Unofficial Portkey Archive

The Catalyst

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Chapter Eleven: Fire Exchanged

Harry awakened the next morning to a thunderously loud pounding on his front door. Alarm ran through his veins, powered his limbs like electricity, and he groped wildly over the arm of the sofa above his head for his glasses and his wand. He was advancing silently toward the door, padding in silent sock feet, when he heard Ron's panicked shout.

"Harry!! Harry, open up!! I can't find Hermione!!"

Harry's forward motion abruptly ceased, and he allowed himself a moment to move his eyes heavenward. They just caught the edge of the fire's reach, the ceiling a slightly different shade of white where it had been Repaired. It is far too early for this brand of drama, he thought.

"What's going on?" Hermione's sleep-slurred voice issued from the corridor behind him, and he turned.

"Good morning," he offered with mock pleasantness, while his door threatened to be shaken from its hinges. Hermione ran one hand through her tangled hair, and used the wand in her other hand to adjust the waist of the too-large pajamas that had come un-Charmed during the night. "It's Ron. Apparently, you've gone missing, and he's come to me for help." To make his point, he let his gaze run over her from crown of curly head to tips of bare toes barely peeking out from the pajamas. "This is going to be fun."

She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm, and gave him a friendly shove toward the door.

"Open the door before he has a coronary."

Harry non-verbally Unlocked and Opened the door, just as Ron was yelling something about " - before I Reductor this bloody door, H - Harry…" His best mate's name half-died on his lips, and he stood somewhat awkwardly, wand arm akimbo, in front of the door that had flung itself wide before he was prepared to deal with it.

George poked his head in between the doorframe and his brother. One ginger eyebrow arched up as he took in the scene. "Mornin'," he drawled with an amused smirk. "Ronnie-kins here was certain that something horrendous had happened to our Hermione. Kidnapped, possibly. Forced to wear unflattering pajamas, certainly." His grin grew broader with every sentence. "Death Eater involvement…" here he nudged Ron none too gently in the side, "doubtful." The last word was a cheeky almost-whisper.

Ron's eyes had been bouncing back and forth between Harry and Hermione through George's speech, before skewering his brother with a murderous glare. Though the obviously slept-on sofa was clearly visible, he had been growing redder and redder. He had a wild and bewildered look on his face, and seemed to be deciding from which angle to attack first, soundlessly opening and closing his mouth a few times.

"What the hell'd you do to your Floo?" He finally burst out. Hermione turned her head sharply toward Harry in evident surprise.

"Eleanor… is afraid of fire," Harry drew out slowly, pitching his voice low. "I mean, full-on panic attack, accidental-magic-inducing terrified. We had a front row seat to it last night. Which is why Hermione stayed the night. And why I disconnected the fireplace. It was not my intention to cause anyone concern." His words proceeded forth carefully, deliberately, as if they were brittle things likely to be broken.

Any forthcoming belligerence died unborn, while Ron's posture sagged as though all the air had been let out of him. As Harry was talking, Ron had let his gaze drift down to Hermione's unadorned left hand, but was now avoiding looking at her at all.

"I'm - I'm - I'm sorry," he stammered awkwardly. "I didn't - I wasn't trying to - I just went over and - and when I couldn't find her - I - and then your Floo wasn't - " He flapped his hands up and down for a moment, and subsided, ears more crimson than ever. "I was just worried about…" He trailed off, and the direction of his stare caused Harry and Hermione to turn.

Eleanor was shuffling down the hall, rumpled from sleep, knuckling one eye. The stuffed kneazle that she had found at some point during the night was tucked under her other arm. When she noticed the strangers at the open front door, she shifted sideways so that her track kept her concealed behind her father.

"So - so that's - that's - " Ron stammered.

"I have the distinct impression that I'm missing something important," George observed. Eleanor's parents exchanged helpless glances, unsure of where to even begin. They all jumped at the crisp sound of Apparation. Harry already had his wand up, but relaxed at the sound of Ginny's merry voice.

"Oh, good! I haven't come too early." She cheerily took in the group of them and the still open door. Eleanor retreated further behind Harry, whose long-suffering look met up with Hermione's apologetic one. "I wanted to do something to help. I brought breakfast?" She dangled a Charmed shopping bag from one finger.

"Thanks, Gin." Hermione could hear the strain underneath Harry's voiced gratitude. Eleanor shuddered behind him, and he reached around with one hand to pat her shoulder reassuringly. He staggered backward slightly, and caught himself just in time, narrowly missing treading on his daughter.

"It's happening again, isn't it?" Hermione hissed. She watched the muscles work in Harry's jaw. He seemed to be struggling to keep his eyes open.

"I'm fine," he gritted back.

"You don't look fine." Hermione's expression was fierce. "This can't keep happening every time you tou - "

"What's happening again?"

"Nothing." Harry almost sounded natural, as he answered his girlfriend. "Why don't you go on and put that in the kitchen?"

"George?" Ginny directed her next comment toward her brother. "You wouldn't mind going back to the Burrow and distracting Mum, would you? I managed to hold her off - told her I wasn't even sure anyone would be awake yet, but I wouldn't put it past her to show up anyway."

"You told your mum?"

Ginny cast her eyes down at Harry's dubiously asked question. "I - I was trying to suss some things out… after you told me. I - I mean, people are going to find out eventually, aren't they?" She shuffled one foot a bit, an impatient almost-stomp. "George, please?"

The pleading in both Harry's and Hermione's eyes must have been convincing, because George flicked one look at them, and nodded.

"This doesn't mean I don't get to hear this whole story later," he assured them, and Apparated away without further comment.

Ron and Ginny shuffled past Harry, Hermione, and their daughter, doing a fairly good job of not staring, on the whole. Harry peered out the front door, nodding at another Auror trainee, whom he recognized only vaguely, who had become watchfully alert at Ron's commotion. He raised one hand in a nothing to see here gesture, and closed the door, turning back to his best friend.

"Hermione, you've got to get them to leave," he whispered.

"She'll have to meet them sometime."

"She doesn't have to meet them today."

"You can't compartmentalize your life forever. Neither of us can."

"I'm not afraid of them," came an indignant voice. Hermione and Harry both looked down, startled, meeting Eleanor's wide green gaze. "And I won't hurt them. I promise." One small hand came up to rub the back of Harry's wrist, once, twice, in a reassuring gesture.

"Eleanor, I didn't think you would. And you are one of the bravest people I know," Harry said, manfully blinking back the dampness in his eyes. He ignored the ceasing of the clatter in the kitchen, and knelt down to his daughter's level. Hermione followed, and he was distantly aware that she had threaded her fingers through his. "There have been a lot of changes lately. If it is too much at once, then we can wait. They can wait." He cocked his head toward the kitchen. "It's up to you."

She lifted her head to meet his gaze squarely, a resolute tilt to her chin that was so like Hermione that Harry nearly gasped aloud. And suddenly he saw all the pieces of them, them together - his eyes set neatly above Hermione's nose, her cheekbones angled above his jawline, her smile, his chin, her hair color… He didn't understand how he hadn't seen it before; it was incredible, magical - this marvel of creation, this perfect blending of two people. The circumstances of her birth didn't seem to matter as much when one was presented with the miracle of the finished product, the unmistakable, undeniable combination of them. There was a funny, tight feeling in his chest, and he couldn't articulate what it was, didn't understand why it was there.

He turned to look at Hermione, and found her looking, not at Eleanor, but at him, with an unusual twist to her smile and a mistiness in her eyes. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was thinking.

"Yes," Eleanor said. "Both of you are thinking that I look like you together. I am glad it makes you happy." There was the barest hint of teasing in her voice, and it made Harry emit a somewhat startled laugh. "They are your friends. It is `up to me'," here she aped Harry's cadence, "so I say yes."

"Are you sure?"

"I am sure, Father." A beat passed, and she slanted a glance at Harry, looking much older than her tender years. "You are welcome," she added, in response to something that he had not said.

"Everything's ready here. Do you want to come eat?" Ginny called from the kitchen, startling the trio back to reality, and Harry felt Hermione drop his hand like she had been hit with a Stinging Hex. As he struggled to his feet, Eleanor rather unexpectedly locked her small arms around his neck. His own arms went under her legs to hold her up, as he stood. The fresh smell of her hair filled his nostrils, and the vision washed over him.

"Where is my mother?" Eleanor asked tentatively. A Muddle mother and child had been brought in. The needle-people wanted to see if the mother could do better on the tests, if they promised to hurt the child. Eleanor had only seen more tears and pleading than usual. The bracelet was making her head ache. She thought there was something in that potion too. They had made sure there were no fires today.

"You don't have a mother," Mei answered harshly, pulling her so quickly down the hall that she stumbled over her own feet.

"Do I have a father?"

"No."

"Where did I come from then?" Mei stopped abruptly in the middle of the hallway, the harsh lines around her mouth and her iron-gray eyes etched deeply into her face with her furious frown.

"You were grown," she spat.

"Like a flower?"

Mei backhanded her. Eleanor could taste metal at the corner of her mouth, but she did not cry.

"Like a virus!" The woman shoved her through the door into her cell, and locked her in with a resounding clang. Eleanor did not know what that was. She gleaned enough surface thoughts to figure out that a virus was something insidious, something that did bad things to people, made them sick. That sounded true enough. Her shoulders slumped. She did not dare search Mei's mind any deeper. Mei would know; she was not a Muddle - and it seemed to only hurt Muddles - but somehow Mei always found out, always realized it - and then Eleanor would be punished. She kept her gaze on the toes of her trainers, until Mei's shadow disappeared from the narrow window.

"Harry?" Hermione's worried voice broke into his reverie, as his stomach dipped and lurched as if he were falling…or going to be sick. His knees wobbled a bit, and he clutched onto Eleanor more tightly in the effort not to drop her. Hermione moved, one hand on his forearm, and the other arm around his back, hoping that she could keep him from falling.

"I'm all right," he grunted, as the room stopped seeming to move of its own accord. Hermione was looking at him with that moist-eyed, thin-lipped expression that danced uncertainly between concern and irritation.

"You're not either."

"Not in front of Eleanor." Eleanor and Harry spoke at the same time, and Hermione's dark eyes grew even more wary. But Harry laughed, kissed his daughter on the temple, and admonished her playfully for being cheeky.

"Are you lot coming - " Ginny began again, peering from the kitchen doorway and stopping abruptly at the sight of them. They turned their heads toward her in unison, unaware of the picture they presented: Harry's face bright with laughter, Eleanor in his arms, her fingers wending into his hair, and Hermione clutching his arm, having been looking into his face with worry. A teacup fell from Ginny's nerveless fingers, and shattered on the threshold of Harry's kitchen floor.

The sharp spray of glass and tea was like an Enervate over the occupants of the flat.

"Oh…how clumsy…" Ginny mumbled, looking down at the mess so that her vivid hair masked her face, and aiming her wand. Ron's eyes were darting suspiciously from Harry to Hermione, but he knelt to assist his sister in an unnecessarily bustling way. After exchanging one frozen glance, Harry and Hermione moved away from each other like someone had lobbed a Repulsing Jinx into their midst: Harry taking Eleanor to the table, and Hermione sidestepping Ginny to help in the kitchen.

Harry and Eleanor took the seats they had used at dinner then night before. After directing an orderly line of dishes and silverware to the table, Hermione moved to sit at the far corner, physically as far away from Harry as she could get. Harry watched her progress, with darkened eyes, and seemed ready to say something, but thought better of it. Plates and serving bowls of various breakfast foods were situated neatly on the table, as Ginny swished in from the kitchen, and sat next to him. He leaned in and absently kissed her cheek. Ron shifted awkwardly from foot to foot at the end of the table, and appeared monumentally ill at ease.

"I wasn't intending to - I mean, I only came to - "

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, Ron! Sit down and eat," his sister told him snappishly. But Ron made no move to do so, his eyes flitting to Harry, who in turn looked at Hermione for permission. The muscles in Hermione's jaw were tense; she swallowed once before jerking her chin down in one curt nod. Ron took a seat next to Ginny and across from Hermione, but she would not look at him, instead spooning eggs onto her plate with a fervent concentration that they had most often seen before important examinations.

Eleanor was watching all of them in turn, wide-eyed in an even mix of interest and astonishment, her forkful of eggs misaimed toward her cheek rather than her mouth. Harry watched in amusement, as she turned her head to intercept the food, without really taking her eyes off of the newcomers to their table.

"So, you're Eleanor? I've already heard so much about you. My name is Ginny. And this is my brother, Ron. He and your… dad were good friends at school." Harry reflected that the tone in Ginny's voice was not terrible - in fact, it might well have been spot on, if Eleanor had been a typical five-year-old.

"H'lo." For all her bravado in the entryway, Eleanor's voice was subdued, her head tucked down. Her eyes remained lively, darting from face to face, and Harry wondered what she was gleaning during those dancing looks. He couldn't remember a silence that had ever been so awkward between the four of them. "Why did you make Mother sad?"

She was looking at Ron, her demeanor calm, studious, and utterly unlike that of a five-year-old. Ron's ears were scarlet. No…Harry amended, there's never been a silence this awkward. They would have to have a conversation about the ethics involved in telepathy without consent.

"We - we had - we had a fight. G-grown-ups fight sometimes. It's not - it's not a big - " Ron floundered, unsure as to whether he should play things down for the sake of the sprog, or be as serious as Hermione would think the situation warranted. He flung a helpless look at his erstwhile fiancee, but she seemed thoroughly absorbed in the placement of marmalade on her toast.

But Eleanor's mind was skipping ever forward. "You love Mother, and you love Father," she indicated Ron and Ginny in turn. "And they…" She trailed off, and speared Harry with a curious look, suddenly appearing very much her actual age. "Will I have two families then?"

Harry managed to open his mouth, but no sound came out of it.

"I don't know what that means." Eleanor cocked her head speculatively at her father, eyes squirrel-bright, hearing what he had not said aloud.

"What what means?"

"'Complicated'." She said the unfamiliar word carefully.

"Who said anything about anything being complicated?" Ron asked, his voice rough with frazzled impatience.

"Ron, Eleanor is telepathic," Ginny said gently, speaking without really moving her mouth much, darting her eyes meaningfully at the little girl. Harry and Hermione exchanged uncomfortable glances. Hermione could only imagine how much Harry did not want to talk about Eleanor - right in front of her, no less - like she was some kind of specimen. She stood abruptly, banging her leg on the underside of the table resoundingly enough to rattle the silverware. She thinned her lips, repressing what looked to Harry like a swear word, and gestured to Eleanor.

"Bring your plate, sweetheart," she instructed gently, and proceeded to methodically situate the girl on Harry's sofa, adjusting the specially Charmed television to a nature show geared toward children. When she was sure that Eleanor wasn't wilting under perceived rejection, she returned to the table. Harry cast Muffliato before she'd even fully sat down, and without really meaning to, she flashed him a grateful glance.

"So, she's telepathic," Ron resumed. "Dumbledore was a master Legilimens. It's not unheard of."

"This is not Legilimency, Ronald. There may not be a way to block it. There's no noticeable mental push. She could sit right in front of you, and speak everything you were thinking as you thought it. She and Harry were speaking in unison earlier…" Hermione trailed off, her face vaguely troubled.

"So, you think this is complicated?" Ron pivoted in his chair to round on Harry.

"That's what you gleaned from all this, Ron, really?"

"Why would you say that it was complicated? Instead of telling her, `Yes, you'll have two families.'?"

"Maybe because the two families can't go two sentences without fighting about something stupid?" The scorn in Harry's voice was withering. "Besides, last I heard, the status of one of these `families' was iffy at best." Ron flushed crimson, and Harry belatedly shot a guilty look at Hermione, who was looking gamely back at him, spots of high color in her cheeks. She forced a tight, false smile.

"It was just a fight." Ron tried to defend himself. "It's a lot to take in all at once, but things will work out."

"We're no longer engaged," Hermione spoke icily, directing her comment to nobody in particular.

"Hermione, come on!" Ron sounded as he often did when he and Hermione were rowing, a mixture of pleading and indignation in his voice. "We fight all the time - what makes this any different? It wasn't even the worst row we've ever had!"

"Yes, Ron, we fight all the time. Shouldn't that have been our first clue? I think - I think I was just glossing it over, and only seeing what I wanted to see. And now - now maybe - " Her mournful eyes darted over to where Eleanor sat on the sofa, absently chewing on toast, utterly absorbed in the television program. "Maybe my priorities have been reordered a bit."

"You've known about her for two days! I can't believe that you're going to throw over our relationship for that!"

"I'm not the one throwing over anything! You're the one who accused me of harboring feelings for Harry, and settling for you!" She flung one arm rather theatrically in Harry's direction. "He's my best friend, Ron! You'd say he was yours too. If this is the way you're going to act every time Harry and I spend time together, and if that is only going to get worse, because he and I have a daughter together - then we most assuredly do not need to get married!"

"You and Harry don't `have a daughter together'. It's not - it's not the same situation at all. The two of you didn't - didn't create her together. Harry made a decision to adopt an abandoned child. Her sharing his blood, your blood, isn't - well, it isn't relevant. You aren't under any obligation to be any more involved than you want to be."

The implication in his declaration was all too clear. There was a heavy, heavy silence over the dining table. Hermione and Ron stared at each other, faces flushed, chests heaving, but where Hermione's eyes would have been snapping furiously and Ron's would have been a fiery crystal blue, there was nothing but a dull sadness.

"We've gone over this, Ron! I do want to be involved. I'm not sure I can explain it - " She darted a hesitant glance at Harry. How could she repeat aloud - in front of Ginny, no less - that she had been sure she wanted to be an integral part of Eleanor's life from the moment she had seen Harry come alive in her presence, since she had seen Harry make a snap decision, as she'd seen him do many times before, and step almost effortlessly into the role of father? This was something Harry had long wanted, something Hermione knew he deserved, and she wanted to be a part of it. As Harry's best friend, she'd known she would have a front row seat, but that wasn't enough. She did want to be part of it, even before Eleanor had started winning her mother over on her own merits. And if Ron was going to make her choose… "I - I just knew it as soon as I saw her."

She felt, rather than saw, Harry's gaze jerk abruptly to hers, and inwardly cursed the heat that rose to the surface of her skin. Ron wasn't the only one who knew she was lying about that.

"That's a crock of dragon dung, Hermione," Ron said quietly, as perceptively as though he'd been reading her mind. "We've been tangled up in Harry's life for so long that you don't know how to be any different, couldn't bear it to be any different. Lucky for you that the sprog is yours, so that you have a readymade excuse handy, eh? If the mother had been Susan Bones or - or Katie Bell, and they had made the same decision you did, you wouldn't have been able to stand it, being shouldered out of Harry's life, having some other bird take top priority. Frankly, I'm surprised you allow him to even see Ginny."

"Half a minute, Ron - !" Harry began, his brows furrowing over angry eyes.

"That's not true!" Hermione's voice trod all over Harry's, as she tried to force it into its normal asperity, but it was tremulous and high-pitched.

"Isn't it?"

"Ron! Hermione has been my best friend since I was eleven! You were there! And I never wanted - I've - I've never asked - " Hermione saw Harry backpedal a bit, momentarily closing his eyes to tamp down the rising frustration. "She's my best friend," he repeated with forced calm. "I will gladly take as much of her support and her help and her company as she is willing to give." He had dropped his gaze to his plate, but darted a quick glance upward toward the woman in question, knowing that they had now both skirted the truth.

I keep bloody well needing you… His apologetic voice from the other night echoed in her head, a far cry from the matter-of-fact words he had just spoken to Ron.

"You could be a part of this too, you know," Harry added. "I know what a good time we all have with Victoire and Teddy. You could fill the same role: fun Uncle Ron." A tinge of mirth colored his voice, but did not show in his somber face and weary eyes.

"It's a bit hard to be `Uncle Ron' without `Aunt Hermione'." The bitterness in his voice was all too apparent.

"So, you're saying I should step back… let Harry and Ginny play house with Eleanor, is that it?"

"I didn't sign up for this!"

"Nobody's asking you to stay!" Hermione's words were raw and blistering, rendered close to unintelligible by rage and tears. "We keep rehashing the same things over and over and over. I am Eleanor's mother, not Ginny. And - and Harry's her father! And if you can't handle that then you can bloody well get out!"

Ron stood then, and there was an odd expression on his face. It wasn't the shocked disbelief that he'd borne when they had first broached the topic of Eleanor and it wasn't the sickened fear stamped there when Hermione had broken their engagement. Harry wasn't quite sure what it was: resignation and fury and… something else, something knowing. He spared a curt nod for his sister, and then wordlessly exited the flat. The crack of his Apparation - heedless of the Muggle traffic that sped by less than a block away - rattled the front door in its hinges even as it quietly clicked shut.

Hermione bolted to her feet, and paced frantically back and forth in front of the table, clawing curved fingers through her hair as though she were torn between whether to detangle it or rip it out of her head. She was muttering to herself through her tears, and neither Harry nor Ginny could make out what she said.

Ginny! Harry suddenly became conscious of his girlfriend, who had been sitting silently through the conflagration, and wondered what she might have been thinking about everything that had been said - and left unsaid. He turned his head slowly, as if afraid the movement would attract attention, but Ginny was not looking at him or at Hermione. Her gaze was directed downward, but her eyes were unfocused. Her fingers were twined tightly around the handle of her fork. Her knuckles were white.

"Gin - " he started in a rough whisper. He cleared his throat, and began again. "Ginny, I want you to know that what he said, what he meant… you know that - " Whatever he'd been about to say was driven from his mind completely by a second click of his front door closing. He swore under his breath.

"Hermione! She's probably - I should - I'm sorry, Ginny, but could - " He was almost to the door, stammering nonsense all the while, but he was derailed yet again. This time it was a mirthless chuckle from his girlfriend. It was not a sound that boded well, but by the time he had looked over his shoulder warily, her face was composed, even close to amused.

"You can't leave Eleanor here. She hardly knows me, and I don't think she'd be comfortable with that, do you?" She rose gracefully from the table, and moved toward the door, patting him on the shoulder as she passed. "I'll go find Hermione. We can talk. Maybe I can help her… understand… why Ron said some of the things he said."

He opened his mouth to ask why Ginny would be able to understand when Hermione did not, but Eleanor chose that moment to arise from the sofa, carefully balancing her plate in one hand. She put her free hand out in front of her and, seeming to know exactly where the boundary of the Muffliato was, touched it lightly with the pads of her five fingers. There was a soft zzt noise, and Harry saw a faint flash of pale color as the spell ended, like a soap bubble popping.

"El - Eleanor, how - how did - why did you end the spell?" He grasped at his shreds of Occlumency to try to keep her from hearing the bewildered that should not be possible that was winging through his mind. He wasn't even sure it would do any good.

"The penguins went off," she explained. "And I'm done with my breakfast."

It took a moment for Harry to fully process what Eleanor had done, and when he turned back around, Ginny was already gone.

TBC

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