Unofficial Portkey Archive

The Catalyst

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Chapter Twelve: Harbinger Conjured

Ginny shut the door to Harry's flat, gliding smoothly down the stairs, her rubber-soled shoes making very little noise. There had been no crack of Apparation, so she looked carefully down the sidewalk in both directions. Her eye caught the movements of various knots of people about their business, without any of them flagging an Urgent Owl to her brain saying, "There she is!" Damn it, she thought, either of the boys would be able to guess where she's gone better than I would. How hard can it be to spot an angry witch in pajamas?

A low whistle caught her attention, and she jerked her head up so rapidly that she had to splutter and push the fall of vivid hair out of her face. The Auror on Duty was lounged comfortably against a building across the way, perusing the newsstand with apparent single-minded intensity. Just when she thought she'd hallucinated the noise, he raised one arm, and pointed back to her left with one thumb. He never looked at her.

She took a moment to flash a self-deprecating smile of appreciation, which he did not see, and strode in the direction he had indicated, her gait purposeful without being panicked. She had just reached the mouth of a secluded alley, when she heard the hiss of air brakes and the rumble of an impossibly loud engine behind her. Cursing, she managed to spring out of the way just in time - into the road, ironically - as the hulking, aubergine form of the Knight Bus materialized right behind her, driving at breakneck speed down the sidewalk and coming to a whiplash-inducing halt.

Her peripheral vision just barely caught the faintest flicker of movement at the steps of the bus. Ignoring the adrenaline-fueled acceleration in her heart rate, she sprinted toward the head of the bus, managing to grab the bar and swing herself inside, just as it lurched away, narrowly avoiding a taxi and two fruit stands, before disappearing with a noise like a hundred Apparations.

She dropped a handful of sickles in the conductor's hand, without really counting them, and swayed with the manic motion of the bus, as she surveyed the interior for Hermione.

"I know you're here," she bluffed, causing several people to look at her rather warily. "You know I'm not going to just give up and go home…" The threat hung in the air for just a moment, before Ginny heard a softly uttered,

"Finite," and Hermione shimmered into view, skewering Ginny with a sullen look. The younger girl was unfazed; she had brothers, after all.

"I don't want to talk about Ron," Hermione said definitively, before Ginny's rear end could even touch the mismatched vinyl bus seat.

"You can't pretend that didn't just happen."

"I'm through, Ginny!" The words were vehement, but the tone was weary. "If he can't see… I'm done wasting tears and self-worth and … and perfectly good canary spells on him. I'm more important. Eleanor is more important."

"And Eleanor's father? What of him?" Ginny's face was placid, in the dangerous, deceptive way that deep, still water was placid.

"Harry doesn't have anything to do with what just happened between Ron and me." Hermione's brows were lowering stormily over her flashing eyes.

"Doesn't he?"

Hermione flung her hands upward in a gesture born of complete exasperation. "Don't tell me you're thinking the same ridiculous things that Ron is!" The intervening silence was barely calculable. Ginny's face melted from its unfathomable expression into a merry smile.

"Of course not. But I am trying to get you to see things from his point of view. Can you not see where your friendship with Harry might look suspect to someone on the outside looking in?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Ron is not on the outside looking in. He's one of us! Of course, we're used to the rumors. They started when we were fourteen years old. Your mother believed them." She shot a rapier glance toward Ginny, where it was easily deflected. "I kept thinking that Ron would get over the unfounded stories, get over the petty jealousy… Harry and I have been friends for almost ten years, and there has never… never… " Her eyes went distant, soft, as she thought of a long-ago dance that they had danced together, light-footed on the edge of possibility, without ever quite taking that last step. "Harry and I are close. We've always been close. We… we get each other." She interlaced her fingers, and then looked imploringly at Ginny, a plea for her to understand as well. "Maybe it was the time when the whole school thought he'd illegally entered the Triwizard Tournament." Except for me. "Maybe it was after the Department of Mysteries." I knew what might happen, but I wouldn't let him go alone. "Maybe it was during the Horcrux Hunt; I don't know, maybe it was all of it. But now, with Eleanor, I mean - however it came about, we're parents, together, he and I… She's got to come first, and Ron - Ron just hasn't shown that he'll be able to handle it, that he even wants to try to handle it." She ran her fingers through her snarled curls, and Ginny suddenly noticed that Hermione had transfigured her pajamas into some kind of tracksuit. She shook her head, unsurprised, and was suppressing a small smile, when Hermione blurted, "It doesn't seem to bother you."

Ginny's eyes snapped up from her perusal of Hermione's attire to meet her friend's frank gaze.

"Of course, it doesn't bother me. I know Harry. I know you. I trust both of you."

"And Ron doesn't?" Hermione's scrutiny of her friend was a little deeper than usual. Her gaily carefree demeanor seemed somewhat less convincing. It does bother her. Her unconcern is a front, she thought. She pulled her gaze away from Ginny, and let her eyes roam beyond the window, without really seeing the passing streets. She wasn't exactly how sure how Ginny's façade of indifference made her feel.

"You know he trusts both of you, deep down. He just … he's always felt like he came in second to one or another of our brothers, and then to Harry. He's insecure, but he knows that neither of you would ever betray him. He just has to … adjust to the new situation."

Betray. It was a strong word to use, and it immediately snagged the majority of Hermione's attention. Was there a subtle warning there? She snaked a sideways look, but Ginny's face was as pretty and open as it always seemed to be.

"Ginny, I was just telling…" She almost choked on the word Harry, and swallowed it instead. " - someone the other day, the constant tiptoeing around Ron, worrying that I've said the wrong thing, fighting over every decision, every plan - it just gets tiring. And Eleanor has changed everything. That's all there is to it. She's - she's special. And I don't have time for Ron's temper tantrums anymore."

"You're going off half-cocked. You're not thinking this through. This is Ron. You were meant to be - Harry's two best friends living happily ever after." Hermione thought that if Ginny had been about a decade and a half younger, she might have stomped her foot. "If you would just - "

"Ginny." The word was bitten with iron. "I am telling you that this would have happened anyway. Maybe not now. Maybe not this way. But Ron and I - it wasn't going to work. It already wasn't working. I was on my way to realizing it - maybe he was too. Eleanor was just… just the catalyst."

"Not the reason?" There was a mixture of faint hope and dread in Ginny's eyes, and Hermione couldn't quite pinpoint an explanation for it.

"Not the reason," she echoed, laying one hand on Ginny's arm. Her eyes were gentle. "I don't want to hurt Ron. And I'll always love him. He's been one of my best friends for years."

"He's going to need time." There was an air of defeat in Ginny's voice.

Hermione removed her hand, and leaned back against her own seat, staring unseeingly out the window once again. "I know."

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"The Knight bus? You hate the Knight Bus. Where were you even going?" Harry's voice was half-incredulous, half-amused, as he followed Hermione into the kitchen, having divested her of the laden bags of takeaway.

"I don't know! I just thought it might be the last place anyone would look for me. It was my bad luck that it nearly ran over Ginny, and she saw me sneaking on."

"Yeah, she told me over the Floo." There was a somewhat ponderous silence as they pulled little white cardboard containers from the two sacks. "So… you and Ron?" Hermione chanced a glance at him; his eyes were even more guarded than usual - she could see compassion… and something else, lurking, indefinable.

"We're done." Her shoulders slumped as she sighed, bracing herself against the countertop, and she felt the warm weight of his fingers across hers. "I Owled the ring back to him this afternoon. Rather cowardly of me, wasn't it?"

"Well, you didn't exactly return it out of a clear blue sky. I'm pretty sure we all saw the writing on the wall," Harry said in a comforting voice, outrageously mixing his cliches. "In fact, I can't help but feel that I put it there."

Hermione gave him one of her best Harry, don't be silly looks.

"The way you always take responsible for other people's stupid and/or difficult choices, well, it's kind of endearing, Harry, but …" she shook her head at him. "It's not at all the case here. This is not your fault. It's not Eleanor's fault. You are perfectly at liberty to choose to raise Eleanor. And I…" She smiled faintly at him. The corners of his eyes crinkled up in return. "And I am perfectly at liberty to choose to walk this road with you." She held up the lidded container of soy sauce in a mock salute. A laugh escaped his lips, as he reached for the container of fried rice and bumped it gently into her cup. "Cheers."

They stared at each other, frozen in the moment of wholehearted camaraderie, until Hermione became all too aware of how Harry's other hand still rested on hers. His fingers had gotten clammy, and yet the touch seemed to crackle with an odd energy. Hermione pulled her hand out from under his, in what she hoped was a casual way.

"And anyway," she continued, clearing her throat a bit to break up the moment. "I'm the one who should be apologizing to you, for running out on breakfast and disappearing like that. It certainly wasn't very motherly of me. How is she doing?"

"She's fine. You might've created a monster though." Harry gestured around the corner, and Hermione peered in that direction, immediately noticing the stack of shiny new DVDs stacked near the television. "We went to the store down the block. She likes the nature shows."

Hermione felt a pang of disappointment that she had missed the trip to the store, presumably Eleanor's first. Something of that must have flickered unbidden in her eyes, because Harry squared around in front of her, catching her by the elbows, and tipping her chin up to look at him. His smile was crooked.

"Hey. You were working some things out. We just went to the store. I know how you like to turn minor things to epic Granger failures, but this is not a big deal. Besides, I thought we might go to the park around the corner after we eat. There's still plenty of light out."

Hermione was torn between dissolving into tears and … well, dissolving into tears, but she didn't want to dredge up Harry's guilt complex again. Instead, she dove into his embrace, enjoying the feel of his broad shoulder beneath her cheek. One of his hands splayed across her back, and the other snarled in her hair.

"Okay," she murmured.

After they'd retrieved Eleanor from the depths of the bookshelf in her room (which caused Harry to make one or two unoriginal comments involving apples and trees), they ate in a mostly companionable silence, highly entertained at Eleanor's exploration of the fried rice and won tons, as well as the studious way she removed the peas from the Hoi Sin chicken. Harry's casual suggestion that they walk down to the playground was initially met with trepidation. Harry realized it was another thing that she had seen on a card and had had nebulously described to her, but she did not have any concept of what comprised an actual playground.

"It's not like the fire," he told her softly, looking earnestly at her, willing his heart not to crumble inside him at the fear in her eyes. "It's not dangerous or scary. There will be other children there, playing and having fun." He darted a glance at Hermione, with another half-smile on his face. "And your mother and I will be right there, if you need us. But if you don't want to go, that's okay too."

Eleanor assessed them both somberly. Harry scraped at every shred of Occlumency he'd ever learned, trying not to think of Dudley or his gang stalking him on the playground. He could only hope that Hermione had a few better memories. Instead, he tried to focus on how much he wanted Eleanor to feel safe and secure, trusting that she could pick up on that with her unique abilities. He felt an upwelling of relief, when she nodded her agreement to go.

Harry cleared the table, while Hermione shrunk down a jacket for Eleanor, privately thinking that she would have to do some more extensive shopping, and soon. She quirked an eyebrow at Harry, when she saw him pulling on a pair of gloves and getting out an additional child-sized pair. It was not nearly cool enough for those.

"This way I can hold her hand. We experimented while you were gone." Harry lifted one shoulder, almost shamefacedly. "I'm not sure if it's the leather, or the double layers… but this way, I don't have one of those `episodes'."

Hermione was appalled at herself. "I shouldn't have left you alone! What if - what if something happened? What if she got hurt, and you needed to touch her, but you had a vision and blacked out? What if - ?"

"I don't always black out."

"We are definitely talking to Shravana about this when we go back to St. Mungo's." Hermione's voice brooked no opposition, absolutely unmoved by Harry's defensiveness.

"I'm way ahead of you, Granger," Harry teased. "I've already Flooed her. We're going tomorrow."

"You only did that because you knew I'd insist on it. You were trying to head me off at the pass." Hermione narrowed her eyes at him in mock suspicion.

"Of course I was! Do you think I've learned nothing in all our years of friendship?" He swung the door open, and they bumped shoulders playfully, as they each took one of Eleanor's hands. The walk was a pleasant one. Harry's neighborhood was a cheerful and friendly place, located right where the fringed borders of a magical and Muggle neighborhood overlapped. As a result, while he got the occasional double-take, but people were much less likely to immediately recognize him here.

When they arrived at the gate to the playground, Harry and Hermione both squatted down on Eleanor's level, wanting to carefully identify for her the different pieces of playground equipment. The park was not terribly crowded, and when Eleanor expressed interest in the swing set and the merry-go-round, they ambled in that direction. Harry then settled Eleanor in a swing, with Hermione taking the adjacent one, and they showed her how to hold on, then how to pump with her legs. Quickly catching on to the mechanics, Eleanor had gotten enough speed for her dark brown hair to stream behind her like a banner, and her face began to open up. Hermione's heart did a stutter-step at the sight of those beloved green eyes dancing in her daughter's face. She exchanged heartfelt glances with her best friend - if this is what the good moments are like, no wonder people have children. Neither of them said anything aloud, but Harry must have instinctively realized what Hermione was thinking, for - without even looking at her, having eyes for no one but his daughter - he reached down beside him, and took her hand.

The merry-go-round was next, a sturdy metal structure, painted in different colored pie slices, with red bars to hold on to. Again, the process was carefully explained to Eleanor, and Harry made sure that an exuberant child, who galloped up wanting a ride, understood why they would be spinning so slowly, at least at first. It didn't take long before Eleanor was imitating the mischievous sprite opposite, seated facing inward, gripping the bars in both hands, and leaning back as far as she dared.

Her laugh sounded like music. Her eyes sparkled with joy, her mouth wide open, her hair swinging out in a wide, dark whirl. Hermione wanted to freeze the moment, the sound and sight of her daughter's happiness, the rapturous look on Harry's face, and the way she felt, and live in it forever.

"Father, it feels like flying!" The childish treble was breathless with wonder. It was really a ridiculous statement on the surface, Hermione reflected. How could a childhood as stunted as Eleanor's ever even be able to remotely conceive of what it would be like to fly? Where would she have ever experienced any kind of comparable euphoria?

Then, Hermione looked at Harry.

He was smiling, smiling a silly, giddy, besotted smile, wider than any she'd ever seen on him. And tears were pouring down his face.

Of course, she realized suddenly. She does know what it's like. Because Harry knows. Harry's flights had never caused him uncertainty or fear, had been one of the few places where he felt whole. She thought of the Quidditch games, thestral trips to London… Buckbeak… Harry showed her what it feels like to fly. There was an unbearable sweet ache in her chest, and she struggled to suppress the sob that wanted to burst out.

Suddenly, just in Hermione's line of sight, a boy, appearing about nine years of age, stomped up the nearby slide, in four or five large strides, making a series of loud, ascending, metallic clangs. The sole purpose of his incorrect slide usage was to utterly startle the younger girl clambering up the ladder to seat herself at the top. He was successful, and immediately on the heels of the noise came her high-pitched yelp of terror.

Something simultaneously caught Harry's attention, and she followed his alert gaze over his shoulder. A shadowy figure crouched in the arched curve of a bush. This time, she too saw a camera flash. Then there was another one from the opposite side of the park.

Eleanor jerked upwards, the sudden flashes of light, the scream, the sound of stressed metal startling her violently. She reached one hand up to cover her head, quailing from an expected blow. She swung out, clinging to the whirling merry-go-round with only one hand, and Harry sprang toward it with outstretched arms to slow it down before she fell.

Hermione felt the thrum of energy go through her, felt her scalp tingle, her fingers twitch, before she had really processed what happened. Even as she tried to put a label on it, the four lights at the corners of the playground and the traffic signal at the nearest intersection popped and went out. She thought she saw one sparking. There was the unmistakable squeal of tires biting pavement on the orders of a brake pedal too hastily applied, and she thought she heard the faintest musical tinkle of glass shattering into a million pieces. There were murmurs across the playground, shouts of parents checking on their children, the wail of a frightened toddler more scared than hurt. Absently, her hands flew up to smooth her hair, it having felt like it was standing on end, and then her eyes flew to where she had last seen Harry. The merry-go-round's spin was winding down, faded and forgotten.

Harry was sitting on the ground, Eleanor straddling his lap, pressed tightly against him, clearly terrified. One of his hands pressed into her back, the other cupped the back of her head, as if he could pull her inside him and keep her safe. The little girl was shaking uncontrollably, and Harry was muttering soothing nonsense, between which Hermione could hear, repeated rapidly, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay."

"Harry?" Hermione's voice quavered the question, pitched higher than she would have liked. "Harry, what happened?"

"The wizarding media is here." The tone in Harry's voice was low and urgent. "We've got to get out of here."

Hermione's mind groped to catch up. She felt as if someone had skipped a page in the book, as if she had missed one very important instruction that everyone else had heard.

"What is going on? Did she - ?"

"Hermione!" Harry's voice was not loud, but somehow blistering all the same. "Trust me." Hermione realized that she was manically nodding, without actually speaking any words, and finally stammered,

"O -o -okay. Okay."

"You're a Healer. Stay here. Make sure no one was hurt. It'd probably be best if the Obliviators didn't ever see you. Eleanor and I were never here. I need you to create a distraction." Eleanor's hiccupping sobs reclaimed his attention, and he patted and murmured again for a moment.

Hermione had about a thousand questions, all clamoring to be voiced, but she accepted his orders without dissent. There was an odd sense of comfort in sliding back into old roles. Like riding a bicycle, she thought in a non sequitur. She surreptitiously slid her wand into her sleeve, and aimed it the slide, easily the highest point on the playground, and summarily abandoned in the chaos. The resultant surge was enough to dislodge the ladder from its anchor points in the ground, and jolt it upward, contorting the metal slope and causing it to protest and buckle. There were more cries of alarm, and the distant wail of sirens began their chorus.

Hermione never even heard the crack of Harry's Disapparation.

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