A/N: I'm back after several months-apologies for keeping everyone waiting! Unfortunately, school has to take priority where time is concerned, but writing this was quite a nice break. I hope you enjoy it! (With all these pauses, I'm never certain if the story is coming off fluidly.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The month of April brimmed over with rain, early morning walks, and wedding preparations, and Yasmine knew she had never been happier. She loved crawling into bed at night, relished the feeling of being beautifully, happily exhausted-treasured the whispered goodnight kisses and hugs Hermione gave so liberally.
She had started to write recently. Before she had come to live with Hermione, there was very little of her life that she would ever wish to record, but now, she wrote pages and pages each night.
A recent entry read:
April 2
This morning Katy and I got up early to watch the sunrise, since Katy loves them so much. She and I talked about-well, about nearly everything, I think. The other kids, the wedding-actually, I think we talked about the wedding the most. I've never been a wedding; not a real one, anyway. I know this one will be the best wedding there ever was, or ever will be. They love each other so much sometimes I wonder how on earth they have any love to spare. But they do, and I never feel I deserved it, but sometimes I think about it and I want to tremble and laugh and cry all at once.
After breakfast, we went outside to play hide-and-seek (Jack says I cheated, but I didn't, it's not my fault he can't run quietly, and besides everyone hides in the tree fort) and it started raining. Big, billowy clouds the color of a night shadow filled the sky, and suddenly a rumble of thunder cracked and shook the whole house! I think I may have screamed, or else Katy did, but it was such a big noise, a noise so big I think my heart shuddered and stopped-and I was… well, I was afraid, especially when lightning struck the sky a brilliant whie, and then I slipped and fell into the mud and then everyone (except the boys, so I suppose it was just Katy and Jackie and I) rushed inside the house. We got mud all over the floor and on the stairs-Jackie was crying and I was trembling and Katy looked white as a sheet-and we ran upstairs into Hermione's room. Mrs. Weasley was working on her dress, and we weren't supposed to go in, but we didn't think, and she asked us what was wrong, but all of us just fell into the room and clung to her, and I was ever so sorry when I realized I had gotten dirt and grass on her beautiful white dress, but she just held us tightly and told us, with a sort of laugh-but a kind laugh, the kind of laugh that's meant to feel safe-that she used to be afraid of storms, too.
That's certainly got my attention, because Ron's told us stories of what she's done, and I can't imagine someone as brave as all that being afraid of thunderstorms. And I think it made me love her more, to think she was sometimes afraid, too.
And now I've realized that she really can be afraid sometimes, because now when Harry comes to dinner, I see her let out a breath, as though she'd been holding it for the whole day, and she smiles and smiles for the rest of the night.
I think Harry is doing something dangerous, or else she wouldn't look so worried and anxious when he leaves. Besides, I've noticed that Harry's hands looked a bit swollen sometimes, as though he's been stung by something. I hope he'll be all right.
Harry looks happier every time we see him. I think he's thinking about the wedding. When I told him about seeing Hermione's dress, he looked over at her (she was trying to get Jackie to go to bed, I don't see why Jackie always to make such a fuss about it) and his eyes smiled so brightly I thought that he might start crying.
Well, it's nearly nine o'clock. Katy just came in to tell me I ought to go to bed. I'm not finished, but I might finish later. Goodness, I'm going to need another notebook soon.
Good night!
"I'm bored," Jack announced, though by now the announcement had been made so many times that it was completely unnecessary. "I hate rain."
"You might be bored, but we're not," Yasmine said, without looking up from her cards, "Go fish."
"Are you sure you don't have any threes?" Adrian said suspiciously, fanning out his cards and looking cross.
"Ask Jackie next time, and Adrian looked at Jackie rather unhappily.
"She's having a conversation with the person on the back of the card," he said, "She keeps telling me it's rude to interrupt when I ask."
A splutter of laughter issued from the chair where Katy was busy taking apart Harry's old watch.
"It's not funny," Adrian insisted, though the corners of his mouth twitched, "the pictures move, but they can't even talk!"
This piqued Dusty's interest, and he rolled over onto his stomach, looking over the edge of the bed to the draw pile on the floor.
"Chudley Cannons?"
"Newest edition," Adrian confirmed, motioning to the picture of Ron smiling from the back of the card he drew, "Ron sent them."
Dusty eyed the cards thoughtfully, then resumed his afternoon doze, using the sleepy Gulliver as a pillow.
Jack had decided to teach himself how to juggle with a few of the items he had found on Katy's desk--an old pink rubber, a paintbrush with most of the bristles missing, and a couple of beads.
"It's a good thing you didn't use any of the eggs," Yasmine commented presently, as Adrian attempted to politely `interrupt' Jackie's conversation with the Cannons' Seeker, "or we wouldn't have anything for breakfast tomorrow."
"Lay off," Jack snapped, "It's not as if you could do any better;"
"Would you mind if I borrowed Jackie for a moment, Mr.-er…."
"Watermelon," Jackie said in a cross whisper. Adrian raised his face to the ceiling, unable to believe he had been reduced to this, and finally said, "Mr. Watermelon, I've got to talk to Jackie for a moment-would you mind? No? Oh, good!"
"What do you want?" Jackie said irritably, "I was talking!"
"Will you just give me the threes?"
"Please."
"May I have the threes, please?"
"Don't have any!" Jackie said happily, resuming her conversation. Adrian scowled.
"I give up!" he said, putting down the cards. "Let's do something else."
"Like what?" Katy said without turning around.
"I don't know," Adrian said, "let's go downstairs."
When no one got up to follow him, Adrian got up and went downstairs. Maybe he could get a snack--or no, even better-- he'd get his drum.
He'd been practicing a lot recently (there hadn't been much to do due to the rain) and flattered himself in thinking he'd gotten rather good at it. In fact, he'd make up a song--as he began to snap the rhythm with his fingers, he wandered into the kitchen, lost in thought.
"Here you are," said Hermione's voice in an amused tone, and Adrian's eyes snapped over to the workroom door.
Hermione was standing in the workroom door, potions book tucked under one arm, his snare and drumsticks in the other. She had tucked a quill behind her ear, and Adrian noted the ink smeared across her cheek. When she saw his quizzical expression, she smiled a bit wearily and said, "Writing my final paper for this year. Healer Pruitt decided we ought to finish early-before the wedding, I mean."
She put his drum and sticks on the kitchen table beside him.
"I heard you coming."
He grinned sheepishly.
"I didn't mean to bother you."
"I know you didn't," she said, smiling, "I needed a break anyway." She paused. "What are the others up to?"
"Jackie and Yasmine are playing cards, Dusty's sleeping, Katy's taking apart Harry's watch, and Jack's teaching himself to juggling," Adrian said, "I was bored."
"Mmm…" Hermione's eyes had wandered again, as they were prone to do recently. Adrian wasn't bothered; she had a right to a bit of distraction. He glanced over his shoulder, following her gaze.
"isn't Harry coming at four?" he said, noticing the clock read four o'clock.
"What?" she started at the sound of Harry's name. She relaxed then, and offered another smile. "Yes, he should be. He might be-a little late."
She chewed at her lower lip, looking uncharacteristically nervous.
"Is something wrong?" Adrian asked, feeling a pang of worry,, "Is Harry okay?"
"Yes, yes, of course he is," Hermione assured him, a little too quickly, "Don't mind me; I'm just tired, that's all."
"Are you sure?" Adrian persisted, as his heart began to sink, "You look-worried."
He had almost said `scared', but he couldn't bring himself to say it.
She paused and studied him carefully. There was comforting warmth to her expression, and that alleviated his fears slightly.
Reaching out and ruffling his hair, she answered, "Leave the worrying tome, Adrian. Enjoy your drum for now."
"But…"
Before he could finish his protest, she bent and hugged him tightly.
"Just trust me," she whispered in his ear, and he rested his chin momentarily against her neck, letting her stroke his hair.
After she released Adrian and watched him run upstairs, Hermione turned back to the workroom and glanced down at her potions book.
Wearily, she pulled out and kitchen chair and opened the book, knowing she would get very little done on a day like this. She even took the quill out from behind her ear, twirling it in between her fingers, but... she put it down. This was, perhaps, one of the times she felt least like focusing.
So much had changed. She sat back k in the chair and fanned her fingertips against her lips, gazing at the clock. Or perhaps... well, she had changed.
In her school days- only two years ago- she would have gotten up and insisted on accompanying Harry and Neville on what he called their `little project'. She sighed. He pretended to take things lightly, pretended for her sake, but they both knew the dangers involved. Once she reprimanded him for trying shelter her-she had been on that Horcrux hunt with him, after all-but he only smiled at her wryly and said, "I know you, Hermione, if I told you everything, you'd get up and try to finish this yourself."
"With you," she had insisted, "I'd finish it with you, like always."
He'd kissed her then.
"I know," he had said again, "but you're all they have."
He had moved his gaze briefly from hers to the window, where the children were kicking around a football. Then his gaze had returned to hers, and he'd added softly, "You're all I have, Hermione."
"You know that's not true," she'd protested, "You have so much more than me, Harry."
He'd laughed, brushing his fingers against her cheek with the fluid, tender familiarity of a painter with his brush. "I never wanted more. I thought you knew that."
Prat.
She couldn't help but think it. His love was beautiful, thrilling-and on occasions such as these, utterly exasperating. Harry freed her and captivated her all at once, and she had spent many afternoons-often while doing an every day chore-she'd puzzled over it. It was the ultimate mystery, she always concluded, and that, more than anything, was what frustrated her. It was something she would never understand-a foreign thought for someone who had spent so many days in the library seeking to know and understand all she could.
Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door, along with a rather hoarse, "Hermione? Are you in there?"
Neville's voice.
She rushed out of the kitchen into the foyer, throwing the front door open. A flood of warm spring air flooded into the house as a battered, weary pair entered the house.
From his position at the top of the stairs, Adrian could just barely hear Hermione breathe Harry's name. She sounded, he thought, very much like he imagined she would sound Harry had just pulled her out of the waters meant to drown her.
Harry's arms were chapped and swollen, and as they wound tightly around Hermione's waist, Adrian was suddenly struck by how stiffly them seemed to move. He winced when he caught a glimpse of a long cut along the side of Harry's face, and as Harry leaned his cheek against Hermione's head, blood smeared across her hair.
"I'm okay," he mumbled in assurance, "Godric, Hermione, I told you not to worry."
"You idiot," she retorted, though still in a low voice, "I should have worried more."
She drew back, pale and relieved.
"Oh, Harry-your cheek." She reached up with a hand, her fingers hovering gingerly above the gash. He flinched.
"Don't let the kids see me like this," he said quickly, in an undertone alive with urgency, "I don't want them to-Adrian!"
"We were wondering why you were late," Adrian said, though part of him could scarcely believe he had been bold enough to come down the stairs, "Mama was starting to scare me."
As he looked at Harry's battered face, at the bruises covering his whole body, Adrian was startled by the sudden urge to cry. He couldn't explain it-but suddenly, he began to tremble.
"Adrian-" Hermione reached out again, and when she drew him close, he tensed in her embrace for the first time. "Oh, Adrian-"
"I'm okay," he lied, but his voice betrayed him, and he blinked rapidly to hide the tears quivering in his eyes.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, "I didn't realize-oh, Adrian, it's all right-Harry's all right-"
"Barely!"
Adrian couldn't believe the word had come out of his mouth. But he was crying now; and he was not ashamed of it-he was too angry-inexplicably angry-
"You could have died!" he heard himself shout, "You might have died! You almost ruined everything!"
"I-"
"You almost abandoned us!" His bellow seemed to shake the whole house, or perhaps it was just him shaking…
"Adrian," Harry began weakly, but Adrian only sobbed harder into Hermione's shoulder.
The magntitude of his fear and anger shocked Adrian to the core. He wasn't sure he'd ever been so certain about feeling something. It was the certainty of his terror that had overcome him-the certainty that was making his head reel and spin as if it had been caught up in a great storming wind.
Gradually the storm subsided, and Adrian, now much calmer and in control, realized how noisily he'd been crying. Embarrassed, he burrowed himself further within Hermione's embrace, hiding his burning face from Harry's quietly guilty expression.
She stroked his hair again, and though Adrian didn't see it, she looked up into Harry's face.
Her heart went out to him at once. A familiar, ashamed look had settled into his weary face. Letting out a shaky breath, he ran both hands through his hair, looking at her helplessly.
"I… er… I'll go clean myself up," he said resignedly, in a low voice. "C'mon, Neville-I know where the healing stuff is…"
Adrian and Hermione stood in the center of the foyer for what seemed to be a very long time. A pool of hot guilt had found its way into Adrian's stomach as his words replayed in his mind.
How could he… had he really…?
"Do you want to go and lie down?"
"No-I mean, if I do-would you come with me?"
In answer, she lifted him into her arms, surprising him with her strength, and carried him up the stairs to him room. He was conscious of the others watching him from just inside Katy's room, and he hid his face, hoping they hadn't heard and knowing that they had.
The next thing he knew, she was tucking him into bed. As she pulled the sheets up under his chin, he looked into her face, knowing that his miserable eyes gave away his unspoken apology. In answer, she smiled softly, wistfully, and kissed him lightly on the nose.
"I'm sorry, Adrian," she whispered, "for frightening you."
He shook his head and swallowed hard, unable to speak. She grazed her fingers against his forehead lightly.
"Come and get me if you need me. I'll be downstairs with Harry and Neville, all right?"
He nodded and closed his eyes. He felt her weight leave the bed, heard the door close, and moments later, he was asleep.
"Don't rub that," Harry nearly dropped the bottle of salve, and knocked a roll of bandages off the table with his elbow, "It'll only agitate it further."
"Oh," he said lamely, as Hermione took his arm in her hands and began to perform several quick, intricate spells on the particularly swollen parts of his arms and hands. He paused, then blurted, "How's Adrian?"
"Asleep," she said, gently turning his arm over in her hands, "He was exhausted."
"Don't blame him," Harry mumbled, "All right, Neville?"
"I'll live," Neville said dryly from the kitchen table, "I never thought I'd meet a plant I didn't like."
"You've never met Devil's Snare, then, have you?" Harry said, sucking in a great breath that hissed quickly through his teeth. Hermione held up a small, talon-like thorn to the light. Nearly translucent, its faint outline glistened darkly with blood.
"This isn't Devil's Snare, Harry," Hermione said sharply, "I would have thought that was obvious."
"It was Devil's Snare," Harry said, "until the plant completely transfigured and snared both of us in one fell swoop."
"It's a nasty weed," Neville added unnecessarily, cringing. "I'd hate to hear what anyone at St. Mungo's would have to say about it."
"You were lucky," Hermione commented, "that you were thoughtless enough to forget to hydrate."
"Why's that?"
"One drop of water inside your system and the poison would have reacted instantly and… you wouldn't be here. Either of you."
She moved over to Neville and began to work on his injuries with brisk, meticulous movements.
"What about sweat?" Neville said, rubbing a new scar on his chin with vague interest as he noticed its reflection in a pot drying on the counter, "Because both of us are sweating like flobberworms."
"I don't know," Hermione said, "But I'm grateful. As you should be. You just barely escaped with your lives… as usual."
"Please, Hermione," Harry groaned, "I feel terribly enough as it is. Kind of a strange plant for a Death Eater blockade, though-I would have thought they would have wanted something that would kill you instantly."
"I imagine death by this particular poison is excruciatingly painful," Hermione said, dropping the thorn into a bowl and looking sober, "That was a very foolish thing to do, Harry-charging at that blockade without researching properly. I mean, last week you met up with those… things…"
"Spiders-and-or-snakes,," Neville supplied, "It was hard to tell when it was trying to eat-to eat me, I mean."
She sent him a warning look.
"Don't kid, Neville. We all know how close you both came to…"
Her voice trailed off, and she looked away, visibly taking several deep breaths.
"But you survived, thank Merlin," she said with a forced briskness, "and that's all that matters."
"Hermione," Harry said, moving toward her, "Hermione, I-"
She shook her head.
"Not right now," she said quietly, as she wrapped a bandage around Neville's arm. Harry drew back, startled and a bit stung.
"You might be stuck with this one for a while," Hermione told Neville, still very softly, "If it starts to swell at any time, come to the house right away-and I do mean right away, Neville, even if it doesn't hurt. Understand?"
"Thanks," Neville said with a nod, "I'll do that."
"You don't have a choice," she said grimly, "Now go get some rest and drink plenty of water-I've removed the threat. No, Neville, I really have. You just have to trust me."
"I just don't fancy dying an… what was it? An `excruciatingly painful death'. If I die-"
"Don't even joke." She said sharply, "That's not funny at all, Neville. Now go and rest."
He nodded.
"Thanks," he said again, "Harry, I'll see you later."
"Later, Neville."
As soon as Neville disappeared, Harry turned toward Hermione. She was busily cleaning up her healing supplies, though as she stood up with the bowl of thorns in her hands, he quickly noticed how much she was trembling.
"Hermione," he said as gently as he could, "talk to me."
"I've been trying to," she said, rather tersely, "but I've been a bit busy trying to keep you alive."
Abashed, Harry moved to stand behind her.
"Hermione, I know you're upset-"
"You've always had a gift for understatement, Harry, but that was drastic even for you," she said, her voice shaking.
He felt a flash of irritation.
"Merlin, Hermione, can't you see I'm trying?" he snapped, "I don't know what you want me to do; I can't just give up!"
"I'm not asking you to!" she flung back, whipping around and glaring at him, "But you're not a schoolboy any more, Harry!"
"And what's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, crossing his arms across his chest defensively.
"It means," she said in a furiously low voice, "that you have no room for taking foolhardy risks and trusting your luck to get you out alive every time! Don't you see what that does to your family?"
"I have to take risks sometimes, Hermione-"
"Don't patronize me!" she cut across him, her eyes flashing, "You've been taking every risk that's come across your path, and don't you dare tell me that I don't understand! I've been with you every since you decided it was your job to find every single danger within your immediate reach and confront it I was with you when we were running around the country with nothing to back us up but a couple of books and a dead man's instructions! And Merlin knows how many times you left it to me to plan everything out, to prepare-well, Harry, by your own decision, I'm not there to do that for you, and it's up to you to make sure that you don't just charge into danger without thinking of the possible consequences!"
Having finished, Hermione brushed past him and started mopping at the table with a sponge, the kitchen still ringing with her reprimand.
"Are you done?" Harry said, very quietly. She stiffened.
"Yes, Harry," she said coolly, "I am."
Ignoring the lump in his throat, Harry turned and left the kitchen, he arms still stinging slightly and his heart heavy. He looked at the front door, but oddly unable to go and open it, he turned and sat on the bottom step, feeling very much as though he'd been thoroughly beaten. He bowed his head and rested his forehead on his knees, listening the sounds within the kitchen.
Suddenly, someone crept downstairs and sat beside him. He looked over and saw Dusty sitting quietly next to him, a sketchpad balanced on his knee and a streak of paint across his cheek. When Dusty noticed Harry looking at him, he merely scooted closer and opened his sketchpad, motioning toward a particular picture within.
"Crookshanks," he explained with an expressive single word. Harry nodded, trying to look interested, but his eyes were trained on the kitchen door.
An insistent tap on his shoulder brought his gaze back to the sketchpad.
"Buckbeak," Dusty said, this time with a wide, crooked smile, "I saw his picture."
He tapped the pad with a satisfied finger.
"Hermione told me you rode him once," he said, lightly pointing at the two figures on his back.
"Yeah."
"I worked on it all afternoon," Dusty said, "it came quickly, for a picture."
He paused.
"I heard you and Hermione arguing."
Harry let out a long sigh, hiding a groan threatening to escape him.
But Dusty had said it so simply it was almost comforting. It wasn't as though Dusty were surprised, frightened-even upset. He simply said it, like an observation, nothing more.
"Adrian's not angry."
"Well, there's one person," Harry muttered. He hadn't meant for Dusty to hear, but Dusty replied, "I'm not, either."
"Thanks, Dusty."
Dusty paused.
"Just because she yelled doesn't mean she doesn't love you anymore," he reminded him. "I'm going to go finish."
He picked himself up and crept upstairs. Harry half-laughed. Dusty had mastered the trick of running without making a sound. A few footsteps echoing in the empty foyer alerted him to another presence.
"I thought you'd left."
"I don't like leaving you when you're upset," he said shortly. Hermione hesitated, then took the place formerly occupied by Dusty.
"Half of me wishes I could apologize," she said, "but the other half knows I needed to say what I did."
She placed a hand on his knee, and though he didn't look up, some of the tension in his heart eased.
"I shouldn't have yelled," she said, "but-oh, Harry."
She took his hand and kissed one of his new scars lightly, with the warm familiarity of a friend and the tenderness of a new bride, "I won't ask you to stop being angry, but I do want to know if you understood what I said."
He nodded.
"Good," she said, "I suppose… I'll leave you to think."
But she hesitated, remaining where she was beside him, looking uncertain.
He flexed his fingers within her hands, keenly aware of the scar her lips had just caressed, and when she moved closer to him, he moved his arm around her and held her close.
"I'm still angry," he told her, "but I'm not about to let you leave me."
She let out a long breath. The tension in the room dissolved, and she nestled closer to him on the step. He pulled her hand up to his lips and returned the kiss she had just given him, then rested her cheek against her hair.
"I would never leave you," she murmured.
"I would die if you did," he said seriously. She tilted her chin and allowed him to kiss her softly on the mouth.
"Yes, you would have," she said quietly, "and that's what frightens me."
He squeezed her tightly against his side.
"I didn't mean to."
"I know you didn't," she said, "and I didn't mean to frighten Adrian, either, but I did. I can't keep you a secret, Harry, I never could and I'll never be able to, and I think the children know that."
He sighed.
"I still didn't mean for Adrian to see me like that- I didn't mean for…"
She cut him off with another kiss.
"Hush," she said softly, "Enough of that. You can talk to Adrian later. We'll talk to all of them after dinner. We're not hiding this from one another any longer.
She squeezed his hand.
"I should start dinner," she said, standing up. He smiled up at her and kissed each of her fingertips one last time.
"I'll come join you in a second," he said, "let me go talk to Dusty for a second."
When he turned to go upstairs, he nearly fell off the bottom step in surprise. Dusty didn't seem startled at his reaction, but merely smiled and offered him a piece of paper.
In clumsy handwriting, the note read:
Hi. I didn't mean to yell at you. I was just scared that you might die, and I didn't know how you got hurt. Hermione's been really worried, and (Harry had to squint here, as there was a very wet splotch over the next few words, which had been scrawled even faster and messier than the previous words) you're the closest thing I've ever had to a dad. I never said I'm sorry. So I'm sorry.
Bye.
Adrian
Moments later, Harry hurried-ran-upstairs and down the hallway to Adrian's room. He paused just outside the door, then hesitated. He opened the door, and was confronted by the sigh of a rumpled, tearful Adrian.
"C'mere," Harry heard himself say hoarsely, and before he could say anything more, Adrian and thrown his arms around his waist and buried his face in his shirt.
"Don't die," he heard Adrian mumble in a very small voice, "Don't die like everyone, please don't die-"
Harry bent and pulled Adrian into a tight hug, tears streaming unexpectedly down his cheeks.
"I know," he said into Adrian's ear, "what it's like to lose everyone."
Adrian hiccupped and let out a sob.
"You're not losing me anytime soon," Harry promised him in a low voice, "I'm doing everything I can to get back to you--- to Hermione…."
"You promise?"
Harry pressed his hand at the back of Adrian's head, ruffling his hair lightly.
"I do now."
Adrian shuddered and wiped his eyes on Harry's shoulder. He smiled tearfully but brightly back at him. Harry felt himself grin slowly as he stood up and clapped Adrian firmly on the shoulder.
"So did you beat them?" Adrian asked after a moment, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. "Did you win?"
Harry shook his head ruefully.
"We didn't get there yet," he said. He paused and leaned forward, speaking in a whisper, "We got stuck in a hedge with talons."
At the bottom of the stairs, Hermione smiled, closing her eyes and tilting her ear toward the sound of their laughter. As she did, someone put an arm around her and rested his head against her side.
She stroked Dusty's soft dark hair, and without opening her eyes, she could see that slow, crooked smile of contentment stretching across Dusty's face.
Finally, he spoke, with perfect satisfaction, his voice just barely audible over the sounds of Harry and Adrian's animated conversation.
"I finished the picture."
A/N: (2) I hope this wasn't too sentimental for you… thank you for reading!
-->