Official Fine Print: Nope. Not mine. The brainchildren of the mighty pen of JK Rowling. Just playing with them. Honest.
Here With Me
Chapter 26
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There was something to be said for getting the whole appearance-of-the-Dark-Lord bit over before Christmas, Harry reflected. He was actually looking forward to a holiday relatively free from the shadow of evil; and while it was not technically impossible that Voldemort would make his presence known again soon, Dumbledore at least continued to assure him that it was highly unlikely for some time yet. The Weasley's had invited both Harry and Hermione to the Burrow for Christmas and to his surprise (and gratification) Hermione had managed to convince her parents that skiing in Switzerland would have a negative impact on her N.E.W.T. review schedule and so was Burrow-bound as well.
"They do understand N.E.W.T'.s aren't until next year?" Harry asked somewhat suspiciously.
"Would you prefer me to go skiing, then?" Hermione asked sweetly. "It's not too late."
"Erm… never mind."
"I'm expecting you to help me revise, Harry. There are several areas in particular where I could use your natural strength with charms and wand movements."
"Sweet Merlin, Hermione, there are four eleven-year olds sitting three seats down. I'm sure they'd be fascinated with Harry's natural wand movements, perhaps you'd care to make a school-wide announcement?" Ron groaned. "You two had better behave over Christmas. The twins will be there."
"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" Hermione scolded. "Get your mind out of the gutter, please. You're going to be sorry when N.E.W.T. time rolls around next year if your grasp of the situation remains stuck where it is now."
Harry, who'd been on the receiving end of Ron's amazement at his own increasing interest in a certain blond Ravenclaw just that morning found Hermione's phrasing suddenly gut-wrenchingly amusing and was forced to develop an intense, quivering interest in the contents of his plate. Seamus and Dean, who'd begun following the conversation with Ron's original contribution about wand movements, broke into outright laughter.
"If Ron's grasp of the situation gets any stronger he'll peak way before N.E.W.T.s, Hermione," Dean managed.
"The boy needs a firm hand to guide his revision," agreed Seamus.
Hermione realized that perhaps she'd gotten to know Harry's room mates just a tad too well. Being accepted by the boys had its amusing side, but it made maintaining decorum in front of the younger students… oh right. She wasn't a prefect anymore.
"You boys have so much to learn…" she sighed. "When it comes to revision, study technique is always secondary to the simple, healthy desire to master your subject."
Professor Snape looked up from his pudding to observe an almost eerie silence at the far end of the Gryffindor table where Potter and his sixth year companions tended to gather. He took in the back of Weasley's neck (flaming red) and the shuddering posture of Thomas and Finnigan. The Granger girl was turned toward Potter with a look Snape had never seen before on her face, and one he was uncertain exactly how to read. Four young first years just down the table were staring, wide-eyed, at the older students. He plucked his wand from his robes and leveled it as Potter lifted his head from his unnatural fascination with what Snape held as an only a barely tolerable evening meal. Lily's green eyes were squeezed shut and James' expressive mouth was open in a howl…
In was only after he'd stunned Harry that Snape realized it was laughter. He'd simply never seen the boy-who-lived laugh like that before.
Oops.
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"You do realize," Harry said furiously to Ron and Hermione as they climbed the rebuilt stairs toward the sanctuary of the Gryffindor common room following his return to consciousness with Snape's reluctant enervation and even more reluctant excuse for an apology, ("Get up, Potter.") "that this means war."
"Harry," Hermione sighed.
"Alright!" Ron agreed.
"For once I finally have the focus, the energy, and enough time to make up all the house points it'll cost before the end of the year. If you add in the fact the Malfoy has to at least lay low for a bit, it's an opportunity too good to lose. I may still have to battle Voldemort yet again, but Snape is going down." Harry vowed.
Hermione reflected on her painfully clear memory of Snape stupefying Harry as he attempted to crawl back up the stairs after wrestling Voldemort out of his mind, how her elation as the shaky, questioning 'Hermione?' proved he was alive turned to horror as their Potions Professor coldly leveled his wand and brought him down again.
She saw Harry's eyes glowing softly now, the tension that played across his face as his mind raced. He was breathing quickly, flushed with agitation and freed from the usual constraints on his behavior put in place by the annual fight for his life. The anger with Snape might be mostly displaced, but his instinct to strike back instead of his historical numbed tolerance was telling. He had been slowly learning how to use his anger all year, beginning with Vernon Dursley's rampage over the dragon's fang and continuing on with his determination to get Voldemort out of his head for good. He needed this.
Not to mention that there really was something kind of …well, exciting about Harry when he finally got angry. She found herself grinning and breathing a little quicker, too. Oh, this was not good. Not good at all.
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Hermione laid down the ground rules.
"First, whatever we do, we don't strike until after Christmas. Madam Pomphrey said you weren't supposed to get hit with any sort of spell at all for two weeks, Harry, and Snape's already stupefied you. We can't take any more chances with that."
"Listen to yourself, Hermione. Under medical orders NOT to be spelled and Snape hits him before he can even finish his nice restorative pudding first night out of the Hospital Wing. All the more reason to do it quickly, I'd say," Ron said.
Harry nodded hopefully.
Hermione shook her head. "If you want my help, we wait at least the week. I'm leaning toward something potion-based, anyway, less chance of Harry getting hit back with anything dangerous. A potion will take a bit of time and research."
"I still like the idea of piercing his enormous nose and setting a niffler loose on him myself." Ron volunteered.
"I think summoning a basilisk through the s-bend to his loo would be too good for him at this point, but if Hermione can come up with something humiliating, disfiguring and untraceable I'd guess it'd be well worth the wait," reasoned Harry. "I feel a visit to the library coming on."
"Follow me!" Hermione grinned, spinning and heading off, hair flying behind her.
"One of my most favorite places to be," Harry said with satisfaction.
"What, the library? Have you gone mental?" Ron asked incredulously.
"No, idiot. Behind Hermione when she's on a mission. Watch."
Even Ron had to admit the swirl of Hermione's brown locks and the determined sway of her purposeful pace was kind of fetching from behind and well out of wands' way.
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First they checked the syllabus to see if they were scheduled to make anything in class over the next couple of weeks after Christmas that an extra ingredient here or a couple more stirs there would render useful. They had proceeded from antidotes and healing potions on to potions for the future auror. Unfortunately Veratiserum and Polyjuice potion and the like were unlikely to cause Snape any lasting damage and the penalty for playing around with them was steep. Aurors had laws governing what they could use on dark wizards that would seriously cramp their style.
"Hermione," Harry said thoughtfully, resting his chin atop the enormous copy of Perfect Potions Potently Poured he'd been searching through. "Does it have to be a potion?"
"Hmmm?" purred Hermione, happily perusing a tome of her own and not even looking up. "No. I just thought it would be more fitting for him and safer for you. He'd never suspect you of being able to brew something debilitating."
"Thanks."
She looked up then. "He wouldn't Harry. I didn't say we didn't think you could. There's nothing wrong with you when it comes to potions except for the fact that Snape teaches it."
"I wonder what Snape's worst fear is," Harry pondered. "I'd love to get a look at his boggart."
"Easy. We get him to think he's died and come back as a ghost and he's doomed to teach Neville and the Creavey brothers for all eternity," Ron laughed.
"Don't be cruel, Ron," Hermione chided him. "Neville tries. And the Creavey brothers… well. Not everyone can be a potions person."
"Well, there's one benefit of waiting until after Christmas," Harry concluded. "We can pick the twin's brains as well. Bet they've got something in the shop that will give us a brilliant idea."
"Now that's probably taking things a step too far!" Hermione laughed.
"Why?" Ron asked, bewildered. "The slimy git has gone out of his way to make Harry's life a misery for the last six years!"
"Because we want Harry to graduate and still have a chance at being an auror if he wants to, even though he knows I'd like him to consider something less dangerous," she told him calmly.
"Harry! You're not letting her talk you out of becoming an auror now, are you?"
"I haven't decided anything. A week ago I was wondering if I'd see today. I'm not making any, er, many long term plans at the moment," Harry said, noticing the storm clouds building behind Hermione's eyes and hoping to distract them. "How about that hooked nose of his? Could we make it sort of curve around on itself or something every time he takes points from Gryffindor?"
"Or make his hair go all blond and girly-curly." Ron suggested.
"Girly-curly?" Hermione shot back at him. "What exactly is that supposed to convey? How embarrassing it is to be blond, or a girl?"
They glared at each other. Harry held up a hastily scrawled scrap of parchment that read: "Have I mentioned that your participation in this venture is worth many, many snog points?" behind Ron's head.
Hermione refrained from hexing Ron's hair then, but productivity to their cause had already been seriously affected.
"Let's call it a day and have a nice game of chess or snap or something er, soothing before bed," Harry suggested, eying his two compatriots warily. And he had ever worried the two of them might seriously get together? Romantically? Idiot.
The Gryffindor common room was mostly empty, its few occupants working half-heartedly on back-logged assignments to free themselves for the following days' opportunity to Christmas shop in Hogsmeade.
"Here's a question," Harry asked as he and Ron set out their chess pieces and Hermione disappeared upstairs in search of a book. "What can I possibly get your sister for Christmas that doesn't say either 'thanks for setting me up with the death eater' or 'don't take this wrong, I forgive you completely but please don't ever love me again' too unsubtly?"
"Damned if I know," admitted Ron. "She's still very moody about the whole thing; I never know what to say around her anymore. What are you getting Hermione?"
"A secret," said Harry, who hadn't actually got a clue but knew that Ron couldn't keep a secret from Hermione to save his life. "What did you get her?"
Ron grinned. "I'm not totally stupid. I've never once managed to get her the right thing. This year I thought I'd just make you go with me. You are technically her boyfriend; I thought you could figure it out."
"What are you getting Luna?"
"You are, technically, the actual boyfriend of a girl. Wouldn't that work for Luna as well?"
"You want me to pick out your Christmas present for Luna?" Harry asked doubtfully. "That has bad idea written all over it."
"Why?" Ron's bishop stuck a particularly savage blow at one of Harry's pawns. The next pawn over cringed and shook his fist at Harry, crying "Stick to Quidditch! Chess just isn't your game!'
Harry moved the pawn in line to one of Ron's knights. "Because it's supposed to come from you, it's supposed to express your thoughts and feelings towards her. I think."
"Yeah, but you already know all my thoughts and feelings about her." Ron said, as his knight made short work of the complaining pawn.
"Painfully true, but not exactly the point." Harry informed him. "Look at it this way. You are the one in line for the gratitude induced snog, henceforth you are the one who should put the thought into the gift, other wise it's like stealing a snog by false pretences or something."
"Did you just say henceforth?" Ron asked suspiciously.
Harry sighed. "Ron, take it from me, I'm without question the luckiest wizard who ever had a curse scar and a couple of really unfortunate prophecies in regard to their future. I have no real clue what I'm doing from minute to minute with Hermione, I just know that I love her because I couldn't face any of this without her. Maybe I had to know now because there won't be that much time, or maybe that's just the way it was supposed to be, but I wouldn't change it, any of it, not for anything in the world if it meant she wasn't there. Not the Dursley's, not the scar, not Voldemort's mind games. She was always there, right in front of my eyes and I was too full of self pity and doubt to let myself see her as anything but a friend. Don't miss something so… amazing, because you've got to go further out on your limb than you'd like. Don't look down, don't look back, just go for it. Just the chance is worth it."
"He's far better at philosophy than chess," commented Harry's knight to Ron's roving bishop before being dashed aside.
"Wow," said Ron slowly. "Your knight's right. So you think I should…"
"I think I have NO idea," Harry explained patiently. "I think that I'm telling you you'll just have to make it up as you go along as well. The only thing I know is that it's worth anything you have to give up."
"All I have to say is that you REALLY are the luckiest wizard with a curse scar, because your girlfriend's been standing behind you while you poured your little heart out there and from the look on her face I'm guessing you know your stuff." Ron informed him at roughly the same time Harry found himself engulfed from behind by Hermione.
"That was really, really nice, Harry," Hermione told him softly. "I know I wasn't supposed to be listening and you weren't telling it to me, but thanks."
"Oh, sure, He's nice. Unless you play bloody chess with him, in which case he's a menace!" shrieked Harry's Queen from the board.
"Mind your manners, you," Harry told her, "or Ron's likely to get a new chess set for Christmas."
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Harry began to change into his pajamas, reflecting on the events of the day. The down side of facing Voldemort without actually doing him in yet again had come to Harry that afternoon before dinner. Dumbledore had sent for him shortly after his release from the Hospital Wing, requesting Harry's presence in his office before their evening meal. Hermione's name on the summons being suspiciously absent, Harry reckoned he had a pretty good idea what the topic of conversation was likely to be and dragged up the revolving staircase with a heavy heart.
Dumbledore had obviously been pacing; he had reached the furthest end of his well-worn path and had his back to Harry when he entered.
"Harry. Good to see you up and about once again," he said, without turning.
Setting the 'I am an impressive Wizard who knows all; heed my words, young man,' tone straight off, then. Harry remained silent, waiting for whatever was to befall him yet again.
"Sit, Harry," Dumbledore told him, turning and conjuring a chair. It was a cushiony wing chair; Harry wondered whether he had earned it through his injuries or if he was about to be flattened by some new bit of divined wisdom about his future. He hadn't had a chance to examine the window yet, passing it by for the first time on his way here. He'd reflexively ducked his head, not really ready to know if there was something else he'd have to live up to - or die for.
Dumbledore conjured Harry's chairs' twin for himself and sat down as well. Perhaps he was just in a wing chair kind of mood at the moment.
"How are you feeling today?" he asked, with the disarming concern in his bright blue eyes that always made Harry feel somehow acknowledged, even cared for.
"Still a bit on the worn-out side, but fine, really. Thank you," Harry responded politely, hating the part of him that hung back from Dumbledore's kindness but unable to push past it. It sat there in his newly-roomy head, prodding him to stay alert, ready for something he couldn't name. He knew that his Headmaster truly cared for him, but he was also suspicious that Dumbledore had traveled so much further down life's road that perhaps nothing was inviolable at this point. Quite likely including Harry.
"Not true, Harry," the old Wizard said with a sigh.
Harry shifted uncomfortably and slammed closed his mind's portals.
"My apologies." Dumbledore inclined his head graciously. "Old habits die hard. You are not a child any longer."
"What would make us really any different from Voldemort," Harry asked quietly, "if there is nothing you won't give up to defeat him?"
"It will never be my choice to give anything up," Dumbledore replied. "That is my burden in all of this Harry. I have spent a great deal of my life becoming a powerful wizard, yet in this particular battle I am quite powerless. Oh, I can plot, make suggestions, manipulate circumstances, but in the end I am utterly impotent to control anything at all. It has been quite the painful lesson for me, I assure you. Perhaps part of fates' retribution for my own taking of a life."
"But…"
"You are right, Harry, in your assessment that I have made choices in my life to avoid making others. There are indeed reasons Fawkes is my closest companion. You are wrong, however, when you believe that I am in any way willing to sacrifice you to the cause of defeating Tom Riddle. I have played a game with fate to guard you thus far, and I do not blame you for questioning my choices."
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and eyed Harry gravely. "Even if they had proved consistently to be the right ones you would still find yourself having to do so to assert your independence now. It is inevitable, a fact of life's inexorable flow forward. The fact that some of them have proved painful for you only exacerbates the need. Unfortunately for you, that same drive for independence and autonomy that has awakened in you now will make the choices from here on your own. I believe that you might ultimately…miss me, Harry."
Harry had the same sensation he'd felt falling down the stairs toward Malfoy until Dumbledore's spell caught him; the short, sharply painful jerk of reaching the end of one's tether. Only this time the rope broke, and he was free. The feeling both exhilarated and saddened him. Terrified was somewhere in the mix as well.
"But you…"
"I am handing you your own reins, Harry. Far too soon it will be up to you how you will go on. If you wish to take Hermione and attempt to run from your fate, I will not stop you."
The instinctive portion of Harry's brain - that is to say the most powerful part - sniffed the idea like a wild animal for several glorious moments, but ultimately rejected it. True freedom did not lie that way. The rest of him groaned and threatened mutiny. He literally felt torn.
"It is not always…comfortable to have one's fate handed back, is it Harry? You must take some comfort in knowing that you have always truly held it, even when it has appeared otherwise. I do not need to fall back on legilimency to understand the struggle you are feeling. The only advice I can give you is to continue to listen closely to exactly that part of yourself we have all tried so hard to tame. Hermione calls it your 'saving people thing,' Mr. Weasley thinks of it as bravery. Mr. Malfoy has repeatedly informed you it is idiocy. Professor McGonagall, I believe termed it your propensity for rewriting the rules. Professor Snape has used less, shall we say polite, terms for it. Still, they are all identifying the same thing. That which makes you Harry James Potter is that which Voldemort now must fear. "
"Is this all from studying the window?" Harry asked, when he finally felt his voice wouldn't betray him.
"Oh, no," Dumbledore said calmly. "I've made it all up myself. You're not the only one with instincts, Harry. It just gets harder to turn down the volume on your intellect and hear them when you get old."
Harry wished desperately for a bludger bat. He just wasn't entirely sure which one of them he'd use it on.
"While we're on the topic of instincts…" Dumbledore continued meditatively.
Making the choice so much easier…
"I would think that your need for a dreamkeeper is nearing an end, wouldn't you?"
"Why?" asked Harry cautiously.
"I should think it obvious. While we have learned that even excellent Occlumency skills will not entirely close off the connection of your scar, we now know what will."
"We do?" Harry had no idea where Dumbledore was going with this and was extremely reluctant to follow him there. The thought of losing Hermione's comforting nightly presence seemed almost unbearable at the moment. He reasoned that they could continue to exercise other options in the usual locations hidden throughout the castle that the upper years all seemed to find for snog-related activity. What he would truly miss would be being able to whisper with her before falling to sleep and waking under the watchful gaze of those warm brown eyes; the way she always smiled when he first opened his own… No one had ever been truly pleased that he'd actually survived another night before now. He kind of liked that, it had come to mean a lot.
"This part I am not making up," Dumbledore said with a twinkle. "Of course, you haven't really had a chance to view your latest contribution to Hogwarts, have you? Come, Harry."
Dumbledore rose and led the way from his office and through the corridors to the top of the stairs down to the Entrance Hall. Across the wide expanse of the Hall the rose window gleamed dully, the sun having long passed over the castle. The classroom corridors were quiet and the stairs empty, although shortly they would be flooded with hungry students. Harry sensed rather than truly heard a faint, vibratory hum that seemed to emanate from the window itself. As he stood, watching, it slowly changed pitch several times. He was reminded of something he had seen on television once when Dudley had not been around to jeer and change the channel; a program about the songs of different kinds of whales.
"Ahh, you hear it," Dumbledore said with satisfaction. "Not everyone does, it seems."
Harry truly took in for the first time how changed the window was. It was as if a mask had been lifted; it no longer looked like the picture Hermione had first shown he and Ron of the Muggle rose window, although a faint resemblance was there. The center point was now revealed to be a single, opalescent substance set in a collar of carved stone. It was slightly irregular in shape, not perfectly round, nor perfectly smooth. Its surface seemed to pulse with color and life, like the play of clouds across a slowly turning sky, and Harry would have sworn that the stone, or whatever substance it was, turned slowly as well.
Eight circular medallions of what appeared to be stained or colored glass formed a chain around the center, and sixteen long slender spokes of stone splayed out from their joining points to form the long, narrow outlines of the petals of the rose. Each of the sixteen petals was composed of what appeared to be innumerable pieces of leaded glass in a myriad of colors. What differentiated this window most from the earlier one, however, was that in true wizard form the pictures in the glass seemed to be moving, constantly reshaping an unending series of events. The rounded end of each petal farthest from the center showed images in sharp focus, events unfolding, while the rest of the shape seemed to contain records of the past.
One medallion and two petal forms that sprung beyond them were a dark, purplish black and devoid of images, as if someone had simply removed all source of light. From the end of several lit petal forms two more still sprung outward, so that if the pattern held true the next row would ultimately contain thirty-two picture chapters, though more than half were still blank.
"From what I can ascertain so far, Harry, each of the eight medallions is a fully developed world. Ours is but one of them. The two sets of images that spring from it reveal the best, and the worst, of our history. The four that spring from those two occur when a marked change in the balance of good and evil is imminent, and play out the history of those involved. Our world has reached that point, and you, Harry, figure in that story. But look - you are not alone. There are whole worlds where others struggle on, as well as ours. And worlds where the story has ended. See the one where the light has been extinguished? Then Aslan said, "Now make an end." * Think of it all, Harry! See how small Voldemort really is. But most importantly, see the words that encompass all the worlds."
Harry squinted. Inscribed in a part of the outer frame were many symbols and runes, and several words in English that read, "To Heal The Scar Evil Has Wrought In Time The Next Must First Forgive."
"You've got to be kidding me," Harry said, outraged.
"Age old advice." Dumbledore said calmly.
"I'd rather have Hermione be my dreamkeeper for the rest of my natural life, thanks. No matter how long that may be. I'll take my chances with Mr. Mindfu, er, Voldmort."
"I'm not entirely sure that you have that choice, Harry. I think the point is that you can do it now, and take the strength of knowing you have moved beyond his power over you into the final battle, or you can continue to struggle with it for ages after he - or you - is dead and gone."
"If I'm dead and gone, how can I struggle with it!" Harry forced through clenched teeth.
"Harry, death is but…"
"the next great adventure. Yeah, yeah, yeah. So you're telling me that one way or another I have to forgive Voldemort to be free of him even after he's dead?"
"In a word, yes."
Harry said a word he wasn't supposed to in front of the Head Master, followed by "-ing marvelous."
"I knew that this was not an idea you would obviously embrace with an open mind just yet, Harry. Remember that these are simply words, the magic lies in their interpretation and the meaning you ultimately assign them. Just know them and be forearmed."
"Did you forgive Grindelwald?"
"No, Harry. But you are not me, and you do not know enough about the price I have paid for that to base any decision on it."
Students began to stream out of classrooms and pass them going down the stairs to the Great Hall. Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses hard. His brain had been swimming before, but now… fate or philosophy had decidedly issued a loud flushing noise, and he was going down.
"I… I'll…"
"Why don't you discuss things with Hermione, Harry. I'm sure she will have some insights for you." Dumbledore told him gently. "But first, dinner awaits us!"
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Of course Snape had stupefied him at dinner, and Harry had happily sublimated his feelings about Dumbledore's revelations in the flare of his anger at Snape. Now that he was resting in his own bed waiting for Hermione, they rushed back into the forefront of his weary brain with a vengeance.
"You look like somebody snatched your snitch, mate," Ron informed him upon his return from brushing his teeth. "What's wrong?"
Harry took off his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose again; it had never been quite the same since Ron wailed on it that morning after he and Hermione had… "Dumbledore dumped a bucketful of philosophical dragon dung on me this afternoon."
"Hermione will figure it out for you," Ron said confidently.
"That's what I'm afraid of," Harry admitted. "I'm fairly certain I'm not going to like any of it. In fact, having every bone regrown with skele-gro sounds less painful."
Ron appeared disconcerted and shook his head as he climbed into his own bed. "Or you could just shut the hangings, throw up a silencing charm or four and do whatever you two do."
Harry snorted. "Ron, you've grown. You've the emotional range of a soup spoon now."
"Be happy for me. I'm still better off than you."
"Your day will come," said Harry confidently.
"Luna likes me this way," Ron replied, stretching his considerable length. Professor McGonagall was clearly going to have to issue an enlarging charm for someone's bed next year.
"And she always will," Hermione said, emerging from the invisibility cloak and climbing up beside Harry. "Until it's the wrong time of the month and her hormones are rampaging and you just don't understand the importance relinquishing your last chocolate frog. Then you'll find out what love is truly all about, Ronald Weasley."
"I'm not sure what you're on about with the wrong month, but I'd split my last chocolate frog with Luna anytime." Ron retorted.
"Trust me, Ron. Just give her the whole frog. You'll live long enough to never regret it." Harry told him, while Hermione began closing the hangings.
Ron heard her say, "Harry James Potter. .." but she didn't sound angry, and the silence thereafter was of the absolute, silencio variety. He grinned and drifted off to dreams of his own.
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"So he didn't actually say, he just sort of suggested it?" Hermione asked him carefully.
She'd known that something was wrong as soon as she'd closed the hangings; his face had given nothing away but his eyes were wretched.
"What, that I was losing my dispensation to have you here with me, or that I had to bloody forgive bloody effing bloody Voldemort?" came Harry's miserable reply from face down in the pillow.
"Er… both, I guess."
He rolled over. "His exact words on you were something like, 'I would think your need for a dreamkeeper is nearing an end, wouldn't you?' The Voldemort thing was more along the lines of knowing I wasn't going to have an open mind and some rubbish I didn't understand about assigning my own meaning to the words and being forearmed with them. So no, he never actually said I had to do either in so many words. But Hermione…"
"I know," she told him. "I know."
She lay down as close beside him as she could and felt him turn and gather her into his arms. The feeling as she slid her own around him was fiercely protective and strong enough to bring tears to her eyes. Stupid, really, when it wasn't as if they were being separated or anything, but it seemed so very hard to turn back from the comforting familiarity that had so quickly grown between them.
It wasn't so much the physical bit, although that was certainly addicting and she had no intention of going without that part of him. She had found, though, that being with him had done surprising things for her, as well. She felt calmer, stronger, more sure of herself in all that she did. He made her laugh more. He knew when to distract her from her thoughts and when to leave her alone with them. He was considerate and unwavering in his affection; he might not be hugely demonstrative but she was quite certain that he was pleased with her and not thinking of anyone else.
In short, he made her feel more herself than she had ever been, and she was actually quite proud of the person she saw in the mirror for a change. If she had to pick a single word to describe it she knew that she would be letting Lavender and Parvati down. It would have to be content. She was happy, just not the wildly ecstatic happiness that inevitably seemed to give way to a slide in the other direction that those two described as being in love. What she felt was deeply, boringly content as if together they were settling in on the porch swing of familiarity. Rocking along gently with him… and his little friend, the shadow of death.
He was right. If only Voldemort would get out of the bloody way.
"I can't forgive him, Hermione."
"Of course you can't, Harry." She stroked his cheek gently, watching those fathomless eyes as he took in her words, waiting trustingly for her to explain it to him. If only she could. "I'm no expert on the subject, but it seems to me there's a lifetime's worth of work there. Voldemort changed your whole life with two words before you were even two years old. You're not the sort of person who honestly believes you could just say more words and expect them to change everything back. It's like what Bellatrix told you about the cruciatus; words or spells alone have no power. You have to feel them, to believe in them for them to work. You can't just arbitrarily forgive Voldemort with words; you'll have to fully understand what his influence on your life has meant and be able to say you don't hold it against him. If you could honestly manage it now you'd even have to include forgiving him for the possibility of your own death. That's a lot to ask of yourself."
"Then what the hell is Dumbledore asking me to do?" he asked, low and anguished.
It struck her how often he had let slip his ambivalence toward Dumbledore - respect and even love constantly warring with his doubt over the Head Master's intentions - yet even now he showed no real sign of wavering in his ultimate loyalty.
"If I had to guess, Harry, I'd say it was more on the level of advice. That he feels like your final confrontation is close and he knows that he can't give you much more to go on with."
"He told me today that he was giving me my reins, that if I wanted to take you and run away from it he wouldn't stop me."
Hermione snorted and saw his eyes widen and a smile slowly start to form.
"Well, that was romantic. Do you always snort when someone offers to run away from likely death with you?" he asked.
"He only said it because he knew you couldn't, Harry. Not wouldn't even, the instinct is so over-developed in you that it's truly couldn't. He's bloody lucky that way and he knows it. If it was anyone other than you I'd jump at the chance to…" She stopped, stricken. "That didn't come out right at all."
"He also told me to 'listen closely' to the part of myself that you think causes the whole 'saving people thing,' so there." he told her, and stuck out his tongue.
"Well, that's mature. Tell me, do you always stick out your tongue when you're trying to convince someone you can actually defeat the Dark Lord and save magic itself?"
"Only when I already know they're fond of it?" He was grinning his special grin, the one that she had come to associate with so many enjoyable things. She could take him up on it, or yank him back to reality to try to find their way further through the maze of words and ideas that only led to Voldemort in the end.
Forget that.
"So you think I actually like that big slobbering thing in your mouth, do you?" she asked, making a face.
"No, I think you actually like it in yours. Fifty points says so." He was almost smug. It was cute really.
"I can do a lot of damage with fifty points," she warned him happily.
"Let's make it seventy-five then. I'm in the mood for something catastrophic. It's just not going to be the same up on the Astronomy tower in January."
"There's always the nice warm Burrow at Christmas."
"Er, I sleep in a curtainless bed less than a meter from Ron's there, Hermione. And you bunk in with Ginny."
"Now what am I going to give you for Christmas?" she moaned softly, feigning disappointment. She felt him stir a little at the sound, or maybe it was the whole idea. Either way things were… looking up. And starting to get friendly, too.
"Don't worry, Harry," she murmured into his ear. "Don't worry about any of it now. It'll be alright, I promise." She had no idea how, but the softening of his lips beneath hers and a compensatory hardening elsewhere were far more compelling at the moment. They'd deal with it all, later.
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*From C.S. Lewis' The Chronicles of Narnia: The Last Battle
A/N: If anyone was keeping track, I combined chapters 26 and 27 into one, because of the funky wraparound of Harry's day. If it wasn't clear, Harry met with Dumbledore earlier in the day BEFORE Snape mistook him for being possessed again at dinner and stunned him. On the positive side, this means that the new chapters will actually start next time with 27, because I realized the old chapter 28 never got posted before. Hope you enjoy them.