Begins in the summer after OotP. Harry is grieving and Hermione seems to be the only one capable of understanding. Dumbledore helps them to train, together, as the Fates intended and personally requested. Disclaimer: All characters, settings, etc. belong to J.K. Rowling. I merely borrow them. The plot is mine.
From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/7868/
The clatter of dishes greeted Hermione's ears as she approached the kitchen of the Burrow just as the sun was beginning to rise. Mrs. Weasley was still upstairs, presumably asleep, which said something that would scream to Ron, “It's too bloody early. Go back to sleep.”
Sleep, as of late, had betrayed Hermione. She was receiving very little of it, or rather she was receiving plenty, just not enough peaceful bits of it. Her dreams were haunted by images of Dolohov's winding, purple curse flying in her direction, play-by-play pictures in slow motion of Harry being injured, of Ron and Luna and Neville and Ginny falling at some point or another to battle wounds, of lying in a hospital bed while healers struggled to determine exactly what curse had been used and exactly what course of action could be taken to rid her of the burden.
Needless to say, Hermione was evading the very prospect of sleep, and delaying the entertaining of said idea as long as she could manage.
.:.:.:.:.
Molly Weasley, being a mother of seven children, had long ago learned to set wards around her home to prevent her boys, and single girl from causing mischief. Her wards were being broken in abundance as of late, and she knew as a fact that it was not due to her own children. She sighed as she witnessed Hermione drinking a cup of tea at the wooden table in the center of the kitchen.
“Hermione, dear,” she tutted, “what are you doing up and about. It's still early.”
Hermione glanced up from her cup and set it down gently, entirely avoiding meeting the matron's eyes by staring at a chipped dent in the wood of the table. “Sorry… didn't mean to wake you.”
“Not to worry.” Molly said softly, patting Hermione's hand. “Now, what's keeping you awake?”
In response, Hermione shrugged, lifting her cup again to take another sip. “I don't suppose it's going to get any easier from here on out?” She asked wearily, finally looking up to meet Mrs. Weasley's eyes.
Molly faltered, if only slightly, and that was all it took for Hermione to receive her answer. She nodded grimly and sipped again. “I know you don't approve of us being involved at all, really.” Hermione said carefully. “But if we do nothing, if we act normal, we'll die. And it's hardly even a question anymore of life and death… it's more for wanting to get it over with. Death wouldn't be so bad, do you think? I think it's living in a world where we have no control that would be worse than death. That's why we're fighting. And we - well, Ron and I - we fight for Harry. He doesn't have the choice that we've got; he doesn't get to decide if he wants to fight or not. He's been thrown into this fight blind-folded,” Hermione had nearly hysterically spieled off on a tangent, spilling all the words she felt in her heart out in a flurry of hurriedly muttered words, causing Molly to gasp softly with tears in her eyes, “and I'll be damned if I let him think he's alone in this… I'll be bloody damned.” She whispered the last part to herself, causing Molly to realize that at some point Hermione had forgotten that she was even speaking to anyone to begin with.
“You're young…” Mrs. Weasley whispered, “but you're not young enough to believe in whatever blissful fairytale I might could come up with to help you believe that it will all turn out right. This… what you're feeling… it doesn't go away. You'll never stop worrying about the lives of the ones you love, and you'll never adjust to the idea that they could very possibly die at any given moment. From here on out, ever since You-Know-Who's not-so-subtle declaration of return at the Ministry last June, this is a war, and we will not give in easily. You're right… everything you've said is right. But there is hope, dear, and that hope lies with Harry… with you and with my son.”
“Damn it, that's what I'm talking about!” Hermione heatedly placed her cup of tea back on the table and rocketed up so fast that the chair she'd been sitting in moments prior had flown backward. “You're relying on him! You're throwing the fate of the world on a barely sixteen years old kid's shoulders, and yet you still expect him to do it all without knowing what the bloody hell is going on! You don't tell him ANYTHING. You refuse to include him on issues of importance, yet when he makes a mistake due to not knowing, you blame him for being foolish and selfish and sporadically spontaneous when he's done nothing but try to do right by those who bloody expect it of him!” Tears had welled up in Hermione's eyes. Her hand fluttered up from her side to cover her mouth as a sob peeled from her lips, and she left the kitchen in a hurry.
She threw open the backdoor to the garden and drew in a long, hot, sticky breath of air. Her chest was heaving as silent sobs wracked her body, and she fought to control her magic and emotions.
The late August sun was just finishing its ascent over the horizon, and Hermione was already feeling the intense heat the day would bring. She folded her arms over her chest and collapsed onto a bench off to the right, leaning forward and watching the remainder of the sunrise.
She had flown off the handle mere moments ago, unable to contain herself even in the presence of one whom she considered very much a second mother to her. It hadn't been intentional; she hadn't even realized that she'd done it until after it was done, at which point she was horrified with herself for her actions.
She closed her eyes and felt a slight breeze fall upon her. Merlin, I need Harry… I need a hug. No one could give hugs quite like Harry could; they couldn't surround her with a feeling of safety and security, nor could they fill her body with warmth the way his could.
Hermione had finally admitted to herself (and Ginny, after a lot of prodding) that she was in love with Harry after he had forcibly sat at her side over the duration of time that she had spent at St. Mungo's. She wouldn't act on it, much to Ginny's disbelief, but she could not help herself from swooning at his touch, grinning at his owls despite the lack in length they possessed, and allowing a small feeling of contentment to arise in her belly when he smiled at her.
Lately, happiness from Harry was a very rare emotion, as to be expected of someone who had only a month ago lost his godfather. He had sent very short and almost nonresponsive owls to them all, and for the most part Ron had given up on sending any back. Hermione, however, was not to be deterred. She wrote to him daily, wearing poor Hedwig's wings away, and responded immediately whenever she received a reply from him.
He was hurting, and she knew that, and she wanted so badly to be there for him, but she couldn't. Dumbledore refused to let her, or anyone else visit with him, or take him away from his godforsaken relatives, much to her displeasure.
::Flashback::
“He needs friends!” Hermione argued fiercely. “He's alone, his godfather just died, and you've sent him to live with people who don't give a damn if he lives or dies! How is that fair?!”
“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore replied wearily, “I'm sorry, but for your own safety you may not visit, and for his safety he may not leave until he has become of age.”
“So you're condemning him to another year of solitude?” Hermione snarled, the lights in the room flickering uncontrollably. “Of loneliness? Don't you think that now he needs someone more than any other time?”
“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore raised a brow, “have a seat; settle down. Now, I have researched every other means of possibly keeping Mr. Potter safe, and this is the only effective way. I would love for him to be with his friends, to be with you and Mr. Weasley for the summer, but that endangers both himself and the Weasleys, not to mention you.”
“And there's nothing else you can do?” Hermione pleaded desperately.
“I'm afraid not.”
::End Flashback::
She inhaled again, suppressing the urge to lash out on something, anything to relieve her of the stress she was feeling. Her hand flickered up to her forehead, to a spot just between her brows, and began massaging away at a tension headache.
Her heart was still racing from adrenaline and anger, and she was forced to wipe away furiously at tears that threatened to grace her cheeks.
Five years. Five years Harry had been forced to deal with the pressure of something happening to him, something happening in his life that he had absolutely no control over and that nobody declared fit to inform him of. And now that he knew, he was fighting to handle the pressure of not only trying to battle with Fate, but also contend with the grief of losing his only legal family left.
Hermione couldn't compare to that, and she couldn't rightfully say that she knew how it felt, but she so desperately wanted to be there with him to help him in any way she could, and to offer her never wavering support.
He was damned to spend another week at the Dursley's before he could come back to retrieve his school things on the 31st of August, and return to school the day after.
Hermione spent that week avoiding contact with most members of the household, doting upon Crookshanks loads of attention and taking comfort in him as he listened patiently to her words, and reading a series of books she had obtained for pleasure, which only assisted in holding her anxiety for Harry to arrive at bay.
When the day had come, however, Hermione found herself in a bundle of nerves. This would be the first time that she would see him since her internal revelation of feelings towards him; she didn't want to let that slip in any way. He didn't need more stress than he clearly already withheld.
And ignoring her own thoughts and feelings, how would Harry react? Would he be angry with them as he'd been the summer previous for leaving him in the dark and not attempting to retrieve him from the Dursleys? Would he be yet still too mournful to enjoy a full welcome, despite all her attempts at consoling him in their letters?
She frowned as she thought about that. For Harry, all of those reactions would not do justice to the emotion and inner turmoil he had been put through during this previous summer. He felt so much more than that, and Hermione knew due to the indulging letters he had sent solely to her, for her eyes only, containing his grief, and pain in a bundle of words that still could not seem to correctly express or word the proper way, as he had constantly talked in circles and reworded the same sentence several times to get his point across.
The calamity that Hermione had felt upon receiving his letters broke her heart. She had wanted to be there for him in every way imaginable, not just through petty words on a scrap of parchment. Ginny had been startled on many an occasion when she spotted tears in Hermione's eyes after reading the most recent letter from him.
::Flashback::
Hedwig pecked politely on Ginny's bedroom window. Hermione had been reading a book on Animagus Magic, while Ginny scribbled furiously away in her journal, giggling occasionally, no doubt regaling the newest prank pulled by Fred and George Weasley upon Ron involving a spaghetti noodle, and an attack of the flying meatballs, much to Molly's displeasure.
Hermione smiled at the site of the owl and immediately granted her entrance into the room, stroking her beak lightly in thanks. Hedwig hooted happily and settled herself upon Hermione's shoulder while she seated herself back on the bed and eagerly tore open Harry's most recent letter.
Her giddiness soon turned grim, and she drew her bottom lip into her mouth as she nibbled on it, finding it harder and harder to hold back her tears. A sharp sob wrenched through her body and Ginny looked up in alarm.
“Hermione?” She asked hurriedly, setting down her journal and rushing to her friend's side, rubbing her back empathically, worriedly.
In response, Hermione held up the letter, the tears that she had so carefully been guarding falling freely from her eyes and tumbling down her cheeks. “He's miserable, Ginny. He aches… so much.” She allowed another sob to overtake her. “He misses the bloody mutt so much…”
Ginny shushed her quietly, and pulled her into an embrace. She had a strong feeling that Harry's pain was intertwining with her own pain, and she was allowing her grief for Sirius's death to flow from him to her as she had forcibly built up a strong barrier to keep all the emotions she felt from the battle at the Ministry at bay.
The short story was that Hermione was not allowing herself the time to feel dismay over Sirius's death, and the event was hastily catching up to her. She was feeling her own remorse for the death of Padfoot, along with taking on Harry's pain as well.
::End Flashback::
Harry arrived early on Sunday morning, quiet and withdrawn. Ron and Mrs. Weasley had seen him first, making an entrance with Remus following not far behind. Mrs. Weasley had rushed toward him and nearly crushed his bones (as per usual) and Ron pulled him in for a brotherly hug, muttering, “How you been fairing, mate?”
Harry had shrugged in response. “Alright, I suppose.” He said quietly. He didn't say much else, but allowed himself to be steered in the direction of the kitchen for a fry-up that Mrs. Weasley was preparing for breakfast.
Ginny and Hermione had been discussing the newest gossip involved in Witch Weekly's most recent issue as the two descended the stairs. Ginny had seen Harry first and nudged Hermione lightly, subtly motioning in his direction.
Glancing over, Hermione felt herself flooded with relief and she launched herself at him rather forcefully, wrapping her arms around his neck, yelping, “Harry!” as she spotted his presence.
“Hey Hermione.” He smiled indulgently as his vision was suddenly blocked by a thick mass of Hermione's no longer bushy, but still quite wild hair. One of his hands grasped the back of her head and his other one flew to the small of her back as his lifted her up off the ground slightly in their hug.
She released him carefully and pulled back to scrutinize him. “Merlin and Morgana, Harry, you look exhausted.” She breathed.
“Thanks Hermione, you're looking fabulous yourself.” Harry rolled his eyes and Hermione playfully punched his arm.
“That's not what I meant, you prat, and you know it. Sit down and eat.” She demanded.
Harry obeyed her wishes, for now, and seated himself at the table, fully prepared and rather hoping for a moderately nice medley of assortments for breakfast. He was not to be disappointed.
He caught up on the bits he had missed, remaining silent through much of the discussion, not going unnoticed by Hermione at all. She frowned as she noticed his pensive behavior, vowing to sit down and speak with him later, just the two of them, no interruption. She hoped the opportunity would present itself during their visit to Diagon Alley after breakfast.
On his end, Harry was fighting not to cry at the loving behavior the Weasleys exhibited. Not only did it remind him of could've beens that he and his own parents might have experienced in a different world, but it reminded him of a time when he had once hoped to live with Sirius after the war; after his name had been cleared.
“Excuse me…” He muttered softly, scooting his chair out and heading in the direction of the loo.
He tried - Merlin, he tried - not to let his anguish interfere with his life, but the fact of the matter was that he had lost someone very important to him, and he would never get him back. He would never see the mangy, black dog that had first been the only image he had seen of his godfather. He would never listen to Mrs. Weasley bicker with him again. He would never be graced with his humor and fun-filled nature again. And worse, he had only himself to blame.
Leaning over the sink, Harry looked at himself in the mirror, loathing the image he saw. His eyes were dark and woeful, his face was pale, and his hair had reached a nearly unmanageable state due to running his hands through it a bountiful amount of times. He sighed and seated himself on the closed lid of the toilet, leaning his elbows on his knees and fisting his hands in his hair once again.
He was only vaguely surprised when the door creaked open to reveal Hermione's petite form and concerned expression.
“I figured you just needed to get away.” She muttered sheepishly. “I thought you might want some company.”
Harry suddenly praised her almost magical ability to know when he needed her most. “I just… I can't stand looking at them.” He whispered agonizingly. “There are so many memories attached to being a family with Sirius… of finally having the father I've always needed, and they reflect all those possibilities and… I selfishly feel as if it's all being thrown in my face.”
Hermione kneeled in front of him and took his hands in her own. “I will tell you this, Harry, and you damn well better believe that I mean every word of it: you are a brave, brave man to stand - or rather sit - here today,” he chuckled involuntarily, “and speak of the hurt you're feeling. And you are a caring man to attempt to hide your discomfort away from them in a conscious effort not to cause them guilt. You are a strong man for putting on a front and for finding a way to handle the situation.
“Harry, you are very many things, most of them noble, and Gryffindor, and very worthy of the hero title,” Hermione teased lightly, earning a smile from him before her face turned serious again, “but hear you me, Harry James, the very last thing you could possibly be is selfish.”
“God, why didn't I listen to you, Hermione?” He pleaded with her, dropping his head to his chest. “Why didn't I listen?”
“Because, Harry…” Hermione whispered, “you loved him so much that you were willing to throw everything on the line to ensure his safety. You were blinded by your compassion for the man, and in this case it just didn't work out in your favor, or his.”
Harry was silent for a moment, allowing Hermione's thumbs to softly rub against his knuckles, feeling her intermittent squeezes of support. “It's funny,” Harry thought aloud, “that love - the very weapon, Dumbledore calls it - is the only power I have against Voldemort, and yet it seems that said weapon is being held against me.
“I'm a dangerous person, Hermione. People around me get hurt. They die. I don't want that to happen to you. Or to Ron, or to Ginny, or to any of the Weasleys. I can't… I can't let that happen.” Emotion made his voice raw, and vulnerable.
Hermione growled softly from somewhere deep within her throat, and used one of her hands to force Harry's eyes to look into hers. “Harry Potter, we are in this together. No matter what you try to do to distance yourself from us, we will fight our way back in, have no doubt about that. We are your friends, Harry, and we will stay just that until the day that we die. Do not deprive me of that.”
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
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The outing to Diagon Alley gave Ron an opportunity to talk to Harry alone, when they visited the Quidditch store. Harry had been tense ever since arriving, and Ron figured that a bit of Quidditch talk might do him well, to relax him and all.
“We'll meet up with you after, then.” Hermione shrugged, after Ron had pitched the suggestion. “Fortescue's for ice cream sound good?”
“Sounds fine.” Ron nodded on behalf of the two of them, wheeling Harry around to the Quidditch store.
They looked around for a good while, Ron drooling over the new Canon's regalia, and Harry inspecting a new pair of seeker's gloves, and perusing through a few of the latest magazines to let him know where his teams stood in the league.
A small crowd had begun to gather around the window of the shop, and even Ron - with his increasingly intimidating, overpowering height - had to lean up on his tip-toes to get a proper view through the glass.
“Wow.” He breathed excitedly. “That's the Dragonfire, that is, mate. Newest and best broom on the market. Water-resistant, flame-repellant, and all. Can't imagine what you'd do with a broom in fire, but it's bloody cool, don't you think?”
And then, Ron proceeded to make the stupidest move he possibly could have made in light of the current situation.
“You should get it, mate.”
Harry's head snapped toward Ron's angrily. “Why? Why the hell do I need a new broom? The one I've got is just fine!”
“Woah, Harry, I didn't mean anything by it…” Ron mumbled bemusedly.
“Of course you didn't, Ron.” Harry snarled, turning on his heel and pushing through the crowd, storming his way toward Fortescue's.
Hermione looked up in alarm. Harry's expression was anything but pleased, and her mind immediately began conjuring up ways to cause bodily harm to Ronald Weasley for whatever he had said or done that angered Harry so deeply. She had left Harry not an hour ago after comforting him in the loo, and was quite proud of herself for succeeding in cheering him up. If he was down again, she had no qualms with blaming Ron for it.
“Harry?” Hermione gently allowed her hand to rest against his arm. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing.” Harry snapped. “Nothing's wrong, I'm just not in the mood, Hermione. Can we just get our things and leave?”
“Sure Harry.” Hermione agreed. “Whatever you want. Just let me find Ginny and let her know we'll be leaving as soon as we've got what we need.”
Harry nodded and waited patiently, shoving his hands in his pockets while Hermione located the youngest redhead and spoke to her in soft tones once she'd found her.
People in general were a nuisance to him at the moment… everyone, it seemed, except Hermione. She was his saving grace in all of this, and he was thankful beyond what words could express that she was not to be deterred away from him.
“Alright, Harry, let's go.” Hermione lifted up her bag of books, and when he raised a brow, silently questioning why the bag was so large and heavy, Hermione flushed and answered, “We've got a rather large book load this year, not to mention I picked up a few things for pleasure reading, and I've bought you and Ron's books, as well.” She shrugged. “I know how much the two of you hate going in the bookshop, so I saved you the trouble. You can carry the bag though.” She smirked sweetly and shoved the bag at his chest.
“What's left, then?” Harry asked.
Hermione tugged her Hogwarts letter out of her pocket, and read off the list. “We've got to get a few potions ingredients, I need quills and parchment, and I think - judging by Hedwig's displeasure of delivering owls as of late - you need to buy owl snacks. Crooks needs some more treats as well.”
Harry loved how insightful and caring Hermione was. She picked up on small things… things that may have been overlooked by others, like Hedwig being angry with him. Hermione noted these things and committed them to memory. She would notice things when meeting someone new, like the way they moved their hands, or whether or not they made eye contact. She studied their body language almost religiously, and those subtle differences that she stored in the back of her mind made her an excellent judge of character.
The pair walked into the closest apothecary and Harry left Hermione to pick out the supplies. If he had done it, he'd have needed the proprietor to assist him in locating the goods, and Hermione seemed to know exactly where they were offhand.
He inwardly cringed as he heard a familiar drawl from somewhere near the front of the shop, presumably speaking with the store owner.
“Father will be around to inspect them later, Gregor, and I don't think it would be in your best interest to disappoint, especially considering your… past failure.”
“Of course, Master Malfoy. Everything is as planned, sir.”
“I should hope so.” Draco's cool voice demanded a certain amount of combined fear and respect from the average Joe, Harry noted. “I would hate for anything to go wrong. My father would be very displeased indeed… If you blunder this up, I don't think the deed will be quite as easily forgiven this time. When a Malfoy makes an order, Gregor, they expect it to be carried out with no hindrances. This won't be like the last time. Too much depends on this, and I do hope you realize the gravity of the situation.”
“I do, sir.”
“Very well, then.” Draco squared his shoulders. “Until then, Mr. Malone.”
Harry frowned. What could the Malfoys need from the apothecary? The entire situation sounded rather sketchy to Harry, and the fact that Draco had been sent to do his father's bidding irked him even more.
“Hermione?” Harry called. He wondered if she had heard.
“Over here.”
“Did you - ”
“Yes, I found what I was looking for, thanks Harry.” Hermione smiled, but a certain glint in her eyes betrayed her. It was a warning to Harry, at least until they were in the comfort of secrecy, not to mention anything they'd just heard.
“Good.” Harry atoned quickly. “Let's get going, then, shall we?”
Hermione nodded and subtly inspected the manager as he rang up their supplies. Harry was busy peeking into the back of the shop. Whatever it was the Malfoys were here for, there was more than one of them.
The two of them walked intently toward the stationery store, purposefully not speaking of anything of interest lest less than savory ears were present to grasp at the information. A half hour later they had both restocked on delicacies for their familiars, and writing supplies.
Harry grasped her elbow lightly and tugged her in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron. He stepped in through the floo first, Hermione following a few minutes after as he waited impatiently for her to tumble through the fireplace behind him.
“Harry, hang on.” Hermione muttered, shaking her head fiercely to rid herself of the feeling of flying through the floo as Harry pulled her into Ginny's bedroom, as it was far closer than Ron's. “Don't jump ahead of yourself just yet.”
“Come on, Hermione,” Harry pleaded with her, “this wasn't just for some ingredient and you know it. Malfoy kept warning about his previous mistakes and whatnot. That has to be something regarding Voldemort; you heard how he said it.”
“Yes.” Hermione pondered quietly. “But I don't think it's exactly wise, per say, for Malfoy to be discussing it in broad daylight, especially knowing that other people were in the store. As much as I hate to admit it, Malfoy's not stupid, nor is his father. They've got quite a bit of wits between the two of them; they'd know better than to go gallivanting around Diagon Alley, parading the news to the world.”
“They knew other people were in the store, Hermione.” Harry frowned. “They didn't know we were in the store.”
“Of course they did.” Hermione scoffed. “At least the shop owner did. I spoke to him on our way in, don't you remember?”
Quite honestly, no, Harry didn't remember. He had been toiling away with his anger at the time, too busy to notice anything Hermione was saying or doing, except for acknowledging that she was taking care of his supplies and silently thanking her for it.
Harry glowered at the wall just over her shoulder. “You know as well as I do that there was something not right about what we saw today, Hermione.”
“Yes.” Hermione agreed. “I do know. I also know that we're not going back to find out what it was.”
“Hermione!” Harry protested vehemently. “How the bloody hell to you expect to find out what's going on if we don't? Whatever the Malfoys have, or whatever it is that they want, it's probably going to be used against me.”
“Us, Harry. It's going to be used against us. I already told you that you're not alone in this. Any threat against you is a threat against me, and it seems, Mr. Potter, that you've got quite a lot of threats.” Hermione teased.
“This isn't something to joke about Hermione.” Harry warned. “I don't know whether you are going back to figure this whole thing out, but I sure as hell am, and you're not going to stop me.”
Hermione was rummaging through her trunk, which was slightly frustrating to Harry. He was attempting to talk to her about something very important and potentially life-changing, and she was fiddling about with her trunk.
“Harry, do you learn?” She asked harshly. “Acting rashly has endangered yourself and others in the past. Example, the Department of Mysteries.”
“Don't.” Harry growled.
“Don't what, Harry?” Hermione shouted. “You're supposed to learn from your mistakes, and if this is the only way to make you see reason and keep you safe then so be it! There were other courses of action that could have been taken that night, and acting impulsively got Sirius killed. I'm not blaming you, because any of us could have stopped it, Harry… but the fact of the matter stands true.
“I'm not going to let you put your life in even more danger by putting yourself in a situation like that. Now listen to me.” She hissed, pulling an item that, for all intents and purposes, looked like a mouse. “Do you know what this is?” Harry shook his head moodily, collapsing onto Hermione's bed. “This is the Weasley twins' newest invention. For the most part, it's a camera. You program it to an area, and it scuttles around until it finds the best and most exclusive region to view the area from, and once it's done that, it proceeds to camouflage itself into the background.”
Harry's jaw dropped. “Brilliant.”
“I agree.” Hermione nodded. “Not that you'll ever hear me tell them that, of course. It'd go straight to their egos, and I'd never live it down.”
“So how do we get it there?” Harry asked excitedly, grateful that he had something else to occupy his mind. “We can't just walk back in; you said the bloke saw you. He'd notice you if you came in again.”
“We don't need to go in again.” Hermione said simply. “I've already put one there.”
“How?”
“Before you found me, sometime during the middle of the conversation I figured you were going to get lured in, and since it's information that we really can't afford to lose… well, I supposed we'd need it. So I programmed it. It'll last a full twenty-four hours before appearing back in my trunk, to the homing device created for it. I haven't quite worked out how they did it,” Hermione said, and by her tone it was quite obviously that she was agitated about the fact that she didn't know something, “but they've done a bloody brilliant job with the thing. And I highly suggest you don't tell them we used it, either, Harry… They don't exactly know I've got them.”
“You stole them?” Harry asked amusedly.
“Not exactly. I bought them from the shop, but I specifically did it at a time when one of the employees was working the register and the two of them were in the back. If they knew I'd bought them, they'd take the mickey out of me for it.”
Harry nodded. “So now what?”
“Nothing. We can't do anything until tomorrow, and we'll be at Hogwarts by the time the twenty-four hours racks up, so we'll have to wait through the feast and such first. I'm not really sure whether or not to mention it, but are we including Ron in this?”
Harry sighed agitatedly, which prompted Hermione to hesitate only slightly before asking, “Harry… what made you so angry earlier?”
He sat up to face her somewhat sheepishly, avoiding her gaze. “I was being an arse. There's a new broom out… it's great, really. Ron's so fascinated with it. I think he wanted it for himself, but he knew he didn't have the money. He was trying to cheer me up by talking about it. Then he said that I should get it for myself, and I lashed out at him. I asked him why I needed a new bloody broom, and the sodding git kept saying he didn't mean anything by it, and I know he didn't… It's just - ”
“Sirius gave you your broom.” Hermione said sympathetically, and Harry nodded. “Harry, it's not your fault, and I'm sure Ron will understand. Don't be too angry with him over it.”
“I was frustrated with him anyway. I guess that just topped it off quite nicely.”
“Why are you miffed at him?”
“Hermione, this entire summer you've been the only one that actually kept up with owls with me.” She flushed prettily, but he continued. “It's like he's too busy… or he doesn't care or something. Everyone's either avoiding me or talking down to me like they're walking on glass.”
“You know he cares, Harry. He just doesn't know how to show it quite as well. When you wrote to us at the start, your letters were very short… very nondescript. Ron interpreted that to mean that you wanted space, or you were angry with us for something. Honestly, would you have given him anything if he kept owling, anyway?”
Harry shook his head in the negative. “Probably not… the fact was that he didn't try.”
“He didn't try because he thought that was what you wanted, Harry.”
“But you knew! You always know, Hermione.” He argued.
Hermione shrugged, secretly happy that he was pleased with her. “Harry I'm a girl and Ron's a bloke. You know how you lot act. I care about you too much to watch you mourn by yourself, surrounded by people that you hate, and no one that you love. So I kept owling. I didn't know if that was what you wanted, but I figured that's what you needed, even if you wouldn't own up to it at the time.”
“I did need it.” He admitted softly. “I needed support and you were the only one that could give it to me, because everyone else had given up on me.”
“Harry, look at me.” Hermione murmured softly, setting her hand on his cheek and turning his head toward her face. “I'm never giving up on you.” She whispered the words with such affirmation, and strength, more so than Harry had ever seen. “Never.”
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The day the kids left for Hogwarts had always been a hectic event, despite the amount of kids actually leaving on the train. Mrs. Weasley was always shouting the time up the stairs, often shouting up to Ron or Ginny, or on occasion Harry and Hermione that they'd left something downstairs, and they needed to remember not to forget to pack it before they'd forgotten it. She was constantly reminding them that Errol was an old owl, and he probably could not be relied on to carry anything heavier than an envelope, so they most likely would be forced to go until Christmas without any item they may have left behind.
Harry and Ron had discussed briefly what had agitated Harry about the conversation in Diagon Alley, although nowhere near as freely as Harry had tackled the subject with Hermione. Ron had sincerely bumbled over apologies for the next half hour until Harry finally assured him that it was alright, and he had been the wizard at fault. He was still a little peeved about his inconsistent letters over the summer, but he really couldn't hold that against him for very long… he'd probably have done the same thing, if the situation was reversed.
That was a lie. He'd never do that; if something had happened to anyone in Ron's family, Harry would have been there in a heartbeat, aching almost as much as Ron himself. While Harry realized that it was absolutely impossible for anyone to have been there for him, the least Ron could have done would be to keep contact with his best mate.
He was getting agitated again, and Hermione was beginning to notice. Ginny was even noticing at this point. He took a deep calming breath and ran a mental checklist of the things he had and didn't have ready for Hogwarts. They were leaving in ten minutes, and Harry had everything except his broomstick. He had quite consciously been putting off touching the thing. When he had arrived at the Burrow, Remus had carried it for him. Harry hadn't even had to touch it. Sure, he saw it, but touching it would be so much worse. He seriously contemplated not bringing it with him, so that he wouldn't have to face it.
“I already shrank it.” Hermione supplied hesitantly. “Ah… your broom that is, if that's what you're worried about.”
Ginny smirked at the innuendo, and threw her hands up in an innocent gesture when Hermione scowled at her.
“Merlin, you are a saint.” Harry murmured quietly. “Thanks, `Mione.”
Hermione made a small humming noise that he took to mean “you're welcome”. She really did think of everything. It was a bit curious how she always managed to know what he was thinking, even during the times when he was almost damn sure that he had given no outward expression to reveal it.
He watched Hermione leave to grab some of her books from upstairs, to see how much “light reading” she could manage to fit in her trunk with the required necessities. It was ridiculous how many books the girl could manage to read in the span of a year.
Ginny, on the other hand, was very curious to know exactly how Harry felt about Hermione. She was almost sure - as was everyone else for the most part, except Ron - that he had feelings for her that he hadn't owned up to yet… but up until this point it had been a time bomb, and everyone had expected the two of them to wake up and realize that they were meant to be together at the same time.
Thinking on it, though, it was only somewhat natural for Hermione to cotton on first. She was the smart one of the pair, but while her intelligence in academics and real-life experiences were up to par, relationships were a weak point for her. She'd only had one relationship to the date, with Viktor Krum, and while it had been hot and heavy at the time, there was no real emotional attachment. They had… explored for lack of a better term physically, but in the long run they knew very little about each other while they were a “couple”. It wasn't until after they'd broken up that they'd become friends at all.
If Hermione were to get involved with Harry, it would have to mean a lot to both of them. Ginny knew Hermione would be in it for the long haul, and while she knew also that Harry would never intentionally hurt Hermione, she feared that if he wasn't all in Hermione would wind up crushed and broken on an irreparable level.
Ginny absolutely refused to do anything to betray Hermione's trust, but she also deeply wanted to prevent her from being hurt. She was tempted to ask Harry, straight out, what his intentions were with Hermione. She realized, though, that if he hadn't realized he had very non-platonic feelings for her yet, he couldn't really give an honest answer.
It almost broke her heart that Hermione was battling over her emotions by herself, helping Harry develop a certain sense of acceptance over the death of his godfather, while Harry was for the most part to occupied to notice.
Not that she could blame him of course… He obviously had a lot resting on his shoulders.
She was startled out of her reverie when Hermione rushed down the stairs hastily, throwing the books in her arms into her trunk and barreling back up. “Ron, get your lazy arse downstairs, we're going to be late!” She shouted.
Harry chuckled and shook his head. As much as he loved his friends, it was always a source of entertainment to him when they bickered. It could get annoying in serious situations, but it was hilarious in all other circumstances. Ron usually provided some sort of biting sarcastic remark, and it usually ended when Hermione rolled her eyes and responded with something witty, leaving Ron in a mild state of agitation and shock when he realized that Hermione had won.
Mrs. Weasley sighed impatiently, and absently started levitating Ginny's bags to the Ministry car provided for them. After the battle and the Ministry, they had deemed it fit to properly protect Harry through other means than just Order members, so proper aurors had finally been sent.
Hermione dragged Ron down the stairs by his ear muttering, “Honestly, Ronald, you'd think you'd have learned after second year that missing the train is not an option.”
“Oh, and I suppose you're best friends with Father Time himself?” Ron grumbled.
“No, which is exactly the point. I haven't got a time-turner anymore, Ronald, therefore it would be a very bad idea to miss the bleeding train. Put your things in the car, and let's go. Who's driving?” She released Ron's ear with a rather rough knock to Ron's head (which Harry chuckled at) and Hermione grabbed Crookshanks' travel carrier and tried cooing to him through the bars lightly.
“Oh Tonks is, dear.” Mrs. Weasley answered casually.
“What?” Hermione, Ginny, Harry, and Ron cried out incredulously.
“Well, she says she knows what she's doing and - ”
“Has she got a license?” Hermione interrupted.
“A what?” Molly asked bemusedly.
“A license. You know, you get an apparitioner's license to Apparate… you get a driving license to drive. Does Tonks have one?”
“You have one, right Hermione?” Harry asked. “You're of age and all.”
Hermione nodded hesitantly.
“You drive.” He said simply. “No offense to Tonks, but I trust you behind the wheel loads more than her.”
“I need the keys.” She said tentatively, pulling her purse from between the cushions of the car and yanking out her wallet, nodding in satisfaction when she noted that she did indeed have her license on her.
The drive there was pleasantly soothing to Harry, omitting Crookshanks' loud mewls from Ginny's lap beside him, and Hedwig's annoyed hoots from inside her cage. Mrs. Weasley sat in the front seat, repeatedly asking Hermione questions about which road signs meant what, and after a certain point, Harry began answering them for her, as he could tell that Hermione was starting to stress.
She must not have been able to drive very much since she'd received her license, but she was a smooth and careful driver, which was only to be expected of her. Harry was right in trusting her, which Tonks was constantly reminding him of when she kept muttering, “OHHH that's what those bloody arrows mean!”
Hermione had rolled her eyes an unmentionable amount of times in the past hour, so Harry was not surprised a bit when she pulled into an open parking and nearly slammed on the breaks, sticking the car in park and hopping out of the vehicle. She kept muttering to herself and shaking her head, seemingly scolding her mental capabilities when she agreed to drive the damn thing to begin with.
“We should probably get out now.” Harry said amusedly, watching Hermione tug the trunks out of the trunk.
“Right… er… It's this little switchy thing, right Harry?” Ron asked unsurely, pointing to the notch that would lower the window.
Harry shook his head exasperatedly and leaned over Ron to yank the handle up, opening the door and pushing it out just enough so that the door would open the rest of the way and he wouldn't be forced to climb on top of Ron to get out of the vehicle.
“Hurry up, Ronald, we have a train to catch.” Hermione said wearily.
Several Ministry cars pulled up in the spots situated next to theirs and the aurors that stepped out were dressed in black suits, much like the muggle American President's security force, minus the shades.
They hovered slightly around them, not bothering to assist them with their luggage, and followed like puppies when they rushed into King's Cross and consequently (moments later) disappearing into the platform.
“There we are, loves. Now, you've all got everything you need?” Mrs. Weasley said kindly, pulling Ron and Ginny in for a combined hug. “Good, good. Harry, Hermione…” Mrs Weasley pulled them in for a hug as well. “All of you, have a good term, and don't forget to write.”
Nodding and agreeing to write as often as available, the four teens left the silently weeping mother on the platform.
“Oh, Hermione, dear.” Mrs. Weasley called out to her.
Hermione looked back, motioned for Ron to take her trunk (which he did grudgingly), and she walked back toward Mrs. Weasley curiously.
“I have something that you might find to be useful.” Mrs. Weasley said quietly, taking Hermione's hand and placing a brown wrapped item in her hand. “Open it later. I'm sorry, dear… for everything. And you were right. Now, go. Have a good term, and I'll see you at Christmas, yes?”
Hermione nodded and hugged her again, thanking her, and hurried back to the train. She leaned against a compartment and removed the item from its packaging.
Curiously enough, Hermione found herself holding a pocket watch. When she opened it, she found a miniature replica of the Weasley family clock, with only two hands, each labeled Harry and Ronald.
She wanted to cry at the gesture. The fact that Molly had bought the pocket watch would have been enough, but that she knew Hermione well enough to know just how much she cared about Harry and Ron caused her heart to swell. A note fell into her lap, and she picked it up.
Hermione -
I hope you find this useful. With how much time you spend worrying about them, I thought you might appreciate it.
Love,
Molly
Hermione smiled, and vowed to write her surrogate mother a moving letter, and purchase her a very valuable gift at Christmas. She closed the lid on the clock, flipping the lid shut as both hands were pointed to `travelling' and shoved it into her jean pocket. She started searching for their compartment, and slid into it once she'd found Harry, Ginny, and Ron, and gave a small wave to Neville and Luna when she noticed them as well.
“Hey Luna, Neville, how was your summer?”
“Oh, it was alright.” Luna smiled serenely. “Daddy and I went hunting for Nargles. We never found any, because we thought some Wrackspurts had gotten to Daddy's head so we took him home straight away.”
Fighting the urge to snort and roll her eyes once again, Hermione turned to Neville, who was staring strangely at Luna as if she'd grown another head. It was a look that the strange but kind girl had grown quite accustomed to, and she smiled back at him happily.
“Gran took me to America to look at some of the plants there.” He turned to Hermione, smiling. “It was a lot of fun. I'm really glad I went.”
“Good for you, Neville.” She patted his knee lightly and situated herself to the right of Ron and next to Ginny. “I'm glad you both had… exotic summers.”
Ginny giggled quietly, noting how Hermione was trying so hard to keep from offending Luna in any type of way.
Hermione situated herself in the seat, tucking her legs beneath her and pulling a book out of her bag, causing Ron to roll his eyes and make an annoying comment which Hermione smartly pretended not to hear.
The compartment conversation carried on, discussing trivial matters for a long while until silence reigned for a few moments, and Luna finally brought up the topic they were all anxiously awaiting.
“Harry, what do we do about the Ministry battle?” Coming from Luna, the question sounded so innocent and dreamy, but either way the question was there. The only people Harry had discussed the Ministry battle with were Dumbledore (vaguely) and very emotionally with Hermione. He was not ready at all to start chatting about it freely with anyone else.
“Nothing.” Hermione snapped, shutting her book forcefully, glaring at the younger student, to Luna's shock. “We don't do anything. It's done now and nothing's going to change it. It happened, the Ministry is acknowledging it, and so now we wait.”
Harry shot her a fleeting, grateful glance, and she nodded at him carefully.
“Hermione's right.” Harry said quietly. “Let's just not talk about it.”
Ron sighed as Neville and Luna quickly nodded and excused themselves, mostly due to the tone Hermione had taken on. “You can't ignore it forever, mate.”
“Ron!” Hermione growled. “He just said don't talk about it. And besides, if you honestly think he can just ignore it, ever, you should take a closer look. You're so insensitive sometimes.”
“Do you ever let him speak for himself?” Ron snarled. “It seems like you're doing an awful lot of talking for him, lately, and it's not like you've talked to him about it anymore than the rest of us have.”
“Ron!” Ginny warned harshly. “Stop being such a prick.”
“I'd let him speak for himself, Ron, if he wanted to, but he just sodding told you to drop it! And he is still here, you know!”
“Well, Harry, what've you got to say?” Ron turned to his mate and asked in a somewhat “go on, tell her off” sort of way.
“I've already told you what I've got to say, Ron, and Hermione's right. It's not like I can just ignore that my godfather died. I just don't want to talk about it, so leave it alone!” He shot up and excused himself to change into his robes.
“Now look what you've done, Ron.” Ginny sighed. “Why can't you ever just step down a notch and admit defeat when Hermione's right? It's one thing to try and prove a point, but you're hurting Harry in the process and you know as well as I do that it isn't right.”
Ron looked properly abashed and stood up to go and apologize to his best friend humbly. “Sorry Hermione…” He mumbled on his way out.
Hermione sighed and massaged her temples furiously. “Is he right, Ginny?” She asked suddenly. “Do I speak for Harry too much?”
“Hermione, no. You know more than anyone that Ron gets carried away when he's trying to prove something. And besides, you've discussed this with Harry more than any of us have, so you know how much he's hurting on an entirely different level than we do. You know when he doesn't want to talk about something, so it's a natural instinct to answer for him when you don't think he's up to answering it by himself. Just because Ron's being an arse doesn't mean you have to second-guess yourself.”
She still seemed unsure, but nevertheless she picked up her book and resumed reading. At least she gave the appearance of it.
Mentally, however, Hermione's mind was working a thousand words a minute.
She had been trying increasingly hard to shield away any signs of her attachment to Harry, but recently they were just being exposed even further. Maybe she was being too concerned for him? But Harry didn't seem to have a problem with it. Harry had seemed more than okay with talking things out. And he needed some sort of outlet. Obviously with Ron's understanding capacity being as small as it was, he couldn't go to him.
And a large fraction of her felt proud that she was the only one Harry could talk to when it came down to it. She scolded herself for being selfish, but despite that the giddiness was still there. It made her feel special to him, and like he needed her.
She would never admit it to them, but she was jealous of Harry and Ron. The two of them were friends before she had ever entered the picture, and she was fairly sure that they would have no problems resorting to just the two of them again if it came to that. She didn't want to be forgotten, and that was one of her greatest fears. She didn't care that she wasn't noticed by most of the school population… she just needed to be recognized by her friends.
Ron, as much of a stupid git as he was, was still a very important part of her life. She needed him. They bickered a lot, sure, but in the end their bickering was what caused a friendship between them. It's what held them together. He was brave, and loyal, and while he was very short tempered, and easily grew jealous, his positive qualities made up for it.
Harry just made her smile. As much as she was there for him, he was also there for her. If she was upset, Harry was the first to recognize it and cheer her up. She hated that he was in so much pain lately, and it irked her to no end that Ron seemed to lack the sympathetic nature to watch what he was saying in order to spare Harry's feelings.
“Hermione, stop.” Ginny snapped finally. She couldn't watch this anymore. “You've been staring at that book for twenty minutes now, and you're not getting anywhere. Talk to me. Tell me what you're thinking about.”
She closed the book carefully and replaced it in her bag meticulously. “It's just… with all the arguing that we do, sometimes I wonder if Ron makes a good point. You know I'm always paranoid that I'm going to be dropped out of the friendship.” Ginny started to protest but Hermione glared at her and continued. “Ron keeps making all those sarcastic remarks about how I'm not letting Harry say anything of his own… do you think Ron's feeling the same thing? Ginny, I don't want either of them to know about anything I may feel for Harry. I don't want Ron to get angry, I don't want to make Harry feel awkward or stressed… I just don't want it. But I can't tell anymore… I mean, I think the line separating me from acting friendly and platonic toward Harry and actually giving something away about my feelings is being blurred in my mind and it's driving me bonkers, Gin. Merlin, what was I thinking when I fell in love with my best friend?” Hermione had muttered the last bit more to herself than Ginny.
“You were thinking that he's everything you've ever looked for in a man.” Ginny suggested teasingly. “Look, Hermione, the thing is that you do love Harry, and now that you've acknowledged that fact your mind and body can't help wanting to react to it. It's called being a girl. Love it. Embrace it.”
Hermione blushed lightly, but turned her head toward the window. “Ginny I'm scared.” She paused for a moment. “I don't want whatever I'm feeling to tear us all apart, and I think that's exactly what will happen if Ron finds out. And Ginny, Harry doesn't feel the same. There's no way someone like Harry could fall for someone like me. It's just not possible.”
“Hermione, you're different than the other girls at Hogwarts. That's not a bad thing, it's good.” Ginny said softly.
“Yeah,” Hermione snorted rather inelegantly, “mentally it's good. It means I have more brains than a sack of doorknobs. But physically? I definitely don't have your figure, Gin, and I know it.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Hermione, this is getting ridiculous. No, you're not as tall, or leggy, or blonde as some girls are. But come on, you're not exactly an ugly duckling either. I mean, you went through a big phase of it, I'll admit, but you're not bad looking. You do have curves, you just don't enhance them. And you have beautiful eyes, too, while we're at it. Stop putting yourself down. Harry is Harry, Hermione. He appreciates what you are. The only problem is that you don't. It's a bit off-putting.”
Hermione sighed. “I know. You're right. I guess I just keep letting ridiculous stuff get to my head. Besides, there are more important things going on than the inner-workings of my brain.”
“Good girl.”
They both smiled slightly and Hermione really resumed reading this time, while Ginny brushed up on her Transfiguration skills.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Author's Note: This'll be it until probably this weekend. Hope you enjoy. :-)
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