A/N: Hellooooooo! I hope everyone had a pleasant holiday. I'm slightly ashamed of how long this update has taken, but I'm willing to bet that when I get my wisdom teeth out next week, I will definitely have more time to write-unless of course the medicine leaves me all groggy and/or high. In either case, the writing will probably not be up to standard. Anyway, thanks to all of my lovely reviewers-this one's for you!
Disclaimer: I own nothing, nada, zilch.
Chapter 8: The Ends of Means
A half hour later sat Hermione alone in a blindingly white interrogation room much like the one she had just been spying on. She supposed she had Persephone to thank for being left alone once Doyle roughly deposited her in the chair and modified the bindings on her wrists so that she was practically shackled to it. But at least she was at liberty to try and think her way out of the mess without distraction, and she was grateful to the female Auror for providing at least that much.
Of course, Hermione had no idea if she were truly alone. She avoided looking to her left where the glass on the wall masqueraded as nothing less innocent than a standard mirror. She took greater care that none of her inward thoughts would inadvertently escape her mouth, for even if no wizard surveyed her from that little anteroom, the enchanted quill would certainly mark down every word she said.
And so she silentlyreflected on the events that had transpired in the past few weeks, hoping that maintaining a steady use of her brain would keep parts of her memory from deteriorating. She had no idea if it was effective and even less how to detect if it wasn't. She had to focus.
Charlotte Fairclough, upon the death of her beloved husband, seeks psychological help. Her murder is constructed to look like suicide and her friends and neighbors are made to vouch for that.
Adam Finnin, a nearby resident and acquaintance of Charlotte, receives therapy for years before abruptly seeming to take his own life. Again his neighbors can attest to his unhappiness, but only after repeated interrogation.
The stories are changing, but who is weaving the new threads in them? Why were both deaths made to look like they were done by the victim's own hand? Why were these people made targets? And how did this involve Hermione, other than that the victims were both clients of hers? Why were there more questions than answers?
Hermione was startled from her musings by the squeak of the door as it swung forcefully open from the anteroom. She schooled her face into a detached calm, a disinterest that betrayed neither her fear nor her fervent desire to assess her situation.
The first figure to enter the room was a tall man with thinning locks of light brown hair combed to cover a balding patch and a wide moustache too dark to be of natural coloring. He strode confidently into the room wearing not the scarlet robes of an Auror, but the simple navy ones of the MLE. And though he gave the impression of power and of one Hermione shouldn't dare lie to, she also felt that he would treat her fairly and honestly. The fear in her gut subsided briefly before flaring up wildly as two figures followed the officer into the room-Persephone and Doyle.
The latter walked in carrying the briefcase he had confiscated during her arrest. He wordlessly set it down on the far end of the table and moved to lean against the wall in the corner across from the door. Though he did not look at her once while he did this, Hermione felt his gaze zoning in on her once he relaxed against the wall. Persephone directed a look of concern and sympathy in her direction but like her Auror counterpart said nothing. Her lips were set in a grim line as she stood silently behind the tall man in is navy robes. Where was Harry?
"Miss Granger, is it?" said the man and Hermione's eyes snapped to his at attention. She did not reply and he did not need her to; he knew exactly who she was and why she was there. "Of course, no need to ask who you are, I've heard a great deal about you," he continued in a civil tone as though the Aurors weren't present and he and Hermione were having tea. "Although-" he took a seat in the wooden chair across from hers, "even knowing your age, given all that you've done, I always imagined you being older."
This finally loosened Hermione's tongue. She replied in a voice hoarse from disuse and nerves, "I get that a lot. I'm regretting the day it doesn't come up." She frowned to herself. Those words seemed to flow so easily from her lips as though she had said them before.
The man chuckled good-naturedly at her little joke. "Well, I have always wanted to meet you, although I had hoped for better circumstances." His jovial manner became professional and serious at once. "Miss Granger, I am Inspector Bradshaw. I believe we both want to get this over and done with as soon as possible, so it would be best if you could cooperate." He folded his hands in front of him and regarded her reservedly, as though he hadn't just expressed his desire to make her acquaintance. Doyle scowled at her from his corner.
She nodded silently, returning to her calm detachment, careful that no thought or emotion break through for use against her.
Bradshaw set his lips in a thin line, steeling himself for the interrogation. "Now, first things first, do you know why you're here, Miss Granger?"
Before she could speak, Doyle stepped boldly forward. "She knows her charge well enough, Bradshaw. Obstruction of justice, as told to her not a half hour ago by none other than Perris here!" he informed the inspector, though he never took his focus off Hermione.
Inspector Brandshaw spun himself in his chair to confirm this with Persephone. She became flustered at the attention, something that surprised Hermione, who was used to the easy and commanding presence Persephone exuded normally. The petite brunette shuffled in her scarlet robes before she answered the questioning look from the MLE officer. "It's true, we read her the charge and her rights."
"I see," was all the inspector said before turning to face Hermione once more. Persephone hid her apologetic look when Doyle's eyes flashed in her direction. "Doyle," Bradshaw said sharply, "while I appreciate your assistance in this matter, as you and Agent Perris were the ones who apprehended the suspect, I would like to remind you that the MLE department has jurisdiction over charges of obstruction of justice. Catch all the Dark wizards you want, sir, leave the petty crime to us."
Doyle surprisingly said nothing to this clear warning and instead returned to his post in the corner.
Hermione cleared her throat and began speaking before the inspector could continue the interview. "Sir, with all due respect, on what grounds were these charges made? And who allegedly tipped off the Aurors to make my arrest?"
Bradshaw frowned. "I wasn't aware that there was such a tip, Miss Granger, although even so it should not have gone to the Auror depart-"
"The suspect triggered the silent alarm of interrogation room two when she entered without the necessary clearance. It appears that Agent Potter was her escort," explained Doyle, barely suppressing his smugness that he knew more than the officer that had just lectured him on jurisdiction.
Hermione groaned inwardly. The last thing she needed was for Harry's reputation to be damaged by her immature foray into investigative work.
"Very well," replied Bradshaw, lacing his fingers together on the table in front of him and facing Hermione fully. "I hadn't thought that the alarms would be in place for just the interview of a witness. But that begs the question: what exactly were you doing there, Miss Granger?"
Hermione steeled herself, drawing on her limited deception skills, and said, "I was-" Her mind went blank, what had she been about to say? Her eyes darted to Persephone, whose face was screwed up in a look of concentration as she presumably tried to assist Hermione in her reply. "Just curious," she recovered.
"Curious?" repeated Bradshaw dubiously.
She was quick to elaborate, anxious to absolve Harry. "I was curious to hear the testimony of a witness in Adam Finnin's case. I snuck into the room on my own, Harry didn't even know I was with him. I was under his invisibility cloak."
"I see," the officer said again. He looked to his left and Doyle came forward at once, setting Hermione's briefcase on the table and smartly clicking open the metal clasps. "But why so interested in Adam Finnin's case?"
"I'm assuming that you've examined the contents of my briefcase," said Hermione calmly. "So you already know that I am-was Mr. Finnin's counselor. And given recent events, I would say that I am justified in my curiosity as to why my clients seem to suddenly be dying. Yes, I was present as that man was interviewed, but I'm at a loss as to how this warrants an obstruction of justice charge, as I was merely observing." She regarded the MLE officer expectantly.
Instead of answering straightaway, he turned to the two Aurors behind him and offered a polite invitation for a conference outside in a tone that brooked no argument. Once again Hermione was left alone to try and garner her situation from the whispered conversation that drifted through the crack between the door and its frame.
"I thought you said that you saw her in possession of the recording parchment," Bradshaw was saying, his frustration very apparent.
"Doyle was a tad hasty in saying that, Bradshaw, we couldn't see anything at all. Miss Granger was hidden underneath an invisibility cloak," came Persephone's voice, its character once more returned to its normal state of poise.
Silence, then, "I see. Well then, we have nothing against Miss Granger without that evidence." Hermione could almost see Bradshaw glaring at the pair of Aurors. "I'm going to have to send her home," he continued, his voice getting louder as the trio re-entered the room.
The officer's face was an expression of annoyance at his wasted time. "Well, Miss Granger, it seems we have been mistaken in our accusations. I hope that you will accept our apologies on behalf of the Ministry and the Magical Law Enforcement Department," he said sincerely.
Hermione's heart leapt at his words-freedom! But he wasn't finished. "I must, however, issue you a formal warning for trespassing without proper clearance. That goes for you and Agent Potter as well. Unfortunately, I do not have the parchment you will both have to sign, so I will have to run and fetch it," he said as he headed once more toward the door.
"I'll go get Harry," Persephone volunteered. Bradshaw nodded and left without another word. Persephone turned at once to Hermione and said feelingly, "Hermione, I'm terribly sorry about all this. I'll just go get Harry, I can't figure out why he's not here already! I tried to help, but I'm afraid I just made it worse."
Hermione smiled, magnanimous in her relief to finally being on her way home. Why was she skulking around the Ministry building under Harry's invisibility cloak anyway? "It's all right, it's the thought that counts, isn't it?"
"It's not your job to help suspects escape from their punishments, Perris," said Doyle gruffly, having said nothing since his initial outburst.
Persephone regarded him coolly. "We'll talk about this later, Doyle," she told him curtly, flashing Hermione a tight-lipped smile as she headed out the door.
Hermione and Doyle remained silent while the sound of Persephone's quick footsteps retreated. Hermione's discomfort grew when Doyle's hand delved into his robe to retrieve his wand. She doubted there was much he could get away with within Ministry confines, but she still felt uneasy knowing that her own wand was also somewhere within the folds of his robes. There was not much need for her to further develop her wandless magic once the war ended, so Hermione wasn't sure she could even summon her wand if it came to that.
The Auror flicked his wand forcefully toward the false mirror. "Quill off," he commanded with some tone of authority. Hermione's eye grew wide with the thought that no one and nothing was supervising her little interview anymore. And her hands were still bound. Why couldn't Persephone hurry up?
"You can't hold me forever, you know," she said through clenched teeth, oddly astounded and unsurprised by the brooding Auror's behavior. "I also fail to see the need for keeping my hands bounded to my chair," she added with more confidence than she felt.
He grinned back at her a grin of triumph, daring her to test whether his word was good. "No, but I can hold you long enough." He said nothing of her bindings.
She did not doubt him, and she would be lying if she said that she wasn't suddenly very afraid. But she was no damsel in distress; she had been through worse than this. Her eyes narrowed in a forced show of anger to hide the fact that her hands were gripped in fists so tightly that she was sure there would be permanent half-moon indentations from her fingernails. "What do you mean?" she demanded, a quavering note sneaking into her voice.
Doyle's smirk grew smug. "I'm very sure a woman of your great learning can grasp the concept-did you ever pause to consider that perhaps a charge of obstruction of justice was just a preamble to an even greater charge?"
The fear was rising up in her throat now, its metallic taste choking her tongue so that her speech was slightly slurred. "And what charge would that be?"
She jumped as Doyle's hand flashed high in the air before dramatically beating down on the leather surface of her briefcase. "Now now, Miss Granger, ignorance does not become you! We both know you did it!"
Hermione was growing impatient. "Did what?"
"You murdered Charlotte Fairclough and Adam Finnin!" he bellowed without missing a beat, his solid fist beating the table to punctuate every word.
She gasped in the great silence that followed Doyle's outburst. Finding her voice at last, she drew on the last shred of courage in her power, and said in a clear voice, "I thought the Ministry's official stance was that these were victims of suicide."
He stared at her for a moment, surprised at her abrupt calm. "You and I both know that they were murdered," he said in a deadly tone. "And don't even think of using Potter to get you out of this either."
Rolling her eyes at the predictable threat. "What do you have against Harry anyway?" she asked in a tone that showed her irritation.
To her surprise, Doyle actually seemed to consider the question. "I've got nothing against him, just people who use their well-placed connections to get them out of trouble. And now Perris seems to have joined you little fan club," he remarked acidly.
"Well, rest assured that I don't need him to do that, as I am innocent," she said, spitting the words out.
Hermione internally agreed that her former clients were murdered but wasn't sure if she should say nothing or share what she knew in case he could help her. But admitting what she knew to her accuser…what she knew? What did she know?
A sense of panic completely unrelated to the intimidation of the Auror in front of her began to overtake her. Her mind, once crowded with worries and doubts, slowly began to empty and she felt momentarily peaceful in their absence. There was a small niggling thought that she was forgetting something and that this something was important, but she was having difficulty making her mind process it. Don't fight it, she heard the familiar but unnamed voice say sotto voce, for her alone.
"What were you doing eavesdropping on a confidential witness testimony?" broke Doyle's voice through her thoughts.
Her eyes focused back on his looming form as he leaned toward her on the table. The blankness in her mind stretched…she didn't know why she had been there. She looked up at him, lost, and felt a creeping pain pound behind her forehead.
"Why are you interfering with witness testimonies?"
Her head snapped up. Something about testimonies being changed-that's what she had to remember. The pain worsened and she let out a groan that Doyle mistook for weakness. He plodded on, question after question, probably hoping to wear her down into giving up information.
"How are you doing it? Imperius? Memory charms? Bribery?" he demanded eagerly until she longed for her hands to be free just so she could cover her ears against his rough voice.
"I don't know!" she shrieked at last.
Doyle leaped at her cry like it was a confession. "You don't know? Is this an admission of guilt?"
"Does it sound like one?" she snapped rhetorically. What was taking Harry so long to get here?
He flipped open her briefcase and threw some familiar in her direction. "Then why are you carrying these?"
She barely had to glance at the disordered stack of worn parchment to know that they were Adam's files. With a sigh, she replied, "I already told you, I'm Adam's counselor. I-" she broke off. There was something scribbled in one of the margins. She had to lean forward to make it out. MEMORY.
She gasped again, this time as a barrage of images and thoughts flickered in her mind's eye: meeting Charlotte, waving a cheery goodbye, the man in the interrogation room, the recording parchment, odd looks from her friends as her mind flip flopped in indecision, the wood grain of her desk where a personal parchment should be, enveloping darkness.
She remembered it all! MEMORY.
All of a sudden, the door burst open and in strode Harry, all billowing scarlet robes and righteous anger. "That's enough, Doyle."
"I can't believe him, I just can't!" Harry said for the third time later that afternoon.
"Harry, calm down," Hermione said, placing a hand on his arm as they exited the Ministry building. They both had to sign official affidavits outlining their offense and their accompanying confession. Luckily for them there was no actual punishment for trespassing-but it would go on whatever kind of permanent record the Ministry kept for each witch or wizard. "Besides," she continued with a glance around to check for eavesdroppers, "we found out what we needed to: the witnesses are changing testimony and the Aurors and MLE officers are starting to notice."
Harry pursed his lips as he listened. "You're right, we got what we came for."
She squeezed his arm, shifting closer to him as they walked down the crowded London sidewalk. The sun had set and commuters were on their way from work; it would be difficult to get a cab. "I'm sorry I got you into trouble though," she apologized.
He shrugged. "S'no big deal, if I didn't think the risk was worth it to learn more, I wouldn't have brought you in there. I'm just sorry I didn't get there sooner."
"Yeah, what took you so long?" she asked. She noticed that her hand was still on his arm and pulled it back to her side with a faint blush.
He didn't seem to notice. "I have no idea. I was in my office trying to find my communicator so that I could call Persephone but I couldn't remember where I put it, and then there she was telling me you had been arrested and that I had to come straightaway-are we gonna tube it or do you want to Apparate?" he answered, pausing at the entrance to the Underground.
It was Hermione's turn to purse her lips, though she wasn't exactly considering their transportation options. "And did you end up finding it, your communicator?" she asked.
He laughed. "Yeah, that was the weird thing, it was in my pocket the entire time. I must have forgotten-" he broke off and met her wide eyes. She knew that he had realized the possible implications of his sudden bout of absent-mindedness.
"Yeah, I forgot again too," she said quickly. "Look, we need to figure this out. Meet you at home-" The faint pop of her Apparation cut off her last word and left a thoroughly confused behind her.
She arrived in the darkness of her living room, cursing as she bumped her shin against the coffee table. There was a quiet rustling in the kitchen and the light was already on. "Who's that?" she asked, knowing it couldn't be Harry for he had yet to arrive.
"Just me!" came the rich baritone of Ron's voice.
A slight pop to her right announced the presence of Harry. "Hermione," he started immediately, "what do you mean, you forgot again? I thought-what was that?" He looked toward the kitchen as Hermione flicked on the light switch for the living room.
"It's just Ron," she answered, heading for the source of the rustling and discovering that it was just the contents of her and Harry's refrigerator as Ron perused for a pre-dinner snack. "And he's stealing our food again!" She gave Harry a look that promised to continue their conversation later.
"Snitch," said Ron, poking his head out from behind the refrigerator door. "This is just to tide me over until dinner in…an hour."
Hermione sunk into one of the stools at the counter. "Well, so glad we could accommodate you and your wondrous appetite," she said sarcastically but with a smile. She began going through the owl post from the basket by the window. "Just what I thought, no reprimand from work for skiving today. Looks like I've pretty much blown it," she told her friends dejectedly.
"Rotten luck, mate," said Ron lightly in that affectedly blasé way that Hermione supposed he used so as not to disprove her opinion of his emotional range. She sensed that there was more to her red-headed best friend than he let on. He patted her twice on the back as he passed en route to the kitchen table. Harry took the stool next to her and they spun so that they could keep talking to Ron.
"Yeah, well, that's nothing compared to the day we've had," said Hermione, just starting to feel the effects of exhaustion. She pinched the bridge of her nose and pretended not to feel the concerned look Harry was giving her.
Ron was looking back and forth between them trying to hide his mischievous smirk at Harry's poorly hidden glance and her creeping blush. "That bad, huh?" he asked, digging in to his snack and masking his amusement with polite interest.
Harry looked away from her to answer Ron's question in a simple but accurate synopsis of the day's events. "Yeah, that bad. Tried to sneak Hermione into one of the interrogation rooms in the Magical Law Enforcement department and accidentally tripped one of the security alarms. Next thing we know is that Hermione's been arrested for obstruction of justice and I'm stuck wandering my office searching for my partner like an idiot."
Hermione instantly reached over to quell his harsh self-abasement. "You're not an idiot, Harry, if anyone's an idiot it's me, since I practically threw you to wolves by being with you at all."
Harry shrugged as he had earlier. "I told you, it's not a big deal. The worse I'll get is an equivalent of a Hogwarts detention." Hermione pursed her lips in an unsure smile, grateful that he did not seem to be terribly upset by a possible departmental reprimand.
"Never mind all the gushy apologies, what is this about you getting arrested?" demanded Ron, completely thrown by the events.
Hermione heaved a great sigh and gritted out the words. "Trumped up charges of obstruction of justice-they thought that I was making modifications to the recording parchment of the interrogation that I was listening in on. But according to your Doyle," said with a significant glance toward Harry, "it was just a farce to hold me while they gathered evidence for a charge of murder. Double homicide."
"What!?" said Harry and Ron together, their mouths agape. It would have been comical had the situation not been so grave.
"Doyle was insinuating that I was behind the deaths of Adam and Charlotte. That I held the gun so to speak," she explained. Ron's gape turned to confusion. "Muggle phrase," she said dismissively.
Harry's eyebrows were knit in calculation. "So now they're treating the deaths as homicides. Why didn't I know about this?" he wondered.
Hermione shrugged, looking apologetically at him again. "Yeah, but it was just Doyle who said it, so I don't know if it's the official position of either department or whatever. Maybe they didn't tell you because they thought that you already had too much of a vested interest in this." She did not have to add "because of me" to the end.
He said nothing but made noncommittal noises through closed lips. She longed to take his hand, anything to show him the comfort that she too needed, but she held back just as she had so many times before.
"Hang on, did both of them die by poison?" Ron asked seriously, breaking her from her reverie. He had a look of concentration on his face that she hadn't seen perhaps since the horcrux hunt. She looked to Harry for the answer, realizing that she didn't know about Adam.
He nodded as though he didn't exactly follow Ron's train of thought. "Hemlock, the both of them," he added.
She felt her own frown lift as she considered the strange similarity. "Death by hemlock," she repeated in wonder.
"And both your patients," said Harry, catching on to the emerging pattern.
"Clients," she corrected automatically, though she nodded in confirmation. "Victims of war and loss, residents of Hogsmeade, my clients, deaths made to look like suicides, framing me," she continued, counting the facts on her fingers as he voice lifted in question at the last one.
Her thoughts roamed in endless circles through her head. There were all these strange likenesses between her late clients, and the buzzword of the moment seemed to be "hemlock." Her head came up sharply to meet the inquisitive eyes of her best friends. "What do you know about hemlock?" she asked the room at large.
Harry shrugged.
"It's a poison containing a neurotoxin which disrupts the workings of the central nervous system and is toxic to people and all classes of livestock. Its effects consist of paralysis, loss of speech, depression of respiratory functions, and…death," said Ron in an oddly mechanical voice as though he had swallowed a textbook with the information in it.
In other words, he sounded almost exactly like Hermione did when she regurgitated facts from a book she had read. She and Harry regarded him with no small measure of surprise. "Where did you pick that up?" she asked.
He seemed almost as surprised as she did. "Fred and George," he explained. "They wanted to use hemlock as an ingredient in one of their jokes."
She thought back to the stores of the poison she had seen in the unlocked cupboards of the St. Mungo's storeroom-and Mark's justification for its presence. "I suppose it could be used as a sedative in small doses," she allowed. "But with enough it could lead to death, like you said, Ron."
Harry spoke at once the conclusion that she had reached. "So we know that whoever killed Charlotte and Adam had access to large quantities of hemlock."
"St. Mungo's," confirmed Hermione, as Ron once again observed his friends' ability to predict each other's thoughts. She stared sightlessly at the wood floor, reviewing the rows of hemlock solution that she had seen with her own eyes under the guard of her friend, Mark Bonner.
Mark-her thoughts kept returning to him. He had access to the poison, and a working knowledge of the Knockturn Alley market for it. She was reluctant to voice her fears, that Mark was somehow connected to the deaths of her clients, but concluded that if she couldn't speek freely in front of her best friends, then she would have to remain silent. And she didn't have time for silence.
"I've seen where they keep the hemlock," she started in a quiet voice. "Mark is supposed to lock the key to the place that it's stored, but he always forgets." She continued outlining her logic, trying to make her friends understand what she was saying without having to make an actual accusation.
"So you think it's Mark?" asked Harry uncertainly.
She shrugged, not happy with the way the evidence seemed to be pointing. "I don't know, it was an idea," she said, less sure than she had been. This was Mark.
"Mark, I'm-in-love-with-Hermione-and-would-gladly-have-her-babies Mark?" said Ron dubiously, the humor behind his words lost in the tone of accusation. "That's a bit of a stretch."
She nodded half-heartedly, feeling drained and out of ideas. Deep down she knew it couldn't be Mark, it just couldn't. She dropped her head into her hands, rubbing her tired eyes until she saw stars and reminding herself that it was still just afternoon.
"Besides, we don't have motive," said Harry, invoking his Auror experience.
"Unless he's hacked off at you for turning him down," teased Ron.
She did not have too little strength to keep her from glaring at Ron's poorly timed jest. "You're right," she conceded, "I'm grasping at straws here. It's all a bit overwhelming, I feel like I'm missing some crucial bit of information."
"Not to mention the fact that someone is making you go mental," Ron pointed out rationally.
Hermione and Harry turned to him and then each other simultaneously. "And now you," she said to Harry, ignoring Ron's usual jibe at her sanity.
His eyes were fixed on the countertop beside him. "And you have no idea what's causing it?" he asked, his eyes still screwed up in concentration as all three of them struggled to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
Hermione huffed helplessly. "No, and I haven't been able to give it much thought. For a while there it seemed to not be an issue." She was of course referring to the time when her mind had been addled to the point of easy acceptance of Charlotte's suicide, when she had dismissed her notes on memory alteration as the result of too much over-analyzing.
"But you've still got them, haven't you?" Ron said, probably unable to imagine Hermione ever throwing away something of such importance.
She thought back to where they would be if the notes still existed. "I think so, but I'll have to search for them." She made a mental list of places to check before she forgot, or before it was made to slip her mind. Her shudder of dread went unnoticed by either of her two friends, as Ron had just begun talking.
"We could ask Ginny if she knows anything about a charm or spell that could create the kind of effects you're talking about," he suggested, his finger absently scratching his chin as his gaze slid to somewhere far away.
At once Hermione's mood cleared. "That's brilliant, Ron!" she exclaimed, all business again. She hopped off her stool and began to pace the kitchen, missing the apprehensive look the boys shared. "So Ron can ask Ginny and I'll check over potions again and see what there is," she said to herself. Turning to the other two, she continued briskly, "In the meantime we must devise a way to keep us from forgetting everything we've learned so far."
Harry and Ron glanced at each other and then back to Hermione, at a loss. She felt a strange sense of déjà vu-how many times had they looked to her for the answer in all their years of friendship? Thinking back to what had helped her to remember before when she was being interrogated, she gave a cry of triumph and quickly snatched the marker sitting beside the telephone. Carefully she jotted one word, MEMORY, in the same spiky capitals she had written on Adam's case file, on her left hand so that it was clearly visible.
She looked up to find Harry and Ron regarding her with raised eyebrows. "What?" she said defensively.
"That's how you're going to keep your memory?" Ron asked incredulously. Clearly he had been expecting something worthier of her title as the brightest witch of the age.
"Yes," she replied with dignity. "Anyone would be hard-pressed to remove permanent marker from skin-- with or without magic. And besides, what we need," she continued, now directing her explanation to Harry, "is a trigger word, something that will jog your memory. If that's done, everything comes flooding back in the way that you originally remembered it."
Harry's face broke out into a smile. "Brilliant," he breathed with a smile of pride. She blushed at the compliment, forcing herself to remember that he only thought of her as a best friend, and busied herself removing and replacing the cap of the marker.
"Well, aren't you going to write it on Harry too?" Ron asked innocently. Hermione glared daggers at him for a moment without Harry seeing-he too was considering Ron with an odd expression on his face-before she boldly reached forward and quickly scribbled the same word on Harry's hand.
Ron was looking at the both of them with a smug satisfaction, failing to hide his amusement of Hermione's discomfort. "Now the only problem is remembering what the significance of the word MEMORY is in the first place," he said, and Hermione and Harry's gazes met in a matching stricken expression. Neither of them had thought of that.
"Let's hope that it doesn't come to that," said Hermione with a forced optimism that died in her throat.
Suddenly the clock chimed the hour that Ron was due to leave. Gathering his few belongings, Ron let Hermione and Harry walk him to the door.
"Try not to worry too much, Hermione, though I know you can't help it," Ron said bracingly with a hint of chuckle. "I'll be by first thing tomorrow," he said to Harry as he went to shut the door behind Ron.
"Are you all right?" Harry asked quietly after the door clicked shut behind their red-headed best friend.
"You know, you don't have to keep asking that, Harry, I'll let you know when I'm not all right," she answered half-jokingly.
Harry feigned a wistful sigh, sliding onto the living room couch and beckoning Hermione to join him. "If only the female mind really operated like that. It would make women a lot easier for at least me and Ron to understand."
"Eh, I think Ron's doing all right with Luna," allowed Hermione. She paused to consider and then went on with a laughing tone, "In fact, he may be the only person who understands Luna."
"True," laughed Harry. The pair slipped into a companionable silence.
"He seems happy though, doesn't he?" Hermione asked, continuing their conversation.
"Yeah," agreed Harry with a trace of something wistful in his tone.
She glanced at him curiously. Even later she would not know what had possessed her to ask. All at once the words were out of her mouth and out in the open before she could even contrive a way to take them back. "Are you happy?"
He turned to her in some surprise and seemed to actually reflect on her question. "I don't think anyone has asked me that. Ever," he replied as though her question had provoked some thought.
"You didn't answer my question, Harry," she persisted. She had a strange feeling that to pursue this line of thought would bring them to the brink of something vague and undefined; she was simultaneously thrilled and terrified at the prospect. Nothing else but the unknown could invoke these feelings in her.
"To be honest, I never thought I'd live long enough to wonder," Harry said as though far away in his own memories.
"Harry!" she exclaimed in breathless alarm.
He shrugged, still not looking at her. "Sorry, but it's true." He said it like it was, a fact.
She reached a hand toward him, for once not thinking of how he might interpret her touch-and consequently, her feelings for him-but about the comfort of her best friend, as she had done countless times in the same past that he was still stuck in. "Well, you're here and alive now, so what do you think?"
He finally met her gaze, his eyes brimming with the same unknown that she felt them approach with each quickened heartbeat.
He opened his mouth to speak and Hermione was sure that whatever came out would change everything. "I think… I need some coffee," he said in a rush, rising from the couch and hastily exiting to the kitchen.
Fighting back a groan at the lost moment, Hermione internally berated herself for scaring her friend off with her intense gaze and loaded questions. Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut? She sank deeper into the cushions; she would never have the courage to just tell Harry the truth about how she felt about him. She could see it clearly: they would dance around each other for a few days, she would swallow her feelings and push them out of sight, their friendship would be maintained, and everyone would be happy. Bloody hell, how bleak, the Ron-like part of her conscience screamed inside her head.
She rose from the couch, a fresh determination swelling within her. A sudden death would not accompany her telling Harry that she desired more than friendship from him, and she died a little each day that she kept it all to herself. When it was made, the decision was entirely and utterly simple. As the come-what-may smile spread slowly across her face, Hermione strode across the room and to the kitchen to let her feelings be known once and for all.
Her confident gait faltered when she walked in to see Harry bent at the sink with the tell-tale defeated slump of his shoulders.
She sped over to him at once. "Harry, what's wrong?" she asked, her momentary assuredness usurped by her friend's pitiful droop.
"No, Hermione," he said in an unexpectedly harsh tone. She stiffened and instinctively began to retrace her path. In two bounds he had crossed to her and gathered her in his arms, not seeming to notice that she was still rigid within his embrace. Slowly she relaxed and tentatively placed her arms around his waist, stunned at not only his unusual display of affection but his sudden moodswing. "It's just so hard," he said almost too softly for him to hear. If had been holding her any looser, she would have missed it.
"What's hard?" she asked in some considerable confusion.
"You're the most important person to me, Hermione, you and our friendship," he stated with more passion than she had heard from him in years. He released his hold on her and she reluctantly pulled back from his arms. He was staring at her with that same unreadable look, his eyes wandering warmly over her face. Her pulse raced at his uncharacteristically ardent gaze. He took a deep breath as though to ready himself and said, "It's hard to know that every day I risk it just in the way that I feel about you."
What? "Way you feel about me?" she echoed dumbly. Her mouth had gone dry at the implication of his words. Could it be that he felt the same?
His hands reached up to cup her face as she struggled through her stupor. "I've tried everything: ignoring it, dating other witches, taking more assignments. But I can't stand to be away from you. You, Hermione, you're my happiness. Our friendship is not just mine to risk-"
Finally she got a grip on her composure, at least enough to comprehend that this man-her best friend, her first friend-was declaring himself to her. Quickly and before she really had time to consider her actions, she stood on her toes and cut him off. His lips lingered motionlessly against hers for what felt like ages before they softened and returned her kiss.
"What was that?" Harry said a little dazedly a moment later.
"A kiss," she said simply, strangely devoid of any embarrassment at her impulsive behavior. "I thought I'd put you out of your misery. Everything you said was true for me too, tenfold."
His uncertain grin faded and he regarded her seriously. "We can't go back once we go forward," he said with the same breathlessness that she had had earlier.
There was no need for a pause to consider. She reached her arms around his neck and marveled at the close contact. "I'm willing to risk it," was her reply, and the last words that would be spoken that evening.
With a grin that brought new illumination to his green eyes, Harry leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Hours later she would finally be able to confirm that the ends had justified the means.
A/N: Longer chapter than I projected. What do you think?