Bridges
Chapter Two: Bridge Over Troubled Water
"Harry!" cried a witch with magenta hair, her voice carrying clearly through the Ministry atrium, and drawing attention. She stumbled over the hems of her robes, and all but fell into Harry's outstretched arms. He winced a little at the commotion, but smiled.
"Hi, Tonks. You know, I almost didn't believe it when I heard they'd made you Head Auror."
Tonks made a face at him.
"The Minister figured we'd all be safer if Tonks were behind a desk, instead of out in the field," Ron teased, elbowing her in the side.
"Would it help you remember that I'm your boss, if I fired your sorry arse?"
Ron was shaking his head, a twinkle in his eyes.
"You'd miss me too much."
"Like I'd miss one of your sister's bat-bogey hexes," was Tonks' rejoinder.
Thinking of Ginny made Harry think of Hermione, and thinking of Hermione still hurt. Harry felt the smile freeze on his face, and knew, when Ron's face went suddenly solemn, that his best mate had also followed his train of thought.
And in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but feel a little wistful, listening to Tonks and Ron's repartee, reminders of a life that he didn't belong to anymore, a network of friends that had gone on without him. Once more, Harry Potter is the outsider, looking in.
Whose fault is that? He snidely reminded himself.
"Harry ought to fit right in round here," Ron remarked casually. "Stubborn-arsed pride and all."
"Ron…" Harry nearly pleaded, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. He thought he felt the beginnings of a headache stoking fires near his temples.
Tonks' eyes were moving rapidly back and forth between the two men. Harry got the feeling, her clumsiness and playful attitude notwithstanding, that she was quite accurately summing up his situation inside her head.
"I've already had the Archives unlocked for you," she said, lifting her chin and assuming an aura of authority like a mantle. "Annemarie was born at St. Mungo's so all the records should be on file. All of the information on the case has been moved into Ron's office."
"Terrific," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes. "We'll be able to stand in the corridor and peer inside."
"Actually, I'd like you both to go ahead and pay a visit to the Ludlows' house," Tonks said, in a friendly way that made it seem almost like a suggestion rather than an order. "There's a kind of wake for Peter and Tabitha today. They're going to delay the memorial service until Annemarie recovers…" The unspoken addendum, if she recovers, made itself quite clear in the intervening silence.
Ron looked less than thrilled.
"So we're just going to barge in during this family's grief, and start asking questions?"
"You're going to barge in and observe," Tonks corrected archly. "The Ludlows are a very old, very rich, very influential family. Peter Ludlow's mother is practically legendary. See what you can find out." She turned to head back to the Auror department, calling over her shoulder,
"Don't forget to have your wand scanned in at the desk, Harry. That will authorize you to have access to any of the restricted areas of the investigation."
Brooding, Harry followed Ron over to the reception area, and handed his wand over to be processed.
*~~~~~*
Harry paced outside in the back garden as twilight fell. He had raked his hands through his hair so many times that he knew it had to be standing on end. Even in the comforting disorderliness of the Weasleys' garden, he felt confined, almost frantic.
Ginny had brought him face to face with the one thing he wanted most to avoid.
What do I do now?
He hadn't a sodding clue.
"What happened?" came a soft voice from the direction of the house, and Harry jumped violently and swore. He turned to see Hermione leaning on the doorjamb, yellow light from the interior spilling out over her hair and shoulders.
"What makes you think anything happened?" Harry asked, sullenly and thoroughly unconvincingly. Hermione just cocked her head and looked at him, until Harry averted his gaze.
"Ginny is many things, but subtle has never been one of them," she finally remarked softly.
Harry stopped walking abruptly, and turned to face Hermione with beseeching eyes.
"She wants - she wanted - I - I don't… Hermione, do you ever wonder…?" He stopped, unsure how to put into words the feeling that he might fly to pieces all at once, if he relinquished the iron hold of control in the slightest.
"… what happens after the grand finale?" she filled in for him, her eyes luminous and dark in the rapidly dwindling light.
"Yeah…" he finally said, with some surprise that she had summed it up so neatly, that she seemed to know without knowing exactly what he was thinking.
"I wish I did know," she finally said. "I wish I knew so I could tell you, and maybe - maybe then that lost look would leave your face. Harry, you won! You - you deserve better than what you're allowing yourself."
"I used to be nobody," he said, more to himself than to her. "And then suddenly, I'm a hero, with this sodding great destiny to fulfill… and now, that's gone too. Everywhere I go, people are looking at me like I've done something wonderful and incredible - but I - all I did was kill people. They - they think they know who I am, and - and I don't even know who I am." He moved closer to her, and grabbed her upper arms with both hands. "Do you ever wish you could just get away? From all of it?"
Her eyes were troubled, as she regarded him thoughtfully.
"Sure, I do, Harry. Everybody does. But you can't just - "
He threw a regretful look in the direction of the back door.
"I can't go back in there. Ginny is either furious or devastated, and I'm not sure which is worse. And Mrs. Weasley will look at me like I just killed the family dog. And Ron…"
She had removed herself from his grip, and stood confrontationally, hands on hips.
"And just where are you going to go?"
The faintest of boyish smiles creased his face, and he ran one hand through his hair self-consciously.
"I've gotten us a flat," he said, lifting one shoulder hesitantly, as if he were afraid that she'd object. "Three bedrooms - it's quite nice. I was going to tell you and Ron about it tomorrow."
"Harry," her voice was soft, washing over him like a caress with the cooling night breeze. "Running away isn't going to resolve anything."
He looked at her bleakly.
"Maybe it will keep me from going mad," he said bluntly, honestly, and she flinched.
"And what am I going to tell everyone else?" she asked, desperation clear in her voice, as she nodded toward the house.
He paused at the garden gate, and turned back toward her. There was a flash of mischief in his eyes, so like Harry of old that her heart somersaulted up into her throat. He extended his hand to her.
"You could just come with me."
*~~~~~*
Ron and Harry Apparated with twin cracks just outside the gated entrance to the ancestral Ludlow home. A wide curving drive cut through the sprawling and lush lawn, but there was not a car in sight. As they crossed the threshold of the property, Harry felt a strange tingle trickle over his skin, and he knew that they had both been scanned, and were probably being watched.
"Well, at least we weren't catapulted back into the lane on our arses," Ron remarked out of the side of his mouth, having felt the sensation as well.
"So much for being discreet," Harry replied.
The massive front door opened for them before they'd quite reached it, and an austere man in immaculate black robes gestured for them to enter. He led them through several lavishly appointed rooms, to a large parlor with French doors that opened out onto a verandah. And here were the people, milling around, dressed in dark colors and speaking in subdued tones. A long table laden with food and drink took up one end of the verandah, and Harry thought he caught glimpses of a house-elf or two threading through the crowd.
"Auror Potter, Auror Weasley, your coming is appreciated, even under the circumstances," came a voice at their elbows, and both of the men turned. There stood a diminutive woman who looked to be in her late sixties. She was wearing charcoal gray, which made her appear even smaller than she actually was, and caused the cloud of white hair framing her face to stand out vividly. Somberly, she held out a dainty, thin-skinned hand for them to press in greeting. "I'm Griselda Ludlow, Peter's mother."
"Allow us to extend our sympathies for your loss, Mrs. Ludlow," Harry said smoothly, eliciting a rather surprised look from Ron. "We aren't here to disrupt anything, but just in case there is anything or anyone here that might further the investigation."
Mrs. Ludlow inclined her head regally.
"Certainly, Auror Potter," she said. "If you'd like to see Peter's office , you've only to seek out Gustav, and he'll show you. I'm afraid your MLE has already confiscated most of Peter's personal papers."
"We would like to see his office, ma'am," Ron said, his eyes narrowing only slightly at her use of the word `confiscated'. "But later, p'raps, once the guests have gone."
Mrs. Ludlow nodded and turned gracefully, all but gliding away from them as another small group of people arrested her attention.
"She's a right piece of work," Ron whispered to Harry.
"Seems really broken up about what happened," Harry concurred facetiously, trying to put his finger on what it was about Mrs. Ludlow that didn't sit properly. She had an air of decorum and propriety that suggested those were important above all else. She reminded him of… "Aunt Petunia," he said suddenly.
"Come again?" Ron looked quizzically at him.
"She reminds me of my aunt," Harry explained. "It doesn't matter who just died or what limb was severed or how ill you are, there are the niceties, and they must be observed." Faint sarcasm tinged his words. "I'd wager she's the kind who wouldn't do more than sniff into an embroiderered hanky at the funeral, because it might smear her makeup. But, you see, she'd have to show some emotion, because she wouldn't want people to think her heartless."
"Can't have any behavior unbecoming to a Ludlow, eh?" Ron clarified. "They are a very old, influential family."
As they talked, they moved carefully through the crowd, eyes constantly roving, even as they kept their conversation low and innocuous in tone. Ron pointed out several Ministry employees from the department where Peter Ludlow worked, and there were a handful of Hogwarts graduates that Harry recognized vaguely as having been a few years ahead of them.
"Slytherin," Ron muttered. Harry's eyebrows arched, as he looked to his partner for additional information.
"Quite a lot of these people were in Slytherin. If the family is old…"
"You think they're Pureblood?" Harry asked, and continued without waiting for an answer. "Then the attack on Annemarie makes even less sense."
"We've got to find out more about this family," Ron determined. "You notice that…" He looked over his shoulder to find that Harry had stopped cold in his tracks, a few paces behind him. All color had drained from his face, though his attention was raptly fixed.
Ron followed his gaze. It led to Hermione.
*~~~~~*
"Harry, this is beautiful!" Hermione exclaimed, as she stepped over the threshold of the flat he had picked out. He felt himself swell with pride at the obvious admiration in her voice.
"I thought you would like it," he said, wondering for a moment at the slight shyness that had crept into his voice. Why on earth would he feel the need to be shy around Hermione?
"It's perfect!" she exclaimed, a lightness and animation to her that he had not had the occasion to see often. She moved down the narrow corridor to the three doors. "Which room is mine?"
"Either - any of them," Harry stammered. "It's just that I - "
Hermione reached the one that was situated snugly in the back corner of the flat, and flung wide the door, gaping as a fully furnished, magically enlarged suite met her gaze.
" - I've already put my things in that one," he finished lamely. She hesitated awkwardly on the threshold, and glanced warily back at him, as if she feared he'd fling her bodily from the room, but then stepped inside.
"It's lovely," she said sincerely, as her eyes traveled over the expanse, a few built-in bookcases, an arrangement of particularly comfortable-looking chairs, a small wooden storage locker with a Gryffindor Quidditch pennant affixed to the front, and a rich wooden bedstead, covered in a navy spread, that dominated the center of the room.
Harry saw her gaze light on the bed, and felt a flush rise into his cheeks, unbidden.
"I - I liked the view," he said, gesturing toward the windows, which were inset into both outer walls of the bedroom. She moved toward them, and he stepped behind her, leaning over her shoulder, as they viewed London, spread before them in a fairy-tale panorama of twinkling lights. He watched her lips part in appreciation, as she took in the city, and felt absurdly pleased at her delight.
"You - you can have this room, if you'd like. I'll - "
But Hermione wasn't about to let him finish.
"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," she said, waving one hand dismissively. "As if I'd kick you from your room." Her eyes trailed over the furnishings once again, and she turned to face him fully, causing him to stumble backwards slightly at her sudden proximity. And suddenly, her gaze was on him sharply, suspicion darkening her brown irises. "You'd already furnished this room," she said, dawning awareness blossoming onto her face. "You - you knew you were coming here, even before Ginny said anything, didn't you?"
Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, and lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
"I told you, Hermione," he mumbled, somewhat unwillingly. "I need to get away. Ginny didn't do anything to change that." She opened her mouth to speak, and he cut her off with a knowing look. "And, no, I didn't expect her to. Truthfully, I don't know if anyone could."
It was his turn to look curiously at Hermione, as she seemed to wilt slightly before him.
"Would you have - if I hadn't come out in the garden, would you have left without saying anything to anyone? Without letting anyone know, letting anyone help, letting anyone in? Even Ron…or me?" She stopped, but read the truth in his face. "You really - you really would try to run away from - from all the people that… love you?" she asked softly, her eyes zig-zagging erratically across the room over the last couple of words.
Harry's eyes fastened raptly on her face, but she wouldn't look at him.
"What are you saying, Hermione?" he asked, trying to cup her chin and force her to look at him.
"What do you think I'm saying, Harry?" she snapped, knocking his arm away with irritation.
"I - I - " he stammered, at a loss, afraid to give voice to the sudden rise of tension in the room, that threatened to suffocate him, intoxicate him, and bewilder him all at once. Hermione looked very small and almost vulnerable, framed by the window, her eyes large and dark and troubled, high color staining her cheeks. This is Hermione, for crying out loud, part of him shrieked. I'm not supposed to entertain such thoughts about her. "What about you and Ron?" he blurted, in an ungainly fashion.
Something like anger flashed in her eyes, even as her brows quirked in what might have been amusement.
"There hasn't been any `me and Ron' since last fall, Harry," she said softly, not pretending to misunderstand him. "Honestly, I'm not sure that there ever really was."
"But you - and - you and - the wedding…" Harry wanted to curse his sudden inability to string a subject and verb together in a coherent sentence.
She lifted a shoulder in a shrug, and leaned back against the window, half-sitting on the sill.
"We knew - after - after we started looking for the horcruxes, we knew it wasn't going to work. We figured it would be better if there was no beginning at all, rather than have it lead to a messy breakup and lots of awkward silence."
There seemed to be plenty of the latter in the flat at the moment, Harry thought. Out loud, he said,
"Oh."
The smothering feeling in the room had seemed to ease, but in reality, had narrowed and intensified into a single strand that connected them, trembling between them, an ethereal link that might snap at any moment, if either of them moved or spoke or breathed…
Hermione moved first, reaching out to touch his forearm with the tips of her fingers.
"Harry…" it was a shuddering exhalation.
He felt as if he were at the brink of a precipice, an undeniable surge of exhilarating fear welling up within him. Her fingers burned into his skin like a brand. He took a step toward her, where she sat, her back against the cool glass of the window, London sparkling in the ringlets of her hair.
He might not know what in the hell he was going to do with the rest of his life, but he knew one thing at that moment.
He was going to kiss Hermione Granger, and consequences be damned.
*~~~~~*
"Bloody hell," Harry heard Ron say slowly, as if from a great distance.
"Ron," he answered slowly, barely moving his mouth, and not removing his eyes from Hermione's profile. "Please tell me you did not know she'd be here."
Ron rolled his eyes theatrically.
"How the hell would I know that?" he asked rhetorically. "I didn't even know we were coming here until Tonks said so, and besides - " he broke off suddenly, and flushed red to his hairline.
"Besides what?" Harry asked suspiciously.
"I - I might have known that Hermione worked in the same department at St. Mungo's that Tabitha Ludlow did," Ron admitted. "She introduced us once, over lunch. I swear I didn't think about it though. Never even entered my head that she might be here."
Harry didn't respond, his face set like flint, his eyes bleak and self-recriminating. Hermione was in a slimly cut black sheath, with some kind of long, gauzy overdress, not unlike translucent robes, over it. She wore a strand of pearls around her neck, and stood in plain, dark Muggle pumps. Her hair was twisted into a chignon, from which a few wayward strands had escaped, and in her hand, she clutched an empty stemmed glass, as she nodded somberly at whatever her companion was saying.
"But say! Now that you're both here…" Ron began, in a voice that very nearly cracked with faux-cheerfulness.
Harry stepped closer to Ron, so that he could explain himself in no uncertain terms, without drawing any undue attention.
"I'll tell you what is going to happen, `now that we're both here'," Harry bit off the words with a grim and mirthless smile. "You are going to finish canvassing the wake, and I am going to leave…now. I'll be more than happy to go back to the Ministry, and start reviewing some of the files for the case. But I'll - I'll not stay here." The anger seemed to leach slowly out of him, leaving him drained and worn. He was not angry with Ron - or even with Hermione, for that matter. He shook his head heavily. "I can't."
Disappointment glimmered in Ron's eyes, where there had once flickered a hope for some kind of reconciliation between his two best friends.
"What in the hell happened, Harry?" It was not the first time for such a plea from Ron. "Why can't you - ?" He had never received the least inkling of an answer from Harry before, and didn't really expect one, but his best mate surprised him.
"We made a mistake, Ron. We thought - we thought - "
Ron waited with baited breath, as Harry seemed poised on the cusp of a revelation, but he clammed up as suddenly as he'd spoken.
"And we were wrong," he finished, and turned toward the French doors through which they'd come. When Ron looked back to Hermione, she had concluded her conversation, and was returning to the refreshment table on the verandah. Her face lit up suddenly in recognition, and she waved at him.
Ron tossed a guilty glance over his shoulder, even as he extended his hand to help Hermione up the shallow steps. There was a swirl of dark cloak and dark hair in the doorway - it could have been anyone - and then the space was empty.
"Hullo, Ron!" Hermione greeted cheerfully. "I gather you're here about the investigation?"
TBC
Thanks so much for the awesome response to the first chapter. Hope the story can continue to live up to expectations.
You may leave a review on your way out, if you like
lorien
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