Chapter 2
Harry arrived at their agreed upon spot a full fifteen minutes before he needed to. Already he could hear the din coming from the venue and he cast a quick distraction charm in hopes that he could have a few moments of privacy before being put on display for the rest of the night.
He didn't want to be there. Didn't want to listen to politicians, some of whom had never fired a curse in battle, to drone on about sacrifice, and duty, and leading them in toasts to the dead.
He had been assured that he would only be expected to attend, no speeches, no photo ops, and this had been the only reason he had agreed to go. He knew Hermione and Ron had no desire to be there either, although Ron had seemed a tad excited about purchasing new dress robes.
He had been thinking about that trip to Diagon Alley for the past few weeks. None of them had been themselves, but Hermione had been more distracted than usual that day and he hadn't been able to figure out why. When he had asked if she had picked out a new gown she had just nodded stiffly and changed the subject.
He had been so terribly grateful when she had suggested they meet up early to avoid having to enter individually. He hadn't known how worried he had been about doing all of this alone until she had haltingly explained her idea. By Ron's reaction he had the same concerns on his mind as well, and as usual, Hermione had foreseen the best way to attack the situation.
So this is where he was now. Waiting. There was a running list in his head of those they had lost. He couldn't get it to stop, and he hoped that during the memorial portion of the evening he didn't flinch too hard when Remus or Tonks names were called. He shook his head harshly in an effort to physically remove these thoughts. And then, as if summoned to save him from himself, there was a soft pop of apparition and Hermione stood before him.
She looked beautiful. That was his first thought. It was the dress from the shop window, he recognized, the one he had caught her staring at, not understanding why at the time.
When he looked at her closer he could see how close to the edge she was. To say she was anxious would have been an understatement. She stood stiffly, arm pressed into her dress, eyes wide.
That's when it hit him. Arms. Without thought he reached out and grabbed her left wrist, drawing it into the light and illuminating the still red scar that was burned into his memory.
For a moment he was back in that dungeon at Malfoy Manor, listening to her screams of pain. They still woke him from a dead sleep at least once a week.
They knew she had been tortured, knew Bellatrix had used Crucio, but it wasn't until much later that they knew the extent of what had happened.
They were on that sandy cliff overlooking the bay, having just buried Dobby when she had collapsed. Between the two of them, he and Ron had managed to get her back to Shell Cottage where Fleur tucked her into a bedroom, shooing the boys out in a rather impressive imitation of her mother in law. They stalked the doorway for several minutes until Fleur's shocked cry had them bursting in, Bill right on their heels.
He hadn't been prepared. He had known Bellatrix was twisted. Knew that she played by a different set of rules than even some of the more ruthless Death Eaters, but he never would have expected what he would see that night.
Fleur had buried her face in her husband's chest, whispering in distraught French. Ron saw her arm first and had to turn away, retching.
When he saw the word, carved into her flesh he stumbled, catching himself on the foot of the bed, but he wouldn't allow himself to look away. The sound of the blood rushing in his head was so loud he didn't know if anyone else in the room was talking or not.
Without taking his eyes off of her he made his way around to the side of the bed and then collapsed to his knees. Without thought he brought his hand up and began to gently trace the letters, one by one, only pausing once when she flinched in her sleep.
He allowed his head to rest on the mattress by her thigh, her arm in his eye line, never letting himself look away. Guilt crawled up inside him and made itself a nest, and he didn't know if he'd ever get rid of it, or if he'd ever want to.
At some point Fleur composed herself and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Finally he rose and moved to a chair in the corner where he sat and refused to leave until she woke up.
It was late, and he had lost track of the time when he heard her moving about. As he approached the bed she became frantic and he said her name several times, assuring her that it was only him, but she didn't seem to hear him. Not until he was close enough to touch her did she calm.
He sat gingerly on the bed, not wanting to spook her, and watched as she saw her arm for the first time. If he was being honest, it was the last place he wanted to be. The guilt ate at him, and when she lifted a hand to hover over the wound he almost stopped her, and then thought better.
His breath caught as he watched her do almost exactly what he had done hours before. Fingers skimming, reverently almost over each letter. When she reached the end she paused before letting out a quiet `Oh'. And then he witnessed something he hoped to never see again. He saw her break.
He didn't know what to do at first, but then acted on instinct and pulled her to him. He wasn't even sure she knew he was there. He heard the others come in. Ron cursed vehemently when he caught site of her arm, and demanded to know why the potions hadn't healed it yet. When Bill explained that the blade that had been used to make the cut had been cursed and therefore rendered permanent Harry pulled her to him a bit tighter. She would never get away from this. Ever.
Fleur worked around them, putting a new plaster on, consulting with Bill on if they could minimize the redness or scarring. He had some suggestions, but did not sound hopeful.
Eventually he realized she had fallen asleep, and he placed her back on the pillows before retreating to his chair in the corner. Ron offered to take his place, but he waved him off.
She woke two more times that night, but he was able to settle her back down with a few words. In the morning she had slipped out unnoticed, and when he joined them at the kitchen table their eyes met briefly and it was never spoken of again.
He had wondered over the months how she was doing, but he never had the courage to bring it up, the guilt he felt about it stopping him. He had never seen the scar since that night. In hindsight she was always wearing long sleeves, but it was Scotland in winter and sweaters and coats were a necessity so he never drew a connection between the two.
But now, in this alleyway, seeing her so nervous and self conscious, he knew she had been hiding all this time.
When the light hit her arm he was shocked to see that it looked no different than it had a year ago, still as jagged, and raw, and angry as it had been that first night. He felt like he had been punched "You're not wearing sleeves." was all he managed to get out.
He had startled her and she immediately began trying to pull away from his grip but he wouldn't let go. "Why?" he asked. Why now, is really what he meant.
She was spooked, he could tell, but something was making him press her. She asked for him to let her go but he couldn't. He loosened his grip some, hoping he hadn't bruised her, but he wasn't going to allow her to run.
She's mad now. Eyes flashing, taking her fear and anxiety of the unknown and being able to direct it at him gave her something to focus on. "Let it be." she throws at him in a low voice that he wasn't sure he had heard from her before.
"No." he replies, anger of his own now responding. Why is she hiding this? "You think I don't know what it's like to have a bloody scar. Except mine's not so easy to cover up."
It was a cheap shot, and he knows it, but it tumbled out before he could stop himself. She looks like all the wind has been knocked out of her sails. And then she rallies. "This is different."
"It's different? How is it different?" he keeps pushing, something driving him that he can't explain, but knowing this is important.
She pauses for only a moment before the words are ripped out of her, as if she can't stop them. "She tortured me! I lost track of how many times she Crucio. But I remember how it felt while every single letter was being carved into my skin! I remember how she laughed as she pinned me down! I remember the feel of her blade to my throat!" tears are streaming down her face, and she looks so damn broken it almost kills him.
He pulls her to him, desperate to fix this. He had never been sure if she had remembered, knowing she did was destroying him. He just holds her as she grieves. Whispers `I'm sorry.' over and over into her hair.
When she begins to quiet he pulls back to look at her and tips her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "This doesn't define you." he says, hoping she understands what he's saying. There is a flash of trust in her eyes, and for the first time in what feels like forever he begins to believe they can move forward.
Without thought, he raises her arm to his eye level, her hand curling delicately over the top of his, no longer fighting his hold. He only intended to kiss her arm once, a simple gesture really, a `kiss to make it better'. But as his lips fall on the first letter, something compels him to keep going. Eight in total, and he hears and feels her gasp or a hitch in her breath with each one.
When he's done he lets her arm fall to her side again and finally dares to meet her eyes, not knowing if he's crossed a line or not. The smile she graces him with quashes the guilt just a bit. And then she's lifting up on her toes, and moving the hair off his forehead. Before he knows what she's doing, he feels her lips on his scar. His eyes fall shut of their own accord and he has to clench his hands into fists to keep from grabbing her hips. No one has ever done that before. Her hand brushes his face as she lowers herself back down.
It's a long moment before he allows himself to touch her, bringing his hands up to her shoulders. He lowers his forehead to hers and takes a long breath. "You can do this." he states. "We can do this." she replies and he smiles because that sounds more like the old Hermione.
Ron's sudden arrival causes them to jump apart. His mumbled apology is sure fodder for her to begin a classic Hermione to Ron lecture and he steps forward just as her mouth opens. He slips a hand into hers and gives it a tug to break her momentum. "Let's just get in there and try to remember why we're here."
He can tell she knows what he's done, but she acquiesces and squeezes his hand. Ron shoots him a look over her head, and he knows he's noticed the lack of sleeves as well. Harry gives him a quick nod to say all is well, for now. This is all Ron needs, and he goes to flank her other side, sticking his elbow out comically towards her. She slips her free hand into the crook of his arm and they head out of the alleyway together.
The street is teeming, and there is no mistaking which direction they need to head. For a few short moments they are just another group of attendees, lost in the crowd. He feels her press her head into his arm and he looks down at her. `Thank you.' she whispers and he can't stop the smile that crosses his face. Ron sees the exchange and looks on with a grin. Right then a photographer from the Prophet spots them and captures this moment. She only falters slightly before lifting her head upright and steeling herself for what's to come.
They all stand a bit straighter now. A well schooled facade slipping over Harry's face. They were now `The Trio'. As those around them realized who was arriving the crowd began to part, giving them a straight shot to the front steps of the mansion hosting the event.
He sighed to himself, he hated how people he didn't know acted around him. She must have felt him tense, because the next thing he knows, she's rearranged their grip so their fingers are intertwined and he looks down quickly to give her a smile of thanks.
Someone begins clapping and then it spreads, they are walking a gauntlet of happy, smiling, witches and wizards, all calling their names and yelling out accolades. He wants to bolt.
Hermione tenses and out of the corner of his eye he sees Ron bring up his other hand to cover the one she has on his arm, giving her a bit more support. Her grip on him tightens even more and he hears her mutter "Let's do this." before flashing the crowd a brilliant smile, even if it didn't reach her eyes.
With her to guide them, they reach the top of the steps no worse for wear. And even though he had been promised no photo ops, they agreed to one picture. When they turn, he has to let go and for a moment he assumes she'll keep her arm to her side or tuck it into Ron's again.
What she does next shocks him fully, and he is in awe of her. She raises her left arm and begins to wave to the crowd. They are too far away for anyone to be able to see clearly, and the lights are too bright, but he know the cameras will pick up the scar and he knows it will be all over the Prophet the next day. And he knows she knows this as well.
He slips an arm around her waist and lifts a hand to wave as well before leaning down to speak into her ear "You're amazing." he proclaims and she turns to him and gives him a small smile and a shrug "Gryffindor's, right?" as if she knows she couldn't have made any other decision.
Ron's arm snakes around her waist too and she gives a little laugh as he pulls them together, hamming it up a bit for the crowd. They indulge the masses for another minute before they are thankfully pulled away.
As they enter the building they resume their previous positions and once again she laces her fingers through his. He runs his thumb over hers, as much to reassure her as himself.
They are ushered up a broad staircase to set of impressively tall double doors. Two uniformed men stand on either side and before they can even pause for a breath the doors are opened.
Two steps in they realize they are on a raised landing of sorts that looks out over a room almost the size of the Great Hall. Elegantly set tables have been placed throughout, and there is a raised dais at one end with a long table, overladen with candelabras. The small orchestra that had been playing comes to a halt and all eyes in the room turn to them.
This was exactly the scene he had wanted to avoid. He supposed it was naive to think they could have slipped in unnoticed. A man he had not seen suddenly stepped forward and put his wand to his throat, silently casting the spell to project his voice.
"Mr. Harry Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class." the deep voice boomed and Harry had to swallow down the bile that threatened when he heard the swell of applause. He had never wanted that damn award.
The announcer paused, clearly expecting Harry to step forward, but Harry stayed precisely where he was, not intending to leave his friends.
The man cleared his throat awkwardly and then continued. "Ms. Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin, First Class." the pause this time was much shorter before he went on.
"Mr. Ronald Weasley, Order of Merlin, First Class." the applause continued longer than he would have liked and then they were allowed to descend the staircase. As they wove their way through the tables Hermione had to release Ron, but Harry kept a grasp on her hand, bending it behind his back a few times when the walkway became too narrow.
Eventually he realized they were being led to the raised table at the front of the room and he came to a swift halt.
The man leading them took a few more steps before realizing his charges were not following him and he hurriedly returned. "Is there a problem Mister Potter?"
"I expressly asked that we not be given any preferential treatment. We'd prefer to sit with Mister Weasley's family." he said tightly, nodding his head in the direction of the table more towards the center of the room, surrounded by red hair.
The man began to sputter and protest and go on about table arrangements, and the Minister, and months in advance, but then took one more look at Harry's stony face and regained his composure. "Of course Mister Potter. If you'd follow me."
The Weasley table greeted them enthusiastically and within a few short moments more chairs and place settings had been conjured and the table magically enlarged. Once they were sitting Harry felt much more comfortable. If he only focused on the people in front of him he could pretend they were at the Burrow and this was just another Weasley family dinner.
He was glad he could sit here with them and it not be strange. After the war, he and Ginny had tried to continue their relationship, but something had broken, probably him, and he couldn't give her the attention she needed, or help in grieving her brother's death. They parted amicably, her idea actually, and after a couple of uncomfortable months he no longer felt guilty whenever he saw her.
He chatted with Ron's father and tried to block out the rising noise in the room as more and more guests entered. He did notice ruefully that no one else was announced until the Minister arrived.
He had yet to let go of Hermione's hand, and she hadn't protested either. Maybe he shouldn't need a lifeline, but he did, and he wasn't ashamed.
Water goblets magically filled and she automatically reached out with her left hand to lift the glass. Ginny, who was sitting three places to Harry's right let out a gasp and covered her mouth in horror as she saw Hermione's arm for the first time. "Oh, Hermione!" she exclaimed, drawing the attention of everyone else at the table, who had varying reactions as they too saw the scar. Only Bill and Fleur remained silent.
Hermione had frozen, her arm outstretched halfway to her glass. He watched her internal struggle and then once again was astounded by her as she finished her motion and picked up the water, albeit shakily, and took a small sip before placing it back on the table.
"What happened?" Ginny blurted out, earning her a reproachful look by her father and Ron.
"I got it in the war." Hermione replied, unnecessarily, as that much was evident. The grip she had on his hand was even tighter and he turned towards her in his seat to both give her support and shield her.
"Who could do such a thing?" Ginny went on, unheeded
Ron reached behind and grasped her shoulder and Harry heard him whisper "You don't have to tell her."
Hermione gave Ron a swift smile and tight nod before turning back to his sister. But when she answered she turned her gaze on the Weasley matriarch instead. "It was Bellatrix."
Molly never looked away, but her eyes immediately swam with tears as the two women shared a moment. "Oh my dear." she said softly "And will it never heal..." she trailed off, obviously noticing how fresh the wound still looked.
"Never." Bill supplied, "Cursed blade."
The silence was deafening and then George, bless him, cracked a joke at Percy's expense and the regular chatter resumed.
Hermione sat back in relief, air exiting her lungs in a `woosh'. "Well, that's done." she said mostly to herself.
They didn't have to wait long before the official parts of the event began. There were speeches and toasts. The three of them had to stand one more time as they were recognized by the Minister. Eventually the dinner portion started and they were able focus on the food and the others at the table.
Harry had to, at some point, let go of Hermione's hand so that she could eat. She gave him a sly smile and then grabbed his hand again when she saw how disappointed he looked at their loss of contact, and placed in on her knee. Seems she needed the contact as much as he did.
While Hermione had never been shy with contact, hugging him whenever the mood struck her it seemed, he had never reciprocated that often. But tonight he couldn't seem to stop, but it didn't feel strange or wrong, it felt right. And maybe that's what was so confusing.
If anyone else noticed that the two of them were sitting closer than usual they didn't mention it. His hand on her knee was well covered by the table cloth. At some point he began drawing small circles with his thumb and felt the hard edge of what could only be her wand strapped into a thigh holster. He hadn't noticed her lack of wand until now, but realized there was no where else on that dress to hide it.
She cleared her throat softly and he saw that he face was a bit flushed and stopped the movement of his hand. He hadn't meant for that to happen. Ginny looked up right then and saw Hermione's red face and his guilty expression and gave them a knowing smirk which only made Hermione go more red.
He began to remove his hand but she stopped him and gave his hand a pat as if to say `Stay, but behave.'
Part of Harry's arrangement with the organizers was that he wouldn't have to do anything ridiculous like lead the dancing portion of the night. Thankfully they listened to him and after the last course had been served, several tables were magically vanished and a dance floor revealed all without his name being called.
The younger crowd headed for the floor enthusiastically, and from their table George allowed himself to be pulled away by his date, Angelina. A boy Harry didn't recognize came over to ask Ginny to dance and she disappeared with him. Even Bill and Fleur joined the crowd, eager to enjoy one of their first outings without the baby.
Luna Lovegood wandered over from a nearby table and merely pulled Ron up by his hand without saying a word, and lead him away. Harry and Hermione stifled laughs at his slightly gobsmacked expression.
As a slower song began the rest of the table began to clear out, even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, until it was just Harry and Hermione left.
"Looks like we've been abandoned." he observed dryly, glad to see her smile.
"You could always ask me to dance." she said
"Or you could ask me to dance." he countered cheekily
Her eyes lit up "Touche' Mister Potter." and then held out her hand.
He slid his into hers automatically and lifted her from her chair in one, thankfully smooth move.
They kept to the outer edge of the dance floor and at first he tried to hold her in a more formal pose, until she moved closer and aligned her body with his. One hand rested on her lower back, the other on her hip and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and laid her head over his heart. It was more a swaying hug than a dance but neither of them seemed to mind.
She took a shuddering breath and without thinking he pressed a kiss to her hairline, causing her to look up at him in surprise. "I couldn't have made it through tonight without you." he admits
"Me either." she replies before stretching up on her toes to give him a tight hug around the neck. He could feel her lashes against his throat and when she put her head back where it had been he wondered if she could hear how fast his heart was beating.
One more song and then Ron and Luna came over to them and they switched dance partners. As the night progressed, he found himself relaxing and actually having a good time. He danced with Ginny and Fleur and even Mrs. Weasley. There were girls who he didn't know who asked him for dances but he politely turned them down, put off by their jittery, over excited behavior.
"You fancy one more with me or are your feet dead." Hermione asked with a smile
"For you, I think I can manage." and he pulled her into him, glad when she once again laid her head on his shoulder. He had to school his traitorous hands, as they kept wanting to rub circles over her back and his thumb seemed drawn to her very inviting hipbone.
Hermione had inviting hipbones? Since when, his increasingly befuddled mind asked. But if she minded she didn't let on and if he wasn't mistaken the new cant of her head was causing her lips to occasionally brush his neck when she spoke. He swallowed audibly and was about to work up the courage to say something when the enchanted voice of the Minister broke over the crowd.
"If we could have your attention please. As this evening draws to a close we would like to unveil the design for the new war memorial which is to be erected on the grounds of Hogwarts in the coming days."
A hush had fallen over the attendees. Most people stopped where they had been dancing, but Ron made his way over to them.
A shining silver fabric had been draped over the model of the memorial, and when it was lifted there was a collective gasp. It was perfect. Exactly what a memorial should be. Not too ostentatious, or pretentious, and around the base he could see carvings of what could only be the names of the deceased. As the memorial began to rotate, so that it could be seen from every angle, a screen appeared behind the dais and on it the names of those that were lost began to scroll.
Hermione made a sound he hoped to never hear again and hunched over as if she'd been punched. He stepped up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist and she clung to it as if it was the only thing keeping her from collapsing.
The names didn't seem to be in any particular order, and suddenly there was Fred. Ron blanched and Hermione's left hand quickly shot out to cover Ron's right which was now clenched in a fist at his side. Harry dropped a supportive hand on his friend's back and this is how the trio stood as the rest of the names went by.
When Remus's name appeared his eyes stung and he dropped his head to the crook of Hermione's neck, trying to control his breathing. She let go of the arm at her waist and reached up to run comforting fingers through his hair.
When Harry finally felt like he could look up he saw Tonks and his thoughts turned to his godson. Hermione turned her head to look up at him and gave him a sad smile. He returned it and pressed another kiss to her temple. When she turned back to face the screen she settled towards him more solidly.
With every name he felt a pang. Most he knew, some he didn't. There were far too many.
When the last name faded away the large room was completely silent. Quietly the Minister thanked them for coming and wished them a good evening.
The dance floor was quickly evacuated, but the Trio stayed as they were and then as a unit approached the memorial. Anyone else who had wanted to do the same hung back and allowed them this moment.
It was still spinning slowly and as it turned again Hermione reached out a hand and let it gently trace over the name of Fred, and then Remus, and then Tonks. Without saying a word to each other they turned at the same time and walked out of the room the same way they had walked in.
In the foyer the rest of the Weasley's were waiting for them, Molly dabbing at red eyes. She insisted they all come for dinner that Sunday and they agreed. A round of hugs and kisses and they were once again on the street, which was thankfully not as crowded.
The temperature had dropped drastically and Harry shrugged out of his jacket when he saw the goosebumps on Hermione's arms. He dropped it over her shoulders and she smiled her thanks.
Ron cleared his throat nervously "Uh, Luna sort of asked me to go see this thing afterwards..." he flushed red and scratched the back of his neck before continuing "I'm not sure if it even exists, but she asked and..."
Harry decided to put his friend out of his misery. "No worries mate."
Ron grinned broadly before giving Hermione a loud smacking kiss on each cheek and a thump to Harry's back, and with a crack he was gone.
"So..." he started, suddenly unsure of what to say or do. But when he looked at Hermione he realized her whole demeanor had changed. She seemed to have deflated, his coat swallowed her up and she looked almost frail.
"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked worriedly, hands coming up to grasp her arms, afraid she might topple over.
She allowed herself to lean forward until her forehead touched his collarbone and she let out a long exhale "I'm just so tired." she said wearily. "Please Harry, take me home."
He didn't think twice, just wrapped her up and with a practiced twist apparated them to his flat with nary a sound. It didn't occur to him that she may have meant for him to take her someplace else, but she didn't protest.
Although he had been willed Sirius's home, he had never felt comfortable there. He and Ron had stayed at the Burrow for a few weeks after the war, but soon Harry had realized he needed to get out of there and be on his own. He had found this place rather quickly. It was outside of wizarding London, but close enough that he could walk to Diagon Alley easily. Living amongst muggles gave him anonymity, and for that he was grateful.
They apparated into a short hallway and with a wave of his hand the protective wards around his door fell away. He guided Hermione through the narrow passage, concerned at how much of her weight he was supporting. He kicked the door shut behind him and waved a hand again, restoring the wards.
It was only a short walk to the living room where he carefully helped her sink into his plush red couch. The coat still envelope her and her eyes were shut, dark lashes standing out starkly against her pale cheeks.
He felt completely helpless when inspiration struck "Tea?" he said suddenly "Would you like some tea?"
She nodded once, still not opening her eyes and he headed for the kitchen. The familiar routine of filling the kettle and setting it to boil on the stove gave him a few moments to clear his head.
Tonight, with Hermione had been well outside their established norms, however, it didn't feel wrong or weird, it actually felt very right and he wondered if she was thinking the same.
The sharp whistle of the kettle broke him out of his thoughts and soon enough he was setting a steaming cup on the table next to the couch.
She had kicked off her shoes while he was gone and drawn her legs up next to her, wrapping the coat around her more securely. When he sat down next to her she blinked up owlishly at him and gave him a tired smile.
"How are you?" he said with concern
"Just tired. Mentally, I'm just exhausted." and then scooted to her right some until she could lean into his chest. His arm came up automatically to allow her access and then settled down around her waist.
"Hermione..." he began until she cut him off
"Shh. Not now. I know. We need to talk. But not now." her hand emerged from the coat and reached up to stroke the side of his face. "Can we just be?"
And he understood what she meant, nodded his consent and then trapped her hand under his before pressing a kiss to the palm and then clasping it to his chest.
"That sounds good." he assures her, "Actually, that sounds perfect." and for the first time in maybe his entire life he shut his eyes and he was content.