I am not J.K. Rowling. If I were, I'd be writing/promoting/retooling to include more H/Hr scenes (here's hoping!) "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows", rather than writing Off Balance. On the plus side, however, you get this chapter now instead of in July.
Chapter 13: Down in the Hollow
You could learn a lot about a person when you were forced to stare at all of their worldly possessions for over an hour. For instance, Harry now knew that Mordred Quirrell was the proud owner of an antique Parthian flying carpet, a strange-looking object which resembled an oversized Put-Outer and something labeled 'a genuine golem's tachrichim'. He, of course, had no idea what in the world a golem's tachrichim might be. 'Hermione would probably know,' Harry thought to himself. 'Or maybe it's more of a Luna Lovegood thing. I suppose I'll find out one of these days, assuming Malfoy doesn't decide to kill me first.'
Harry cursed inwardly, which was just about all that he could manage in his petrified state. He had been hoping to take his mind off of his longtime Slytherin nemesis, who was the cause of his current predicament, if only for a moment or two. So far, however, staring at carpets and shrouds wasn't helping all that much.
If there was anything in the world more frustrating than being paralyzed while one of your most hated enemies was doing something dangerous with the woman you loved, Harry did not care to know what that something was. This was frustrating enough. His emotions were a jumble: one moment he wanted to throttle Hermione for being so reckless and gullible as to follow Draco; the next he felt the strong need to see her again, to know that she was alive and unharmed. Mostly, though, he just wanted to hex Malfoy. 'Maybe turn him into a newt or something,' he thought wickedly. 'Some guardian of a horcrux he'd be then.'
'What's Snape playing at, anyhow?' Harry wondered to himself. 'He left Draco here to guard Hufflepuff's cup, but why? And for whom?' Only a few hours ago, Harry would have sworn that Snape was a loyal Death Eater who had been fooling Dumbledore and working for Lord Voldemort all along. Now, if Draco was telling the truth (an unlikely notion, true, but still one worth considering), he wasn't entirely certain. And Harry hated being uncertain, particularly when it came to Snape.
Just at the point when he was beginning to feel like a part of Mordred Quirrell's collection of rare magical objects himself, Harry heard the bittersweet sound of the wine cellar door opening. A mix of terror and elation filled him until he caught sight of Hermione's familiar bushy brown hair in his peripheral vision, at which point elation took over completely. He tried to call out her name, only to be painfully reminded that he could not move his mouth.
"Unpetrify him," Hermione ordered in her practically patented no-nonsense voice.
"What? Is your wand broken, Granger? Or can't you perform a simple 'finite'?" Malfoy sneered. Draco was apparently still alive and talking, much to Harry's chagrin.
"If you want Harry to be in a forgiving mood, it would be best if you undid it yourself," Hermione explained with a smug smile. "Otherwise he might do something unpleasant, like turn you into a newt." Harry wanted very much to smile at that moment. Perhaps great minds did think alike.
"Bloody hell," Draco exclaimed, suddenly wide eyed. "You've got Potter under that invisibility cloak?! I…I thought…Weasley…" He gulped nervously. "Why didn't you warn me?"
"It wasn't very high on my list of priorities," Hermione retorted dryly. "Now are you going to free him or…"
Draco Malfoy managed to stop looking scared out of his wits for a moment and pointed his wand at Harry. "Finite incantatem," he said reluctantly. In an instant, Harry could feel his body beginning to move around again on its own, his chest rising and falling as his lungs filled themselves with fresh air. After blinking a few times to give his eyes some much-needed rest, he turned his attention to Malfoy, shooting him with a cold glare before he decided whether or not to shoot him with anything else.
"Harry, don't," Hermione cautioned, her left hand finding Harry's chest underneath the invisibility cloak and pressing against it gently. With her other hand, she pulled the cloak from his face, draping it over his shoulders. Hermione shot him a pleading look. "Trust me."
There were only a few things Harry would have rather done at that moment than turn Malfoy into some sort of vile creature with an equally foul odor. Fortunately for Draco, one of those things was making Hermione happy. "Alright, Hermione," Harry agreed, lowering his wand slowly. "I trust you."
"You two are really sickening," Malfoy scoffed loudly. "Don't you ever get tired of fawning all over each other?"
Harry looked ready to kill, but Hermione interceded once again. "If you'd like to keep us happy and your limbs intact, why don't you check on Oliver Wood?" The Puddlemere keeper still lie slumped over one of Mordred Quirrell's chairs, sleeping peacefully. "You might even see if you can wake him up. He's been out for a while."
"I only gave him a watered-down sleeping draught," Draco replied dismissively. "He'll wake up in…"
"Do it, Malfoy," Harry interrupted coldly. Draco scowled at him, but obeyed anyway, crossing the room to stand next to the slumbering form of Oliver Wood.
"What happened down there?" Harry asked immediately after Draco was out of earshot. "Why aren't we destroying a horcrux right now? For that matter, why aren't we destroying Malfoy right now?"
"Because there isn't a horcrux to destroy," Hermione whispered in reply, tactfully choosing to ignore his second question.
"What?" Harry asked, perplexed. "But…Hufflepuff's cup…you mean it wasn't there?"
"Oh, it was there," Hermione answered with a harried look on her face. "What was left of it, anyway. Professor Quirrell destroyed it five years ago."
Harry's confusion deepened. "Professor Quirrell was working for Voldemort! Why would he destroy one of his master's horcruxes?"
Hermione looked at Harry with a worried expression. "Quirrell discovered a way to transfer the piece of Voldemort's soul that was in the cup into himself."
Harry gaped at her in disbelief. "You mean, he turned himself into one of Voldemort's horcruxes? A living horcrux?" Hermione nodded quickly. "But why?"
"Power," she told him simply. "Taking on a piece of someone else's soul, of their magical essence, would make that person's magic exponentially stronger." Hermione looked half-horrified and half-relieved. "We're dealing with very ancient magic, Harry. The practice of making horcruxes goes back thousands of years." She let out a soft sigh. "Malfoy hasn't been protecting a horcrux, he's been guarding what looks like a lifetime's worth of research on horcruxes. I, er, made copies of what I thought might be useful." She sheepishly indicated a ridiculously thick ream of parchment underneath her arm.
Harry shot Hermione an impressed look. "Well, I suppose that's one more horcrux we won't have to worry about destroying. After we drop Malfoy off with the MLE, we could probably even head back to Hogwarts if you…"
Hermione was already shaking her head. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Harry."
"What? Going back to Hogwarts or…" Harry's jaw dropped. "You can't seriously be suggesting that we let Malfoy go?"
"No, of course not," Hermione countered defensively. "But if he's taken by the Ministry, he'll tell them everything about the horcruxes…about us. Anything to save his own worthless hide."
"I heard that," Malfoy said from across the room.
Both Harry and Hermione ignored him. "Hermione, Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater."
Hermione crossed her arms defensively. "I know that."
Harry wasn't through fuming. "He nearly killed Dumbledore! If Snape hadn't beat him to it, maybe he would have!"
Hermione's voice rose in exasperation. "Harry, I know…"
"Hermione, you're the one who's supposed to be talking me out of doing things like this," Harry pointed out as he took a step closer to her. "You're supposed to be the sensible one! Letting Draco Malfoy live as a free man doesn't sound very sensible to me!"
Suddenly, all of the frustration on Hermione's face disappeared, her expression now one of contemplation. "Have you ever thought about why Dumbledore trusted Snape?"
Temporarily bemused by Hermione's change in topic, Harry frowned deeply. "Yeah. I reckon I gave it some thought after Snape killed him, if that's what you mean."
"He had to have known that Snape willingly became a Death Eater," Hermione thought aloud. "No one can be forced to take the Dark Mark. Yet he trusted him enough to let him into the Order, and to make him a teacher at Hogwarts. Why?" When Harry didn't answer, she continued. "Dumbledore knew that he needed a double agent, that he had to know what was happening on the other side, and that that need outweighed the possibility that Snape might betray him and the Order."
"Which, of course, he did," Harry pointed out. "What exactly are you getting at, Hermione?"
"Dumbledore made a very difficult choice, the kind that great leaders have to make," Hermione continued, her eyes now locked on Harry's. "He chose to do what was right for the war effort, despite his own personal misgivings." Hermione turned to look at Draco Malfoy, who was checking Oliver Wood's pulse with his wand. "I can't make this decision for you, Harry, but I can tell you this. Dumbledore didn't want information about Voldemort's horcruxes falling into the hands of the Ministry and he certainly wouldn't want Voldemort to know that you were searching for them. Right now, the only people who know what we're doing and could tell anyone about it are you, me and Draco Malfoy." Hermione thought about that a moment. "Well, alright, Luna Lovegood too, but that was just an unfortunate fluke. The point is that Malfoy could be very dangerous if he fell into the wrong hands. But if we left him here…"
"Who's to say he won't go running off to Voldemort the first chance he gets," Harry argued, although at this point he was only playing devil's advocate. "Why don't we just take Quirrell's research with us and obliviate Malfoy?"
Hermione tilted her head and gave Harry a look which said, 'Give me at least some credit'. "If I could have taken the research with me, I would have. Powerful wards have been put in place to prevent the parchment from being removed. As for memory charms, I can't say I've had much practice with them."
Harry smiled mischievously. "If we make a mistake, what's the worst that could happen?"
"St. Mungo's ends up with two pompous, overbearing amnesiac blondes in the Closed Ward?" Hermione guessed with a laugh. Harry chuckled a bit at that, although thoughts of Ron's condition made their laughter short-lived.
Draco chose that moment to return to their side. "The sleeping draught's wearing off and I'd rather not be here when your errand boy decides to wake up." Malfoy gave Harry an appraising look. "I assume you've decided against turning me in."
The smug expression on Draco's face made Harry want to break something and he was leaning pretty heavily toward that something being Malfoy's jaw. But Hermione was looking at him expectantly and, more than anything, he did not want to let her down. "You can stay here," Harry begrudgingly conceded. "Although I have some conditions. No one else is to know about what we're doing, or about the horcruxes. And you can't leave here."
"I'll set up wards to make sure of that," Hermione added. The smugness immediately drained from Draco Malfoy's face.
"Alright," Malfoy agreed petulantly, "but I have some conditions of my own. I need fresh provisions and more ingredients for the polyjuice potion. The supply Snape gave me is close to running out. Oh, and I need some new dress robes, too. These have too much of that 'old man' stink. Even my best freshening charms don't have any effect."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Is there anything else that would please you, your majesty?" she asked with a mocking curtsy.
Draco grinned wolfishly. "Well, I wouldn't say 'no' to some female companionship. It's been a while since Pansy Parkinson's had her head in my lap, if you know what I mean." Hermione's face began to redden. "Don't flatter yourself, mudblood. That wasn't a come on."
A few moments later Oliver Wood regained consciousness. His first two questions were "What happened to Mordred Quirrell?" and "Why is Hermione hexing a newt?"
***
The days that followed were filled with research (always more Hermione's forte than Harry's), delivering
supplies to Malfoy (a task begrudgingly carried out by Harry) and pursuing a rather thick volume called The Alma
Fuerza Cetro and Other Ancient Magicks of the Soul, which Hermione informed him was referenced multiple times in
Quirrell's notes on the horcruxes. On the day that particular book became available, Hermione began reading it
voraciously, which was good for the horcrux hunt, but bad for his suddenly improved love life. Not that he was
complaining, really. Voldemort and his horcruxes had to come first. It's just that snogging Hermione was so much
more fun.
"This book used to be stored in the Department of Magical Relics," Hermione pointed out cheerily as Harry looked at her through bleary eyes, the after effect of a full day of poring through horcrux research. "It's one of the few volumes that escaped the fire that destroyed the department's headquarters forty years ago." When Harry looked nonplussed, Hermione added, "You dreamed about it, Harry. That's more than a little bit coincidental, don't you think?"
Harry wanted to shrug, but suppressed the urge. "Seems that way," he replied noncommittally. They continued reading in silence, and Harry soon found other urges much harder to suppress. Like the urge to stroke Hermione's hair or kiss her or…
Exhaling wearily, Hermione slammed The Alma Fuerza Cetro and Other Ancient Magicks of the Soul closed. "Half of what's written here isn't even translated, you know. It's going to take us weeks to go through this." Harry was even less thrilled by this prospect than Hermione was. "I think it's time for a break."
"A break?" Harry asked as he continued to stare in incomprehension at the handwriting of his first DADA teacher, attempting to make sense of it. What was that word scribbled in the margin? 'Tsar'? 'Spar'? "Since when did you start suggesting that we…" But before he could finish that question, Hermione was sitting in his lap, her lips pressed against his and her shoulder leaning gently against his chest.
All other thoughts flew from his head as the kiss deepened and they held each other tightly, their hands boldly exploring with their lips often bravely following after. Eventually they managed to stop for a moment, each gazing happily into the other's eyes. "I think I like these kind of breaks," Harry informed Hermione with a gleeful smile. "What do you call them?"
Hermione played along, a pleased little grin lighting up her own face. "I was thinking…snog breaks."
Harry snorted. "It's not a very original name, is it?"
Hermione feigned taking offense. "Oh, and I suppose you think you can do better."
Harry kissed her, quickly and gently, to see if it would erase the mocking pout from her face. It did. "Mmm…maybe. How about…?" Suddenly, a light bulb went off in Harry's head. "Scar."
"Scar?" Hermione asked with a laugh. "What kind of name for a kissing break is…" Upon seeing the serious look on Harry's face, Hermione scooted off of his lap, stood, and watched as he completely turned his attention to the lengthy tome she had just been examining.
"The word in the margins was 'scar'," Harry reported, his tone now completely business-like. "'A scar like lightning'. There's an illustration on page eight-hundred and…" Harry's fingers found the page in question before he could finish that thought. "Here it is."
The wood carving depicted on the page was several millennia old and showed a woman grabbing a baby away from a large man wearing a cape. As it was a magical carving, the woman, probably the baby's mother, was then shown throwing herself over the child as the man, who was now clearly a wizard, pointed his wand at it. As magic flashed out of the wizard's wand, the mother fell over lifelessly. Soon after, a glowing bolt of lightning appeared on the baby's forehead. "Your scar," Hermione said breathlessly.
"What does it say, Hermione?" Harry asked urgently. "Beneath the drawing. What does it…?"
"I don't know," Hermione answered him, her voice filled with disappointment. "The language it's written in is long dead and this part of the book has never been translated." She turned her eyes away from the page in question for a moment to examine Harry more closely. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm not sure what to think," Harry answered honestly. "Maybe it's another prophecy about me, like the one Trelawney made to Dumbledore. Only much, much older."
Hermione's hand found one of Harry's and gave it a supportive squeeze. "Or maybe what your mother did for you had been done before."
Harry nodded slowly. "Maybe." That was one too many maybes for Harry, who ran his fingers through his hair, visibly frustrated with their lack of knowledge. "This is all just speculation. We need real answers and I think I know where we might get some." Harry looked up at her with a grave expression. "Hermione, I think it's time for us to go to Godric's Hollow."
***
As luck would have it, Hagrid was scheduled to return to Hogwarts the very next day. As Harry's luck would have it,
however, Hagrid didn't actually return to Hogwarts until several days later, his return delayed by a snowstorm in
the Alps. Harry was very anxious to explore his parents' home, and even considered going with someone other than
his half-giant friend, like Remus Lupin. Still, he had given his word to Headmistress McGonagall that he would take
Hagrid with him to Godric's Hollow and he would not go back on it, not after McGonagall had gone to such great
lengths to bend the rules for him.
Once they received word via owl post that Hagrid was finally back at Hogwarts, Harry and Hermione made plans to meet him at a rendezvous point not far from his hut, on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They would sneak in at night, hoping not to attract the attention of any Ministry-appointed instructors, or as Harry called them, "Scrimgeour's three stooges." Hagrid was to provide transportation to Godric's Hollow and Harry and Hermione would provide the firepower if they ran into any trouble. Given the extreme likelihood that they would run into trouble, Harry also suggested that Hagrid bring along his umbrella (which was, just in case any of Scrimgeour's stooges asked, not a wand).
Harry's Firebolt sailed low over the treetops which formed a dark canopy over the Forbidden Forest, as he looked for the clearing Hagrid had told them about, or at least a place near there where he could land safely. Harry had not ridden his broom in a good while and enjoyed the feeling of the wind in his hair and the open sky over his head, even if the chill of autumn made goose pimples form on his skin. Hermione was clutching him tightly, her face buried in his neck and her legs practically wrapped around his own, all of which was also extremely pleasurable. Still, he had to land sometime.
"I think this is it," Harry announced over the wind, indicating with a nod of his head a large, flat patch of grass only a few hundred meters from Hagrid's hut. "I'm going to take us down." He interpreted the muffled whimper he heard from Hermione as tacit approval and pointed his broomstick towards the ground, aiming for a large bushy patch in the middle of the clearing. With great effort, speed and concentration, Harry managed a perfect, ten-point landing, easily the best of his flying career…except for the fact that he slammed right into Rubeus Hagrid.
Hagrid's otherworldly groan filled the clearing, echoing eerily through the trees. Harry felt as though he had collided with a mountain, but after a quick check of his extremities he did not seem to be seriously hurt, although he would likely be sore for quite some time. Hermione seemed shaken by the crash, but otherwise appeared to be unharmed. "Are you alright?" he asked, the 'concerned boyfriend' look on his face not quite lost in the pale moonlight.
"I think so," Hermione answered, taking the time to adjust her clothing and check herself for injuries. "There are some bruises in places I never thought I'd have them, but I don't think anything's broken."
"I… I guess I didn't see Hagrid," Harry said in bewilderment, not quite knowing how that could be possible. Hagrid wasn't exactly easy to lose in a crowd. As he looked frantically around for the Hogwarts gamekeeper, however, he found that he still didn't see him, although he could hear him moaning only a few meters away. "Hagrid?" Harry called out in a stage whisper. "Where are you?"
Harry thought he saw a faint, dark blur move against the backdrop of the moonlit forest. "Sorry abou' that," he heard Hagrid's familiarly jolly voice call out. "I asked Professor McGonagall to put one of those disillusionment charms on me before I left. Didn't want to draw a whole lot of attention to meself." He let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "Guess I didn't do a very good job o' that, did I?"
"No, I'm afraid you didn't," Hermione replied, although her tone was gentle and understanding. "Keep talking. Once I find you I'll remove the disillusionment charm."
"Careful, 'ermione," Hagrid cautioned. "These woods aren't exactly the safest place to be this time of night. Especially now." The familiar look of curiosity crossed Hermione's face as she followed the sound of his voice. "The centaurs are all in a huff about summat. Couldn't tell ya what, but they're out for blood. They attacked a couple o' wandering students just last night. The new teachers want something done about it and they're not talking about having a nice, long friendly chat with the centaurs, either." He shook his large, transparent head. "The way some of 'em talk, you'd think they already knew all about the Alliance o' Magical Creatures."
"What's the Alliance of Magical Creatures?" Hermione asked as Hagrid slowly became visible again.
"Nothin'," Hagrid said quickly. "I never said nothin' about any Alliance o' Magical Creatures. In fact, I'm supposed to obliviate ya now that ya heard about it." Hagrid looked thoughtful. "'Course I'm not technically allowed to obliviate ya…"
"Hagrid," Hermione interrupted patiently. "We promise we won't tell another living soul about the Alliance of Magical Creatures. Don't we, Harry?" She turned around quickly to see that Harry was in a low crouch, looking at something lying in the grass. "Harry?"
"My Firebolt's destroyed," Harry reported numbly. He was staring at the splintered pieces on the ground, as if unable to move. "It's gone, Hermione."
Hermione, instantly realizing why Harry was upset, sank to her knees next to him and threw one arm around his shoulder. Hagrid, however, was somewhat more oblivious. "I know it's the top o' the line, Harry, but it's just a broom. It can be replaced."
"Not this one," Hermione responded sadly. "It was a gift from Sirius."
"Oh," Hagrid retorted sheepishly. "Right. Sorry, guess I wasn't thinkin' about that." The half-giant scratched his head. "I know there's nothin' I could do that would make up for losing somethin' Sirius gave ya himself, o' course." A twinkle reminiscent of Dumbledore sparkled suddenly in Hagrid's eyes. "Except maybe for..." For the first time, Harry looked up, his interest piqued. "C'mon. Let me show ya."
"I was gonna give it to ya anyway, after I took it out for this one last ride," Hagrid explained as they trudged closer to his cottage. "Ah, here it is. Close your eyes." With some small amount of hesitation, Harry did so. "Now open 'em again." Again, he did as Hagrid asked. "Ta da!"
Sitting in front of him was an oversized motorcycle, recently polished and shining in the dim light emanating from Hagrid's hut. "This motorcycle was Sirius' most prized possession when he was about your age," Hagrid explained. "Once he lost one of his little girlfriends to a muggle who was ridin' on one, he decided he had to have one, too. Built it himself. It's not a broom, but it flies just as well as one." Hagrid slapped Harry on the back, knocking the wind out of him. "I'm sure he'd want you to have it. It's yers, Harry."
"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry answered, not quite knowing why this incident had affected him so. "That means a lot."
"Think nothin'of it," Hagrid replied bashfully. "Are we ready to go, then?"
Behind Sirius' old motorcycle, they had found 'Witherwings' happily eating old ferret pelts. It was agreed that Hagrid should fly Sirius' motorcycle while the two of them rode behind him on Witherwings, as no one thought the hippogriff would take kindly to carrying Hagrid. Within a few minutes, all three were aloft and en route to Godric's Hollow.
***
Following Hagrid's lead, Harry landed the hippogriff formerly known as Buckbeak in a patch of woods about half a
kilometer from a small muggle neighborhood. Harry waited for Hermione to dismount first, shakily clutching his arm as
she descended, and then did so himself. As Hermione performed a spell to make the motorcycle invisible, Hagrid tossed
the hippogriff a dead ferret while Harry tethered the flying beast to a tree. "Are you sure Buckbe…Witherwings
will be safe here, Hagrid?" Harry asked. "Won't the muggles see him?"
"When it comes to magic, Harry, muggles usually only see what they want to," Hagrid answered him gruffly. "Your aunt and uncle are fine examples o' that." Hermione soon joined them both as they began walking out of the small grove of trees. "And you can call 'im Buckbeak again, if you want to. There's no Ministry professers around now to overhear."
"Do you think we could take care of him?" Hermione suggested hopefully. "It might not be very safe for him at Hogwarts, with so many Ministry employees there."
Hagrid considered it for a moment. "Tha's actually not a bad idea, 'ermione. Maybe after I take you to where…" Hagrid's eyes widened dramatically. "Blimey!"
Harry withdrew his wand on instinct. Hermione did the same only a moment later. "What is it?" they both inquired.
"They built over it!" the half-giant exclaimed angrily, as he began to lumber along at a slightly faster pace. "The muggles! They've built over Godric's Hollow!"
The house was a simple Victorian building with dark brown trim which looked to be in reasonably good condition. As Hagrid continued to sputter in his outrage, Hermione took the time to examine a sign on the front lawn. "It looks like the house is for sale."
"An outrage, tha's what it is," Hagrid bellowed sourly. "A crime against your parents' memory. That house should have stood as a monument to…to…"
"It's alright, Hagrid," Harry assured his old friend. "At least someone's gotten some use out of the place in the last sixteen years. I just hope that…" A sound from inside the house made Harry stop dead in his tracks. "Listen, do you hear that?" Both Hagrid and Hermione paused to listen to the sound of someone opening and closing a door inside. "Someone's here."
"Ya think it's the muggles who own the place?" Hagrid suggested.
Harry looked doubtful, but nodded slightly. "Maybe." He then motioned for them to follow him again. "Let's find out."
"I'm not sure this is a good idea, Harry," Hermione said in a panicked whisper. "If muggles live here, there isn't likely to be anything left over from when your parents did. We should probably just…"
As the three of them neared the door, it suddenly opened from the inside, revealing a short woman with a shorter haircut, a red pair of granny glasses slipping down her long nose and her gray hair almost completely hidden behind a blue chapeau. "Oh!" she called out in surprise as she clutched her chest dramatically. "You gave me a fright, dears." The woman then giggled playfully. "You're the couple that called about the house yesterday, aren't you?"
Always one to seize on a convenient cover story, Harry nodded his head. "Yeah, that's us." Hermione gave him a cross look, but said nothing. "Sorry about dropping in on you so unexpectedly…"
"Nonsense," the elder woman replied. "I've been waiting here for hours with nothing to do but dust. Some 'open house' this turned out to be." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "To tell you the truth, there hasn't been that much interest in the house. I can't imagine why. It's a perfectly charming neighborhood and the asking price is very reasonable." The woman frowned. "I'm so very sorry, but I can't seem to recall your names."
"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione introduced herself with a shy smile, "and this is my fiancée, Harry Potter."
The older woman squealed with delight. "You're getting married? Oh, that's just marvelous, dear, just wonderful. Have you set a date?"
"Not yet," Hermione answered quickly. "I'm afraid my husband-to-be is dragging his feet a little."
The other woman laughed at that while Harry's face turned beet red. "My name's Regina, by the way. Are you ready to see the house?" After a moment's hesitation, Harry and Hermione agreed.
"I'll jus' be waitin' outside then," Hagrid, who had been deathly silent until then, explained in a whisper.
"I'm sorry," Regina said as she pointed to Hagrid in confusion. "This is your…"
"Friend," Hermione answered at the same time Harry said "Uncle". They shared a sheepish look. "Hagrid. Er, he's my uncle and Hermione's friend. He's how we met, actually."
"How nice," Regina enthused. "You're welcome to tour the house, too, you know. I can always make room for one more."
"Well," Hagrid replied as he scratched his beard thoughtfully, "if yer sure I wouldn' be intrudin'…"
"Of course you wouldn't," Hermione assured him, grabbing his overlarge arm as though to pull him along with her. "Come on, Hagrid. Let's see the house."
***
About a half an hour later, Harry was ready to concede defeat. Hermione had been right, as was usually the case. This
wasn't a good idea. In fact, it was downright torturous. "Now this is the kitchen. As you can see, the
cabinets were all hand-made and the finish was professionally done." Harry smiled politely and nodded. When he had
occasionally been able to get a word in edgewise, he had asked Regina about some of the things around the house;
questions about how old everything was, or who had originally owned it. Her answers, effusive and elusive as they were,
proved worthless.
"All of the appliances are new and come with the house," Regina explained enthusiastically. "The floor has just been retiled and doesn't it look fab? With no one to maintain it, the kitchen has developed something of a rat problem, but I guarantee you I'll have that taken care of before you could move in." Regina clapped her hands together excitedly. "So what do you think?"
'That this has been a colossal waste of time,' Harry thought to himself. Aloud, he said "It's great. But of course we will be looking at other…"
Hermione had one of those deep and thoughtful expressions on her face, the kind that he had learned to both appreciate and fear. "Does this house have a cellar?"
The perpetually blissful expression on Regina's face fell abruptly. "Why do you ask, dear?" she managed, her voice instantly cold and sour.
Harry, curious to see what the woman was being skittish about, stepped in at this point. "I'm afraid my future wife is a great lover of books. If there's a cellar, that's where we'll probably end up keeping them all."
"Well, you know," the other woman began furtively, "the house has a wide assortment of shelves which would be ideal for…"
"Regina," Hermione interrupted her, all pretense of politeness gone. "Can we see what's in the cellar?"
Grumbling under her breath, Regina led them to a door on the other side of the house from the kitchen. Harry motioned for Hagrid to go along with them (he had been reluctant to accompany them throughout the house as he constantly had to duck to enter each new room) and in only a few moments the four of them stood before the door as the flustered saleswoman fumbled for her keys. "I think you're going to be disappointed. There's nothing to see. I was told the previous owners never even went down here." Eventually, she found the proper key and unlocked the door, only to reveal a set of thick boards, haphazardly arranged and nailed in place, barring the door. "You see? It's boarded over. It would take one of our carpenter crews a few days before they could even…"
At a nod from Harry, Hagrid began to remove the boards covering the entranceway by hand, one by one. "This is…highly irregular, I…I don't think this is the proper procedure for…" Suddenly, Regina fell silent. Also, not coincidentally, she fell to the floor.
Harry moved quickly to check her pulse. Thankfully, it was there, steady and strong. "I think she must have fainted." It was a fine theory, except that it was quickly disproved by a stunner, fired from the bottom of the stair, that hit Hagrid squarely in the chest.
The half-giant staggered for a moment, but remained standing. "Cor, Harry," Hagrid remarked as he sagged against the wall, which made an unpleasant cracking sound in protest. "I think there's someone in the cellar."
Given how much physical abuse Hagrid had taken tonight, he could be forgiven for stating the obvious. Harry and Hermione took shelter along the wall, crouching down together in a defensive position. Harry leaned in to whisper in Hermione's ear. "I'm taking the cloak and going down there."
Hermione nodded slowly. "I'm coming with you."
Harry wanted to argue with her, to beg her to keep herself safe so that she could get help in case anything happened to him. But the fight would take too long and, ultimately, he would probably lose. Harry withdrew his invisibility cloak from his knapsack. "Come on then. Let's go."
Harry and Hermione stood close together under the cloak, slowly descending the cellar stairs and hoping not to make too much noise. Old staircases tend to creak, however, and as Hermione's foot landed awkwardly on the third step down, another stunner came at them, splintering the door. They had ducked just in time. "You can't get me down here," a jittery, breathy voice came from below. "I'm safe. Safe. Safe as houses. Houses are safe."
Moving at a crawl, the two of them continued to descend the stairwell, their wands at the ready. Harry's lips moved close to Hermione's ear. "I think I can see him well enough to disarm him," he whispered softly. Hermione gave him a look full of resolve, one that told him she would be ready for the fight that would be inevitable if he missed. Harry pointed his wand at a faint shadow below him. "Expelliarmus!"
A sharp cry of shock and the welcome sound of a wand rolling down the wooden steps made Harry smile in triumph. Carefully, although at a quicker pace, they followed the sound of the quivering, sniveling man below until they could make out his features. His ugly, familiar features. "Hermione, that's…that's Peter Pettigrew."
Forgetting all about Hermione, the cloak and any concern he might have for his own safety in the space of a few seconds, Harry descended the few remaining stairs that separated them, plunging his elbow into Wormtail's stomach and his wand into the ex-Marauder's throat. "How dare you come here," Harry furiously spat at him. "How dare you ever set foot in here after what you did."
Soon Hermione's hand was on his shoulder. "Please don't do anything rash, Harry," she advised him. Hermione was looking at him with a sort of desperation, a longing that had nothing to do with romance. "Let's just take him upstairs and..."
"So he can talk his way out of it," Harry growled, shoving his wand further into Peter Pettigrew's neck, "or escape by turning back into the rat he is…again. No, Hermione. This ends here."
Pettigrew had broken down completely, tears streaming down his face as Harry leaned into him threateningly. "Please, please, I didn't mean to do it, please," he blubbered.
"So that's it, then?" Hermione asked, her eyes flashing dangerously. "You're just going to kill him?"
"He betrayed my parents," Harry reminded her coldly. "He's the one who brought Voldemort back to life. If it weren't for him, my parents would still be alive, and so would Cedric and Sirius and…and Dumbledore… All of their deaths are on his head."
"Voldemort's the one responsible for all of those murders, Harry," Hermione reminded him, her body slowly inching its way between Harry's and Pettigrew's. "You once told Sirius and Lupin that you didn't think your parents would want their best friends to become murderers. Do you really think that they'd want you to kill someone?"
"Well, I have to anyway, don't I?" Harry demanded, turning to face Hermione for the first time. She recoiled slightly from him, an unfamiliar look of terror in her eyes. "The prophecy says that it's kill or be killed. I have to be the one to…"
"I would have been with you, I swear I would have," Pettigrew continued to mutter pitifully as they spoke. "It…it was Severus, he ordered me to come here." Harry and Hermione both turned to listen to him. "I would never have left you, but you told me to listen to him, to follow his orders and…and I did. I waited here, waited for the boy… but he never came. I swear I never wanted to leave your side, Master, I swear it."
"He's gone mad, he has," Hagrid declared from the top of the staircase. The half-giant had found a flashlight and was shining it down on all of their faces. "He thinks Harry's You-Know-Who."
"Harry?" Peter parroted in incomprehension. Suddenly the fear in his demeanor was gone and a look of comprehension dawned on his face. "Harry. Sweet, innocent boy. You couldn't hurt me. You could never…"
Harry shoved Peter Pettigrew against the wall, lifting him off of the ground. "Try me."
"Please, Harry," Hermione begged, sadness heavy in her words. "Don't do something you'll regret. Let's…let's take him to Azkaban."
"Azkaban's too good for him," Harry answered her, although his voice was now choked with emotion instead of cold and ruthless, as it had been only a moment before.
"There's nobody Azkaban's too good fer," Hagrid interjected solemnly. "Trust me, I've been there." Slowly, Hagrid descended the stairs, his arms extended. "Let me take 'em there, Harry. You shouldn't have to be the one ta do it. Not after everything 'e's put you through."
"I…" Harry looked between Hagrid, Hermione and Peter Pettigrew in succession, his resolve wavering. He suddenly felt utterly exhausted. Harry pulled away from Pettigrew and watched him fall to the ground with a painful thump. "Get him out of here, Hagrid," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to have to look at him anymore."
"Thank you, thank you so much," Peter Pettigrew said gratefully as he groveled at Harry's feet. "I owe you my life, boy. Twice over now I owe you my life. I won't forget. I won't forget. I won't…"
"You owe your life to Hermione and Hagrid," Harry replied bitterly. "Not me."
"C'mon, you worthless piece o' slime," Hagrid said with disdain as he picked Peter Pettigrew up like a rag doll. "You're comin' with me."
As Hagrid and a gibbering Peter Pettigrew ascended the cellar staircase, Harry and Hermione stood in the darkness, neither daring to look at the other. "What do you want me to say, Hermione? That I'm sorry?" He waited a moment for her to answer. When she didn't, he continued, "I'm not. Peter Pettigrew deserves to die."
"But you don't deserve to have to become a murderer," Hermione countered angrily. "The wizarding world developed a system of justice for just this reason, Harry, to end centuries of blood feuds and revenge schemes. To give people peace instead of constant warfare. Justice rather than vengeance."
"Justice," Harry scoffed, his arm waving dramatically despite the darkness. "How much justice have my parents received over the last sixteen years? Their best friend was sent to prison while the real wizard who betrayed them lived as a free man. What would they say if they knew that I could have ended his life, twice now, and couldn't do it?"
"I don't know, Harry," Hermione answered as she sadly shook her head. "What would they say if you had killed him? Do you really think they would be proud of you?"
"Maybe you should ask them," came a voice from below them. Harry and Hermione, startled by the interruption, quickly turned their wands in the direction of the voice.
"Who's there?" Hermione asked. She had lit her wand and was searching the cellar for any sign of another living soul. Harry, meanwhile, was kicking himself. Why had he sent Hagrid away so soon? What if there were an entire contingent of Death Eaters, lying in wait for them? What if they were completely surrounded by evil wizards?
"Um, Harry," Hermione interrupted his thoughts shyly. "I think maybe the voice came from this portrait."
"She's a bright one, isn't she?" came a warm, male voice that Harry was certain he had heard before. Once Harry was standing next to Hermione, examining the portrait, he knew why.
"Mum? Dad?"
Yes, I know. It's another cliffy. I still don't like them as a rule, but sometimes they're necessary. The next chapter will be a bit of a change, as the story will not be told from Harry's perspective, but from the viewpoint of three different female characters. Tune in next time to see if this story-telling device works or fails miserably. Toodles!
ITL