Disclaimer: See chapter one.
A/N: I apologize, to any Draco lovers, for killing him off in the last chapter. He needs his comeuppance and the plot needs him to die.
Another note is that this chapter (second to last!) is about as romantic as this story will get - which doesn't mean too much. Nightingale's Song is conceived as a sketch, not really a fully-blown epic as I will never be able to finish otherwise. It's supposed to be my vision of what occurs post-HBP, except very much condensed. The romance is driven by the plot, rather than the other way around.
If you haven't run away already, please enjoy chapter four!
Four
Song of Love
There was uproar over Draco Malfoy's death. Hermione heard about it the very next day. Since the Death Eaters did not know who the murderer was, they took out their anger on the Muggles. Perhaps it was also a lame excuse to cause pain, Hermione did not know. As the case was, there had never been so many deaths in one night. An atmosphere of fear hung even in well-protected London.
One fortunate consequence of the excursion did come: another Horcrux had been destroyed. Ron, seeing as Harry was in no condition to do much, destroyed the soul hidden within Hufflepuff's cup. Now he was sitting beside Hermione, looking as grim as she felt.
"It won't take long before they figure out that we are the culprits," Ron said, voicing Hermione's fear.
"Not long at all. In fact, they probably know already. We definitely can't remain in London," she said. "They won't need proof of any sort to spring an attack on us."
"But there isn't anywhere else to go," Ron said. "I can't go home and get my family into trouble, and you can't let your parents become targets either. And Hogwarts…"
His voice trailed off.
"I know." Hermione sighed. She didn't feel that they could back out of the Horcrux hunt now, not when Voldemort was probably directing further guard of Ravenclaw's portrait. She twirled Hufflepuff's cup in her hands. How did so much trouble come from retrieving this little object? "I am thinking. Even though Grimmauld Place may be infiltrated, the Death Eaters only followed us there in order to retrieve the Horcrux."
"We can't be sure."
"No, we can't, but I can put restore the Fidelius Charm on the house," Hermione said. The original one had expired. "It shouldn't be too hard, not harder than some of the things we've managed."
Ron shrugged. "It sounds better than any other plan I can think of," he admitted. "And Hermione, are you still going to go through with…we…"
Hermione met his eyes. "Yes. I will tell Harry at lunch."
She kept her word. She broached the topic at noon and Harry gave a nod of assent. He'd been especially quiet since he realized that he had really killed Malfoy. Personally, Hermione wondered if killing Malfoy upset him more than destroying a soul that was so tightly intertwined with his.
That afternoon, Ron excused himself to make tea in the kitchen. Hermione took her wand and recited the incantation once in her mind. It was in Latin, and although Hermione couldn't understand it completely the words sounded beautiful to her ears.
She couldn't help being reminded of a fairy tale she once read, when a nightingale sang her beautiful song to bring an emperor back to life. This song might sing a young man to death.
Harry had gone to sleep almost immediately after lunch. He was now on the bedroom bed, curled up into a ball. Hermione's resolve almost crumbled as she studied him. But she had to, before his soul recovered from the shock of killing a person.
On impulse, she leaned over to kiss him on the forehead. Somehow, she was kissing the corner of his mouth and then their lips met. She often wondered what sensations Ginny felt, kissing Harry Potter. Well, the kiss wasn't as groundbreaking as she'd expected, but it tasted like Harry and that was all that mattered. Later, Hermione would say that she wanted to kiss him just in case Harry became a monster after she split his soul, but one day she would confide to her mother that she'd wanted to do so for sometime.
He did not wake up. Hermione decided to let him sleep, in hopes that it might hurt less and that it might be easier if she couldn't see his eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said, to both Harry and Ron. She laid her wand on Harry's forehead, focused her concentration, and began to recite the incantation.
It was a delicate process, the making of a double Horcrux. It was worse that Hermione could not practice it. She knew that one wrong move could foil everything; if she did not withdraw Voldemort's soul completely, then he would still be immortal; but if she applied too much magic, she could sever a chunk of Harry's soul.
The smell of smoke permeated the small bedroom. Hermione was aware of Ron's footsteps, hurrying from the kitchen, and she continued on. A shimmering green substance began to cling to the end of her wand as they floated slowly from Harry's body. She directed it to the cup she'd set down.
This was Voldemort's soul. Hermione expected it to look as hideous as Voldemort himself, but no, the soul was an untainted green.
Her hand shook as more and more green substance was drawn out, and then suddenly, instinctively, she stopped.
Covered with sweat, Hermione met Ron's eyes at the doorway. He stepped forward uncertainly. "Here!" she shouted, thrusting the cup at Ron. He all but shrank away. "Take it and destroy it!"
Ron took the cup with shaking hands. He swallowed. "Is he -"
Hermione did not dare to even turn toward the bed. Briefly, she thought she could pass for Dr. Frankenstein, and shuddered at the thought that Harry might not be human anymore.
"He will be perfectly fine," she lied, and she half-dragged Ron from the room.
-
Night had fallen. Hermione cast a sidelong glance at Harry and Ron. Ron had dozed off and was curled up in the couch. Harry was staring out the window, looking forlorn. He hadn't spoken much to either of them since Ron told him that the double Horcrux had been made and destroyed. Once, Hermione wondered if she'd accidentally taken a piece of his soul after all.
She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. Being in Grimmauld Place was like being shut off from the world. The only time she had left was to get food from a nearby greengrocer, and that had been brief. All she could gauge, from listening to the gossip as she waited on the queue, was that the Death Eaters had been intensifying their activities. There were several more attacks in England and a few in Scotland. Harry was right; Voldemort was planning something large, possibly an all-out attack against the Ministry of Magic.
Her watch beeped. It was eleven. Funny how she still cared about her bedtime. She yawned, but before she could get up, Harry said, "Enough of this."
Hermione turned slowly around. She had begun to avoid looking at Harry straight in the eye, afraid of what she would find. However, she was relieved, as she always was, that his eyes were still a guileless green. "What is it?" she said.
"Stop this. Just admit that you and Ron are afraid of me now! You are, aren't you?"
His voice, though harsh, had an undertone of pleading. Hermione hesitated. She wanted to say, "Somewhat," but that would hurt Harry's feelings. She wanted to say, "Not at all," but that did not explain why she and Ron fidgeted whenever they happened to meet Harry's eyes. She settled on a neutral, "You seem to avoid us."
It was the wrong thing to say. Harry glared at her, brows furrowed in reproach. "That's only because you two won't even look at me."
"We -" Hermione stared down at her hands. "We've been busy, looking up the last Horcrux," she lied, wincing at its feebleness.
"I don't blame you, of course. You certainly aren't the only ones who expect me to become the next Voldemort! With the Horcruxes we have even more in common!"
Hermione tried to think of what to say. Harry turned away again, and now he was looking into the fireplace, where the dying embers were still blazing. Once, he'd told Hermione that whenever Ginny stared into flames, her brown eyes were lit by a warm glow. Now Hermione looked into Harry's eyes, and she thought that she'd never seen anything so devastating.
"I read your book," Harry said flatly. "I read about what happened to the Horcrux. He did live for three more years, but it was a cursed existence. He unravelled, that was the word the author used. When he died he was still crying for the soul that wasn't his in the first place."
Hermione bent her head. "Magic has evolved since then."
"What's wrong with you? You never stooped to lying that blatantly. Look at me!" Harry said, and she did. "I look exactly like the man in the book."
He didn't mean that he resembled the man like he resembled James Potter, of course. He meant that his skin had adopted the same ashen pallor and he had lost weight, so much that his cheekbones jutted out. It had occurred to Hermione that although she did not accidentally break off Harry's soul, Voldemort's soul had become so integrated with his own that the effect was similar. She could only comfort herself with the knowledge that he would, at least, never look like Voldemort.
If he lives.
"I wanted to be honest with you," she said at last. "The truth - it's -" Harry seemed prepared to be unconvinced at whatever she might say, and Hermione found a perverse urge to surprise him. "I love you."
As a friend, she wanted to add, but she didn't. It wasn't true and Harry didn't need to hear any more lies.
Harry had suddenly become still. Hermione realized that it didn't matter to him what type of love she meant. Now was the time for her to say something poetic, something meaningful, but she could only do what a mother might do: she held out her hands.
Harry did not take them, but he allowed Hermione to come over and slip her arms around him. He laid his head down on her shoulders and gave a shuddering sigh. It sounded like a sob.
"You promise?" he said. He seemed like a child who did not dare to believe that Christmas had come early.
"Yes," Hermione said. "I promise."
She heard him sigh softly. When she turned to look at him again, he was asleep. Basked in the warm glow from the fireplace, his skin no longer looked unnaturally pale. Hermione felt such tenderness welling up in her chest that she feared she might choke. She shifted so that Harry was lying on her lap.
Now what? Hermione wondered, as she stroked his hair. Harry might not even remember this conversation when he wakes up, but Hermione couldn't forget. Something had changed between the two of them. She hadn't meant to fall in love with him. It was so much simpler when she was in love with Ron and he was in love with Ginny. She had looked forward to spending Christmases in a large Weasley family. Love was an annoyingly fickle thing.
The embers burned themselves out. Hermione listened to Harry's even breathing, and was comforted.
-
It snowed on Christmas Eve.
Grimmauld Place, under Ron's supervision, had been decorated richly for the holidays. Somehow, he managed to find all the decorations that Sirius had used, and even Hermione had to admit that the old house had a strange charm to it. Together with the snow, Hermione fancied that she was back in Hogwarts, before all the chaos was unleashed.
That afternoon, the three of them were sitting by the large window, admiring the view outside, when Hermione felt Harry tense beside her.
"Someone's outside," he said. Hermione saw him withdraw his wand. Ron started to follow, but Harry shook his head. "Stay here!"
Breathless, Hermione and Ron watched through the window as he stepped onto the snow. He was looking around when a figure cloaked in black appeared. Hermione expected him to shoot a Stunner at the person, but instead Harry's outstretched hand dropped to his side.
The hood of the cloak fell and long, red hair came spilling out.
Even from the distance, Hermione could feel the intense gaze that Harry and Ginny shared. Then Ginny stepped closer, bent Harry's head toward hers, and kissed him. Her movement was fluid, with none of the timidity that Hermione had.
"Crikes," Ron said, which summed up Hermione's feelings perfectly.
After what seemed like hours, Harry and Ginny pulled apart. Ginny's hands were still on Harry's arms. Harry seemed to murmur something to her, and then Ginny nodded and took his hand.
Ron and Hermione pretended to be staring at the fireplace when they entered the house. Ginny hugged them both, and then stepped back, wearing a look of triumph. "Did you miss me when you were playing heroes?" she said.
"Ginny, how did you find us?" Ron demanded.
Ginny was smiling. "I have my ways," she said. "After all, there are only a few places where you could've gone to. Don't worry, though. I came by myself. I haven't told anyone, not even Mum."
"It could be dangerous!" Ron said.
Ginny was standing next to Harry again, Hermione noted, and there was a bitter taste in her mouth. The younger girl gave her a curious glance before she turned back to her brother. "Don't be so hypocritical, Ron. I read about what you did in the papers. I suppose Malfoy deserved it as much as anyone, but I'm surprised Narcissa Malfoy hadn't tried to kill you."
Ron only shook his head, but Hermione could tell that he was impressed.
Supper was a simple yet merry affair. Ginny filled them in on most of what was happening outside. "Hogwarts is shut down for now," she said. "You should've seen McGonagall. I've never seen her panic and it was unsettling. The Daily Prophet predicts that Hogwarts will be a main target."
"What about the Order?" Hermione wanted to know. "What are they doing all this time?"
"Well, Mum and Dad are disappearing more often. Bill and Fleur, last I heard, are dropping by pretty frequently. I reckon the Order is finally doing something. Which is about time."
"Wouldn't Mum be worried that you're gone?" said Ron.
"Not especially," Ginny said. "I told her that I'm spending a few days with Fred and George, and they promised to cover for me if necessary."
Hermione noted that though she was talking to Ron, she was looking at Harry out of the corner of her eye. She could've sworn that Ginny frowned.
"Well," Ginny said, when everyone was quiet, "I hope you don't mind if I don't leave for a while. However, I did bring a Christmas present for all of you."
Harry laughed for her benefit, but the atmosphere remained tense.
After supper, Harry dozed off on the sofa, while Ron busied himself with the Daily Prophets that Ginny had brought along. Ginny helped Hermione clear up the table and carry the few dishes to the kitchen. Then, she carefully blocked the exit.
"Hermione, what is wrong with Harry?"
Hermione did not know what to say. "Is something wrong?" she stalled.
Ginny's eyes were dark and intense. "You are more observant than me, Hermione. I see no point to lie."
"He…" Hermione sighed. "You might as well know, then. He's one of Voldemort's Horcruxes." She paused uncertainly. Ginny nodded impatiently. "Well, in order so that we won't sacrifice him, we made a double Horcrux for him."
"A double Horcrux. To put it crudely, you made a Horcrux of him."
Ginny's voice was so fierce that Hermione shrank. "Yes, except I only extracted Voldemort's soul. Harry's soul…should be intact."
"If you believe that, you're fooling yourself," Ginny said. "You can't distinguish souls from other souls, no matter how powerful you are. I don't want to hear it," she interrupted, when Hermione tried to speak again. "It's too late to do anything and you probably know more than the rest of us."
Hermione detected sarcasm. She tried to change the topic. "What presents did you bring us?"
Ginny did not let the topic drop completely. "I wouldn't have done it. I care about Harry," she said, with a hint of aggression.
There was no doubt to which "him" she was talking about. Hermione felt a spasm of pain. "I know you do, but we all do."
Ginny's eyes bore into hers. Then she bit her lips, as if she'd found what she was afraid to discover. "I see," she said softly. "And what about Ron?"
The question hung in the silence. "I love Ron too," Hermione wanted to answer, "but I need to love Harry." It sounded ridiculous, even to her own ears. Besides, she didn't think that Ginny expected nor wanted an answer.
Luckily, Ron chose this time to poke his head in. "What's taking you so long?" he said. "It's been nearly fifteen minutes."
Ginny's chest rose and fell rapidly. Don't do something you would regret, Hermione thought, clutching the dishrag tightly.
"I didn't want to tell you this on Christmas Eve," said Ginny, "but you might as well know. I lied at suppertime. Hogwarts is besieged, and I'm one of the few ones who escaped in time."
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