Disclaimer: They belong to JKR, I'm only playing.
A/N: Here you go. The chapters are getting longer, have I mentioned? So they're taking an awful lot of time to write and mess with. Thank you for your patience, although I dare say there's plenty of excitement around forums to keep people busy. Thank you to miconic who's just been the best, as always.
***
--Chapter Eleven--
They Apparate back to Grimmauld Place just as the city, which still suffers road closures, begins its morning clamour. Harry steps up to open the door, but Hermione tugs his hand.
"Let's sit out here for a bit." She nods at the sun-swathed stair. He looks at her for a moment, offering her own memories of the stairs, of a different morning back to her.
She lifts a shoulder. Bigger things on my mind.
He flops down on the highest step and leans his head against the doorframe. She watches him for a moment, then steps up to sit next to him. The day seems much warmer, perhaps only in contrast to the temperature at Hogwarts. There's steely cast to the sky, light pushing through the cloud-cover. Her body eases against his side, her arm folding around his. Pressing her cheek to his shoulder, she stares unseeingly down the road.
They had to wait a long hour before Apparating back to London. Scrimgeour summoned more staff, Tonks among them. Hurrying past with an armload of objects that turned out to be hastily organised Portkeys, she muttered to Hermione and Harry that she'd drop by later. The Portkeys were used to transport much of the crowd, but their unreliability was apparent from the start; despite repeated calls of Portus, some simply remained soup ladles and umbrellas. Unimpressed, many resorted to Apparating. Scrimgeour managed to convince those who lingered to form queues and take turns. Hermione doubted their cooperation had anything to do with the Minister's dubious attempts to look imposing. People looked tired and utterly bewildered, wanting to get away as quickly as they could after the first flush of astonishment wore off. Besides, more Muggles were straggling up the slope.
The Weaselys, Nick and Sally were behind Harry and Hermione in the Apparating queue. Harry had nodded at a Portkey, but Hermione shook her head; her queasy stomach had little to do with Apparating. The Weasleys and Nick opted to go to Diagon Alley, to 'hear the word on the street.' Sally too mumbled that she was going home, but Harry disagreed.
As they waited amid the cracks and snaps of people vanishing into thin air, a stream of witches and wizards, young and old, approached Harry. It hadn't helped that he'd drawn attention to himself by stepping in to break up a few tantrums, one between some Muggle policemen and a witch determined to blast them, another between a little girl and her grass-covered boots. The child's grandfather hadn't wasted any time thanking Harry at the top of his voice. For everyone who'd stood aside with only the occasional avid glance at Harry, that had been an open invitation to approach. She watched as his initial, almost instinctual embarrassment transform into squared shoulders and an element of calm in his eyes. Most didn't initiate conversations beyond introducing themselves, as though they merely wanted to make contact; a smile, a nod, the grave intimacy of a handshake. Some nodded in her direction too.
His shoulder nudges her gently. She looks up, blinking to clear her eyes of the morning glare. The faint sound of a radio burbles from a house down the street. He opens her loose fist, his fingers sliding through hers. She watches their hands.
"Do you think she slipped away?" He dips his head, nose in her hair.
"Sally? No. I don't think so. She's probably having trouble Apparating." She sighs. "She had a wand made of bone," she mutters to herself.
He lifts his head.
"Hmm?"
She's on the verge of explaining when she decides that she should really check her facts first. "Nothing." She smiles at him and burrows closer. Then she straightens up, squinting at him. He looks different, she thinks, he looks different because--
--because this is quite possibly the first time in a whole month I've seen him in bright daylight.
He is beautiful.
"What?" He looks at her quizzically.
She holds his chin, turning his face towards her. He's still pale, but light sits easy on his face, his eyes drunk with it. Light suits him. She runs her fingers down his cheek. How good we've become at hiding. She pauses at the corner of his mouth, and watches his lips part. She arches closer, smiling when his arm winds around her.
"Are we playing tease?" he whispers.
"Have you ever been a patient man?" she counters. Her thumb dips inside, a small shiver unfurling elsewhere in tandem. She's a breath away from kissing him when an extremely loud crack resounds in the square.
"Sorry, I sort of got lost." Sally pushes her hair behind her ear, colouring a little as her eyes alight on Harry and Hermione. Hermione takes her time getting to her feet, her hand in Harry's. A door slams down the street, a set of footsteps hurrying towards the main road. Hermione glances over the houses around them, but the street seems oblivious to the bustle of magic.
"It's all right," Harry says over his shoulder, as he tries several charms on the door. Swearing, he rattles the lock, rolling his eyes as the door finally groans open. Sally steps in. Turning to follow her, Hermione's eyes fall on the broad arrow of daylight slanting inside the house. She starts, realising what it was she'd missed when she entered the house the previous afternoon.
"Harry!"
"Yeah? What is it?"
"Mrs Black's portrait's gone."
"Oh. Yes." He rubs the back of his neck. "Malfoy. I meant to tell you--let's just go in first, shall we?"
They hold each other's eyes. The morning fidgets out in the street, the birds adding to its edgy hustle. She steps in as he lets the door fall shut, its echo resounding deep in the belly of the house like a distant bell.
*
"You lied to me."
Across the table, Sally squirms, a plate of bacon and toast cooling in front of her. Eyes hard, Harry leans forward, hands clasped on the table. In the periphery of his vision, beyond Sally's shoulder, Hermione watches from her armchair.
"You should've told me you were his daughter."
"Would you have listened to me then? Would you have even agreed to see me?" Sally summons a thin smile.
"Probably not." He leans back. "Did you lie to Mr Lovegood as well?"
She shrugs. "He never asked."
"How did you get to know him, anyway?"
"I helped him with a story he did a while back, on wizarding in Egypt."
A breeze slips through the half-open window. It's still chilly but Hermione was determined to have the window up. A dull fire sputters in the fireplace to counter the lingering cold. Harry drums his fingers on the table.
"So, what's the story? You use Page as your last name."
Sally pushes a drop of tea around her saucer. Then, with a sigh, she seems to come to a decision. "Page is my mother's maiden name. I've lived with her since I was six. She's from Wales, but after she and father…fell out, she took me to France. We settled there. I didn't come back to England until a year ago. Does that answer your question?"
"You speak English without an accent." He lifts a shoulder. "For someone who lived with the French from such a young age."
"I lived among them. Doesn't mean I…mingled. Mum and I kept to ourselves."
"Where did you go to school?"
"I didn't. Mum taught me what she knows."
"Enough for you to be a qualified Unspeakable and Magical Archaeologist?"
She looks away, hands disappearing beneath the table. "Mum and I travelled a lot. We're both…curious about the same things."
He holds his glance. She sighs, her shoulders drooping a little. "Fine. I researched extraction, all right? I did a paper on it, based on evidence round the world on extraction of magic from magical artefacts and…creatures. No one's ever done anything comprehensive on it before, and it was on that basis that I got an Honorary position at the Ministry."
A small rustle issues from Hermione's armchair, but when Harry looks over, her expression is inscrutable. He takes his glasses off and rubs at his eyes.
"Wow. That must have been…huge."
Sally shrugs. "Yeah. I was quite happy about it."
"Lucky I asked you about extraction the other day, then. You have all the answers."
Sally looks at him quickly and looks away, as if making sure he's not pulling her leg. She's like one of those Russian Dolls Aunt Petunia had, he thinks. Except with this one, I'll never get to the bottom.
Hermione leaves her armchair, picks up a mug from the dresser and draws out a chair next to Harry. He slides his glasses back on and pours tea into her mug. She props her chin on her hand, absently watching as he stirs sugar in. He's filled her in on Malfoy's visit, but he's having trouble sifting through her responses. Or rather, the lack of them. She'd dismissed his theory regarding Malfoy; Harry, if he's trying to extract magic, why's he filching things with barely a drop of magic left in them? With Sally, she seems remote, as if the Unspeakable was a hasty sketch that needed to be considered from a distance in order for details to fall into place.
Harry slides the mug towards her. She curls her hands around it and looks at Sally.
"So, about magic depleting…" She takes a sip of her tea. Harry watches with some bemusement as Sally shifts in her chair, one hand back on the table, clumsy over her tea things. Is Hermione really scarier than I am?
"…Did you discover that in your travels with your mother too?"
Sally nods, hair twitching. "Mum was interested in that for a long time. I…inherited most of her notes. But it's something really hard to prove--I mean, the only evidence I could come up with were from cultures long gone. And that didn't really count, because it could be argued they died for any number of reasons."
"So, what you needed was a living laboratory." Hermione sets her mug down and leans sideways in her chair, cheek lowering to its carved top. "For magic running out. Which is what we are now. Seems like things worked out well for you." She smiles mildly. Harry watches, puzzled, trying to pick up the thread of her thoughts.
Sally lifts her fork and tests a bit of bacon uncertainly. "Well, yes, I suppose you could say that." After a moment's pause, she sets the cutlery down and slumps back in her chair. "Not that it's ever going to work."
"Why?" Harry raises his eyebrows. "Isn't the fact that Hogwarts castle vanished overnight enough proof?"
Sally shakes her head. "No. It could still count as an aftermath of the war, can't it?" She brings her hands up to her face, her shoulders drooping. "You heard him. There's always a different, more--more suitable reason, and people will believe him."
"Oh, I don't think so."
Harry and Sally turn to look at Hermione.
She lifts her head, shrugging. "You saw him today. Did he look like a leader who could command his people?"
Sally stares at Hermione for a moment, then drops her gaze. She shakes her head wearily. "It doesn't matter, does it? I need to be able to prove that what I'm saying is true. That magic is indeed running out, that we're not experiencing some short-term glitch, some…temporary inconvenience, or, or some busybody's idea of a joke. And I don't have that proof. Even if I did, I would hardly sound convincing. People thought I was some crazy old hag today."
Hermione slides out of her chair. "I'll be back in a minute."
Harry listens to her footsteps winding through the house. Daylight floods through the window, ruthless over old furniture and sooty wallpaper. He looks around, wondering vaguely what it would be like to live in a friendlier, brighter place. He hates the gloom in the house, but sunlight doesn't seem to do it any favours either, embracing tatty upholstery and worn, discoloured wood.
He sighs and leans back in his chair. "Why do you hate him so much? Your father?"
"I don't hate him. He hates me." Sally shakes her head. In silence, they wait for Hermione to return. When she does, she holds the scroll case Harry had found in the castle in her hand.
She sits down next to Harry again. "There. That should do it. That should be the proof you need." She sets it on the table where it glints despite the worn silver and dull black wood. Harry glances at her curiously, then watches as Sally reaches for the small, heavy cylinder, her eyes picking up light. She releases the catch, and with some difficulty, pulls out a wad of the most ancient parchment he's ever seen.
"What's that?" He turns to Hermione. She smiles, cat-like, pleased with herself.
"Letters written by the Founders of Hogwarts."
"What?" He straightens up in his chair. Hermione pushes her mug away with an elbow, tea sloshing over.
"I know, I couldn't believe it myself at first. But I did some…hunting around." Colour rises in her cheeks suddenly, as if caught out. "I opened it that night you gave it to me. The script is really difficult to read, but I got there in the end."
Harry's eyes fall on Sally whose gaze is transfixed on the parchment. The open cylinder rolls lightly on the uneven surface of the table. He turns back to Hermione, his mind struggling to keep up.
"But they must be… at least a thousand years old?"
"Yeah. I believe they are. There were some really thick preservation charms in the case."
He reaches over and picks up the case, his fingers lingering over its carved skin, mind racing. "But--why? I mean, it was just lying there like it was a useless bit of wood--what does the parchment say?"
She leans forward, slightly breathless, her voice tinged with a note he hasn't heard for ages. "They're letters written to each other, just after they built the castle. It's amazing, Harry, there are all these references to how they worked on it, what sort of magic they used and all…anyway. The letters are very frantic though, describing a great catastrophe. Apparently, soon after they built and concealed the castle--"
He breaks in, drawing a sharp breath, eyes widening. "Magic began to act very strangely?"
It's Hermione's turn to stare. "How do you--?"
Harry nods in Sally's direction. "Sally mentioned it. She said it was one time in history when--when it sort of became clear that magic was something that could run out."
Hermione's eyes dart over to Sally, then back to Harry.
"Right. Well, the letters describe it to the last detail. They seem to be written over a period of many years, Harry. From what I can understand, the castle was abandoned for nearly fifty years. They couldn't use magic in the castle at all, it seemed like any Muggle building. And in the villages around it, people complained of not being able to do stuff using magic. So the Founders were desperate to find out why they failed and they travelled all over the world. Looking for answers. Some of that parchment smells really odd--in Russia they used Pogrebin droppings in their parchment. I think Helga Hufflepuff was there for many years, and she and the others wrote to each other. Not just as correspondence, I don't think. I think they wanted to record what they were seeing, discovering."
He opens his mouth, but Sally interrupts, her voice barely a croak. "Where did you get it? How?"
She spreads a scroll out on the table delicately, a fine film of dust rising in the air.
"From the castle. Like I said, it was just lying there--" he gestures vaguely "--if it was so valuable, why would it just lie there?" He turns to Hermione again.
"Harry, I think it was concealed. Extremely well, for centuries perhaps." She squeezes his arm for emphasis, her knee bumping against his. A bicycle bell jingles out in the street, followed by the maddened barking of a dog far down the street.
"Maybe it was brought to the castle from somewhere else, but…I think it makes more sense to think that once the castle became habitable, the Founders themselves hid the case there. Dumbledore might have known about it, but I don't think anyone else would have."
The loud beep of a reversing truck punctuates the air, followed by the rattling of garbage cans. He glances distractedly over his shoulder, at the street suddenly filled with activity. Turning back, his eyes drift past Sally on the opposite side of the table, barely registering her intent glance on Hermione.
"Harry, it was probably hidden in plain sight too, just like Sirius' motorbike. You did find the bike where that old one-legged statue was, didn't you? Near the stairs to the Astronomy tower? I think after Hagrid took you to Surrey, Dumbledore hid the bike in the castle for safekeeping. Hogwarts was the safest place. But with everything that happened, and then the impact on magic, the charm would have worn off. The same goes for the scroll case. I mean, I didn't have much trouble opening the case, which is quite strange, don't you think?"
He's so caught up in her sparkling eyes that he almost makes no sense of her words. Then his brain whirrs into place and he frowns, several questions spilling out at once. "How did you know where I found the bike? And why would they hide it--the scroll case, I mean? It's strange…if the Founders knew about magic waning, and if this is all they wrote down about it, why did they go to such…such extreme lengths to hide it? It's just really…odd. The knowledge existed, but no one knew about it."
Then he slumps back in his chair, realising the import of his own words. "Of course, same story as Horcruxes, isn't it?"
She nods. "You saw them today. No one really wants to consider the possibility. It's just beyond imagining. Perhaps they did try to tell the rest of the wizarding world, and …people were just not interested. I mean, the castle was built at a time when really big things were happening. Countless wars, factions, and Hogwarts itself marks the first real break between Muggles and us, you know. Think about why Hogwarts was built in the first place. Hogwarts: A History says that the Founders wanted a separate school, just for people who showed magical ability.
"Muggles were becoming very hostile towards us and the magical world was anxious to keep to themselves. The last thing they would have wanted to hear would've been that…well, that magic was running out."
Hermione flops back in her chair, letting out a long breath as if she's exhausted herself. Harry leaves the table to shut the window against the racket outside. In passing, he glances at Sally whose silent presence both he and Hermione had almost forgotten. Light changes in the kitchen, filtering now through the streaks and smudges of grime on the glass. Sally clears her throat, speaking in an oddly quiet voice.
"This is perfect."
Harry slips back into his chair, reaching for the parchment. "You don't seem very excited."
Sally considers the carved cylinder in front of her and continues to speak as if she didn't hear him.
"It's perfect. It's exactly what you need. I mean, my Old English is fairly rudimentary, and I will have to do some tests to determine date, authenticity, that kind of thing, but I think you're right." She nods at Hermione. "If the Founders of Hogwarts has recorded it, then no one can say that magic waning is mere fancy." She smiles, a barely visible ripple on a stagnant pool.
"Like I said, you don't seem very excited." Harry tries to clamp down on his exasperation.
A long pause strains through the now muffled kitchen.
"Harry, I'm just the messenger. This scroll case will mean nothing in my hands." With painstaking care, she rolls up the thick scrolls and inserts them back in the case. A soft snap, and the latch shuts. Harry looks on, confused by the odd sense of finality she exudes. "If you don't mind, I'll take this with me today, to complete the formalities. I'll bring it back in a couple of days." She lifts her head. "I had better be going then."
Harry looks at Hermione, but her face is impassive. Harry shakes his head, gearing to confront Sally again, but then he sighs and gets up from his chair. "Yeah, of course. I'll show you out." Sally slides the scroll case in an inside pocket of her coat which lies over the back of her chair. Coat in hand, she gets to her feet.
"And I…" She fiddles with her cuff, eyes darting past Harry. "I meant no harm."
Hermione's head snaps up, meeting Sally's. An odd current of something heavy and not entirely friendly passes between the two, then Sally turns away abruptly, making her way towards the door.
*
Later, perched on the windowsill in Buckbeak's room, his back to the wind-bitten afternoon, Harry has a sudden urge to find something that's whole. Something that's not broken or discarded, or simply made ineffectual by disuse. His glance ticks off everything in the room one by one. The bike, its tyre still not mended; the school-standard cauldron, dusty and cobwebbed; boxes of clothing in Gryffindor colours. An old stiff-backed chair, a few lifeless portraits whose magic dissipated some time ago, two upended crates and numerous other odds and ends.
Is this my life, scribbled and scratched and overwritten by a hundred faded things?
How would it feel to start again?
Soft, irregular footsteps undulate faintly through the house, then become more certain. A minute later, Hermione appears at the doorway, a book in one hand, her wand in the other.
"You've packed the books away a bit too well, Harry. Took me a while to get to the bottom of the box." She smiles, quick and casual, so ordinary. Then, she notes the expression on his face.
"What? What did I say?"
How would it feel to start again, whole?
"Nothing. Nothing at all." He hops down from the windowsill. "So, what does the book say?"
He steps close and speaks against her mouth. "Anything useful?" She sways on her feet and his hand curls around one of her wrists, book and wand getting in the way. He brings his other hand up to her waist to hold her steady, accidental fingers skimming beneath her jumper, over bare skin. Totally accidental.
"I could tell you if you let me look at it." She's trying to sound bossy, and he grins at the resulting squeak. He pulls away, but can't stop grinning. She slaps his thigh with the hefty tome, and moves to sit on a crate, cheeks alight.
He returns to the window, and pushes it up further. The wind hustles in, lifting curtain and parchment. He leans back, watching her riffle through the pages.
"This could end really badly, couldn't it?"
She looks up, hair sweeping over her face. "I haven't even started!"
He smiles. "I don't mean that."
"Oh. What then?"
He casts about for the right words, gesturing vaguely. "The castle. Magic. Magic running out."
She folds the book, her little finger marking the page. She props her chin on her hand. He watches her eyes settle, then carries on.
"It won't be easy, asking people to believe something like this. They've just been through one catastrophe, one long catastrophe that ended just as terribly. To tell them now that…the very core of their lives is failing--that's just plain cruel. I mean, the Founders couldn't pull it off, from what you say…." He looks away for a moment, eyes resting unseeingly at a distant point.
He finds his own calm quite strange. He thinks he ought to feel more, feel harder the vanishing of the castle. It was home, the dream that came true. But it's only been barely hours since he laid eyes on the stone ruin, and all he feels is a sense of…relief? A sense of finality even, as if he's laid to rest someone he loved, someone desperately, painfully ailing.
He turns back to Hermione. "But if Sally's right, at the rate that magic seems to be failing, we might all be wiped out in a matter of a few years."
She runs her fingers slowly over the gilded lettering on the cover of the book. "And if Sally's wrong?"
He drops his gaze, watching the plaster crumble beneath his fingers on the edge of the windowsill.
"Wouldn't that hurt us less than if she was right?" He brushes his chalky fingers on his jeans, leaving a white mark. "You saw all those Muggles trooping up that hill. They're already curious about…us, after what happened to London. They already know some of what's going on. And today none of us were very concerned about being seen, we were just so caught up in it all."
"Harry, what's on your mind?"
He meets her gaze. "Sally said that if we can master wandless magic, we can hang on a lot longer to magic. Things like wands, incantations, charms--they create distance between us and magic… I think that's what she said, I wasn't paying great attention, but the point is, we can retain what we are for a lot longer."
"Yes…but increase the rate at which magic fails? Harry, even when well-taught, not everyone's going to be good at wandless magic, and with so much demand on it, those who can--"
"--are going to be in demand. Possibly in danger." He picks at more plaster. "And don't forget about extraction. If you can extract magic not only from magical objects, but from magical creatures too…just imagine what that's going to do."
A hesitant expression passes over Hermione's face. But she maintains her silence, and not knowing what to make of it, he carries on. "And as for hoarding, just by not using magic, by saving it, do you think we'll be able to make it last long enough? How long is long enough? Who's going to decide?"
She looks down at the book in her hand, absently opening it to the page she's marked. She runs her index finger down the page. Across the floor, fingers of light gather dust motes like a child chasing dandelions.
"Here we go." She carries the book over to the bike, setting it down on the seat. Harry walks up and peers over her shoulder.
"Try that one." She points at a line of text. Harry looks around for his wand, then picks up hers. He levitates the tyre close, peers at the book and mutters the incantation. A whirring noise and a flash of light later, the tyre attaches itself to the bike as if it was never broken.
He grins at her. "Cool." But as he lowers the wand, there's a low crackle and a thump.
Harry groans.
"Hmm. Must be too heavy. Never mind." Hermione turns the pages again and points. "Try this one."
He mumbles the incantation a few times to get it right, then stands back and aims the wand at the bike again. There's a low whoosh and a metallic clink. He waits a long minute before lowering the wand.
"Seems all right, doesn't it?" She peers at the tyre.
He casts a thoughtful eye over the bike. "Would it be safe though?"
She closes the book. "It will be, if you ride the bike."
He looks at her and she shrugs. "Harry, the bike's made to respond to the magical ability of its rider." At his bemused glance, she shakes her head and rattles on. "It's called Sympathetic magic. You can tell, from the kind of magical sense you get from it. If you know what to look for." She tips her head, a hand floating over the contours of the seat, a corner of her mouth curling. "And by the fact that while you flew it all the way from Hogwarts, Ron kept it on air for less than, what was it, half an hour? Stop looking at me like that!"
He leans over the bike, his hand on her cheek, fingers tangling in her hair. Just glad you're back. She bends like a tree-limb in a teasing breeze. Her hands come up to grab his shirt to keep her balance.
"You really have to stop doing that!" she scolds as soon as she can speak.
"Why? Is it really that distracting?" he whispers, still against her lips. She pushes him away, but her smile betrays her. She makes her way to the window. He watches the wind in her hair, the way it shifts the light around her face.
He props himself sideways on the bike, facing the window. "What do you think of Sally? You were very quiet this morning."
She stares out for a moment longer, then glances at him, a twinkle in her eye. "Apart from the fact that she fancies you?"
"What? She does not!"
"Oh, she does."
"No, she doesn't. I would know."
She snorts. "No you wouldn't." She grins. "Tell me, has Ginny met her?"
"Yeah, that day when Sally first came over. Why?"
"What was she like towards Sally? Friendly? Nice?"
"Um, no, not really."
"Did she seem irritated? A lot of scowling, glowering?"
"Yeah, a bit."
"Well then, Sally fancies you."
"How--"
"Even if you don't trust my instincts there, you can tell by Ginny's. Simple as that."
She folds her arms and regards him smugly. He rubs at a spot of dirt on the handlebar, the tips of his ears burning.
"So maybe that's why she was so nervous that day…when Luna first brought her along."
"Quite possibly."
"I was wondering why Ginny was so frosty"
"Oh, yes, Ginny can be frosty."
He looks up. "Enjoying yourself, are you?"
Her face crinkles up in laughter. "Oh, Harry. Of course I am." She steps close, a hand trailing past his thigh. He pulls her in between his legs, his feet firmly on the floor for balance. She tangles an arm around his neck, resting her forehead against his, her laughter fading into his skin. Content to sit still and silent, he watches the small pool of pale gold winter light, distilled out of the dust around them, gather in the cup of her lax palm.
"But you know, I think she's right. Sally," she says a long minute later.
"Hmm?"
"I think she's right when she said that she's only the messenger." He listens to her voice grow softer, serious. She slides her hand down his arm, gentle over the yellowish scar, greedy over wrist and palm, fingers winding their way into his.
"I mean, I don't trust her completely and neither do you, but this thing about magic--I think she's right. And you're right too. It could end really badly. The Muggles, extraction, wandless magic…so much in the mix. The wizarding world is going to need someone to keep it together as long as possible. Someone quite powerful, fearless. But most importantly, someone in who can inspire trust, faith." She tightens her hold on his hand.
"And if that someone has a foot in both worlds, Muggle and magical, someone who knows how it works both ways, then the wizarding world will have the best leader they can hope for." She leans back to look at him.
"And I also think, I know, that you can't just stand by and watch. It's just not in your nature."
He meets her eye briefly, then looks aside. "Someone people can trust?" He shakes his head.
She turns his face towards her, touching her nose to his temple. "Harry, you saw them today. They adore you. And not in the way people used to fawn over you before, did you notice? They just--I don't know. When you think about it, Voldemort is gone, thanks to you, and people are grateful just for that. Just for being alive."
There's a scuffle outside the window, a pattering of feet, and Crookshanks hops in, trailing a few dirty grey and white feathers. He shakes himself, preens his fur, yawns, then winds nonchalantly out the door.
Harry tightens his arm around Hermione, sighing. "So, you think we should try to get Scrimgeour see sense?"
She shifts against his thigh and settles more comfortably, all business-like and earnest. "I don't think you should waste your time with Scrimgeour. We both know what he's like. You need to get through to people directly. Luna will be very handy. I mean, she already said that there's a lot of interest about you. Maybe she could help you take advantage of that, you know, perhaps like what we did in fifth year. And I really think you should get out more. Everything we've heard so far, we've heard secondhand. You need to get out there and see what's really going on. Not just in Diagon Alley, but among the Muggles, you know. You do still have your Invisibility Cloak, don't you? You're going to need it.…"
Listening to her rattle on, something chafes against his mind like a rough seam on a shirt. He thinks that there's something's odd about the way she's speaking. Then, a small quake runs up his spine.
"Hermione?"
"--go very carefully, just in case this is a short term thing, you--yeah?"
"You're saying 'you' a lot."
He holds her gaze, watching her eyes grow wide, then silent, opaque. She moves away from his knee. He tightens his hold around her.
"Hermione." His voice grates. "What exactly are you telling me?"
She sighs. Her eyes flicker, then settle like a fish diving out of sight. The feathers dance on the floor, scooting beneath the bike.
"Harry, I applied for a course in Medicine. In--in a Muggle University. It's a diploma, a very basic certificate, I sort of improvised, I mean, I don't have anything to show for having gone to Muggle school but--Harry, please--"
She moves at the same time that he gets to his feet, but they both stumble, Hermione putting out a hand to steady herself.
"But--I thought, before when you--Hermione I thought you were--"
Back to being Hermione?
She backs against the window, her hair pushing forward in the wind, obscuring half her face. He makes an effort to speak evenly, but fails.
"This is not something I can do on my own." He shakes his head, curling his fists.
She pushes her hair back, but it flies forward again, ends dancing towards him. "Harry, listen to me. I stuffed up once, badly. Really, really badly. There's no excuse for it. I'm just not the person for this." She tries to wrestle her hair away with both hands.
"When I read that scroll case that night--Harry, it scared me. That's why I left. To think things over. When I figured out the pieces, you know, what was in the scroll case and what Luna said about magic running out and all that--" She makes an impatient, strangled noise, her voice rising. "--I don't want to make another mistake, we can't afford that."
He stares. "Then why were you saying all those things about--about how we need someone who can hold it together, someone who's powerful and all that rubbish?"
She looks stricken. "It's not rubbish, Harry. It's the truth. If anyone can pull people through this, it's you."
He turns away with a dry, brusque laugh. "No. That's not true. Not true, because--" he turns in a tight circle, a hand through his hair "Hermione, you're the best among us. The rest of us, we just flash our wands and…and manage to get things done occasionally, but you, you make it work."
He flops back on the bike, looking up at her. His voice struggles to make sound. "So if you're not good enough, then neither am I." His laugh scrapes across the room again. "As for mistakes, I told you; we were both in it together. If I weren't such a wimp--"
"Harry--"
He shrugs and falls silent.
She looks on, face webbed with hair. He squashes a starling feather beneath his shoe. I'm tired, he thinks, I'm tired now. I wasn't before, but now I am. It's been a long night. A long life.
He lifts his gaze with some effort. "Hermione, I want to choose, while I can. The other day, you said that…that I just fell into it. The Prophecy, Voldemort, the war--I know people say that there's always a choice, but it didn't feel that way. It never felt that way. I was always doing something I'd rather not, things I couldn't stand. But now, I want to choose to do this. I don't want to wait around to be dragged into it. Perhaps it'll turn out, I don't know, ten years down the lane, that I didn't have a choice after all--but right now, when the…wheel's just beginning to move, I want to feel that I chose to turn it."
His hand drops down, fingers sliding inside the tyre-spokes. "But I can't do it without you."
"But I'll be here, I'll support you, I promise--"
"How?" He shrugs. "Either you're with me, or you're not. There's no half way. I can't do this without you, all of you." His voice drops to a whisper as if sound's exhausted him. "And you know it's not just about magic."
He can feel her eyes on him, but refuses to look up. The wind picks up, whistling through the street. She snaps the window shut as if just realising that that's an option. Then, she moves close, but still he keeps his eyes down.
"Can't or won't?" she whispers.
"It's the same thing." He sighs and gets to his feet. Her eyes glisten, but he doesn't want to pay attention. She stands so close and habit sings beneath his skin, wanting to reach, but he walks past, crosses the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
--end chapter eleven--