A/N: Writing this chapter turned out to be harder than I thought! Really grateful to Tome Raider for shedding lots of light on the difficult points.
For Portkey Readers: I will start uploading my other chapters to Portkey. :D I know it's been a while, but I hope you still have interest in finishing Angelica with me.
Thanks for your patience.
PART THREE - MAGIC AND MIRACLES
Chapter Sixteen - Things Forbidden
It felt so right, seeing Angelica seek comfort from Harry, so when Angelica seemed to calm down, Hermione left them to fetch some hot milk from the kitchen. It would do Angelica some good, and perhaps it would lull her back to sleep with easier dreams.
Hermione padded out across the living room and worked her way around the kitchen to get some milk warm. It was quick work and soon, Hermione was heading back to Harry's bedroom.
She happened to peer out through the living room bay windows. She paused when she thought she saw that familiar shadow amongst the sidewalk trees across the street.
Hurrying to the windows, she fixed her gaze to the figure, hoping the darkness in her house would conceal her. The shadow seemed more defined at street level and a lot less masculine than she first thought. It could be a young, underdeveloped boy, but it could very well be a woman. It was very hard to say in the darkness, but she was at least half-certain that she wasn't seeing things.
Reporter?
She was expecting more of them come the morning, but it wasn't unheard off for them to camp out earlier, at ungodly hours.
The figure moved quickly a moment later, perhaps realizing he or she had been spotted.
Hermione saw a flash of what maybe have been brown hair, possibly dark blonde, even red hair, but it was very difficult to be sure under the sparse lighting. She wouldn't be able to pick out the color in a lineup.
The stranger took off down the street with inhuman speed, evading further identification.
A broom! Odd… why didn't he just Apparate away?
Because Apparating would get the person a citation for using magic openly in a Muggle Street, risking identification…
Hermione frowned. Who was this person?
She considered going out on the street to investigate, perhaps search for any clues the stalker might have left behind unwittingly, but Hermione told herself it was a highly unnecessary exercise.
Pushing thoughts of the stranger away, she went back to Harry's room.
Angelica took her glass of milk without protest, and when she was done she set her empty glass down at the bedside table and promptly crawled into the covers of the bed.
"I want to sleep here," she said resolutely, never minding their curious looks.
Harry seemed surprised and Hermione wasn't exactly sure what to do.
"Well," Hermione began taking the empty glass. "If your father doesn't mind."
He seemed mildly amused by her statement. "I don't mind. She's welcome to stay here all she wants."
"Stay here, too, mum," Angelica said, snuggling into the pillows.
Hermione blinked, strangely surprised. She looked at Harry and he shrugged, cocking a small grin.
"Not a bad idea, I reckon," he said.
That seemed to decide that. It seemed silly to complicate matters and Harry didn't appear to have any objections.
He looked at himself, still in his jeans, which were slightly stained with earth.
"I'll go change," he said, grabbing what looked like a shirt and pajamas from his trunk.
Hermione could only hasten to put the empty glass away in the kitchen, taking her time as she considered their temporary sleeping arrangements.
When she returned, Harry was already putting his worn clothes away in a neat pile at the corner and Angelica was already half-asleep.
Hermione was suddenly conscious of the fact that she was wearing robes over her sleepwear. Oddly enough, even though she had wanted to make love to Harry earlier that evening, the thought that he would see her in her tank top and skimpy sleep shorts now was unnerving, probably because Angelica was there.
Before Harry could get into bed, Hermione switched the table lamp off, throwing them in almost total darkness.
"Hmm…" Harry said, seeming to ponder out loud.
"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered back. "Did you need that light?"
He paused. "It's fine. Ought to get back to sleep, anyway …"
"Sorry," she said again, slipping out of her robe and draping it at the corner of the bed. She could still see Harry through the dim curtained moonlight and she wondered if Harry could see her.
"Nice shorts," Harry said.
Well, that answered the question.
Glad that the darkness hid her blush, she slipped into bed the same time he did.
Angelica complained slightly at the bustle, but she drifted back into sleep easily enough. When they were all settled beneath the covers, Hermione laid on her side, facing Angelica, only to find herself staring into Harry's gaze.
It was intense, filled with many things wonderful amidst a deep, unspeakable worry.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked as quietly as she could. She did not want to wake Angelica.
He didn't reply at once. "We need to talk."
About time. "So talk."
"Tomorrow. When she's at school."
She didn't know if she should be excited or worried. "Alright."
"And Hermione…"
"Yes?"
"Whatever it is I tell you tomorrow, and… however you feel about it, I want you to-" He swallowed, and she thought he wasn't going to go on, but he did. "I love Angelica very much. I know I only just met her, but I love her, and I-I'm still in love with you… I love you so much. That never changed. Even during my darkest days, what I felt for you was the one thing I remembered and kept me sane." He paused uncertainly, perhaps in seeing the look on her face.
She felt slightly numb, but a whole lot of giddy.
"Y-You do believe me, don't you?" he asked.
She leaned over him, careful not to squish Angelica, held him by the collar of his shirt, and planted a decidedly enthusiastic smooch on his lips.
He responded almost immediately, but she could tell that he wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands. There was Angelica between them to consider. He settled for a hand on her shoulder, the gentle squeeze of his grip doing no justice to the intense response of his kiss.
When she pulled away, he seemed slightly winded. It made her grin.
"I believe you," she whispered, as if it needed saying. "No doubts whatsoever, Harry."
He caught his breath. "I want you to remember this then. Whatever you feel about me tomorrow, remember that I meant what I said, and that you believed me. No matter what happens, my feelings for you and Angelica won't ever change. Understand?"
"Yes." She reached over Angelica and held his hand.
A brief silence fell as she lay there just gazing into his eyes.
After a moment, he cleared his throat. "Not that I'm pressuring you or anything-"
She smiled smugly. "Silly man. I love you, too. Did you think I wasn't going to say it?"
"I thought you were going to make me beg."
"I was tempted."
"Ah, well, I suppose I'd have deserved it."
"Mmm, yes. Gone seven years… I suppose you would've."
His gaze intensified. "I had good reason, Hermione. I swear. I wouldn't have kept away, otherwise. And it was because I loved you, and Ron… my best friends."
"But you would've returned for Angelica?" She didn't want to come across as being jealous of her own child, but she needed help understanding why she hadn't been enough.
He looked rather sad. "Somehow, deep down, I was sure you and everyone else would understand when I explained, but… this is my daughter, Hermione. I couldn't be sure that a child would ever understand why her father couldn't be there for her. It's heartbreaking, even now, that Angelica ever thought that I didn't want her…" He laid a hand on Angelica's head, smoothing back her unruly curls with gentle strokes.
Hermione tried her hardest not to tear up. "She'll understand eventually, and before long, she'd have forgotten that she ever felt unwanted by her father. Harry, all you have to do is stay…"
He didn't respond immediately. It was a few more seconds before he said, "I know," and nothing more.
After several minutes of silence, they finally drifted off to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry's sleep was not peaceful. The nightmares and visions had stopped, but he felt restless. Uncertain of many things. He woke up feeling frightened at one point, and he didn't know why, but when he reached for Angelica and saw that she wasn't there, the stab of fear bolted him off the bed.
Hermione was not there either and he looked around frantically at the oddly twisted bedroom. The cream and beige décor seemed pasty and caked. Irregularly shaped picture frames with photographic faces wailed hysterically. The windows and mirrors were cracked. This wasn't the bedroom he had left behind in his wake.
And then he saw Angelica standing over his trunk, his adorable daughter looking about as normal as she could be, except for what she was doing. She had the lid lifted as she examined Excalibur. She wasn't holding it up. It levitated before her, turning it like a piston as she examined it from tip to hilt.
"Angelica, what are you doing?" Harry demanded.
She looked up at him, surprised that he was awake, just before her eyes were filled with unspeakable compassion.
It was so intense that it startled him. He couldn't quite understand why she looked at him so.
"I understand," she said, lowering the sword with a gentle wave of her hand. She shut the trunk and stood to address him. "I won't let it harm you, dad. I promise."
The reassurance he felt from what she said was staggering. He felt equal parts protected and anxious. What did she mean? What was she trying to say?
And just when he was about to demand for answers, he woke.
~~
Lethargy was heavy as he was being pushed out of his dreams. He had to force his eyes open to see if indeed he was truly awake.
Angelica slept soundly between him and Hermione. Nothing stirred. Even Angelica's sleep seemed unbothered.
It had only been dream… or had it?
But even with those lingering doubts, the steady sound of Angelica's and Hermione's breathing lulled him and soon he was asleep again, this time dreamless and undisturbed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The morning dawned brightly and Hermione rose with Harry. They let Angelica sleep on while they prepared for the rest of the day.
Hermione peered carefully out of her living room bay windows and saw the reporters with their coffee and notepads loitering on her sidewalk. Photographers lingered by with their huge cameras.
Harry appeared behind her and parted the curtain a bit more so he could see, too. "They're early."
"They usually are."
He held out a mug of coffee for her as he drank from his own.
She took it, and together, they seemed to find some sort of fascination at the growing crowd of media.
"What do you think they'd do if I just walked out there… just like that?" Harry wondered out loud. "What if I told them I was Harry Potter, back from the dead?"
For some reason, Hermione actually believed he was capable. She looked up at him, aghast. "You wouldn't!"
He grinned down at her. "D'you think they'd believe me? They would probably say I'm some mad man impersonator, just like you did."
She frowned. "You don't know that they'd think that logically."
He laughed. "If the idea were so logical, you would never have strayed from it in the first place and believed it was really me. So, it must make more sense that it's me than some Polyjuiced lunatic, considering the circumstances."
"Don't you dare think about stepping out that front door with such silly notions," she said in the bossiest, sternest tone she could manage.
He smirked, and she was about to go off on him again when he kissed her before turning to go back to the kitchen.
She pouted slightly, properly silenced.
While Harry fixed breakfast, she sent owls to Olivia and her other colleagues, informing them that something came up and that she would be working from home.
With the morning owls sent out, she readied herself for the day. She only had to drop Angelica off at school, but with the press outside, she decided she would drive instead of Apparate. She didn't feel like outrunning the reporters on foot today, just so she could get her and Angelica to the Apparition point.
In a comfortable jumper, jeans, and walking shoes, she got Angelica ready for school, and it was while they were having breakfast that someone began to call from the Floo.
Hermione recognized the voice at once.
"Granger, get over here! Granger! Quit being a bitch this early in the morning!"
Harry frowned and Angelica made a cranky sound.
"It's that noisy man again," she muttered, buttering her toast.
"I ought to tell him not to talk to you that way," Harry said, stabbing the sausage on his plate with a knife.
"Oh, relax. Draco's all bark and no bite these days," she said, getting up to answer the Floo. She pushed through her kitchen door and headed to the fireplace, Draco's green face snarling.
"Ah, there you are!" Draco said sardonically. "I got your assistant's message that you won't be making it to today's briefing for tomorrow's press conference."
"Like I need practice sitting around and bullshitting the press."
"This is important for the success of my book. They'll be asking you and me loaded questions about blood prejudices and the sides we took during the war. If I come off as a jerk, my sales would be limited to the Purebloods."
"And we know how small and elite that little club is."
"-but I don't want to come off as some pansy-arsed, Mud-Muggleborn-licking-"
"Ugly save."
Draco ignored her acidic retort. "Centaur-hugging, flower person. It's a fine balance. I have a reputation to protect with my people-"
"You mean the snobby, weak-chinned Blood-wankers-"
"If I can't call you Mudblood, you can't call my people Blood-wankers," he hissed.
"You poor, persecuted lot…"
"Don't let me call you a hypocrite, Granger."
She sighed very heavily. "Fine. But get off my back, Malfoy. It's too early in production to worry about how successful your book will be. You have to relax."
"Easy for you to say. You don't have to do a bunch of rewrites and revisions. Why don't you try writing a book for once, and see if it's as easy as editing manuscripts. You fancy yourself some kind of authority-"
"Alright, Malfoy. What's this about, really? Or are you just being an arse on purpose?"
He paused. "I was planning to bring up more press-release ideas at the meeting; have a professional discussion on my options, but now you've gone and decided not to show up at work, I have to do it through your Floo. This is your fault, really."
"Hurry up, then. Unlike some people, I have a child to take to school. You have one minute."
"I want you to use your influence to set up a meeting between the Weaslette and my agent. My agent said it would be a good thing if we could get a magazine to do a spread on me now, and then later, just before my book launch."
Hermione sighed tiredly. "You can take that up with Mr. Shrewsbury. He's willing to give you anything you want, anyway. He'd give you a handjob if you asked for it, I'd wager."
"A handjob from an old, wrinkly Wizard. Just the thing."
"I thought it was the sort of thing your lot liked, what with you all lining up for Voldemort."
He frowned. "You promised that you'd do everything in your capacity to help me with my book. Besides, how hard can it be, to ask the Weaslette to give my agent an appointment? Is she still sore about the war?"
Hermione scowled. "Sore? Is that what you think? Sore? Malfoy, sore is when your boyfriend forgets the date of your anniversary. You-You turned her family's good name into some kind of slur, you tried to kill her family, and you let Tom Riddle's soul possess her!"
"My father did most of those things, not me! Hello!"
"And you expect me to sell that bullshit to her? Lucius, you… we never even bothered to call you by your own names, then. We just called the both of you Malfoy!"
"I was loads different from him!"
"Oh, right."
"I was and you know it," he hissed. "I didn't go around killing people, if that's what you're thinking, and I did the things I did because I had to, not because I wanted to."
"You didn't have to!"
"If you really believed that, you wouldn't have testified for me in court."
Hermione pursed her lips and for a long while, they did nothing but glare at one another. She wondered briefly how they got to this rather heavy topic of conversation. She and Draco never really talked about that court appearance. He never thanked her and she never expected he would, but she had often thought about why she did it, wondering if Draco saving her from Goyle that night hadn't greatly influenced her decision to go ahead and say, "He's not as evil as the rest of these blokes."
Maybe there was some truth to that. Take his mother, for instance. Narcissa Malfoy, though free from Azkaban, was confined to a private Magical Malady facility along the coast of Scotland. She was alive, but her mind was in utter ruins from losing her husband and perhaps a nasty curse or two in the final Death Eater throes. No spell or potion proved effective in bringing her back. She was never going to be the old Narcissa Malfoy ever again, so the hushed-up conversations of Draco taking care of her like a dutiful son, bringing her flowers, perhaps, and visiting her regularly aside from special holidays like Halloween and Christmas was a nagging ghost of his so-called shred of humanity. Hermione would never know for sure unless she asked, and some part of her really didn't want to ask.
Perhaps she would never admit it to him or herself that even despite the unconfirmed rumors, she already considered him "human."
"I'll tell her your agent will Floo her," Hermione said. "Here's her contact information at her office."
"Of course. I wouldn't want my agent calling her at her flat."
"I'm not promising that she'll be nice to you or your people. If she tells you no, that's not my fault."
"It isn't." He was smiling broadly. "See, Granger? That wasn't so bad, was it? You're useful. You like being useful, eh?"
"Screw you, Draco."
He laughed. "You wish."
She ended the Floo with great magical force, making sure he received a huge puff of smoke on the other end.
When she turned, she saw Harry leaning out of the kitchen door.
She suddenly felt she had to explain why she was even having some form of relatively decent conversation with Malfoy. "Azkaban has done him quite a bit of good, you know."
He didn't look convinced, and he looked horribly displeased, but all he said was, "I think Angelica's ready to go to school."
She relaxed. She didn't even realize talking to Draco gave her such stress. "Good. I'm driving her to school today."
"Can I go with you?"
Now that he asked, it seemed like a nice idea. "Sure. Throw on your Invisibility Cloak, though. We don't need reporters spotting you in the car with us."
He nodded.
They headed to the car, Harry under cover of the cloak. As they drove out of the garage, reporters rushed to flank them, but Hermione was quite the expert driver and she evaded them without having to run any of them over.
"Big improvement since the last time I saw you drive," Harry said.
She wondered if he was trying to be funny. He couldn't possibly mean to be. She had run someone over at the time!
"Fine," he grumbled. "Bad joke."
Angelica giggled. "It's funny to hear you talking but not see you."
"At least one of you thinks I'm funny," he said.
Angelica shrieked and laughed. "No poking!"
Hermione had to smile at that one.
When they reached school, Angelica gave them both parting kisses before she let herself out of the car and ran off to meet her friends.
Hermione grinned when she saw Millhouse take a whiff of his asthma medicine before actually rising from the school steps to meet Angelica.
"Your daughter will be the death of someone, I just know it," she joked.
Harry didn't laugh.
"Well," Hermione said. "No future in comedy for either of us, apparently."
Finally, Harry spoke. "Hermione, why did you let Remus conduct those tests with Angelica?"
Hermione felt her stomach knotting again, her hands tightening around the stirring wheel, but she somehow knew they would get to this eventually. "Let's get home first, alright? I have to show you something."
He was silent, but he could've been nodding under the cloak since he didn't persist until they got back to her house.
It was harder to pull back up into her garage this time, what with the reporters trying to block her way, but none of them wanted to get run over, so they did step back enough for her to drive in and close them out of the garage door.
They got back into the house and Hermione decided to close all the shades on the windows. It got a bit dim, but that was alright.
She went to her office, sent out the necessary owls, and braced herself for her very serious talk with Harry. They sat in the living room, side by side on the sofa. She had a folder of Remus's findings, though she doubted that it would be very useful.
"You were going to show me something," Harry said. "What is it?"
How do I do this? she thought. It was a bit awkward, perhaps, but really, there was no graceful way about it.
She got up and began to undo her jeans.
He looked terribly surprised, and then he began to redden.
She felt herself flushing, too, but she did not stop. "Bear with me." She freed the buttons and undid the zipper. She pushed the fabric back, exposing what was previously hidden.
Harry could only stare and she let him, waiting for his reaction.
Finally, he swallowed and reached out, touching the lightning-shaped scar carved on the skin protecting her womb. "My God…"
She nodded. "That's what I said, too, first time I saw it. And first thing I thought…" She touched the scar on his forehead. "… was that it matched yours."
He blinked back what appeared to be tears. She wasn't quite sure why he felt like crying. He took her hand away from his scar, but he didn't let her go. "He marked you, just like he marked me."
"Yes, he did, but your death saved me… saved us, and it destroyed him."
He thought on this a moment and she could see the many emotions through the expression of his eyes. It was a mixture of things, good and bad.
"Does Angelica have a scar, too?" he asked.
Hermione paused. "Not exactly. It's not a scar. Her hairline… let's just say it's fairly odd."
He seemed terribly distressed by this and leaned back on the couch, burying his face in his hands. She righted her trousers and sat beside him, soothing him with the gentle strokes of her hand on his back.
"So you understand why I'm concerned," Hermione continued. "I remembered what your scar did to you, and Harry… Angelica's unusually powerful. We can't tell for sure how powerful until she's allowed to have a wand and use magic, but you've seen her outbursts. You've seen-"
"Can she speak Parseltongue?" Harry interjected.
Hermione blinked, surprised by the question. "What-n-no. I mean, we never-I never-"
Harry sighed. "You ought to check for that. Are those Remus's reports?"
Still absorbing Harry's Parseltongue question, she nodded dumbly and handed him the folder. She tried to think back on those times she had brought Angelica to the zoo. How did she react to the snakes?
Hermione couldn't remember. Think. Think very hard!
He quickly sifted through it. He seemed to find something that captured his interest. "Her magical outbursts… blowing up a classmate, bright lights… Remus said the lights were so bright that they could've potentially been Patronuses-good Lord, when was this? It said here she was five…"
Hermione was only half-listening to him as she had an epiphany. "We never went to see the snakes."
"What?"
She turned to face him. "We never went to see the snakes. Not one single time did we ever go to see the snakes when we visited the zoo."
His brows knotted. "She didn't want to see them?"
Hermione shook her head. "I-It wasn't like that. We just-I guess we just never. I-I can't remember exactly… I'll need the Pensieve, maybe, but Harry… why Parseltongue? Surely, you don't mean-just because you-"
"Look at these outbursts, Hermione. Remind you of anyone?"
She swallowed. "Of course it does. It was your magic first, but I thought that quite natural. She is your daughter."
He turned slightly away, paused, then spoke. "Didn't you ever wonder how I learned to speak Parseltongue? And why my mind was linked with Voldemort?"
"You told me Dumbledore told you that Voldemort transferred some of his power-"
"Yes, that's what he told me. Ever wondered what he didn't tell me?"
For some reason, that speared fear into her heart. "What are you saying, Harry?"
"There was a reason Voldemort needed me alive. Didn't you ever wonder why?"
"I-but Harry, he killed you."
"He did, but he took something from me before he did. He took the piece of his soul that was inside me and transferred it to another vessel…"
Her eyes widened with shock, and though she wanted to tell him he was wrong, her mind processed the logic of it-how it made complete sense, even if the truth was revolting. "Harry, no!"
"Yes. I was a Horcrux, Hermione. And if we had really wanted to destroy him… well, I suppose I really had to be killed, because he was the only one who could call his soul out of me so he could transfer it in another vessel…"
"Are you telling me that there's still a piece of him out there?"
He didn't answer, though she already knew what he was going to say.
She shook her head. "No. That's impossible. He's gone. He's dead."
"I can still feel him. I don't know why, because I'm quite sure every last drop of him in me is gone, but I know that piece is still out there, and I know that someone, other than me or Snape, knows that it exists. Have you ever found Bella?"
"N-No…"
"Then she might still be out there, waiting for the return of her Dark Lord-"
"Stop. Don't talk like that. It frightens me, Harry. Please."
He held her hands reassuringly. "The Horcrux is in this house."
His words shook her. "No. Impossi-I mean, I should've felt it, right? Something so dark… I'd have felt it. I'd have… couldn't I?"
Maybe she could have, or perhaps not. He knew a lot about Horcruxes, but perhaps not enough to make educated guesses on certain aspects of it. Different Horcruxes acted in different ways. "I don't know if you could have, but if it's warded, you wouldn't be able to, either way. I couldn't feel it awake, but I feel it in my dreams. It's being hidden."
"Hidden?" she cried incredulously. "Hidden by what-"
"Not what. Whom."
She tried to pull her hands from his grasps. "Are you accusing me-"
He held her face in his hands. "No. Look at me, Hermione. I'm not accusing you. I could never accuse you of anything, and I'm not even accusing Angelica when I say she might be the one hiding it."
She gaped at him, shocked. "Angelica would never hide something like that!"
"She would if she thought she was protecting you and everyone else."
"She wouldn't have kept quiet about that. She blabs about everything!"
"Does she?"
Hermione gave that a moment's consideration and knew in her heart that Angelica had kept quiet about perhaps some of the most important things, like what she felt about her father, and the things that kept her up at night.
"Did you ever consider that she blabs about things on purpose just so nobody would suspect she was keeping other things secret?" Harry pointed out. "Where would she even get that tendency-being a blabbermouth? You were never like that, and Lord knows, I was never like that."
"But Harry," she began, almost in breathless disbelief. "She wouldn't-couldn't be that cunning-"
"Can't she? That talent she could've gotten from you."
Hermione frowned, but she didn't deny it. There had been too many times in the past that she had to use that cunning to save Harry's life. She had led a Ministry Official into a forest full of angry Centaurs once, and she had trapped a newspaper reporter in a jar. She had lied, used sleight of hand, even manipulated other people just so she, Ron, and Harry could get away with so many things. And it wasn't just that Angelica had her blood, she had Harry's blood as well, which could mean Angelica was bolder than Hermione ever was.
"We'll ask her. Surely, she wouldn't lie if we asked her."
Harry pondered this a moment before he said, "Surely, she wouldn't." He didn't sound convinced.
"Look into her mind, then. See if-"
"No," he said, firmly. His lips were set on a line and for a brief moment, he looked shocked that she would even suggest such a thing, but his expression softened. "I can't invade her thoughts like that. It's not something I would inflict on anyone I love unless she gave me full consent, and if she's hiding something, she wouldn't want me to look in there, which probably means it would lead to me forcing her to participate… I won't take what she's not willing to give, Hermione."
She sighed. "And so what are we going to do now? Wait until Angelica gets back from school, I suppose?"
He nodded. "Yes…"
She stared at him, trying to see what else lingered behind his gaze. "Is this why you came back from Avalon? Because you knew the Horcrux was in this house?"
"Yes, and because I felt it getting stronger. In my dreams, I felt it…"
"But Harry, if the piece of soul was taken from you, then how can you still have a link to it?"
"I-I don't think I have a link to it. For a while I thought I did, but I realized I was feeling it through… I was feeling it through someone else."
Her hands went cold. "What are you saying?"
"I need answers as much as you do. All of this isn't clear to me, either, so until we talk to Angelica…" His voice trailed and a look of horror passed over his face.
He was still keeping something from her. Hermione could see it in his eyes. "What aren't you telling me, Harry? What other secrets are you keeping?"
A pained expression twisted his face and he leaned back on the couch, running his fingers through his hair. He appeared to be more distressed than ever.
Hermione was getting a bit alarmed. "Harry."
He closed his eyes, the way someone prepared himself mentally before he was going to do something difficult. When he opened them again, he seemed ready.
"I was dead that time Voldemort hexed me," he said quietly. "I was."
She nodded and the memory, even with him sitting beside her, alive, still brought tears to her eyes. "I know, Harry. I held you in my arms. I knew you were dead, and Ron told me that they saw you burn to ashes. Was that true? Or was that some kind of illusion the priestesses came up with?"
He shook his head. "No. The fire was real. The ashes were real. When the priestesses took me, they brought me to Avalon back in an urn."
Hermione stared at him, trying to figure out what he was saying. "So how did you-did they-"
"They couldn't. There was a part of the spell they had to honor, because King Arthur's sword let it happen. They knew what they had to do, but they didn't know how, because bringing me back required dark magic. It's why they took Severus Snape, because he was the only one who could bring me back."
"Bring you… back?" She could see the struggle in his eyes, how he wished he didn't have to go on, but he seemed determined to continue.
"The way Peter Pettigrew brought Voldemort back in fourth year, only, Severus didn't have to cut off his hand, nor did I need Voldemort's blood."
"But-" She paused, a thought finally making sense.
His lips pursed, but he waited for her to go on.
"You need a Horcrux to do that sort of thing…" she finally managed to whisper.
"Yes."
"Harry…"
"Severus said Excalibur split Voldemort's spell somehow. Instead of making just one Horcrux, he made two. One for him and one for me."
Hermione was silent, absorbing the impact of this information. "Is he sure about that?"
"How Excalibur did it is theory, of course. Even Severus can't give me details, but the priestesses appeared to know, through the sword, that a Horcrux had been created for me and that I could be brought back. Snape worked with that and… here I am."
Hermione swallowed as the magnitude of what Harry was telling her began to dawn on her. She felt horror, that something so dark had brought the man she loved back to her, but she couldn't feel repulsion for him. She loved him too much. "Excalibur is your Horcrux? Is that possible?"
Harry was silent for a moment. "We think so. I couldn't understand it at first. It seemed unbelievable that Excalibur would harbor such a-a dark power, but Morgana reminded me that Excalibur was a sword. It was a weapon. Weapons are made for war."
"But, it's Excalibur!"
"Excalibur had to shed blood before Arthur could bring peace to the land."
"There's nothing in the legends-"
"The legends you read are fairytales. The real history behind that sword is written in blood. It brought peace, but it took lives, first. It's righteous, but it's a sword. I'm sure you understand this, Hermione."
She thought maybe she should refuse to understand. There was only black and white. There shouldn't be gray, but she knew that reality was made up of those different shades of gray, and she knew Harry spoke the truth about Excalibur. It was a righteous sword, but it was a sword, nonetheless. If it believed that it was doing the right thing by hosting a fragment of Harry's soul-to bring him back, presumably so he could defeat the evil that was Voldemort, it would do so.
While the very idea of something so wrapped in legendary righteousness would be so willing to taint itself with such dark enchantments was still a bit baffling to Hermione, she saw how it somewhat made sense.
"For you to have a Horcrux, Harry-"
"I'd have to have killed someone using magic with hatred and murderous intent. I did, remember?"
How could she forget? "Goyle," she said quietly.
"Yes. Goyle. And so my Horcrux was made. Morgana said that Excalibur would only do such a thing if it thought me worthy of being brought back. She told me… she told me that my sacrifice to save your life was every reason for Excalibur to do what it had to do. And so… I had my Horcrux, and Snape brought me back."
"Just like that."
"No. It wasn't just like that," he said with a hint of venom. "It was horrible coming back. I couldn't remember much of the first three years, but Snape told me I was practically a monster. I was full of hate and anger. He knew it was me because I would yell out your names. He said I didn't even look human-looked predatory and savage. I grew all this hair because I couldn't be shaved or shorn. I scared everyone who came near me… like a rabid lion, Snape said. I looked evil and terrible and…"
She took his hands. She didn't know if she could bear to hear him go on, though she said nothing to stop him.
Her touch seemed to encourage him. "But that wasn't quite so bad for me. I couldn't entirely remember those days. The worse part was when I started to come back to myself. That was horrible, because I began to remember who I actually was. I can remember everything I said… it wasn't pretty, Hermione. The things I said-the things I felt for everyone I loved and hated-it wasn't human. I would say things… you couldn't even imagine how horrible. I clawed at my own body, because I hated myself, too, but I couldn't stop thinking and speaking like the beast that I was… I could've torn myself apart, but they bound me so I would stop hurting myself."
"But why?" Hermione cried. "Why would you do those things? You're Harry. You couldn't possibly-"
"It was very powerful dark magic that brought me back, Hermione. Snape couldn't even do it exactly in Avalon. He had to do it between the planes, that space between Avalon and this world. Do you understand?"
Nothing bad can happen in Avalon… those were Harry's words, and they rang true. Avalon was a good place; a positive place.
"You can't say that dark magic hadn't tainted me," Harry continued. "You can't say that it can't taint anybody. Voldemort embraced it, and you saw what he became. I was fighting it. That's why it was so bad for me. I didn't want the darkness to take me. There were times during my darkest days when the demon inside me was so strong. The more of myself I remembered, the more painful it was to fight the monsters inside me that wanted to take over."
"What exactly were you fighting against, Harry? Were you being possessed--?"
"No. It wasn't possession. It was the evil inside me. When before it was easy for me to resist the smallest naughty impulse, like stealing candy from a sweet shop, or tripping Snape in the classroom, I was suddenly more prone to listening to that voice inside me that tempted me to do the most awful things-to hurt and to kill. It was enticing. The voice was so convincing, and it promised such wonderful things, like having everything I ever wanted-taking it… having a family, having you, getting back to London, living a life without the Ministry-without Voldemort making my life-our lives a living hell. All with a supposed single flick of my wand… make all the unpleasantness go away…" His grip on her hands tightened and he spoke with such tender longing, but when Hermione looked up, she almost gasped at the distinctly different gleam in his eyes, like he drew pleasure at the remembrance of those twisted, impossible promises that couldn't have been given without the disfigurement of his soul or the shedding of other people's blood. It brought unpleasant chills crawling down her back, so repulsive that before she realized it, she began to pull away from him. He held her tighter, maybe sensing her retreat, and she felt compelled to keep still, staring into those fathomless eyes. She thought she saw a hint of red, but before she could be sure, he squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them again, they were back to their normal, wonderful shade of green. She was breathing again, but her heart, she realized, was beating frantically.
"It was so hard, Hermione. Remembering what I once was before that taint was so strong in me. There were so many days that I thought that being what I used to be was weak and pathetic. It seemed to offer no rewards compared to the benefits of becoming my terrible self, but… your memory. You always brought me back. Your memory, with the memory of Ron and everyone else I left behind was stronger than the evil trying to take me. It brought me back to this. What I am right now."
The sound of his voice, that familiar gentleness eased her beating heart. This was Harry. Her Harry. How could she be afraid?
"It wasn't easy getting to this point of myself," he said. "I'm still constantly struggling with that evil in me, but you can say I have learned how to overcome it better day by day. There was a point in my struggle that Snape came up with a potion that helped me get better. It was brilliant. It felt like I was completely myself again, but the efficacy of the potion only lasted for so long, and soon it was like a drug. I was dependent on it. Snape and the priestesses had to wean me out of it. It was a huge set-back, but I recovered. In the last few years, I've gotten better at it without the help of my potions, but there are days I revert back to it completely."
Hermione's heart wrenched. "You could have asked for us, Harry. We could've helped. I could have helped."
He shook his head. "I didn't want you, or any of you to see me like that. It was that horrible, Hermione. It was just-it was so bad. Even the priestesses didn't think it wise to let any of you see me the way I was. Even right now… I'm not healed yet-I don't think I ever will be. You can say I needed a few more years before Snape and the Priestesses considered me fit to return to my old life, but then this thing came up, and I needed to return. I needed to protect you, and now I know I have to protect Angelica, too…"
"Oh, Harry…" she breathed. "Are you sure there's no cure to your struggle? There has to be. I couldn't believe-"
"Snape thinks that if I find Voldemort's Horcrux and I destroy it, that can possibly end this… disease I have. Snape first suggested that we destroy Excalibur, but Morgana said that it's impossible. The sword was fashioned by someone, or something immortal. It cannot be destroyed by mortal means, but we know it does magic as it pleases, so Snape's theory is that if I destroy Voldemort's Horcrux, it will let what fragment of my soul it houses go."
Hermione was confused. "But Harry, if Snape brought you back, doesn't that mean that fragment of your soul in your Horcrux has been released?"
Harry's brows knotted. "No. It was never that way. When a Horcrux tries to possess another soul, like Tom Riddle's diary did with Ginny, then there's some form of soul-release, but other than that, bringing someone back doesn't use a Horcuxed-soul up. If that were true, I would've been rid of Voldemort's soul in the graveyard at fourth year. You remember what I told you about that, don't you?"
Hermione did recall and she nodded. Harry was right. Using a Horcrux to facilitate a ritual of resurrection didn't mean the soul in the Horcrux was used up. "How about if you call your soul fragment out of the sword? Voldemort did it, didn't he? Call it out, but instead of transferring the fragment to a new vessel, destroy it. Surely the karmic forces would have no objection to your putting an end to something so dark…"
He looked shamefaced-pained, even. "I already tried that. Every once in a while I still do."
"And?"
"I-I can't. I can't do it. I can't make it work."
She blinked. "How can it not work?"
"I just can't. It's-It's painful. Wretchedly, maddeningly so. Like-trying to set my own limbs on fire. Snape said it might be the inherent defenses included in the making of the Horcrux. Horcruxes are meant to withstand destruction, and perhaps the only reason Voldemort was able to call his soul fragment from me was because he was going to use it to make another one. The other theory is that… he cast the spell that put his soul in me in the first place…"
She had to absorb what he said, and as it began to sink in, she realized that in the case of Harry's Horcrux, it was Voldemort's magic, yet again, that had created it.
It's only a theory, she told herself. Snape could be completely wrong. Maybe Harry just hadn't the skill. He has to keep trying. He has to…
But she could already tell by the look in Harry's eyes that he had tried and tried before, and that perhaps he was tired-perhaps had already given up trying. It just seemed that impossible.
She sighed. "So you really do have to destroy the Horcrux, but since it's Excalibur, you can't. So the sword is basically holding you hostage."
"Maybe," Harry said softly. "But Snape also thinks there's still a link between Voldemort's soul fragment and mine, so I have to destroy the source of the dark enchantment to destroy any dark magic that came off it. Destroying my Horcrux won't destroy his, but destroying his Horcrux might very well destroy mine."
"Oh, Harry…" she said even more softly.
"The sword… it's double-edged for me. It helps me be myself up to a certain point, but I have to keep that delicate balance, because if I tip it… it strengthens the evil in me. Just like with Arthur, the sword gave him the power to fight for righteous good, but it also gave him the power to be a tyrant. If my own Horcrux does this to me, can you imagine what getting near Voldemort's Horcrux might mean? Sometimes I don't know if I could risk it, Hermione. I'm so afraid to go back to being that monster that I used to be. It's dangerous. You don't how much…" His eyes filled and he tried to blink back the tears, but one got away.
She brushed it away with her thumb. "I trust you, Harry."
"I don't know if you should."
"I know. There's no one that I trust more than you."
His gaze on hers was intense. "You believe I can never hurt Angelica? Think about it, Hermione. One of these days I could just snap into that horrible creature that I was and I could hurt her badly. And it's not just her, it's you, too. I could hurt you."
Her lips pursed, and some fear began to blossom in her chest, but she stamped it away, and she looked at him stubbornly. "You wouldn't. You couldn't. You said so yourself that my memory is stronger than the evil inside you. Well, I'm not just a memory anymore. I'm right here. If that side of you ever wanted to hurt me, it would have to do it staring right at my face, and I don't think it would stand a chance. I can defeat it, just like Angelica could defeat it. It couldn't hurt us, Harry. It couldn't."
He looked like he was about to burst into tears with relief and it pained her to think that Harry ever feared she would abandon him. She wasn't surprised that he would have such doubts. Harry's self value was always second to the people he loved. He always put others ahead of him. He was a powerful Wizard, but he could be turned away by his loved ones with a single harsh word.
"The mere fact that you came back in spite of your affliction-because you felt you had to destroy Voldemort's Horcrux, means everything," she went on.
A dark cloud passed over his expression again, even as he nodded in grateful acceptance of her words. He bent over their enjoined hands, kissing her knuckles and laying his head on her lap.
She stroked his hair soothingly, assuring him with her touch.
After a long silence, he spoke and looked up. "I have to talk to Ginny."
Hermione blinked. "Ginny?"
"Yes, Ginny. If she could drop by… or I'll go meet her. It doesn't matter. I just have to speak to her face to face."
"Why?"
"I just have to. D'you think you can-"
"I can Floo her right now, but she's always on the go. She's not always at her office. I can drop a message with her assistant-"
"No. If you can't talk to her yourself, don't leave any messages with anyone."
Confused, Hermione tried to catch Ginny by Floo. Just as she expected, Ginny was out. She just told Ginny's assistant to tell Ginny to Floo back when she got the chance.
Harry looked disturbed.
"Harry, why do you have to talk to Ginny?"
"Right now, it's between me and her."
Hermione couldn't help it. A horrible twinge of jealousy writhed in her stomach and she wondered what possible secret Harry had with Ginny that he couldn't tell her.
His eyes caught hers and suddenly he was gazing at her quite fondly. "It's not like that. What I have to talk about with Ginny… it's her secret to tell, not mine. Understand?"
That was greatly reassuring.
She smiled, slightly embarrassed. She could feel her face flushing. "I do. I'm sorry I still feel-"
"Don't be." He kissed her, and Hermione gave in instantly. It was a passionate, temperature inducing kiss, though it didn't last long, and Hermione found herself sighing with longing when Harry pulled away from her.
"Maybe Ron can haul Ginny in for us. Would he know her whereabouts?" Harry said. He was a man on a mission.
"I don't know. Do you want me to Floo Ron?"
He nodded. "If you can. It's really important."
Dragging herself to the Floo, she called for Ron and while he was as confused as Hermione, he said he'd bring Ginny over if he had to drag her there.
"What's this about, anyway?" he asked. "Is Harry in some kind of trouble again?"
She looked apprehensively over her shoulder at Harry briefly. "When isn't he? But work on getting Ginny, first. It's urgent."
Ron sighed. "Fine. I'll Floo back as soon as I have any news… are you alright?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"I don't know. You hadn't looked this worried since Angelica's first magical outburst. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Alright, but if anything comes up, you know where to Floo me."
She nodded and disconnected the Floo. She looked back at Harry. "What now?"
"You need to reexamine your memories of those zoo trips you took with Angelica. I need to know if she might have shown signs of being a Parseltongue speaker."
Hermione had almost forgotten about that, and thinking back on their conversation, a new fear punctured her heart. "Do you-do you think she has some kind of connection to Vol-"
"Don't!" Harry cried with startling venom. "Don't say it!"
Hermione stared, shocked by his tone. It was almost as if his voice had changed. He sounded so angry.
He shut his eyes and shook his head. He took a deep breath and rubbed her shoulders reassuringly. "I'm sorry. It just-it upsets me to think that even after all this time, Voldemort… has this hold in my life… my family…" His eyes were filled with tenderness as he said that and Hermione caved at the way he said "My family."
"Dumbledore's Pensieve is at Grimmauld Place," she said. "Remus ought to be there now."
He nodded. "Then let's go."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
12 Grimmauld Place was exactly as Harry remembered it. It still looked dark and depressing, but Remus, smiling at them as he let them in, gave it an eerie sort of cheer.
He had let them and only when he had closed the door behind them did Harry pull off the invisibility cloak.
Hermione's magnificent hair was all over her face and shoulders, thrown in complete disarray by the cloak. The cloak had been a tight fit. They weren't eleven anymore, but he believed he had never enjoyed being in such a cramped space until then. Arms around one another, they had to squeeze together to abe completely concealed. They stood twined tight, even as the cloak came off.
She blew some of her hair off her face. He grinned at the comical effect.
"You can let go now," Remus said, walking past them towards the stairs.
Harry was just quick enough to spy the amused grin Remus was trying to hide.
"Do I have to?" Hermione whispered, giggling softly.
It was times like these that he just wanted to sweep her off her feet and snog her senseless; see where it would get him, but there were things to be done. Things to settle before he could give in to such pleasures.
He took her hand to follow Remus up the stairs. The frustrated sigh that escaped her made him smile secretly to himself.
"We keep the Pensieve in Tonks's office," Remus said. "She uses it sometimes. Have either of you used one before?"
"Harry has," Hermione said. "And he has the Occlumency skill to use it properly, I think."
He nodded. He's had much practice with Occlumency and a bit of Legilimency these last few years.
"Well, then I can leave you to it. I'll be fixing tea in the kitchen," Remus said as he pushed the doors to Tonks's office open. The Pensieve stood to one side of the room, enthroned in an elaborate-looking cabinet. A faint glow emanated from its surface.
As Harry got closer, he saw that the Pensieve was free of other memories. It was ready for use.
Remus closed them into the room and Hermione stood across him, fascinated by the enchanted pool.
"I've seen this before a few times," Hermione said, touching the etched lip. "Never looked at it this closely before. Never had to. What kind of memories did someone like Albus Dumbledore have?"
"Disturbing ones," Harry said, pulling out his wand. He held her gently by the chin and lifted her gaze to his. She grinned and he could only cock a smile back. "Now think of all those times you went to the zoo with Angelica. Recall all those times you wanted to show her the snakes. Think of nothing else, alright?"
She nodded and carefully, he placed the tip of his wand to her temple and caressed her cheek. "Relax. Let me in." As gently as he could, he let his Legilimency touch her thoughts.
His mind's eye was bombarded by memories of him and her in her living room, kissing passionately on sofa chair with the intoxicating taste of whiskey on their tongues.
He severed the magic and pulled back, frowning. "Hermione!"
"Sorry!" she cried, blushing and pursing her lips to stop from smiling. "Just-maybe you ought to refrain from touching me. Or speaking…"
He couldn't help but feel rather smug that he had that effect on her, but for the sake of motivating her, he forced a disapproving frown on his face. She seemed properly chastised. It wasn't everyday that one could scold Hermione Granger and it felt oddly empowering.
Lord, this woman will be the undoing of me…
He kept his hands away from her this time, and with an arch of his eyebrow, he could see her concentrating. He touched the tip of his wand to her temple again.
This time, she was properly focused and he slowly pulled the memories out. He clipped out everything else they didn't need and dragged the memories over the bowl. He gave the tendrils of thought a tap and the wisps of memory descended into the bowl.
The memories swirled in the magic, making the Pensieve glow brighter with liquid light.
"Is it done?" she asked quietly, as if afraid to disturb something.
"Yes. Come on, then. Let's see what's in there," he said, taking her hand. "Just lean over and let the magic take you."
He leaned over and she did the same. Suddenly they were tumbling through the bowl and she gave a startled squeak, just before they plopped abruptly on an empty wooden bench, just beneath a tree planted into a plot of soil and surrounded by other shrubbery. All around them the ground was paved and zoo visitors walked about with mesmerized children. The adults were sweltering in the heat and many of them were drinking gratefully from iced softdrinks in plastic cups.
"Mum!" cried a familiar voice in complaint.
Harry turned, and right beside him on the bench stood Angelica. She didn't look much younger than she was now, but she seemed a bit smaller, with less hair. Her beautiful curls were cut short in a bob, and she had adorable clips in her hair to keep stray strands away from her face. She looked rather sweaty, even in a light t-shirt and shorts.
Hermione stood right in front of her, wiping Angelica's face with wet wipes. Hermione's hair was tied in a messy French twist. She looked a bit sweaty herself, but she looked smashing in a white sundress and sandals.
"You'll feel better in this heat if you just let me," said Hermione in that bossy, but motherly tone. She went for another wet wipe and began to wipe the back of Angelica's neck.
"That's enough mum," Angelica grumbled, trying to squirm away.
"Oh, hold still. It will only take a minute! I think we ought to change your shirt."
"Oh, mum, let's go! I want to see the crocodiles!"
Hermione laughed. "The crocodiles can wait. I think the snakes are in a nice, air-conditioned-"
Angelica gasped. "Oooh, mum! Look, it's blue cotton candy! I want some! Then tell me if it turns my tongue really blue, alright?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, as if you need more sugar."
"I want a blue tongue! Please, mum?" She made this really adorable face.
"You children and your blue tongues. Come on, then. Let's get you that cotton candy."
Harry watched it all with fascination, his heart aching for this missed trip, even as he stood in its memory, watching it all happen as if he were there. He saw Hermione buying two blue cotton candies, and as mother and daughter ate, they showed each other's tongues, which were indeed inhumanly blue. They giggled together for several minutes just before Angelica dragged both of them off to the direction of the crocodiles…
"Did you see how she did that, Harry?" the real Hermione suddenly said. "I never even noticed before. We just went off to see the crocodiles, and then the turtles, and then the Aquarium exhibit that came next…"
That snapped him out of the spell. He nodded, just as that zoo trip swirled away and they were swept into the second memory.
This time Hermione and Angelica had Julien with them. It didn't appear to be as hot. They seemed slightly dressed up. Harry wondered why they would be so spruced up for the zoo.
"We never got to see the snakes before, did we?" Hermione said, looking at her pocket watch. "I think we have a bit of time…"
"But I don't want to be late for the show," Angelica said.
"I want to see the snakes," said Julien with great decision. "Especially the pythons. Stop being fussy, Angelica. If we hurry-"
Angelica frowned. "I'm not being fussy! I just don't want to be late to my first circus!"
"Oh, there you are!" Hermione cried.
Harry was rather shocked when he saw Oliver approach them hurriedly, planting a tender kiss on Hermione's lips as he pulled her into the embrace of his arms. He looked freshly showered, the way he did when they just finished Quidditch practice.
"Yuck," Angelica and Julien said in unison.
Harry looked away with a roll of his eyes until Hermione spoke again.
"You're late," she said sternly.
Oliver laughed. "I was late two minutes, you silly woman. Hullo, Angelica. Julien, you're looking rather upset."
Angelica grinned. "He wants to see the snake. I don't want to be late for the show."
"I think it's a while yet," Oliver said, looking at his own pocket watch. "Your mother would never be late for anything." He grinned and pulled her to him by her waist.
Hermione made a face and pinched his shoulder.
"I'm a bit hungry," Angelica whined.
"There's food at the concession stands by the tent," Oliver said. "Come on. I'll buy us all some fish n' chips."
Julien looked like he was ready to go into an all-out tantrum, but Angelica pulled him by the hand as they set off, and Julien had very little choice but to join them without a fight.
The memory swirled away.
"You could've warned me," Harry told her.
She reddened. "Sorry. But it was just a tiny kiss. Didn't think it was worth a warning. Anyway, did you see how Angelica did that again? Clever girl…"
"Very clever," he replied, though he was still rather sore about Oliver Wood.
There was one last memory involving snakes. One happened in a science fair, where a sixth year Muggle had a snake and a tarantula in display while explaining the predatory habits of both. She didn't get too near the snake, pretending, in fact, that it didn't exist. The snake didn't appear to respond to her. It glanced her way once, tasted the stale air in its glass cage, and promptly went about its business.
The memories ended and Harry pulled Hermione out of the Pensieve.
They stared at one another across the bowl, both of them wondering about what they had seen.
"Do you think she's doing it on purpose?" Hermione asked.
"I was hoping you could tell me that."
"It's… actually hard to tell."
Harry shrugged. "Maybe she's just not interested in them."
She frowned. "That's hard to believe. She's interested in everything."
"Maybe she's afraid of them and doesn't want to admit it."
"If she was afraid of them, she would have said so to me."
Harry wondered if he should remind her that Angelica seemed to be acutely aware of what to say and what not to say, but he didn't want to worry Hermione, and he didn't want to say things like that without more facts to go on.
He needed to speak to Ginny quite badly.
In the meantime, he could only hope for the best.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They picked up Angelica from school that afternoon and she was bubbling with energy. There was going to be a Science Quiz competition the following week and while she had refrained from joining, Millhouse had graciously accepted the honor of representing their class. She was naturally asked to help him prepare and she was drawing up a fairly elaborate training plan. She had hauled out spreadsheets and index cards for the project, bringing in books from their school library since the books she had at home were far too advanced for their supposed science level.
Harry thought about speaking to her directly about what he and Hermione had been discussing all afternoon, but until he spoke to Ginny, he didn't have the heart to ask her questions that bordered on accusations.
He could only watch her from afar, convincing himself that his beautiful baby daughter couldn't possibly have dark secrets. He had caught Hermione's gaze several times through the evening, and when Hermione finally asked him if they should ask Angelica about what they talked about earlier, he immediately said no.
"Not yet," he said hastily. "I-I can't, Hermione."
She had given a look of mixed anxiety and understanding.
"Not until I have all the information," he added.
And that was that. Hermione was not eager to ask damning questions of their daughter, either.
Dinner passed, and when Hermione tried to Floo Ginny, she wasn't home. Hermione Flooed Ron and he said he couldn't catch Ginny, either.
Harry was beginning to get impatient. If Ginny didn't make an appearance soon, he was going to hunt her down, himself, press or no press.
That evening, he retired troubled and restless. Hermione noticed, but she said nothing. She merely bade him goodnight, telling him to get some rest. They retired up the stairs this time and he went to his own room, trying to get some sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione tossed over on her bed, her mind filled with questions brought from the day's-or rather the previous day's, since it was past midnight-revelations. As much as she meant the things she told Harry, she did feel that something was nagging at her brain.
She recalled the things Harry told her about having a Horcrux and being "resurrected." It was monumental, and logically, she knew it was highly disturbing, yet emotionally, she looked at Harry and saw the man she loved, and the man who loved her and their daughter. If she were to be honest, she couldn't fathom Harry being anywhere near being ruled by the same things that had driven Voldemort as a resurrected dark creature. Whenever she found herself staring into Harry's eyes, she just saw no way that Harry could ever be overcome by those terrible things he spoke of.
Perhaps she was being naïve, or maybe she just trusted Harry that much, but she couldn't imagine it ever being powerful enough to defeat the man she remembered Harry to be: Brave, principled, kind, human. Harry, being Harry, could very well think the worse of himself for being less than he expects of himself at some point in his life, but it meant the world that he wanted to rid his soul of the dark elements that tried to possess him; that he felt urgency at mending the rift brought by murder and a dark spell.
Besides… it wasn't as if Harry had wanted to create a Horcrux. It was something Voldemort created for them both, and something Excalibur let happen. Excalibur, double-edged as it is, exists for the good of man, woman, and Great Britain…
But another voice in Hermione told her that Excalibur has also been known to take back what it once freely gave once it deemed its wielder had strayed from the righteous path, and would stick around to mete its justice..
There are dark legends… about Arthur spilling the blood of the innocent…
Hermione shook those thoughts away. There was absolutely nothing to fear when it came to Harry. He would always choose what was right. He would never stray from the righteous path.
Sighing, she turned over on her other side and began to wonder about why Harry had really wanted to talk to Ginny this evening. He refused to tell her what it was all about, and he insisted that it was something he knew not the details of, that he needed to speak to Ginny first before he could say anything.
She didn't know if it was her natural curiosity driving her or whether she was just jealous enough to want to be assured that Ginny no longer had any kind of emotional hold on him. She trusted him, of course. He had said there was nothing going on and he wouldn't lie about that, but his gentle but constant rejections of her advances had a way of grating at her confidence.
Certain that sleep would not find her, she got out of bed and threw a robe over her tank and shorts. She stopped by Angelica's room, checking in for no particular reason.
Angelica slept soundly, a book about the solar system resting on her bed stand.
Hermione quietly made her way down the stairs and popped into the kitchen, grabbing the bucket of ice-cream and scooping a big dollop of it into a bowl. She set the rest of the ice-cream aside, took some chocolate and strawberry syrup, and drizzled it on top.
She wondered guiltily if she had checked on Angelica to make sure she wouldn't be caught eating this practically illegal concoction, but she quickly shrugged off the guilt, telling herself that she, as a working (and rather sexually frustrated) mother, deserved a sinful delight now and again.
In spite of convincing herself of this, however, she ate by the overhead light of the stove. The kitchen remained dim, hiding her in her guilt-trip. The ice-cream was delicious and she ate it with soft sounds of satisfaction.
She almost dropped her bowl on the counter when the kitchen door swung open.
She held still and watched Harry's figure going straight for the refrigerator. The light of the refrigerator shined on him.
He was shirtless and his torn jeans rode low on his hips. His body, slight from the years of neglect, was nevertheless lined with tight muscles. There was no bulk or girth, but he had that workman's fitness.
Priestesses probably made him lift bales of hay… or maybe even runic slabs?
Mm… Harry lifting ancient things…
He possibly looked more delicious than the ice-cream.
He took the orange juice from the refrigerator and drank straight from the carton. She didn't even care that he did. She just wanted to watch him move-his head tilting back, his neck arching, his jeans sliding the slightest bit as his firm stomach stretched tight.
After one drink he paused and finally looked over his shoulder.
Their eyes met and for several seconds they didn't say anything.
Hermione couldn't. His eyes were taking her in slowly, head to toe. For a moment, she became conscious of the fact that her robe hadn't been cinched tight, that it was open at the front, and he could see her in her skimpy nightclothes.
Her breathing had gone slightly uneven.
"Midnight snack?" he asked.
"Mm hmm."
"Ice cream?"
She swallowed. "Peach cobbler. I… put some chocolate and strawberry syrup on top."
He paused, and through the light of the refrigerator, she saw him swallow. "Sounds delicious."
Her breath felt hot through her lips. The heat seemed to spread through her, pooling at the pit of her stomach, a stark contrast to the sharp cold of the bowl against her hands. "Want some?"
He seemed to think on it, and Hermione swore that if he refused, she would attack him, but he put the orange juice back in its slat, shut the refrigerator door, and began approaching her.
Her heart hammered in her chest, his bespectacled eyes affixed on hers.
When he stood, practically toe to toe with her, he reached out, and she thought he was going to grab her, but all he did was lean his hand against the counter, half-caging her.
A cocked smile lifted the corner of his lips as his eyes traveled down her face to the front of her robes, shamelessly enjoying the low cut of her tank.
She resisted the urge to run her cold fingers along the lines of his abs and lifted a spoon filled with ice cream. "It's really good."
He tasted a spoonful of it, licking his lips when he was done.
She couldn't get her eyes off his mouth. "W-Well?"
He leaned over and she felt his cold lips feathering the shell of her ear. "Well, what?" He pressed a suctioning kiss on the soft skin of her neck.
She was going to die. She closed her eyes. "More?"
He sucked on the lobe of her ear. "More." And his lips were on hers.
The taste of his kiss was explosive, his tongue warm and peachy sweet. She was vaguely aware that she had set the bowl aside. She might have heard a clumsy clatter somewhere behind her, but she hardly cared. Her hands were free and she was digging her fingers through his messy hair. She felt a powerful need to make sure that he wasn't going anywhere.
Breathing seemed optional, the tangling of their lips and tongue vigorous and impatient.
She felt strong hands on her waist, hitching her on the counter, and her legs escaped the cover of her robes, clamping around his hips. She hissed as she pressed herself against him.
He pressed back as his fingers dug against the skin of her bottom, his hardness apparent through his jeans.
She felt him pulling away and she didn't think she could bear it if he left her wanting now.
"Don't," she whispered, rolling her hips against him in desperation.
A low groan escaped his throat. "Robe. Please take it off."
When she realized that he had merely wanted to undress her, all her fears of him putting a sudden stop to everything melted away. She shoved off her robe with a quick shrug, not caring where it fell.
He was tasting the valley of her breasts and she realized in a flash of cognizance that his glasses were nowhere to be found. They must have fallen somewhere. She really didn't care.
He was lifting her, and without untangling, he carried her through the hallway, tumbling every so often against the walls.
She could have told him to take her right there. Pin her where they stood, but even then, they were both conscious of being out in the open, where someone just might catch them at it.
He brought her to his room and the door was shut rather loudly behind her.
The primal little growl that escaped him thrilled her, and when he tossed her on the bed, she gasped at his strength-felt even more aroused by it. He was panting, but she doubted it had to do with his valiant effort to carry her to his room.
He was crawling atop her in an instant, his lips marking a path from her bellybutton, up her stomach, his hand pushing her shirt higher as his kiss found patch after patch of skin. His hand slipped further up her shirt until it was cupping one breast while his lips descended upon the other, suckling and licking gently.
The ache in the center of her flared, making her moan with frustration.
He pulled away and she took the opportunity to whip off her tank the rest of the way. She saw him undoing the buttons of his trousers. His fingers worked fast and his hands were immediately free to assist her in the removal of her shorts and knickers.
Then she was completely naked before him. She felt no self-consciousness. None of the past shyness that seemed to mark those times they had made love before. She didn't know if it was because she was a grown woman, or because his eyes scorched a path along the curves of her body. She could see the desire in his eyes; the full appreciation of her body in his gaze-like he couldn't believe that the wonderfully naked woman before him was his.
"Oh, Hermione…"
She loved it when he said it like that.
She ran her foot up his shoulder and he took her leg in his hands, one hand caressing her calf and the other running slowly up her thigh. He rolled his tongue along the inside of her knee while his fingers crept just near enough her center, but not touching quite yet.
She could only writhe at the sweet torture.
Snaking her other foot into the waist of his jeans, she pushed the loosened denim aside. He wore no underwear.
It only fired her desire even more.
Draping her one leg over his shoulder, he leaned over to kiss her. She could only gasp and moan into his kiss while his fingers dipped and caressed.
As if she needed more stimulation.
He shifted, gently freeing her leg so she could wrap herself around him.
She felt sweat break out of her skin and she didn't think she could take much more. She managed to push back the rest of his jeans with her foot. She was just about ready to plead with him; beg him to put her out of her misery, when he was within her.
The feel of him in her was almost shockingly wonderful. She had missed this-they had been separated far too long.
She held still, savoring the sensations, until she realized that he remained unmoving but for the heavy, rhythmic breathing of his chest.
His eyes were closed; his lips parted. A low moan rumbled from his throat.
It had been far too long for him, too.
When his eyes opened, they stared at one another with some measure of disbelief.
Was this real? Hermione had dreamt of this so many times. Torturous dreams that left her needing so badly when she woke that she could only relieve herself in her agonizing loneliness.
She reached up and touched his face.
They were together again. Everything was going to be alright. There was absolutely nothing to be afraid of.
"Harry…"
He turned to kiss her palm, first very tenderly with his lips, then with the erotic roll of his tongue.
It renewed fires and he was thrusting into her. She could only close her eyes, the rolling of her hips matching his cadence. The gathering pulses of desire through her built quickly. Harry's pleasurable weight, the ripple of his muscles against her, and his breath hot against her throat through his parted lips brought her to an intense climax.
She cried out as her body arched against his, letting the waves of pleasure take her.
His movements became vigorous and rough, just before he froze and a deep, defeated moan escaped him. He pressed hard against her for several seconds before he collapsed, the tension dissipating as satiation set in.
They caught their breaths for several minutes.
As reason returned to her, Hermione drew idle circles on his moist back with her fingers. He stirred and rolled to her side on his back, gently coaxing her to lay her head against his chest as he quietly recovered.
He ran his fingers lightly through her hair and he pressed a kiss to her head. "You don't know how badly I've wanted you since I got back."
She adjusted herself on the bed, folding her hands on his chest and resting her chin on her knuckles. "Don't I?" she whispered, her tone filled with affectionate reproach. How can he even believe that she didn't want him just as badly?
He smiled. It looked apologetic and she knew he understood what she meant. "I couldn't until I had told you… what I've gone through."
She appreciated that now.
"For a long time," he continued. "I believed I was a shadow of myself. Like Tom Riddle in the Diary…" Worry seemed to brim out of his eyes at that.
She pressed her palm to his cheek. "Harry, no… you're nothing like that. Don't ever think you're less than the man you were. The things we go through, good or bad, and the things we remember and cherish make us whole. So I don't care if some part of your soul is hidden somewhere. The things I love best about you-even the things that drive me crazy"-He laughed softly at that-"are still there. Do you understand?"
He nodded. The gratitude in his gaze almost broke her heart.
They lay in silence for several minutes, and when his eyes began to drift close, she thought perhaps he would drift off to sleep, but moments later, he was gently coaxing her on top of him, and he pushed himself up to sit on the bed, her knees bracing him on both sides of him.
His kiss was passionate and heated. She smiled into the kiss as his tongue flicked hers, feeling his readiness between them.
He looked rather sheepish. "I wasn't lying when I said I've had no one else." His lips traveled down her throat and to her breasts.
She smiled, sighing in satisfaction. She closed her eyes to savor the sensations, her own desires quick to match his. She shifted her hips and took him into her. He gave a moan of approval and followed it with the gentle thrust of his hips.
"Then you have a lot to make up for," she whispered, moving with him.
He nodded, but she doubted if there was a single cognizant thought in his brain. She was fast losing reason herself as she let her body melt into the passion of his hungry embrace.