Chapter Thirty-Eight
THE GOOD FIGHT
Author's note, 7/24/05: 388,653 words and 31 months later, I'm finished. You have no idea how excited I am to say good-bye, Truest Power, hello, Eagle's Sapphire! Hopefully, there will be a few of you that are equally ready for the transition.
Chapter thirty-eight, The Good Fight, part 2 of 2. Don't read until you've read part one!
Special thanks to Alan, who wrote about two pages of this for me after I panicked because a lightning storm made me lose about 19 pages. None of this fan fiction, I repeat, none of it, would have been possible without him.
Enjoy, and check out the Eagle's Sapphire summary below.
Love from
Elle
* * *
This one's for Alan, who kept me going; for Colleen, who first believe in me; for Claire, who just rocks my world; for the boys, who keep me laughing; and for Kate and Erwin, who were always, always there.
For them, among others.
* * *
Ron's check-in visit with Madam Pomfrey on Tuesday, two days after she had released him from her care, finally earned him an all-clear on everything but his arm. The talisman around his heart had settled into a somewhat more natural-sounding rhythm, and now that he had had a full week's work of whatever potion the school nurse had been forcing down his throat, he wasn't having trouble breathing anymore. Most of his bruises were still painful to the touch, but they had almost all faded in color. His cuts and scrapes were all healing as well, with the exception of the deep gash on his cheek from one of Voldemort's hurtling bricks.
But Ron could deal with the bandage taped across his cheek and the sling about his left arm. At least he was clear of the hospital wing for the rest of the year, provided nothing earth-shattering happened between that afternoon and Sunday morning. His parents had finally departed as well, and though he would be reunited with them in a few short days, it was nice to be able to take off after his appointment as he pleased for now. With Hermione finishing her O.W.L.s that afternoon and Sirius doing things for the Order once again, Ron had felt bad leaving Harry all alone in the hospital wing, but Madam Pomfrey had shooed him away in the end. She seemed very eager to poke around Harry's injured leg some more.
Ron was in the stairwell when the final bell rang to dismiss classes for the day. He scurried down the last few steps and into the Charms corridor. As it turned out, he needn't have worried as much about his timing as he had. He only had to hang along the wall across from Professor Flitwick's classroom for a minute or so before Anna came out, talking with two other Ravenclaws and a Hufflepuff as well.
Despite the tension that had grown between them since that night in the chamber, he couldn't help but grin when he saw her. Ron started to head in her direction, but he quickly decided against it. He shoved his good hand into the pocket of his trousers, tilted his head in her direction, and hoped she would make the first move.
Anna saw him, and after a sideways glance at her friends, she broke away from them. Ron sighed in relief as she trotted over to him. He started to tilt his head so he might kiss her before realizing that it could be awkward, given that her friends probably still thought they had broken up all those weeks and months before. Anna solved that problem as well-standing on the tip of her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck. After kissing him softly, she rested her cheek against his chest instead of releasing him.
"I-er, I wasn't sure... you know, your friends..." Ron muttered, instantly feeling flustered. A blush rose to his cheeks. More comfortable with Anna than pretty much anyone, times like these for whatever reason still had him every bit as nervous around her as he had been during the first few weeks of their relationship.
"They know..." Anna sighed. "Not everything, but what they need to know. About the two of us... you know."
"Yes, I know," said Ron, resisting the urge to crack a joke about their fragmented conversation. He relaxed his grip on her waist. With one fluid motion, he slid Anna's bag from her shoulder and hoisted it onto his own.
Anna tried at once to snatch it back, but she was no match for Ron's height. "Ron, you're still hurt. Give that back."
"No," said Ron pleasantly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders after swinging her bag back. "I was in the hospital wing not fifteen minutes ago-clean bill of health."
"Uh-huh," murmured Anna, glancing around at his arm in its sling. "Then why all the bandages, sweetie?"
"Just the two," said Ron defensively. He had been glancing down at her all the while, and she caught him just then when she looked up. "We need to..."
"Talk," finished Anna. She managed a small smile. "Wow, listen to us." Almost like she'd read his mind. She said nothing else until they had passed into Professor Sprout's private garden. Anna glanced up at him. "Our first chance to be a real couple..."
"You're the one that finds this place incredibly romantic," said Ron, relaxing when he realized she was only teasing. He guided her down the stone path, releasing her so he could set down her bag beneath their favorite tree. Without meaning to, he groaned. Smiling sheepishly as he lowered himself to the ground, he said, "Worse than Hermione, you are."
"That's with the featherweight charm," said Anna sadly. Dropping to her knees beside Ron, she began to rub his one shoulder. "It's the magical properties of the texts. Professor Flitwick likely explained it to your class in third year, it-"
Ron silenced her with a kiss, and another, and one more, and he had to remind himself that they were supposed to be talking through things as his hand slipped beneath her robes. He smiled what he hoped was an easy smile as he pulled away, scooting back so he was propped against the tree. Anna folded her legs beneath her, biting her lip. Ron took her hand in his.
"It'll be another week or two before my arm heals completely," said Ron at last, "but my talisman's finally all aligned and that potion did all it was supposed to for my one lung. I'm a little beat up still and a lot bruised, and that gash is definitely going to leave quite an ugly scar, but..."
"I don't care. About the scar, I mean, it doesn't matter what it looks like," Anna said, attaching her second statement quickly to her first. Tears had begun to well up in her eyes. "Ron, I-"
"Hey, shh," Ron muttered, drawing her into his arms, beginning to play with her curls as he always did. Much to his surprise, she pulled away from him.
"No," said Anna, shaking her head. "No, Ron, no `shh.' I can't... we can't... I..." She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and took a deep breath. "Ron... I know... I knew when we first met that you weren't like the other boys I knew... Harry Potter's best friend, the only pureblood besides your brothers within ten years of my age I'd never met. You were sweet and smart and funny and treated me with more respect than anyone. Yet... all those things I'd heard whispers about... you know, helping save the world from You-Know-Who doesn't always equate `hero,' at least not with purebloods. All those things were dangerous, all were risky... but I liked you and took a chance and everything seemed... until... when you..."
Anna trailed off but again found her voice. "When you nearly died after that Quidditch match, I almost wanted to run because I was so scared of losing you, but then I realized I was only scared because I cared so much... and I... and John... my father... but by then I think I realized I loved you. And every thing... everything that you and Harry and Hermione tried to learn more about, everything you pursued... I tried to help when I could, even though it scared me-the diaries, the memory charm-I still don't understand it all, Ron."
"I can explain it," Ron muttered feebly, but he knew that wasn't the direction in which she was heading. "Everything. Anything you want to know that I know."
"No, Ron," said Anna quietly. "No. I'm sure you know I didn't just clean up old Ravenclaw and head up to my room to sleep. I couldn't have, no matter how hard I tried. My stomach tied itself into another knot for every minute that passed. I went the Professor Flitwick in the end because I could barely walk. I was almost sure you had been severely injured or worse. It..."
Ron's mouth had gone dry. "Well... weren't... at least you know it's... you know, real," he managed, though it wasn't the comfort he imagined she needed. He had known for months now that they were likely bonded, meant for each other and no one else. Maybe he hadn't been taught the blood rites and traditions like most purebloods, but he knew that witches and wizards had it much easier in matters of the heart. They had powers and energies working for them to urge them into relationships, ones that had a tendency to last. Witches and wizards married young and stayed married because of such bonds.
A tear escaped Anna. "Ron, oh... Merlin," she said, touching his cheek lightly through his bandage. "I didn't need you to take that many Stunners to know it was real. I just... I needed you to run into me in the Defense corridor and track me down the next day to see that I was all right even though you were the one that got caught in the head with my heaviest textbook. I needed you to calm me down after I got a ninety-two in Charms instead of a ninety-five even though you had been about to swallow your pride and ask for my help in raising your seventy-one. I need your smile and your laugh and..." Anna trailed off. "I love you, Ron, and I need you, and it scares me so much to know that I could lose you."
"I love you, too," Ron murmured, and the young couple began to kiss. Several minutes passed, Ron's one hand roaming where it probably ought not have. Anna's robes were lying on the ground behind her, and her sweater and skirt were both hiked up when Ron pulled away. "I'm sorry," he said, breathing heavily.
"I trust you," Anna whispered, placing her hand over his, which rested on her thigh. Usually, she would have been the one stopping him, then glancing away shyly and straightening her clothes as he apologized profusely.
"Then I should tell you what's coming," said Ron. "Fights. Battles. War. Anna, it's going to be worse than anything that's ever come to pass between Dark and Light. Final showdown kind of thing, the way Dumbledore tells it, and-"
"You won't be content to sit back while others fight," Anna finished quietly, to which Ron nodded. "You... you'll do whatever it takes, whatever they ask of you, and you won't be able to..."
She trailed off, but Ron knew what she meant. "No, I can't promise you everything I want to. There's a group-the Order of the Phoenix-that fought against Voldemort last time. Harry and I've been asked to join, and I reckon Hermione will be also. Mum's none too pleased, she's not a member, but Dad is. They might still say no, but I'll be seventeen next year and it's not likely this will all be over by then, and..."
Anna pressed a finger to his lips. "Kiss me."
Ron did. "My dad lost one of his two brothers last time, my mum lost both hers. But they're still going to fight."
"You're not the same boy you were two weeks ago," said Anna absently. "When did you become so old and wise?"
Ron smiled sadly, taking her hand and placing it over his heart, which still shook more than it beat despite the talisman finally regulating. "Funny. Everyone else labels me as young and stupid."
"You weren't much farther from death in the end than Harry, were you?" Anna wanted to know, her eyes shining with tears once more.
Ron shook his head. "Dad managed to keep Mum from knowing. How did I not keep you from knowing?"
Anna took a shuddering breath. "You'd do it again if you had to, no?"
"In a rattling heartbeat," said Ron jokingly, realizing at once what he had said and thinking of their fight earlier. "Honey, I-"
"I know," Anna whispered. "But I meant what I said about no more joking. At least not about things so serious."
"Not again," said Ron solemnly. "I'm going to have to ask something of you also."
"What?" Anna wanted to know.
Ron took a deep breath. "Krum... well, despite what little worth his words had, he told me... I know what John did to you," he finally blurted, and then he waited, praying she would at least try to deny it.
Instead, Anna did something startling. As Ron's heart sank with realization, she pulled her disheveled sweater over her head, untied her blue-and-gold school tie, and began to unbutton her blouse. Pushing it to one side as she pushed down the waistband of her skirt, allowing him to see the bruises.
"B-but the Quidditch match was two months ago," Ron stammered, touching her abdomen lightly. Not that he would have thought it possible before, but he scarcely noticed her lack of clothing for her discolored skin. He slid her shirt off her shoulder, only to find more scrapes and bruises on her back. "How-"
"The Quidditch match, two weeks later, a couple of days after that, the weekend before last," Anna admitted quietly. "Affrendius."
The glamour she had been wearing faded, revealing a black eye that had only just began to fade and bruising all across her jaw. Anna jerked her head away when Ron attempted to touch her face. She quickly recast the glamour. Ron usually would have said something about her wandless magic, but he was too busy rising to his feet.
"That's it," said Ron angrily. "I'm going to-"
"Ron, it wasn't him," Anna tried desperately. "John didn't know what he was doing. He-"
"He's going to be living a wall away from you in the coming months," Ron growled.
"I know!" Anna pleaded. "But it's-it's not John you need to worry about. It's-I mean-Ron, please." She finally managed to grab his arm. He turned, actually intending to tell her off, but there was something in her bright blue eyes that stopped him. She led him back to the tree, where he helped her get dressed again despite his bad arm.
Anna smiled through her tears. "That's what I wanted to do to Krum for what he did to you." She shook her head. "What happened-to me, I mean-that was him as well."
"All they'd ever have to do to hurt me would be to hurt you," said Ron gruffly, trying to keep the tears from welling up in his own eyes. "So this is why Harry's trying to hard not to let himself get involved with Hermione."
Anna, who had been leaning against her boyfriend, sat up with a start. "Nooo," she said. "You aren't going to pull that with me. You aren't... are you?"
"He's a better person than I am," said Ron, looking away.
"I don't care if being with you puts me at risk."
"She doesn't care with him either." Ron gestured for Anna to come back to him, and she did. Even when her weight settled a little too heavily against his injured arm, he said nothing. "Have I told you... I think you're... and I..."
"Yes," said Anna softly. "Yes. All those things. And me as well. So... next year... you'll be fighting then?"
"I'll hopefully be learning how to," said Ron, "But later..."
"Later?" Anna echoed.
He hesitated. "Defeating Voldemort won't be easy. Or maybe even possible."
"But you'll try to help anyway," said Anna, to which Ron nodded. "Then so will I."
Ron sat up with a start. "No... no," he said. "No chance."
"Yes," said Anna stubbornly, though she had begun to wring her hands together in one of her classic nervous gestures. "Y-you'll have to keep in mind, of course, I-I'm no Gryffindor, but I want to help, and I think I can. M-maybe not on the... I don't know, on the front lines, but maybe behind the scenes. M-my Defense work might not be up to scratch, but I've always been good at... you know, Charms and Potions and Herbology, and the old magicks..."
"You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?" said Ron finally. Anna nodded, and he took her hands in his. "Okay. I reckon if I'm doing it, I can't tell you not to. But... have you given anything else a lot of thought?"
Anna's nose crinkled up in that adorable way it did. "What do you mean, sweetie?"
Ron's cheeks flared pink first, then red. "Well, Mum and Ginny and even Hermione a little were talking about us so much, you know, our future, and I just wanted to know if-"
"Oh, honey, no," Anna interjected. "No, no, no. That's all so far away. We didn't mean to-"
"Oh," said Ron oddly.
"Oh?" Anna questioned.
"You don't ever think about that stuff?"
"Well, I do, but I can see how it would make you nervous, and it's all so far away, and don't think I'm not aware of that, and I'm also well-aware that it's supposed to scare boys your age more than the-"
"I actually tried to get a rise out of one of Voldemort's favorite boys," Ron reminded her. "Suddenly the future seems less scary, so long as I have one and all. And... er... my dad gave me something before he and Mum left. He thought I might want to give it to you someday, but all I seem to be able to think about anymore is now."
The Gryffindor nervously fished something from his pocket, a delicate golden ring on an even more delicate golden chain. "It's my great-grandmother's promise ring," Ron explained. "When she died last year, Granddad passed it on to Dad because he's the only one that married another pureblood, and now I'm with you. It's-it's not so much that we care so much about that, but since-"
Anna just nodded, tears welling up in her eyes again. "I'm happy, I promise," she assured, noticing the look on his face. "Happy tears," she repeated, accepting the ring on its chain and wordlessly latching it around her neck.
"I'm pretty sure it's your size," said Ron, "but with your dad..."
"This way I won't have to take it off," Anna finished. "I know. I don't want to." Giving it one last long look before dropping it beneath her shirt, she said, "Thank you, Ron."
"Yes," said Ron, at a loss for words suddenly. He lie back, and Anna followed, using his chest as a pillow. He looped his one good arm around her waist, squinting up at the private garden's magical sun. "So..."
"So..."
"Not for a couple of years," said Ron, quickly answering the question she hadn't even have to ask. "Or a few. Which is it, if I mean three? If we're still fighting Voldemort when you graduate, I don't want to waste any time."
"Neither do I," said Anna. Then she sat up quickly, brow furrowed. "You aren't trying to talk your way out of proposing then, are you?"
Ron pretended to be offended. "I'll have another ring then and get down on one knee and everything. Promise."
Satisfied, Anna lie back down next to him. "Are things really going to get that bad?" she asked, not sure if she wanted to know. She felt Ron nod. "But you won't do anything too dangerous, right?"
"I love you," said Ron in lieu of a response.
"I love you, too," Anna replied. She wanted to sigh but thought better of it, and she oddly felt more worried than she had before. After all, hadn't she had at least part of this exchange with Ron once before? Anna could hear the talisman in his chest shake some as he breathed. Hadn't it made this one all the more necessary?
* * *
Draco grimaced as he put weight on his leg. From where Hermione was kneeling at the base of the chair he had just vacated, she grimaced too. She dropped her hands to her knees and sat back on her heels. Flashing Draco a small smile, she went to place a hand on his good leg but thought better of it. Hermione sighed.
"Still no better?" she wanted to know.
"Nooooo," said Draco, drawing the word out far longer than Hermione thought possible. He offered her a hand up, which she took reluctantly. Her heart went out to the Slytherin as he grimaced in even more pain than before. "It is better than it was, and giving you a hand-up won't kill me, Granger-though you're about to tell me that continuing to call you that might, Hermione."
Hermione started to make a face, but when she realized she was wrinkling up her nose, she stopped. She rather thought it made her look like Pansy Parkinson, which she didn't want given how much Draco had just complained about the girl.
"Because that won't get old," said Hermione, ignoring Draco's smirk. "And," she pointed out, "You've called me Hermione before."
This time, when Draco took a seat, he hopped up on of the tables. They had met in the Potions classroom about half an hour before, and the majority of their time had been spent so far talking about his leg injury and the progress he had been making in spite of it, and Hermione had of course chided him for coming to her instead of going to Madam Pomfrey. His excuse had been that he did not want to catch up with Harry in the hospital wing, which Hermione thought both ridiculous and childish, and had let him know it. Reluctantly, she took a seat beside him, smoothing her skirt beneath her. She looked away as she tucked a curl behind her ear. There was a long pause.
"Thanks," said Draco at last. "You know, for my leg. And sorry, though the way Dumbledore tells it, you'll get what I'm thinking back if you just learn to listen for it."
"Does that mean you had to learn to listen for my thoughts?" Hermione asked.
Draco shrugged. "Usually they just come to me."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I hope I give you a headache someday." She gave a small laugh, mostly to herself considering she wouldn't even meet Draco's eye. "Well, then... harrumph. If it's the way Dumbledore tells it, it could be quite off."
"Potter still bitter and unresponsive?" said Draco, actually allowing real sympathy into his voice.
"Ugh!" Hermione's response was immediate. "He's been so distant since he talked to Dumbledore! He won't hardly say two words to me-`Did you have a good day?' `How were O.W.L.s?' `Oh, my leg, it's fine.' It's not fine, it's maddening!"
Hermione, who had let her voice rise with each word until she was shaking a little with anger, suddenly realized she had not said two words to Draco about Harry's cold behavior at any point over the last several days. She piped down at once. It was still a little disconcerting to have a conversation with someone who knew what she was thinking practically before she did.
"What do I need to do," Hermione asked weakly, "to learn to listen for your thoughts?"
"Dumbledore can have someone work with us if it's something we decide we're okay with," said Draco idly, twiddling his thumbs and being equally elusive when it came to making eye contact. "Or else you can try over the summer to read me like I do you, since it would make you feel better, and when term starts in the fall, he'll probably have figured out how to sever the connection."
Admittedly, the mind link Draco had with Hermione made her uncomfortable, but it had also saved her life, as well as Harry's and Ron's. She didn't say anything, but she did think that having Draco in her thoughts was something that she could live with. It would make her vulnerable, she knew, but at the same time, she trusted Draco completely. She couldn't explain it, even though she already knew that in the coming weeks and months she would have to, as Harry and Ron at least were sure to question. Beginning that evening in the prefect bathroom and coming around full circle the day he had come to her rescue from Marks at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, however, she had found in herself putting faith in the Slytherin and was yet to falter.
For the second time that afternoon, there was a long pause, at the end of which Draco cocked his head slightly and said, "Thanks." Hermione knew he had to be referring to her trusting him so completely, although the look on his face said she had him as confused as to why as she was.
It was Thursday, three days to the end of term, three days to the conclusion of what had been an exhausting year. It had also been three days since Harry had talked to the headmaster, and for as nonchalant as Hermione had been at the time about getting answers, she had since grown quite impatient and was wondering why he was keeping her not only out of the look but also at a distance-since Monday, she had spent more time with Ron than Harry, and more time with Draco than both of them combined. Needless to say, the cosmic balance of the universe had begun to seem quite disproportionate to Hermione when her one-time nemesis from Slytherin seemed to enjoy her company more than her two best friends from Gryffindor.
Draco, who had had his own meeting with Professor Dumbledore the day before, had said little more than Harry about the affair, but unlike the Boy Who Lived, he had not been so mum on the subject that Hermione was going mad. Over the last half hour, he had at least slipped her bits and pieces. She knew that his testimony, in combination with Snape's that he had not joined the Death Eaters, had restored the headmaster's faith in the Slytherin and earned him re-admittance to Hogwarts. He would be starting his fifth year all over at the beginning of the next term, something he wasn't happy about but said he could live with if he got into Advanced Potions, at least.
Hermione had also gathered that he would be spending the summer with an aunt of his, Elena Ginever, who she assumed was the same as the Elena who had once been Head Girl.
"Oh yeah," said Draco lazily. "She was Head Girl, I'd forgotten about that. Father stopped talking to her completely-he had to some extent already because she was a Hufflepuff-about a year or so after that because he himself was not made Head Boy. Married a half-blood, albeit one with fairly long bloodline, but she lives alone now. Dumbledore says it was a bitter separation, but they're both in the Order."
"The illustrious Order," muttered Hermione.
Draco arched an eyebrow. "The Order of the Phoenix. You know, Dumbledore's group, fought against Voldemort the first time?"
"I know that," snapped Hermione. "But what have they been doing for the last year since he rose in that graveyard? And who are they? And why didn't we-"
"One question at a time!" Draco interrupted. He smirked. "You didn't know anything because Dumbledore didn't want you to know anything. That at least, should make you feel safer." He paused, gauging her reactions. "No? Doesn't? Nah, didn't think it would..." he shook his head, dropping his hands to grip the edge of the table before finally looking over at her. "You can look at me, you know."
"Yes, I know," said Hermione, dropping her hands rather like he had. She looked over at him but did not look up, choosing instead to swing her legs a few times before realizing it wasn't a good idea. She had been kneeling earlier, and it all was just more than her recently-healed knee could take. "Will you please tell me what's going on, then? I'm starting to feel as frustrated as Harry about being kept in the dark."
Draco hesitated. "For starters, the headmaster wants you kept in the dark. I have no idea why, Granger-I can't see how it'd be a worry of his now that Krum's dead, but he was really specific about it. `As you know, Draco, what I am telling you now is in confidence, there are only a few others that you will be able to discuss these things with. I will have to ask, however, that you do not share any of this with Miss Granger. I rather think she has enough on her mind without it.' But..." But at the same time he's encouraging us to explore our Affinity if we're both comfortable with it, and I'd say above all you'd earned the right to know.
Draco had trailed off, but Hermione heard him loud and clear. Her eyes grew wide, her hand flew to her mouth, and she hopped off the table. Pointing at him, she started, "I-you-it-oh goodness!"
The Slytherin just looked at her appraisingly until Hermione calmed down and, composing herself further, took a seat across from him this time.
"That was fun," he said dryly. "Look, after Grindelwald, that dark wizard Dumbledore took down in the forties-well, the Ministry wasn't happy and encouraged the Board of Governors to expel him from his professorship, which is why that staff rooster didn't have him teaching for a number of years-" Draco did pause for a moment, given the opportunity to smirk "-yes, that's what you were thinking, I know. But, he disappeared for a number of years, and when he came back, he worked towards creating the Order. That way, if another Dark uprising should begin, he and others he trusted could put their energy into the fight, not into worrying whether or not their job and life would be secure when it was over, if they even survived."
"And it formed when Voldemort started his rise to power the first time?" Hermione wanted to know.
Draco nodded, but then he frowned. "Well, it formed, but it didn't take off until Voldemort was already in power-people didn't want to believe he was rising, and it wasn't until Potter senior and company joined that the Order that it could really hope to make a difference."
"Why Draco," said Hermione when he finished, "I'm so proud of your for getting out Mr. Potter's name without gagging."
"Yes, well, Father liked that Potter about as much as I like this Potter, so I've got a soft spot for him. Anyone that displeasures Father so," said the Slytherin. He sneered somewhat as he mentioned the senior Malfoy, his eyes going deep grey for a moment before lightening. "Though, Sirius Black! Bloody hell, Granger, I always thought the bastard was fit to worship, and here he is, innocent? I knew you thought he was, but I could scarcely believe it!"
Hermione's brow furrowed. "Wouldn't your father have known he never did anything but defy the Dark Lord?"
Draco snorted. "Granger, my father only wishes he were in Voldemort's inner circle. He talks as if he is the Dark Lord's lapdog, but he can only dream of such power. He had no idea that Pettigrew was involved; never would he have guessed that Black wasn't. Every time I asked him why Voldemort went that night to kill the Potter's, he told me a different story. He hasn't the faintest clue why."
"Oh."
"I met Voldemort once," said Draco, thoughtfully but out of the blue.
"Did he have one of his minions rape you?" said Hermione bitterly.
Draco flinched. "Don't," he said quietly.
"Don't what?" Hermione wanted to know.
"Make light of it," said Draco, clasping his hands together as he leaned forward. "You want to dismiss what happened, but if you can't dismiss it, you want other people to think you have. If it's tearing you up inside-then let it out. And not like that, because you don't have to be okay with it. No one expects you to be. Feel what you bloody well feel, all right? You've been strong enough in all this, let someone else be for you for awhile."
Several minutes later, Hermione felt the silence absolutely scraping at her, and she prompted gently, "So you met the Dark Lord?"
"Oh yeah," said Draco, letting out a low whistle. "Over the summer. Father was calling for me one afternoon, `Boy, get out of your room this instant!' yet I was angry with him for beating me the day before, and to be perfectly honest, I did not think I could manage the stairs, so I didn't come down. Eventually, he sent up a house elf, who squeaked something about my having a visitor, but I ignored him as well. And finally, Voldemort himself came up to my chambers to rouse me."
Hermione shuddered. "I'd cry if he appeared in my bedroom."
"Well, I scrambled to my feet and dropped to my knees and kissed the hem of his robes, forgetting about my broken ribs entirely," said Draco nonchalantly, though Hermione caught that he was not proud to admit he had reacted so favorably to the Dark Lord. "He laughed and hissed at me to get up already. He said my father aside, he'd heard great things about me from Severus-that's Professor Snape-and... why are you smirking, I'm the one that's supposed to smirk!"
"Because I know who Severus is!" said Hermione, giggling now. After a moment Draco laughed too.
"So I'm over-explaining myself," said Draco. "At least I'm talking. He's my godfather, Snape, you probably didn't know that. I've always thought a lot more of him than my own father, though I hardly knew him before coming here. Voldemort has a lot higher opinion of him as well-something he was sure to tell me. Apparently the Dark Lord was quite excited for my acceptance into his ranks, and wanted to personally tell me he thought my father's blood-teachings were nonsense and a waste of his time. Great thing about Voldemort, doesn't care if you're fifteen or fifty, so long as he sees you as advantageous to his cause...
"So I went back to Hogwarts, and I was a little caught up in all of it, so I thought I was helping when I doused you in Forveret Bursen, but I was only harming-you. I was expelled, and Father was so disgusted with me that he thought the only way I could redeem myself was by serving his master. You know how the story goes from there."
Hermione nodded, waiting expectantly for Draco to look up. He finally did.
"Father wouldn't admit it, you know," said Draco.
"What?"
"That he had killed my mum and it had caused me to flee. He made itout to Voldemort like he was punishing me for my actions and it would be quite awhile before he could in good conscious hand me to him for service. And... well, it's all going to help when I infiltrate the Death Eaters," Draco finished lamely.
"You're going to what?" said Hermione with a start. "Draco, that's dangerous!"
"So? I'm in the perfect position to do it-Voldemort hasn't any idea I've changed sides, he's been about to pounce on Father all year for keeping me locked away in Malfoy Manner. Snape's a double agent, as I'm sure you've gathered, and he is in the inner circle, so he can get me up in rank faster than anyone else the Order's training at the moment. Not all the Death Eaters know the other Death Eaters, but even if my father does realize I've joined, he'd never admit his failure to keep track of me for over nine months."
"What if he does?" Hermione demanded.
Draco's thin lips were set in a firm line. "Nothing you can say is going to change my mind about it, Granger, don't bother. I care about you, but that doesn't mean you're in any position to have influence over me."
Hermione looked at him coolly. "Then why tell me all that?"
"Missed the underlying theme?" Draco said, his voice as cold as her look had been. "It's for the Order, which we were asking about. I didn't tell you all that stuff in hopes you'd talk me out of it. I told you it all in spite of the fact I'm not supposed to. Because no one else has so far."
"Harry and I are talking later, around five, when he's released from the hospital wing," said Hermione as snidely as she could manage. "I'm sure he will too."
"Or he'll be trying to protect you, and won't," said Draco, equally rude.
Hermione glared daggers at him, but only for a moment. She wanted to protest, she wanted to frustrate him as he did her, but she had not the words to. Before she knew it, she had started to cry.
"This year is... stupid and... awful... and I... hate it," she said, hiccupping out words betweens sobs.
Draco awkwardly scotched off the desk, avoided putting weight on his still-injured leg, and hugged her tightly, allowing her to cry into his shoulder as he had in the hospital wing more than a week before. "I know it is," he said gently. Do you want me to tell me more about the Order?
Hermione nodded into his shoulder, wondering how hard he'd had to concentrate on that thought to get her to receive it.
"So hard it's giving me a bleeding headache, Granger," muttered Draco. She smiled slightly, catching the reference as she could tell he hoped she would. "I don't know a lot. Not much more than what I told you. There's a meeting tonight, it's at the Shrieking Shack-so yes, if Potter sneaks off tonight, or the Weasel, it's a possibility that they've been invited to join as well."
"Don't call Ron that," said Hermione, her voice muffled somewhat. Draco patted her back before releasing her. She wondered if he knew she would have screamed had it been anyone but him or Harry that gathered her up like so. Even Ron, who she was defending, would have startled her quite tremendously, she had to admit reluctantly.
"You don't know why you trust me," said Draco quietly, "but yes, I know. And I swear, Hermione, that I would never do anything to hurt you. And nothing like that to anyone."
"What else do you know about the Order?" prompted Hermione.
"Not much. They have people in the Ministry just like they do Death Eaters-Dumbledore can't rely on it at all with Barker at the head," said Draco, kindly not noting how swiftly she changed the subject. "And they've done loads this year, just nothing visible. Some of the things Voldemort's been doing are... gruesome. My stomach turned when the headmaster described them. I'm sparing you, no matter how much you complain."
Hermione chose not to, and about that time, noticed that Draco was clutching the table behind him for support. Before she could even glare him into taking a seat, he was perched on the old double desk once more. Obviously, he had caught the drift.
"You could," she chided, "go to Madam Pomfrey about it. The pain shouldn't be so prolonged, Draco, and she could certainly do a better job with relieving it than I. You can't keep coming to me-in three days you won't be able to, and I can't tell you whether or not your aunt even has knowledge of the charms I've used, they aren't Hogwarts curriculum."
"I'm not going to Madam Pomfrey," Draco grumbled, though Hermione wondered if she was wearing him down. She knew he saw her point-each of the last four days he had come to her when walking became unbearable, and he had already admitted that her aid had been all that kept him going.
"Snape?" suggested Hermione coolly.
Draco smirked. "Told me to bother you for a change."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Lovely," she muttered. "You could go back to using a crutch."
"Nah," drawled Draco. "When is it that you're talking to Potter?"
"Five," Hermione reminded him. "Or at five, he's at least being released from Madam Pomfrey's-"
"-care," Draco finished for her. "I remember now. You were sitting on his lap yesterday, snogging him senseless and praying the mediwitch wouldn't catch you and have you expelled from both the hospital wing and your healing studies next term. And you were trying to keep things from going too far when he pulled back panting, and told you that if he didn't get out of there soon, he was going to go mad, so you put in a good word for him and Pomfrey finally caved. So he's going to go back to Gryffindor tomorrow, but you told him that in exchange for your help getting him out, the two of you were going to talk before he even set foot in the tower."
Hermione was almost overcome by the desire to punch the Slytherin, who was smirking so completely she rather thought his face would be consumed by it and, she hoped, stuck that way for a long time. If he dare ask her about kissing the Boy Who Lived, she'd be sure to send him such painful thoughts that he toppled off from his perch backwards.
"Will keep it in mind," said Draco easily. "So don't misinterpret what I'm about to say, let me get it all out-you're snogging Potter senseless, but you keep bemoaning the fact that he's kept his distance. Hate to break it to you, Granger, but if that's distant to you-nice sneer, by the way."
"Sod off, Draco," said Hermione. "He won't talk to me though, and save yesterday afternoon, he'd pull back if he found himself even touching my shoulder or holding my hand or something."
"Snogging has to be a step in the right direction, then," said Draco, who got off being slugged on the fact that he was being quite sincere. Hermione could only hope he was right. She waited for him to say something else, sure he had another snide comment up his sleeve somewhere because he'd been entirely too nice that afternoon, far less biting and sarcastic than he had earlier in the week.
They talked about things that had fewer consequences, about the mess that had been made of Quidditch that year, about house points (Hufflepuff, wonder of wonders, was leading), how her O.W.L.s went, and what it would take for him to achieve placement in the Advanced Potions class. Hermione even found herself admitting that even with a year less experience, Draco could probably still match her skill in the subject. Still, just as she was all-too-aware of the distance that had grown between her and Harry, she found Draco trying just as hard to withdrawal himself from their conversation.
At ten to five, Hermione also became aware of the time and shot Draco an apologetic smile. "Madam Pomfrey's probably releasing Harry at this very moment," she said, fully expecting Draco to smirk and make yet that crude remark about her relationship with the Boy Who Lived, but none came.
Draco did something surprising instead. He hopped off the table he was sitting on, and without much of a grimace, even, said, "I'll walk you back to the hospital wing."
"You don't have to," said Hermione suspiciously. The Slytherin just shrugged as he held open the door of the Potions classroom for her. "Aren't people going to think it odd when they see you and me walking together?"
"No," said Draco, who was actually a few strides ahead of her. "Since Dumbledore is trying to keep my return as quiet as possible, he cast a glamour on me to take effect when I'm in the corridors or the Great Hall. I look like an ugly Hufflepuff, and you'll walk with those, right?"
He turned so she could see him, and, sure enough, the lining of his robes had changed from green to yellow. Although his hair was still as pale as ever, his face lacked its usual points and angles. Hermione had to admit that if she passed him in the halls, she wouldn't give him a second look, but she rolled her eyes instead of saying anything. He had to know she was expressing disapproval for his "ugly Hufflepuff" remark, seeing as he continued to take long strides that kept her several paces behind him.
Right before they reached the door of the hospital wing, Hermione managed to catch up with Draco, and ducking around him, she managed to cut him off at the door. She blocked his entrance as she fished her borrowed wand from her pocket, temporarily dissolving the glamour.
"Hey!" Draco started, but he stopped, and Hermione had to grin as he realized she had only undone the glamour for her benefit and people who passed by would still see his nondescript persona. "Wench," he muttered.
"Don't call me that," said Hermione briskly, folding her arms across her chest. "Look, Draco, I should have just cut to it down there. We should be friends, and I won't have you saying there's no way we can after the Forveret Bursen because I've forgiven you and that should be a good enough reason for you to forgive yourself. We're fighting on the same side now, and we'll probably be fighting alongside one another. So I want you to go, and I want you to have a good summer, and I want you not to worry about being in my head because I really just feel sorry for you for having to sort through the mess. And you're going to be as careful as you possibly can playing both sides for the Order, and you're going to write me when you can. Okay?-" she did not let him respond "-Okay."
Draco just looked at her, mouth slightly agape. "I wasn't-" he stammered, "-I--"
And Hermione laughed to find the quick-tongued Slytherin lacking in words. "Look, I knew what you were going to tell me: that no matter what the circumstances, it just didn't make any sense for us to try to be friends. But you've proved again and again that it does make sense, Draco. In the forest, you comforted me; in the chamber, you comforted me; in the hospital wing, you comforted me, and today, guess what? You comforted me. You come to me when you think I can help, and also when you think you can be of some help. I care about you, and you admit you care about me. We can go back and forth, and it just makes sense. I know you're not used to having real friends, but... here I am."
"Huh," said Draco, clearly still searching for words. "I guess there you are."
"Please," said Hermione quietly, "will you promise to be careful this summer?"
Draco nodded. "And you'll take care of yourself? Seriously, won't cut yourself off or bottle yourself up-you'll start dealing with some of it?"
This time, Hermione nodded, and then she was overcome with a thought so wicked she couldn't help herself. She caught Draco in a tight hug, more than a little satisfied to find him reacting rather like Ron used to, squirming awkwardly to get away without giving the impression of doing so, and patting her head with an equal amount of bemusement. And suddenly he pushed her away, giving her a look of death equal only to the ones Snape was so infamous for.
"Wench," Draco said again.
"Have a good summer," Hermione said firmly, and with a sickeningly sweet smile, she ducked into the hospital wing. It was only for a moment, however, that she could maintain her glee. Talking to the Slytherin had been a surreal experience, something out of someone else's life, a friendship she should have only had by a different choice of the Sorting Hat.
It's a nice way to sum up the year, thought Hermione bitterly, where virtually everything that's happened has felt so wrong I can't hardly stand it. She could deal with Draco's friendship, actually enjoy it, even, but what about all the other things? The Order, which Harry undoubtedly had to be involved in if Draco was, and the Slytherin was right about her having to sort through what Krum had done one of these days.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione released the door handle and her breath, which she had been holding. She forced a smile on her face and resolved to take things slowly, starting with Harry. On the far side of the hospital wing, he was quarrelling with Madam Pomfrey, and at least the mere sight of him could still turn her forced smile real.
* * *
Harry wasn't paying attention to a word Madam Pomfrey was saying.
Granted, the mediwitch had long since ceased to present him with anything new, and he could be almost guaranteed she would repeat it all a dozen more times in each of his check-in visits before end-of-term on Sunday, so it wasn't like he had to. The problem was where, exactly, his mind had wandered.
Hermione. For several minutes now he had been replaying the afternoon before in his head. He wanted to be angry; after days of carefully keeping his distance, his resolve had been completely broken. But he couldn't be, not when it came to her, especially not when it came to her in his arms, kissing him as she had.
He could recall their benign conversation about her O.W.L.s, which at the time she had just completed, and how the entire time he hadn't given a damn about Arithmancy or Potions or the fact that if he didn't distance himself from her and something happened, it would be her blood on his hands. And in an order of events Harry couldn't recall, she had ended up on his lap with her lips pressed firmly to his. He had needed her at the moment like he usually did oxygen.
"You're to stay off that leg as much as possible this summer," said Madam Pomfrey, for the umpteenth time, "especially the next few days. You overdid it Sunday and again Monday, and I'll have you know that I won't tolerate that sort of behavior again. I want you to stay off it entirely until you leave Sunday morning, and then, only when necessary-"
The sound of the hospital door opening cut through Madam Pomfrey's instructions like music to Harry's ears, even though he knew it had to be Hermione coming to walk him back to Gryffindor tower.
The boy wizard took a risk. He interrupted the school nurse. "Madam Pomfrey? I know this stuff. I have it all down. You've sent a letter by Muggle post to my aunt and uncle about it. You've sent an owl to the Grangers and fire-called Mrs. Weasley. Hermione can rattle this stuff off twice as well as I can, and you're going to see me at least three more times before I go on Sunday. I'd really like to get settle back into Gryffindor while it's still quiet."
Hermione had made it across the ward and to his side. Harry held his breath.
Surprisingly, Madam Pomfrey's expression softened. Marginally. She sighed. "Oh, oh," she muttered as she located a quill. With a little more harrumphing, she signed Harry's release forms (as so much magic had been used to restore him that the school couldn't get away with sidestepping the Ministry) with a flourish and held them up for him to inspect. "You're free to go," she said grouchily.
"Thank you," said Harry, breathing a sigh of relief. "For everything, really. I'll see you tonight?"
Madam Pomfrey just gave him a stern look and craned her neck. "Hermione? Get him settled into his room and get out. Have him back here after dinner for a check-up."
"I'll see you later, Madam," said Hermione firmly, coming to his rescue much like she had the day before on the matter of releasing him. She squeezed Harry's hand.
"Harrumph," said the school nurse.
Harry wasted no time turning on his crutches. In fact, he was so afraid of the mediwitch changing her mind that Hermione found herself following him out of the hospital wing. Pulling the door shut behind her, she gave him the largest smile he'd seen from her in a long time. She promptly squealed and dashed towards him, catching him off guard with the force by which she launched herself into his arms.
Maybe we're okay. Maybe she won't make me talk. There's too much to tell her right now-the Order, the Gates, everything that's happened. Hermione finally released him, her eyes twinkling. If he told someone he could get lost in those eyes, he wouldn't be exaggerating. Maybe it's not to late to take Dumbledore up on his offer to disappear. Maybe I don't have to drive a wedge between the two of us. Maybe...
Hermione had leaned in close again. "We should head back to Gryffindor already if we want a moment to talk before everyone returns," she said softly.
No such luck.
They walked in silence from the infirmary, tentatively holding hands, moving slowly because Harry was using a crutch. More than once this year, there had been things unresolved between them. More than once, they had somehow resolved them. For some reason, this felt different.
Each step closer to Gryffindor tower brought the tension up a notch; their palms were sweating. Harry hoped Hermione would, for the first time in her life, decide to let something go. He wasn't ready for this conversation. He hadn't been able to figure out what to do with her yet.
His conversation with Dumbledore had been running through his head like a demented broken record. Did the Headmaster want him to leave Hermione? Keep her at arm's length? Not let the relationship progress? Push her away? Marry her and a have a dozen Potter heirs to protect the thrice-damned Forgotten Gates Dumbledore had conveniently forgotten to tell him about, warn him about or even bloody well hint at?
His stomach burned; he tasted acid in the back of his throat. Every movement, every twitch, every breath Hermione made caused his guts to knot tighter and tighter. The clear choice, at one point, had been to get her away from at all costs. But hadn't Lupin tried to tell him it was too late for that? It wasn't like he would soon forget how incredible he felt to just be in her presence.
What am I supposed to do? Lie to the woman I love or break my word to the man who put both of us in danger yet may very well be the only one who can keep us both alive?
Just outside the Fat Lady's earshot (if paintings could be said to possess earshot) Hermione stopped.
"Harry."
She made his name a question, a statement and a command all at once. It was a rather impressive feat of nuance and expression, really, but couldn't she let things go, just this once?
"Yeah." He sighed, hanging his head. The Boy Who Lived, defeater of Voldemort and hereditary guardian of the Forgotten Gates, knew fear.
In the next few minutes, he could lose her, lose what they had. It was inevitable and he knew it. His father had surrendered to love, and both he and his wife had died. Dumbledore had made this much plain: Harry was bound to the Gates, and now that the knowledge was his, so was the responsibility.
But he wasn't ready. It was too soon and they were both hurting too much. He would let the wounds heal some before cutting themselves deeper.
She has her family; her friends. She has Malfoy, and he knows her innermost thoughts. They had hardly exchanged two words on the subject of the Slytherin, because when Hermione would bring him up, Harry had the tendency to make a fist and inadvertently pound on something.
He wasn't a fool. He knew Hermione and Malfoy would become friends, and he knew she had forgiven him. But she wouldn't be alone.
He wasn't ready to be alone.
"So?" She tugged him closer to her, but he resisted. He refused to meet her eyes. If he met her eyes, he might lose his resolve.
Words. I need words. Words are good.
"Hermione... you know, you remember, when there were things you weren't ready to talk about?"
Biting her lower lip, she nodded. "Very clearly, I promise you." She tried tugging him closer, a little more forcefully than she had a moment before. He took a tiny step forward, closing his eyes.
"I'm not ready to talk about what Dumbledore told me yet. I haven't had time to think it all through yet."
Hermione felt her eyes sting with tears. "Your magic..."
Reflexively, Harry's head shot up, his eyes meeting hers. He closed the distance between them, holding her against him for a long moment.
"No, not that." He thought about it for a minute before admitting-not without some chagrin-that he hadn't even asked Dumbledore about it. "There are other things he needed to say..."
This time, she pulled away, albeit reluctantly. "Things you can't tell me about? I've been worrying all day about this, and I still don't know what's going on. The transfer of magic between us, it affects us both, Harry. How could you not ask him? What was that important?"
She left unspoken that if it were that important, then it was something they both needed to know.
"Yes, Hermione, things I can't tell you about. I don't how, I don't understand them, and I just can't! Not yet! Bloody hell, I'm not saying I won't tell you or that you don't deserve to know, I just want a little patience, and maybe a little space to think. I have all the questions I can deal with without you throwing more at me!"
She flinched as he snapped at her, but she stilled her own anger. She knew he had spent all year playing nursemaid to her, taking care of her, being there when she needed him, even accepting there were times she needed to sit and feel sorry for herself. He had defended her, defied Dumbledore and even died for her.
The least she could give him was a little patience.
Harry nearly fell over when she answered him.
"Okay. Okay, I can do that. I can give you space and time. But...I'm around if you need me."
Harry felt her hand leave his with a rush of cool air drying their mingled sweat on his palm, and before he could say another word, she was down the hall and inside Gryffindor tower.
* * *
The journey from Hogwarts to King's Cross Station on Sunday was a somber one for the trio and Anna. Their compartment remained silent while those surrounding it buzzed with the talk and laughter of hundreds of young witches and wizards excited about summer vacations. They found it easy to be in good spirits, seeing as not even the seventh years from the Order had any idea how bad it would get.
Harry and Ron knew. Hermione, who had been told little aside from what she had gotten out of Draco, wasn't considered the brightest witch in their year for nothing: she knew that she wasn't being kept in the dark for a joyous conclusion. And Anna, well, she was fairly intelligent herself.
After two nearly silent games of wizard chess, Harry began to feel the exhaustion of being up longer without rest than he had all week. The scarlet steam engine wasn't more than a quarter of an hour outside of London when he woke up again.
Harry blinked a few times before reaching to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. The compartment was still quiet, and now it was strangely empty as well. Neither Ron nor Anna was anywhere to be found, and Hermione...
Harry couldn't help but smile when he realized that she, too, had opted to sleep through their time on the Hogwarts Express. Her head had slipped down during her slumber and was now resting almost familiarly on Harry's shoulder. Having inadvertently slipped an arm around her while she slept, he watched her for nearly a minute. She deserved this, at least at moment of peace to make up for the hell of the last few months.
Rather reluctantly, Harry shifted and shook her shoulder gently. Hermione came around at once, blinking rapidly just as he had. She squinted at him for a moment and seemed to realize she had been lying all over him.
"Oh Harry!" said Hermione. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to fall-"
Harry just shrugged, shooting her a lopsided grin. "It's okay," he said. He wanted to say more, but his mind betrayed his heart. "Have you seen Ron?"
"Mmm," muttered Hermione. Was that hurt in her eyes? "You dozed off almost as soon as the two of you finished your second game of chess. The last I remember, he and Anna had wandered off to talk some more."
Harry nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. Hermione hadn't really even watched the chess games in question. She'd gazed off in the distance, her eyes glued to the passing countryside. It seemed like such a long time since he'd really talked to her, given just how badly their talk outside the Gryffindor tower had gone. He felt his stomach tighten. Had his reservations really affected them that much? Their friendship-five years of trust and thousands of memories-couldn't be that fragile.
But for three days he had avoided her, and he hadn't been subtle about it. Harry and even brushed her off when she tried to walk with him to his check-in visits with Madam Pomfrey.
Harry took a deep breath, meaning to put a hand on Hermione's shoulder and just hope he'd have something to say by the time she turned around. But his courage was shattered when the door to the compartment swung open quickly. Ron's smile disappeared when he saw his two best friends. He cleared his throat, and Harry had to wonder if his friend was aware of just how poorly he had been treating Hermione. The train was slowing.
"Er," said Ron, "I thought the two of you would still be asleep-anyway, we're practically to King's Cross. You'll want to get your things together."
Their redheaded friend took several long, purposeful strides across the compartment, bending down to gather his wizard's chess pieces and stuff them in his bag. His presence made the earlier moments of tension between Harry and Hermione fade, and they, too, began getting their things in order. Anna popped back in a few seconds later, calming her owl first and getting rather distracted by Ron as she tried to gather her things.
Although the owls posed no trouble, Crookshanks started clawing at Hermione madly when she forced him into his carrier. All four friends ended up with several long scratches before the steam engine had stopped completely. In another basket, Erinel slept peacefully. No one had been as surprised as Harry to see Hermione tramp onto the train with both animals. She had briskly explained that she was keeping the Hursle as a favor to Hagrid, but her eyes were shining brightly, and Harry had grinned at her to show he knew what she was really playing at. Hermione had not smiled back.
The Hogwarts Express had stopped now, and the platform was chaotic as students tore around, searching for belongings ("Has anyone seen my trunk? It's got my initials on it!") and friends ("I can't believe we're done at Hogwarts! You have to write to me this summer!") and even pets ("Trevor! I've lost Trevor again! Gran's going to kill me!"). As always, the students lingered on the platform even after all such problems had been smoothed over, saying goodbyes and making summer plans.
Harry had heaved his trunk upon a trolley with a little help from Ron, and he had offered the same assistance to his friend. They had at some point or another decided that they made up about one and one half person, what with Harry's bad leg and Ron's injured arm. Hedwig, sleeping peacefully in her cage, rested on top of Harry's other things. Not being terribly eager to return to his aunt and uncle's house, Harry stalled as long as he possibly could on the magical side of platform ten and one half. The Dursleys wanted him even less now than they had in previous years, and he wasn't much looking forward to yet another summer of their maltreatment and ill will.
Harry and Ron had hugged, though both pulled back quickly and glanced around nervously just after. Mrs. Weasley had thrown her arms around Harry within the same window of time. This year, her promise to Harry was that she and Mr. Weasley would be there in a second if they got word that his uncle was abusing him.
Harry had spotted the twins next. He'd left Fred and George on the terms of a firm handshake. It being their last term, they had serious plans to open their joke shop by the end of the year, but Harry wondered how much they'd have to adjust for their involvement in the Order.
He'd said his good-byes to Seamus and Dean and Neville and watched Malfoy limp heavily towards the magical barrier. Harry turned, gritting his teeth when he placed too much weight on his leg. He knew it wouldn't be much longer before he'd have to dig through his things for his crutches. When he turned again, having debated whether or not to say something to Malfoy, the Slytherin had disappeared. Not in a million years would he have ever believed it, but Harry had actually hoped for a chance to say good-bye.
But how would that have really gone? Harry asked himself. Thanks for saving all of our lives, but I still think you're pretty rotten for what you did to Hermione in September-stop bloody smirking, we're not getting together!
Maybe it was for the best that Malfoy had gone the other way.
There was only one person left. Harry didn't really want to admit he was looking for her, and he still didn't know what he would say if he found her. He just knew he needed to make peace with the feelings he had been fighting for so long now. Harry finally spotted her at the edge of the platform, only a few paces from the barrier back into the Muggle world.
"Hermione!" called Harry. To his relief and surprise, she broke away from her chatty roommates and gave him a smile and a wave. He started in her direction, but in the end, she came to him.
"Harry!" said Hermione when he reached her. She was looking at him shyly. "I thought-I thought you might have already passed through. Avoiding the Dursleys for as long as possible, are you?"
"I am," said Harry. As always, she'd known just what he was thinking. He offered her his hand and was most relieved when she took it. He led her to an empty corner of the platform. "I'm just not looking forward to another summer with them, even if this should be the last one."
"Oh Harry," said Hermione softly. She looked up at him. Her brown eyes had filled with concern, and she reached a hand up to his cheek. "I know the last days and weeks haven't been easy, but you do know I'll always be there for you, right? Oh, I do wish you could spend the summer with me instead of your miserable relatives."
"It won't be so bad," said Harry awkwardly, and he took the plunge. "I keep thinking about Thursday and everything I wanted to say but didn't, needed to say but couldn't. Hermione-if things weren't what they are now, if we weren't facing this-this war, if I wasn't Voldemort's biggest target, then maybe-maybe things-no, things would be different. I guess what I'm trying to say is-"
Harry stopped, his eyes finding hers. He hadn't even realized he'd grabbed her hands in the middle of his ramblings. He took another deep breath. "I almost told you then how I felt about you, but I stopped myself. The thing is, you're everything to me, Hermione. Nothing-nothing that has happened and nothing that will happen-can change that, but it has changed other things. My caring for you has already put you in harm's way once, and I'm not about to take that risk-"
"I'm going to be at risk no matter what, whether or not you want to believe it. There's not a good witch or wizard that won't be." To his surprise, Hermione's brown eyes were more open to him than they had ever been, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Then, she pulled back, stood on her tiptoes, and did something that really surprised Harry.
She kissed him. It wasn't one of the innocent pecks on the cheek that they had shared all year, and it wasn't even of the variety that they had shared in his room and the prefect common room or even the Quidditch locker room. It had all the need and fury that had been present the Wednesday before, when he was still in the infirmary. Harry's head was swimming when they broke apart, and he kept his arms securely around her. Harry drew Hermione back to him, and she rested her head easily on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time, until only a handful of their classmates remained on the platform.
"We'd better get going," said Harry, a tinge of sadness entering his voice. He forced it away.
"Maybe we should," said Hermione. Harry bent his head down and kissed her forehead.
"Have a good summer, `Mione," said Harry. He swallowed hard. "I'll see you September first."
"You'll write me letters whenever you can," said Hermione. She looked up at him, her eyes finally sparkling for real again. Merlin, how he'd missed that! "And you will not be seeing me September first. Do you actually think Ron and I would let you stay with the Dursleys all summer? My parents and the Weasleys? You'll see me in a few weeks, if not days."
"I guess," said Harry. He smiled but then cringed. "Uncle Vernon is probably getting impatient."
"I don't like that you're staying with those people again," Hermione repeated. She frowned, touching his cheek. "I can't bear the thought of him hurting you even once more, Harry."
"You have enough to worry about that doesn't concern me," Harry said heavily. "What's a few Muggles compared to the worst Dark wizard of all time?"
"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed. He caught her chin and gave her a light kiss.
"Hey," said Harry quietly, "I've been thinking on this for awhile. There's no use upsetting Uncle Vernon any more, right? He hates Hedwig. Why don't you take her for the summer? It'll be easier for you to send letters back and forth with Ron, and the two of us can just use the Muggle post."
Hermione looked reluctantly over his shoulder to Hedwig, several feet away atop his trolley. "I'll do it," she said uncertainly, "but I'm certain that Hedwig won't hear of it."
"We can always see," said Harry.
They broke apart, rather reluctantly, and Hermione headed back for her trolley while Harry stuck his fingers through the bars of Hedwig's cage. The snowy owl nipped at his fingers. There was understanding in her amber eyes.
"If you go home with me, Hedwig," Harry said softly, "you're likely to get it again from Uncle Vernon. Will you go with Hermione, girl? She'll take good care of you."
Hedwig seemed to consider this for a moment. She hooted softly, and Harry lifted her cage. He placed it between a very disgruntled Crookshanks's carrier and a snoring Erinel's basket, smiling slightly at Hermione. He fished Hedwig's owl treats from his trunk and set them with Hermione's things.
"Well don't we look every bit the aspiring Magical Creatures teacher?" Harry joked, quickly squeezing her shoulders. "Wouldn't Hagrid be proud?" Hermione didn't say anything. She gripped her trolley.
Harry managed to guide his trolley fairly well without putting too much pressure on his injured leg, and a few seconds later, he followed Hermione back into the Muggle world. The Weasleys were still standing on the platform, several paces away; Ginny seemed to be looking around frantically for something or another, and Fred was still trying to say good-bye to Angelina. Neville's grandmother was prodding the forgetful boy rather forcefully with a cane, and Mr. Granger was standing with Angelica in his arms not more than a few feet beyond the barrier, already joined by Hermione.
Uncle Vernon was there, too. He was standing with Dudley, removed from any lingering Hogwarts students and their families. His thick face had more purple to it then ever, which made Harry swallow hard. He glanced at Hermione one last time, and he realized she was watching him, too. She broke away from her father and rushed over to him.
"Would your father kill me if I kissed you in front of him?" whispered Harry, catching her in another hug. Hermione's eyes were shining as she shook her head.
"I hope not," Hermione whispered back. Harry gave Mr. Granger one last nervous glance before tilting his head to let his lips meet hers.
When Harry released her, he knew at once that the gesture had not gone unnoticed. Over his shoulder, he could see that Ron was grinning almost stupidly at his friends. Mr. Granger had a slight smile on his face that he quickly turned into a look of disapproval. Dudley was gaping at Harry, open-mouthed, and looking very much like a fish out of water.
"Thank you, Harry," said Hermione. "Thank you-thank you for everything."
Harry waved at her. He turned and took a hesitant step toward his uncle. If Vernon Dursley had looked upset earlier, he looked simply furious now-outraged that his nephew had the nerve to wear his Hogwarts uniform in front of him, to associate with people that had owls in cages on their trolleys, to kiss a witch in the middle of a crowded train station.
"You coming, boy?" said Uncle Vernon angrily. Under his breath he muttered, "Finally." He gripped Harry's shoulder rather violently and shoved him in the direction of the train station exit. Dudley snickered, and even though his leg tinged, Harry felt satisfaction in spotting the jealously that had flashed across his chunky face earlier.
One year before, Hagrid had told Harry that what would come, would come. It had come, and there was nothing to do but wait once again. It would keep coming, but this time, Harry would be ready.
fini
* * *
Harry Potter and the Eagle's Sapphire, Year 6:
Failing marks are the least of Harry's worries after arriving at Hogwarts for his sixth year. Still recovering from his last confrontation with the Dark Lord Voldemort, he can scarcely handle the intensive defense training he is thrown into just hours after stepping off the Hogwarts Express. Hermione's unwillingness to deal with the events of the year before has her and Harry's relationship at a standstill, leaving Harry with time to worry about another that is progressing much too quickly.
Working with Draco proves more challenging than working against him, and there's a third-year causing more trouble than even the Weasley twins ever managed. The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor just wants to be everyone's friend, and members of one Hogwarts house seem to draw Harry into uneasy alliance after uneasy alliance. Outside of the castle, Voldemort's attacks on Muggle towns grow bolder with each passing day, to the point that the corrupt wizarding government cannot maintain even the slightest sense of order.
Yet the war brewing between Dark and Light is nothing compared to the war Harry is waging within. By day, Harry struggles to understand the blood burden he bears. By night, he dreams of the life he was meant to have. It's torment unlike the Boy-Who-Lived has ever known, and it's torment he's ill-prepared to handle. He can't forget about everything, no matter how much he wants to.
Because while the fate of the wizarding world might lie in the usual hands, its destruction lies in those long-forgotten.
- 759 -
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