(A/N: "Dear Diary: Suckiest month ever. Less said of it, the better. Couldn't have got through it without support of my friends. Especially MirielleGrey, who had plenty on her plate without being a beta too. Love, P."
Seriously, thank you all for your patience, as I've tried to reconstruct this chapter following the tragic death of my hard drive. I hope this chapter can slake your thirst. Until the next chapter, of course.
I've used the concept of the Jungian collective unconscious in others of my stories: I frankly don't see how some of the Potterverse's magic can work without it.)
(Disclaimer: This can't be JKR: Even I write faster than she does.)
*
"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
*
XIX: Gathering Intelligence
*
"What I can't figure out," Hermione said to herself as she and Dennis made their way to Azkaban's Apparation Point, "is how Lovinett could have done it. I saw him give up his wand to the guard - not that anyone could smuggle a wand past the guard desk's sensors, anyway…"
Dennis shrugged. "We'll ask him after we've hauled him in. I mean, now we have enough solid proof to use Veritaserum, right?"
"Right - but we don't haul him in yet." At Dennis's astonished look, Hermione explained, "I went to extraordinary lengths to keep our visit to Azkaban today a secret. I don't want to show our hand until we're ready."
"But I don't see…"
"Why did Lovinett kill Swivingham?" asked Hermione gently. "Who is he working for?"
"I don't know…" Dennis began, then caught himself. "But you think they're the ones who had Robards Obliviated?"
"It would seem so, yes."
"Lovinett did that, too?!"
"Probably not. If Lovinett were skilled with Memory Charms, why not Obliviate Swivingham, instead of killing him?" Hermione recalled Ginny's story, with Zabini calling Swivingham an 'example' - but until she had a chance to review Ginny's Pensieved memories, those suspicions were best kept to herself.
For a moment, she slipped back into lecturer mode. "Right now, nobody knows that Swivingham's death was anything but suicide - nobody but us, and the ones responsible. If we arrest Lovinett now, the guilty ones will know we know - and we're not in a position yet to arrest them as well. But they mustn't be given a chance to respond, either - flee, hide, or counter - so for now, we hold off on Lovinett." Hermione gave a grim half-smile at her colleague's impatience. "Only for now, Dennis. As soon as we can collect Lovinett in a way that doesn't tip off his employers, we will."
"Whatever you say," said Dennis, still impatient but willing to trust The Witch Who Won. "Do you have a plan, then?"
"I've an idea, yes. It will require a good deal of coordination and advance preparation." Hermione sighed and couldn't help wincing. "Not least of which will be the humble pie."
*
Ginny watched Blaise's retreating figure in puzzlement. Whatever reaction she'd expected from him, upon hearing Ron's news of an imposter Harry, it hadn't been that look of sharp attention… followed by quick excuses and rapid departure. He was returning to the drawing room, where his three mysterious guests were being privately entertained, and Ginny couldn't imagine why they'd be interested in this bit of gossip.
Especially as Blaise had insisted it wasn't true, but merely a ploy on Hermione's part.
She hesitated, turned the hesitation into a wait, and gave Blaise enough time to return to the drawing room and close the door. Then Ginny quietly followed him down the hall, stopping in front of the closed door. Years of growing up at the Burrow came in useful: she stood nonchalantly by the door, not looking at all as though she were listening intently.
The voices through the door were faint at first: she couldn't distinguish words. Then Blaise's voice rose above the others. "Because I've just learned that Granger's spreading a rumor that Harry Potter's come back from the dead, that's why. The elves will respond to that, I assure you. Oh yes, they will testify - making the verdict certain."
Another voice spoke up, in a sharp German accent. "Then Swivingham will to your Azkaban Prison be sent after all. Hm. Does your Ministry have an appeal process we might attempt? If not, at the very least we can a goodly bonus guarantee him, once his term he's served…"
"No, we've no options left," replied Blaise, "but he does. He can turn Crown's Evidence in exchange for immunity from prosecution. And that's exactly what he'll do. You gentlemen have no idea of the horror that is Azkaban, but trust me, Swivingham will do anything to avoid it. To save his own skin, he will betray us."
There was a hubbub of angry voices as several people tried to speak at once. Ginny tried to focus on specific comments, until one smooth voice spoke. "I think we're agreed," he began, and the others fell silent at once, "that it would be in everyone's best interest that our good friend Jack remain silent. Our faithful servant would not wish to be forsworn, after all… and it would be merciful to keep him out of Azkaban, if what you tell us of it is true."
"Setting an example to the end," said Blaise after a moment. "Very well, gentlemen, I'll take care of it. It shall be done discreetly-" Blaise stopped talking… a little too quickly. Ginny realized he must have heard or suspected her presence, and was even now heading to open the door.
She didn't hesitate: before he could reach the door, she knocked briskly. "Blaise?" she called, in a perfectly natural tone.
The door swung open immediately. Blaise stood filling the doorway, his face carefully neutral; behind him Ginny could see his three visitors. "I'm sorry to interrupt," she said apologetically, "but there's an owl from the Ministry here for you."
Visibly, Blaise relaxed a bit. "Of course," he said easily. "If you'll forgive me, gentlemen? Duty calls." He left the drawing room, closing the door behind him, and motioned Ginny to precede him to the manor's foyer, where owls usually arrived.
"Sorry," she said again as they walked. "I know you like me to stay with our main party, but if the Ministry is owling you on a Friday night, it must be important."
"No, you did right."
"And Aurora Sinclair brought a new guest tonight. I thought you might want to bedazzle her with the famous Blaise Zabini charm." Ginny smiled impishly, and Blaise returned her smile automatically.
"First the owl, then our guests," he promised. Ginny knew there would be an owl from the Ministry waiting for Blaise at the foyer. Every Fire Party, at least one owl arrived from the Ministry, sometimes more than one. She'd never disturbed Blaise with their contents - she knew the back room sessions were important, politically - but simply read the messages, which were often trivial matters, and dealt with them on her own initiative with no one the wiser. She was perfectly capable of handling such routine details, and events had always proven her right.
The owl waiting in the foyer wouldn't bear anything vital, but it would be from the Ministry, and would give Ginny the excuse she needed to be loitering outside the drawing room door. As long as she enjoyed Blaise's confidence, that was all that mattered to her.
Hermione and Ginny emerged from the Pensieve. Each took a moment to regain her bearings; Hermione recovered first. "And you haven't seen or heard from those three wizards since Friday?"
Ginny swayed on her feet slightly, still dizzy from the trip into her own memory. "Um, no. I didn't even learn their names. But you can see why I got so worried, when I read about Swivingham's death yesterday…!"
With a swirl of her wand, Hermione collected the memory into a flowing silvery thread, wrapping it around her wand's tip. She delicately removed it from the Pensieve before replying. "Yes, but even in the worst case, you should be safe enough," she told Ginny, as she deposited the memory into a glass phial. "After all, there wouldn't be much point in killing or Obliviating you, when we've effectively got your testimony in here." She held up the phial, now filled with silvery fluid.
"You could use that in court?" Ginny asked. "Whether I'm there or not?"
"Well, yes. That's exactly what this is for, after all," pointed out Hermione, patting the Pensieve's rim. "This is one of the Ministry's evidentiary Pensieves. As the name implies, it displays the memory exactly as you experienced it, providing an eyewitness account. No more, no less."
Ginny nodded, then furrowed her brows. "But Memory Charms?"
"Would be apparent as a blurring or discontinuity in the flow of events. If necessary, we'd have a Ministry Obliviator scan the witness for Memory Charms."
"Ah," said Ginny, her doubts not quite dispelled.
Together they made their way to the kitchen, where Hermione had set out the Indian take-away she'd brought home with her. "I need to restock my larder, if you're to be staying here more than a few days," she joked.
"I'll pay you back," Ginny offered, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "And this smells heavenly, thanks."
They make inconsequential small talk as they ate. Ginny was as easy and personable as Hermione remembered; several times, she had to catch herself as she fell back into old habits, from their shared nights in the bedroom at the Burrow. She had no doubt that Ginny was making a conscious effort to get back on her sister-in-law's good side.
It wasn't until they'd nearly finished their dinners that Ginny returned to the issue of her Pensieve memories. "So, then," she said, pushing away her plate and somberly meeting Hermione's gaze. "Now you've seen it, what do you think?"
Hermione chose her words carefully. "Nothing you heard was an unambiguous death sentence for Swivingham. If this memory were presented as trial evidence, I don't doubt that defense counsel would show how it could be interpreted in more than one way."
"That's true," said Ginny, brightening. "Blaise never really said anything about Swivingham being killed, did he? I knew he couldn't be involved in anything shady…"
Who exactly are we trying to convince, Ginny? asked Hermione silently.
"I mean," continued Ginny blithely, "if they were all talking about something criminal or dangerous, wouldn't you think they'd put an Imperturbable Charm on the door? Or Silencing Charms, or something?"
"Mm hmm. On the other hand, using those charms would demonstrate to everyone in the manor that he had something to hide."
"Oh. Yeah. I suppose…" said a deflated Ginny. After a moment, she looked up at Hermione with a hint of a smirk on her lips. "So why'd you have an Imperturbable Charm on your door last night?"
Hermione was unprepared to have the tables turned on her. "Oh! Um. Well, no reason, I suppose…" she fumbled.
Ginny's smirk widened. "Come on, you can tell me."
"Well… I didn't want to say, but…" Hermione played at hesitation, as an excellent excuse occurred to her. "It was because… well, I'm sorry, Ginny, but you snore."
The smirk vanished immediately. "I do not snore!"
"Yes, you do, I'm afraid. I mean, you snored back when we roomed together in the Burrow, but nothing like last night. And I'm not talking little ladylike snores, either." Wickedly, Hermione imitated the loudest, most adenoidal snore possible, and added, "And I thought Ron was bad." She gave an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, Ginny."
"Hmph," Ginny scowled, crossing her arms. Pleased that she'd diverted Ginny's curiosity, Hermione began to clear the dishes and put them in the sink.
"Speaking of Ron," said Ginny abruptly, "he Floo-called here twice today. Said something about not being able to see you in your office."
"I was in and out most of the day," Hermione confirmed.
"Anyway, after his last call, he owled you a message." Ginny indicated Hermione's desk, where a hastily tied scroll sat among her paperwork. Intrigued, Hermione went to her desk and opened the scroll. She read it silently… then read it again, to be sure.
"Well?" Ginny demanded at length, unable to contain herself.
"Well, I'd have to say this is the most fulsome screed of remorse and contrition that I've ever had the dubious pleasure of reading." Hermione glanced from the scroll to Ginny and translated, "He says he's really, really sorry."
"Well, that's good, isn't it?"
"As far as it goes, I suppose." Though she knew Ginny dearly wanted to read the note for herself, Hermione re-rolled the scroll and slipped it into her pocket. There were certain details in the note that she didn't want to share… at least not with Ginny.
"Well, I need to return the Pensieve to the Ministry tonight," she announced. "I can pick up some groceries while I'm out, so decide what you'd like to eat while you're here. And, er, is there anything else I can pick up for you? I know I don't have a lot of diversions in my home…"
"I was listening to Rose's WWN hookup most of the day. But… if you could pick me up a copy of this month's Modern Quidditch, that'd help," said Ginny gratefully.
"I'll do that," laughed Hermione. "Why don't you wash the dishes, while I pack the Pensieve?" Upon Ginny's eager nod, she left the kitchen and headed straight for her bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she hissed, "Harry? Are you there?"
Harry's head appeared. "So what did you see? I didn't want to try following you into the Pensieve… didn't know if I'd be visible inside it, Cloak or no…"
Hermione overrode him. "Can you come with me back to the Ministry?" she asked urgently. "I've no time to explain, I don't want Ginny to suspect anything - but can you meet me there? In the Atrium again, and follow me to my office? It's very important, Harry."
His jaw clenched once… then he resolutely nodded and wrapped the Cloak over his head once more. Hermione quickly grabbed one of her pillows, stripped off its pillowcase, and returned to the living room just as Ginny entered from the kitchen. Together they slipped the Pensieve into the pillowcase for transport… then with a friendly nod to Ginny, Hermione Disapparated.
*
At the Ministry, Hermione shut the door to her office and glanced around. "You can come out now," she announced quietly. She waited a moment, and added, "Trust me, Harry, please."
The air shimmered as Harry shucked off the Cloak. He immediately stepped to the door and put his ear to it, listening. He raised his left hand, where the Elder Wand was strapped, as though he were about to cast a warding spell… despite its being after hours, and the Ministry being nearly unpopulated, he clearly felt very exposed and vulnerable being there.
Evidently, whatever protections he detected on the room seemed to satisfy him: he lowered his hand without casting anything. "All right, Hermione, what's on with this? I'm guessing you want me to see Ginny's memory in the Pensieve…?"
"Yes and no," Hermione replied, pulling the phial from her pocket. A little explanation, she thought, might help distract him enough to settle his nerves. "An evidentiary Pensieve is limited, deliberately so, in what it can show us. But in theory, a Pensieve can draw on more than the memory being displayed: it can extract memetic information from the gestalt of the collective unconscious itself. "
"Uh huh. And what's that mean, when it's at home?"
"It means a powerful Pensieve can actually show details that the memory's observer didn't herself see." She walked behind her desk and, with a grunt, picked up a large, heavy wooden box. She set the box on her desk as she continued, "Unfortunately, the spells needed to create such a powerful Pensieve have been lost for generations. There are only a few left in the world. One of them, as you may recall, belonged to Albus Dumbledore."
"Yeah," said Harry with dawning understanding, as he recalled his sixth-year lessons with Dumbledore. Now that he considered, his Pensieve trips into Tom Riddle's life had seemed far more detailed than would be possible if only a single person's memories had been used: events behind closed doors, or out of the person's line of sight, had been fully visible. "So I'm guessing that you've got Dumbledore's Pensieve there?"
"Right in one," smiled Hermione, lifting the box's lid to reveal the rune-graven stone basin. "I sent a note to Professor McGonagall earlier today. She's been good enough to loan us Dumbledore's Pensieve in the past." She opened the phial and poured Ginny's memory into the waiting Pensieve. "Of course," she added, "precisely because it does show more than one witness's experience, it can't be used as evidence in a trial - but that won't matter to us, if it points us in the right direction. And I think we'll both want to see this."
And seizing Harry's hand, they plunged into the roiling silvery mist.
They entered the memory at the point where Ginny was listening by the drawing room door. Without letting go of Harry's hand, Hermione walked through the door - literally through it, as though it were an illusion - and found herself in the room with Zabini and three others. "Because I've just learned that Granger's spreading a rumor that Harry Potter's come back from the dead," Zabini was saying forcefully, "that's why. The elves will respond to that, I assure you. Oh yes, they will testify - making the verdict certain." He sat back in his seat and regarded the three wizards before him: dressed in elegant robes that bespoke wealth without flaunting it, they carried an air of authority… and danger.
The wizard on his left met Zabini's gaze coolly. Hermione noted him carefully: thin, with high cheekbones, wispy blond hair, and deep-set blue eyes. Calluses on the bridge of his nose suggested he normally wore spectacles. "Then Swivingham will to your Azkaban Prison be sent after all," he said in a sharp German accent. "Hm. Does your Ministry have an appeal process we might attempt? If not, at the very least we can a goodly bonus guarantee him, once his term he's served…"
Zabini made a slicing gesture with one hand. "No, we've no options left, but he does. He can turn Crown's Evidence in exchange for immunity from prosecution. And that's exactly what he'll do. You gentlemen have no idea of the horror that is Azkaban, but trust me, Swivingham will do anything to avoid it. To save his own skin, he will betray us."
The German wizard began an angry retort, but was interrupted by the second wizard, the one on Zabini's right: swarthy skin, curly black hair, massive muscular build. He favored heavy gold jewellery. From the Mediterranean, Hermione guessed; his accent sounded neither Italian nor French, but some polyglot blend. "You put too much faith in these dementors of yours," he snarled. "I 'ave never believed they're the deterrent you and your Ministry claim. It's not as though we've 'ad problems in recruitment, after all."
"Amazing, then, that you ever saw the need to approach me, Castigni," Zabini riposted. "Or do you think your gains here would have been as great, or as rapid, without my aid?"
"Irrelevant to the discussion," put in the German. "Swivingham will not to betray us be moved if your dementors aren't fearsome enough to discourage crime in the first place…!"
The third wizard, who sat directly facing Zabini, had yet said nothing. He looked to be from the Middle East: hawk-nosed, a trim black beard, wearing a neat turban. He accepted a goblet of some foaming drink from a young, female house-elf, and sipped as he listened to the growing argument. Finally, he handed the goblet back to the elf and raised a finger. "I think we're agreed," he began smoothly, and the others fell silent at once, "that it would be in everyone's best interest that our good friend Jack remain silent. Our faithful servant would not wish to be forsworn, after all… and it would be merciful to keep him out of Azkaban, if what you tell us of it is true." He smiled serenely as he watched Zabini, and waited.
After a moment, Zabini gave a jerky nod of reluctant understanding. "Setting an example to the end," he said slowly. "Very well, gentlemen, I'll take care of it. It shall be done discreetly-" Abruptly, Zabini stopped - his head swiveling to look at the closed door. Raising his hand for silence, he quickly rose from his chair and took a step - as a brisk knock sounded.
"Blaise?" came Ginny's voice through the door.
Hermione nodded, satisfied by what she'd seen. She turned to collect Harry… to see him kneeling before the house-elf, studying her features closely. By elven standards, indeed by human standards, she was quite comely. Her only garb comprised a long translucent veil, strategically arranged to cover without concealing, and held in place by a fine gold chain around her waist. "She reminds me of one of the elves that visited Enthalpy House," Harry said, unnecessarily whispering.
"Brillig," Hermione automatically supplied, then gasped as she looked more closely. The house-elf in the Pensieve was obviously the Arab's personal servant - but more importantly, she was the very image of one of the witnesses against Swivingham! The elf named Fatima…
"Swivingham hinted there was a… Levantine connection to the Cartel Lords," Hermione said softly. She took Harry's wrist, pointed her wand upward, and together they left the Pensieve scene.
"'Levantine'?" Harry asked.
"One of the six witness elves, one you haven't met yet, is named Fatima," explained Hermione, as she hurriedly collected Ginny's memory from the Pensieve. "She looks almost exactly like the elf servant we saw. Enough to be sisters! It can't be coincidence."
"Wizards have bred house-elves as servants for centuries," Harry commented. "Stands to reason that someone, somewhere, would breed them for looks, as well as everything else." He shrugged. "And it makes sense it would be in Arabia. What do they call those girl-slaves in Paradise - houris? Pretty house-elves would be like houris on earth."
"In every way," muttered Hermione in disgust, as she replaced the lid on the Pensieve box. Small wonder Swivingham imported elven sex-slaves from that region! Hermione was willing to bet that Fatima had been charged with instructing the other elves on "technique".
"So…" Harry began to pace back and forth in Hermione's office. Since the office wasn't all that big, he was more or less reduced to constantly turning in a circle. "So what does this tell us, then? Are these three wizards the Cartel Lords that Swivingham worked for? From what we heard, I'm guessing that Zabini killed Swivingham, or arranged it - does Zabini work for the Lords, too, or is he one of them? And did we hear… there was a name mentioned! 'Castigni' - does that ring a bell with you?"
"No, but I wouldn't have expected it to: we know how the Lords prefer to remain anonymous. Mm, we can forward the name to the various Ministries in Europe, see if anyone has a dossier on him. And we have physical descriptions for all three of them, which we can also forward." Hermione took out a sheet of parchment and began to make notes. "As for Swivingham's murder, I made some progress on that today. I know the agent Zabini used, but not the method. I'm still working on a plan, an idea really, to bring the agent in for questioning, without anyone being aware of it." She scribbled furiously.
"Working on an idea?"
She did not want to discuss the details of her plan with Harry, lest he offer to help with the worst part of it. "Er, yes. Right now, I'm trying to find a way to persuade the, er, target to accept a Portkey." She swept her quill in the air between them, dismissing the topic, and went back to Harry's previous comment. "And, from what I saw, I'm guessing that Zabini's not one of the Lords, but he's hardly a hireling as Swivingham was."
"Ah. More like Fudge, under Malfoy's thumb?"
"More like an ally, I'd say," she replied, now comfortably in her element. "Think about it: Zabini has an agenda, a political agenda. For that, he needs political influence. He's got plenty of that already - Merlin, he's tapped to be the next Minister of Magic when Kingsley passes on. Therefore, any entente he may have with the Lords must serve to increase his influence, or it does him no good. No, he won't jeopardize his agenda by becoming part of a criminal cartel, no matter how high he could rise there."
"But then, why would he…?"
"Work with the Cartel at all? Agendas need financing, Harry." Hermione looked up from her note-taking to watch Harry, still pacing around the office - except what she'd taken for nervous energy was instead a constant monitoring for intruders. He'd picked his Cloak up off the floor, and looked ready to vanish under it at anyone's approach. "Oh, honestly, Harry," she tsked, "do you think you're the only person who augments the standard wards with their own spells? Of course I've put extra defenses on my office."
"Oh. Uh, right. Of course, sorry…" Harry stopped pacing, a trace of embarrassment on his face. "Yeah, you've probably been doing that for years, haven't you?"
Tempting though it was to let Harry believe that, honesty forced Hermione to say, "Um, no. Only for a couple of days. Since the night I didn't get Obliviated." She rolled her eyes at his smirk. "Yes, thanks to your extra defenses."
"Just checking." His smirk turned into a warm smile as he raised his hand, as though laying it against a curtain to feel its material. "Hm, I recognize Cave Inimicum and Salvio Hexia, but there are a couple here I don't know."
"I like to think I've learned a few things since the Horcrux Hunt," Hermione smiled back.
"Me too." Harry's smile turned rueful. "'Course, it would have been hard not to have learned since then - I was so incredibly stupid. Most important quest of the War, of my entire life, and what did I do to get ready for it? I watched you pack."
"You let me do what I do best. When the fighting started, I let you do what you do best. I was often afraid that I was, well, a liability to you in combat…" She paused, brows lowering, as a sudden thought occurred. "Harry, when you were using the Lactus charm for that farming couple, did I hear you say you used your holly wand? The one I… I broke?" At his nod, she continued, "But I thought Mr. Ollivander told you…"
"Ollivander didn't reckon with the Elder Wand. He only thought of it in terms of killing, remember? 'The Deathstick', he called it. But using it, I was able to fix my old wand - a simple Reparo was all it took." A half-grin on his lips, he bent down to look Hermione in the eyes. "Have you been feeling… guilty about breaking my wand? For all this time?"
"No! … Well, perhaps a little." Hermione hunched over her parchment and resumed writing notes, well aware of her red face. Trust Harry to pick up on that… She began again, "So, anyway, Harry, you don't have to worry about being in my office. There are enough wards to keep anyone noticing."
"I appreciate that, thanks." He looked slightly more relaxed.
"And certainly more wards than you had when you visited Ron in Diagon Alley last night."
There was a pause so long that Hermione wondered if her friend had been Petrified. At long last, he sighed resignedly and said, "You weren't supposed to know about that."
"Ron wrote me a very apologetic letter today. In which he made repeated reference to 'how Harry would have wanted things'. I got top marks in Arithmancy - let's assume I can add two and two, shall we?" Feeling more secure now that Harry was on the defensive, she raised her head and pinned him with a gimlet eye. "Harry, I appreciate what you were trying to do, but I can fight my own battles. Certainly my battles with Ron are between him and me."
"I know. I saw you battling last night, remember? My little sojourn wasn't about fighting your battles for you, Hermione. It was… it was…"
"It was what? I don't see what else I could call it but your assuming that I can't…"
"NO ONE gets to…!" Harry stopped, drew a long, deep breath, and continued more quietly, but with no less force. "No one - no one - gets to hurt you, and get away with it. It has nothing to do with defending you or sheltering you or fighting your battles for you or anything like that. It's just…" He stopped again, and looked at her almost pleadingly - as though he expected her to complete his thought aloud, as she so often did.
But for once, she was at a loss for words: too astonished by his sudden vehemence to speak.
"It's like Scotland," he finally said. He thrust his hands in his pockets and spun away from her. "I'm sure you know the motto of Scotland."
'Nemo me impune lacessit', Hermione's memory supplied. 'No one assaults me with impunity'. Except in Harry's case, it's 'No one assaults me with impunity'. Sweet Merlin, was this the man who refused to come back to the wizarding world? Who so reluctantly came to the Ministry two days ago? Yet he risked everything to go to Diagon Alley last night to deal with Ron…
"Funny thing is," said Harry, still unable to face her, "a month ago, I'd have said that for Ron, too." It was eerie, how his thoughts seemed to parallel her own. He was almost mumbling as he finished, "But, but not after… after last night."
"Or Ginny?" she whispered.
"Or Ginny."
Without hesitating an instant, Hermione rose from the desk, walked up behind Harry, and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened momentarily at her touch, then relaxed as she pressed herself against his back. Hermione rested her cheek against his shoulder and simply held him. She wouldn't embarrass him further by making him face her, but she was determined to give gratitude and affection in the only way, at that moment, that he could accept: her embrace.
When Harry started to lean back against her, she knew he understood.
A deliberate change of subject was needed, to break the tension. "Well, speaking of Ginny: her Pensieve evidence probably isn't enough to endanger her life. But Zabini wouldn't know that. If he suspects her at all, he may take action against her 'just in case'. As much as I'd prefer otherwise, she should spend at least one more night at Enthalpy House."
"As you say," he sighed after a few seconds. "At least she was a good girl today: she didn't try to breach the wards or contact anyone."
"You know that…? Oh, of course you would."
"Yeah." Harry covered her hands with his own, and squeezed them gently. Then he stepped forward, out of their span, and turned to face her again. "I assume I'll be in your bedroom again tonight? Right, then I'll wait here a bit… give you a chance to, um, get ready for bed before I Apparate in."
"And stop at the market for provisions," Hermione reminded him, stepping back to her desk. She folded the parchment and placed it in her pocket along with the phial of Ginny's memories. She was about to Disapparate when Harry said, in a voice so quiet that she almost didn't hear it, "And Hermione? You weren't a liability."
His green eyes were fixed on her now, bright as jewels, and piercing to her soul. "You were never a liability," he went on. "If I were going into battle tomorrow … I'd …" Harry paused, seeking the right words, and finished, "There's no one I'd rather have by me." A smile flashed on his lips, born of relief and thanks, before he swirled the Cloak over his shoulders and vanished from view.
There was no logical reason why that tribute, those words of acknowledgment, should cause Hermione's heart to beat more wildly, nor her eyes to sting. She hastily wiped them with the back of her hand, gave a return smile of thanks to the seemingly empty room, and Disapparated while she still trusted herself to not say anything.