(A/N: Anyone expecting a fluffy sweet reunion might want to step outside for a while.
My thanks once again to MirelleGrey, who beta'd the story… and to all my reviewers, who keep me honest. Which is not to be construed as an admission that I'm not.)
(Disclaimer: The guys who invented the transistor never envisioned the Internet. Jo Rowling created a whole universe, but never realized all its implications. That's our job, isn't it?)
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"Coming Back Late"
by Paracelsus
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IX: Flint and Steel
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He stood unmoving and watched her eyes closely as they took in the sight of him, from his disembodied head - all that could be seen of him, with the Cloak covering the rest of his form - to the phone seemingly floating in mid-air. Her wand never wavered: it stayed pointed right at him.
The eyes came back to look directly into his own. Harry had never suspected that brown eyes could blaze, but he knew better now. He remained in place, like a stag at bay, watching for signs of an imminent attack.
"So," Hermione finally said in a tight, controlled voice, "you are alive."
If she was talking instead of jinxing, he had a chance. He gestured with the dead phone. "How did you find me? I thought magic couldn't… through phones…"
She snorted. "I expected Ted to try and warn you, so I put a transcribing spell on him tonight - the one we use at the Ministry to monitor what prisoners say. Only I set it up to report location, as well as words. Lo and behold, it started reporting his voice at Hogwarts and in Manchester. After that, it was a simple step to… to…" A puzzled look flitted across Hermione's face… then her eyes rolled upwards into her head and she began to collapse to the floor.
Harry was instantly beside her, tossing away the phone to get one arm around her waist, while the other plucked her wand from her limp hand. He got her to the bed and gently lowered her onto it. For some reason, it didn't occur to him to levitate her.
"And yet somehow, you seem to underestimate me, too," he murmured.
Using the Elder Wand for fifteen years had taught Harry a fair bit about raw magic. In particular, he'd discovered that the lessons taught at Hogwarts were based on, or at least reinforced, a fallacy: the idea that wand motions were important. Maybe they were important for first-years, like pronunciation was. But just as spells could be performed voicelessly, or even wandlessly, they could be performed with a wand - but without wand motions.
Such as the Somnius Spell he'd just cast, using the Elder Wand strapped to his forearm, without a single word or gesture.
He turned away from the bed and began to Reduce and re-pack his belongings. It made a good excuse to avoid thinking about what he had to do next. But actually, he told himself, that decision was made fifteen years ago. I did think it would be easier on everyone if they thought I was dead… but it doesn't matter if they know I'm alive, so long as they can't find me. If I can't be found, I can't be fought.
It's time to leave England, looks like. Should've left years ago - I've only stayed here because of my commitments to Ted. But he's almost of age now, and I can complete my godfatherly duties from abroad if need be. Probably not Europe, it's too near, and too magically populated. Canada, maybe.
Just as it hadn't occurred to Harry to levitate her, it didn't even cross his mind to Obliviate her. If it had, he might have justified not doing it by the fact that she wasn't the only person Ted had named as knowing he might be alive - but in truth, the idea of Obliviating Hermione was literally unthinkable.
I wish I didn't have to blindside her like that, but I hadn't much choice. At least I could disarm her with a minimum of fuss. I'll be sure to leave her wand next to her, where she can find it, before I…
He paused, then resolutely completed the thought. Before I leave again.
Harry pulled the Cloak's hood back up, letting it remold itself over his head, as he turned for one final look at Hermione. It was the first time he'd looked at her that evening, really looked - and it was the first he'd seen of Hermione since the Battle of Hogwarts. Then, she'd been an adolescent witch, her face streaked with sweat and grime, robes torn and dirty and burnt in places, adrenaline and fatigue competing in her voice. When thoughts of Hermione had come to haunt him in years past, that image was the one that came most often.
He was therefore unprepared for the Hermione he now saw: a witch in her full flower of womanhood, no longer slim awkwardness but lithe grace, with features glowing in beauty even as they showed the signs of confidence and competence.
All cognitive processes crawled and came to a halt. He couldn't stop looking at her.
He knew it was imperative that he leave at once, but he could not stop looking at her.
Leaving them all back then, when they all thought I was already dead - that would save them from pain, that made sense, that felt right, he finally told himself. Leaving her again now, when she knows I'm alive - that would only be convenient.
And though you may have forgotten the fact, Harry old son, the Hat did put you in Gryffindor.
After a long, long moment, he sat down on the edge of the bed. Reluctantly, he pulled back the Cloak's hood to expose his head again. He examined Hermione's wand, still in his hand, and yielded to a whim: He pointed it at her unconscious form and said softly, "Rennervate."
The spell flashed from the wand's tip into Hermione's body, as he felt sure it would. Not that it means her wand is mine now… I've always been able to use her wand a little. He watched carefully as she gave a small moan, then opened her eyes. They flicked around the room, settling on his head.
Her expressionless mask immediately slammed back into place. "I would have expected you to be long gone by now," she said coldly.
Well, now that it's known I'm alive, there doesn't seem to be much point in hiding away and faking my death anymore, were the words Harry intended to say.
"It hurt too much to leave you the first time. I couldn't do it again," is what he said instead, to his vast surprise.
Hermione's eyes went wide. She struggled into a sitting position on the bed and reached for her wand, still in Harry's right hand. Reflexively Harry offered it to her… and as he was thus occupied, her own right fist shot out, connecting squarely with his face.
He tumbled backwards off the bed, bleeding from the mouth, and looked up from the floor to see Hermione standing over him in what might charitably be described as a towering fury. "It hurt YOU too much!!??" she screamed. "Hurt YOU?! God DAMN you, Harry Potter, you LEFT me!!"
"Er, yeah," Harry said, moving backwards on his hands and buttocks until his back was against the dresser. "But I had to, honest. I had to leave the wizarding world, Hermione - at the end, let me explain, at the end of that battle I had all of the…"
"I know about the Hallows, dammit!" she shouted. "Dumbledore's portrait finally got around to telling me all about them. I know you had the Ring and the Cloak, and I figured out you'd summoned the Wand, and I know that's why you felt you had to leave. I'm not talking about that!" She spun away from him, hugging her arms tightly around her torso.
He got to his feet carefully, watching her. He brought one hand to his bleeding mouth, but decided against healing it for the moment. "Hermione," he tried again, "I wrote the message with my will, remember? Where I explained that I was a Horcrux…"
"And that you had to die if the rest of us were to defeat Voldemort. I remember, Harry," she interrupted again. "I remember it very vividly, thank you. I'm not talking about that, either. Quite." She glowered angrily over her shoulder at him.
Harry shook his head slowly. "Then I'm sorry, but I don't understand what you…"
"You LEFT me - left US!" She'd turned to face him again, her arms uncrossed and fists clenched at her sides. His apparent lack of response seemed to inflame her own anger. "When we came back from the Shrieking Shack, and the entire castle heard Voldemort's little ultimatum. Ron and I went to his family to comfort them, remember? We thought you were right beside us, but when we looked up, you were gone. And I was worried, but Ron said oh no, you wouldn't be so stupid as to actually go to Voldemort…"
"I went to Dumbledore's office," he said calmly enough, "to use his Pensieve. For those last memories Snape gave me."
"And then you went to Voldemort," she replied, not at all calmly, "without one word of goodbye. After all we'd been through, after all we'd done together… you… you…" Her voice broke, but though words failed her, the glare was eloquent.
"You weren't to be found," he persisted. "And there was no time to look. And even if…"
"Oh, for God's sake!" Hermione suddenly erupted. "Will you please take off that damned Cloak?! I feel ridiculous talking to a floating head!" The total irrelevance of her demand took Harry aback. Before he could react, she strode quickly up to him, grabbed two handfuls of Cloak, and yanked it open.
Neither of them was prepared for what happened next.
Harry drew in a great, shuddering breath, as though he'd fallen into an ice bath. His green eyes turned huge, and as Hermione watched, they brimmed and overflowed with tears. Harry began to weep uncontrollably, staggering to one side and bracing himself upright on the dresser.
Hermione watched open-mouthed as Harry continued to sob. It took her several moments to convince herself that this was not some sort of trick or ruse. "What is it, Harry?" she finally asked, keeping her voice neutral.
"The man…" Harry choked out. "Oh God, that poor man…"
"What man, Harry?" Hermione continued, in the same even voice.
"The one who just died," he wept. "I felt him die, it was like a release for him, but oh sweet Merlin… and his wife, she's still asleep next to him, how's she going to feel when she wakes up and finds him…" His hands fumbled with the edges of his Cloak, preparing to draw them closed again, and suddenly Hermione understood.
"Oh, no you don't," she snapped. She came up to his side and batted at the air near the Cloak's edges, where his still-invisible hands had to be. "Off! Take it off now!"
His eyes came up to meet hers. The dispassionate look from minutes before was long gone, replaced by an almost tangible remorse. "Hermione…" he began.
"Shut up! Take off the bloody Cloak and just shut up!" Whatever Harry was about to say, Hermione did not want said while he was in the throes of some magically induced mood swing. Instead she pulled more of the Cloak away from his body. Hermione was not to be denied: through sheer force of will she got Harry to cooperate.
Once removed from his body, the Cloak had become visible, a pearly grey in color. Hermione was certain it had been silver when last she'd seen it. Beneath the Cloak he was dressed in singlet and light trousers, which looked as though they'd been worn (and slept in) for at least a week. "How long have you been wearing this?" she demanded.
"Um? A couple of weeks, almost. Since…" Harry paused and wiped the tears from his cheeks, as he considered what to say. If she'd questioned Ted under Veritaserum, then she had to know about Jacob Clayman. "Since Ted and Victoire's dinner at the Idée Fixe."
"Every waking hour?" Hermione wrinkled her nose at his appearance. "Yes, I would think so. And before that?"
He sighed in defeat. "I've been sleeping in it for fifteen years. It guarantees no one can detect me."
"Such as the Ministry," she nodded sharply. "Well, that stops as of right now."
Harry stiffened at that. "Stops?"
"Yes, stops. Harry, I know why you thought you had to leave… but it's time to come back now."
She gave him no reason, merely stating it as an unarguable fact. If she thinks that, then she doesn't really understand why I had to leave, Harry thought. The surge of emotion had abated somewhat, and he was able to collect his wits… and recall his purpose. "As far as the Deathly Hallows are concerned, nothing's changed," he said firmly. "I can't ever let myself be defeated, or even disarmed. Which…"
"'Even disarmed'? Oh!" Hermione said in quick comprehension. "That explains the unprovoked attack when I arrived!"
He couldn't help wincing. "I'm sorry about that. But you were holding a wand on me. The Hallows gave me no choice." He regarded her steadily, making no attempt to evade her gaze. "Just as I had no choice about exiling myself. I couldn't stay in the wizarding world… and I can't go back."
She said nothing at first. Harry watched as Hermione processed what he'd told her. When she spoke again, her voice was still hard, but no longer as cold: there was a trace of sadness in it now. "You're wrong, Harry. You can't stay away. You'll end up destroying yourself." She gestured at the Cloak, now lying in a tumble on the bed. "Look at what the Hallows are doing to you. The Cloak seems to actually cut you off empathically, as well as visually. I'm astonished you can still feel anything for other people."
"That's not true," he objected. "I try to help people all the time…"
"Anyone else would have stopped trying years ago," she tried not to snap. Hermione wanted to shake him by the shoulders, and force him to understand. Her anger at him burned as hot as before, but its focus was blurring: from resentment at his treatment of her, to frustration at his obtuseness. The Hallows were damaging him - didn't he realize the risk he was running…?
The question answered itself: of course he did, and he didn't care. He'd long ago accepted the risk, as the only way of ridding the world of the Hallows forever.
Hermione dropped the line of argument as unproductive. She tried a different approach: making a conscious effort to soften her voice, she said, "Harry, what about all the people who care for you? You owe it to them to come back. And there's so much you can do to help, Harry… so many things that still need to be accomplished."
He squeezed his eyes shut and screwed up his face in pain. "Hermione…" he began. He hesitated, then opened his eyes and continued more firmly, "I think… I think I'm doing the greatest service I can do by eliminating the Hallows. I mean, would it make any difference to reform the wizarding world, if… if it's torn apart by war? The last two Dark Lords have both wanted the Elder Wand - so if there is no Elder Wand, maybe there won't be a next Dark Lord. The only way to do that… is to die without passing it on. And the only way to do that… is to not be around to be challenged."
There was no response she could make to that.
With unfathomable sadness, he added, "I know people care for me, Hermione. And… and I care for them, too, more than I can say. But I've already died for the wizarding world. I mean, I didn't fake dying - I died. I don't think I can owe them more than that. I won't come back… for them."
Hermione would not let herself falter. She would not cry; she would not beg. "So you intend to stay 'dead', then?"
He raised a hand, palm outward in supplication. "Please, Hermione, don't make my 'non-death' public. I know you were planning on digging up my body to prove it's not me…"
She never thought she'd be able to laugh, but she did. "That was a spur for Teddy - excuse me, Ted - to make sure he contacted you tonight. Honestly, why would I make such a public show, right after insisting that everyone in the room keep the matter quiet?" She sobered and looked Harry in the eye. "You want me to keep your secret, Harry? I will. You want to destroy the Hallows? More power to you. You insist on destroying yourself, and dying alone, to do it? Be my guest - I can't stop you. After all, it's For The Greater Good. Just like it says at Nurmengard."
With those words, she Disapparated. Harry collapsed on the bed and covered his face with his hands. And for the second time that evening, he wept uncontrollably.
Which proved Hermione the stronger of the two: she waited until she had undressed, showered, and climbed into bed before she allowed the tears to finally flow.