Shadow Walker
Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time.
- Bonnie Tyler, "Total Eclipse of the Heart"
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Chapter Two:
But love won't cure the chaos, and hope won't hide the loss.
-Jars of Clay, "Surprise"
She was sitting next to Ron, and knew she was, but she couldn't really feel anything. Her limbs were heavy, wooden. The place where her shoulder touched his felt as if it were padded under several layers of thick clothing. Her nerves were sluggish, shrouded, trains running behind schedule. Her breathing sounded noisy in her own ears, but the speaker's voice drifted in from what seemed like a great distance. Wind snarled her hair and chafed at her cheeks, but it was like watching the whole tableau while hovering above herself.
She was at Harry's memorial service, and wondered how close she was to a psychotic break.
It wasn't really only Harry's service, though he was clearly the focal point of it. They had lost so many, so many: Ron and Ginny, alone of the Weasleys surviving; all of the Hogwarts staff cut down like wheat before a scythe; Tonks had lived, but not Remus; Luna Lovegood, Parvati Patil, and Neville Longbottom had made it, but almost no one else from the erstwhile D.A. The Aurors had been decimated, as had much of the Ministry; bartering was commonplace, as only the autonomy of the Gringotts goblins kept the tottering economy from completely collapsing. Azkaban was full; the Ministry jail was full, and still there were not enough prosecutors, not enough guards, not enough MLE agents. The closest person in the line of succession surviving was an obscure little Undersecretary, who had previously worked at staffing the International Magical Embassies, and she was so clearly out of her league that the skeletal remains of the Wizengamot had called for a new vote, less than a fortnight after she took office.
The speaker droned on about heroism in general, and Harry's heroism in particular, and Hermione thought that she might scream. She wondered what people would do if she did. Most of them probably already thought she was barking mad. This man - this officious Bureaucrat, another one raised only by catastrophic war and death from utter unimportance- did not know Harry. How dare he presume to know him?
Yet, she knew, most of those who had been able to call him friend were dead. And those survivors who had occupied Harry's inner circle were in no condition to speak of it. Hermione had always been one who'd been able to look squarely at her limitations - flying, for instance - and she knew that she could not climb a dais and speak nostalgic, reflective, empty words about Harry Potter.
Especially not with Lucius Malfoy looking on from a place of honor.
Her derisive snort must have been audible, because Ron shifted slightly next to her, accidentally-on-purpose nudging her in the side. She dragged her gaze from the aristocratic coolness of the new Minister for Magic, and looked instead at the intricately carved tomb, brilliant white and polished to a high luster. Behind it, a marble plaque proclaimed this to be the resting place of Harry Potter, Hero for the Light, Destroyer of the Dark Lord, in letters fully 20 cm high.
He would have loathed it.
She was achingly conscious of the empty seat on her other side. Out of habit, she, Ron, and Ginny had scooted down to make four seats available, before realizing with heart-rending pangs that they only needed three. Hermione had not moved back, leaving that aisle seat open, wishing that he would come strolling in to take that seat, with such fervency that she thought her heart would burst. The familiar tightness was knotting its way around her throat, and her eyes were stinging.
She would not cry here.
A subdued trickle of applause greeted the conclusion of the speaker's remarks. In the interim silence, there were more than a few sniffles, and Lucius Malfoy moved smoothly, in a swirl of gold and black fabric, to the podium.
"Honored citizens of Wizarding England," he began in a rich, cultured voice that rolled well to the ears. "I stand before you now as a symbol of a new Era - "
Lucius Malfoy had been the first Death Eater given a pardon, as, amazingly, there was absolutely no one left alive who would admit that he had been present at the battle. Neither Hermione nor Ron had ever seen him, though neither had any doubts as to his presence. Unfortunately, he had retreated back to his old claim of Imperius, and "come on, you know he had to be there" was not considered sufficient cause for arrest.
Still, his ascension to the position of Minister had come as a shock. It had not even registered as a possibility to the remnants of the Order until it was too late. The doddering Old Guard who made up the remnants of the Wizengamot had reacted in fear: knee-jerk reflex at the tottering tower of their world forcing them back to an old family, a noble family, one who understood The Way Things Should Be.
This would never have happened if Harry had lived, Hermione thought, and her contempt o f them was as a living thing.
"-have been grieving together as a people for our tremendous losses, and - " Narcissa had been found dead at Malfoy Manor, shortly after the battle, but it appeared that she had been dead for quite some time. Lucius claimed she'd been murdered by Voldemort, as repayment for defying him at the last, while he'd only barely escaped. "While not forgetting the sacrifices so bravely made by our comrades-in-arms - " He gestured gallantly down toward Harry's tomb. Comrades-in-arms! Hermione felt the bile threaten to rise in her throat on a current of disgust. "-agree that we must move forward as a unified people once again. To this end, I have proposed a general amnesty for - "
Loud murmurs fluttered around the room like disturbed and resettling doves.
" - ighters, regardless of on which side they fought. This modification will include those already imprisoned. Of course, those whose actions can be proven to have been extraordinarily aggravating - " Hermione had a sinking feeling that this would somehow turn out to be impossible. "- be tried to the full extent of Wizarding Law. I know you will agree that - "
There was a buzzing sound in Hermione's ears, and it was growing louder. She clenched at the back of the chair in front of her blindly. How dare he - how dare he… insinuate that the entire War could be blotted out, made as a slate wiped with a wet sponge. Voldemort was dead, but one of them was in charge, and trying to pretend that this was nothing but a small spat among friends, that Harry's death was vanity, easily glossed over and forgotten.
" - for I want nothing more than justice to be served here, for Wizarding life to return to the quality we once so enjoyed. There were murders committed on both sides of the battle lines, and in light of this - as well as the immense loss of life sustained - I feel that the most expedient and rewarding path to restoration is to extend the olive branch of brotherhood to all wizards and witches, regardless of on which side they fought. Our society must be reconstructed, and that cannot happen if integral pieces wither away in prison. But ours is not an irreparable breach, not a fatal wound…" He extended one hand out toward the audience, a peacemaking smile on his entreating face. "I know it would be Harry Potter's fond wish that this world - our world, which he fought so gallantly to save - be mended as quickly as possible."
The rage and contempt spiraled up so quickly in Hermione that it made her dizzy.
"What a crop of dragon dung," she said, without worrying about keeping her voice down.
There was uneasy rustling among the crowd, though her remark was also greeted with a smattering of applause. Lucius eyed her icily, even while forcing his smile into a conciliatory mask.
"I am not ignorant of the after-effects of the trauma of battle and death that have been inflicted on our society," he said, staring at her squarely. "Rest assured every possible effort will be made to help restore our brave fighters to their full, pre-War capabilities."
He was calling her crazy. In front of everyone. At Harry's memorial.
She moved out into the aisle with a jerky, uneven motion, like something being clumsily unfolded, and watched as two MLE agents almost casually placed themselves in between the dais and herself.
"He would have hated this, you know," she cried out, her voice ringing in the open air, her arm arcing outward to encompass all of them. They seemed to recoil at her condemnation. "He would have hated what you're doing, and worse… what you're allowing to happen."
The silence was deafening. Ron and Ginny stood, and for a moment, Hermione feared that they were going to try to placate her back to her seat. But they moved to flank her, a Trio once again - or was it a Quartet missing a member? - and she was able to pinpoint the exact moment that Lucius's patience was lost.
Something iron glinted deep within his eyes; his smile flickered, threatened to falter. He made a gesture with one hand, and the MLE agents began to move, though not without hesitation. Hermione knew that their prior closeness to Harry still made them somewhat untouchable - though the window for that seemed to be rapidly closing. Before the agents could even close half the distance, the three of them turned, in sync, and strode down the aisle, robes snapping impressively behind them.
"Screw you, Lucius!" Hermione shouted, and the triple crack of their Apparation resounded off of the nearby hills.
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Hermione had to admit that Lucius Malfoy had a hell of an ability to spin events and perceptions in a direction favorable to him.
Two days after the Gryffindors' exit from the memorial service had made the front page of the Prophet, the Minister himself had arrived at the Burrow, without an entourage, ostensibly for a "private" conversation with those who had known and loved Harry Potter best. However, Hermione reflected cynically, if Malfoy had truly had no idea that reporters had continually staked out the ramshackle home since Harry's death, then he was stupider than she'd thought. And though Lucius Malfoy was many things, she had an inkling that stupid was not one of them.
He knew that this meeting would be duly circulated in the press.
"Miss Weasley, Miss Granger, forgive my intrusion," he said, seemingly oblivious to their sullen reaction to his presence. He gave them a slight bow, one gloved hand pressed to an immaculate cravat. Hermione felt Ginny shrink slightly behind her, and knew that the younger girl was acutely aware of her own bare feet, worn jeans, and baggy t-shirt.
"How…unexpected to see you, Lucius," Hermione muttered faintly, grasping at the veneers of politeness, but vowing to herself that words like "honor" or "privilege" would not escape her lips.
"I wanted to speak with the two of you - and Mr. Weasley as well, if he is available." His eyes darted around in innocent inquiry, and Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. As if Ron - as if any of them - had any semblance of a demanding social schedule, licking their wounds in semi-exile as they were.
Not yet moving aside to admit the Minister, Hermione hollered inelegantly over her shoulder,
"Ron!" She waited until she could hear the indistinct sounds of shambling footsteps, and turned expectantly back toward their "guest".
"Perhaps we could sit down?" Lucius asked, and she could see his patience beginning to erode ever so slightly. The fraying edges of his composure gave her no small amount of satisfaction, though she still felt stiff, as if all of her bones had been wired into a fixed position.
"If you like," she gritted between her teeth, and allowed him inside. The periphery of her vision caught a camera flash, as she shut the weathered wooden door.
Ron had made it to the bottom of the staircase as they crossed into the living area, and swore vilely under his breath, whirling on her for an explanation.
"Hermione, what the hell?"
"I think he thinks there's been some kind of misunderstanding," she informed him with false sweetness, and looked back at Lucius, innocently, as if to add, isn't that so?
"I believe you have pre-judged me, based on my prior… associations," Malfoy began. "And I - "
"Associations with who? Voldemort? Positively unreasonable, that," Ron interrupted bluntly.
"I wanted to assure you, in person," the Minister continued, as if Ron had not spoken, "that our goals - our desires - for the Wizarding world are the same."
"I find it highly unlikely that you wish you were dead, Malfoy," Ron drawled again, and this time, faint color stained the former Death Eater's cheeks. There was no other outward sign that he'd even heard Ron.
"None of us wants the Wizarding world to perish. I'm extending the hand of amnesty to you three as well. I know you have been through much, and even though I continue to be so summarily insulted, I - "
"Amnesty?" Ron was incensed. "We don't need amnesty - we were in the right. We didn't - "
"He needs us," Hermione interrupted, her voice as hard and flat as Hagrid's rock cakes. "Don't you?" She smiled at him, a tight, mirthless knife-slash across her face. "We would be the final jewel in your victory crown - the last of the Order, Harry Potter's nearest and dearest - as allies in your new regime! What did Neville Longbottom say to you when you… propositioned him? I'll wager he threw your man right out on his arse. If we joined you, it would silence any remaining nay-sayers, wouldn't it? Bring around the last hold-outs? The only thing that would be better would be having the endorsement of Harry Potter himself, but - even if he were alive - you know that it would never happen."
The venom in her tone seemed to have startled even the Weasleys.
"What can be gained from dwelling on the past?" Lucius was still speaking in his politician's voice. "I simply ask that we begin to move on - together. Fighting me won't bring him back."
Hermione jerked her head as if she'd been slapped.
"You," she spat as if the pronoun were something filthy in her mouth. "You think that you can lecture me on recognizing the enormity of loss? Of my loss - our loss? There is no one in this country who has lost as much as we have." With one hand, she indicated the two remaining Weasleys. "Even if Harry were here, I would still fight you. But we all know that if Harry were here, he would have put a stop to this madness before it even started." An indefinable sadness and regret shadowed her dark eyes. "I guess we're just not strong enough to do it for him."
Hermione's throat clogged up at the thought of somehow letting Harry down, and she fixed her gaze away from the others in the room, dwelling on the clock-shaped outline of unfaded wallpaper, opposite. Ron had thrown it out into the back garden on their first night back, having been unable to bear seeing so many of its hands blackened and permanently fixed on "Mortal Peril". The clock had landed in the overgrown grass with a satisfying splintering sound, and had, evidently, being carted off by gnomes, because no one had seen it - or its remnants - since.
"I urge you to consider your own … well-being, Miss Granger," Lucius spoke as he stood, casually inspecting his fine attire for spot or blemish. "And that of your friends, as well."
"Are you threatening us?"
"Consider it a friendly warning." Lucius' smile was anything but. "If you are not with us, you are against us - I'm quite sure you are a knowledgeable proponent of that particular philosophy. There is much to rebuild - and you three have the unique opportunity to stake your claim in the new order of things. You could name your position, wield your influence over circles that would only widen. Should you choose unwisely…" He lifted his shoulders as he left the end of the sentence dangling. "There will be no place for those who cling to the past."
Hermione glared back at him in stony silence, before she could finally trust herself to respond.
"I believe we are at an impasse," she finally noted. "I think you've said everything you came to say."
"I thought you not at all a fool - even though Muggle blood runs through your veins," Lucius said. "The Most Brilliant Witch of your Age, some have said. And yet you would throw it all away - for a corpse."
"Harry will never be dead, as long as those remain who love him and believe in what he represented," Hermione said, keeping her voice steady, though she was more than half-blind with tears. She refused to let them fall in front of Lucius Malfoy.
There was a comforting presence behind her, a warm arm around her shoulders.
"Get out of this house," Ron spoke stolidly, his wand in his hand, but not aimed at their visitor…yet.
"Take care that you do not regret these rash actions," the Minister warned, muttering a parting rejoinder as he opened the door. "You cannot eat ideals."
The three young people made no move to stop him, as he shut the front door and strode coolly down the path to the front gate, ever mindful of the reporters, even while in a high temper.
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Ginny swept into the Burrow, bringing with her a rather chill wind, and flopped down on the sagging old sofa, letting out a noisy sigh as she unwound her scarf. Hermione was at the battered old desk, scribbling furiously with an old quill, an impressive coil of parchment already reaching the floor. She held up one finger at Ginny, without looking, in a signal to wait, and finished the end of her thought with a flourish and decisive punctuation. Finally, she swiveled around in the chair, and looked expectantly at the younger girl.
"Well?"
"Well…" Ginny drew out the syllable, savoring Hermione's expectation. "You are looking at the newest employee of the rebuilt Ministry - just a lowly clerk in the Magical Probate Department - but it's a start."
"Ginny, that's brilliant." Hermione's smile was genuine - or at least, what approximated genuine for her, as there was a shadow there that even the brightest smile never fully eclipsed. "Did you see Malfoy?"
"I did," Ginny said, amazed and admiring that Hermione's hunch had been so accurate. "As soon as the moron in human resources realized who I was, they marched me straight into the inner sanctum, past a right seedy lot of people waiting in the outer office - for favors, I reckon. Anyway, Malfoy did just what you thought. Wanted to `welcome me personally'. I told him just what we practiced. That I didn't agree with your high-handed attitudes, and that even though I was sorry Harry was dead, and I'd probably never trust him - I still wanted in on the fashioning of a new world. Told him that I was practical, I had always hated living in poverty, and I needed a job. I asked him please not to tell you. He seemed to think that amusing. I start tomorrow."
"Well done," Hermione replied. "Just remember - do your job, keep your head down. Don't do anything that might get you in trouble - right now, it's more important that we have someone on the inside."
"Two someones, actually," Ginny said suddenly, as if just remembering something. "Luna's there too. Got in as a junior-grade Unspeakable. I saw her in the Atrium. She says such daft things that I'll bet the goons at the Ministry have no idea where she stands. You know she's still with us, you know she is."
"Sound her out, then - carefully - if you can," Hermione conceded.
Ginny nodded, then pushed against the cushions of the sofa, as if she would rise, but stopped.
"Hermione, what is it we're really trying to accomplish here?" she asked honestly, dashing her long red hair over her shoulder, so she could meet Hermione's gaze.
"You know… you know that Malfoy as Minister is not right. That he's made it this far is - is the height of folly, and I - I just know that we haven't even begun to see what he is capable of - and he'll mask it all for as long as he can - disguise it as being for the benefit of the people…" The phrase was said with not a little bitterness.
"But what good will it do? We're overwhelmingly outnumbered. Are we just fighting - just for the sake of fighting, kicking against the goads …just so we - just so we won't - "
"So we won't have to admit that we lost?" Hermione's voice sounded as dry as dead leaves.
"Well… yeah…" Ginny ventured slowly, not at all liking the look in Hermione's eye.
"If Lucius Malfoy continues down this path, unimpeded - if we don't stop him, stall him, hinder him - something - then by the time the rest of the Wizarding world wakes up to what he's done, it will be too late. We'll have lost. And if we lose, then he died for nothing, Ginny. Do you understand that? For nothing." Raw agony flowed through her voice like electric current.
"And you can't let that happen," Ginny finished the thought declaratively.
"I've got to try," Hermione corrected her. "Because Harry would have tried. But in the end, it won't matter - not for me. I've already lost everything anyway."
"You still have us - me and Ron. Maybe Luna… Neville… It's not all gone, you know…" Ginny's voice was thistle-down soft, the type of voice one might use to comfort a very frightened, much abused child.
"I love him, Ginny," Hermione blurted suddenly, her tears beginning to make themselves known. Ginny did not seem surprised, by either the admission or Hermione's use of the present tense. "I never told him - and now I never can. I - I don't know how you move past the pain of that - it hurts so much here." She patted her chest, sounding distant and almost clinical. "I can barely breathe… like it could paralyze me, if I let it."
She felt ridiculous and small, speaking of her feelings to Ginny, who had lost infinitely more than she had. Being Weasleys, she and Ron had responded to the deaths with typical effusiveness. There had been screaming and cursing and thrown objects, including the clock, mostly in the shelter of a Silencioed Burrow. Hermione had had to Reparo most of Molly Weasley's china, and had later found Ron crying amidst a cluttered pile of plugs and sockets in the shed. Yet, they had each other, and somehow, that seemed to help them to stand. Hermione couldn't help but marvel at how they bore what shouldn't have to be borne.
"Listen to me," Ginny said, squaring Hermione's shoulders so that they were fully facing each other. "You may not have ever told Harry how you felt, but I think he knew - and I think he felt the same way."
"How do - ?"
"I saw you," Ginny said, and for the first time, disappointment flickered in her eyes. "At Hogwarts - that last day. It - the look in his eyes, when your hands touched - just your hands, Hermione. It was - it was amazing… almost consuming, like it -" She shrugged her shoulders, at a loss. "Well, I've snogged him, and he never looked at me like that."
Her words sent a temporary thrill shivering through Hermione, but the comfort was slight, like medicated balm on the stump of a severed limb. What did it matter, how he or she had felt or not felt, what they had declared or left unsaid, what had been seen or heard or only intuited? What did it matter?
She couldn't have any of it back.
And before she knew it, she had leaned forward, collapsing on Ginny, all ungainly angles and jutting joints, feeling the scratchy wool of Ginny's loosened scarf beneath her cheek. Tears flowed down her cheeks, scalding like acid, and harsh sobs forced themselves from her convulsing throat.
And Ginny - Ginny, the girl who had lived to know that her idol, her crush had been ruthlessly cut down on the cusp of victory, the girl who had lost her entire family, save one brother, in one lethal day, the girl standing amid the smoldering flames and smoking ruins of the only world she'd ever known - was patting her head, stroking strands of hair back from her sticky, wet cheeks, and making a soothing, white-noise sort of sound. And after a moment, when Hermione was completely drained, feeling as thick and groggy as if she'd awakened from a too-long nap, she sat up, deftly cast a Refreshing charm on herself, and dried the shoulder of Ginny's sweater. She sniffed noisily and with finality.
"Sorry about that," she said, and brushed off whatever Ginny was going to say in response, feeling acutely ashamed of herself.
It was the last time any of them ever saw her cry.
TBC
I was pleased at the response to the first chapter, and thrilled that so many of you professed such attachment for our Other Hermione.
The timeline on this chapter was left intentionally vague, but a couple of months elapsed between the Battle and the service (think of all the "triage" and damage control and restructuring before they could even hold such an event), and maybe close to that between Lucius' meeting and Ginny's job. There will be about 2 years covered before Harry's appearance to this Hermione, and it will be traversed fairly quickly.
Reviews are always appreciated; the more, the merrier, says I. You may leave one on your way out, if you like.
lorien
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