's dormitories at night to charm her eyes blue. Even assuming she's Sorted into Gryffindor, which is by no means certain."
"I know, I know..." Ron groaned. "I just… I don't know what I was going to do. I'd have figured out something."
"Mm, yes, I daresay you would," she nodded. "For someone so abysmal at keeping secrets, you've really done very well over the years." Her light tone made it impossible to tell if she meant it as a compliment.
"Er, thanks."
"Still, it might have been easier," Luna suggested without a hint of reproach in her voice, "if you'd had help."
That was it, then; that was the crux of his offense. Ron knew this was as close to an accusation as Luna would ever come - and that she was deeply hurt inside, to have said even that much. "I should have told you, My Good Love…" he began.
"I think I'd feel better," she interrupted, "if you'd not use that phrase just now." Her voice, her face, were as placid as ever.
Ouch. "I'm sorry," he said humbly. "I should have told you, before we were married, I mean it wasn't like I didn't trust you, but…" He gestured with his hands, as though he could pull the right words out of the air. "They'd just died," he finally said. "Harry and Hermione'd died, and I'd promised… I was so scared, Luna. One slip of the tongue, and Hope'd go to live with the Dursleys. That whole first year, I didn't dare even think about it, let alone talk about it."
Her silence wasn't encouraging, but it wasn't exactly discouraging either. Ron plowed ahead. "And the longer I waited to tell you, the harder it'd be when I did tell you. So I just never… I never… I'm so sorry, Luna."
She considered. "Are you?" she asked after a moment.
He knew he deserved that. "Yes," he said quietly. "I know you don't have any reason to believe me anymore, but I am - very - sorry."
Luna nodded, accepting his words. "Thank you," she said seriously. Ron couldn't help notice that she didn't add I forgive you. He felt himself starting to despair again.
"I don't think it was a question of trust, after all," she went on, "as much as it was ego."
Despair gave way to astonishment. "Wh-what?"
Luna cocked her head curiously. "Don't you think so? I'm sure it was quite unconscious on your part, but once it's pointed out, you have to admit…"
Ron shook his head slowly, not taking his eyes off her. "I didn't fulfill a prophecy. I didn't defeat Voldemort. Luna, I didn't do anything to have an ego about."
"You 'won' Hermione."
Ron could only stare, open-mouthed, at his wife as she continued in matter-of-fact tones, "That is, at least, what everyone believed, and you encouraged them to do so. As long as you were Hope's father, you were the one who got Hermione in the end… and beat Harry in that, if nothing else."
He shook his head again, far more emphatically. "Luna, no…"
"Or am I wrong? When people assumed that you slept with Hermione, were you angry?"
"No, of course not! That's what I wanted them to assume!" Ron stopped to expel a breath. With an effort he lowered his voice. "Not because of… that. But because… well, there was no other way for me to be Hope's father, was there?"
"Ah." Luna lowered her gaze and began to tug a loose thread on the sleeve of her robe. "I thought perhaps you might be envious of Harry, and want to… well, beat him in something." She paused, and for the first time in their discussion, seemed reluctant to say more. "As I've been envious of Hermione," she finally admitted.
"You. Envious. Of Hermione." Ron closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. There's only so many boots to the head I can take in one day, he complained silently.
"Well, yes. After all, you loved her first," Luna said in a small voice. "You've never stopped loving her. How could I compete with a dead lover?" The thread broke off her sleeve; she began to twist and coil it between her fingers. In an even smaller voice, she added, "And until tonight, I thought…"
"You thought she'd given me a child," Ron finished, suddenly understanding. For more than ten years, he and Luna'd been trying to have a child of their own. Their failure had never seemed to bother her - after all, they still had Hope - but in a flash, Ron saw how she must have seen it as her failure, hers alone. For hadn't Ron fathered Hope?
That, as much as everything else combined, was where his deception had wounded her most deeply.
His insides squirmed with this added bit of remorse, but Ron resolutely forced himself to deal with one issue at least… the most important issue. He drew a deep breath and tried to remind himself why he was Gryffindor's Head of House. "Luna…"
He waited until she raised her head to look at him; then he met her gaze squarely and continued. "Luna… Hermione and I, we drove each other up the wall. Yeah, you could say I loved her, but marrying her would've been a tremendous mistake. Whereas marrying you was the best thing I've ever done - since I love you even more."
She watched him unblinkingly. "Believe me," he added, with all the sincerity he could muster, "if Hermione were alive, if she were here right now, I'd tell her that to her face."
Luna blushed slightly and lowered her head again. After what seemed like a very long silence, she nodded. "Thank you, Ronald."
Gracefully she stood, picked up the candle, and reached out to him with her free hand. "Come to bed now, dear, it's quite late."
"Uh…" Ron looked from her hand to her face - which was no longer expressionless, a hint of a smile on her lips. "So… you aren't… mad at me?"
"Oh yes, very much so."
He couldn't seem to wrap his mind around her words. "But then… you can't want me to come to bed?"
Somehow, without changing in any way, her smile grew warmer. "Well, the man I love has had a truly awful day, and I can't comfort him if he stays down here on the couch, now can I?" She kept her hand outstretched to him. After a moment, of its own volition, his hand came up to take hers.
*
3 August 2009 - Year 11 P.V.
*
Luna rapped softly on the bedroom door. "Hope?" There was still no answer. She rapped again. "Little person, it's time to go. Everyone's waiting."
Through the door came a muffled voice. "Go without me."
"Hope." Luna said it as firmly as she could.
After a moment, the door opened a crack and Hope emerged from her self-imposed exile. The day following her memorable birthday party, she'd shut herself in her bedroom and, except for meals and bathroom visits, had refused to come out. Hope had maintained a virtual silence for the last three days, both in company and, to Luna's surprise, in the privacy of her room.
She looked now as she had all weekend: shutter-faced and withdrawn, as though she were suffering an extreme reaction to her outburst of feeling on her birthday. At least Hope was merely impassive, not depressed - that term Luna reserved for Ronald.
Luna escorted her daughter downstairs, where Ronald and Ginny awaited. Neither of them looked happy, but Ginny at least was making an effort to be upbeat. "Are we ready, then? Bill said he'd be there to greet us. And probably to make sure no one gets hurt, too, knowing the Ministry."
"I wouldn't mind," Ronald groused. As Luna gave him an admonishing look, he went on sourly, "It's only been three days. That's what I can't figure out. Bill wouldn't have told them anything. Even the Twins couldn't blab this badly. How in bleedin' hell did the Ministry find out?!"
"Ronald…" Luna increased her level of admonishment, rolling her eyes towards their impressionable daughter.
Hope rolled her eyes in response. "I know about Hell, Mum."
"Flock of bloody vultures," continued Ron, undeterred. "You know they're going to do their best to make our lives miserable, right? That's why they'll be there."
"We've done what we can," said Ginny. She motioned to the fireplace.
Luna tilted her head in thought. "Have we? Perhaps we need someone there who can make the Ministry's life miserable…"
Ronald looked puzzled for a moment. When he understood what Luna was suggesting, his face turned furiously red. "NO! Absolutely NOT!"
"If our secret's out, the presence of reporters can't hurt us now," Luna reminded him reasonably. "In fact, in this situation, reporters would take our side over the Ministry's. I'll make a quick call," she stepped over to the Speaking Glass as she spoke, "and see who's available. I won't be but a minute… you all go ahead." She didn't give her husband a chance to realize that, as the owner-editor of the Quibbler, she already held the power of the press… she wanted an excuse to stay behind, alone in the house.
Hope and Ronald hesitated, but Ginny grabbed the pot of Floo Powder from its niche and held it out to them. They each reflexively took a handful of Powder, watching as Ginny prepared to use the fireplace. "Well, let's go," she said resolutely, and tossed in her Floo Powder. "Gringotts Bank!"
Green flame whirled and spirited Ginny from the fireplace. Hope immediately followed her. Ronald looked over at Luna, who by now was addressing the Glass and asking for Quintus Tenpenny. She waved at him to go ahead. Ronald shrugged, stepped into the fireplace and Flooed to Gringotts.
Luna completed her call to Tenpenny as quickly as she could. She took half a moment to hum a refrain of Weasley is Our King (she'd always found it soothing; she'd never understood why Ronald didn't). Then she walked rapidly up the stairs and entered Hope's room. She looked around curiously. Hermione's portrait was no longer on the bookshelf, where she'd left it the night of Hope's birthday… it was, in fact, nowhere to be seen in the room.
Time was pressing. Luna drew her wand from her purse. "Accio portrait!" she cast. Nothing appeared to happen. I know Hope can practice spells of her own, Luna thought, far in advance of her years… but surely she wouldn't yet be able to block a full adult's magic.
Well, why not? She cancelled Ronald's charm on her eyes.
Taking a different tack, Luna waved her wand in a sweeping arc while casting, "Alohomora." By broadcasting in a wide pattern, she made sure to unlock any locked door, drawer, or cupboard in the room. Then she used the Accio charm again, and this time a dresser drawer slid open and a packet flew out to her waiting hand.
It was the portrait, wrapped in dark paper and Spellotape. From the wax fragments stuck on the paper, Luna guessed this had been the original wrapping. She quickly ripped it off and held the portrait to the light. Hermione's image was motionless, its eyes closed. Luna was about to speak to it when it shook its head, as though shaking out cobwebs. Hermione blinked and focused her eyes on Luna. "What happened?"
"I was about to ask you that," said Luna. "I've not seen or heard you for the last three days… and I was rather expecting to. Did Hope tell you what happened right after we last spoke?"
"She's told me nothing. She came back to her room that night, a bit teary-eyed, and that surprised me. Hope almost never cries. I asked her what was wrong, and instead of answering, she started crying harder. The more I tried to calm her, the harder she cried. Finally, she shut me up in her drawer for the night… she usually sleeps with me under her pillow." Hermione twisted her mouth in painful memory. "And the next morning, before we could talk at all, she wrapped me up and stored me away."
Luna sighed. "If it's any consolation, I don't believe it was anything you did or said. Only we'd just watched Ronald's memories in a Pensieve of the night you…"
"Died," Hermione finished with her, in a hollow voice. "Well." She found herself speechless for a minute. "Well," she said at length, "that would explain it."
"Indeed." Luna considered for a moment. "I don't suppose you really want to know the details…"
Hermione shook her head emphatically. "I'm more concerned with what happens now."
"Mm, as are we all. I'm off to Gringotts to learn the first bit of that…"
"Take me with you."
Luna looked keenly at Hermione. "Do you want your existence to be generally known?" she asked slowly.
"Not generally known… although there're a few people I wouldn't mind talking to again," Hermione allowed. "Hope's told me about the new upsurge in Death Eater activity; I might be able to help with that. But I have to see what's happening!"
Luna didn't immediately answer. Hermione tried another approach. "If you cast an Invisibility Charm inside your purse, it will still be opaque from the outside…"
That got a surprised blink from Luna. "I never thought of that…" She hesitated for only another second; time was pressing more than ever. She inserted the tip of her wand into her purse and cast, "Transparo." Sure enough, while the outside of the purse remained dark brown, when she looked into the purse it was clear as glass.
With a quick nod of thanks to Hermione, Luna picked up the portrait and slipped it into the purse. She snapped the clasp shut and left the room. "Best to keep quiet," she said as she headed for the fireplace. "When we get back, I'll answer any questions you might have."
*
It was an unenviable position, to say the least. On one side of the Gringotts conference room stood three Junior Ministers, answerable directly to the Minister of Magic (or, as Ron liked to call them, "Scrimgeour's smarmy suck-ups"). They'd brought a harried human clerk to wait attendance on them. On the other side stood, or rather, sat five grim-looking goblins who were the directors of Gringotts Bank. And in the center, determined to be impartial - and to not take guff from either side - stood Bill Weasley.
"This is outrageous," the eldest Junior Minister, Anton Chisler, was pontificating. He was a portly, balding man who insisted on wearing robes a size too small for his girth. "You have delayed transfer of the Potter estate for a year, with no explanation whatsoever… and now, miraculously, out of the blue a Potter heir conveniently appears? You must forgive us if we seem skeptical!"
"We have always known there must have been a Potter heir," said the presiding goblin, Brasslock. "Gringotts prides itself on its customer service. Our vault door locks are specially crafted to acknowledge any with the right of entry." He gazed contemptuously at Chisler. "They have been prepared to accept their new owner for the last eleven years."
"And you didn't think to inform the Ministry of this?"
Brasslock shrugged, a very human gesture that he'd obviously learned to use well; the snub was exquisitely calibrated. "We knew there was an heir. We did not know who, or where."
"And from what I heard," put in Bill hastily, forestalling Chisler's retort, "it would have been from Harry's own family. His cousin, what's his name…"
"Dursley," said another Junior Minister with the all-too-apt name of Bilgeworthy. "Who is a Muggle, and ineligible to inherit…"
"Dudley Dursley, right. But who, if he'd had a magical child…? It's not impossible; Harry Potter's first cousin once removed, after all. The bloodline's there. Such a child would've been Harry's heir, so I'm told."
"Told to you by…" Bilgeworthy turned to sneer at Ron. "By your brother, perhaps?"
Ron maintained a flinty silence. It was true he'd suggested the possibility, years ago, but he hadn't had this scenario in mind. Not consciously, anyway, and planning this far ahead was giving his subconscious a lot of credit.
"The point is," said Bill firmly, "the directors of the Bank had reason to believe there was an heir to the Potter estate, and so couldn't turn it over to the Ministry. They'd have been acting irresponsibly otherwise." He fixed Chisler with a stern eye; his lean face, always slightly lupine, grew harder and less tolerant. It seemed to work: Chisler seemed taken aback, at least for a moment.
The last of the Ministry delegation spoke up quietly. She was an elderly witch who'd introduced herself as Muriel Manwaring, and her bearing said "Child Services" just as surely as if it were embroidered on her robes. "I think we may be going too fast here, ladies and gentlemen," she glanced at the goblins, "and, er, beings. Let us stipulate that Gringotts believed in the existence of a Potter heir. But even Mr, er, Brasslock concedes that they did not know the identity of this heir." She tilted her head inquiringly at the goblin, who responded with a curt nod.
"Now you, Mr. Weasley," and no one could tell if she was addressing Bill or Ron, "claim this little girl to be Harry Potter's daughter. Certainly, there have been wild rumors to that effect, ever since… well, since the terrible tragedy at Hogwarts last year." Manwaring's gaze rested briefly on Hope's face, as though expecting a bloody lightning bolt to still be visible there.
"But our records say that the girl's your daughter, Weasley," put in Bilgeworthy. "Her birth certificate, the files from St. Mungo's and Potter Primary…"
"Yeah, well, now you know the truth," growled Ron.
"There are tests for paternity," said Manwaring delicately, "but the Ministry is willing to stipulate that the little girl was fathered by Harry Potter on Hermione Granger." She smiled serenely as her Ministry colleagues looked askance at her, and added, "But that doesn't make her heir to the Potter estate."
"What are you suggesting, Madam?" came a voice from the door. True to her promise, Luna had provided witnesses from the press: Tenpenny from the Quibbler, who'd also brought with him Smith from the Prophet and Fanshaw from Witch Weekly. Chisler began to swell with indignation at this intrusion on a private meeting.
"How did you…?" he began to bark.
"By invitation from one of the principals," Luna informed him calmly. Chisler looked as though he would have dearly loved to say more, but he wisely kept silent.
"I'm merely expositing," Manwaring finished, choosing her words carefully, "that, by wizarding law, inheritance is contingent upon legitimacy." She looked on Hope with a saccharine expression clearly meant to be sympathetic.
For the first time in days, Hope reacted with real emotion: she seethed. She locked defiant eyes with Manwaring's. "So, Mum," she said in a loud stage whisper, "does she mean I'm a bastard?"
Manwaring blushed furiously and hastily broke eye contact. Hope felt a flash of triumph, for which the reproving look she got from Luna was a small price to pay.
"You don't care how low you sink, do you?" Ron demanded of the Ministry officials. "Saying it to her face? Merlin's beard…"
"I was trying not to put it baldly…" said Manwaring.
"But the law is the law," intoned Bilgeworthy primly.
"Well, try this bit of law on for size: living tally." Ron looked like a man about to face a firing squad, but he straightened his shoulders and pressed on. "Harry Potter and Hermione Granger lived under the same roof for the last year of their lives… the year Hope was conceived. They were living tally, by wizarding law, and in the eyes of the law they were a legally married couple."
Chisler opened his mouth, and Ron whirled on him savagely. "And if you even think of calling me a liar, Chisler, I'll take Veritaserum to back up what I say - and make you take it, too. Let's both spill out our guts."
"Ron…" warned Ginny.
"Oh, hell, we can settle this once and for all." Ron dug into his pocket and brought out a parchment envelope. "Took me all day yesterday to find this, but I knew we'd need it sooner or later."
He thrust the envelope at Hope and turned away stiffly before she could say anything to him. She concentrated on the envelope instead, turning it over in her hands. It was old and dusty, with a coat of arms embossed on the flap, and the motto Toujours pur. "This is from… uh, the place we visited on my birthday?"
Ron nodded without meeting her eyes. Hope opened the envelope and drew out a small golden key.
"Ahhh," said Ginny, understanding. She put an arm around Hope's shoulders and steered her to where the goblins sat watching. "Miss Hope Weasley wishes to inspect the contents of her vault," Ginny announced. She looked over her shoulder at Chisler's sour face. "If the vault lets her in, it means it recognizes her as Harry's heir."
Brasslock nodded and took the key from Hope's hand. He examined it closely for a minute. "That seems to be in order," he said at length.
He nodded to another goblin, who raised his hand in summons. Yet a third goblin came into the room, this one wearing the scarlet livery of the Bank. "Escort our guests to the vaults," commanded Brasslock, handing over Hope's key.
Hope looked back at her parents. "Mum? Dad…?"
"Go with your Aunt Ginny," said Ron tightly, still not looking at her. "Your Mum and I still have some business to finish with these fine public officials."
*
Ginny and Hope did their best to ignore the presence of Bilgeworthy, who had insisted on seeing with his own eyes whether the vault door would open for Hope. The Junior Minister, at least, was quiet enough on the ride into the subterranean caverns beneath Gringotts. Whether it was the wild ride in the cart, or the baleful glare of their goblin guide, Grimpick, he seemed more interested in keeping to himself.
As did Hope.
Ginny was not the sort of person who could long let a silence go unfilled. "It's going to turn out all right, Hope. They don't dare cross Ron, he's too important to them - what with Bellatrix and everything. You'll see."
When Hope didn't reply, Ginny tried again. "From what your Uncle Bill has said, the vault should be pretty full. What with Harry's inheritances, from Sirius and Dumbledore. I don't think there'll be anything for you from Hermione in the vault, though; I think Ron got her stuff. There're her journals, I know…"
"No," whispered Hope. "Nothing from Mother." Her cheeks were wet with tears when she turned to look at Ginny. "It's only fair."
"What do you mean?" asked Ginny in surprise. She would have probed further, but the cart came to a sudden halt before vault #878 - one of the deepest vaults, to judge by the dripping stone walls.
"This way," said Grimpick brusquely, and he led them to the vault door. He inserted Hope's gold key into the keyhole and turned. With a great creaking and clanking, the vault door opened a crack, releasing a large cloud of green smoke. The smoke seemed to hover around Hope for a moment before dissipating. Not until then did the door open fully.
The smoke, Ginny realized with a sharp pang. It's sensed Harry's blood in her. It's… acknowledged her.
Bilgeworthy gasped at the sheer quantity of gold, the Galleons and bullion neatly arranged in three separate stacks. One of the stacks had several large boxes set next to it, bearing the same heraldry as on the envelope. Next to another stack was an assortment of strange silver instruments - Bilgeworthy recognized some of them from his own school days, when he'd seen them in Albus Dumbledore's office.
But Hope showed no awe at the sight, or indeed any reaction at all. She merely wiped her face and wandered aimlessly into the vault. Ginny glanced at Bilgeworthy and Grimpick. "Give us a moment, guys, will you?"
She followed Hope into the vault. Hope had stopped at a small desk that had been set up near the door. She seemed to be staring at the papers and boxes that were scattered on the desktop - but Ginny didn't imagine for a moment that she was actually seeing anything.
"I'm very sorry, Aunt Ginny," Hope said in a small voice. She fiddled with some of the papers on the desktop, then turned and looked up at Ginny. "I understand now."
At Ginny's puzzled look, Hope breathed deeply. "I killed them, didn't I? Harry and Hermione. M-Mother and… and F-Father. You saw in the Pensieve… I drained her. If it hadn't been for me, they could've fought, couldn't they?" Tears began to glisten again as she finished, "They'd be alive, wouldn't they?"
"I… I…" Ginny found it hard to breath.
"See, I always wondered why," Hope added, in a tone eerily like Luna. "Why you never seemed to like me… I understand now."
"Oh, my God…" Ginny really couldn't breathe now. She was choking on something, something stuck painfully in her throat, something tasting of bile and acid, grudge and regret.
"Anyway…" Hope looked back down at the desktop. "I'm sorry."
Tears pricked at Ginny's eyes, and the something in her throat simply would not go away. Unable to speak, she looked where Hope was looking - focusing on the objects scattered across the desk. One item sprang out immediately to her eye: it bore Harry's handwriting. Without pausing to think, she picked it up.
It was an old, dusty box, similar to the collection of boxes by the stack of gold - presumably taken from there. The box had a scrap of parchment magically stuck to it, with a cryptic note written in Harry's untidy scrawl. For G's 17. Harry must have been down in his vault, sometime in the last year of his life, and set this box aside. Ginny opened the box with some trepidation.
Inside was a single tear-drop emerald, in a delicate setting of red Welsh gold and hanging on a filigree gold chain. Ginny stared at it for what seemed like ages, quite unable to speak: the something in her throat had turned to molten lead.
"I was waiting for it, you know," she finally said. She wasn't talking to Hope anymore, but seemed to be addressing the necklace. "For my seventeenth birthday… just ten more days. I'd've been an adult then… I would've joined you wherever you were, whatever you were doing. You couldn't say no then. Ten days, what was ten days? I'd already waited six years… I'd've waited forever."
She closed her eyes in pain. "But you had to go and die your hero's death, didn't you?" she went on, her voice half mournful, half accusatory. "Saved the world… again… And you did it without me, like always. I didn't even…"
Ginny opened her eyes and looked down at the top of Hope's head. "I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye."
Hope ducked her head lower. "'m very sorry," she mumbled again.
"Circe, Hope, don't be sorry!" Ginny snapped. "What've you got to be sorry for? You didn't kill Harry, any more than I did."
"He was there 'cause of me," Hope maintained mulishly.
"No," Ginny retorted angrily, "he was there because of her." She sniffed impatiently at Hope's look of confusion. "See, actually, you don't understand. I didn't understand - not completely, not until I saw them in the Pensieve. To see them like that - damn them!"
That brought Hope's gaze up again. "They didn't do anything wrong," she said defensively.
"No. I didn't mean that." Ginny blinked rapidly to keep the moisture in her eyes from collecting into tears; she wasn't going to cry in front of Hope again. When she spoke again, her anger faded somewhat - her voice grew less bitter, and more forlorn. "All these years, I only had… suspicions, as you might say," she told Hope. "But I knew… somehow, deep down, I suppose I always knew whose daughter you were. And they weren't around for me to resent."
She gave a last look at the emerald necklace before snapping the box shut and handing it back to Hope. "But that made you the last bit of Harry I had," she finished softly.
*
They returned to the Gringotts conference room to find the goblins gone and the humans angry. "You can't do this!" Ron was shouting as Bilgeworthy, Hope and Ginny entered the room.
"You're in no position to tell the Ministry what it may or may not do, Weasley," snapped Chisler. "It's your own unlawful behavior that's brought affairs to this pass…"
"Ah," interrupted Manwaring, noticing Hope's presence. "Miss, er, Potter, good, you're back. If you'll gather your things, we'll be off…"
"You can't take her!"
"You can't keep her," Manwaring told Ron. "You've no legal status here." She couldn't quite manage to keep the smugness out of her voice.
"Status? I'm her father!" Ron was red in the face by this point.
"No, you were the person pretending to be her father for eleven years," retorted Manwaring.
"Indeed," interjected Bilgeworthy. "I must report, ladies and gentlemen, that the Potter vault did open for Miss, er, Potter, just as the goblins said it must. It would appear that the young lady is, in fact, the true heir to Harry Potter."
"And therefore, legally, an orphaned minor," Manwaring pressed, "whose welfare becomes the responsibility of the Ministry."
"Excuse me, Madam Manwaring," called one of the reporters, Miss Fanshaw. "Are you saying it's in the child's best interest to be taken from the family she's known for eleven years? When there's been no evidence of abuse, or any other just cause?"
"Oh, it remains to be seen whether criminal charges will be filed," put in Chisler. "Kidnapping, to name one." He eyed Ron with more than a touch of malice as he added, "The poor child cannot be expected to remain with… people with such a flagrant disregard for the law."
Manwaring raised a hand, forestalling Ron's furious response. "The child's best interest - any orphan child's best interest - isn't determined by a single individual, inside or outside the Ministry," she pointed out, calmly enough. "The Child Welfare Committee exists to make determinations of that sort. Until it has a chance to convene, Miss Potter will be placed in a safe environment." She smiled at Hope. "I'll send someone to the Weasley home this evening, dear, to collect your clothes and any special belongings you may need."
"Why not simply let her go home and get her clothes herself?" demanded Ginny, before Ron could.
"Because it's extremely doubtful she'd be allowed to leave again," Chisler replied snidely. "We're well aware of the protections Weasley's put on his home, since he's become the target of Death Eaters…"
"By definition, isn't the Potter girl therefore safer at the Weasley home?" inquired Fanshaw, quill poised. "Wouldn't removing her thereby endanger her?"
"Only if she were the Death Eaters' target," snarled Bilgeworthy. "Which she isn't - Weasley is. Another reason to remove her to a better environment…"
Unnoticed by the others amidst the confusion, a soft pssst issued from Luna's purse. She opened it and stared into it for several seconds, brows furrowed. Then her face cleared and a satisfied smile appeared. Luna snapped the purse shut and addressed Manwaring. "I agree. Hope should go with a member of the Child Welfare Committee for a few days, until this is all sorted out."
Everyone was surprised by Luna's acquiescence; Ron was appalled into speechlessness. Manwaring was the first to recover. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," she said. "I appreciate…"
"And correct me if I'm wrong, but the Headmaster or Headmistress of Hogwarts has, by tradition, always held a seat on that committee, yes?" At the silence that greeted her pronouncement, she gave a slight shrug. "Feel free to verify. It's in Hogwarts, A History, I've been told. You will admit that Minerva McGonagall has ample experience dealing with girls Hope's age. And there are very few places safer than Hogwarts, as we all know. Besides," she added, "I imagine the Headmistress won't be all that surprised by Hope's new status."
"It is hardly Ministry policy…" began Chisler.
"If we're to entrust our daughter to one of your committee," Luna stated firmly, "it will be one of our choosing."
"She is not your…"
"Well, de facto, if not de jure." Luna turned to the reporters, who by this point were frantically scribbling on their notepads. "Would one of you happen to carry a Speaking Glass I could borrow, to call her?" she asked, knowing full well that Tenpenny at least would have a Reduced Glass in his pocket.
Chisler, Manwaring and Bilgeworthy exchanged glances, and silently agreed that there was nothing to be gained by pressing further. "Oh, very well," allowed Chisler, "Headmistress McGonagall can take charge of Miss Potter until the committee can convene. In the meantime, the girl will wait here with us… so we can see her safely delivered. As for the rest of you," and his eyes raked past the assembled reporters, to settle on Ron, Luna and Ginny, "I believe this meeting is concluded."
Hope turned to her parents, her eyes huge. "Mum? Dad? Are they serious…? Do I really have to… to…?" She read her answer in their faces. She inhaled sharply, and all the adults in the room were certain a screaming match was about to begin.
It didn't happen. Hope let out her breath and said, not loudly but quite forcefully, "No. No, I won't go."
"For the moment, lioness, I think you must," said Luna sadly. "Just until we get it all straightened out."
Hope turned to Ron, to see him sigh in defeat. "You knew," she said in sudden enlightenment. "You kept it secret all these years because you knew…"
"That they could take you from us, yeah. But you couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? You just had to keep asking the wrong questions," muttered Ron. "Well, you've got what you wanted. Congratulations, Hope Justinia Potter."
The next instant, he felt her throw her arms around his waist and give him a bone-crushing hug. Her brown hair flew wildly into his face - in a flash of nostalgia, he could almost imagine it was a young Hermione who held him, Hermione from their days at Hogwarts.
When she spoke, the fierceness of her voice was Hermione's, too. "Hope Justinia Weasley," she declared in a strong whisper.
Ron wrapped his arms around Hope and held her for the longest moment of his life - a moment still far too short, ending far too soon, as Muriel Manwaring came forward to lay her hand on Hope's shoulder. "Come along now, dear," she said, not unkindly. She pulled Hope out of Ron's embrace, away from him…
Silently, Hope stretched out her arms towards Ron, as he forced himself to back away. Her eyes - Harry's eyes - beseeched him, begged him to make things right. Ron's vision blurred; he might have stumbled, if not for the sudden appearance of Luna and Bill on either side, steadying him. With Ginny bringing up the rear, they walked through the door, out of the conference room and into the main lobby of Gringotts.
Bill started to say something, but stopped at the sight of Ron's granite face. Ginny's indignation was likewise quelled. For a moment, no one said anything - as far as Ron was concerned, there wasn't much to say.
"Ron… we'll talk to Dad," Ginny offered cautiously. "Soon's we're out of here… we won't let the grass grow. We'll get her back to you."
His response was, for Ron, unusually oblique. "Now she knows about Hell."