Unofficial Portkey Archive

I am not J.K. Rowling or Scholastic or Warner Brothers or anybody with anything to do with anything important. I'm just me.

Also, this chapter has a very mild spoiler for "Deathly Hallows" (it's about Dumbledore's past). Consider yourself warned.

Chapter 7: Your Touch on My Cheek

Harry had never been to a Stargalleons before, but apparently in the here and now they were the wizarding world's premier vendor of gourmet coffee. Or so their sign would lead you to believe. So far, all that Harry noticed was different about the place was that they used twelve different spells to make each cup. Judging from their prices, he guessed that they charged their patrons per spell.

After a quick check of his pockets, Harry discovered that he had just enough galleons for two nonfat cinnamon lattes with disappearing, reappearing foam. According to a sign which yammered incessantly about the coffee, this was Stargalleons' most popular drink. In a hushed tone, he placed his order and then waited for the witches and wizards standing behind the counter to work their magic.

There weren't very many people in the coffee shop, but Harry could still feel the eyes of others on him. Although he was not terribly experienced at being an Auror, he was quite sure that a stakeout didn't involve drawing a great deal of attention to yourself. Stealthily, he attempted to hide behind a newspaper, which he grabbed from a rack in front of the counter.

Harry started as he examined the Daily Prophet's front page, as it seemingly bore his picture. "Local Stargalleons Patron Fails to Pay for Newspaper" the headline blared. The caption underneath his picture read, "Hypocrite pays three galleons for cup of coffee, refuses to part with two sickles for today's up-to-the-minute news, weather and sports."

Grudgingly, Harry placed a pair of sickles on the counter, nonplussed by the wizard paper's gimmick. "I'd like to buy a newspaper too, please."

Toting his and Hermione's coffee back to their muggle automobile, Harry took the time to examine the newspaper, which now bore the actual news of the day on its front page, nonsensical as it seemed to be. "Critz Grits: 'Brits Gits', Fitz Sits." The article went on to explain that the French Premiere du Sorcier, Guillaume Prospero Critz, had boycotted a planned emergency summit between himself and England's Minister for Magic, Postumus FitzHugh. Apparently, tensions between the two countries had been high for quite a while. The Prophet predicted that there would be a war between the two nations by spring. Today's date was September 30, 2006.

Harry opened the passenger door of the nondescript sedan and handed Hermione her coffee with a frown. "What's this rubbish about war with France?"

Hermione snorted. "The Prophet's been on about that ever since FitzHugh became Minister for Magic." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "France and England haven't been at war for nearly two hundred years. I hardly think that's going to change just because two old wizards were schoolboy rivals at Beauxbatons." Hermione peered over Harry's shoulder to examine the paper. "What does it say about Neville and Luna's engagement?"

"I, er, didn't see anything about it," Harry covered quickly, as admitting he didn't know they were engaged would make Hermione far too suspicious.

"That's because you were only looking at the front page," Hermione replied reprovingly as she removed the newspaper from Harry's hands and quickly found the Society page. "Here it is. 'Auror pair to wed'." Hermione pointed to a photograph of a grown-up Neville and Luna, who were both smiling widely. "It's kind of sweet to think about, isn't it? They've gone through so much heartbreak and now they've found happiness with each other."

Harry couldn't help thinking of what Neville had said to him in his last vision of the future. "Luna's death hit me pretty hard. We were good friends, but I never expected... It was like a part of me was gone. I didn't fancy her or anything, but I think I might have loved her."

Now, years later, they were getting married. Was Neville wrong about his own feelings? Or had they simply changed over time? And why couldn't he take his eyes off of Hermione as he was thinking about all of this?

Hermione looked up at Harry only to catch him staring at her. "It kind of makes you wish…"

If such a thing were possible, Harry was now examining her face even more closely. "What?"

Hermione shook her head quickly, as if to rid herself of a silly notion. "Nothing. I'm just happy for them." Harry suddenly realized that he had no idea what his relationship with Hermione was here, nor how things stood between her and Ron, nor what role Ginny had in his own life. Feeling a sudden lurch in his stomach at the uncertainty of it all, he decided to change the subject.

Harry nodded toward the three-story townhouse they were, by all appearances, staking out. "Have you seen anything yet?"

"No," Hermione answered with a pout. "I really don't understand what he's playing at. Gerard's never this quiet. He usually does something by now to thumb his nose at us." Her face broke out in a scowl. "I have a bad feeling about this, Harry."

"Gerard?" Harry repeated, the name striking him as familiar. That was the name of the French bloke that had been working for Antonin Dolohov the last time he had visited the future. "You mean Jean Paul Gerard?"

"Of course I mean Jean Paul Gerard," Hermione said in an exasperated tone. "What other Gerard is there?"

"I dunno," Harry replied with an overly casual shrug. "I think the Tornadoes had a Beater named Gerard once. He only lasted a year, though, because he kept hitting Bludgers at his own teammates."

Hermione gave him a thin, wry smile. "Yes, I suppose that would have cut his Quidditch career short, wouldn't it?" She heaved a sigh and shot the townhouse a glare of boredom. "I just wish something would happen. Something that would give us a reason to go in there."

Harry decided to play dumb, an act that was very easy for him to pull off. "Like what, exactly?"

"Anything," Hermione exclaimed. "A suspicious package. Someone using an Unforgiveable. A known muggler waltzing in and demanding his cut of the latest shipment."

Harry gave her a querulous frown. "Did you just say 'muggler'?"

Hermione looked mildly sheepish. "I know it's not their official name, but…well, it fits, doesn't it? Besides, muggle contraband smugglers is a bit of a mouthful." Hermione's eyes darted back to the townhouse only a split second before Harry's did the same. "I think I see someone."

"Who is it?" Harry asked as he squinted, using the excuse of his poor eyesight to pretend as though he couldn't see what was going on in front of him.

"It looks like one of his henchmen," Hermione replied as she placed her hand over her forehead to block the harsh light from the rising sun. "Garrote, maybe. And there's Lucien. This could be the deal we've been waiting for. Let's go." As Harry opened his door, Hermione shot him with a scathing glare. "And for Pete's sake, Harry, this time don't touch anything before the MLE gets there. You wouldn't want Gerard's lawyers to say that we tampered with the evidence again." Hermione gave the back seat a quick glance. "Do you have the polyjuice in your knapsack?"

"I think so," Harry replied uncertainly. Luckily for him, the bag contained a little more than a liter of the foul-smelling potion, which he quickly removed and presented to Hermione. "Tired of your own face, are you?" 'Because I'm not,' Harry added to himself.

"Not really," Hermione answered him in a very soft voice. "I wouldn't mind getting rid of this scar, though." Here she ran her index finger along her jaw line, tracing a long thin scar that was now barely visible.

"Oh," Harry cried out with an involuntary gasp as his hand reached out to touch the scar. "I'm an idiot, Hermione. I almost forgot about….I mean, I should never have said anything…"

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Hermione assured him as her eyes fluttered closed. "I know what you meant to say." Her lips quirked ever so slightly, forming the barest hint of a smile. His hand lingered on her face longer than it should have, caressing her skin lovingly. "You must learn to stop blaming yourself for it every time you see it. Of course, if you'd like to get revenge on Gerard, I'm not about to…" She opened her eyes suddenly and found Harry's lips hovering perilously close to her own. With deliberate haste, she turned her head away from him.

"Harry, please don't," Hermione said, her voice now revealing a vulnerability that he had not heard before. "Not now. I'm really trying to make things work with Ron this time."

Harry retreated from her slowly, unable to explain to her (or himself) what he had just done. "I…I'm sorry, Hermione. I dunno what I was thinking."

Hermione looked him over sadly. "It's perfectly obvious what you were thinking, Harry." She turned away from him to open her car door. "Now come on. We have a muggle contraband deal to stop."

"Alright," Harry conceded. As though he were moving about in a fog, Harry removed himself from the car and tried his best to concentrate on the task at hand. Was Gerard still working for Dolohov now? What exactly was a muggle contraband smuggler? And what did Hermione mean when she said she was trying to make things work with Ron 'this time'?

'Stop it,' Harry scolded himself. 'You can't think about that now.' There was a dark wizard he needed to fight and many years' worth of future events he needed to learn about. His new, confusing feelings for Hermione would simply have to take the back seat.

As Harry's mind wandered to what he and Hermione might do in that back seat, he heard her say, "Oh, how silly of me." Harry watched as she opened the driver's door and re-entered the sedan. "I nearly forgot the…"

The next thing Harry knew, his ears were ringing, he could taste blood in his mouth and he was lying flat on the pavement, his head feeling as though it had been hit by a million Bludgers. Despite all of this, he rose to his feet quickly, a profound sense of urgency filling him. "Hermione," he called out weakly, his voice sounding hollow in his ears. Through thick smoke, Harry could see that the car they had been using was now in pieces. A fire blazed through the wreckage, devouring everything mercilessly. The heat made him flinch reflexively, and his unsteady legs sent him reeling back down the alley where he had found himself only moments earlier. "Hermione!"

"She is dead, Monsieur Potter." Harry turned in the direction of the voice, only to find a familiar-looking Frenchman standing behind him with a pompous grin on his face. "I do not mean to be crass, but I did not think you would want to see her like she is now. It is not a very pretty sight."

"You," Harry growled furiously. "You killed her!"

Jean Paul Gerard shrugged lightly. "If it is any consolation, I was trying to kill you. She merely got in the way." As Harry began to look around for his wand, Gerard's heavily accented voice called out, "Expelliarmus!"

As Harry fell to the ground with a great thud, a traitorous moan escaped his lips. He was in a nearly unbearable amount of pain, but he had no intention of letting this haughty French wanker know it. In contrast to Harry's disheveled appearance, Jean Paul Gerard's robes had no wrinkles or creases, his wavy dark brown hair was perfectly coiffed and his face, dominated as it was by his large Roman nose, was completely free from dirt and soot. The French wizard stood over him menacingly, his wand pointed directly at Harry's chest. "You loved her, didn't you?" Harry merely stared back at him defiantly, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning with hatred. "You loved her, but you never were brave enough to take her from the Weasley boy."

"What do you know about it?" Harry spat back, his voice choking slightly with emotion. "You don't know a damned thing about me!"

Jean Paul Gerard chuckled condescendingly. "Monsieur Potter, I know everything about you. More even than you know about yourself." He raised his wand high in the air suddenly. "Mobilicorpus!"

Harry now floated in midair, his body turned upside down. His glasses fell from his face and shattered once they hit the cobblestones of the alleyway. "I could kill you now," Gerard taunted him, "and you wouldn't even care, would you? Because I killed her first."

Harry was now aware of a dull, sinking feeling that seemed to be spreading from his heart down to his navel, making his insides feel as though they were filled with molten lead. 'Gerard's right,' Harry acknowledged morosely. 'I don't care what happens to me anymore.' "Would you give anything to get her back?" he asked curiously. "Would you die for her?"

"Yes," Harry answered him in a very small voice. "I'd give anything. Do whatever you want to me, but…" Without warning, Harry's body fell once again on the uneven stone surface of the alleyway.

Jean Paul Gerard let out a derisive snort. "There is nothing quite so pathetic as an Englishman in love." The dark wizard began to retreat into the shadows behind him, his form no longer clearly visible to Harry. "Your love clings to life on the other side of the street. Go to her. Claim her, if you are a brave enough man. But do not forget what has happened here today."

It took every ounce of strength in Harry's body (and likely a great deal of adrenaline), but he rose to a standing position. He then ran faster than he ever had, his legs stumbling slightly as he crossed the debris strewn street. "Hermione!" Harry cried out in a voice both hoarse and mournful. He could see her lying there, badly burned, helpless and shaking. Healers began to swarm around her.

"You can't see her right now, Mr. Potter," a male healer informed him in a snappish tone as he held Harry back. Between the smoke and his blurred vision, it was hard for him to see much of anything and he was desperate to know if Hermione was going to be alright. "You have serious injuries of your own that need to be dealt with."

"But…" Harry sputtered in protest, "but is she…how is she…"

"She'll be fine," the more soothing voice of a female healer assured him. "Her boyfriend is with her."

Those words both comforted Harry and made his heart shatter. Even without his glasses, it was obvious that the reddish blur standing over Hermione's fallen form was Ron. 'Her boyfriend is with her.' Ron was Hermione's boyfriend. Harry had been telling himself that that was what he wanted. Now he wasn't sure of that anymore. 'Does that mean that I want to be her boyfriend?'

As though that thought had catapulted him back into the past, Harry Potter once again found himself in the Oracular Tower. Alone and with glasses intact, he felt relieved that his vision of the future was not yet reality and that, with any luck at all, it never would be. But he still longed to see Hermione. 'I have to know if she's alright,' Harry reassured himself. 'Even though none of it actually happened, even though none of it was real, I'm still worried about her.' Trying to explain away his strong feelings of dread and loss, Harry thought to himself, 'Of course I'm worried about her. She's my best friend. Just like Ron.'

There was only one problem with this argument, however. He had never kissed Ron. And Harry had the feeling that if he ever did kiss Ron, he wouldn't want to kiss him again as badly as Harry had wanted to kiss Hermione. 'Or at least I hope I wouldn't.'

Harry was terribly confused by all of this. He wanted to blame the visions, the tower, his seclusion or the fact that he was on the outs with Ginny. 'Alright then,' some logical part of his brain that sounded a great deal like Hermione responded, 'suppose you went back to Gryffindor Tower tomorrow, resumed your classes and never once saw another vision of the future. Would that change things? Could you go back to dating Ginny and never give a second thought to what you've seen here? What you've felt?'

The answer came quickly and with a sigh. 'No.' It was not quite so simple.

Harry reached into his trunk and pulled out a red rubber ball. He had tried to teach Hedwig to fetch it over the summer, with no success. "You're just another girl who confuses me, aren't you, Hedwig?" Harry asked as he began bouncing the ball against one of the tower's walls and then catching it before it could hit anything. "I buy you a nice red ball to play with but you don't want it. It stays in my trunk, gathering dust.

"The ball represents everything you've ever wanted. It looks good and bright and happy. It's bouncy and it's red. You can have fun with it. But that's all it's good for, isn't it? Just a bit of fun." Harry caught the ball one last time and returned it to his trunk. "Eventually, you want to spend your time doing something more meaningful."

Hedwig hooted, as if in reply. "No, I don't think I was just talking about the ball, either." His owl then began to dance around its cage, restlessly stirring and making tittering sounds. "D'you want out?" he asked her. Harry looked down at his owl and smiled ruefully. "Yeah, I reckon I do, too. Hold on and I'll send you off with another letter to take to Ginny." Whatever he was feeling now for Hermione, his feelings for Ginny had retreated quickly, drowned in a tidal wave of emotion that was both more powerful and a good deal scarier. Harry decided that it was time to end things with Ginny Weasley, this time for good.

'I understand why fighting Voldemort is complicated,' Harry groused to himself as he put quill to parchment, 'but I don't know why having a girlfriend has to be complicated, too. Why can't a bloke just have a girl he gets along with as a snogging partner?'

'Because that kind of a relationship is shallow and superficial,' the Hermione-like voice inside him pointed out. 'A strong, lasting relationship is based on more than just attraction. It's complicated, but it's worthwhile. Just like fighting Voldemort.'

Harry nodded, as if in silent agreement with the voice. Tying his letter to Ginny around Hedwig's leg, he sent his owl off into the sky, watching her take flight with a sense of finality. What he had with Ginny was now over.

Which led him to the question of the hour: was something with Hermione going to start? Harry couldn't help being a little pessimistic. 'Probably not. She and Ron are bound to get together sooner or later. Everyone's seen it coming a mile away. Sure, they're being right stubborn about it, but…'

'It's going to happen,' Harry reiterated. 'It happened in both of my visions. There's no stopping it. It's inevitable.'

The words of the French dark wizard who had nearly killed him in the future echoed in his mind. "You love her, don't you?"

"So what if I do?" Harry demanded aloud of nobody in particular. "It doesn't matter. I can't be with her, so it doesn't….doesn't matter." He sank down on his bed, his voice now barely above a whisper as he said, "It can't matter."

***

The horcrux hunt that afternoon had been sidetracked by the discovery of a rather unusual photo album, if that's what you could call it. The book contained pictures of everyone who had ever called the Oracular Tower home. The first few pages were blank, but as Harry flipped through the book he found sketches of the Tower's earliest residents, which eventually gave way to photographs of the nineteenth-century witches and wizards who had stayed here. Harry brushed his index finger over a picture of a young Albus Dumbledore, standing next to his brother Aberforth and a blonde girl he didn't recognize. The next page contained a blank slot (where Tom Riddle's photo presumably would have been) and a picture of himself, Ron and Hermione when they were in first year. He did not know how the tower had acquired the photo, but then again there were many things about it which remained mysterious.

Harry waited anxiously for Hermione to arrive, attempting an air of nonchalance by lying back on his bed and folding his hands behind his head, watching the sun go down. The next thing he was aware of was someone gently shaking him awake. "Harry," Hermione said softly and with a look of mild amusement on her face. "Harry, wake up."

Harry stirred and then stretched, suppressing a yawn with some difficulty as he sat up on the cot. "You're not getting bored up here, are you? It doesn't seem like there's much for you to do up here, except for homework and occasionally writing letters to your girlfriend, telling her you're breaking up with her."

Harry took his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Hermione, I don't want to start this again."

"I'm not mad," Hermione assured him as she looked out the window of the tower. "It's just…this makes three times that you've broken up with Ginny, Harry. There's only so much a girl can take before she gets a complex."

"You're right," Harry agreed instantly, eager to put the subject of Ginny behind them. "I'm a terrible cad." Harry rose from the bed and stood beside her, bringing his hand to rest on her shoulder. "Are you alright, Hermione?"

"What? You mean after my disastrous date with Ron?" Hermione asked with a laugh. "I'm fine, Harry. How about you? Are you…?" But as she turned to face him, his hand reached out to touch her face, his thumb running down the length of her cheek until it reached her jaw line, tilting her head upwards. Without a word, he lowered his head to kiss her, his lips capturing hers effortlessly. The kiss was utterly blissful, even eclipsing the wonderful kiss he'd shared with her in his first vision of the future. Rather than feeling like a welcome distraction, as snogging Ginny had, kissing Hermione was a revelation, as though something that had begun long ago had finally reached completion.

As the kiss ended, Harry stared after Hermione with a longing gaze. Hermione, however, slapped Harry hard in the face. "How dare you!" she exclaimed, her eyes welling up with tears and her voice filled with confusion and anger. "How dare you do that to me!"

"What?" Harry replied in confusion. "You mean kiss you? Hermione, I don't understand…"

"You can't do this to me, Harry," Hermione told him in no uncertain terms. "You can't push me at Ron one minute and kiss me the next. You're going to have to make up your mind." As he watched her storm out of the tower, he knew she was right. Ironically, the first thing he wanted to do was turn to Hermione for advice, but he could not. He would have to figure this out all on his own.

ITL

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