Bridges
Chapter Three: Burning Bridges
"What? Erm…yeah," Ron replied to Hermione's query in a decidedly distracted way, flinching even as he tossed another precautionary look over his shoulder, and looking guilty when Hermione followed it. Her eyebrows crinkled quizzically, but she made no comment.
"Tabitha was a wonderful person," she said quietly, her eyes seeming to look at something far away. "We - we used to joke that we had a lot in common with each other - both quiet Muggle-born bookworms. And Annemarie was the most beautiful child. I always - " Her voice quavered slightly, and she stopped speaking, her eyes shimmering with tears.
Ron looked at her with undisguised curiosity.
"I didn't realize that the two of you were that close," he said. Hermione pressed her lips together firmly, and tried to assume a matter-of-fact manner.
"We were friends," was all she said in response.
They descended from the terrace and made a slow, meandering circuit around the pristine lawn. Ron made a covert log of who was attending by use of a specialized Auror spell that recorded images and stored them inside his wand core for later perusal. Harry would appreciate it, he thought ruefully, seeing as how it was not unlike Priori Incantatem.
Hermione had tucked her hand into Ron's elbow, but they walked mostly in silence, with Hermione occasionally stopping to speak to other St. Mungo's employees, obviously ones who had also known Tabitha Ludlow. From what he could see, Peter and Tabitha had both seemed to be both respected and genuinely well-liked. The general attitude of the gathering seemed to be that of commingled disbelief and sorrow.
He and Hermione had nearly arrived back at the verandah steps, when Hermione seemed to falter slightly in her stride, her fingers nearly pinching him through his robes. Without looking at her, he jerked his gaze in the direction of hers, not really realizing until an instant later that he had been expecting to see Harry himself.
Instead, he saw the formidable Ludlow matriarch, and he turned toward Hermione, without comprehension. Several emotions seemed to be warring in her face, and Ron thought for a moment that she was going to turn and bolt in the opposite direction. Then she rolled her eyes at herself, sighed slightly, and continued forward.
"Mrs. Ludlow," she said, in a friendly way that somehow still seemed more flat that Ron was used to. "You have my heartfelt sympathies for your loss."
"Miss Granger," the elderly woman replied. The name rolled off her tongue regally, and yet Ron still got the impression that it had been spat into the silence between them. "I know Tabitha looked upon you as quite a good friend. Thank you for coming." Her imperious gaze raked over Ron for an instant, and she moved on through the crowd. Ron felt Hermione all but sag against him in relief.
"What in the bloody hell was that all about?" Ron said, once Mrs. Ludlow was out of earshot.
"Isn't she awful?" Hermione murmured, out of one side of her mouth. "She never has liked me - too plebian and too Muggle for her tastes, I'd wager. She was awfully cruel to poor Tabitha too - she didn't fit the mold of who a Ludlow boy should marry."
"Yeah, we thought that - " Ron froze suddenly at his plural pronoun. Hermione looked at him sharply, but said only,
"Oh, is Laird here?"
"Who?" Ron asked blankly. Hermione's brows arched in amusement.
"Laird. McClanahan? Your partner?" She spoke more and more slowly at the obvious incomprehension on Ron's face.
"What? Oh no - well, I mean - he was here, but he left. He wasn't feeling well." Ron wanted to cringe. He'd bloody well been an Auror in active service for nearly nine years, and he still couldn't lie worth a damn to Hermione's face. The glint in her eyes seemed to suggest that she knew that as well, but she said nothing.
He watched her nervously, as she spoke politely with two rather good-looking Healer blokes, watched as her lips parted around her white teeth in a subdued smile. One of them leaned down to whisper something into her ear, and her smile widened, but she shook her head apologetically.
"D'you remember Alan?" she asked him conversationally, as they began to move again.
"Alan?" he echoed stupidly. The chap hadn't even looked remotely familiar.
"I dated him for awhile back during the summer." She looked at him oddly. "You really don't remember him at all?"
He shot her a look that meant, Hermione, why would I?
"You haven't dated anyone more than three or four times since you left Hogwarts," he reminded her, sounding more caustic than he meant to, wanting to curse Harry for bailing out on him and leaving him to feel all guilty and flustered in front of his other best friend. This time, just one of Hermione's eyebrows arced upward - a dangerous sign.
"Yes, and you've certainly been the picture of monogamy," she replied, acidly.
"We weren't talking about me," he pointed out. "We were talking about you and - and Alan... or whatever his bloody name is. Why you expect me to keep up with whoever happens to be the bloody flavor of the week this go round, I have no idea."
She withdrew her arm from his elbow, and actually took a half-step back away from him.
"Ronald Weasley," she said, clearly furious, even as she tried to keep her voice at a discreet volume. "What on earth has gotten into you?"
"What did you do to Harry?" he blurted, and then wished he could bite off his own tongue, as his brain forced him to finish what he'd started by tacking on, "To - to make him leave, I mean?"
The look on Hermione's face was one he'd never seen before…and hoped to never see again. She looked almost apoplectic, shock and guilt in open warfare with fury and despair…and something else altogether that Ron couldn't quite pinpoint.
When she finally spoke, her voice was glacial.
"I didn't do anything to Harry," she gritted out. "He was a grown man when he left - and he did so of his own accord." Her shoulders and spine were rigid; her words seemed to leave an acrid taste in her mouth. "And why in God's name would you bring this up n - " She stopped suddenly and fixed bright eyes on him, like a mongoose with a snake in its sights.
Ron felt his Adam's apple bob convulsively up and down in his throat. Oh shit….
"He's back…isn't he?" Her face went as sickly white as old milk so rapidly that Ron instinctively grabbed for her elbow. She did not wait for confirmation…or perhaps took his silence as such. "Oh, God, he is…and he was here, wasn't he? Not Laird."
Ron felt like he had glued his jaws together with Hagrid's treacle tart.
"And he - he left when… when…" She looked at him with wide, limpid eyes, as though beseeching him to tell her some palatable lie. But he had finally recovered the power of speech, and found himself speaking only the bald and unvarnished truth.
"When he saw you."
*~~~~~*
Harry had stood there for only a heartbeat of moments before moving close enough to Hermione to remove all doubt of his intent. Hermione looked up at him with wide, wary eyes that were nevertheless starry with desire, but said nothing. He could feel the radiant coolness from the window behind her contrasting with his skin which suddenly seemed too hot. He saw her lips part slightly.
"Hermione…" he finally almost growled, before his lips descended to claim hers. She seemed to meet him gladly, and something wonderful throbbed once in the pit of his stomach when her arms twined around his neck, as if to hold him in place, and her mouth opened beneath his to allow him entrance.
He felt as though something white-hot and luminescent was running through his veins like quicksilver; there was never anything as delectable and overwhelming as the feel of her softness against him, juxtaposed with the cool smooth glass of the window. Her hands moved from the back of his neck to his shoulders and the planes of his chest. He thought that he could die right now, plundering Hermione's mouth, and he would have considered his life complete.
But finally, she broke the kiss, moving away from him rapidly enough to cause her head to hit the window with a soft thunk.
"What's wrong?" he asked, somewhat alarmed, even as he thought, I've ruined it, haven't I? I've gone and moved where I had no right, and I've mucked everything up.
Hermione's lips were invitingly swollen, her dark eyes dilated so that they appeared even darker, and a tantalizing flush stained her cheeks. They were both breathing raggedly.
"What about - what about you and Ginny?"
Frustration threatened to lick through him, but he saw the expression on her face, the half-hopeful look of one who has received something one never expected, and thinks that it might be cruelly snatched away.
"Hermione…" he repeated her name again, this time tenderly. "There isn't - there is no `me and Ginny'. I told her so tonight… and I meant it."
He rested both hands on her hips, and made as if to pull her back in alignment with him.
"Then - then what is this?" she asked, gesturing between them, still sounding somewhat breathless. He saw her eyes flicker over his shoulder, and knew that her gaze had been drawn again to the bed.
"I - I honestly don't know, Hermione," he said, looking as deeply into her eyes as he could, wanting to imprint upon her the extent of his sincerity. "But I - you're one of the most important people in the world to me…and I - I - " He couldn't finish, and looked away from her, abashed.
"You what?" she prodded gently, her breath warm on the side of his face. He wanted to tell her how long he had dreamed of doing this, of holding her this closely, but he didn't actually know. It seemed like something that had always lain dormant inside of him, and had sprung to life with the meeting of their lips. Besides, this was Hermione, and he definitely didn't want to mess up now and scare her away. Her friendship meant too much - she meant too much. He opted for the straightforward approach that she tended to favor, revealing at least that which he knew for certain to be true.
"Merlin help me, Hermione, I want you." A blush of disbelieving delight spread over her face, and he took a moment to hate a world that had created such insecurity in someone as wonderful and singular as Hermione. Her hands lifted from her sides, and she splayed her fingers out, moving her palms over his abdomen and chest.
She looked into his fiery green eyes for a long moment, so that neither of them could mistake what she was about to say.
"I'm right here, Harry."
*~~~~~*
When Ron found Harry, the latter was seated at Ron's desk, which had been partially excavated so that there was a place where he could prop his feet. Rolls of parchment and stacks of folders were strewn upon every conceivable flat surface, and Harry was leaned back in Ron's chair, reading one of these with apparent contentment.
Ron wanted to kill him. Or at least hex him back to the South Pacific. But then he would have to explain why, which would involve disclosing that Hermione now knew of Harry's return.
Ron was fairly certain that Harry's reaction to that would not be pleasant, even though Hermione would have probably found out in the next morning's Prophet anyway.
He didn't realize that he'd been standing in the doorway, glowering, probably for quite some time, until Harry said,
"What the hell's wrong with you?"
Ron mentally sorted through about a hundred different things he could say, finally settling on,
"I can't believe you just left me there."
Harry rolled his eyes, and slid his feet off the desk with a noisy whump.
"Sweet Merlin, Ron, you sound seven years old."
"It's Auror protocol to have two agents on - "
"Ron, it was a wake, not the bust of a potions cartel." Sarcasm dripped from Harry's words, and Ron could tell that, all appearances to the contrary, his mood was far from improved. "And now that you're back safely, and with all your parts apparently intact, perhaps we could get on with the case?"
"I'm not the one who fled the assignment all because of some bloody bird," Ron retorted, but it fell flat. They both knew that Hermione was not and never would be just `any' woman. Harry's eyes darkened, and his expression grew shuttered.
"I'm sorry if my behavior didn't meet with the guidelines set up in the Ron Weasley Code of Ethics," Harry responded, sounding every bit as icy as Hermione had. "I just wasn't ready to deal with that, okay?"
"Deal with what, Harry?" Ron burst out, losing all patience. "For Merlin's sake, you're both marching around like - it's been twelve years - and you're all… wrapped up in your bloody melodrama, because nobody is more stoic and despairing that the great Harry Potter, and I don't know if you want sympathy from me or what - but you know, Harry, I can't give it to you, because you won't bloody well let me in! Far be it from me to intrude on - what was it? Some bloody great epic romance? With Hermione?"
The bitter half-laugh died in Ron's throat as he saw the stricken look on Harry's face, and he wondered how on earth such a crippling liaison had happened between his two best friends without any sort of knowledge on his part at all.
*~~~~~*
Hermione's head was pillowed on Harry's bare chest, her hair fanned out behind her in snarled corkscrews. She felt the rise and fall of her resting place with his breathing gradually slow, as he came down from the heights that they had climbed together. There was a faint sheen of sweat along the length of his collarbone, and slowly, she traced her finger along it. She felt a vague sense of unease, of personal disquiet, the physical pleasure she'd experienced giving way beneath insecurity and emotional doubt. The silence seemed to yawn between them like a vast chasm, irrespective of the fact that they were lying curled together, unclothed.
His fingers played lightly against the smooth skin of her neck, where his arm had snaked around her bare shoulder, as he lightly brushed her curls out of his way. Hermione felt herself shift uncomfortably, almost reflexively, and his fingers stopped. She drew on everything she had not to move away from him, somehow knowing that he would handle that badly, but she thought that she had to speak, to say something, anything at all, or run shrieking from the room.
"Harry…" she drew the word out tentatively, stretching it out beyond its two brief syllables.
"Hmm?" he replied lazily, the hummed response vibrating beneath her head.
"That was - that was…" She unsuccessfully searched her prodigious vocabulary for words. It had been amazing, unbelievable, a feeling of completion and unity that she had never even let herself dream about, something that even her and Ron's slight foray into awkward groping had never come close to preparing her for. But she couldn't help remembering his brooding silences, his lost quality since the Battle, his own broken admission that he had no idea who he was - and she wondered how in the world they could translate that into a relationship - if that was even what he wanted at all.
"It was bloody fantastic," he replied, jolting her from her tumultuous thoughts, as he filled in the blank she'd left behind, his voice languid with utter relaxation. She felt the tension in her shoulders relax at his words, an unbidden squirming sensation of abashed pleasure springing to life in her stomach as she realized that she had caused that, she had given him that - peace - if only for a moment.
She hummed a little laugh through her nose at his praise, and his arm tightened around her briefly. She felt the light caress of his lips in her hair, and she grew suddenly afraid that it was she who would be lost, she who would be the one to want too much, too soon, and that he would be unready - or incapable - of reciprocating.
What happens now? The air to power the words rushed from her lungs, flowed past her vocal cords, her lips and tongue and the arch of her mouth prepared to shape them… but she couldn't say them. Wasn't Ginny's pressure on him what had driven him into her arms to begin with? Wasn't he just stumbling around in the dark, looking for answers, direction, a new purpose?
I could be the one to give him that, she thought suddenly, a zealous fire awakening within her at a way to save Harry once again.
"Hermione?" This time Harry spoke, sounding as tentative and unsure as she had felt. The similarity further restored her uncertain spirit. She tilted her head toward him, her nose brushing his chin, as she moved onto his shoulder to better see his face. "I wanted to - there was something I - thank you… for this, I mean. I hope I haven't… that is, I didn't want to do anything that would - " He sighed in frustration and half-laughed at himself. "I needed this, I think - and I appreciate it… more than you know."
She wanted to lift her head from the crook of his shoulder and stare at him - let him see the mute horror reflect in her eyes at his words. Not `I love you', she had not expected that, not yet anyway - but a casual expression of gratitude? She had just helped him relieved the pressure - like a good wank?
"You're - you're welcome," she finally managed to croak in a dry voice, and wanted to die from the irony. Of course, he hadn't really wanted her - hadn't really wanted anybody in particular - any warm body would have sufficed. If he didn't want Ginny, why in Merlin's name would he have wanted her? She had given herself to her best friend, to someone she had secretly desired from afar for years, and found she was of no more consequence than a receptacle for release.
But - but it helped him. It's good to help Harry, part of her continued to insist in a feeble little voice. Tears stung the backs of her eyelids, and she knew that she was going to be powerless to stop them - she didn't want Harry to see. In one fluid motion, without forethought, she sat up, and flung the covers back, reaching quickly for the first article of clothing to meet her questing hand - Harry's shirt.
"Hermione?" he asked, confusion disturbing the languor in his tone, as he retrieved his glasses from the table beside his bed.
She wouldn't look at him - couldn't look at him - afraid he would see everything she was thinking and feeling in her eyes.
"I'm thirsty," she said, in as noncommittal a voice as she could muster. "Do you want anything?"
*~~~~~*
They made their way to the Archives in a stilted silence, both unwilling to venture near the awkward topic that Ron had broached. The basement chambers were remarkably well-kept and organized, everything neatly labeled and sorted away. Ron had been sneezing theatrically every so often, but Harry was nearly certain that there were Dust-Repelling charms in use. They had separated in the vast, dim space, and Harry found himself elbow-deep in St. Mungo's files, while Ron checked the Ministry's copies of the Hogwarts' registry for information on both Annemarie and her parents.
Harry began to grow impatient with the tedious task, as he thumbed through sheaves of parchment, periodically checking the last name on the page to see if he'd yet reached the L's of the year in question. His vision blurred behind the lenses of his glasses, and his head was beginning to throb.
Later, he would marvel that such a series of asinine occurrences would lead to his discovery.
Ron sneezed again, a veritable rafter-rattler, and Harry jumped, barking his elbow on the edge of the cabinet and grinding out a groan of pain. The stack of parchment tumbled to the floor in a disordered heap, as he swore wrathfully at his best mate.
"For the love of Merlin, Ron! Are you trying to kill me?"
Ron snuffled something that sounded like, "Allergies." An instant later, Harry heard the sound of shuffling paper resume, and, muttering imprecations under his breath, knelt to recover the rolls of parchment that had gone flying.
He was peering at the corners of each page, and trying to restore them to some semblance of order, when Ron made a muffled exclamation from across the room.
"Oi, Harry! Check this out," he called, and Harry heard the creaking of leather binding, as Ron made his way toward him with the heavy Hogwarts' registry. There was a thump, as Ron hefted the heavy volume onto a nearer countertop, and his voice suddenly became more distinct. "Hermio - I heard at the wake that Tabitha Ludlow was Muggle-born, and that Madam Ludlow was not very nice to her. All of the Ludlows that I've seen so far, Peter's father, grandfather, uncles, and three older brothers, were all sorted into Slytherin. Peter was in Ravenclaw. I bet it didn't go over too well with the family, when Peter started seeing a…"
But Harry was no longer listening, staring instead with blank disbelief and horror at a slightly rumpled section of parchment, clenched in his unheeding fist. He wasn't even sure what had made him look, but it had all but leapt from the page, as if someone had shouted the name.
Granger…
For a moment, it was as if the ink had been written in some kind of ancient, lost tongue, for all the sense he could make of it.
Granger, Hermione.
It could be anything, really, he thought frantically. Somehow, a file from Housing or Background Checks or somewhere had gotten mixed in with the Birth records. He blinked forcefully, and made himself look at the entry once again.
Mother: Granger, Hermione. Father: Not Given
How could this have happened, he wondered wildly. How could Ron not have told me that Hermione'd had a baby?
"Mate, are you even listening to me?" Ron asked him, peering over the edge of the heavy tome, and Harry barked a terse,
"No," in reply, his mind wholly consumed with the concept that Hermione Granger had a life that he didn't know about, that - with another surreptitious glance in Ron's direction - maybe Ron was unknowing of as well.
"And Griselda Ludlow herself was in Slytherin as Griselda Blackthorne. Seems like I remember Mum telling me that the Blackthornes are a branch of the Black family that assimilated some hyphenated name or something - I'll bet we'd find some Malfoys back in their family tree too…. Harry? What's going on? `Dyou found something?"
Date of Birth: 04 March 1999
Harry's mind spun out into a skid again, as he frantically tried to crunch numbers in his head. March 1999 - he'd already been gone, albeit for less than a year. But it was the line bearing the child's name that knocked his entire world off of its axis.
Name of Infant: Granger, Lily Catherine
TBC
Hope everyone's enjoying this. It was really fun to write. More revelations to come!
You may leave a review on your way out, if you like.
lorien
-->