Bearings
Disclaimer/Author's Notes: I present part two of Bearings.
Qui dove il mare luccica e tira forte il vento
Su una vecchia terrazza davanti al golfo di Surriento
Un uomo abbraccia una ragazza dopo che aveva pianto
Poi si schiarisce la voce e ricomincia il canto
Paul Potts
Caruso
Chapter Fifteen: Eleventh Hour
Thursday, October 31st, 2002; 2:23 am
BOOM…
Harry winced as the large explosion rocked the floor and walls of the castle, trying not to notice the looks on all of the other faces around him. It was only a matter of time before the wards, built and then strengthened by Dumbledore before the old man's untimely death, would fall to Voldemort.
BOOM…
Harry looked around him eventually; every teacher and most of the older students were gathered in the Entrance Hall, staring at the door. Some expressed abject fear, others grim determination, and most of the rest blank shock. Harry sighed and turned partially back toward the door.
BOOM…
There was a distant scream as a Death Eater undoubtedly vaporized from the power of the wards. They were strong, yes, but they would hold only so long.
"Harry," Hermione whispered, moving into his side so not to be overheard. "How long do you think we have?"
"Few minutes," Harry whispered back, thinking desperately of how this ragtag bunch of witches and wizards could stand against the Darkest army in history. At some point, Harry had been made the de facto leader of the resistance-it probably had something to do with the way he could say `Voldemort' without fear-and now it was up to him to form the defense of Hogwarts.
BOOM…CRASH!
"That'll be the wards," Harry muttered, turning to face everyone again. "This is it," he called out, voice unknowingly switching to leader mode. "He's breached the wards. As soon as the doors open, let loose with everything you have-don't hold anything back. They're here to kill."
Harry turned around and stepped back, so he was at the head of the group of people, in the middle. Straining his ears, he could hear the yells and shouts of the Death Eaters (and whatever they had with them) moving toward the Castle. Hermione, Ron, and Luna stood to his immediate left and Neville and Ginny were on his right. He gripped his wand tightly.
"They can't blast through the walls-the castle is too strong-so they'll have to come through the doors, right at us," Harry called out, continuing to talk because he couldn't think of anything else to do. "Take any Death Eater you can, but don't get separated from the rest of us! Leave Voldemort for me, though," he continued grimly, purposely ignoring the twitches from several of his classmates.
The sounds from outside were growing louder, and then, without warning, the large doors shuddered and quaked with a thunderous crunching noise. Dust and specks of wood flew off and fell toward the floor. Harry raised his wand before him-then a white flash distracted him. He looked over and saw Colin Creevey had raised his camera instead of his wand.
Harry almost said something to him, but realized this was neither the time nor the place. Not when the Dark Lord himself was battering the castle doors…
The right door cracked. Everything stood still for just a moment-there was a collective deep breath-and then it started to fall into the Entrance Hall. Harry and the rest didn't have to worry about backing away; they were well enough away from the doors, but it meant the castle was finally breached. He glimpsed a dark swarming mass before a blinding explosion rent the air and the other side of the door fell in. There, standing amongst his army, was Voldemort.
"Now!" screamed Harry, running toward the Dark host. He knew, without looking, everyone had followed him. Spells were already sizzling past his shoulders and over his head as his classmates and instructors fired the opening salvo in what would later become known as the Battle of Hogwarts.
Harry raised his wand, watching as Voldemort did so. The end of the snake-faced wizard's wand glowed sickly Killing Curse green, and Harry dove through the air, pushing all of his magic into a simple, yet powerful curse:
"Reducto!" Harry thundered, feeling the recoil in his wand arm from the force of the spell that emanated from the eleven inches of holly in his hand. As he hit the floor, taking the brunt of the impact on his shoulder and then sliding on it, he saw a massive blue bolt leap through the air toward Voldemort.
There was something like a snarl on Voldemort's face. It appeared he had to change spells hastily, because the green faded and a shield very like the one he had conjured against Dumbledore appeared in his hands. The blue bolt reflected off it toward the ceiling, driving Voldemort back a step. Harry rolled to his feet, and as he did so he saw a student whose face was concealed fall to a Killing Curse-
Harry sat bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily. For just a moment, he had no idea where he was or, more importantly, when he was, but then he noticed his hand resting against something warm and soft, and it all came back to him.
He was safe in the Manor, in bed with Hermione. It was very dark, so it must have been the middle of the night, and also rather cold, Harry noticed, shivering slightly. He could hear the rain, which was still falling heavily, through the open balcony doors.
He squinted into the darkness. The doors shouldn't have been open. They hadn't been open for some time, because of the rain. He shivered again, goose bumps breaking out along his skin. He drew in another deep breath, considering the dream that he hadn't suffered through in two or three years now, and a different kind of coldness pierced his lungs.
His eyes went wide-no, it couldn't be, could it? But it was so dark; he didn't know for sure-where could it be, though? Suddenly, he leapt out of bed, silently summoning his wand to his hand, and called forth the happiest thing he could think of: Hermione coming to Stanford to remind him of everything he'd left behind.
"Expecto Patronum!" he bellowed, and the room was bathed in a soft, white light as Prongs leapt from the end of his wand. In the new light, he saw his quarry immediately-a dark, floating, cloaked Dementor on the opposite side of the room. It was floating slowly toward Hermione, who had just woken up from his shout and the light and was looking around in just-awakened confusion.
"Get it!" Harry ordered the stag, and it obeyed. With an unsettling growl, it leapt over the bed and impaled the Dementor on its horns. There was an otherworldly wail and then the Dementor was gone, leaving behind nothing but a slightly smoking cloak. Silence descended over the bedroom for a moment, as both Harry and Hermione processed what had happened, and then they spoke at the same time:
"Hermione, are you alright-?"
"Was that a Dementor-?"
They stared at each other. Harry blinked and walked around the bed to where Prongs stood over the fallen Dementor. Harry patted his Patronus's flank and squatted to examine the remains of the Dark creature. He heard the sheets rustle and Hermione joined him, wearing nothing except dark silk panties and a matching brassiere.
"How the bloody hell did this get past the wards?" Hermione mused, her voice slightly higher than normal.
"More importantly, why is it here?" Harry asked. "I thought all of the Dementors were destroyed after the war."
"So did I," Hermione said, looking at Harry. He saw her worrying her lip and put an arm around her shoulders. The light from Prongs still bathed them in a soft white glow.
An unpleasant thought occurred to Harry. "D'you think this has anything to do with…with the election?" he ventured. Hermione sagged and then sighed a little. She was prodding the cloak with her wand, but it was completely empty.
"Probably," Hermione answered, rising into a standing position. Harry joined her. "Conflagrate," she said, having pointed her wand at the cloak. It burst into flame and soon enough no evidence of its existence remained, not even ashes. Harry glanced at Prongs-the Patronus seemed to be staring out into the rainy night, through the still thrown-open balcony doors. Harry wondered if there were any more Dementors out there.
"I guess we'll have to modify the wards soon," Harry said, leading Hermione back to bed with him. "Prongs, can you guard tonight?" Harry asked, knowing it was absurd to ask an extension of his magic a question but somehow discerning the Patronus would be able to understand him.
Prongs glanced at Harry for just a second, seemed to nod, and then resumed staring out into the night. Harry waved his wand and the balcony doors clicked shut, cutting off the sound of the rain and the chilly draft. At that, the stag began to slowly edge around the perimeter of the room, looking all around with its white head.
"What about John and Erin?" Hermione suddenly asked. Harry's heart missed a beat, and the next thing he knew he was standing in a dark corner of his friends' room. His jump had been silent, so as not to wake them, and he prowled around for a minute or two to make sure all was as it should be. Everything seemed in order, including their entwined forms beneath the sheets-which Harry only glanced at once-but he cast a strong Imperturbable Charm over the room just in case. They would be able to leave, but nothing could enter.
He Disapparated from the room as silently as he'd come, materializing just a step from Hermione. She reached out for him and pulled her to him; her embrace was strong.
"Everything good with them?" she queried, leading him the few short steps to their comfortable bed.
"Yes," Harry answered.
He and Hermione slipped underneath the sheets and cuddled into one another; he enjoyed and appreciated her warmth and softness. They faced each other, on their sides, so they could look at the other.
"You ok?" she asked, sleepily, burrowing the side of her head into the pillow.
"Yeah," he returned, around a huge yawn. "You?"
"Always," Hermione answered, and soon enough, she had drifted off to sleep once more. It took Harry a little longer, as thoughts of the long dormant memory of the final battle and the apparently rogue Dementor plagued his mind. But he eventually did succumb to sleep, and the last thing he knew was the comforting glow of Prongs.
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10/31/02; 7:15 pm
"So there's nothing we can do before next Friday?" Harry asked, loudly, as his anger was barely concealed. He and Arthur Weasley were standing just outside of the largest of the Wizengamot's convening chambers. Other witches and wizards were streaming out of the chamber around them.
Arthur sighed a little and rubbed his eyes. "No, I'm afraid not, Harry," the older man-and the prime candidate for the Minister of Magic-responded.
Harry leaned against the cold stone wall and deflated a little. "Well that's bollocks," he groused, watching a group of older wizards clandestinely glance his way. They sneered at him and turned away, heading toward the lifts that would carry them up from the ninth level of the Ministry of Magic.
Generally speaking, the Wizarding public had been supportive of him and Arthur, though the totality of that support was a bit ambiguous since their platform was magical equality. Harry often wondered if the bulk of the support for him was due to what he had done that day at Hogwarts, rather than what he was actually running for. The wizards he had just seen were perfect examples of the part of the public that was less inclined toward him as Vice Minister.
"Harry?" Arthur asked, and when Harry refocused on his face, he saw concern there.
"Yeah, sorry, drifted off there," he said, standing straight once again. He and Arthur slowly started toward the lifts, leaving the Wizengamot's chamber behind. If Harry hadn't been so distracted, he would have appreciated the irony of taking part in the final meeting of the governing body in the same room he had been put on trial when he was fifteen. But irony escaped him at the moment, as did many other things. He was focused on the election and with it only a week away, he didn't have much brainpower for anything else. Add to that the disturbing dream he'd had the night before and the sudden unexpected presence of a Dementor-so he had reason to feel a little strained.
"Like I said, there's not much we can do before the election on the eighth, but assuming we are elected, we can try to affect change then…" Arthur trailed off, hinting to Harry something the two of them could do immediately upon entering office-again, assuming they were elected. The opposition wasn't strong, but it was there, and politics had already proved very resistant to the best laid plans.
"It just seems so wrong that the right to vote hinges upon being able to cast a powerful and difficult charm," Harry whinged, not caring about sounding petulant when there were no other ears to hear him than Arthur's. They stopped in front of a lift and pressed the up button; far above, they heard the lift start to descend toward them.
"It is unfair," Arthur agreed, "but that's how it's always been, unfortunately."
"What percentage of voting age witches and wizards can cast a corporeal Patronus?" Harry asked, genuinely curious, because his future depended so much on that little fact.
"I'm not completely sure," Arthur answered. The following silence-broken only by the descending lift-stretched on long enough for Harry to glance at Arthur, to see why the man hadn't continued. He appeared to be thinking about something. As the lift dinged open and they shuffled in, Arthur opened his mouth to speak again.
"Albus did say at one point during the first war that Order of the Phoenix membership was so restricted because all members had to be able to cast a corporeal Patronus, and that most witches and wizards couldn't." The doors closed and they began to ascend.
"So what does that mean?" Harry asked, once again reminded of all the history he did not know. So much had happened during his parents' generation that he would never know because they weren't around to regale him with stories. A brief but powerful wave of sadness swept through him.
Arthur shrugged. "Twenty percent?" he asked, rhetorically. "Maybe something like that?"
The sadness gave way to anger once again. Things that were absolute truths to Harry, indeed so much so that he didn't even know they were part of the fabric of his character were decidedly absent throughout much of the Wizarding world. For just a moment, a part of him wished that he had never come back, but that faded quickly. He'd decided when he turned down the Yankees to return permanently to the Wizarding world, and why had he done that? Although there were other, smaller reasons, he'd decided against baseball largely because of Hermione. He was happy-ecstatic really-that he'd found a depth of feeling with her he hadn't known to exist before. But these ruddy elections and the very backward Wizarding world grated on his nerves.
"Harry…" Arthur said, lowly, with a warning implicit in his voice. Harry shook himself from his angry thoughts and looked at him. Arthur was staring at Harry's clenched fists.
Harry looked down and saw that random bolts of magic were arcing from his knuckles to the floor of the lift. Little black scorch marks dotted the tile.
Harry let out the breath he hadn't been aware of holding and allowed his anger to fade away. The charged atmosphere of the lift likewise faded.
"You have to be careful," Arthur warned, taking out his wand and waving it at the floor. The black marks disappeared, and with them, the evidence of Harry's near-outburst. "I understand that you're frustrated about some of things standing in our way-believe me, I am too-but you can't afford to lose control of your magic. We can't afford it."
Feeling rather like a teenager getting rebuked for letting his emotions get the best of him, Harry just nodded in favor of actually speaking. He would have to work on controlling his stronger emotions in public from now on, since one of the perks of running with Arthur was all the lovely public exposure. Every now and then he wondered if he'd truly thought over the decision to run enough.
They finally clanged to a halt and the doors opened upon the Atrium, where the statue of the Trio stood. Harry stepped out of the lift and turned toward it, as he had every time since being supremely shocked at seeing it the first time back in the Atrium. The likenesses of Ron, Hermione, and himself were actually quite good, but he'd always thought something was missing from the statue.
"You know, there were three more that helped greatly in that final year," Harry commented, absently, still staring up at the statue, where it rested across the large Atrium.
"Hmm?" Arthur intoned, having been looking in the opposite direction.
"The statue," Harry said, motioning with his hand. "It's missing Ginny, Neville, and Luna."
"Oh," Arthur comprehended, staring from the statue to Harry. Then a small smile graced his face. "Well perhaps that's something else we can work on when we're in office."
"Maybe," Harry replied, noncommittally.
"I'm actually surprised you don't hate that," Arthur commented, pulling out his wand and preparing to Disapparate.
Harry shrugged. "Hating it won't change that it's there."
Arthur's smile widened. "Indeed. Tomorrow then?"
"See you then," Harry affirmed, and Arthur disappeared with a loud pop.
Sighing, Harry prepared to Disapparate also. He turned on the spot, in a slow circle, taking in the large room, which was mostly empty now, and wondering if he really had the strength to accomplish everything he wanted to. Silently, he disappeared.
Immediately, before his vision had reasserted itself, he knew he had missed his destination slightly, which was a true testament to how distracted his mind was. He was a master Apparator-even he knew that-and yet he had missed the foyer of the Manor by about 30 meters.
He now stood in front of the large house, in the middle of what appeared to be some sort of Scottish tempest. Fierce rain and wind assaulted his figure; he knew that Impervious and Warming charms would do nothing now. Shivering slightly, his shoes squelching in the mud, he started to make his way through the storm toward the front door. He could Apparate into the foyer from here, but a lot of good it would do now. So he decided to let the rain and the wind batter him. In a way, it felt good to let external stimuli take over the internal war he had been having.
Lightning flashed somewhere overhead and only a second after the harsh crack of thunder rent the air around him. He felt his magic flex in response to the electricity in the air, or maybe the powerful sound waves, but ignored it. If his magic wanted to lash out at the storm, then he would let it. He wasn't feeling destructive, really, but the morose timbre of his emotions did not urge caution in the face of the storm.
As he reached the door, lightning flashed again, this time much closer, and there was barely any delay before the earsplitting sound of thunder crashed around him. There was that flex again…and this time, it didn't flex back. His magic kept reaching, for what he did now know, and he paused to allow whatever was going to happen to take place. It kept pushing and pushing, and finally a brilliant blue bolt of energy arced out from his body toward the Manor gate, lighting up the yard like day.
Momentarily dazzled, and somehow purged of many of things he had been feeling, he stood on the porch for a few moments longer. Lest he actually be struck by lightning, though, he eventually shuffled through the door, into the warmly lit and heated foyer. Before more than three drops of water reached the floor, he cast a powerful drying charm over himself. Three seconds later, he was dry (and so was the porch through the closed door behind him-at least for a few seconds, before the magic of his charm faded away).
"Harry?" a falsetto called out, from the direction of the library, and Harry's heart started to race as he let Hermione's voice wash over him. It was almost a physical thing, the comfort it provided. He started to move in that direction.
"Yeah, it's me," he called back, and soon enough he had passed into the library. He stopped just over the threshold, drinking in the sight before him.
There was Hermione, in comfortable and casual (yet somehow still sexy) sweats, with her sometimes uncontrollable hair tamed in a loose pony tail, sitting cross legged on the squashy sofa in the center of the library. Several books were laid out on the coffee table in front of her, and there was one in her lap. She looked in his direction and grinned broadly; her rosy cheeks and full lips immediately captivated his attention.
"Hey, love," she said, beckoning him to her with her hand. He needed no further persuasion, and strode across the room to where she sat.
"Hey yourself," he said, softly, coming up behind her and leaning over the back of the sofa to bury his nose in her hair. Vanilla hit his nostrils at once.
"Everything all right?" she asked, a smile coloring her voice, as she reached up and around to tangle her fingers in his inky locks. He lifted his head slightly and sighed, watching as her hair puffed out around his lips.
"Just a tiring day, is all," he responded, straightening up and bringing his hands to her shoulders. He began to rub, very lightly, the exposed skin at the joint of her neck and shoulders.
"Mmm," she nearly purred, leaning back into his hands slightly.
"What about you? How was your day?" he asked, enjoying what he was doing as much as she was. Her skin was soft and smooth.
"Busy," she said, quietly. "We've been trying to finalize the new Knightbus policies, but there's some strong opposition to the clause allowing werewolves and vampires access."
"But they already both use it," Harry pointed out, wondering why, of all things, wizards were being so obstinate about who could use their public transportation (which, coincidentally, most thought was beneath them).
"Yes, but making it official would mean they have to acknowledge that fact," Hermione responded, settling more into the couch and his hands. He twitched his finger and a magical rip appeared down the middle of the back of Hermione's sweater, revealing to him in all its glory her long, sinuous back. There was no bra strap to obstruct the progress of his hands.
"Just what do you think you are doing?" Hermione asked, archly. She made no move to stop him, though. In fact, she might have even leaned forward a tiny bit to allow his hands free reign over her skin.
Harry pushed aside the two halves of her sweater and pressed his thumbs into the nerves just under the points of her shoulder blades. With his other fingers, he alternately caressed and massaged the thin muscle over the blades themselves.
"Helping you relax," he said, smiling slightly as he felt goose bumps break out across her skin, which he knew had nothing to do with the warm temperature of the library.
"What if John a-and…Erin come in here?" Hermione asked, leaning forward even more. Harry's hands followed her.
"They won't," Harry responded, running his index fingers down either side of her spine, stopping only to gently press on nerve endings near her lumbar vertebrae.
"How do you know?" Hermione asked, breathily. Harry was having a hard time not looking at the top of Hermione's bum, which had ridden out of her sweatpants when she leaned forward. It looked so soft and was just calling to him to touch and rub it.
"Because you would have stopped me already if they were around," Harry pointed out, now pressing his thumbs into the very base of Hermione's spine, so near her enticing bum. Resisting temptation, he began working his way back toward her neck.
"You know me too well," she replied, making a noise in her throat as his hands wandered around her sides to tease the sides of the swells of her breasts. The very tips of his middle fingers brushed the edges of her noticeably hard nipples.
"That's not fair," she gasped, as he withdrew his hands and continued his upward progress. He didn't respond, and after a few minutes, he withdrew his hands, twitched a finger again, and the sweater was whole. Hermione leaned back and looked up into his eyes-hers were very dark, almost black-and reached up to bring his head down to hers.
There lips crashed together and they snogged breathlessly for another minute. Harry quite enjoyed the odd upside-down position they were in. He enjoyed most new things. Eventually, though, they had to breathe, and he let her luscious lips go. Her tongue trailed behind, moving over his lips one final time as he stood straight once again.
She turned sideways on the couch, so she didn't have to look over her shoulder at him, and raised her eyebrows. He did the same.
"After such a long hard day, don't you think you need a shower?" she asked him, shifting slightly on the couch. One of her hands drifted toward her waist. "I know I do."
Harry smiled. He knew where this was heading, and his biological response was already manifesting itself. "Are you trying to tell me I stink?"
Hermione nodded. "That's right. You ruddy reek."
Harry gave a mock-defeated grunt. "Alright, shower it is," he allowed. Before he could react, Hermione leapt over the back of the couch, circled her arms around him, and Apparated them into their large bathroom.
Harry laughed and hugged Hermione tighter to him. He heard the water turn on in the glass-enclosed shower behind him, and suddenly Hermione's sweats melted away like water through his hands. She stood naked in his arms.
"That was impressive," he murmured into his hair. He felt her laugh, her breasts vibrating against his clothed chest, and then his clothes melted away in a similar fashion. It felt like emerging from a warm pool.
"It's a charm I read about," Hermione whispered, backing up slightly. She averted her eyes for a moment, seemingly inexplicably embarrassed by their nakedness, but it was only passing. Harry's eyes were riveted on her form. They flicked upward to meet her when she looked at his face again, and there was nothing but pure desire written there. The smooth upper swells of her chest, her flat tummy with that maddeningly sexy navel ring (that he still couldn't believe Hermione had), the simple curve of her hips from her waist to her thighs…all of it, all of her, set his blood on fire and racing south. Indeed, he was already aroused just looking at her.
And the best part of it all was the incredible mind her gorgeous body held. Hermione's most salient charm was her amazing intelligence, but Harry wouldn't deny that her more physical aspects charmed him as well. He loved her for all that she had done for him through the years, and how well she understood him, but he wanted her for how beautiful she was, and how caring, and how understanding…
But he could stand there and stare at her all night as those thoughts whisked around in his head, or he could lead her by the hand into the waiting shower behind him, where warm water cascaded down the smooth marble walls and smoky glass of the walk-in enclosure.
"You're beautiful," he managed, finally breaking from his trance. She smiled, looked down for just a second again, and then looked back at him with a challenge in her eyes.
"You're randy."
Harry didn't even need to look down to know she was right. And her simple statement made him even more so.
"And…?" he asked, holding out his hand. She took it daintily and he began to back up toward the shower.
"And nothing," she responded, moving into him and pushing him back faster. They crossed the threshold and backed under the showerhead, where warm water flowed in rivulets through their hair and down over their bodies.
Slick with the water, they embraced again, and Harry lost himself in the feeling of her wet, warm skin pressed against his. He breathed deeply, feeling his chest press into her supple bosom, and he suddenly ached with an emotion he could not name. It was almost like he was longing for something he already had-Hermione in his arms-and his mind was trying to commit this moment to eternal memory, because it would surely be gone in a few minutes…
He felt her lips on his collarbone, and then her tongue, and he caressed her back and she worked her mouth across his chest. Not wanting to break the moment, but unable to stop himself he opened his mouth and asked:
"Hermione, am I doing the right thing running?" He had to suppress a gasp and she took one of his nipples in her teeth and then flicked it with her tongue. It was an exquisite feeling, somewhere between pleasure and pain.
"I think so," she eventually said, working lower with her mouth over his diaphragm and onto his abs. They contracted involuntarily and she ran her tongue down the center toward his navel.
Surprisingly, or maybe not so, that was all the reassurance his overworked and now lust-filled mind needed, so he just grunted an `Ok' in response. His hands found her wet chocolate mane and tangled within it. She tilted her head back and he looked down at her, staring in her dark brown eyes. They slid closed as he massaged his hands through her hair and over her scalp, and when they reopened he saw something like mischief in them. She slid the rest of the way to the wet floor and kneeled there, with the warm shower water still running over them both, and licked her lips.
Harry's eyes followed her pink tongue from one corner of her mouth to the other, and then with widening eyes he watched as it extended from her mouth and she leaned forward, to touch the very tip of it to the very tip of him.
"Hermione-" he gasped, not believing what she was doing. His eyes slipped closed. The tongue withdrew and he mourned the loss.
"Just relax, Harry," she said; her voice was low and throaty. "We've both had long days."
He nodded stupidly and opened his eyes, looking back down at her. Their eyes met for one long, timeless moment, where nothing less than infinite words and emotions passed between them, and then it was all he could do to keep standing as she leaned forward and captured him in her mouth.
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Saturday, November 2nd, 2002; 8:35 pm
The inky blackness of the Manor's backyard receded about ten meters from the Manor itself, due to the blazing lights in most of the house. Harry stared out at that scene from the kitchen and dining area, waiting for his tea to finish heating up the Muggle way. Tea always tasted better to him heated on a stove.
Fat snowflakes wafted down through the night air. Harry followed a few of these with his eyes as he shifted slightly on his feet. His thick socks rustled against the hardwood floor. He also wore jeans and Weasley sweater. During the last forty-eight hours, it had become quite cold on the Scottish highlands, as evidenced by the presence of snow instead of the incessant rain of the last month or so.
Faintly, he could hear noises coming from far above him, and he smiled at the people he knew to be gathered there. Tonight was there last little soiree before the election, and the atmosphere had been surprisingly relaxed all evening. Some of Harry's tension had receded two nights previous, when he and Hermione had spent at least an hour in the shower, and it hadn't had the chance to seep back in yet.
Noise signaled the readiness of his tea, and grabbed the cuppa and headed out of the kitchen and into the parlor. He cradled the warmth of the beverage in his hands and brought it close to his face, where he inhaled the sweet steam.
"Going soft on us, Harry?" a voice asked, and he stopped and looked toward the two magical portraits on the wall. One was empty, however, because Sirius, James, and Lily all occupied his parents' frame.
Sirius was sprawled out on the sofa, Lily was reading in a chair off to the side, and James was staring through a window in the portrait, though at what Harry did not know.
"And what's that supposed to mean, Snuffles?"
"Sniffing your tea like some old codger," the older man returned, grinning.
"I thought it was precious," Lily said, not even looking up from her book. She crossed her legs and leaned back. James turned away from the window and moved to stand behind the couch where Sirius lay.
"You'd be doing the same thing if you knew how cold it is here right now," Harry said, also smiling a little bit.
"Snowing yet?" James asked, and Harry nodded. Lily marked the page in her book, closed it, and stood up. She joined James where he stood.
"The big day is close, isn't it?" Lily asked, slipping her arms James's waist.
"This Friday," Harry affirmed. He took a sip of the strong tea, appreciating its warmth.
"You've nothing to worry about, Harry," Sirius said, waving his hand idly and sitting up. Lily rested her other hand on his shoulder as it came level with her abdomen.
"We'll see," Harry replied.
"We're proud of you, son," James said. Lily nodded and smiled down at Harry. He looked into those green eyes of hers, so eerily mirrored on his own face, and saw genuine approval there.
"Thanks mum and dad. And Sirius," he said, nodding to his parents' best friend. "I'll stop in again soon, ok?"
"Sure," Lily agreed, and Harry gave them all one last smile and turned away, leaving the parlor. He rose through the house from the foyer, preferring the silent journey through the halls of his home to an Apparition directly into the loft for some reason. The solid physical presence of the walls, halls, and stairs of his home comforted him somehow, as did the knowledge of the five people waiting for him. He took another sip of tea as he mounted the final set of stairs that would take him to the loft.
Emerging through the center of the large space-the stairs deposited their occupants in the middle of the loft-he turned toward the lounge and bar area at the western end, near the balcony they so often frequented. Sitting in the squashy chairs, around the large screen television (currently turned off), were Hermione, Ron, Luna, Neville, and Ginny. Harry walked in their direction and watched as Ron magicked a Butterbeer from the bar through the air into his hand.
"…all the students are complaining about the sudden cold," Harry heard Neville saying as came within hearing range.
"Well, they've got the bloody right of it, don't they?" Harry asked, coming around the chairs and dropping into one next to Hermione. The comfortable chair accepted is presence with a whoosh of escaping air.
"Hey, look who's back," Ginny said. "We thought you got lost in your own house." She swept her long red hair over her shoulder and smiled at him. She sat sideways in her chair, her head resting on one of the arms and her legs thrown over the other.
"Nah, just stopped for a second to chat with mum, dad, and Sirius."
"Oh," a few said at once.
"Anyways," Harry continued, breaking the suddenly awkward silence, "this weather supposed to break soon? Or has winter come for good now?"
"For good I'd say," Ron answered. He had his chair reclined and was sipping from the Butterbeer. "Though it is nice in London still-had to go to an administrative meeting for the Wasps today."
"Administrative?" Hermione asked. She reached over and laid a hand on Harry's arm, still looking at Ron with a curious expression on her face.
"They've got some new blood," Ron explained, "And they wanted my opinion on them." He shrugged. "I've got the Keep position for as long as I want it, but the other ones are more fluid, and Bern is retiring after this year…"
"He's their Seeker," Luna said, looking at Harry. He thought she winked at him. "You should try out, Harry."
"Ha ha…" Harry replied. He drank deeply of his tea. "I think, for now, I'm all set in the job department. After all, if I'm not elected, I do have the Board to fall back on."
"So you and dad have finalized everything, then?" Ginny asked. "I know he's been quite stressed lately, though in the past week or so that seems to have dropped off."
"I think so," Harry affirmed. "There's not much else for us to do between now and this Friday, except for some last minute appearances Wednesday and Thursday. If people are going to vote for us, they'll most likely have already made up their minds."
"They would have made up their minds as soon as the Boy Who Lived announced his candidacy," Ron interjected.
"Well, yes-"
"Ron," Hermione cut Harry off, rolling her eyes. "Do pay attention to what you're doing, you're spilling Butterbeer all over the chair," she said, amusement glittering in her eyes even though her voice held only chastisement.
"Oops," Ron answered, not abashed at all. He tilted his Butterbeer upright so it would stop slopping over the chair, took out his wand and Banished the mess, and then looked at Hermione.
"Happy?" he asked.
"Undoubtedly," Hermione responded, dryly.
"For a second there I thought we were going to be treated to one of the famous Granger-Weasley rows," Neville said.
"I haven't had to yell at Ron in quite some time."
"Hey, come on, I'm not all that bad," Ron objected.
"No, you're not," Luna agreed, and leaned over the edge of her chair to kiss Ron.
Ginny conjured a fluffy stuffed rabbit and threw it at the kissing couple. It whacked Ron solidly on the arm, sending more Butterbeer sloshing over everything.
"Oi!" Ron called, suddenly drenched in the liquid. He magicked the rabbit back at his sister, but it stopped midway, hovered for a second, and then disappeared. Everyone looked to Harry, whose hand was held up. He just arched an eyebrow at them all.
"Oook," he said, waving his hand and once again cleaning up the spilled Butterbeer. "None of that, now."
"You spoil all our fun," Ginny groused, though she didn't seem too put out.
"I'm still having fun," Harry quipped, grinning broadly at them all.
"Well now that that's settled," Ron returned, rolling his eyes.
"Where're are John and Erin?" Hermione had asked the question, but before Harry could respond with the words `shopping' and `London', two voices in unison called out:
"Right here."
They all turned and saw the two people in question walking toward them, still wearing their heavy overcoats. The last few months had seen minute changes in John and Erin, most noticeably the slight darkening of John's blond hair (due to the lack of California sunlight) and the straighter, taller way Erin carried herself. Harry supposed working closely with and being accepted by another species for the past few months had done something positive to her self-esteem.
"How was London?" Harry asked.
John shrugged while Erin said, "Alright, getting chilly there, too. We got some quality shopping in before calling it quits."
Ron raised his eyebrows. "Shopping, mate?" He was addressing John.
The Muggle shrugged again. "It can be fun. I let Erin here pick out my clothes so I don't have to…and I think I look pretty good because of it." John preened a bit, all the while removing his and Erin's overcoats and throwing them over a nearby sofa. They took seats in two chairs of their own.
"Oi, not that shite again," Harry cut in. "I thought you got over that after Stanford."
"What's to get over?" John asked, haughtily, though he was grinning. "I snagged Erin here, didn't I? I must be good for something."
Erin chuckled and shook her head. "I know at least one thing you're good for…"
"Too much information!" Harry stated, waving his arms. "Although, if I remember correctly, it was I who introduced you two to each other…"
"Your point…?" John asked.
"So maybe I `snagged' Erin for you?"
"Hey now," Erin said, leaning forward slightly and narrowing her eyes slightly at Harry. "No one `snagged' me, thank you very much. I'm capable of deciding for myself what I want and when I want it."
"Oh, I have no doubt about that," Harry muttered, though he was smiling.
"What was that, Potter?" Erin asked, sharply.
"Nothing," Harry trilled, smirking at her and sitting back in his chair. He reached for Hermione's hand and squeezed it. He could tell without looking at her that she had a smile on her face. How he knew that, he wasn't sure.
"So Ginny," Hermione said, and, indeed, Harry could hear the smile, "how are plans for the wedding coming along?"
"Just fine," Ginny answered, looking between Harry and Erin once, and then settling on Hermione. "As you already know, the date is Saturday, December 14th. We think we have our guest list finalized, and invitations should be going out in the next week or so. And before you say anything, we know it's a bit late for invitations, but there was a hang-up with exactly how many Weasleys we wanted there."
"Huh?" Ron articulated, eloquently. "Wouldn't you want all of us?"
"You prat, I meant our extended family. There are so many Weasleys all over Europe now, some of whom we've never even met, and I had to fight with mum for awhile over limiting the number we were inviting."
"Oh."
"As it is," Neville spoke up, "we have almost one hundred and fifty people on the guest list. We didn't need any more than that."
"Wow," Hermione stated. "That is a lot."
"We'll manage, though. Minerva is graciously providing Hogwarts' facilities free of charge for our use, so that helps quite a bit."
Ginny nodded, agreeing with her fiance, and Harry was nodding, too. It made sense to him that Minerva would be so accepting of Ginny and Neville. "Makes perfect sense, you know," he stated, drawing the attention toward him once again. "Two of her star pupils getting married…of course she'd want to have it at Hogwarts."
"We can get into the school for the wedding, right?" Erin asked, and Harry noted some concern in her voice. "I know you once told us, Harry, that the school is charmed so Muggles can't get near it."
"Exceptions can and will be made," Harry responded. And if McGonagall somehow didn't realize Erin and John wouldn't be able to attend the wedding without modifications to the wards, he would personally allow them entrance the day of the wedding.
"How's the transition going?" Luna asked, looking at John and Erin. "You both have been quite accepting of everything these past few months. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought you'd been infested with Wrackspurts-they do confuse Muggles, you know."
John and Erin looked slightly bewildered; Ron rolled his eyes and reached for Luna's hand; Harry, Hermione and Neville smiled; and Ginny chuckled a little bit at the blond's characteristic oddness. Even though it had settled some in the intervening years, it sometimes came out.
"Quite well," John answered, recovering first. "Six months ago if I had known this was my future, I might have lost my mind, but all things considered, I'm very happy." He smiled and reached over to squeeze Erin's shoulder.
"To be honest, I've learned more with Pilk than I ever did at Stanford, and these are actual practical applications. And once you get to know them, goblins really aren't very different from humans, at least in terms of intelligence."
"I spoke with Ragnok the other day," Harry said, and John and Erin perked up immediately, at hearing news of the highest supervisor. "He told me to tell you, Erin, that he was impressed with the plans you and Pilk were able to come up with for the Hogsmeade branch, and you, John, that several of your recent investments-specifically one in `Google', have returned huge profit margins."
They both graciously accepted the praise. "We have you to thank for it all, Harry. If you hadn't thought of us, then we wouldn't be in the positions we are now. Nor would we be able to help you with what you're trying to accomplish-getting nervous about the elections yet?" John asked.
"Oh, maybe a little bit," Harry said, waving it off, "but my friends have all helped me along the way."
"You'd do the same for us," Luna said. Harry had no response, and simply inclined his head.
During the next several hours, conversation passed from subject to subject with no general direction, as they were wont to do, and eventually the group split along gender lines. The four women moved across the large room to the small library, and although to Harry it appeared they were perusing the books, by there surreptitious glances and laughter he knew they were talking about him and his male friends. He just shook his head in resignation. Women!
The men watched television for a short while, but soon grew bored with it, and moved out onto the familiar balcony. A combination Warming and Bubblehead charm courtesy of Harry ensured they would not freeze in the cold, snowy night.
There they discussed their jobs, Quidditch and even a little baseball, and eventually their significant others. At times the discussion became rather ribald, but they were all more than a little buzzed, so raucous laughter was the only thing that accompanied statements like `Luna's ass is amazing' and `I bet Erin's is even better'-which of course sparked a conversation between John and Ron over the merits of anal sex. Harry only had a few things to say about Hermione, preferring to let her body speak for itself to his friends, and also wanting some privacy in their relationship, but he did let slip during one hilarious moment that Hermione could `take it all without gagging'.
And though he thought he might have been hexed if she found out he said that, he was sure the women had been having at least a similar kind of discussion, if not as obscene. He wondered how much about his body Ginny, Erin, and Luna now knew…but preferred to leave it at wondering.
Eventually, the hour grew late, and the eight found themselves again seated in the squashy chairs. Neville and Ginny were the first to leave and John and Erin soon retired to their own room. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Luna chatted for awhile longer, and then Luna yawned widely and said she should be getting home.
"Ok. If it's alright, I think I'll stay here with Harry and Hermione for a little while longer," Ron said, standing and pulling Luna into his arms. She gave the three of them a significant look and nodded, and then kissed Ron goodnight on the lips.
"I'll leave the light on for you, Ronald," she said, and then was gone with a slight pop of displaced air.
Ron retook his seat and an easy silence settled over the Trio for several minutes. Hermione ultimately broke it:
"I'm glad you two are so happy," she said. Her words had just the slightest trace of a slur in them, which Harry knew was mirrored in Ron's and his.
"Yeah," Ron said, and then sighed contentedly. He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. He stared vacantly up at the high ceiling of the loft.
"When did you know?" Harry asked, suddenly, breaking himself from the stupor he had slowly been settling into.
"When did I know what?" Ron asked, still staring into space.
"That you wanted to be with Luna for the rest of your life?"
Silence descended again as he watched Ron furrow his brow in thought. Harry glanced at Hermione, but she was also watching Ron, waiting for him to respond.
"I think," the redhead started, slowly, "that some part of me knew as far back as our seventh year. But I would never have been able to admit it until well after you'd left for America."
"How come?" Hermione asked.
"I was an immature git," Ron spat, looking angry for just a moment. "You know all about that, I'm sure, Hermione. And you, Harry, you too."
"Ron-" Harry started, but was interrupted.
"No," Ron said. "No excuses. You know it's true. I wasn't a very good friend for a long time, to either of you really, and I have to say I'm sorry. It might not mean much after all these years, but it's the truth. I wouldn't have been anything without you two there to back me up and push me along, even when I didn't want it."
Harry and Hermione looked at each other, startled by Ron's sudden torrent of words. Harry wondered how long Ron had wanted to say something like that, but had never had the opportunity.
"There's nothing you have to apologize for, to me at least," Harry responded. Ron still wasn't looking at them. "But for what it's worth, I accept your apology."
"I do too, Ron," Hermione added.
Ron sighed again. "Thanks. After you left, Harry, I was at loose ends for awhile. It had always been the three of us, for as long as I could remember. But when you left…Hermione, you buried yourself in your work, so I didn't know what to do with myself. I think I might have actually been going into a depression, but Luna forced me to talk about it and it was at that point that I realized how special she was."
"You certainly have grown up," Hermione stated, softly, after a few moments. Ron smiled wryly and looked at them both for the first time in awhile.
"Thanks…but maybe not as much as you'd like to think."
She shrugged. "Everyone needs a bit of youth in them."
Ron laughed. "You should tell that to your lover there," he said, motioning to Harry with his hand. "Mr. Vice Minister."
Rather than joking back at Ron, Harry asked a serious question. It was something that had been weighing on his mind for a long time. "You're all right with it, though? All of you, I mean, not just you and Hermione?"
"Sure, why wouldn't we be?" Ron asked, genuinely surprised. Harry glanced at Hermione and saw that she had pursed her lips, probably in annoyance at his self-doubt.
"Dunno…it's just, I've been gone for so long, and now I'm back, and all the attention is on me once again…"
"Harry-" Hermione started, but Ron waved her off.
"The attention would be on you anyways," he said. "You're Harry bloody Potter, the ruddy Boy Who Conquered, et cetera…even if you weren't going balls out with this whole candidacy thing, you'd be in the press simply because you're back."
Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Balls out?"
"You wouldn't know; you don't have them," Ron shot back.
And then Harry laughed. "I should hope not!" he exclaimed, through his laughter. Hermione looked like she wanted to say something back at Ron, but she bit her tongue and just smiled instead.
"It's been a long since we've done this," Ron said, once Harry's laughter had died away.
"Hmm?"
"You know, the three of us, just sit around and talk," he explained.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, thinking of the last time the Trio had actually done anything meaningful together. "I suppose so."
"The little boy with dirt on his nose became a Quidditch star," Ron reminisced.
"The bossy, bookish know-it-all became head of her own department," Hermione added, smiling and nodding at some memory.
"And the scared, scrawny boy might be Vice Minister…" Harry finished.
"You forgot your most important accomplishment," Hermione told him.
"Oh? And what's that?" Harry asked.
"Vanquishing Voldemort," she supplied, in a tone that told Harry he should have known that.
He smiled at her. "Don't you mean our accomplishment?" He looked from Hermione to Ron.
"We haven't done half bad, have we?"
"No Ron, we haven't. Not at all," Harry affirmed, thinking of how far the three of them had come since that scary day on the Hogwarts Express. Eleven years later they were still able to sit around and talk to each other.
"It's certainly taken a lot to get us to this point," Hermione said, almost wistfully.
"Time and blood and sweat…and tears," Ron added.
Harry grinned at them. "It was all worth it."
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