Official Fine Print: Nope. Not mine. The brainchildren of the mighty pen of JK Rowling. Just playing with them. Honest.
Here With Me
Chapter 22
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Hermione wrapped her cloak more closely around her as she found a seat in the Quidditch stands, watching the end of the Gryffindor practice. Ron had been driving Ginny, Vicky Frobisher and Katie Bell hard until Katie had found a weak spot in his defense of the left most hoop and begun exploiting it mercilessly. His frustration level, both with them and himself, was almost off the charts. Kirk and Sloper were idly watching the show, having returned the bludgers to the trunk below already. Harry was at the far side of the pitch playing catch-and-release with the snitch.
She observed carefully, delighting in a rare opportunity to enjoy him so utterly absorbed in something other than gloom and survival until he spotted her and pulled up. He motioned to indicate that he was just going to catch the snitch and come over to where she waited and took off at top speed. Almost as if it knew the game was up the snitch hared off down the pitch, feinting high and low. Harry followed its movements, never more than a fingers' breadth away. He crisscrossed the pitch twice in hard pursuit and Hermione watched, holding her breath, as it darted in over the stands and he determinedly followed it. She saw it zoom along a line of seats directly towards her, heard a buzzing zip as it whipped round behind her. Harry pulled up hard, stopping his broom within inches, out of breath but grinning.
"Turn around, slowly, nice and smooth until you've got a bead on it. Stay real still and then snatch. Go on, you can do it," he coached.
She rolled her eyes but eased around, hearing more than seeing the buzzing golden-winged ball. She hesitated a moment, stilling herself and trying to get a sense of its motion; then lunged.
She had it! She'd got it! The Snitch! It felt even smaller then she would have thought and continued to flutter valiantly between her fingers, quivering.
"Good girl!" Harry laughed, green eyes alight. Hermione thought she'd catch a thousand snitches to keep them that way. "I always knew you had the speed. If we could only get you on a broom…"
"I can sort of see what you like about that," she told him. "Very satisfying somehow. But you can just forget the whole broom bit, Potter. Not happening."
He shrugged and dismounted into the stands to sit next to her, eyes on Ron. "He'll be ages yet. He won't stop until he's stopped Katie. Do you want to go ahead?"
"No. I'll wait. Why can't the rest of you go, though? Kirk and Sloper have been circling for a quarter hour already."
"Team solidarity, or so he claims. Doesn't want the Slytherins to see us come off the pitch except as a team. Daft git. They're only looking for an opportunity to cheat, that lot. They could care less what our morale is like." He sighed and scrubbed at his eyes, rather uselessly with his Quidditch gloves on. "He's a great captain, though. Far better than I would have been."
"You look tired," she told him softly, and suddenly inspired, shifted to the row of seats behind him and moved her fingers to the back of his neck. Talk about tense. "Make that wired. Nice knots. No wonder you're so cranky."
"Am not cranky," he said, his head literally falling forward. "When'm I ever cranky?"
"Harry, you blew a hole in the wall for goodness sake. Not to mention trying to legilimens Dumbledore," she informed him, lowering her hands to his shoulders. Goodness. Even tighter.
"That wasn't cranky, that was defensive. It's your fault, really. Aren't you, in your role as official snoggee to the Boy-Who-Lived, meant to be, erm, relaxing me?"
"Isn't that what I am, in fact, now doing?"
"Yeah, well… yeah. Umm, yeah, I would have to admit that in fact you are. Very ummhmm nicely, too."
Once he got over that whole uncertain-about-being-touched thing he really got over it, she decided. Either that or no one had ever actually given him a back rub before. Although, come to think of it, who would have? Hardly one of the Dursleys. She thought of all the moments of comfort in her own life; her mother tracing the alphabet on her drowsy four year old back at nap time, her fathers' famous foot rubs. Adoring pats on the head and hair ruffling from her Grandfather while he praised her report card, her Grandmother's enveloping lavender-scented comfort. While small Harry was shut up in his cupboard alone.
Grown Harry was pretty much putty in her hands at the moment.
She kneaded the tightness on either side of the base of his neck until she sensed him unwinding, then ran her thumbs down beneath the ridge of his shoulder blades to the spring of his ribcage below, slowly convincing the bunched muscles to relax. There was a particularly knotty bit on his left side but he sucked in his breath and shifted away when she tried to press against it. For a moment she thought it might be where the arrow had struck him, but it was the wrong side and too far back. And she had healed that pretty well, if she did say it herself. "What's that, Harry?"
"D'nno," he said, settling back against her again like a dog seeking a good scratching. "Never mind."
She slipped her hand underneath his jersey and easily found the spot again, a hard lump spanning two ribs, two or three fingers breadth from the ridge of his spine. He didn't pull away when she probed this time, but still stiffened beneath her hands.
"Harry? What is that?"
"Voldemort. He's growing out my spine the way he did Quirell's head." He pretended to hiss.
"Not funny, Harry. Not even a bit."
"It's where Uncle Vernon jumped on me, when I was trying to get my wand out from under the mattress the night I left Privet Drive. I couldn't get up fast enough after he left and Dudley kicked me in pretty much the same place. It's alright, Hermione, it doesn't hurt unless you push on it. I'd forgotten it was even there. Really." He sighed, figuring the admission meant an end to the happy trance her fingers had been invoking.
Juxtaposed against her earlier thoughts it set her blood steaming and her fingers trembling. 'They aren't muggles, those people,' she thought. 'They're not even human.'
"Ow! Merlin, Hermione, you're the one who needs to relax now. Yikes."
She shook off her thoughts and slipped her arms round him from behind, nuzzling apologetically at his neck. "I'm sorry, Harry. For all of it. For not having your own Mum and Dad to grow up with, for your nasty relatives and now for ruining your back rub."
"S'okay, Hermione," he reassured her, letting his head fall back against her shoulder. "Really. I… we've got so much going on ahead of us now it's just not worth looking back anymore. It's done. If I beat Voldemort I'll never have to go back there, and if I don't, well… I'll never have to go back there. Dumbledore knows that if I make it through this year I'm not going back next summer. The protection may not be worth anything now that Voldemort shares my blood, anyway. And if I never see Vernon or Dudley again it'll be too soon. When I die I'll know I did okay in my life if they're not wherever I end up." He leaned in to kiss her gently just below her ear and she was sure he could feel her pulse racing there. "Actually, I'll know I lived a worthwhile life if I end up wherever you do," he whispered; she could both hear the words and feel them reverberate beneath her fingers. She shivered and tightened her hold, unwilling to consider relinquishing him even to the thought of finding him again later. Not now. Not yet. Not willingly ever.
The sun was setting and the evening's chill setting in. It had finally occurred to Katie Bell to start faking it, and she lobbed a couple of sneaky ones Ron's way, attempting to look crushed when he saved them.
"All right! Nothing's going through there anytime soon. Let's call it a day, team!" he called happily. Kick and Sloper whooped and headed for the pitch while the girls exchanged smiles of relief. Ron noticed Harry and Hermione in the stands and flew towards them. Harry reluctantly pulled himself back upright and Hermione equally reluctantly let go.
"You're supposed to be practicing," Ron chastised Harry.
"Couldn't," he grinned. "Hermione caught the snitch."
Ron's eyes narrowed. "Is that another one of those double entry joke thingies for snogging your girl on team time?"
Harry and Hermione met each other's eyes and gave in to the urge to laugh themselves senseless.
Ron groaned and flew back alone toward the broom shed. Now what had he said that was so damn funny?
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They reconvened in the library after dinner for another meeting of the detention of doom. Malfoy was not invited.
"What if we actually need him?" Hermione fretted. "The Sorting Hat did say, 'Four again must walk these halls/And wake me from my rest.'"
"We've walked the halls with him." Harry said darkly. "And I couldn't have blown out the hole to find the stupid thing without his….help. I think his bit's done."
"Unless he's meant to wake it from its rest. It certainly hasn't seemed to do much, has it?" Ron pointed out.
"It's a window, Ron. What's it supposed to do?"
"Wake up! How the hell do I know? This isn't exactly my thing, you know."
"Oh no, it's my thing, isn't it?" Harry flared. "So sorry it's boring you, having to figure out something that's meant to help defeat Voldemort. Let's all just leave that to Saint Potter and get back to Quidditch."
"Whoa, Harry. That's not what I meant, mate. What's eating you?"
Hermione almost fell out of her chair. She'd been certain that Ron would rant right back at Harry and the two would stomp off to their separate corners effectively ensuring nothing got done once again. Yet there was Ron, being downright sensitive and concerned. What was up with that?
Harry, being Harry, was oblivious. "Excuse me? What's wrong? We're stuck in this crap detention that's going to last forever while we all wait for some bloody window to wake up. Now Hermione thinks I'm supposed to feel righteous and faithful every time I go through the front hall just in case something decides to happen. Like what? Malfoy and his goons will faithfully push me down the stairs while I'm righteously staring at the sodding thing is the most likely result of that plan. That's what's wrong, Ron."
"Maybe Ssstaint. Potter needsss to get a clue," came a voice they knew only too well. Except it did sound a little different with the forked tongue…
"Piss off, horny," Ron snarled, sensitivity and concern diving for cover.
"I have a deal for you," Malfoy lisped, eyes on Hermione.
"We're not interested," Harry told him.
"I sssuspect you would be, if you knew what I found out about your precioussss riddle."
"Yeah, because you're Mr. Reliable Research. I'm ssssure you sssspent hours coming up with ssssomething. Did Sssnape help you?" Harry taunted him, eyes hard. "What kind of idiot would it make me to deal with you after you and Pansy try to get me expelled?"
"The sssame kind asss alwaysss, idiot. I want thessse effing hornsss off. And the tongue gone. I'll trade for who erassssed the riddle from the divination hallway and what the messsssage they were trying to remove ssssaid."
"Yeah, right," Ron scoffed. "How would we know you weren't lying to us like every other time we've been sssstupid enough to trust you? Forget it."
"Because his horns wouldn't grow!" Hermione pointed out, eyes lighting up. "If he lies to us they'll just get bigger."
"Issss that what doessss it? Damn!" Malfoy appeared furious. "You evil little bitch."
Harry prepared to lunge, but Hermione was laughing so hard he couldn't quite see leaping to her defense.
"Sssso go on, Malfoy," she gasped. "Tell ussss your little ssssecret!, Wait, should we measure them first? How big a lie is it?"
"Look, at leasssst take the damn tongue off. If you don't believe the sssstory you can leave the hornssss."
"Can't. They're linked. It's all or nothing," she told him.
Malfoy rolled his eyes and pulled out a chair, scoping out the room as he sat.
"It turnsss out it wasss a Sssslytherin that wrote on the wallsss over the ssstone where the riddle wasss written. Thatsss how I found out. I asssked Ssssnape. There'sss old files in the Ssssslytherin head'ssss office that lissst dentionsss and punissshmentss..
Professssor Forthcombe wasss the divination teacher then. Sssshe went into a transssse during one of her classssess and predicted thissss." He produced a slip of paper and handed it to Hermione. "You read it Granger. Too many ssstupid sss words."
Hermione took it and read aloud: "When the wheel of life spins once more a lion scarred by death itself will rise, who speaks the language of snakes and bears the fangs of a dragon. He will follow its path to begin his journey and he will strike down an immortal evil where it lies five times, but the sixth time he will find it within himself. Only if the lion can vanquish his own darkness will his seventh strike save him. If he cannot, the pretender has won, and by all that is sacred in this world magic must die."
"A group of Sssslytherins figured sssshe meant a Gryffindor and got together and wrote 'fraud' and 'hoax' and 'charlatan' and sssome other choisssse thingsss about divination in magical ink on the wallsss of the hall that night. Professssor Forthcomb wasss very upssset when sssshe sssaw it next day. Sssshe tried to evenesssco the ink and blam. No more wordsss, no more riddle, no more Professssor Forthecombe. Sssshe walked out that very day."
Ron's mouth was gaping, stunned. Harry felt sick.
"What a load of utter nonsense," was Hermione's assessment, but her voice shook slightly and Harry thought she did not sound quite as confident as he would have hoped.
"Hornsss!" said Malfoy. "Check them. Every word issss true."
"I didn't say you weren't telling the truth, I said the whole story was the typical heap of feeble rubbish whenever divination comes into the picture."
"Sssstill, that'sss what happened to the inssscription in the hall. Asssk Dumbledore. Remember, he didn't sssay he didn't know what happened to the inssscription, jussst that it wasss 'curiousss.' He'sss known all along. He just hasssn't told you."
"It must have happened long before Dumbledore was Headmaster," Hermione pointed out.
"It happened long before Dumbledore wassss even here. Doesssn't mean he doesssn't know about it. And now, I believe we had a deal?"
Hermione sighed and reached for her wand. "Finite incantatem."
Malfoy's horns fell off with twins clunks onto the table. He stuck out his tongue eagerly, almost going cross-eyed trying to look down on it.
"It's fine," she said waspishly. "And you were just leaving."
"My pleasure!" he snarled happily. See you later, scarface, Weaselbee. Happy window watching, idiots." He moved away quickly, heading for the door before she could change her mind.
"What the hell?" Ron said.
"We need to ask Dumbledore," Hermione said decidedly.
"Not tonight," Harry said. "I'm shattered. Let's just call it a night, okay?" He began piling up books and parchment, avoiding their eyes.
"You don't believe a word of that nonsense, Harry?" Hermione asked.
"What does it matter anyway?" Ron said.
"A lion that speaks the language of snakes and bears the fang of a dragon? Hullo?" Harry rolled his eyes at him.
"But it doesn't really say anything. It's just divination-speak for 'bad things might happen to you.' Then again, a lion with a lisp and a dragon bite might have already done it." Hermione said. "So it just as easily might not."
"And we sort of already knew bad stuff might happen to you," Ron agreed. "Although the whole 'magic must die' stuff is a bit creepy to be sure."
"Ron, if I fell off the astronomy tower tonight and Dumbledore came to you and said, 'well, you were his friend, it's up to you now to defeat Voldemort,' how would it make you feel?"
"But it's not…, I mean, none of the prophecies or stuff like that is about me."
"They're not about me either. Maybe they're meant to be about another Potter. Probably one that was supposed to be born into a regular wizarding family and brought up prepared and knowing about all this, not stuffed into a cupboard by muggles until the age of eleven. What possesses anyone to think I can do this? Unless it really is so simple an idiot could do it, unless there's some missing piece of the puzzle like that window jumping into action and spelling out "duck!" at just the right moment, we're all toast and somehow you know it'll be all my bloody fault."
The library had grown quiet as he spoke this last bit, Madam Pince and the rest of the students slowly becoming aware of what he was saying. Into the silence at the end of his words there came the distinct sound of a whimper, and a first year girl burst into tears. Hermione flashed him a furious look and made her way to the table where the girl sat, crouching down beside her.
"He doesn't mean it, any of it," she said reassuringly. "It's like before a potions exam, when you feel all nervous and cranky because you can't wait for it to be over. He's just tired, really. It's okay."
Harry fled.
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The best part about having Hermione as his dream keeper had been having her to himself every night. The down side was not being able to flee to his bed, pull the covers over his head and hide from the world. Harry wanted to be alone for a bit. The Room of Requirement was right out. His choices within the castle were limited to braving the snoggers up the Astronomy tower or the layer of droppings and busy nighttime comings and goings of the owlery.
Harry figured his appearance sans Hermione on the Astronomy tower would lead the other inhabitants to believe he was actively channeling Voldemort and induce them to flee for their lives. He wasn't far off. He walked briskly out to the wall and stood quietly for a few moments in full moonlight where he could be seen. There were numerous stirrings in the dark, like the scrabbling of partially clothed mice upon the appearance of a hungry cat. The door slammed after the last departing couple.
He sighed and moved away from the puddle of moonlight into the darkness and slid to the ground, eyes filled with stars.
That was the second time today he'd heard a prediction of a future as a squib if he lived to defeat Voldemort and he forced himself to look squarely at it now that he was alone. Being a wizard had been the best thing that had ever happened to him; Hagrid's assertion that he was 'a wizard o' course, an' a thumpin' good'un once yeh've been trained up a bit' had changed his life forever. He had secretly reveled in the power growing within him these last years, had loved learning to channel and use it. It seemed to be a living part of him, no different than his heart or lungs. Could he stand to have it ripped from him? Could he live without it? If it meant the lives of his friends and the innocent people that Voldemort intended to kill he reckoned he'd have to… but it sure made death a more enticing option after. He'd been envisioning living for Hermione. Would she, could she, still truly love him if he lost his magic? Would he be little more than tolerated by the Wizarding world, pitied for his uselessness? Would he be forced to live as a Muggle? Fear and grief warred for his heart and the battle seared him. Tears welled and fell unnoticed from his eyes, blurring the paths of the stars.
Why? Did it have to be? Dumbledore hadn't seemed certain; he'd been suggesting that it wouldn't be possible to eradicate Voldemort without cost, but Harry felt as if by this point he could stand almost anything other than losing Hermione or his magic.
But what if that's what it takes? Then take the magic, he supposed. And Hermione? She'd understand. Wouldn't she? Sure she would. She'd pity you, too. 'Oh, here, Harry, let me… Children, don't pester Daddy, you know he can't do magic.'
Children? Where the hell did they come from?
Without magic, he'd never fly again.
He heard the door open and close; saw the brief flickering shadow cross to where he sat.
She sat down beside him.
"What is it? It seems stupid to ask with everything you're worried about, but there's something new, isn't there?" she asked softly. Her eyes probed his face through the darkness.
"Hermione, don't answer this right off, think about it. Really think. If something happened to my magic, if I survived Voldemort but my magic didn't and I was for all intents and purposes a squib, could you still love me?"
He'd asked her to think about it, but her quietness hurt him nonetheless. It could only have been minutes; it felt like hours.
"Harry, I'm trying to be as honest as I can. I won't say it wouldn't hurt me, that I wouldn't have regrets for you or wish it could be different, but yes. I love you, not your magic, and not because you're a wizard, weak or strong. I feel as if it's all tied up in you and I wonder what it would do to you to lose it, but I don't think I could stop loving you now, even if I wanted to. Does that help?"
It should have been a relief but his heart still felt heavy, weighted with the knowledge of what it would mean to both of them.
"It's no different than the prophecy, Harry," she said at last, her voice low and urgent. "It's not what will be, it's what could be. The truth of what your life will be is up to you; and me if you'll let me help. Maybe there's a way to make sure that's not the outcome. Don't just accept it until there truly is no other choice."
"I'm not," he told her. "But Dumbledore said almost the same thing earlier today. Actually that was only part of it; he seemed to think there were all sorts of possibilities, like ending up with all of Voldemort's powers and being consumed by them. I never really thought past being scared shiteless or dying before this, I don't know what to think now. I don't know which is worse, what to want anymore. None of it seems any good; being a squib might be the best of a bad lot. I don't want to beat him just to become him, I know that."
"You couldn't. I honestly don't believe you could. There's too much in you that's good for that."
"Hermione?" he found her hand in the darkness and held it, forcing his fingers not to tighten. "If anything goes wrong, if you see me…becoming what you know I hate…"
"No!" she said fiercely. "Don't ask me, because I can't. I will do anything else for you, Harry, but not that. Ask Ron if you have to. I can't promise you that."
"Okay."
She crawled into his lap and slipped her arms around him, tear streaks reflected in the faint light. "No! Don't ask him. Please don't."
"Dumbledore would, I think. I'm just afraid the first person I'd… I broke into his mind, Hermione, what if I could hurt him? I need someone to do it fast and sure if anything goes wrong. That's just not Ron's style."
They were both silent a moment, forehead to forehead.
"Maybe I should ask Malfoy. He'd do me in right quick."
She hit him, surprisingly hard, thumping both fisted hands against his chest. "Shut up! Shut up. It's not funny, or brave or anything. It's…"
"Realistic. Logical. All the things you're supposed to be."
"Yeah, well if you don't have to be that Harry Potter all the time I don't have to be that Hermione either," she informed him, and with the same reflexes she'd used to capture the snitch captured his mouth instead. Nothing else about squibs or Ron finishing him off before he could succumb to Voldemort's magic was coming between those lips the rest of that night if she had anything to do with it. She had a limited range of permissible sounds in mind and he was making one of them right now, a low sort of growly-pleased noise that she really liked and was determined not to lose to any freaking reconstituted Dark Lord. It was her second favorite, right after that one, the sort of pleading oh-don't-stop one that she also felt very possessive of. Or there was always the one where she reached down and touched him right there… Maybe that one was her favorite after all. That one had a particularly nice bodily response to accompany it. No, this was infinitely preferable to their previous discussion, and the nagging little voice in her head that said he had been the mature one for once, considering the possibilities, and she was doing what she so often accused him of and dodging the future could just get stuffed.
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A/N: Those of you that read this chapter before will notice a change here. I've left this story almost entirely as it was except for cleaning up typos or inaccuracies where I could spot them, but first time round the inimitable and awesome Anne U found a major goof here. I needed to fix it, but I have fixed it with the inescapable knowledge of HBP now firmly entrenched in my brain. So no - I was in no way prescient. The new verbage 'When the wheel of life spins once more a lion scarred by death itself will rise, who speaks the language of snakes and bears the fangs of a dragon. He will follow its path to begin his journey and he will strike down an immortal evil where it lies five times, but the sixth time he will find it within himself. Only if the lion can vanquish his own darkness will his seventh strike save him. If he cannot, the pretender has won, and by all that is sacred in this world magic must die' is meant to mean Voldemort's seven horcruxes. It won't change any of the major facts of the story though, because we sort of knew what was coming anyway, just not the specifics
Of course it's going to turn out all right in the end anyway, because we all know that Magic Never Dies.