Official Fine Print: Nope. Not mine. The brainchildren of the mighty pen of JK Rowling. Just playing with them.
Fixing Harry
Chapter 12
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Hermione surveyed Harry's bedroom with an assessing eye. The boys' flat wasn't bad, really, so much as inadequate. If she was going to stay here clearly at least a couple of things would have to change.
Harry himself was asleep behind her, spooned against her back. One arm had snaked around over her side and she curled her own fingers through his and brought his hand up beneath her chin. She could feel the swell and fall of his ribs against her back and the gentle tickle of his breathing along the nape of her neck. All was safe and sound for the moment; and when Hermione was safe and sound she liked to plan.
First off, they probably needed to decide exactly what they were to each other now. Because it was highly unlikely no one was going to notice the change, and the sooner the people they actually cared about knowing got used to it the less weird it would be for Ron.
Not that she herself had any real complaints about the undefined version, mind you, but if they were going to go through the expected public dance of courtship, either the apartment needed to be enlarged by at least one room or she needed to find a flat on her own nearby.
Hermione personally thought the latter route rather hypocritical now. She didn't need to get to know him; how could she know him any better? She didn't want to step back from what she'd found and put on some act of rediscovering it just to make others happy.
She understood acknowledging the moral sensibilities of those they loved and those that loved them, but they seemed in truth too varied to know exactly which ones to try and honor. Harry had no family, or at least none that mattered. From the sound of it the Dursleys wouldn't accept her any more than they had him, and she'd likely feel compelled to curse their sorry arses from one end of Britain to the next if she was forced to observe any of their behavior first hand. The issue there, at least, was moot.
Her own parents had seemed over the years to come to accept that she would ultimately make her life in the magical world. They'd enjoyed having her home over the summer but made it clear they understood Ron's reluctance to consider a muggle-based existence and wouldn't stand in the way of her happiness with him. She doubted it would be any different with Harry, in fact when she'd first told her mother that she was seeing Ron her mum just smiled and said she'd always known it would be one of them.
"I thought it would be Harry, to be honest, sweetheart. There always seemed to be a little something extra in your eyes when you talked about him," she had told her daughter with a smile. "We just want you to be happy, no matter what you chose."
Perhaps mothers did know best sometimes; hers had certainly called that one. Hermione didn't honestly see her parents as having any real problem with her living arrangements once she'd made up her mind to them. Her Dad would make a show of calling Harry aside and doing the Father thing at some point, although since he didn't really understand Harry's issues in the magical sense and Hermione had been highly selective in what she had told them about the whole Voldemort affair he wouldn't have much to object to. Harry was… well, who could not like Harry in the end? Most of his fierceness and moodiness was directly tied either to his heretofore miserable fate or his magic. Taken on the level her father would meet, Harry was polite, unassuming and extremely chivalrous where she was concerned. The seemingly untamable hair and the general scruffiness of most of his wardrobe were external, and thank goodness her parents were the kind who'd look beyond that.
Having a witch for a daughter had been good for their outlook on life in many ways as well. They knew her to be intelligent and respected her ability to make her own decisions as she made her way in a world entirely beyond their comprehension. Living with Harry might not have been their first choice for her, but they wouldn't argue with her about it either.
So why should she and Harry play at anyone else's game? Ron had basically accepted them and she knew that once he had, whatever Mr. and Mrs. Weasley thought they'd keep to themselves and let their son and his friends get on with it. Mrs. Weasley genuinely loved Harry; Hermione felt fairly confident that as long as Ron was okay with it Molly would accept them together with open arms. She'd never really known anything had occurred between Harry and Ginny as Harry had broken it off with her before there'd ever been time for it to become an issue at home. Ginny wouldn't be happy, but Hermione had a hard time believing she was dateless and pining at Hogwarts; she'd turned into quite the social butterfly forth year and never looked back. Once she revealed those new robes at the Yule Ball she'd be beating them off with a bludger bat, anyway.
There was nothing and no one that Hermione respected enough to take into consideration that might stop them from just getting on with their lives the way they were now, and as she felt him stir and shift and settle more securely against her she couldn't help but smile at the thought.
"Are you awake?" she asked softly, and a semi--conscious "unh hmm" answered her.
This should be interesting.
"Harry, what are we going to tell everyone about us?"
"Bugger off and leave us alone?" he mumbled, more awake than she'd imagined. That was fast. Had he actually been thinking about it as well? How un-Harry of him.
"Seriously. You aren't going to tell the Weasleys that."
He groaned, the sound reverberating through her. "No, I suppose not. Well, I thought… um, that we'd just tell them the truth."
She closed her own hand and brushed her cheek against the one of his she was holding. "What's that?"
"I said I thought we'd just…"
"No Harry, the truth… I just don't know exactly what that is."
He moved from behind her so that she dropped onto her back. His hand gently but firmly disentangled itself from hers so he could prop himself on his elbows above and beside her.
"That's an interesting statement coming from you. You've always known what the truth was." he told her warily. His eyes seemed to be studying her, enormous and deeply green without the barrier of his glasses.
"I think I'm just having a hard time applying it at the moment," she said honestly. "This is very…sudden. Wonderfully sudden, I wouldn't turn back the clock for a moment, but it's confusing. I don't feel like I'm starting off on something new, I feel like I'm…." she struggled.
"Where you should be? The way it should have been?" he finished for her. "Because that's what I think. I think we messed up somewhere, sometime around sixth year, and it's just taken us this long to realize and put it right."
He had a point. Quite a good one actually.
Hermione had grown willing to accept over the last few days that she must have become adept at blocking her feelings for him at somewhere along the line, because what she was experiencing was far more fully formed than it should have been. It was one of the few times in her life when she truly cursed the workings of her own brain.
It wasn't smart to fall for the Boy-Who-Might-Very-Well-Die. It wasn't clever to let yourself become attached to someone whose fate was so uncertain. It would hardly be the behavior of the brightest witch of her age to allow oneself to become emotionally entangled with someone whose every emotion was caught up in a brutal fight for survival. And so, it seemed, her brain had stepped in at some point and simply over-ruled her heart.
How else could all of this come about so swiftly? She ought to have felt uncertain, protective of herself after undergoing the painful realization that she was not actually in love with Ron, nor he with her. She should crave time alone to regroup, be stern about putting Harry through his paces to prove himself. She ought to care about all those things, but she didn't. A certain portion of her behavior could indeed be written off to physical drives - she found herself literally fascinated by him on a visceral level she had never remotely known with Ron. But where did it come from? It had to have been there lying under the surface of their thoughts and feelings, just waiting to be released.
So much had seemed to go wrong sixth year, he was right about it tracing back there somehow. She'd lost herself that year… why? Fifth year had been both horrible, with Umbridge closing in on Harry, and amazing, when she'd actually been able to organize kids from three different houses into an band of willing students for him to teach the defense Umbridge refused them. Dumbledore's Army. They'd managed so much; a viable notification system, a safe spot to practice, some really sophisticated spells for their age. They'd been a real resistance, the only truly useful subversive force when the Ministry had driven Dumbledore from the school.
Where had all of that gone sixth year? She'd been almost another person altogether, more worried about Ron making the Quidditch team (she cringed at the thought of what she had done to ensure that,) Ron and Lavender Brown, Ron's jealousy over the Slug Club fiasco. It was as if she had fallen backwards in time and maturity like the babyheaded Death Eater in the Department of Mysteries.
The Department of Mysteries. She had fallen there, struck down by Dolohov, and Harry had had to go on without her. She hadn't been there with him when Sirius fell through the veil, hadn't been there when Voldemort forced his way inside of him and taunted Dumbledore to kill him. She'd failed him then; was she afraid to fail him again? Afraid to let him too close, to let him rely on her too much in case she couldn't manage to be what he needed? Perhaps that might finally begin to explain her strange behavior… Perhaps Dolohov's silent spell had done more damaged to her heart than Madam Pomfrey had ever known.
Had she subconsciously chosen Ron to keep herself from choosing Harry, or Harry from choosing her? With Ron she could still be friends with both, still fight beside him, still try to protect him, but he would not rely on her or fear for her the way he had.
Harry was right; they had messed up somehow, somewhere along that line, and she had never even seen it. Because it did feel like they were supposed to be this way. Together they were comfortable, familiar, just right somehow.
"Yes," she admitted. "That's what I think too. If this were happening with anyone else it would be too fast to be talking about what we were going to tell our friends, or where we were going to live. With you it's just… not."
"Will you stay here with us?" Harry asked slowly. "Is that it? Do you not like the flat, or is it not having a room?"
"I could live here for awhile," she said as honestly as she could. "But I think it would make us all crazy before long. I do need my own space, and so do you."
"Hermione, I…" he struggled for a moment and then seemed to come to a decision. "I'm rubbish at this sort of stuff, you already know that because you're the one I'd have come to for help, only now you're the one I'm talking about, so that'd be sort of awkward. So if this is totally a bad idea or anything, it's only because I didn't talk it over with you first. You see, I did try to talk to Lupin about us, sort of let him know and ask his advice, but before I could say anything he started telling me that he was leaving Grimmauld Place and moving into Tonks', because he finally worked up the nerve to ask her to marry him and of course she said yes…"
"I'm sure what she really said was `about time.'" Hermione said with a laugh, "but that's wonderful news. Good for them."
"We're meant to be going to the Weasley's on the week end; they're going to tell everyone there. But the thing of it is, Grimmauld Place will be empty. And grim as it is, it's loads bigger than this. There's a whole library there, and once we got rid of the books that bite, scream and have nothing but illegal spells, there'd be plenty of room for yours. And no Mrs. Black."
"I thought you didn't want to live there…" she reminded him, but her mind was already probing the possibilities.
"I didn't want to live there alone," he said. "Not with all the memories. But there's nothing wrong with the house really, nothing a couple hours of Bill Weasley's services couldn't cure. And I was thinking that if things really got bad with the Ministry, well… it housed the Order didn't it? It works great for secret meetings. And it's unplottable and all, all kinds of wards already there to build on. It might just suit the three of us."
"Have you spoken to Ron about it?"
He shook his head. "I wanted to ask you first to see what you thought."
"Do you think he'll agree?"
"That'll be the real test of whether he's okay with us, I suppose. If he agrees we'll know for sure."
"So if I move into Grimmauld Place with you," Hermione asked, "will it be into my old room?"
"If you move into Grimmauld Place with me," he told her, his expression serious and eyes watchful for her response, "you can have any room you like."
"And I'll be your… what exactly?"
She saw the light finally dawn for him. "Erm, okay. I'm not going to get away with `whatever you want to be' this time, am I?" he asked hesitantly.
She shook her head. "I need to know what you want, Harry."
She watched as he thought it over, her heart full. She knew he didn't really know what to say, could hear so clearly the conversation they'd be having if it were anyone else but her he was thinking of. She knew his intentions were good; why was she putting him through this? In part she guessed it was because she was finding herself confounded by being in such physical thrall to him; even while she waited for his answer she found herself admiring the way his shoulders took his weight as he held himself up on them beside her and the urge to stop him from agonizing over what to say to her and just snog him until he couldn't stop himself was almost overwhelming.
Her brain was vulnerable with lust; she wanted him to take care of her while she was incapacitated by wanting him. How utterly, instinctually Neanderthal was that?
Harry lifted his head and those mesmerizing eyes took over her thoughts completely.
"I want you to be my best friend forever," he fumbled out. "I wish that there was some way I could prove to you how grateful I am for that. I want to be your boyfriend or um…" he blushed and his cheeks stained pink as he sought the right word; she abruptly realized he was struggling for some less obvious equivalent for `lover'. "Your um, well, whatever you're supposed to call it when you know you don't want anyone else. Someday when all this stuff with the Ministry is decided and done with and I hopefully have something like a future, I think what I really want is to ask you to marry me and make a family with me."
She kissed him then, because that was a pretty darn impressive effort for Harry. She had to sort of crawl up his arms at first, but he got the message pretty quick and shifted to where she could reach him. She had to say that the kiss was nothing to sneeze at either; she might have started it, but he took over quickly enough and seemed to be trying to convince her of every word he'd said. He finally slowed and then stopped, leaving her breathless.
And then he took her breath away.
"More than all of that, if anything happens to me now I just want to know for sure that you know I loved you. More than I ever thought I could manage for anyone, actually," his voice shook slightly but he didn't falter now he'd made his mind up to tell her. "You made me love you when I didn't want to love anyone. Sometimes your voice inside my head was the only thing I knew for sure wasn't coming from Voldemort and it was all that kept me sane. I can't imagine my life without you, Hermione, and it feels so damn good to finally be able to say that out loud without having to think how it would sound to anyone else but us."
There was an intimacy to that last that finished it for her. She wanted to be an "us" with him more than anything else she could imagine. In his own halting way he'd told her exactly what he wanted, and it was exactly what she wanted to hear. She could let both her heart and her head go on their mission to defend him against the ignorance of the Ministry's position knowing he saw an end to it, too. He wanted to fight, he wanted to live; he wanted to be with her and have a family someday.
And he wanted her right now. She could tell.
"Good answer, Potter. You get an "O" for that one. And all on your own, too. I always told you you could do it," she said as lightly as she could to diffuse it all a bit for him. She didn't doubt for a minute he knew what it meant to her to hear what he'd said; there was no reason not to release him from his discomfort.
He grinned, both shy and wolfish at once and a really delightful combination to behold. "Brilliant. If I get an "O" do I get to say what goes with it? Because your "O Harry" is my personal favorite."
She grinned back, feeling so happy she could float. He was as good as kneazle knip. "Go on," she told him. "Make me."
Because it happened to be her personal favorite as well.
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Harry had owled Luna, asking if she could stop by and giving her the address of the flat. It was late afternoon when she came and the two of them had been hiding from the heat of the day in the front room, shades drawn and three cooling charms combined. She'd obviously been outside and moved happily through the green flames of the floo into the cool of the room with a blissful sigh.
She was dressed in her usual odd collection of garments neither entirely muggle nor magical. She wore a thin Indian cotton skirt with little bells on a tie at her waist that tinkled when she moved. A sleeveless t shirt and an odd, gauzy hooded robe over top of it completed the outfit. Her long blondish hair was wound up and skewered in place with a sketching pencil (Hermione was amazed and relieved at once she hadn't used her wand for the purpose, it was still behind her ear) and her dangling earrings today were small charmed replicas of dragons. They hung by their tails and occasionally flapped their wings or snorted steam; the problem seemed to be she'd chosen a mismatched set and occasionally the Norwegian Ridgeback felt compelled to try and attack the Chinese Fireball, completely ignoring the inconvenient fact of her head between them.
Harry seemed entirely mesmerized and she had to nudge him into motion.
"Hey Luna. Thanks for coming," he said, struggling up from the depths of the sofa and setting aside the book Elspeth had sent over for him about powerful wizards through the ages. (`Look what you have to look forward to!' was written on the flyleaf inside.) It had come via a very handsome snowy owl; Hermione had noted that the message from Elspeth that accompanied it had given his name as Arcturus and said simply "thanks." There had been an envelope from Emily as well, but Harry hadn't left that one around. She reckoned Emily had been rather more than pleased with the owl and Harry was embarrassed by whatever accolades she'd heaped on him.
"Oh no," she said. "No trouble. It's lovely and cool in here compare to the Quibbler. Where's Ron?"
Hermione called for him and Ron made his way in from the kitchen where he'd been working over some sort of specialized half potion-half fruit juice sort of concoction that was meant to improve your keeper reflexes by twenty-five percent. Fred and George had convinced him that certain additions and substitutions from their shop might bring it closer to fifty and he'd been experimenting ever since. He and Harry had spent the morning transfiguring two crickets they'd caught on the roof into guinea pigs, but as guinea pigs had no keeper skills to speak of, Hermione was at a loss as to how he'd know he'd got it right. And how he'd convince the Department of Magical Games and Sports it was even legal once he had. They were cute, however, and Luna squealed in rapture and rushed to him when he appeared with one in hand. It took Ron a moment to realize it was the guinea pig she'd meant when she squeaked "how adorable!" Hermione thought his furious blush most becoming.
"I've named one after Harry and the other for Hermione," he told her, eyeing his roommates with a grin. "So far Hermione's far and away the better keeper."
"He's rolling ping pong balls along the floor at them. Hermione's nose is bigger. It's not fair," Harry protested, laughing. "Harry'd be the better flyer."
"Now that," Hermione said, "I'd like to see. And I think you might be getting just a little carried away with your protégé there. If I see any little brooms I'm calling the Misuse of Transfigured Guinea Pigs Squad."
"Gilbert Gumboil runs that," Luna told her, scratching `Hermione's' truly rather sizable soft chocolate brown nose. The guinea pig nudged back delightedly. She did make a cute pig if she said so herself, a lovely brown with gold highlights. `Harry' was shiny black with a white streak down his forehead - or what would have been his forehead, were he not a guinea pig. It had actually been a botch in the spell before Ron had declared it beyond funny and kept it. Their names had been decided immediately then.
"He's got cages and cages of them." Luna confirmed.
"You don't say," Hermione replied. It wasn't possible for the Ministry to sink any lower in her estimation; she wasn't a bit surprised to hear that they actually had a Misuse of Transfigured Guinea Pig Department or that it was in fact run by someone named Gilbert Gumboil. "Luna, Harry's got a question for you."
Hermione was fairly certain Harry had been dreading and preparing himself for this moment most of the afternoon as he pretended to read. He hated to ask for help, and this wasn't the easiest request to even know how to voice. Carried out less than extremely carefully it could easily place both Luna and Mr. Lovegood in an potentially uncomfortable, even dangerous position.
"I was wondering if you know if your Dad, well, if he might have said… because he hears so much investigating stuff, if he might have heard anything about the Ministry looking for a way to limit or control someone's magic?"
It had started slow and halting but by the time he'd finished he was at a full gallop; she doubted he could have spouted his invitation to the ball to Cho in fourth year any faster, no matter what he'd said about it.
Luna leveled her slightly protuberant and misty blue eyes on him kindly, and Hermione saw no surprise there at all.
"It's just wrong what they're doing, Harry, Daddy's all over it, in fact that's what he's doing right now; you're the mystery story he's working on. He just can't print anything about you until they make their move; he doesn't want to get you in any deeper than you are. He's going to run a story this week on how bad it makes the Ministry look to be trolling its requests in Knockturn Alley without saying exactly what they are looking for. He's got a lovely photograph of Dolores Umbridge trying to look inconspicuous while talking to that old hag Urquestra Moleheart in the back doorway of Borgin and Burkes. I didn't like to say anything in front of your Spell Damage Specialist just in case she was in on it."
Harry was clearly floored, and Hermione not far behind him. She felt a sort of unknotting around her heart where Luna was concerned. What did it matter at all that someone could be completely unintelligible when their heart was so evidently in the right place? For all her apparent spacey-ness she'd picked up on the issue immediately and obviously still cared for Harry's well being even now Voldemort was gone, because he was a human being and a friend to her, not a savior.
"Thanks, Luna. I… I didn't expect anyone else knew what was going on. And Elspeth's alright, she's actually been cluing me in."
"Good. You need a friend on the inside. This is bigger than the Rotfang conspiracy if you ask me. It isn't far from you to the rest of us, is it Harry? You're too powerful to suit them because of your magic, but also because you actually did what they couldn't and they know we know that. Still, it wouldn't be long until it trickled down to everyone else. Hermione will be too smart or Ron too brilliant at inventing things - I think you'll find you're quite good at it Ron, true procrastination is often the mother of great creativity. Then they'll be after me for seeing things, and where will it end?"
"What has your father actually heard about it, do you know? Does he know how far they've actually gotten in finding what they're looking for?" Hermione asked.
Luna looked thoughtful and she took the guinea pig from Ron and sat down crossed legged on the floor right where she'd stood. She set the creature on her lap and stroked it absently as she collected her thoughts; Hermione reflected that if there was a guinea pig heaven that one was close. It sat motionless, its eyes slowly closing in bliss. Ron looked at his empty hands and then to Harry as if to say `what do I do now?' When she turned to Harry she found him already dropped to the floor and leaning against the doorframe across from Luna, waiting.
Really, because furniture was so inconvenient…. She heaved a mental sigh as she settled down beside him. Ron had the presence of mind to use his wand to draw himself a chair from across the kitchen.
"From what Daddy uncovered they had a couple of options when they started, but none of them were exactly what they were looking for. They seem to know just what they want, and the odd thing is it isn't just efficiency they're going for according to the Quibbler's informant. It's almost as if the whole point is to make a point of you, an example, but Daddy still thinks there's something more and that Smeggall's behind it."
"Smeggall?" Hermione asked, confused.
"Elspeth said something about him. He's one of Scrimgeour's inner circle, isn't he?" Harry questioned Luna.
"Tobias Smeggall. And yes he is, Harry. Daddy says he's worked with Scrimgeour for years; they got together back when Scrimgeour was first starting as an Auror and Smeggall worked for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as a clerk in the Misuse of Magic office."
Luna could be remarkable lucid when it came to her conversations with her father. Hermione got the impression they were very close and Luna enjoyed being his sounding board. It was almost unsettling to see this other side of her.
"So what's this Smeggall got to do with it, then?" Ron asked. "What's he want with Harry?"
"The Quibbler's informant said Smeggall's the one who's been so specific about what they're looking for. There are artifacts out there, very expensive ones that have been designed in the past to control or limit a witch or wizard's use of magic. They were weapons, really, meant to humiliate and dominate a captive or hostage, they had to be worn to work, and if you took them off the person's magic was restored. They're all dark objects, obviously. Scrimgeour himself was looking for an irreversible potion or spell; it's Smeggall that's combing the nooks and crannies of Knockturn Alley for the other stuff. So far the word is the one thing he's found is outrageously expensive and Scrimgeour won't okay the galleons for it because he doesn't want the Ministry to be seen buying from that particular seller."
"Not that I'd let either one of them near me with a twenty foot wand, but I sort of like the idea of Smeggall's to be honest. At least it's only temporary," Harry said, but Hermione noticed his fingers worrying a hole in the knee of his jeans and she'd swear it was twice as big already as it had been that morning when he put them on.
Luna shook her head and the little dragons roared furiously, sounding for all the world like angry mice. "Don't be fooled, Harry. Since Scrimgeour won't buy Smeggall what he wants, he's advertising to have his own made. The specifics request a clearly visible restraining object that would mark the wearer as a threat and permanently incapacitate their use of magic. It's not a short order, but for every good witch there's a bad one somewhere, and I'm sure someone will figure it out before long."
She smiled then, completely incongruously with the news she'd just delivered, and said, "On the bright side, I haven't seen a thing about it yet and I've been thinking about you three quite a bit the last few days. Ever since I came up to London, actually. I think it's really lovely the way you've worked everything out between you. I haven't told a soul, of course, but you're awfully lucky to be such good friends. That sort of thing always got so nasty in Ravenclaw, all those brains working overtime on revenge. Gryffindors are much nicer in the end."
All three of them looked at her warily; Ron blushed again and Hermione feared that in complimenting him Luna might well have set him off.
"Especially you, Ron," she continued, blissfully unaware. "I honestly think your unselfishness is going to free up your spirit for good things."
"Erm," said Ron. It was hard to argue with that. "Would anyone else like a drink?"
They ended up remaining on the floor where they were, drinking butterbeer and talking about less tender subjects as the light slowly faded from behind the shades and the room cooled further with the onset of evening. Hermione couldn't remember which of them realized they were hungry first, but the boys decided on take away Chinese and apparated away to collect it.
Luna wandered into the kitchen after her to collect dishes and silverware onto a tray that they sent floating ahead to the front room. Hermione was reaching for glasses in the cupboard over the sink when Luna said, "So how is he really? Ginny always said she thought Harry'd be fantastic if he got rid of the whole shadow of You Know Who thing."
Like Luna, her question was worded vaguely enough to be taken in a variety of ways; Hermione chose the safest option, and gripped the glasses carefully.
"He's doing much better now, I think. The thing with his hands was really bothering him even though he didn't talk about it much. They're healing well now; he gets to have the bandages off for good on Monday. And Elspeth's helped quite a lot actually, just talking to her."
"Good," Luna replied, sounding really pleased. "I expect that'll be a relief for you as well."
Rather. She was quite looking forward to the bandages being gone, and she was acutely aware of Luna's potential double meaning.
"Are you looking forward to your last year of Hogwarts?" she asked, changing the topic entirely. "I really sort of regret missing that. I've been thinking about sitting my N.E.W.T.s anyway; they're so important if you want a good apprenticeship. Are you thinking of working for your father?"
"I'm not sure about Hogwarts, truthfully," Luna began. Now that the dishes and silverware had gone on and Hermione was handling the glasses she was unoccupied and began to spin slowly around on her heel, watching the flare of her skirt around her. "I feel like I've sort of outgrown it already in a way. Now that the Voldemort threat is over with, everyone I've seen over the summer talks about nothing but Balls and boys and dress robes. I'm afraid they take so much for granted now. It can't just go from mortal peril for half bloods and muggle-borns to everything fine and dandy, can it? They act as if Voldemort acted alone, but it wasn't even his Death Eaters that were so scary, it was what all of us ultimately would have had to have chosen if it came down to it. There were a fair number of us who would have sacrificed all sorts of things to stay alive, but all the Ministry bothers to try and regulate is Harry."
Her thoughts were so remarkably close to Hermione's own that she wondered if the other girl wasn't an unconscious legilimens as well as whatever else she was. Luna stopped and changed direction, slowly rotating the other way. The bells on her belt tinkled like wind chimes.
"I suppose I'm no better than anyone else, though, because I'd secretly like to work there. At the Ministry, much as I despise it. I've always wondered about the Department of Mysteries and I haven't been able to stop thinking about some of it since we were there. I think I'd like to be an Unspeakable."
Again her thoughts were so close to Hermione's own that it goggled her imagination. And different as the two of them were, Hermione could indeed see how Luna might make an excellent Unspeakable as well.
"I've actually just applied there myself," she confessed. "They haven't taken an apprentice in a while, so there's a list. They do it by interview rather than sequential order though, so there's always hope. If by any chance I get in, I'll give you a good word next year."
Luna ceased spinning and fixed her in that disconcerting gaze. "Thanks. You don't have to; I know you think I'm a bit strange."
"In a good way," Hermione admitted, realizing that denying it would be a lie. "We just approach things differently. Harry thinks the world of you and vehement as he can be about people, he isn't often wrong."
"No," Luna agreed. "And people tend to be very vehement about Harry in the first place. Is he going to tell Ginny about you at the Weasley's this week end?"
"I don't know for certain, but I think so. I'm a bit worried about that to be honest, I don't want her to be so unhappy that it spoils um...." she paused, wondering if she was spilling the beans about Tonks and Lupin, then realized who it was she was spilling them to; Luna probably already knew somehow. "… spoils Tonks and Lupin's announcement for her. You've spent a bit of time with her this summer, haven't you? Do you think…. I mean she asked me if I thought she should invite Harry back for the Yule Ball when I went robe shopping with her before the two of us got together. I didn't get the feeling she thought things were quite over between them, but I know, erm, well Harry certainly does."
"Harry would have hated that wouldn't he?" Luna said wisely. "Going back for the ball, I mean. I think he'd like seeing things gone back to normal at Hogwarts and visiting Hagrid and Professor McGonagall, but Ginny'd want to show him off a bit and that's the last thing he'd enjoy. I do see what you mean and you're right, about her not entirely believing he was over her. That's exactly the sort of thing I meant about this year at Hogwarts. If it weren't for taking N.E.W.T.s I think I'd do a Fred and George."
The boys arrived back then with their meal and conversation drifted naturally to dishing up the food and settling in to it. They ate on cushions on the floor in the front room around the low sofa table, half listening to the wizarding wireless in the background. Hermione surprised herself by enjoying Luna's presence the rest of the night immensely. She said exactly what she thought or nothing at all if she had nothing to say. Admittedly, some of her thoughts were a tad off the wall, but she never seemed to take offense if you said so. Some that Hermione felt she could easily disprove only lead her to discover for herself half way into her proof that there was wiggle room in many of the ideas she'd learned and accepted as fact.
Harry was as relaxed as she had seen him lately even despite Luna's confirmation of Elspeth's fears. and Ron appeared positively cheerful under their guest's heady approval of his every contribution to the conversation. She seemed to find his jokes hilarious and Ron too relaxed and unwound to her infectious laughter. It felt nice and normal and a bit like being back in the common room at school, and Hermione knew if she tried she could fool herself into believing that the worst thing she had to worry about was potions the following morning.
On the other hand, if she'd been at school, she wouldn't get to retire to Harry's bed, and as she found herself getting sleepy the thought appealed to her more and more. They had been careful and circumspect the entire evening, and she felt that some of Ron's relaxation could be chalked up to that as well. He seemed to be accepting they were no less a trio, and the two of them weren't intent on changing what they had all liked best about their friendship.
Finally Luna announced that she had to return to her Father's rooms at the Leaky Cauldron before he worried about her and Ron chivalrously announced he'd floo over with her and made sure she got upstairs safely.
Harry banished the dishes and silverware to the kitchen to clean themselves and fed the scant remainders of their meal to the appreciative rubbish bin while Hermione floated the cushions back on the sofa and then made sure the guinea pigs had water and food in their makeshift cage. Crookshanks appeared and twined round her ankles eying them jealously. Harry filled his bowl with leftover egg drop soup and he left off noticing the guinea pigs even existed.
It had taken her the entire length of time that brushing her teeth and changing into pajamas required to give shape to the half-formed thought bouncing aimlessly around her brain.
Why would this Smeggall be so interested in a method of blocking Harry's magic that spoke of submission and defeat? Much as she disagreed with it she thought she understood Scrimgeour's fear of Harry either usurping his position or threatening the Ministry with his own ideas; it didn't surprise her that he just wanted something fast acting and irreversible to end the threat. But why would his assistant be so interested in another method entirely, one designed more with entrapment and humiliation in mind than permanence?
Harry had said of the two he liked it better because it wasn't permanent. Why would you let someone who threatened you have the potential to gain his power back unless you wanted him to? Only one reason sprang to mind. You had to be planning to need that force for something. You had to be planning to utterly demoralize and goad the bearer of it like a caged and taunted lion and then at the height of his frustration turn him on your target like a loaded cannon. She loved Harry very dearly, but she could also clearly see him as the perfect target for such a plan.
She was suddenly very glad they'd be seeing Tonks and Lupin soon; they were exactly the two who could be most help figuring this bit out.
She heard Harry and Ron coming down the hall together and their muttered `g'nite mate,' and `night Ron,' were friendly and relatively normal and music to her ears.
Harry must have gone to scrub his teeth; she'd started to drift and the sound of him creeping into the semi-darkened room roused her. He paused at the end of the bed and pulled his tee shirt over his head in one smooth movement, tossing it into the laundry bin just inside the closet door. She watched through her lashes as he leaned on the doorframe to toe off his trainers and toss his socks into the bin after his shirt. How could something as everyday and unconscious and mundane be so damn hot just because he was the one doing it?
She called out his name softly from the bed and he came over to her and sat on the edge beside her, reaching out to stroke her hair.
"Sorry," he whispered. "I thought you were asleep. I didn't mean to wake you."
He was so lovely in the dim light, his pale skin luminous and hair and eyes so dark they almost disappeared. The hand smoothing her own hair was tender and gentle and he radiated a warmth that was still infinitely desirable despite the heat of the night; another kind of heat altogether.
"I just wanted to help," she whispered back, and her fingers drifted to the button of his jeans, undoing and unzipping and tugging them free of his hips. He shimmied out of them and crawled up onto the bed.
"You've always been helpful, but I like this even better than checking my assignments," he said happily. She heard his glasses clatter against the nightstand and felt his mouth locate hers blindly, a little to the left first time but true the second. She hadn't kissed all that many men, but she couldn't imagine how anyone could improve on Harry as far as she was concerned. He somehow managed exactly the right balance of tenderness and want; politely waiting for her lips to part and then devouring her whole and leaving her breathless when they did.
"I still like checking your assignments," she teased him gently when she'd got her breath back, then slid her palms down his boxered bum and pulled him closer to prove it.
"Hermione, that was…" she heard the grin in his voice even though she was too intently nuzzling into his neck to see it, "actually faintly umm, off color for you."
She felt herself smile and gently kissed the boney knob of one of his collar bones and pushed the very tip of her tongue into the small pulsing hollow between them. "It was, wasn't it? You must be a bad influence on me. I never told off-color jokes when I was with Ron."
He'd rolled his hips against her in response to the dip of her tongue and she could feel him stiffening exactly where she most liked him to be stiff.
He pushed up and propped himself on his arms above her, his ribcage still meeting hers with each shuddering breath and causing her own to quicken. She could feel him even more clearly with the shift in his weight, was only too aware of the heat seeping through her in response.
"Thank you for tonight," he whispered. "It's been so long since we've done anything like that, just sat around and had a meal together and laughed. It always ended up with me skulking away from the two of you bickering about something or Ron sick of the two of us talking horcruxes and spells. It felt like we were all just normal for once. I know Luna makes you a little crazy sometimes…"
"I actually quite liked Luna tonight," she told him. "And that was above and beyond the fact that she and her father were already all over what the Ministry's been up to. We talked a bit while you and Ron were at Wizard Wong's and I learned a lot about her I didn't know. I enjoyed it tonight as well, and I know that she and Ron both did too. So you're more than welcome, Harry. It was lovely to see you just enjoying yourself. You deserve more of that now."
"Okay," he agreed, and nudged himself slightly more insinuatingly against her again. It was such a lovely sensation, so full of promise of the all ways she was intimately aware he could move when aroused that her breath caught with it.
"Make these gone," she begged quietly, pulling at the elastic around his waist. She saw the gleam of the white of his eyes and they disappeared with a small tingling flare of magic. His hands clutched at the fabric of her tank and that was gone as well. He settled against her, skin to skin for a single too-brief moment, then slid to her side with legs still intertwined and spanned her hipbones using both his hands. Her knickers and pajama bottoms evaporated coolly against her skin, the pulse of magic strong enough to make things… twitch, for both of them.
She heard herself let loose a sound she'd never known she could make, and probably couldn't reproduce without him. She ached for him then; mere wanting didn't come close to the intensity of it. Barely breathing she guided his hands where she needed them; she realized then he'd taken the bandages off and only worn skin met her in her most unworn places. The subtle assault of uncontained magic from his fingertips was like bubbles bursting from a freshly poured muggle soft drink, building with the strength of his own arousal. It coursed within her and met with her own; she knew she was sensing only a small fraction of what lived in him but it was more than she could possibly hope to hang on to and she felt herself seize up helplessly with the raw intensity of it. He seemed to sense what she was experiencing, watching and holding her until just when she thought another moment would send her over the edge from pleasure into madness his mouth found hers and somehow drew it all back.
She could feel her own magic begin to follow along with it, seemingly small and helpless against the tide of his and she almost began to panic although even her anxiety was dulled by the heavy satiety that was settling on her now. She broke the kiss and with it the connection; felt all that was magical within her surge against her skin and settle back like a wave of its own, rushing like oxygenated blood to her heart. She had never felt as weak and yet powerful at once; she knew he had changed something within her forever, and for the better. He held himself up over her again, panting softly, both aware and not yet conscious of what he had actually given her; what he had done.
"Harry," she breathed.
"I wanted to please you, to give you something special, I didn't know," he told her, the tremble in his voice betraying his nervousness. "I didn't know it would be like that. I never meant to frighten you, Hermione, you know I wouldn't for the world."
Her arms felt languid and heavy but she wrapped them around him, stroking him reassuringly, the fingers of one hand caressing his spine and the other moving up and down his ribs. All that magic, and such a fragile, human host. How was it possible he kept contained all that he did?
And then she felt it and began to laugh, utterly losing her awe.
"All that and you're still…" He head-butted her and then kissed her to shut her up; she could sense his sheepish grin in the curve of his lips when they parted hers.
"Never mind," he said.
The languid feeling was receding; she felt renewed and newly powerful. Out of sheer curiosity she extended her hand toward the dresser and murmured, "Accio wand."
Its flight was erratic and it dropped before reaching the edge of the bed, but it responded. She had done her first wandless magic ever.
"Bloody Hell," Harry breathed. "You just…"
"Can you reach it for me?" she asked him, smiling ear-to-ear. "I have some spells I want to do, and I want to make sure they're right. That was the single most incredible thing anyone's ever done for me, and even if it's gone by tomorrow I will never, ever forget that feeling. Prepare to be thanked within an inch of your life, Harry. Make sure you do the silencing one, because I might just have to thank you until you scream."
He hastened to obey, scrabbling over the side of the bed. "You never do anything half way do you? Straight from the jokes about my assignments to making me scream. Who are you, and what did you do with Hermione?"
"Meet the new and improved Hermione," she told him, feeling it.
"There was absolutely nothing wrong with the old one," he said, reappearing over the side again, wand in hand. "But I love the new one already."
"And she loves you back," she told him, and proceeded to make it true.
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