A/N: Hello, everyone! I'm back. As you can tell, updates will continue to be slow on this story-- though not for any lack of love on my part. I hope you enjoy!
Chapter Nine
Ron still laughed at them for doing dishes "the Muggle way," but Harry always looked forward to dishes. He washed and Hermione dried, and finally-the kids in bed, the dog dozing in the corner-they could talk.
Or not talk, as the case had often been in the past few days.
"How was your day?" he asked at last, dunking a plate in soapy water. She put a glass away.
"Long."
He nodded.
"Mine, too."
Another minute of silence.
"I saw George today," said Harry after a moment. "He dropped by for lunch."
"How is he? Is he…"
"He says he's been better," said Harry, "I got the feeling he was… trying to tell me something, though."
She frowned thoughtfully.
"Do you suppose it was the same thing he didn't tell me?"
"Yeah," said Harry, "Yeah, I do."
The way he said it piqued her curiosity.
"You know something," she prompted. He looked over.
"He's been having trouble," he said.
`That's what he said. He's grieving Fred."
"But not only with that." She looked up sharply. "That's why Mrs. Weasley sent him to you. It's his magic, Hermione. It's… it's gotten bad. Mr. Weasley says he wouldn't have written to me, but you were the only person at St. Mungo's that George would even consider asking about it."
"Oh, Harry…!"
"I know." He scraped potatoes off the plate. "He's embarrassed, I guess. Ashamed."
"What has he been doing?"
"Managing the store by owl," said Harry, "business is fine, but his employees are worried. And Mr. Weasley's afraid that George might not… recover."
"When you say… `it's his magic'…" Hermione said, "What… what does that mean, exactly?"
"I guess… he Splinched himself pretty badly last week, and he's having trouble with the simplest charms- alohamora, wingardium leviosa… that's all Mr. Weasley wrote in his letters, but… but I'm sure there's more."
"I should write to him." Hermione put away the last plate. "But he really should see a real Healer."
"He should see you first."
She laughed.
"I'm flattered, Harry, but I'm not qualified-"
"You're his friend," Harry said, "You knew Fred. That's better than qualifications."
"Not always," she said gently. "I'll do my best, regardless. Something has to be done."
He looked at her fondly and kissed her forehead.
"You're beautiful," he said, and she smiled.
"I'm lucky. That's all."
"Oh, no, it isn't," Harry said. "Lucky is different."
"And what does that mean?"
"I mean, `lucky' would be…would be someone who's known happiness their whole life. Someone who hasn't got a right to complain. You've got every right, and you don't."
"I think you may very well be talking about yourself." She put down her dish rag.
"Hermione." His eyes were serious now. She looked up at him, and he reached up, cradling her cheek tenderly. "I know you're modest to a fault, but… but I mean it. When I say things like… like you're the most wonderful woman in the world. When I tell you that you're beautiful."
"I know you mean it-"
"Please listen." She stopped, and he dropped a kiss on her lips.
"I don't talk about it very often. All the things before. I don't like to be… you know. A victim. I had a lot of things to be grateful for."
"Your aunt and uncle-" she began indignantly, and he shook his head.
"Don't you start," he said, grinning a little, "or we'll be stuck on them all night."
She bit her lip.
"I appreciate it," he added, "but I did have things to be grateful for. I had food. Clothing. Things like that. Some people… some people don't even have that. All I mean is, I didn't have anything really good in my life, something I could look at and say `Now what did I do to deserve that?' People act like having something you don't deserve is unpleasant, but… but the more I look at you the more I think- not deserving things… really good things, things you couldn't earn or deserve, not if you worked for a dozen lifetimes- those are the things that make us grateful. Humble, even."
He kissed her again.
"Let me talk about you, Hermione," he whispered, "Not because you're perfect. I know you're not."
"How did you find out?" she quipped, making him laugh.
"It's not because you're perfect," he repeated, "it's because- somehow- we chose each other, and I'm grateful."
"I'm grateful for you," she returned. "And I am lucky, Harry. I haven't got much of a right to complain-not when I have you.
His eyes twinkled.
"You have a strange idea of treasure, Hermione," he laughed "But I guess I'm in no hurry to change that."
"As if you could," she murmured, before he kissed her quite thoroughly into silence.
****
"She has taken quite a liking to you, hasn't she?"
"Mrs. Longbottom!" Hermione jumped to her feet.
"I apologize," said Mrs. Longbottom stiffly. "I meant to tell you I was coming."
"That's quite all right," said Luna, smiling in welcome. "Come see Alice."
"Thank you, but I can see her from here. I wouldn't want to interrupt your work."
There was an uncomfortable pause as the autumn sunlight wavered over Alice's face.
"There's some color to her," remarked Mrs. Longbottom presently. "Whatever you're doing, it's working. Neville was right."
"Would you like a chair?" Hermione offered after a moment.
"Thank you," said Mrs. Longbottom, nodding. Hermione drew up a chair beside Alice's bed. "I see she still insists on looking out that window?"
"Oh, yes," said Luna, "she loves to sit in the sunshine. Whenever it's sunny, she sits right where the sun falls."
"Healer McDonough wrote me," said Mrs. Longbottom abruptly, "He says there's been a change."
Hermione and Luna exchanged a look.
"You aren't going to try to keep this from me, I hope?"
"Of course not, Mrs. Longbottom," said Hermione quickly, "I'm afraid Healer McDonough doesn't tell us what he thinks very often."
"He says-" and she drew a letter from her handbag, unfolding it with sharp, brisk movements. "…'Your daughter-in-law has made obvious improvement, I think, although it is the kind of improvement I observe that most fascinates me. She has formed a noticeable attachment to young Mrs. Potter- the kind of attachment that indicates the development of self-awareness and face recognition. I will openly admit to having had my doubts at the beginning of this enterprise, but I am beginning to have what one might call a suspicion of hope-I am not entirely sure what these two young women are doing so differently, but I am starting to believe that it is working.' There. What have you to add?"
Again, Hermione and Luna glanced at each other.
"Is he right?" Mrs. Longbottom asked more insistently. "I expect complete honesty from you."
"Hermione is very special to Alice," Luna said, after a moment.
"So are you," Hermione protested, and Luna smiled, shaking her head.
"She enjoys my company, it's true. But she gravitates toward you-as if the room is dark and you're the light."
Mrs. Longbottom looked at Hermione shrewdly.
"Is this true?"
"You needn't take my word for it," said Luna, laughing quietly, "just watch."
She got up and walked toward the door. Mrs. Longbottom stared.
"Nothing happened."
"That's right," said Luna, coming back. "She didn't look up, did she?"
Mrs. Longbottom shook her head. Luna didn't seem to notice her impatience.
"Now," said Luna, "Hermione, if you wouldn't mind taking a few steps toward the door? Three should be enough."
Hermione rose and, looking flustered, began to walk toward the door.
One.
Alice started.
Two.
Alice turned.
Three.
Alice got up, staring in Hermione's direction.
Hermione turned back, and Alice's eyes flickered back and forth across Hermione's face, as if she was trying to make eye contact with Hermione from kilometers away.
"I'm staying, Alice," Hermione said at last, reassuringly, and she took a step forward. Immediately, Alice's features relaxed, and she sat back down, gazing motionlessly out the window.
It was as if nothing had happened.
"As I said," Luna said, after a moment, "Alice has special regard for Hermione."
"And why," said Mrs. Longbottom, "do you suppose that is?"
"It is mysterious, isn't it?" said Luna vaguely, and she glanced at Hermione with a significant twinkle in her eyes. Mrs. Longbottom didn't notice.
"It is fortunate you are an Unspeakable, then, Miss Lovegood, is it not?"
"Maybe," said Luna, smiling. "I think it is just as fortunate that Hermione is a Healer."
Mrs. Longbottom sighed.
"I came hoping for an explanation, but I see that's not a priority here. Very well. I've seen enough. Good day."
With that, she turned and left, though not quickly enough for Hermione to miss the bewildered, oddly hopeful look on her face.
"Luna, what on earth are you getting at?" Hermione asked as soon as Mrs. Longbottom was out of earshot.
Luna looked back, and her eyes softened.
"I have something to ask of you."
"Yes?"
"Not today," said Luna, "but if you agree, we won't be meeting here tomorrow. We'll be going somewhere you have been before-and…" she touched Hermione's hand gently. "Not for pleasant reasons."
"You mean the Department of Mysteries?"
Luna nodded. "I understand if you would rather not."
"I don't mind," said Hermione, "That was nearly four years ago."
"Time tends to bend in the Department," Luna said gently. "I only want to warn you. For most, going back to the Department of Mysteries is a neutral or even happy experience."
She looked at Hermione softly.
"But this could be… very different for you."
***
"I suppose you know about George, then."
"He's talked to me, yes." Hermione adjusted her scarf as she and Ginny walked along the lane. "Is that why you wanted to meet?"
"Well, not really," said Ginny, tugging at her hat. "Awful wind, isn't it?"
"It's rather strong," Hermione agreed, inwardly grateful she hadn't brought any of the children along. Goodness knows how many caps and gloves would have been lost. "We're almost there."
"No one's home," said Ginny, squinting. "Mum and Dad decided to take George out to eat. I think Bill's along, too."
Hermione raised her eyebrows but refrained from commenting.
"Anyway, I just…." Ginny unlocked the front door and stood aside, letting Hermione into the Burrow. "Here, let me make some tea. D'you mind if we talk in the kitchen?"
"Not at all."
As soon as they walked into the kitchen, Ginny busied herself with the kettle and Hermione sat at the kitchen table, tugging off her gloves and hat.
"We haven't talked in a good while, you know," said Ginny, after a minute or two. "Don't apologize, I know you've been busy."
"Well, I'm sorry anyway," Hermione said, "You're right. We haven't talked. I never heard how the article turned out."
"It was dreadful."
Hermione blinked.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, Editor Webb took it and burned it," said Ginny bitterly, "And the worst part of it was, I didn't care. I don't care. I thought I wanted to be a writer, you know. It seemed so…ideal."
"I'm sorry-"
"Don't be. I'm glad I found out."
Ginny handed Hermione a mug of steaming tea.
"Anyway- I quit yesterday."
"Oh, Ginny."
"Dad's pretty disappointed. He thought I could `straighten out the newspapers', you know. Singlehandedly."
"But you're sure you don't want to write?"
"Positive." Ginny took the seat next to Hermione, turning it sideways so that they were facing each other. "I don't have the knack or the passion. I had the idea, that's all."
Hermione's look softened sympathetically.
"It still hurts, though, doesn't it?"
"My pride's bruised," Ginny confessed. "Dean was right. I hate it when my exes are right."
Hermione laughed.
"You don't know what it's like," said Ginny, smiling in spite of herself. "You've had-what? Viktor… and Ron?"
"They were both right," said Hermione. "They both knew that I was far too focused on Harry to be a good girlfriend for either of them."
Ginny sighed.
"Hermione, what in Merlin's name am I going to do?"
She sipped her tea and smiled, shaking her head.
"I can't tell you that. You know I can't."
"But don't you have any idea…?"
"Gin," said Hermione patiently, "Now is your chance to study yourself. Don't give that opportunity to anyone else."
"I'm boring," Ginny said.
"Now that certainly isn't true," said Hermione. "I can promise you that."
She took another sip of tea, seemingly content to let the conversation dwindle for a while-and then, just as Ginny was about to beg her for advice, Hermione sat up straight and leaned forward excitedly.
"What?" Ginny asked.
"I have an idea," said Hermione, her eyes dancing, "And as long as you promise not to mention the fact that I'm about to contradict completely myself, I'll-"
"I promise," said Ginny quickly, starting to feel excited herself. "What's your idea?"
"Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes!" Hermione said, "I don't know what George would say, but-"
"You're brilliant!" Ginny said in awe. "Of course! I've always loved that kind of thing-I…"
She trailed off.
"I'm not Fred, though," she said in a low voice. "George might not…"
"All he can do is say `no'." Hermione leaned forward. "You won't replace Fred, of course you won't, but- but it might be good. For both of you."
"I'm not sure."
"Think about it," Hermione persisted. "That's all I'm suggesting."
Ginny stirred her tea slowly, staring ahead of her thoughtfully.
"Hermione," she said, "what do you think about me?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, as a person," Ginny clarified. "Am I that awful to be around?"
"You're not `awful to be around,'" Hermione said, "You're a good friend."
"All I know is that I bore myself to death," Ginny said, "I don't know. Now that I've graduated… I've started to realize I never had any interests. I wasn't fond of school-Quidditch was a hobby-and then…there was the war."
"Yes," said Hermione, shadowy thoughts flitting across her face. "There was that."
"I mean, really. Before the war, what did I do other than study, date, and play Quidditch? I mean, for Merlin's sake, while I was off snogging Michael Corner, you and Harry were organizing the D. A.-fighting back-"
"You were a part of that too-"
"I was a member, sure. I went to the meetings."
"Those weren't our `interests', Gin," said Hermione dryly, "I was never a really brave person. If it wasn't for Harry, I would have lived in my books. A proper Ravenclaw."
"You are brave. Besides, you were Sorted into Gryffindor."
"I was nearly a Ravenclaw."
"Really?"
"Oh, yes," said Hermione, "The Sorting Hat found me to be quite an interesting case, evidently."
"Harry, too, I heard."
"Yes, Harry too."
"Are you sure there isn't a prophecy about you two somewhere?" Ginny said.
"I don't set much store by them anyway," said Hermione. Ginny looked incredulous. "Well, I don't."
"They come true, though. You of all people should know that."
"I haven't heard of a single instance where trying to meddle with a predicted future has turned out well," said Hermione. "I don't think the prophecy has any power in itself. The future isn't meant to control us, Ginny, we're meant to control our futures. Perhaps it will turn out like someone predicted. But it's not because the prophecy says so. Humans do all that work themselves."
"Suppose someone predicted your death?" Ginny said, still skeptical.
"I would do my best to stay alive," Hermione said, laughing a little. "And suppose someone did make a prophecy about Harry and I, hundreds of years ago-what does it matter? I love him anyway. The end result is the same whether we know the future or not."
"Why didn't the Sorting Hat put you in Ravenclaw?" Ginny asked, shaking her head and abandoning the topic on which she and Hermione would never see eye to eye.
"I'm not sure," said Hermione. "I suppose he saw how badly I wanted to be in Gryffindor."
"You wanted…?"
"I wanted to be brave," said Hermione, "I wasn't brave then. I was only bossy."
Ginny laughed.
"It's true. Ron will attest to it."
"And Harry?"
"Oh, Harry didn't like me much, either. He was quieter about his dislike, though."
"I can't picture it."
"Oh, I was used to it," said Hermione, "And I didn't even like myself."
"I liked you."
"You met me later," Hermione said, "I was a little better then."
She paused.
"And you did have a very difficult first year," she said, very gently. Ginny looked down.
"I'm fine with it now. It was a long time ago."
Ginny sipped her tea-it was cold and so was she. She didn't usually think about her first year at Hogwarts- there were too many spaces. Too many holes.
It was hard to catch herself from being swallowed up by the emptiness.
"You didn't exactly have an easy year, either." Ginny put down her tea. "I cried for weeks after you were Petrified. I knew something then. I was afraid that I-"
"It wasn't your fault," said Hermione, so sharply that Ginny started. "None of that was. You were being manipulated by a powerful wizard who was nearly three times your age."
"Still, I let him in."
"You wrote in a diary," said Hermione, "It wasn't as if you were dabbling in the Dark Arts, Gin. It wasn't a wise decision, but it was a very small one with very unusual consequences."
Ginny was grateful for the way she said it, but she didn't know how to respond. So she simply looked down at her tea, wondering why she couldn't taste it at all.
"Give yourself some grace," Hermione said quietly. "The last thing you need is blame you don't deserve."
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the wind and leaves sliding against the windows. Hermione placed two fingers against her lips, tilting her eyes thoughtfully toward the grandfather clock in the corner.
Ginny stood after a moment, going to the kitchen window and looking out at the garden, the bare, raggedy plot of land her father was so fond of.
"I don't know what I deserve anymore," she said. "I've never really worked hard for anything, you know."
Hermione stood too, following her to the window and placing a hand on her shoulder.
"But I'm going to try," Ginny said, steeling herself. "I'm going to find out how much there really is to me. I'm tired of being bored with myself."
Hermione didn't respond. Ginny didn't look back, but if she had, she would have seen the soft glow of pride that had entered Hermione's eyes.