(A/N: Oh yes, you've been waiting for this chapter.
I didn't finish the story within a year of the first chapter's posting: I still have many loose threads to tie up. But we're nearing the finish line, surely. Multiple thanks to my beta, MirielleGrey, who I know for certain has had more on her mind this week.)
(Disclaimer: See, I know when I've left loose threads that need tying. And I try to tie them. So I can't be the author of Deathly Hallows, now can I?)
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"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
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XXIX: Not Broken But Fulfilled
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Hermione was tense. Hermione was fidgety. Hermione had not really been given a chance to recover from her brush with Death. And Harry still hadn't emerged from the Department of Mysteries. She didn't know what the Unspeakables were doing with Harry, but she had a strong notion it shouldn't be taking this long.
Hermione wanted nothing more than to take Harry and go.
Yet at the same time, Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to be anywhere near Harry right now. She didn't like it when diametrically conflicting states co-existed in her mind; they certainly weren't helping ease her tension.
As much as she would have liked to retreat to Enthalpy House, there to burrow into her bed with a pillow over her head, there was too much to be done. What with the attacks, and the arrests, and the deaths - not to mention the resurrections - the Ministry was thoroughly unsettled, and none of the Department Heads seemed to be taking charge. Either they were already busy, as Robards was, or they simply didn't feel that a smoothly-running wizarding government was part of their brief.
So Hermione found herself "playing Mum to the Ministry" and dealing with a plethora of niggly details. She had just finished talking to Kingsley's two executive assistants, making sure they would continue to carry out the mundane daily functions of the Minister's office for the short term… until the Wizengamot selected a new Minister. (When one of them asked when that would be, Hermione had replied, "Not a moment too soon.")
Now she was walking back to her rooms, hoping there would be a reply from the ICW to her message earlier that day. Pursuit of Castigni and ibn al-Afrit could not be delayed… With luck, there might also be a status report on Blaise Zabini waiting for her.
"Oh! There you are! Er, good to see you, Hermione," a familiar voice said. "I was just coming to your office." Arthur Weasley fell into step beside her, a concerned look on his face.
"Good to see you too, Mr. Weasley," she greeted him, smiling but not breaking stride. "You're not often on this floor, though. What's on your mind?"
"Harry," he said, with a touch of diffidence.
She didn't stop in her tracks, but she did slow considerably. "Harry?" she repeated, willing her voice to stay level. There was no way Arthur could have found the same objections to Harry's story that Ron had…
"Er, yes," said Arthur. "I was wondering… that is to say, Hermione, you know I've never presumed on our relationship…"
This was true. Throughout her rise in the Ministry, Arthur Weasley had never taken advantage of the fact that he was the father-in-law of The Witch Who Won. He'd never used it to seek preference for promotion, nor had he ever approached her directly for favors. Some might attribute it to a total lack of ambition, understandable for a widower whose children had left the nest; but Hermione knew that, for all his seeming woolgathering, Arthur Weasley was a wizard of honesty and integrity.
For him to approach her now, therefore, meant that the matter must be very important, indeed.
"But I was, well, wondering," he continued, "if you could… well, could you get me in to see Harry? No one's seen him since Croaker took him away - and by now there's just a mob of people waiting to catch a glimpse of him. I wouldn't stand a hope of getting past that crowd, much less past Croaker. But if you could take me there… I mean, no one would deny you…"
Hermione was astonished. "Arthur… why?" She'd never thought him the type to be attracted by fame or notoriety.
He looked surprised that she should ask. "Well, the boy's just come back to us - and he hasn't a Knut to his name, has he? No place to stay, no food, no clothes… I was going to offer the Burrow. He can certainly stay with me - as long as he likes. Indefinitely."
"Oh, of course." Hermione beamed at him, while inwardly chiding herself. Of course Arthur would extend shelter to Harry, as he'd done so many times in the past. He had no ulterior motive: Arthur would do no less for any of his sons. And he certainly thought of Harry as one of his own children.
But that reminded her that Arthur's other children (some of them) might prove awkward… and Hermione knew, as Arthur did not, that Harry already had a flat and funds in the Muggle world waiting for him. She found a diplomatic excuse for putting him off. "I can try, Arthur, but even Kingsley had trouble getting into the Department of Mysteries sometimes. And then, too, I think we should let Harry get used to being in the land of the living again… before deluging him with everything that's happened since he left." She gave Arthur a sympathetic half-wince, half-shrug. "Molly's death, for instance…"
"Oh! Oh, yes, certainly!" Arthur responded hastily. Hermione felt a twinge of remorse for having brought up Molly, but it seemed to have worked. At any rate, Arthur left her at her office door with a thankful smile.
*
Harry was hungry. Harry was tired. Harry still hadn't been given anything to wear. And Harry hadn't been allowed to contact Hermione. It was early evening, he'd spent most of the day in this drab room in the Department of Mysteries, and Harry was transitioning from irritated to supremely pissed.
When at last Croaker entered the room, Harry gave him no chance to speak. "Right, then, listen up! I've been patient. I've been cooperating with you, right? So if I don't start getting some cooperation in return, I'm walking, and you can't stop me. I mean, I really need something to wear besides this cloak, and I've had bugger-all to eat…"
Croaker only appeared to hear the last bit of Harry's vent. "It's true?" he asked Eldritch. "No food or drink?" The grey wizard shook his head. Harry looked from Croaker to Eldritch, and back again, and the penny dropped.
"Oh, so that's it. It's been a few hours, nothing past my lips, and I haven't changed my shape - so that must rule out Polyjuice Potion. Glad we've cleared that up. Now can I get some supper?"
"We had to be sure," said Croaker unapologetically. "As for leaving, I had assumed you would wish to stay here. Where else would you go? Any property you might have owned has been bequeathed elsewhere."
Jacob Clayman's flat, Harry almost retorted, but he knew doing so would open a can of worms that he'd only managed to seal. "I'll go into Muggle London and find a homeless shelter, if I must. Anywhere but here."
Croaker nodded minutely. "And would they feed and clothe you as well? With no money…"
Harry interrupted angrily. "Am I getting fed and clothed now?!" He took a smidgen of satisfaction in seeing Croaker retreat a step, and Eldritch shrink slightly into his chair. He didn't notice - or couldn't feel - the wave of cold magic, like a chilling draft, that had swept through the room at his outburst.
He drew a slow breath, exhaled just as slowly, and continued with a certain deliberation. "Look. I am not staying here tonight. I'm leaving. You can take that as settled. Let me worry about where I go once I leave here. It's not like I haven't had to fend for myself in the past. Thanks for your concern," he added sardonically.
"Very well," said Croaker, deftly recovering. "You'll have to leave from the Atrium. Shall I escort you there? The crowds may have thinned by now."
"Crowds. Oh, crap." Harry slumped back in his seat and closed his eyes in pain. "Please tell me they're not all here because of me."
Croaker said nothing. No muscle in his impassive face could be said to form a smirk.
"Is there any chance," Harry said after a moment, "that I might get a Portkey out of here? I assume the lockdown's been lifted… I could take a Portkey out of here to someplace isolated, then Apparate to where I'll spend the night."
"Interesting. Our records show that Harry Potter didn't know how to Apparate."
"No," snapped Harry, opening his eyes to scowl at Croaker, "your records show that Harry Potter never got his Apparation license. Which, when you consider that Thicknesse was Minister when I turned seventeen, makes perfect sense. Like I'd show up for my license after Voldemort's followers took over the Ministry!"
Eldritch spoke up. "So you admit you'll be Apparating without a license."
"Only if you admit I'm Harry Potter," Harry returned.
Croaker ceded the point with a brief nod. "As for a Portkey, unfortunately, they…"
"Are readily available," put in a new voice, and Hermione stepped into the room. "Ah, here you all are. My, what a snug little hidey-hole they've found for you, Harry…"
Harry's face lit up at her entrance. Eldritch looked affronted that someone not an Unspeakable could so easily find their way through the Department of Mysteries; Croaker simply looked resigned, as though he'd expected no less from The Witch Who Won.
"Anyway, it happens I've some Portkey Patches," Hermione continued. "I'd be perfectly willing to charm one for whatever safe location Mr. Potter wishes. I'm a little surprised he hadn't already suggested it to me…"
Harry heard the hint of inquiry in her voice as she trailed off… he tried to tell himself that he was only imagining the hint of reproach as well. "I probably would have, if I'd been allowed."
"Ah." Hermione allowed her gaze to slide over Eldritch before settling on Croaker, who stared stonily back. "Right then," she said after a moment. "Harry, are you ready to go?"
"Oh Merlin, yes." He stood, one hand holding his cloak closed, and gave her a grateful smile. She returned his smile, but nervously; Harry noticed again that she was finding it hard to maintain eye contact. He felt a flash of irritation, followed by puzzlement, then worry, all boiling down to Why doesn't she want to look at me?
"Erm… and where will you be taking him, Madam Granger?" Eldritch asked. "In case we have further questions."
"A charming village called None-of-Your-Business-on-Thames," murmured Harry, before Hermione could respond. This time he was rewarded with a smile that lasted more than a few seconds.
"I will see that any legitimate messages for Harry are properly forwarded," Hermione primly told the Unspeakables. Seizing Harry's wrist, she produced a Patch from her pocket, peeled away its adhesive backing, and slapped it onto the spot where her fingers touched his skin, so that the Patch touched them both.
One dizzying ride later, they found themselves in the enclosed back lawn of Enthalpy House. With the tall fence, and the gathering twilight, it was unlikely that they were spotted by Muggles. Hermione looked around in a moment of confusion, before recognizing the backside of her home. "This can't be right… I was sure I charmed the Portkey to take us directly into my living room…"
"The wards," said Harry. Out of habit he raised his left hand, intending to "feel" the wards… then dropped his hand with a grimace as he remembered that he no longer had the Elder Wand. Yet for a moment, he fancied he'd felt something… "We augmented the wards on the house to keep out anyone - Apparation, Portkeys, whatever. And that's a Ministry Portkey, so…"
"So the wards didn't acknowledge its right of entry - and we landed here," finished Hermione, peeling the Patch off her hand. "And from here, you can Apparate back to your flat and… and get what you need, clothes and such."
"Right. I can grab some things, and be right back…"
"I…" Hermione swallowed and turned her face away from him. "I'm not certain that would be a good idea, Harry. I could use some time… I mean, with everything that's happened…"
"With everything that's happened," Harry put in quietly, "I would have thought you'd want to talk about it, at least."
"And I do - in excruciating detail," she said, her usual brisk manner reasserting itself for a moment. "I want to know, of course I do, but…" She faltered, then continued more timidly, "But I need to absorb what's happened first. I need time to think about it. It's not any one thing, it's, it's everything. It's… it's just too much to deal with - but I have to, now, thanks to…" She stopped abruptly, with an appalled look on her face. Then, mortified by what she'd almost said, and unable to speak further, she Apparated into her living room.
If she thought she could run away from her conflicting feelings that way, it was one of the very few times in her life she was quite wrong.
"Thanks to what?" Harry demanded, Apparating next to her a second later. "Thanks to me? You wanted me to come back, Hermione! You can't ask for more 'back' than this!"
"I know! Yes, I wanted you back… but… but not like this! Not with the Ministry turned upside-down and Kingsley Shacklebolt dead and me dy…" She choked on the last word and turned away from him, squeezing her eyes shut to prevent tears from leaking out.
"And the Deathly Hallows gone."
Surprise momentarily banished her inner turmoil. Hermione opened her eyes to stare at Harry. He gave an uncomfortable shrug. "It's a little hard to explain, but the short version is that I gave them back to Death, and Death gave you back to me." He waved his hand over their heads, indicating the house's wards. "'Course, the effects of the Wand are still with us, they didn't fade. Good thing, I reckon…"
"So… you made it through the barrier… and then went through the Veil…" Hermione said, very slowly, piecing her thoughts together, "to bargain with Death… so you could bring me back from the dead… and get rid of the Hallows… so you could rejoin the wizarding world."
Harry smiled shyly and tried for a bit of humor. "That's an excellent summing up, counselor." Hermione fell silent, blinking at him in a stunned sort of way.
And then she found her voice. "Were you out of your fracking MIND!?" she shrieked, raising trembling fists in front of her. Warily, remembering the last time she'd punched him, Harry backed up a pace, one hand coming up to protect his mouth. "Did you even consider what might have gone wrong with that so-called plan? What if you'd died, like Sirius? What if you hadn't died but been trapped behind the Veil forever? What if…"
"What if you had stayed dead?" he shot back. "Do you think I cared a rat's arse about living, if you didn't?"
She continued as though she hadn't heard him. "And did you even consider the effects of your dramatic entrance today? Sweet Circe, they'll be hounding you for the rest of your life! Endless talk about how you escaped from the Netherworld - cheated Death twice, your life and mine - The Boy Who Lived Again, with eternal youth thrown in!" Hermione spun away from him and faced the wall, wrapping her arms around her stomach as though it ached. "Making the rest of us feel like utter hags…"
"Say what?" Harry was amazed that this, of all issues, should be the one affecting Hermione the most - Hermione, of all people. Yet from her voice, from the rigid lines of her back, it was obvious even to Harry just how distraught she was. He took a tentative step towards her.
"Please don't," she bit off, causing him to halt, "just… please, Harry, just leave me be. Just go."
It was to Harry's everlasting credit that he totally disregarded her demand. He stepped up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders - not heavily, but clearly with no intention of letting them be shoved off. "I told you before, I wasn't leaving you again," he said in a low voice to the back of her head. "And I haven't. And I won't."
She drew breath to respond… and as she did, he glimpsed a flash of silver chain on the back of her neck. A wild impulse surged through him, and without bothering to think it through, he tightened his hands on her shoulders and spun her to face him.
And before she had a chance to speak, he pressed his hand to the spot just above and between her breasts, where a slight lump was outlined beneath her robes.
The breath caught in Hermione's throat. Wide-eyed and round-mouthed, she stared into Harry's face. It was as he'd hoped: she was receiving the kiss he'd given her star sapphire, that last loving kiss he'd given… Merlin, had it been only that morning?!
"Feel that," he told her, his voice intense, husky, deep. "That's how much I love you, Hermione. It may've taken me forever to figure out, but I'm not stupid enough to walk away from it. Not ever again. Not…"
Whatever else he might have said was lost, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him as though their lives depended on it. He put his hands behind her back and held her close, delighting in her warmth, the scent of her, even the unmanageable hair that tickled his nose and threatened to make him sneeze.
"When I came for you," Harry whispered after a moment, "through the Veil… my body started aging, really fast. I must have been, oh, about Dumbledore's age when Death finally let me bring you home. But I didn't reckon you'd care. Hell, I didn't care, as long as we were together. Now my body's gone the other extreme - but either way, my mind didn't change. We're together, Hermione. Nothing else matters."
"It does matter," she mumbled, half exasperated and half despairing at his male thickheadedness. "It's entirely different. Dammit, Harry, I'm almost old enough to be your mother now! What will people say?"
"Oh, I dunno. Something like, 'How about that sexy Granger witch, huh? She must be something wicked special, if she can keep that young stud Potter happy…'"
Almost against her will, Hermione found herself laughing. She pulled out of their hug just far enough that she could see his grinning face. "Let's test that," she retorted, and brought up her hands to grab fistfuls of his cloak near the collar. She yanked him forward and planted a saucy kiss on his lips.
A kiss that lengthened, that grew from saucy to searing, as their hands found better purchase, as their bodies molded together, as their mouths opened hungrily to one another.
Hermione moaned, sounding in pain though far, far from it. Her body was recalling sensations that her conscious mind had nearly forgotten, and she wanted more. She adjusted her position, to press as much her body as she could against Harry's, and together they deepened the kiss. Hermione reveled, positively wallowed, in the sensuous pleasure of feeling her lips on his, on her breasts against his chest, of her thighs pressed against his loins…
And with that rampant reminder, they both realized exactly what they were doing. Harry and Hermione broke apart abruptly and stared aghast at one another, panting and panicking.
"We can't," Hermione finally whispered.
Harry gave a nod that was closer to a jerk of the head. "Right. Your vow."
"My wedding vow," she choked out. "It won't let us do… this."
"Your own magic would stop it," Harry mumbled. "Or else…" He looked horrified. "Or else you might lose your magic - become a Squib. My fault, Hermione, I should never have let it get this far…" He relaxed his hold around her, and prepared to push her gently away.
How like Harry to try to take all the blame himself, thought Hermione distractedly. I was letting "it" get this far as much as he was…
But… it flashed through her mind, but… my magic should have stopped us from getting that far… the magic of my vow… And realization dawned on her.
"My vow won't let us do this," she recited deliberately, as though reading from a list, and lunged forward to snog Harry again. Reflexively, he took a step backwards, with Hermione still pressing forward, and backed into an obstacle at knee-height: the couch. Harry fell backwards onto the couch, with Hermione on top of him, straddling him. "False," she announced.
"Say what?" Harry was thoroughly flustered. It hadn't escaped either of their notice that his cloak hadn't stayed closed when he'd fallen.
"Breaking my vow will make me a Squib," she continued, drawing her wand and waving it over her. "Evanesco!" Within seconds, her clothing was gone, banished to limbo, leaving her dressed only in her sapphire necklace. "False again."
By now, Harry could only make inarticulate gurgling noises.
"So…" Hermione leaned low over Harry, guaranteeing him a full view between her breasts, and gave him a smile that was both triumphant and just a little bit predatory. With that smile, and the gleam in her eye, and the mane of bushy brown hair cascading over her shoulders, she reminded him of a lioness eyeing a gazelle. "Soooo… by a process of reduction ad absurdum… we can only conclude that my vow has ceased to be."
"But… but…" With a visible effort, Harry raised his gaze to her face. "But… you said those vows were permanent…"
She nodded happily. "Mm hmm. Until Death us do part."
"Until Death…" Harry blinked rapidly, and she could see the light dawn in his eyes. He was gratifyingly quick on the uptake: it only took a moment more before he was matching her, grin for grin. "So when you died, the vows died too? Except you came back…" He laughed, a deep rich joyful laugh, and ran a hand through her hair. "So," he added invitingly, "what do we do for an encore, eh?"
Her smiled grew broader, if that were possible. "Biiiiiirthday," she sang, just as she had that morning.
"So it is," he agreed, and his hands moved lower on her body. "Come here, you."
"Several times, I trust," his lioness purred, and pounced.