Disclaimer: See Part 1.
Author's Note: And now, finally, the second and last Epilogue to this fic that started out as a drabble and grew to become so much more. Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing; I only hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it!
Fluff with substance-and sort of rewriting the end of HBP and inserting it into GoF the way it should have been. ;-)
(Incidentally, rereading the end of GoF, I suddenly wondered-- where on earth is Ginny in all this? She is basically not mentioned at all at the end of GoF- not that I mind and not that I ever noticed before- which, given everything that's happened to Harry and what happens in HBP, is somewhat remarkable. Isn't it funny that Ginny's crush on Harry and her caring about him so much (or so she says) doesn't extend to wanting to be with Harry when he's just had the worst night of his life to date? Yup, Harry's ideal woman, alright- she blithely disappears to God-only-knows-where when Harry's nearly been killed and only appears again having magically grown a spine in the next book-- and then, again, in HBP when Harry's really had the worst night of his life, she lets him break up with her with hardly a word in protest. Really, just when I think I couldn't possibly hate Ginny more, she keeps proving me wrong...) Well, I say, Pffftt to that and the whole idea of H/G.
For my dear Amethyst_J, without whom this fic would never have been written in the first place. *hugs*
His Precious Friend
Epilogue 2
Together
Harry had never been so exhausted in his life and he had to force his legs to function properly as he stood up and left Dumbledore's office, accompanied by Dumbledore and Sirius in his dog form, to go down to the Hospital Wing.
His mind was blessedly numb after the draining experience of having to tell Dumbledore and Sirius everything that had happened tonight in the graveyard and he concentrated on simply putting one foot in front of the other.
Dumbledore pushed open the door to the hospital wing and Harry saw Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Ron and Hermione standing around a harassed-looking Madam Pomfrey. Hermione was so pale she looked almost deathly white and had tears streaking her cheeks.
They all whirled around as Harry, Dumbledore and the black dog entered and Mrs. Weasley let out a little shriek. "Harry! Oh Harry!"
She started to move towards him and Dumbledore stepped forward, looking about to intervene, but before he could, Harry heard another cry, "Oh Harry!" and the next thing he knew, Hermione had thrown herself at him, burying her face in his shoulder and he could feel her trembling and hear her anxious words that were almost a whimper, muffled now by his robes. "Oh Harry, are you all right? I was so worried, so scared; I thought-I thought-oh Harry, I'm so glad to see you…"
He wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo and her lotion, as he closed his eyes, finally feeling a little hard knot of tension in his chest loosen and dissipate. He was back, with Hermione-and with Ron and Sirius-and for the first time he thought he might be okay.
Dumbledore finally spoke up and Harry opened his eyes to look up at him, seeing the gentleness in the blue eyes as they rested on Harry and Hermione. Harry didn't let go of Hermione, and neither did she, and for a fleeting moment, Harry thought he would gladly never let go Hermione again. "Harry has been through a terrible ordeal tonight. He has just had to relive it for me. What he needs now is sleep, and peace, and quiet. If he would like you all to stay with him, you may do so. But I do not want you questioning him until he is ready to answer and certainly not this evening."
Mrs. Weasley nodded silently, her face very white. She rounded on Ron and Bill as if they had made a sound and said in an intense whisper, "Did you hear? He needs quiet!"
At any other time, Harry might have been amused at that but not then. He was beginning to wonder if he would feel amused at anything ever again.
Hermione finally released him, her face flushed pink with some embarrassment and with emotion. She looked at him and he could see all the worry and the caring in her eyes, knew that she was holding back all her questions of how she could help, what she could do.
He wanted to tell her that she didn't have to do anything, just had to be there, with him, but he was too tired and his brain couldn't formulate the words so he settled for meeting her eyes and knew she understood.
"Headmaster," Madam Pomfrey finally spoke up, staring at the large black dog that was Sirius, "May I ask what--?"
"This dog will be remaining with Harry for a while," Dumbledore answered simply. "I assure you, he is extremely well-trained. Harry- I will wait while you get into bed."
Harry nodded, extremely thankful that Dumbledore had asked them not to ask him any questions.
"I will be back to see you as soon as I have met with Fudge, Harry. I would like you to remain here tomorrow, until I have spoken to the school."
Harry hadn't had any intention of leaving the hospital wing, was dreading having to go out and face the school again, so he had no objections to that.
Dumbledore left after a last, serious look at Harry and a fleeting one at Hermione.
Madam Pomfrey led Harry to a nearby bed and Harry saw the real Moody lying motionless in a bed at the far end of the room, his wooden leg and magical eye lying on the bedside table.
"Is he OK?" Harry managed to ask, his voice a little hoarse.
"He'll be fine," Madam Pomfrey reassured him, giving Harry some pyjamas and pulling screens around him. Harry changed into the pyjamas and got into bed, very slowly, as every motion seemed to require extra effort.
Hermione was the first one to come around the screen, followed immediately by Padfoot, Ron, Bill and Mrs. Weasley.
Ron was looking at him almost cautiously, as if he were scared of Harry. Hermione had wiped away her tears, he saw, but was still pale, as she sat down in a chair next to the bed and reached for his hand, holding it gently.
"I'm all right," he managed to tell them, wanting to reassure them. "Just tired."
Mrs. Weasley's eyes filled with tears as she smoothed his bedcovers unnecessarily.
Madam Pomfrey came bustling back, holding a goblet and a small bottle of some purple potion. "You'll need to drink all of this, Harry. It's a potion for dreamless sleep."
Harry took the goblet and drank a few mouthfuls, feeling himself becoming sleepy at once.
His body felt suddenly heavy, sinking deeper into the feather mattress, as his eyelids drooped. The last thing he focused on was Hermione's worried face, bending over him, and he tried to tighten his grip on her hand, tried to ask her not to leave, but his tongue was thick in his mouth and he couldn't seem to force his lips to move. He was only vaguely aware of his fingers twitching a little in hers and, as if she had read his mind, he heard as if from far away, her voice saying, "I'll stay right here, Harry."
His mind just managed to form the vague thought, that was… good… And then he gave in to his exhaustion and the sleeping potion and fell asleep.
~~~
The days afterwards passed in a blur and, looking back, Harry found he had very few memories from them. It was as though he had been through too much, his mind too drained, to take in any more. What he did remember was mostly all painful. The meeting with the Diggorys that happened the next morning was the worst, with Mr. Diggory, who looked as if he had aged decades in one night, in tears through most of it and Mrs. Diggory speaking, haltingly, through her own tears.
The only memory from those days that wasn't all unpleasant, the only remotely bright spot in his life then, he thought, was Hermione.
Hermione, who had hardly left his side since the moment she hugged him in the hospital wing. Hermione, who didn't say very much but kept looking at him, watching him, with concern and worry in her eyes. Hermione, who always knew when to put an end to Ron's somewhat cautious questions, even though he knew she was bursting with questions herself and simply refused to ask them, because she knew he didn't want to talk about it. Hermione, who was the only person he told, in a low, halting voice, about how Voldemort had ordered, "Kill the spare" and about Cedric's last request to take his body back to his parents.
He told both Ron and Hermione everything else, in fits and starts, from the moment he and Cedric had both touched the Cup, told them both about seeing his parents come out of Voldemort's wand (carefully looking at the ground and speaking in a wooden voice as he did so). But he did not mention Voldemort's order to simply "Kill the spare" as if Cedric was of no consequence, a mere flea to be swept aside; nor did he mention Cedric's last request, too afraid that when he did, he would give in to the tears he sometimes felt building inside him.
Until, finally, when he and Hermione were alone once, he found himself telling her what he had left out of his story before, holding her hand in his so tightly that, he later saw with a stab of remorse, her hand was red from the strength of his grip. But she shrugged it off when he apologized, her eyes telling him that a sore hand mattered nothing to her compared to what he had been through and how much she wanted to know everything so she could help him.
He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, keeping his eyes squeezed shut against the tears, as he told her about Cedric's last request. And he felt her arms tighten around him and heard her muffled, "Oh, Harry" and then felt the dampness on his robes from her tears-and only then did he give in to his own tears, finally letting out the tears that had been building inside him since that terrible night, the tears he had kept back before, not wanting to break down in front of Mrs. Weasley, motherly as she was, or Ron or anyone else. But then, alone, with only Hermione, he allowed himself to cry. Not much and he was swiftly embarrassed but she never commented on his tears, acted as if she hadn't known he was crying too. She only held him and later, brushed her lips against his very lightly. And he felt comforted.
In those first days, he ignored the niggling thought of what he should do, pushing to the back of his mind his growing certainty, clinging to the only real comfort he had, until after he, Ron and Hermione had gone down to visit Hagrid on Thursday, since they didn't have Defense Against the Dark Arts anymore.
They were walking back up to the castle in silence, each thinking their own thoughts on what Hagrid had said about how he'd known Voldemort would be back, and Harry knew he couldn't put it off any longer.
"Ron- er- will you go on ahead for a little bit?"
Ron glanced at Harry and though at any other time, he might have commented or pretended to be offended, at that moment, Ron only nodded, still acting a little wary around Harry, as if afraid of what Harry might say or do, or more accurately, as if afraid of somehow burdening Harry.
Hermione had stopped walking when Harry had and was looking at him in surprise.
Harry waited until Ron was almost out of sight before he turned back to Hermione, not quite meeting her eyes as he finally just blurted out, rather lamely, "I just- er- you know everything's going to change now." He shifted uncomfortably, telling himself he had to do this, for her sake. He knew what he had to do; he just hadn't counted on how hard it was to look at Hermione and say what he knew he needed to say. "And, well, we- we can't do this anymore," he blurted out in a rush.
She didn't ask him what he meant; he knew she understood from her slight intake of breath as he forged on, keeping his gaze fixed at a point over her shoulder. "It- it isn't safe anymore; it's going to be too dangerous with- with Voldemort back and- and- look what happened to Cedric just because he was sort of a friend. I- I can't let that happen to you." He had been speaking very quickly in an oddly emotionless voice as he said the words he had practically memorized from having thought them so much in the past few days. But now, his voice cracked a little with the intensity of his emotion, emotion he couldn't hide at the thought of her being hurt. "I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you. I just couldn't."
He finally met her eyes, saw the understanding in them-and something else, something he couldn't quite recognize. Then she spoke, her voice quiet but intense for all its quietness. "Don't be an idiot."
He drew back a little. "I don't think-" he began stiffly.
But she cut him off with her lips, kissing him hard and quickly, before drawing back to meet his eyes squarely. "I know all that, Harry, but I don't care."
He opened his mouth to protest but she continued on before he could. "I wouldn't let you go through whatever will happen next alone, even if you were only my best friend. But now, when we're more than that, do you really think I'll just leave you alone? That I care more about the risk to me than I do about you? Do you really think that?"
"But--" he began.
She cut him off again with a quick shake of her head this time. "I know. But do you really think that of me?"
She pinned him with her gaze and, looking at her, he could only remember all the times over the past four years that she had shown just how loyal she was, how brave she was. He remembered suddenly that first hug she had given him at the end of their first year.
"Harry-you're a great wizard, you know… Me! Books! And cleverness! There are more important things-friendship and bravery and-oh Harry-be careful!"
Remembered these past few months since the 2nd task, remembered all the kisses, all the little touches, all the smiles, all the little ways she had shown him how much she cared about him…
And he met her eyes and had to answer, honestly, "No."
Her expression softened. "See? Then don't say things like that, as if you think I could just let you go."
"It will be dangerous, though, more dangerous than it has been."
"Hagrid's right, Harry. What's coming will come, and we'll meet it when it does. And we'll get through it together, just like we always have." She paused and then finished, "And I'll be careful if you'll be careful too."
"I'm always careful."
She gave him a look and he reddened slightly at her silent skepticism.
"You know you have a tendency to--" she began.
He finished her sentence for her. "Let trouble find me."
"It's not that you're reckless; you're just brave-and so you don't always think…" Hermione trailed off, looking a little apprehensive and apologetic.
"Yeah," he admitted. "I'll try to be more careful. Honestly, I will."
She smiled. "Okay, then. Come on, Ron will be waiting."
"Yeah," he said, as he started walking back up towards the castle, with her beside him.
She slipped her hand inside his as they walked and he tightened his grip ever so slightly, suddenly immensely relieved that he still had her. Part of him was still insisting that it was too risky, that he should have tried harder to convince her to end things between them-but right then, holding Hermione's hand, he could only feel glad.
He wasn't alone, he wouldn't be alone. No matter what happened next, he would still have Hermione, to help him, to be there for him, to comfort him. And for the first time since that horrible night of the 3rd task, he felt a glimmer of hope, that not everything was dark.
~*~*~
Harry had never been so reluctant to leave Hogwarts and board the Hogwarts Express. The idea of leaving the magical world now when Voldemort was back was enough to make him feel like running away. The thought of being without the comfort of Hermione's presence was even worse and the only thing that kept him from doing something crazy was the knowledge that they would write. She would write, long letters telling him if anything particularly interesting had happened (and by interesting, he knew she understood he meant Voldemort-related), he knew that. She would write and he would write to her-and surely, surely, Dumbledore would let him leave the Dursleys before it had been too long…
Even so, it was hard to keep from feeling gloomy as he, Ron and Hermione settled into the compartment on the train which they had to themselves.
They talked about Dumbledore's final speech at the Leaving Feast in a rather subdued fashion. Harry remembered catching a glimpse of Cho's tear-stained face when Dumbledore had talked about Cedric and he remembered the involuntary shudder that had gone through him when Dumbledore had announced, "Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort." Hermione had sensed his shudder and slipped her hand into his and then, in a rather uncharacteristic (given they were surrounded by people; Hermione was careful to limit her touches to ones of simple friendship when they were in public) gesture of support and because she wanted to, he knew, she had moved in close to him and nestled her head on his shoulder for a moment. He had squeezed her hand lightly in silent thanks and she lifted her head to look up at him before returning her gaze to Dumbledore.
Hermione opened her schoolbag and Harry saw a copy of the Daily Prophet which she had folded up and put inside it.
He eyed it with some nervousness and Hermione, catching his look and understanding, as always, what he was thinking, assured him, "There's nothing in there. You can look for yourself, but there's nothing at all. I've been checking every day. Just a small piece the day after the third task, saying you won the Tournament. They didn't even mention Cedric. Nothing about any of it. If you ask me, Fudge is forcing them to keep quiet."
"He'll never keep Rita quiet. Not on a story like this," Harry predicted rather grimly.
"Oh, Rita hasn't written anything at all since the third task," Hermione said and Harry glanced sharply at her. There was an odd note in her voice; she sounded a little excited, a little guilty, a little smug. "As a matter of fact," she continued on in the same tone, "Rita Skeeter isn't going to be writing anything at all for a while. Not unless she wants me to spill the beans on her."
"What are you talking about?" Ron asked.
"I found out how she was listening in on private conversations when she wasn't supposed to be coming into the grounds," Hermione confessed in a rush.
Harry stared at her. She had? When? And why hadn't she said anything? Even as he thought the question, he knew the answer. Of course she wouldn't have said anything in light of everything else that had happened. And she had been too preoccupied with her worry over him to spare much of a thought for Rita Skeeter.
"How was she doing it?" Harry asked immediately.
"Well, it was you, really, who gave me the idea, Harry," she said with a quick smile at him.
"I did? How?"
"Bugging," Hermione grinned.
"But you said they didn't work--" he began, a slight frown forming between his brows.
"Oh, not electronic bugs. No, you see… Rita Skeeter is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn--"
Hermione paused and pulled a small sealed glass jar out of her bag. "Into a beetle," she finished with a hint of a smirk curving her lips.
"You're kidding!" Ron burst out. "You haven't… she's not…"
"Oh, yes she is," Hermione assured him, waving the jar a little.
Inside it were a few twigs and leaves and one large, fat beetle.
"That's never-you're kidding-" Ron whispered, lifting the jar to his eyes and peering inside it.
"No, I'm not." Hermione was positively beaming, Harry noticed, feeling a small flare of happiness inside his chest at seeing her look so cheerful, the first real cheerfulness he'd seen on her face in days. "I caught her on the window-sill in the hospital wing. Look very closely, and you'll notice the markings around her antennae are exactly like those foul glasses she wears."
Harry took the jar from Ron and looked closely-and sure enough, she was right. And then he remembered. "There was a beetle on the statue the night we heard Hagrid telling Madame Maxime about his mum!"
Hermione smiled at Harry. "Exactly. And Viktor pulled a beetle out of my hair after he pulled me aside to talk by the lake. And unless I'm very much mistaken, Rita was perched on the window-sill of the Divination class the day your scar hurt. She's been buzzing around for stories all year."
"When we saw Malfoy under that tree…" Ron said slowly.
"He was talking to her, in his hand. That's how she's been getting all those nice interviews with the Slytherins. They wouldn't care that she was doing something illegal, as long as they were giving her horrible stuff about us and Hagrid."
"Well, not everything she wrote was so horrible," Harry murmured with a small, private smile for Hermione.
Hermione returned his smile with a soft look and then grinned at the beetle, which buzzed angrily against the glass.
"I've told her I'll let her out when we get back to London. I've put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can't transform. And I've told her she's to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can't break the habit of writing lies about people."
Harry almost laughed out-loud at the look of triumph on Hermione's face. "You're brilliant, Hermione," he grinned.
She colored a little, looking pleased.
He looked back at the beetle, a sudden thought darting into his mind. He gave in to his impulse and deliberately slid his arm around Hermione's shoulders and leaned in to brush his lips against her cheek.
Ron rolled his eyes and pretended to gag but Harry ignored him as he grinned down at the beetle. "There, that's one story you can write that would be true as long as you don't invent any more garbage about Hermione's 'deviousness'."
And he was more than repaid for the thought when Hermione turned a soft smile at him with a quiet, "Oh Harry…"
~~~
The rest of the ride passed uneventfully enough with only the one unpleasant interruption by Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle that ended with their being knocked unconscious by the five different hexes used by Harry, Ron, Hermione and the twins.
And now the train had stopped and it was really time for him to leave. Harry stifled a grimace as he deliberately moved slowly in packing his things up and following Ron and Hermione out, pausing to waylay Fred and George and force them to accept his winnings from the Tournament.
That done, he stepped through the barrier, to find Uncle Vernon waiting for him with Mrs. Weasley standing close by him. Mrs. Weasley hugged Harry tightly and whispered, "I think Dumbledore will let you come to us later in the summer. Keep in touch, Harry."
"See you, Harry," Ron said with a slight, serious sort of smile, as he clapped Harry on the back.
"Harry- thanks," George muttered while Fred nodded fervently at his side, also pausing to clap Harry on the shoulder.
And then he turned to Hermione, managing a faint smile in order to disguise his intense unwillingness to say goodbye to her. "Well…"
He could see the same emotions he was feeling play across her face before she suppressed them and gave him a somewhat wavering smile. And then she hugged him quickly and did the most she would ever do while they were in public and being watched by the Weasleys to say nothing of Uncle Vernon, and kissed his cheek very quickly. "Take care, Harry," she whispered into his ear before she pulled back and smiled again, bravely. "Bye, Harry," she said louder, more for the benefit of everyone else, he could see, than for him.
"Yeah, bye," he said as casually as he could, but what he meant was, I'll miss you, and saw her expression soften and the corners of her lips twitch as if she had tried to smile but which somehow only managed to make her look wistful- and knew she knew what he'd meant.
Harry threw the twins a quick wink at the expressions of awed gratitude still lingering on their faces and gave Hermione a last, serious look, before he turned to Uncle Vernon and followed him from the station. There was no point for him to start worrying yet, he told himself bracingly, as he got silently into the back of the Dursleys' car.
As Hermione had reminded him, Hagrid had been right to say that what would come, would come and he would have to meet it when it did… and he would get through it, together with her and with Ron, the way he always had.
A/N 2: I had to stick in the mention of Hermione leaning her head on Harry's shoulder from that oh-so-squeeworthy picture released from GoF which wasn't in the movie (drat it!).
~The End~
(For good.)