Official Fine Print: Nope. Not mine. The brainchildren of the mighty pen of JK Rowling. Just playing with them.
Fixing Harry
Chapter 10
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Hermione reflected that she'd just had one of the best days of her entire life.
She'd always thought that if Harry ever defeated Voldemort and lived to tell the tale; that would be the best day of her life. She'd imagined that everything would be perfect then. She and Ron would be free to really explore whatever was between them with some sense of a future. Harry would be free to go back to Ginny. Everyone she loved would be safe, the world would right itself and order be restored.
Nothing had turned out that way. She could admit to herself that she'd known even before the night of the final confrontation that things with Ron had the steep potential to go south. She'd become rather aware during that interminable year hunting down the horcruxes that the little frisson fighting with him produced wasn't much next to the way that her heart had begin to cramp painfully for Harry whenever things got particularly scary. Or, to be honest; how that other, equally attention-grabbing little contraction quite a bit lower than her heart had started to be set off by the simple sight of him stretching sleepily, the hem of his tee shirt rising steadily higher along with the thrum of her pulse. Even once, she was almost ashamed to admit, in the adrenalin-charged aftermath of a close confrontation with Death Eaters lying in wait for them outside the back door of Borgin and Burkes. The subtle shift he did from just-Harry to full-battle-Harry then, the way his whole body seemed to catch itself up as though sucking the magic from everything around him in readiness had struck her as amazing. The feeling of it, a sort of pulling strong as the draw of the ocean in between waves, hadn't been half bad, either. There was really no use just trying to ignore things after that.
That had been it, really. She realized that her feelings for Harry were both as complex as she was and as simple as hunger, and had grown with her all that last year. There had been less and less room within her heart and mind for anything else, slowly throttling the teenaged attraction she had felt for Ron and leaving just her love for him as her friend in its wake.
The night she'd admitted her feelings to Harry and found them returned had brought that last into painfully sharp focus. She did love Ron, she just recognized that the symptoms of their attraction, the banter and bickering, the jealousy that had come to such a head sixth year, were all just training wheels for the real thing. She couldn't imagine spending the rest of her life feeling the burn of envy when he looked at other girls with that look and she got 'good old Hermione, you're a girl, aren't you?' She couldn't imagine it arguing about every little thing, every book, every Quidditch match, what to have for dinner. But she couldn't imagine it without him in it, either.
There was so much good, so much genuine unwavering loyalty in Ron. She admired that, and she understood too that deep down him there were depths of affection that could well last Harry and herself a lifetime without ever nearing bottom. It was just that affection couldn't compensate for love; telling herself that it was only lack of compatibility and expression between them couldn't make her change her growing certainty that trying to salvage things with Ron romantically would estrange her from all she did love about him more surely than breaking up with him would.
Of course, it was also hard to reassure herself that she was making a reasoned and dispassionate choice for the best for Ron when the last twenty-four hours had brought to an inescapable head that all she had been sensing about her feelings for Harry was true, and then some.
He was surprising her, and she hadn't thought it possible after all this time.
She should have. As much as she'd shared with him over the years she'd never come even close to pushing him in the direction they were moving together now, and she was fairly certain Ginny hadn't found the way there either. The path to this portion of his heart appeared tender and un-trodden. Harry was clearly in the process of discovering what he thought and felt about the whole thing and it was amazing to watch, and even more amazing to be on the receiving end of it. It was not just that he seemed to be uncovering what if felt like to be allowed a whole different view of her; he seemed to be - she certainly hoped she was right about this - ever so slowly even taking a fledgling peck or two at the impenetrable shell that had held him together for so long. It was as if he had begun to realize much as he might want to, he could not truly reach out and touch her without breaking through the careful barriers, conscious and unconscious, that he had erected between them first.
Yesterday had been pretty much a write-off; it had taken him the better part of the afternoon to come down from his potion-induced and painless euphoria and she had basically shut him in his room for most of it, because the temptation to give in to this inhibition-free version of him was really, really enticing. Thankfully the effects had mostly worn off with sleep; she didn't have to cope with hung-over Harry. He'd awoken achy and dehydrated but otherwise himself again; he seemed to have only the vaguest of memories of the entire thing and no real desire to explore them.
She smiled at the memory.
He'd appeared in the kitchen this morning bleary-eyed and wearing only the jeans he'd had on the day before, obviously on a mindless, instinctual quest for coffee. He'd started at the sight of her sipping her tea at their table and reading their Daily Prophet, and it had clearly taken him a moment or two to reconstruct things. Thankfully, the moment or two must have contained some of what she at least believed to be the finer points, because she was pretty sure she'd never seen the… she could only really describe it as bashful …look that overcame him and caused his eyes to drop in the most endearing way. He seemed to waver between further pursuing the coffee and turning tail and running for cover, or at very least more clothing.
Probably because she was staring. He and Ron were so different; it was odd to think of fancying both of them. It might have made more sense if she had been physically drawn to one and emotionally moved by the other. Harry had matured more slowly then Ron (Hermione privately thought having lived on scraps in a cupboard under the Dursley's stairs for most of the first eleven years of his life might just have had something to do with it, but it didn't seem polite to say.) He'd slogged on, pretending not to notice and to a degree yearly distracted by the more immediate need to stay a step ahead of his enemy. He truly hadn't noticed around sixth year when things had started to pick up, had shrugged it off when Hermione had called him fanciable.
And then seventh year Harry had… what was is that good looking boys did? Girls bloomed, but you could hardly have said Harry blossomed that year. It was as if his own body had sensed what was coming, or perhaps it had been prodded on out of necessity by the surge in his magic when he was on his own following Dumbledore's death. Either way Harry had grown; he was still shorter than Ron and leaner of frame, but there was something about the way he'd begun to move and use himself that signaled unmistakably the shift. All the latent intensity that had begun to show itself as his quest had changed from waiting like a good schoolboy for Voldemort's next move to actively hunting his immortality down and destroying it shred by shred, abruptly suffused him physically as well.
Hermione was fairly certain a good bit of his attraction to those who didn't know him was truly not knowing him; they romanticized the very facts of his life that had been most painful to him. They seemed to admire what they saw as the shadows of his past as if they were an attitude deliberately adopted rather than a pieced together defense. Her eyes saw him so differently. As undeniably physically attractive as she'd found his maturing sense of self, she felt also a sort of pride, almost a partnership in the fact that against all odds he was still there. The scars weren't rakish or cool, they were the hard won proof of his determination, his successes and mistakes, lessons painfully learned but now a part of who he was, and she had helped get him there. She knew the story of each one; knew his body both intimately and not at all, and that particular counterpoint was…well, frustrating sometimes.
"It's alright Harry," she told him, then realized she was using the same voice she might adopt to lure a reluctant kneezle, and blushed. "Come in and sit," she said more briskly. "I can make coffee for you if like."
"Erm, thanks. I'm just going to…" his eyes flickered around the room desperately.
"Use the loo?" she offered.
"That's it!" he said, and fled.
He was back by the time she'd managed the coffee, something she seldom drank but knew exactly how he liked, anyway. He'd found clean blue jeans and a tee shirt and looked considerably more at ease.
They'd passed a companionable breakfast, comfortable silences interspersed with bouts of easy and general conversation, and Harry had visibly relaxed. Hermione allowed herself to enjoy it thoroughly until the dishes were scrubbing themselves in the sink and Crookshanks was happily at work on the leftovers. They were due to meet with Elspeth an hour before noon; it was time to clear the air.
"Come and sit a moment, Harry, will you? We need to talk."
His eyes took on a look first of puzzlement - they'd been talking all through breakfast, hadn't they? - then dawning discomfort when he realized what she meant.
He sat on the far end of the sofa, unconsciously adopting almost the exact position she'd been in the last time they talked; shoved into the corner, arms crossed defensively over his chest.
"What do you think I'm going to say to you, Harry?" she asked, as gently as she could.
"We're both of us rubbish at divination," he countered unsteadily. "Just say it."
So this was how it was going to be, then. Not for long, if she had anything to do with it. This wasn't Hermione's forte either; and just because she was a girl didn't mean he could make her act like one. All the time, anyway.
She moved to the edge of the sofa and gently grasped his bandaged hands, forcing herself not to give in to her sudden curiosity to check on their healing. She made to unwind them, sensing first his slight resistance followed almost immediately by acquiescence. He'd never fight her, not over something like this, and she knew it. It was one of the things she loved about him; Ron would have made the most of it, sulking and trying to make her beg to change his mood. She sat quite close to him, deliberately invading his comfort zone and effectively blocking out any convenient distractions, before re-wrapping his arms around her waist. They tightened almost reflexively as soon as she let go, drawing her comfortably close, needing only to be shown what to do and given permission to do it. And betraying, of course, that he wanted her, but thought she was going to tell him it had all been a big mistake.
"We need to talk about us."
His eyes regarded her gravely, waiting.
"Were you serious that night?" she asked, thinking it best to keep things uncomplicated.
He nodded once, cleared his throat froggily and nodded again. "Of course I was, Hermione."
Her heart leapt but she regarded him calmly, allowing her eyes to meet his and remaining still. They stared at each other in silence for some endless amount of time until his brain caught up with what she was doing.
"Oh… umm. Were you? I mean, I think you were, you always say what you mean. It's one of the best things about… I mean, umm, I really like that about you," he blurted.
He was so sweet, really. It was another of the things she liked best about him; that fact that he could be so gentle with her when she knew so well now how fierce he could be in her defense. Ron would defend her to the death from anyone else, then turn around and treat her like …
It was past time to stop that now for good. She needed to stop comparing them. She'd fairly well made her choice and it was going to be hard enough finding a way to salvage Ron's friendship without any more of that. Ron was Ron; Harry was Harry. She didn't want either of them to change; it was she who had changed, or perhaps simply opened her eyes now that school was behind them and real life ahead.
"Thank you," she said, allowing herself to lay her hand gently on his leg. The muscle twitched sharply beneath her fingers. "And yes, I was."
There was another silence as he processed this.
"Hermione, I don't know how to do this right," he started falteringly. "I… You mean the world to me, you always have. I'm honored, I feel incredibly lucky that you would even think that you could feel this way about me. Half of me just wants to wallow in it and do whatever it takes to make you the happiest girl, erm, woman, unh, ever. The other half wants to warn you off me like a rabid werewolf. Both of them truly care for you, and I'm not entirely sure which one I should be listening to."
"The first one, of course. I've known you far too long to be warned off, Harry. And I wanted us to talk it through a bit before going to see Elspeth, because, well… she knows."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "You said that the other night…"
She shook her head, making sure she had his attention. "It's different now. She suspected what I told you then, it's what finally made me think about us clearly, but you told her yourself yesterday. You were a little, well, influenced, by the potion they gave you for the reaction…"
He groaned softly and buried his head in his hands.
"It's just that she's very nice, Harry, and I know she'd never say a word to you about it unless you did yourself first. I thought you should know."
"What exactly did I say?" he asked from behind his hands.
"I believe your exact words were 'don't tell Ron, but Merhione loves me.'"
He winced; she could tell even from behind his hands because it was sort of a thorough, full-body shudder. "Merhione?"
She nodded and allowed herself the smallest of grins. "You also called me Mrs. Grouchy Knickers, but I'm not going to hold it against you. Honest."
The hands dropped down again and he stared at her wonderingly. "Thanks. You ought to, really. Sorry about that."
"It's not the end of the world, Harry; I just thought you ought to know before we go to see her. I'm coming with you, because we're going to talk about your little fading incident the other night as well. You really scared me that time and if we're going to be together that's something I need to understand. Something you need to be able to control. I couldn't bear it if it ever happened for real."
He nodded acceptingly; she was fairly certain he'd rather face the Hungarian horntail from fourth year naked and with his hands tied behind his back than discuss his magical impulse to disappear with Elspeth Hawktalon, but that was really just too damn bad. There were probably always sacrifices to be made in the name of love, and she was fairly certain she could make it worth his while. She was enjoying that part as well, so far at least, and was intrigued to move it along.
It was incredibly empowering to feel the roiling surge of Harry's overcharged magic just beneath the surface of his responses to her touch. Oddly enough, imagining all that coming to a point where he could be brought willingly (or helplessly) to relinquishing control wasn't frightening her in the least; mental images of him doing so had filled her dreams the night before. She wondered briefly what that said about her. If he could almost vanish himself in desolation, what might he be able to do in a particularly…. happy moment?
The thought of the exploding ice sculptures and gushing pumpkin soup from the Order incident wasn't helping anything, either.
She took hold of his hands and guided them back around her, allowing herself to slide forward against him hesitantly. To give credit where credit was due, he might need a nudge in the right direction but once there he seemed to have all the right instincts. There was something in the way he held her just before he kissed her that brought home all the things she had sensed were there over the last year. She felt admired, respected and cherished all at once, precious. It was a lovely, lovely feeling and she let it wrap around her as closely and warmly as his arms.
That someone who had probably never known comfort like that from another could convey it so clearly moved her deeply. As much as she sensed he was taking pleasure in touching her, he was clearly seeking to please her as well. What started out as a kiss had slipped easily into a wordless conversation of sorts; every new touch a question, every answer leading to another attempt to draw closer still. He was very quiet himself, but she soon found that her slightest sound was quickly interpreted and resulted in a furthering or backing off of his lips or fingers.
Being Hermione that just wouldn't do; she was determined that he would participate equally. Moan, groan, hiss… hell, she wouldn't mind if he squeaked at this point, but he was going to use that mouth for more than just … Wait, was she out of her mind? Only if he could do it while not stopping that for a second, then. He was exploring the join of her neck and her shoulder; the combination of gentle nudging from his nose and the warm slide of his lips setting off the most incredible and vivid urges in the fingers she'd buried in his hair to guide him lower, elsewhere. She wasn't even exactly sure what she wanted him to do, except to never stop feeling this way for her. She was pretty sure she could easily settle for a lifetime of those kisses exploring every inch of her and never look back.
Except that he was distracting her from her goal; and time was running out. He was being a perfect gentleman; his fingers curling ever so slowly and gently along her sides but never slipping lower than the hem of her shirt, so using hers anywhere immediately obvious was out. Gently lipping his ear, so conveniently close, unfortunately proved ticklish and while it did elicit a sound, surprised laughter wasn't exactly what she was going for. It did bring them back face to face though, and Hermione always had a plan b. Today's was called "wing it."
She brushed his lips with her own, just barely. When he came slightly forward to respond she pulled back. He backed off, surprised, and she moved forward softly again, only just connecting. The slight touch was clearly enough to move him; his lips were already parting as he came toward her again. Again she leaned slightly back. He held steady this time, observing her, and she observed the unevenness of his breathing through those still-parted lips. It was like teasing a cat with a bit of paper on a string, she could almost see his tail twitching and it was only a matter of time until he pounced. She deliberately allowed the very tip of her tongue to moisten her upper lip and found herself suddenly and pleasantly on her back, his elbows propping him just above her. The strain of holding himself there was making lovely things happen in the subtle shifting of his shoulder muscles beneath her hands and she couldn't help but smile.
"What?" he asked, with a slow answering grin that shook her confidence that she was even at all in control of the situation.
"It's, um, almost time to leave to meet Elspeth," she told him.
He groaned then. It was just a soft little sound of disappointment; perfectly appropriate as a response to having to turn from what they were doing to something else that was hardly on his top-ten list of enjoyable ways to spend time. The thing of it was it still vibrated through his chest just the way she'd hoped, the same chest that was now partially flush against her lower half and weighting her down into the sofa cushions. And there she was; victim of her own success, left suddenly fighting for her own breath.
"Bloody hell, Harry," she whispered, and pushed up into him for one last kiss, "promise me you'll remember exactly where we were for next time. I need to hear that again."
"What again?" he managed, confused but eager still to please. "I didn't say anything."
"That little sound you made right before I did this," she reminded him, trying that one last kiss one more time. They improved with practice, both of them. And it had been more than good enough to start with.
"Do that again," he panted when their lips finally parted; "and I guarantee you will."
A really, really good day. And it hadn't even reached noon then.
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Then there had been their meeting with Elspeth.
It hadn't started off all that well. When they'd arrived at the Ministry to collect her and head to the coffee shop it was to find her waiting for them with something that looked suspiciously like fury in her hazel eyes. Hermione noticed that when she was angry they took on more of Harry's sort of green.
"We need to meet here today," she said, tight lipped "in the conference room. With our little friend Leonard the Auror, although I can still send him away out to the hall and bloody trust me, I will. I've just had my chain yanked a bit."
Hermione saw a large young man lurking several doorways away down the hall, looking every inch the Auror and thus, as Tonks would surely say, not a very good one.
She saw Harry's mouth open and she knew with the certainty of long time friendship that his next word would be 'sorry'. She was surprised; however, that having been acquainted with him such a relatively short time that Elspeth obviously knew it too.
She cut him off. "And don't even go there, Harry. You've got far more to worry about than I do. Come."
She led the way to the conference room upstairs and opened the door, indicating they should enter before her. Harry led the way and Hermione moved close behind him. When the looming Auror made to cut her off Hermione saw Elspeth raise her hand.
"Stop. Heel. Sit. Outside. No arguments either, you know I can tell you to do that."
"If my presence appears to be inhibiting your investigation and you have it under control," the Auror grumbled. "You don't know either yet. And what's she doing here?"
"Your presence inhibited my investigation with this subject once before, and you were there when he assured us both I was in no danger." Elspeth told him. "Case closed. Like the door." She closed it, shutting him off from view, and held her finger to her lips.
Hermione was treated then to some of the most singular magic she had ever seen. Elspeth's wand arced through the air and several detection charms displayed the magic already at play in the room. She seemed to spend a moment identifying them and soaking in their counter play. Apparently satisfied, she began to weave a complex web of spells and charms the scope of which reminded Hermione more of what she knew of muggle computer programming (if spell one equals an activated listening charm, then go to charm eight, simulated false alarm) than magic. It was nothing so simple, but it was based entirely on anticipating and fooling or deactivating each of the many spells within the room without letting their casters or monitors know that anything was amiss, and it was a work of art when completed. It was cat burglar magic, but quite amazingly stealthy in its approach and Hermione and Harry, who had done a bit of the same while hunting horcruxes, were floored.
"That should do it," she said at last, and collapsed into one of the chairs around the scarred wooden table. "Have a seat."
"You," Harry told her as he pulled out a chair for Hermione, "are really, really good. Scary good, as a matter of fact. Why is it you work here again?"
Elspeth laughed. "Because it's legal?"
Hermione was amazed at the rapid change in her mood. She seemed to have utter faith in her magic foiling the many spells that had awaited them and was now visibly relaxing.
"What happened?" she asked.
Elspeth smiled ruefully. "Well, it was really only a matter of time, wasn't it? I tried to be honest with Harry at the outset. I figured they'd only picked me to do this because they thought me incompetent to succeed, so I felt fairly confident about treating him just like anyone else. And I don't think they've twigged anything specific, actually, I think things may have just progressed to the next inevitable step."
"Which is?" Harry seemed calm enough, but Hermione found herself undergoing the stomach flutters of premonition. Infinitely less fun than the kind she'd been enjoying earlier and so all the more obvious clamoring for her attention.
"Scrimgeour's office received word of your visit to St. Mungo's. The subtleties between your body's negative reaction to the burning yew wood of Voldemort's wand and 'Potter still reportedly bears evidence of open curse wounds as a direct and continuing result of magic applied by You Know Who' obviously escape them. Or at least, that was Percy Weasley's translation of what your healers told him."
"Percy Weasley outlived his usefulness as a human being sometime around his third year at Hogwarts. Choosing him for prefect was one of the biggest mistakes Dumbledore ever made; he's been an insufferable git ever since." Harry told her. "Ron despises just being related to him."
"Unfortunately, he's got Scrimgeour's ear. Not that I don't think the Minister doesn't peg him for the git he is, but an easily impressed self-important git can be a very useful weapon in the hands of a ruthless leader," Elspeth said. "Scrimgeour really wants you… regulated."
"Exactly how regulated are we talking?" Harry wondered.
Elspeth seemed to weigh her response carefully.
"Harry, my job is supposed to be to determine the presence of destructive or negatively applied spells on you and to reverse them. It's going well beyond my scope to tell you what I'm about to, so I feel compelled to let you know that my sources are all unofficial, and quite a lot of what they had to say was bought with meals at a traveling Wizard's pub."
She eyed him carefully and he nodded his acknowledgment of her warning.
"Oh, and one of them just might have been, erm, Severus Snape."
Hermione'd felt it right away then; but it was different than before. At the house when the windows blew, or even earlier at the Order of Merlin ceremony, his magic had just let loose. Exploded. There'd been no warning, at least none that anyone other than Harry could have determined. This time it was more like the full adrenalin situations where she'd felt him sort of suck the energy out of his surroundings before he let fly. The distinction seemed small but she knew it wasn't; this was what his righteous anger felt like when it got away from him.
She'd felt it coming, but she'd just sat there, too stunned yet to act. Elspeth, on the other hand, seemed to have foreseen the possibility. Of course, she'd known she was going to bring up Snape as well.
Hermione saw her cast a webby blue shield over the three of them; Harry's loosed flare of raw magic ricocheted around the room bouncing off the charms she'd so carefully wrought, perhaps for this very purpose. Harry himself cursed and extended his hand. His fingers first splayed and then contracted and twisted sharply. The flare of energy shattered into thousands of tiny black bats that shimmered and squeaked until they winked out of view like the spent ashes from Ginny's note.
Harry could say the name himself, carefully, of course and in a joking manner, but she'd always seen that trouble was coming from that direction by his reaction when it was brought up by anyone else.
"Effing marvelous," he raged as soon as the bats were gone and Elspeth had lowered the shield, watching him avidly. "I can not believe you would discuss me with Snape over food. You must have a bloody good stomach and very little taste."
Elspeth face remained neutral, but Hermione got the sense she was working hard to keep it so and Harry might just get his own chain yanked if he wasn't careful. She was pretty sure Elspeth was one of those who'd know just how to yank for maximum effect, too.
"As a matter of fact it took the pleasure right out of my dinner," she said evenly. "I left it to him. But not, I think for the reasons you suggest. It was Snape who finally clued me in to what happened the night you killed Voldemort. I thought if I waited for you to trust me enough to tell me, my hearing aid and senile dementia might get in the way." She leveled her gaze on him in a manner that recalled part of her surname. "Tell me Harry, if you hate him so, why did he tell me it was your testimony that kept him out of Azkaban?"
"Because it was," Harry snarled. Hermione hadn't heard him make a sound like that since… well, since the last time he'd seen Snape, probably. "Because he didn't deserve Azkaban, not the way the laws are worded or what they do to you there, although I've always thought even a Dementor would spit out his soul in distaste. He'll get what's coming to him some day, I'm sure of it. Can we just forget him and move on?"
Their eyes met and held; Harry's and Elspeth's, and Hermione recognized that something passed between them then, something perhaps neither fully understood. They both seemed uncomfortable, defensive and equally sure that they were right and the other wrong, but there was a current of respect on both sides that appeared to make them equally unwilling to outright defy each other. One thing stood out to her, however; Elspeth didn't like Snape any more than Harry did. She'd just had longer to cope with it, or learned to hide it better.
"Fine," said Elspeth crisply.
"Fine," Harry echoed, still with a shadow of a growl to his voice.
"Oh for Merlin's sake," Hermione told him. "Grow up. This is serious. We need to know what's on the Minister's mind, Harry, and Elspeth needs to know about your little fade out the other night. Let's get on with it. I believe we were at 'exactly how regulated'?"
Elspeth rearranged her expression from affronted friend to professional Spell Damage witch. "Scrimgeour's office has been nosing around St. Mungo's and apparently elsewhere as well, looking for a non-reversible way to limit someone's magic," she told him. "There's even word floating around about it in Knockturn Alley. He wants what he wants, no matter where it comes from, and apparently the scuttlebutt is that the Ministry is willing to fund it."
"And guess who's magic that would be," Harry said tiredly, pushing up his glasses and rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Well I suppose I knew it was coming…"
Hermione had been outraged and upset when they had taken Harry's wand; she was infuriated now. All of the moral anger she'd felt for the plight of the house elves suddenly discovered its new home and suffused her. She wished her magic was strong enough to blow the top off her frustration.
Witches and Wizards were sheep. Idiots. Their entire history was full of ridiculous squabbles over power. She should know; she'd actually stayed awake for most of it, unlike the rest of them. Maybe it was time to make some history even Binns couldn't make boring.
"It's NOT coming. Over my dead body it's coming! You gave up your entire childhood to some bigoted Muggles and a stupid prophecy just to free them from something they were too scared to name. Well, Voldemort's reign of fear is over and you paid the price for it. It's about time the average witch and wizard on the street said their 'thank you' by booting scheming old men like Scrimgeour and anyone that will listen to him out of office."
"It's not as easy as that, Hermione," Harry began soothingly, but she was on a roll.
"Nothing worthwhile is easy! Defeating Voldemort was hardly easy. But what you did, all you are now, it has to count for something. Harry, what if we were to have children some day and one of them inherited the type of magic you have, would you let anyone interfere with them?"
Hermione watched realization dawn slowly on Harry's face. She could see it had never occurred to him, even for a moment, and she almost forgot how angry she was as she saw him struggle and cautiously accept the possibility of children in his life. She could tell almost to the moment when he got past their potential likelihood to grasp the reality of them, and then to the thought of anyone affecting their magic in any way. His whole body stiffened and she wondered, desperately, what he saw in his mind's eye.
Elspeth looked extremely curious as well, but more than just a little nervous about Harry's reaction. Hermione realized she had a point; it was a perfect opportunity for Harry's magic to blow yet again.
It didn't.
"No," said Harry, in a voice she barely recognized as his own. "No," he said again, stronger and more himself. "I couldn't let that happen."
His eyes rose from their blind examination of the table's worn wood grain to hers and she was fairly certain he'd forgotten for the moment Elspeth was even in the room. "I would never let that happen, Hermione."
"Then don't," she begged. "It's not right if they do it to you either, Harry. You've done nothing to deserve it and if you let them the precedent will be set and then where will it end? No witch or wizard should ever be forced into using or losing their connection to their own magic against their will. It's just plain wrong, and no amount of rhetoric and fear mongering will ever make it right. Fighting a thousand Voldemorts would be better than what we'd all become if Wizards accept that idea."
"The problem," interjected Elspeth gently, "is that until Scrimgeour makes his move there's little enough you can actually do, and by then it may be too late. You can't publicly accuse him of something he hasn't done yet, and even if you try to galvanize support quietly he'll hear of it. You need to know exactly what he's pursuing as a solution, or if he even has one already. That's where erm, sorry Harry, but Snape comes in again. It was your own healer who suggested he was more likely than anyone alive today to have some inkling if it already exists, or how to do what Scrimgeour wants. We both know that it's only too true."
Harry's face revealed both his displeasure and reluctant agreement.
"There are things we can be doing in the meantime, too," Hermione pointed out. "There are still ways of making a preemptive strike, or at least making him think twice about the cost of what he's doing. We can petition the Wizengamot to legislate against what he's doing before he even does it without naming names at all. I know they're slow and they take forever to get to things, but we can still start. And we can get the press to look at the issue too…"
"Because we know the Daily Prophet isn't in his pocket or anything, and they dearly love me," Harry said bitterly.
"You're forgetting someone who does dearly love you, Harry. Luna. Luna would get her father to back you in anything you do, you know that. And the Quibbler has come a long way since fifth year; lots of norm… regular people read it now." Hermione reminded him.
"You know the publisher of the Quibbler?" Elspeth questioned.
"His daughter. Luna Lovegood was a year behind us at Hogwarts. She grew up in Ottery St. Catchpole near the Weasley's." Hermione explained. You never knew how people were going to take that, so many saw the Lovegoods as a family of loons. Luna had proved herself every bit the Ravenclaw and yet still true of heart more than once in Harry's eyes, and that was good enough for Hermione.
"That sounds to have more practical application than the Wizengamot then, although you, Hermione, are perhaps the one person I wouldn't put it past to get them to move their ancient and most venerable bums. I warn you though, if the Quibbler starts banging a drum over magical rights without direct provocation there's only one place Scrimgeour's office is going to look and he's sitting between us. Well, maybe me as well, but that's no big deal."
"We don't want to get you into trouble," Harry mumbled. "You've done enough for me as it is."
Elspeth laughed then, a warm and reassuring sound. "I'll let you in on a secret, Harry. I was literally on my way to Clement Bagnold's office to hand in my resignation when they dropped you into my lap. Well, your paper work, anyway," she said, laughing again at Harry's blush at the first image. "I stayed on for one reason. I wanted to meet the boy who lived and see what makes him tick. Well, I've met you, but I'm hardly sure what makes you tick and I'm still ninety eight percent sure you've got a bad spell on you somewhere. I'm not giving up on you, not yet. Now tell me," she turned to Hermione, "what you meant about Harry fading out."
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Elspeth had clearly been intrigued by Harry's halting admission of wanting to simply disappear and almost achieving it. Hermione credited her with mostly hiding it behind a very professional and reassuring demeanor. She questioned him gently but at some length, pursing avenues Hermione realized she herself would never have thought of. He'd never told her of the other voice he'd heard, for example, and that pointed things in some very specific directions. He'd said he wanted to just disappear, not to die. He'd not been overtly ill when she'd called him back, his heart had never stopped. He'd been cold, though, and she could remember keenly the feeling of his body almost re-assembling itself, bones and muscle, blood and skin around her hands. Had he been undergoing a form of apparition then, to somewhere else here, or slipping between the streams of time and space somewhere else beyond what they knew?
"With Harry anything seems possible," Elspeth admitted, "but in my experience it's always worth ruling out the most probable and obvious before heading off into the unknown. You just never know where that's going to land you."
"That's the problem, though," Harry said. "I've no idea where I was going to land. I didn't want to go anywhere, I just sort of wanted to be nowhere."
"Would it be asking too much to know why?" she prodded gently. "You can just say so if it is."
Harry appeared distinctly uncomfortable but seemed to reach a decision. "Well, as Snape would be no help to you this time," he started off falteringly, "I was thinking…"
"He certainly wouldn't then," Elspeth told him with a grin. "He appears to believe you haven't had a complete thought yet."
It had been a clever little trick and bore galvanizing results.
"Hermione'd just kissed me, actually," he said, his voice stronger this time. "And it wasn't a bit like the 'good luck with the Muggles and keep your chin up' one in King's Cross after fifth year, either. It kind of shocked me. In a really nice way," he said with a sidelong glance at Hermione, "but I… surprised myself. With how much I'd wanted it, actually. And then it was like reality came flooding back and I realized I'd erm, done something you really aren't supposed to do with your best mate's girl, even if you've been friends with her for every bit as long. And I thought she'd been taking pity on me and I'd taken it wrong…"
"And it seemed like one more tragedy in the life of Harry Potter," Elspeth said. "Don't take this personally, you two, but it's just an old, old story with a twist. Ever heard of Arthur and Guinevere and Lancelot? Stuff happens, people change; life goes on. It's only tragedy if you let it be, and look what happened to them! We're all still reeling from their bloody overdeveloped sense of chivalry. Neither of you two are exactly cut out for vows of celibacy from the look of you. And quite frankly the merest idea of Hermione in a nunnery just makes me want to break out in mad laughter even the charms I just put on this place wouldn't hold. Take my advice and tell Ron now, the moment he comes home, both of you. Let him get as mad as he wants to, just don't let him feel for a moment he's been betrayed because he hasn't. You guys are so young, you only feel old because last year might as well have been twenty for all you went through. You'll get through this in one piece if you're just honest with each other and realize life is a journey, not a destination."
It was too late to turn back; they'd already been glancing each others' way. Harry and Hermione both dissolved into laughter.
"Merlin, Elspeth, why don't you tell us what you really think?" Harry gasped out.
"Well, since you've asked…"
"He can silence you without a wand," Hermione warned her, "look out for his hands."
"I think that would be your problem, missy. And before this descends into even deeper juvenility, can I just say I think you two make a very lovely couple, really, and move on? The angst is killing me; I'm too old for all of this."
"On the plus side," Harry told her, "I don't feel like disappearing anymore."
He'd run his hands on up through his fringe trying to wipe the laughter from his face; his hair was even more on end that usual and his cheeks were faintly flushed. Hermione thought he looked happier and healthier in that moment than she remembered seeing in him months, certainly since Voldemort's defeat, anyway. Bloody Scrimgeour could get stuffed.
"Hold that thought then," Elspeth said, "and I'll keep looking into the other. I'll let you know what I find out next time."
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So here they were; back at the boys' flat and waiting for Ron. He'd owled Harry to say he'd be back around ten in the evening and it was almost eleven now, but then he'd had never exactly been punctual and she wasn't really worried.
Harry was sitting beside her at the kitchen table worrying the label off a muggle beer and feeding Hedwig leftover sausage bits from the Toad in the Hole he'd managed to make them for dinner. Hermione had tried not to enjoy his domestic side too much because she knew its roots lay with the Dursley's, but it was hard not to like a guy who could put dinner on the table without whinging about it and still look good bending over the oven door as well.
A sharp crack! announced Ron's arrival. In typical Ron style, however, he'd ended up facing the wall instead of into the room and it was hard to tell who jumped more; Harry at the sound; or Ron at the sight of both of them waiting for him when he turned around.
"Well there's a welcome," he said. "I thought the two of you would be in bed."
Harry snorted beer out his nose and Hedwig fled, hooting shrilly.
"Tastes better going down than coming up mate." Ron said with a laugh, dumping his Quidditch gear to the floor and kicking it aside. "Got another of those around?"
Harry gestured to counter where a bottle already awaited him, still coughing.
"How did it go?" Hermione asked to fill in the gap. "Have you heard?"
"It was brilliant!" Ron enthused. "Loads of great players, not a seeker in sight who could have touched our Harry here, but there was some brilliant scrimmaging and practices with B&I league keepers and everything. Great fun. We're not supposed to find out if we're going to get offers from any of the teams until after we get back home, but a chaser from Durmstrang got an Owl on his way out the door! He was wicked good though, could have skipped his last year of school entirely."
"Because there's absolutely no chance of getting hurt playing Quidditch and having to fall back on something as insignificant as an education," said Hermione, before she could stop herself.
"Play long enough and you can fall back on just having played," Ron pointed out comfortably.
"Yes, Ludo Bagman's career is an inspiration to us all," she retorted. "Being such an idiot you don't even realize who you're passing information on to is something more of us should aspire to. He almost ended up in Azkaban, Ron."
"But he didn't, did he? And you can't tell me playing for the Wasps the way he did didn't have something to do with it. Brilliant beater he was, never missed a bludger and kept his chasers in the clear."
"So selling us all out to Voldemort through Augustus Rookwood for a Ministry job after his Quidditch days were over was justified, was it? Bagman was so dim he didn't even…"
Harry'd been periodically coughing all along but the cough that cut her off this time was different because his foot followed up beneath the table. Oh, right. The talk.
"Ron…" she started.
"Hermione," he grinned back. "You're lovely when you're mad, you know. Not angry, mind you, but truly mad."
"Right," she said. What the hell was she supposed to say to that? Thanks, but listen, I think we should see other people?
"So what did you two get up to while I was gone?" he asked. "Harry mind his manners?"
Harry set down his beer; it was clear there were going to be no safe opportunities in which to drink it anytime soon.
"Place looks alright. How many thing's did you have to repair for him? I had to do the toilet just before I left."
"It's been fine, actually," she said, glad his only incident in the flat had burnt itself out without leaving a scrap of evidence. Except for the reason for this whole bloody conversation, anyway.
"Ron, we need to talk," she finally managed.
"Bloody hell," he complained, turning to Harry, "that's her relationship voice. Can't it wait until tomorrow, Hermione? I've just this minute got back in the flat."
"No," she said firmly. "It can't. It's because I love you that I have to tell you I don't think that I love you right now, before it goes any further and someone gets hurt."
"Erm, said Ron. "What?"
This was the perfect time to cry; to be a total girl and dissolve into tears and make Harry take care of the rest of it. Except Hermione didn't think that was what being a girl was all about, and she'd always thought the sort of girl who'd do that kind of thing was weak and dim. The temptation to become weak and dim at the moment was astounding; unfortunately it was beyond her to do either.
"Ron, what Hermione's trying to say is…" Harry started; his eyes full of sympathy.
Buck up, Hermione Granger.
"What I'm trying to say is I had time to think about a lot of things while I was here that I never quite get round to at my parents' house. Since you were gone, and I missed you being here, a good bit of it was about you, Ron. We've been friends forever and I love you very, very much. I love that you've always been so loyal to Harry and I. I love what a wonderful brother and son you are, how tight and strong your family is. I love how you always make us laugh, how you could do it even when we were scared sometimes last year. I love the way your mind works when you're playing chess and it's all so clear to you and you can see every possibility on the board. I love you enough to realize that it's not fair to you that I've fallen in love with Harry in another way entirely, and I wanted you to know that. Because I love you."
"Bloody hell," said Ron again, and looked at Harry. "You're in love with Harry? Since when?"
"We only just figured it out, actually. Day before yesterday," she admitted.
"We? We? Are you in on this too?" Ron's eyes had never left him but it had only taken them the space of a moment for their expression to change completely.
"No, Ron, of course he isn't," Hermione snapped. "I thought I'd just ruin your day with an admission of entirely unreciprocated love for your best friend."
"I asked him," Ron snarled, in a most un-Ronly way.
"Yeah," Harry said, albeit reluctantly. "I'm in on it too. And while you've got every right to be pissed off with the both of us, I do have one thought for you. Look at us, Ron. We're not happy either; but we're not sneaking behind your back or trying to hurt you or anything. We're staking our friendship on the hope that you'll realize the last thing either of us wants is for you to hate us over something stupid."
"Stupid. Is that what we were?" Ron turned on Hermione. "Did you tell him we were stupid together?"
A comeback was still forming on Hermione's lips when Harry cut in again.
"No. No, Ron, you did. The morning you left? In the bathtub? You did. I know you love her. You love her like you own her. But you want her to be different, you want her to be what you want her to be, what you need, not what she is. And you were actually thinking that…"
"Shut up, Harry." Ron warned him.
Harry nodded. "Fine. I'll shut up. But it still doesn't change what you already feel, does it?"
"Oh, so you just want her now because I don't?" Ron's eyes grew heavy with what he'd admitted before the words had fully escaped his lips. "Shit. Shit, Harry, that was low."
Harry said nothing at first and Hermione saw their eyes meet again. It ought to have hurt, what Ron said, but it felt like a memory already, a wound endured long before.
"No, Ron." Harry said softly. "That was. I put her off limits the moment I saw you were starting to look at her as more than a friend. I put up with the two of you through the Yule ball nonsense and the Won Won incident and the attack of the killer canaries because you were my friends and I wanted you to be happy. Nothing mattered as long as nothing came between the three of us. I loved Hermione for who she was before my bloody voice even changed. Everything's changed since then except that. It's not about …"
"Yeah, right," Ron broke in. "You've got my blessing there, Harry. Love her all you want, and see how long you last with out shagging her. Go on. Bloody liar. It is too about sex."
"What do you care? I'm not passionate enough for you, anyway!" Hermione sneered, and then her heart dropped like a stone. Oh yeah, but I'm smart. Because that was pure genius.
"You bloody arsehole! You told her! What was all that 'fine, I'll shut up' crap about? You told her! Is that how you got her to do it?"
Harry's eyes searched hers in surprise and she saw the doubt start to grow in his own.
"I never did," he said.
"Bloody liar. What a bloody pathetic way to start something…"
"He didn't, Ron," she admitted. "I already knew. I apparated in with the doughnuts that morning and went looking for the two of you. You were in the lav then, both of you. I meant to knock and tell you I was there, but you were just explaining to Harry how you felt like you had a leash on, how I was a bit lacking in the passion department and you just couldn't get me revved up enough to get past it. How getting me jealous moved things along. Ringing any bells yet?"
Ron's face was almost as red as his hair before; it abruptly went white then. It was make it or break it time now, and she knew it. The problem was she was torn between the two of them, wanting to reconcile with Ron but aching to reassure Harry, who seemed now from his shuttered look to be trying to fend off the thought that she'd turned to him in response to the hurt of Ron's words that morning.
"Ron," she said despairingly, "We've hurt each other, the two of us, because we both needed more. Or less, or something just different then we were able to be. I know I disappointed you, I probably deserved what you said, but it still hurt when you said it. Can't we just admit that we're better off as friends?"
She saw the stubborn streak that was so strong in him fighting her every word.
"Why him? Why Harry? D'you know what everyone will say? I've never been more than his sidekick anyway, and now he's got you, too."
Harry twitched then, and one of the cabinet doors dropped off its hinges. Another followed, then two more. He stretched his neck, clearly trying to relax. One more dropped.
"That's not bloody fair," he said. "I never saw you that way; I never treated you that way. I bloody envied you, Ron, you were just too sorry for yourself to see it. I relied on you, I trusted you with my life, with her life. I would have died for you. Say what you want about me, then, but don't drag Hermione down to your level if all you can care about is what someone else might think. She's way ahead of us, either of us. We're not in school anymore. We only get one life and we all know that it's a crap shot at best we'll be here a year from now. Or that I will, anyway. Why waste a moment of it on what anyone else thinks?"
Ron blinked. His mouth opened and closed, and he blinked again. His gaze dropped to the beer bottle in front of him, and Hermione's heart contracted to see the gleam of unshed tears as he did.
"Ron, please," she begged. Oh yes, she could beg. She'd do more than that if she had to, but she thought he might be softening.
"You don't need my blessing," he said, but it came out soft and choked. "Do what you want."
"We may not need it," Harry told him gently, "But we want it Ron. I know it's a lot to ask, but it's nothing we wouldn't give you, either of us, if things were different."
"You're already talking for each other, do you hear it? We, we, we. Is she going to live here too? Or are you moving out on me."
"We never even talked about it Ron. I don't know what you think I've done, but I think we've kissed three times so far. It always came back to you before it ever went anywhere. Neither of us wanted to hurt you," Harry said.
"So you're basing all of this on three kisses? What if you shag each other and hate each other in the morning? What then?" Ron pointed out.
"Then we go on. We're not going to hate each other, and we're never going to hate you. We promised each other to be friends first no matter what and I think you should be in on it too. It's why we waited. Ron, please, think about it." Hermione asked him.
His head literally sagged on his neck as the stubbornness at last gave way.
"You promise you're not going to go all weird on me?" He said tiredly, his eyes shifting from one to the other.
"What, weirder than exploding the loo or smashing the china?" Harry asked. "You've taken far and away too much crap from me already, Ron, and I promise not to sprawl all over the sofa sucking on her like a plunger for hours on end and calling her Herm Herm or anything."
"Merlin, you'll never let me live down sixth year will you," Ron groaned, but there was the ghost of a smile somewhere in his voice. "Lavender Brown be damned."
Hermione refrained from pointing out that she probably was if she was still pursing Justin Finch Fletchley.
"Besides," she said softly, "Herm Herm sounds like a dreadful reminder of Dolores Umbridge. If I lacked passion before that would fix it for good."
Ron turned to her and held out his arms; she stumbled gratefully into them, knocking over the chair between on the way. She heard him say sorry more than once, and held him with both regret and certainty in her choice. When she pulled back at last it was to find with relief that Harry was still there, eyes ducked, fingers working a sort of sculpture out of the shreds of his beer label. She'd half feared that either the plumbing would be gushing or he'd have disappeared; he seemed to be holding on, if by a thread.
Ron looked up too, and gently disentangled himself. "I'm dead tired," he said gruffly. "I'm going to hit it. We can work it all out in the morning, yeah? About, well everything. After you two have, erm… you know, talked and everything."
They agreed and watched him slog his Quidditch gear off toward his bedroom. Hermione'd left her bag and Crookshanks carrier in the hall; they heard him run into it and curse.
"I don't like having her here already, Harry," he called from the hall.
"Kick it in my room," Harry called back, his eyes never leaving hers as she made her way toward him. "It'll never be in the hall again, I promise."
"I promise," he said again before he kissed her, and the solemn weight of his words settled like a blanket over her, sheltering her at last from everything but each other.