Chapter Forty Nine
Hermione lay in bed that night, staring upward in the dark direction of the ceiling, and try as she might she could not sleep. She might not be a little kid anymore, but she was still finding it unbelievably difficult to sleep on the night of Christmas Eve. In a way it felt like this Christmas, more than any other, was titillating. It wasn't that she was overly eager to learn what presents she'd received. That wasn't it.
Maybe it was the fact that, since third year when she discovered she had a crush on Harry, she'd had this fantasy about what would constitute a perfect Christmas. A fantasy she knew full well was just the notion of a silly girl; they would never come true, but it was fun to imagine. This was dangerously close to those Christmases in her daydreams. Close enough, anyway. Uncle Ben wasn't going to be present, and her grandfather would never celebrate any more Christmases with them, but Harry was with her, with her family.
He was her boyfriend sharing Christmas with her and her family. It was closer to her dreams than anything had right to be in their world as of late.
Hermione rolled over and glanced at her clock. The digital read-out glowed '1:13'. Hermione huffed and turned on her back again, giving the staring into darkness method another try. It was no good. She wasn't the slightest bit sleepy.
She decided a cup of hot cider might be in order, or at least would be worth a try. With that decided she threw off her covers and got out of bed. She
crossed the room and carefully opened her bedroom door, peeking out into the hallway. Her parents' and grandmother's bedroom doors were shut, and nary a sound issued forth to suggest her excursion was apt to wake them. At the other end of the hallway Hermione saw the flickering warm glow that would be from the Christmas tree lights twinkling festively. She frowned at that. She was sure they'd turned the lights off when everyone went to bed; Miranda was concerned the lights would keep Harry awake.
Silent as a cat on the hunt, Hermione tip-toed down the hall toward the
light. When she came around the hallway wall to a point where she could see into the living room, she drew up short. She had a good view of the couch where Harry was sleeping. Or should have been sleeping, but he wasn't. He was sitting up on the couch, blanket draped over his shoulders, arms hooked around his crooked legs, as he stared at the tree. The lights reflected off the surface of his glasses in a dazzling miniature of the festooned tree even as it lit his face with a gentle, shimmering hue.
Harry looked miles away, as one gazing into a fire loses focus so easily, then he seemed to sense he was no longer alone. He turned his head slightly in her direction and smiled faintly. "Hi."
Hermione stepped out into the living room, no longer in prowling mode."Hi. Shouldn't you be asleep?"
"Shouldn't you?" he countered in gentle teasing.
"I couldn't sleep; thought I'd try having a cup of hot cider. What are you doing?"
Harry turned his eyes back to the tree. "Just looking."
That struck Hermione as slightly peculiar, though in their world of trolls, ghosts, and dragons not overly so. Harry glanced back toward her, seemed to consider her a moment, then wordlessly held out one arm, opening a space within the blanket that he wore about his shoulders like a cloak.
They were fluent enough in their own unspoken language that Hermione didn't have to inquire after his meaning. Hot cider forgotten, she padded over to the couch, snuggled into the space within his arm, and quickly found her place at his side. It took them so little time to fit together these days, like there was a natural place for the other, puzzle pieces that connected together just right. Harry brought his arm around her, wrapped them both in his blanket, and Hermione nestled down and rested her head on his shoulder. Perfect contentment, her harbor from all that the world might put
in her path. She found herself staring at the tree in the night-shrouded house. Definitely the natural setting to see the wonder of the Christmas tree.
"Pretty, isn't it?" she commented softly.
"Yeah." Harry tugged her closer and tilted his head to rest his cheek against the top of her head. "When I was little, I used to sneak out of my cupboard at Christmas while the Dursleys were asleep and just stare at the tree."
The calm peace of the night fled when his words registered. Hermione's brain screeched to a stuttering halt, her lungs hitched, her skin prickled with cold dread. Hermione tensed and sat up to look at Harry. He was watching her, confused by her sudden change in demeanor. "Your what?"
Harry's expression tensed at once. He'd not meant to say what he did, she could tell by looking at him.
But neither was he fit to ignore her question. He sighed, resigned, as he said, "I didn't have a bedroom at Privet Drive until I was twelve. Before that they kept me in a cupboard under the stairs."
Her heart broke. Her heart raged. She knew her mouth was agape and her eyes unblinking as she tried to wrap her head around Harry's confession.
How anyone could be so cruel to the one she loved so dearly… it was unspeakable, unthinkable. Harry was an amazing, caring, loyal person, and he'd been treated like a vile criminal, a monster. If the Dursleys were magical, she'd ask that they be sent to Azkaban for the injustices they'd so callously heaped on Harry. With Harry's fame in the wizarding world, it just might happen. If the wizarding world knew how their icon of triumph over evil had been treated... whether he liked it or not, Harry was important to a lot of people he'd never even met. Their world wouldn't stand for it, but in the muggle world no one did a thing to help a kind-hearted, neglected little boy locked away in a cupboard like an unwanted stray dog.
"Harry… I… I never knew," she whispered. How bad had it been? She thought she'd known most of the sordid details about Harry's upbringing. She'd not known this. What else didn't she know? How much worse was it than she suspected?
Harry's lips pursed. "I never told you. I never told anyone. It doesn't matter, Hermione."
"It matters," she replied.
"Why?" he asked her in a wearied voice. She could hear how much he
wanted it to not matter. She wished it was that easy, for his sake. She'd give anything to just brush it all away like a fine layer of dust on a countertop. Would that a person could be put to rights so easily.
"Because it's wrong."
"I know it is. Now. But that doesn't change what happened." Harry averted his eyes and his voice turned… morose, almost on the edge of pained. "You knew I was damaged goods before you ever met me." He said it like a plea, a means to ask 'how can you still be surprised by anything bad about me?', and in the silence that followed, a clear fear 'will you abandon me, too, when you know more?'
Hermione reached out and ran her hand over the back of his neck. Harry took in a breath, despite himself, even as he continued to look anywhere but at her. "I'm so sorry you had to grow up with that wretched family. You deserve better. It's not fair that you had to grow up there just because your parents were brave enough to defy Voldemort, to fight him. There are so many witches and wizards our age who never lost their families because their parents let someone else fight for them, and it's not fair to you. But never think the way I feel about you would change no matter what you might have hidden in your past. That doesn't matter, not to me."
Harry finally looked her in the eye again… and smiled thinly. "Thank you."
Hermione returned to her place tucked into his side, sliding her arm around his stomach to hold him in a partial hug. Harry looped his arm over her back again. "Maybe one day you'll know everything…" he said faintly.
If her heart could take it, she thought, but instead of saying that she gave his middle a squeeze, because in his voice it was obvious he was scared by the idea. "Whether I do or not it won't change us, I promise you that. Your present and future are more than enough for me."
Hermione shifted to get comfortable snuggled up against him when she noticed he'd gone still… notably still. She frowned, puzzled and a little worried, and she lifted her head just enough to peer up at his face. He looked… stymied, maybe on the road to consternated. "Harry… what is it?"
He shook his head in distraction. "What you said… can I ask you something, Mione?"
"Of course."
"It's about… divination."
Hermione couldn't help her face scrunching up. First off, she had not expected such a seemingly drastic jump in topic, and second… well, it was divination, and she had no love lost for the subject. Something Harry knew perfectly well, which only made his question put to her on the topic all the stranger. "Oh. All right," she said tentatively, "What's your question? But mind you I'm not really much of an expert on it."
Harry looked fairly distracted by his thoughts as he mulled over how to go about asking her what was on his mind. "Have you ever heard of the Draught of the Foreknowing?"
If this was going to be about research, she might be able to do a fair job answering his question after all. "Yes. It's an herbal potion with elements of centaur magic. Supposedly drinking the Draught of the Foreknowing allows a witch or wizard to glimpse the future. It's generally relegated to vagabond witchcraft, witches and wizards who fashion themselves after the gypsies.
Carnival stuff, though the draught's considered to be ineffective on muggles and even squibs so it's really employed more for fleecing hapless muggles than true wizardry.
"Most authorities doubt that it even works. The theory is that it's more hallucination than divination. Even among those who profess its authenticity, it's admittedly limited in what it can do. It's said drinking the Draught of the Foreknowing only permits a look into the future of the individual who drinks it." Hermione paused to ponder his question further. "Why do you ask?"
"I drank some of it."
Hermione's eyes widened. "When?" "In Trelawney's class last term."
Hermione was fuming in a split second. "That woman gave you a hallucinogen? I can't believe it! Did Dumbledore know she was passing out mind-altering substances?"
"I think he did, but she said she had to get special permission to use it on us."
"Of all the irresponsible, hair-brained…" Hermione seethed. If there was any question about the ethical standing or application of a potion, it should not be handed out to students. And for the sake of Divination, which was a ridiculous class to begin with… it rankled her sensibilities well and wholly. At least the touchier potions Snape had them brew were proven, ministry- accepted potions, and taught by an undeniable expert in the field (git though
Snape might be as a person). Trelawney wasn't fit to hand out leaflets on the street corner, much less Draught of the Foreknowing.
Harry interrupted her thoughts by asking, "So you don't think there's any way to possibly tell the future?"
Oh, what an ambiguous question. Might as well ask her about the existence of a supreme being while he was tossing around the big ones. Hermione pinched her lips and frowned in thought. "Well, it would be incredibly close- minded of me to say with certainty that there's no possible way to tell the future. I honestly don't know. The whole field of divination is just so… unsubstantiated. It can't be tested or proven one way or the other, really.
Personally, I wouldn't put much faith in anything that came from that field of witchcraft and wizardry."
Harry looked oddly… downtrodden at that, though Hermione didn't have much time to think on why that might be. "Oh… But what about the things people see when they say they're seeing the future?"
"Well… some opponents of divination believe that it's just the seer's mind coming up with the things they see in their 'visions'. A lot of the methods in divination aim at altering the way the brain perceives the world, and many believe that in such a state the seer may actually be projecting their own desires for the future… or their fears. Those are what are interpreted as visions of the future, or the present in the case of clairvoyance, when really it's just the seer's heightened imagination.
"As to those predictions that appear to come true… well, the conservative school of thought on that is that if a part of you expects something to happen it might influence your actions toward that very end, so it does happen, but only because you made it happen."
"I guess that makes sense," Harry mused, but he looked… almost out of sorts. Hermione frowned closely at him. "What is it, Harry?" Then it struck her. "Did you see something when you drank the Draught of the Foreknowing?"
Harry nodded silently.
Hermione was thoroughly curious now (and also rather surprised at the admission; truthfully she wouldn't expect drinking Trelawney's potion to result in anything more fantastical than a splitting headache). "What did you see?"
"You."
That wasn't quite as earth-shattering as she'd secretly hoped to hear. "Oh, well, that's a perfect case in point for what I was saying. I mean, how hard would it be to figure out that you and I would be together in the future, be it as friends or otherwise? We've been a part of each other's lives since first year, and I don't think it's making any great predictions to say we'll be a part of each other's lives in the future."
Harry didn't respond to that. He sat perfectly still, like a marble statue for how unmoving he'd become, and Hermione started to worry. She peered closer at him in the subdued lighting and could swear he'd paled. In fact, he looked a bit like he was about to be sick.
"Harry?" she reached out and touched his forearm, hoping to bring him back from his ruminations and get him to react to her.
Harry licked his lips nervously, took a steeling breath, and said in a measured, tense voice, "I saw… something else, too."
"What was it?" Hermione unconsciously leaned in closer to him, as though he were going to whisper a secret in her ear.
Harry's eyes flicked briefly to her face then he looked quickly away. "I saw a… baby."
"Oh," Hermione replied absently, then a second later it sank in. Then it floored her. Her eyes went wide. "Oh!" Before she could school herself not to withdraw, she took her hand from Harry's arm.
Harry worried a loose thread on the blanket with his fingers just to have someplace to focus his nervous energy… and to keep his eyes off of her. His voice was barely above a whisper when he ventured, "Do you think I was just… seeing what I wanted to see?"
"I… is that what you want?" Part of her didn't want him to answer. She almost couldn't take it all in. Her heart was racing at the same breakneck speed as her thoughts. How in the world had idle conversation about pretty Christmas trees turned into this?
As Hermione sat there and ran furiously through her thought processes, she looked at Harry as though seeing him for the first time, and in a way, she was. She was seeing him in a way that she never had before. She was looking at him as a father.
Harry abruptly let the thread on the blanket alone and raked his fingers
through his dark hair, agitated and jittery. Hermione could feel the tension radiating off of him, the same way he braced when he saw a Dementor (she knew because she'd been by his side when the Azkaban guards showed up on more than one occasion). He risked a sidelong look at her as he winced and said, "Please don't freak out, Hermione, but… yeah, maybe."
Hermione sat back in shock. She was in overdrive. She had to break it down. Yeah, maybe Harry wanted to have children. If she stuck to her personal views on divination, that it came from the wizard's subconscious rather than any real ability to predict the future, then some part of Harry wanted them to have children. Then the deluge. Thoughts and fears and hopes and uncertainties flew at her from all directions and all at once.
Without realizing it, she backed away from Harry under the onslaught. Motherhood. She'd never thought about it. Before Harry kissed her in the common room, she'd never let herself dare to believe that she might one day have the romantic kind of love, to say nothing about children. One needed to work up to the idea of starting a family; she felt like she'd been shoved into the exam room starkers without a clue what the test covered. Even if she had thought about having kids some day, it would have been in the extreme abstract. Harry wasn't talking abstractly.
So it was down to a question of how she felt to what he felt.
Did she want to have children? She couldn't honestly say, not yet. She needed time to think on it. She needed time to think a lot on it.
Did she want to have Harry's children? There was no way she could deal with that, just no way, it was too recently sprung on her.
But she knew she wouldn't want to have anyone else's children.
Hermione's hand flew to her mouth as she choked on a gasp. Merlin! Where had that come from? And why, why did it ring so true the moment the thought came to her? What did her subconscious know that the rest of her didn't?
Harry was watching her in mounting panic. "Please don't freak out. I'm sorry I brought it up."
That snapped Hermione out of her whirlwind thoughts. Harry looked fit to have a seizure with anxiety as he saw her pull away. She forced herself to act calm and stop retreating from him. "No, no… it's… you just… surprised me."
Harry looked ready to bolt. "I didn't mean to. Can we forget I said that?"
Hermione reflexively took his hand in her own. That, at least, still felt natural and right (even if his palm was clammy), no matter how colossally awkward everything else had become in a half-second. "I… I don't want to pretend you didn't say it. If that's how you feel… Harry… I'm not upset, I just… I wasn't expecting you to… I'm still processing here." Understatement of the millennium, but Harry seemed to relax marginally when she spoke calmly to him and touched him. He wouldn't figure she'd take his hand if she was flipping out, so he waited and watched cautiously.
Hermione took what time he gave her. He gave her what seemed a good ten minutes just sitting there on the couch with neither of them saying a word.
Hermione continued to hold his hand, because in the back of her mind she worried he'd up and run if she wasn't holding on to him.
Finally, she felt she had some semblance of her wits about her. She took a deep breath, collected her thoughts, and turned her eyes up to Harry. He was studying her like she might erupt without warning, or maybe bite him if he didn't keep an eye on her. She managed a feeble smile and chewed on her bottom lip. "So… you drank the Draught of the Foreknowing and saw us having a baby." It helped to parse it down to facts. It was nearer to textbook that way.
Harry gave a careful nod, never once taking his eyes off her.
"When exactly did this happen?" "The day I kissed you."
Hermione felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. It made her feel queasy, but in the background a nagging feeling bloomed and seemed to chant 'you should have seen this coming'. Somehow, she thought she should have been braced for something like this… fool of her to think she might come by a relationship honestly. "Oh, Harry… you didn't kiss me because that vision convinced you it was the thing to do, did you?" 'Please don't tell me you did. Don't let this have been a lie.' She couldn't bear the idea that Harry, in some misplaced sense of honor, had 'done the proper thing' for a baby that didn't even exist. She couldn't stand to learn that that was the only reason he'd started dating her. It would be the kind of mucked up, well-intentioned thing Harry would do.
Harry's eyes widened when the implications of Hermione's question registered. "No! That's not it." Harry squeezed her hand, the one she'd kept resolutely locked with his, to emphasize his sincerity on that point.
"That vision or hallucination or whatever you want to call it shocked the hell out of me. I didn't even understand it at first. I couldn't really… grasp it. I kind of obsessed about it all day, trying to figure out why you'd be there with a baby if it was supposed to be my future I'd seen. I wasn't connecting them.
"When we were alone in the common room that evening I was just… watching you, and it hit me that I could want that vision to be real someday. And I realized that you don't want those kinds of things with someone if you just see them as a friend."
Hermione smiled sweetly at him, her misgivings and fears beginning to fade.
"I… I didn't know I felt… that way, until I sussed out that I could want… um, that maybe I'd like to have…"
"Children with me," Hermione finished for him. Harry nodded and swallowed.
For a time, neither of them spoke. The dim living room seemed to oversee a thick silence like none Hermione had known before.
"Mione?" Harry asked with palpable trepidation. She looked at him.
"I… I just want you to know I don't… I wouldn't… I don't expect anything. You know, the vision and all. If you never want to have kids, that's okay. We wouldn't change. I'm not with you for that. I just want to be with you."
It was just the right thing to say, whether he knew it or not. It put to rest any concerns she had about Harry's feelings for her. It couldn't be just because of that vision, because he said that didn't matter to their relationship, their future. She could tell him she never wanted children and Harry wouldn't leave her.
So it came back down to how she felt.
Could she want to have children with Harry someday? Yes. It came so effortlessly when she knew Harry didn't hinge their entire relationship on that promise.
Hermione scooted over the distance she'd drawn back before when Harry first told her about the baby, closing the gap between them. Harry looked up carefully at her, hopeful but wary. Hermione offered a smile, looked down at
their hands still entwined, and moved them both into his lap where she proceeded to play with his fingers. Harry looked down at their hands as well and after a moment sitting passively he very cautiously played with her fingers in reciprocation.
"Harry… we're too young," she said in a gentle, confident voice.
"I know. I didn't mean… I really didn't mean now." He looked a bit flighty at the notion, in fact. That made Hermione feel better. At least they were on the same page in that respect.
"Because I want to finish school first. I want to go to university and I want to start a career, in what field I don't know yet, but I feel like there's so much I could do. There has to be something I can do to make the world a better place. I want to make a difference. I want to do things, things that would get put on hold when we start trying for a baby."
Harry was staring at her in something akin to the same wonder he'd earlier stared at the tree. The light glittering in his eyes came from within him this time rather than the reflections off the Christmas tree. "Not if?"
Hermione leaned closer and kissed him, soft and tender on his parted lips. When she pulled away it was only to drop her head to his shoulder. "Not if," she said softly.
Harry pulled his hand free of hers and his arm came around her to hold her tightly. He didn't say a word, but the way he gathered her to him said it all. She folded willingly against him. Hermione felt like the world had changed, somehow. Nothing looked different, but inside it seemed everything was changed. She and Harry were going to have kids someday. He was going to be the father of her children. She tried to imagine this new future, a sharp contrast to the life of work and colleagues that had so long seemed her fate. She tried to picture being pregnant with their son or daughter. She imagined giving birth and holding their newborn for the first time. Would it look like her or Harry? Would it be brainy like her, or adventurous like Harry? Could it be both? Would they have just one, an only child like she and Harry had been, or would they follow the Weasley example and have a pack of Potters? Would they make good parents? It was safe to wonder now, because it was decidedly years away from where they sat on Berti's couch. It was at a safe distance, more a far-off dream… and a good one.
It was as complete a Christmas as Hermione could ever wish to have, and the sun had not even dawned yet.
Harry's hand moved up her back and his fingers found their way into her hair. Hermione smiled against him. She loved it when he did that, be it her hair or her mane.
"You know," he said after a long, comfortable silence, "there was a time when I would have thought you'd end up with Ron."
"Me too," Hermione mumbled without moving her head from Harry's shoulder, which was just as well because Harry had not stopped tangling his fingers in her hair.
"Did you ever fancy him?"
Hermione considered her answer a moment. "I tried to."
Harry stopped playing with her hair and Hermione took it for a silent query.
"The truth is… I've had feelings for you since third year."
"You have?" He sounded genuinely startled. She didn't blame him; no doubt he didn't suspect that her feelings went back so far.
Hermione nodded. "I was convinced you would never see me as anything more than a friend. But Ron… he wasn't out of my league like you were, and I knew he liked me. It seemed like it should be simple. I tried to fancy him back, but I just never felt more than sisterly affection toward him."
"Wait… you thought I was out of your league?"
Hermione nodded again.
"Hermione, what in the world made you think that?"
Hermione finally lifted her head from his shoulder to sit back and look him in the eye. "Really, Harry, isn't it obvious? You're Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. You're a celebrity and some day you were going to end up with Cho Chang or a Fleur Delacour… someone popular and beautiful and I knew I had to accept that. Truly, as long as you were happy, that's what was most important. I was always going to be regular old ugly Hermione Granger, but as long as I was plain old Hermione, Harry Potter's friend, I was fine with it."
Harry's face went from stunned to displeased as he listened to her. He scowled in her direction as his mind went over all that she'd told him. "I hate it when you do that," he finally said.
Hermione blinked. "Do what?" "Say you're not pretty."
"It's just the truth," she said with a dismissive shrug.
"It's mental," Harry retorted, then turned his body to more directly face her. Then he stopped and just… looked at her. Hermione forwent commenting on how he seemed to be channeling his inner Ron to puzzle at the way his eyes roamed intently over her face. He looked to almost study her, as though trying to decipher a riddle using the contours of her visage as the Rosetta stone. Harry blinked at last and brought his eyes to meet hers. Everything in his expression seemed to soften, as if he were on the cusp of a very lovely smile. "You're more than pretty, Hermione. I may not have known I fancied you until this year, but I've known you're pretty for a long time."
Hermione opened her mouth to speak and a really embarrassing squeak came out instead. She clamped her mouth shut and cleared her throat while Harry smirked.
"You don't have to say that just because you're my boyfriend," she finally managed to say. "Honestly, Harry, I'm not going to be upset because you think I'm plain to look at. I know I am."
Then Harry's hand was touching her face, lightly and delicately like she might be built from fine snow but still enough for her to feel the warmth of his palm on her cheek. Her heart did a skip for the look on Harry's face. He looked… enchanted. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you," he mused aloud, almost to himself, then he directed his words to her. "I didn't say you're pretty because I'm your boyfriend. If you'd asked me in third year I would have told you so… but now that I'm your boyfriend, I know it's okay to say that I don't think you're pretty."
Hermione tried to smile bravely through the ache, because she refused to let the truth wound her… not a truth that she'd come to terms with so long ago.
"I think you're beautiful," Harry finished lowly.
"You… but I… I'm not. I've heard it all my life, Harry. Plain, boring, ugly Hermione Granger. I have looked in a mirror a time or two, and I know why they all say those things. It's cruel for them to say it the way they do, but that doesn't make it any less true."
Harry frowned and slipped his hand from her cheek to the column of her neck, and at once Hermione shivered. When they were snogging, when he
put his hand there, it was because he was about to move aside her hair to nuzzle at her throat. It was distracting to say the least.
"Hermione?"
"Y-yes?" His fingers were just barely grazing the skin of her neck, tickling and maddening at once.
"Do you trust me?" "Of course I do."
Harry leaned in, moved her hair aside, and placed a gentle kiss on her neck. Then, without drawing away, he practically whispered in her ear, "Then just trust me and believe me when I say that you're beautiful to me."
To him. She could do that. Harry knew sides of her no one else, no one that called her ugly, knew. Maybe it could make her beautiful in his eyes. And it didn't ask her to throw away a lifetime's worth of teasing and taunts about her hair and her teeth and her everything else, all of it completely unimpressive. It only asked that she make an exception for an exceptional person in her life. Put that way, she could believe him.
Hermione felt a tightness in her chest. It felt weird to be beautiful. It made a well of emotions bubble dangerously close to the surface, and she was a little frightened to think what might happen if they overcame her. She bit back an unintelligible sound in the back of her throat and snaked her arms around Harry's shoulders. She wrapped herself around him and Harry slipped his arms around her to return the embrace. She lowered her cheek to his shoulder and closed her eyes, surrendering to the moment of being with Harry, happy and beautiful in his arms.
"For what it's worth," Harry remarked in a light tone of voice, "I'm really glad you didn't end up with Ron."
Hermione laughed."I am, too. He'd have really buggered that up. I probably would have been just shy of a troll by the end of it."
Harry chuckled and they pulled apart just enough to settle more comfortably on the couch together. Hermione smiled to herself and leaned into Harry. "For what it's worth, I'm really glad you didn't end up with Cho."
Harry laughed."Yeah, I am, too. I'd have become known as the Boy Who Couldn't Piece Together a Proper Sentence, or maybe if I was really spectacular I could get dubbed the Boy Who Made a Fool of Himself."
Hermione snorted and rested her head back against his shoulder.
"Oh, and Hermione?" "Hmmm?"
"If anything, you're out of my league, not the other way around."
"Don't be ridiculous. Fame aside, because I know that's not really your doing, you are a far more powerful wizard than I am a witch. When it comes down to raw magic, you're beyond me, Harry."
"I doubt that, but even if I were, there's no arguing that you're way smarter than me."
"Books and cleverness," she returned, a small smile flitting across her face at the memory. Then she cocked her head faintly in thought. "Maybe we should concede that Kimmy has the right of it and leave it matched."
She could hear his smile in his voice. "Yeah, I can go along with that."
Hermione tugged at the blanket that had fallen slightly out of place during all their talk and movement and pulled it back to the front of their tightly nestled bodies, wrapping them both better in its folds. The tree twinkled on, brilliant and welcoming. She tilted her head back against Harry's shoulder and let her eyes drift shut. Harry's arms closed tighter around her. Without opening her eyes, she gave a dreamy half-smile. She probably ought to go back to her bedroom, but it was so much nicer on the couch with Harry. Maybe she'd just stay for a little while longer, there was no harm in—
"Good gracious," a third voice broke into their late night solitude. Hermione's eyes snapped open and she saw her grandmother standing in the entrance to the hallway in her old worn house robe. She was looking at them, bundled up together on the couch under a single blanket. Hermione could feel Harry tense, but she was insanely pleased that he didn't move to stop holding her.
"Gram?" Hermione stammered, bewildered. It seemed a bit late for her grandmother to be up and wandering the house.
"I think I should be the one looking befuddled, dear. Have you two been up all night?"
Hermione, puzzled, looked toward the living room window. To her
amazement, the pale light of dawn was peeking around the edges of the curtains. She shifted in Harry's arms to glance back over her shoulder at him. He was conferring with the clock, which did indeed show that it was six in the morning. They'd stayed up the entire night talking. It really didn't seem like so much time had passed. She and Harry exchanged equally surprised looks.
Berti shook her head and made a 'tisking' noise. "Chatted away the night, did you?" She sounded suspiciously like she suspected it was actually much more than 'chatting' that had gone on.
Harry blushed.
"Honestly, Gram, we did. I couldn't sleep and came out for some cider and saw Harry was still up. We started talking and we… lost track of the time." Hermione stopped when something occurred to her and she drew away from Harry's hold to turn and face him. When he cast her a queer look, she smiled brightly and said, "Happy Christmas, Harry."
Harry immediately smiled back."Happy Christmas."
"Youth," Berti sighed in exasperation to herself, but she was smiling just a little as she said it. Hermione took it for what it was, Berti acting the part of an affronted old woman when truthfully she was anything but. "Suppose I won't have to keep quiet in the kitchen while I start on Christmas lunch since Harry's already awake."
Harry disentangled himself from the blanket as he offered graciously, "I'll help you, Gram."
Berti eyed him closely. "What did I say about you doing anything that might constitute as working around here, young man?" Then she cast her eyes toward Hermione, innocently curled on the couch next to Harry, and she pursed her lips pensively. "On second thought… yes, Harry, dear, do come give an old grandmother a hand in the kitchen. Maybe if you duly impress me I'll not make this," she gestured at the two teenagers, "out as quite the scandal that I might otherwise be apt to." She sounded stern, but there was a half-smile on her face by the time she was finished 'chastising' them for the state they'd been in when Berti came into the living room.
Harry, to his immense credit, seemed to be getting better at reading Berti's meaning, because he smirked rather than get flustered or mortified. "All right."
Berti gave a satisfied nod and moved toward the kitchen. Harry got up off
the couch to follow suit. "Do you want me to help?" Hermione asked.
Harry turned and looked down at her. "No, Gram and I can manage." Harry looked up to see that Berti had her back turned and then he bent down and quickly kissed Hermione chastely on the mouth.
"You're not fooling anyone," Berti called over her shoulder in nearly a sing- song voice.
Harry blushed and smiled. "I had better really impress her to make up for that," he remarked softly with a twinkle in his eye.
Hermione grinned. "Don't worry, by lunchtime she'll be a member of the Harry Potter fan club."
Harry chuckled then stopped abruptly as his expression turned discomfited.
"There isn't actually a Harry Potter fan club, is there?"
Hermione laughed and shooed him toward the kitchen to amend for their shared early morning indiscretions (which had not actually been indiscretions at all, but Berti would be hard to convince of that). When Hermione was alone on the couch she gathered the blanket around her (it seemed impossibly large without Harry underneath it with her), lay down with her head on Harry's pillow, and breathed in deeply the smell of him that lingered on the linens. With a content smile tugging at her lips, she dozed off, snug and happy in the early morning hours of Christmas day.
Chapter Fifty
Harry was in a mood that could not be dampened, not even by Hermione's grandmother and her tendency to be free, colorful, and vocal with her opinions. He was actually getting a bit used to them; it helped to see Jake get treated the same way. It made Harry think it might be the way Berti treated people she liked, she certainly seemed to like Jake, and he wouldn't mind having Hermione's grandmother like him.
He was almost aglow with a happiness that he would not have been able to even fathom in the days before he and Hermione were together. She redefined life for him in so many ways. He was having one of those moments when the world transfigured itself for her influence on him. This time, it was a very specific catalyst that made his world's axis tilt. His conversation last night with Hermione would not be forgotten any time soon. It was too amazing, too monumental, too bloody fantastic. He almost wished he had a pensieve. He never wanted a detail of the night to fade from his memory.
Hermione had finally learned about the vision he'd had in Trelawney's class. Or maybe it was just his mind being fanciful, like Hermione said. He might admit that was just as likely, and if Hermione leaned toward that interpretation of the divining arts he was apt to think that it was the correct one. In any case, he told her what he'd seen. He couldn't blame her for panicking a little at first, he had too, but when she sat with it a while she was far more amenable to the possibility it presented than he'd dared dream.
Wonder of all wonders, she'd said she wanted that future, too.
No amount of 'tisking' from Berti was going to squelch that flame's luminosity inside him.
Although at the moment, Berti wasn't recriminating him or giving him the shrewd eagle eye. She was mixing the filling for a pie, humming a Christmas tune to herself as she did so. Harry was basting the turkey on the counter space a few paces to her left. They'd fallen into a fairly companionable silence. He even kind of liked her humming. It kept at bay any tension that might have seen fit to creep up in silence and she had a decent voice besides. Sometimes Aunt Petunia hummed to herself, but it was like the sick mewlings of a dying cat.
Hermione had fallen asleep on the couch. He liked that, too. He smiled to think of her sleeping a room away while he busied himself in the kitchen with her grandmother. It was all just so ruddy normal, almost more normal than he knew how to handle. But with the Grangers, it was getting dangerously effortless to let himself feel apart from his scar and his fame.
The sound of a yawn made Harry look toward the living room only to see Miranda shuffling into the kitchen in pajamas and slippers. She blinked sleepily, for a moment looking very much like sleep-mussed Hermione with her hair all out of place. "Happy Christmas, Mum," she said as way of greeting.
"Happy Christmas, Miri."
Miranda looked at Harry. "You're up awful early." "Mmm hmmm," Berti hummed smartly.
Harry gave a crooked smirk. "Actually, I haven't been to bed yet."
"Oh… would that have anything to do with Hermione on the couch?" Miranda asked with a smile. "Kick you out of bed, did she?"
Berti grunted. "No, I did. Though I would think you'd be a little less unconcerned to find your daughter on Harry's couch in the wee hours of the morning. And if you profess faith in that dog of Harry's again I may just have to have your head examined."
Harry and Miranda exchanged a knowing look, though Harry's was tinted pink with a slight blush.
"No, I was thinking more of Jake, actually," Miranda said with a straight
face. "He had a talk with Harry, you see." Miranda glanced toward Harry again and winked.
Harry almost grinned. Instead, he turned to Berti and concurred. "Yeah, he did."
"Put a mortal fear in Harry should he even look at Hermione the wrong way," Miranda added.
"Really terrifying bloke, Jake," Harry threw in at once.
"All right, now you two are just funning with me," Berti interjected into their bantering.
Miranda came up to the pair at the counter and ran an errant hand through Harry's hair, much as she was wont to do with Hermione's. Harry didn't even brace or tense anymore when Miranda unexpectedly touched him. He continued to tend to his cooking task with a light feeling in his chest that he'd never associated with Christmas before… it was usually a sensation he connected with Quidditch. That moment when his fingers closed around the snitch and won his team the match. The feeling in his chest now was very like that, but it was lasting longer and permeating deeper than the snitch catch feeling did.
Miranda took up a third chore in the kitchen, and for a time the three of them worked quietly; no one wanted to wake Hermione.
It was a short time later that Jake dragged himself out of bed. He announced his arrival with a cheerful, "Morning and happy Christmas one and all." Harry looked toward Jake and snorted to see the man standing with arms spread wide like he was addressing the Great Hall when it was packed with
students. It only added to the comical effect that he was in his own pajamas and sporting a serious case of bed-head.
From behind Jake, Hermione grumbled from beneath the blanket. Miranda chuckled.
Jake lowered his arms, glanced back at the blanket his daughter was clearly using for cover, then he turned back to those assembled in the kitchen. "What's with her? Is it feasible that our Hermione is losing her enthusiasm for Christmas?"
"Not likely," Miranda replied. "She's just knackered; she was up all night with Harry."
Jake looked critically at Harry a moment, then he scratched at his chin.
"No worries," Harry said on impulse, "I'm mortally afraid of you right now."
Jake blinked, puzzled, and looked toward Miranda. Something he saw in her face clued him in, because his eyes became playful and he fought a smirk. "Ahhh… yes, very good, then."
"The lot of you have gone spare," Berti bemoaned loudly.
Hermione groaned again, this time with more of an aggressive edge.
"As soon as the turkey's in the oven I think we can start in on the presents," Miranda said with a look around the kitchen and the respective state of their unfinished tasks. When she was done with that she looked toward the living room and her expression grew more thoughtful. "Though we'll have to brave waking Hermione. That won't be pretty."
Jake shuddered in agreement and sat down at the kitchen table. "Send in Harry. She won't cause him physical damage. I'm not too sure I'd come away so lucky if I tried to wake her."
"I think that's a brilliant idea," Miranda agreed immediately, "what better reason to have a boyfriend on hand than to throw him to the wolf?"
'To the lioness, actually,' Harry thought with a rush of affection, but aloud he said, "All right, I'll go wake her."
"Godspeed, son," Jake gave him a wave, teasingly suggesting Harry might never return.
Hermione had burrowed completely under the covers to block out the light from the window. Harry smirked at the sight of the mound of covers beneath which Hermione was ensconced. He knelt down next to the couch and began to tug at the blanket… only to be met with resistance. When he pulled harder a grumpy groan issued forth.
"Mione, time to get up."
Her disembodied groan turned plaintive.
Harry pulled more insistently at the covers and finally uncovered Hermione's head. Her hair was even wilder than usual after being ruffled under the blanket, looking rather like she'd been in a windstorm… if there was such a
thing, it was bedsheet-blown. She looked up blearily at him and glowered.
"S'too early, Harry."
"Yeah, I know, but the rest of the family wants to open presents and you're right in the middle of Christmas or else I might just let you have a lie in."
Hermione blinked and glanced toward the tree. She yawned. "Oh… yeah… Christmas." With that she rose to a sitting position and pushed the covers off to one side. Harry's mouth ticked in amusement and he stood to properly fold the blanket and drape it over the back of the couch.
"Well, look who's finally up," Jake said as he led the procession of adults from the kitchen into the living room.
"Happy Christmas, everyone," Hermione proclaimed around a massive yawn. Then she took Harry's hand and pulled him down to the floor. Harry, perplexed, went along and ended up sitting on the floor next to the tree beside Hermione. Her purpose became clear when Berti, Jake, and Miranda sat down on the couch, taking up the length of the piece of furniture.
In what was clearly a well-practiced family tradition, Hermione proceeded to sort through the presents until everyone had been given one. The one in Harry's hand was from Miranda. When Jake started to rip into his gift Harry saw that the others followed suit and he did likewise. His present turned out to be a movie. He puzzled over the title a moment before he looked up to see Miranda watching him.
"When Harry Met Sally?" he asked curiously.
"An American movie that Ben claims is the essential film on relationships, and I have to say I quite enjoyed it myself. It's centered around the age-old question, can a man and woman ever just be friends."
Unbidden, Harry's eyes went to Hermione. She turned her gaze down to her lap and the half-opened gift lying there as she fought back a smile.
"Well, a little late for this pair," Berti remarked lightly.
"I hope you like it," Miranda finished, disregarding her mother's aside.
"It sounds interesting, and I'm sure I can make Hermione watch it with me. Thank you."
"Why, that's right fetching," Jake held up a blue sweater from Berti for everyone to admire.
"Glad you like it, Jake.
"What a beautiful housecoat, Hermione," Berti fawned over her own present. "And it's so soft, too. My old one is nearly threadbare, so this new housecoat isn't a moment too soon. Thank you, dear."
"You're welcome, Gram." Hermione turned over the gift in her lap, one from Harry, while he watched her reaction. When she read the title of the thick, encyclopedic book and took in the picture on the cover she smiled.
"What have you got there, Hermione?" Jake asked.
Hermione looked up."The Everything Fact Book on Big Cats."
Harry didn't doubt there were three relatively quizzical looks to that, but he was concerned only with Hermione's response to the gift. She turned her head to look at him and smiled, her eyes speaking to their shared secret, then Hermione at once began to flip through the book. She stopped on the section on the jaguar and slipped quickly into engrossment.
Feeling more confident, Harry turned to his next present, a bulky thing from Jake. When Harry tore the paper away it revealed a soccer ball, white and pristine.
"Thought you and I might try our hand at a bit of football," Jake explained to Harry as the younger man pondered the gift. When Harry looked up to regard Jake Hermione's father said, "I might not have much hope of going one to one with you in your sport, but we could have ourselves a man to man football match if you like."
Harry, oddly, found he liked that idea very much. More than he would have thought he would, and he couldn't say what made it sound so appealing. But it did. "That sounds great."
"I rather thought so, too. There was a time when I wasn't half bad at football either, if you can believe that."
"What sport does Harry play?" Berti interjected casually as she admired a set of earrings from Miranda.
"Lacrosse," Jake answered without hesitation and with a convincing smile. He'd obviously formulated that cover story before Christmas morning.
"Hmm, well that's nice. Oh, I best check on the pies. Don't let me interrupt
anything." With that, Berti got up off the couch and went into the kitchen.
"Harry?" Miranda said lowly and questioningly when Berti was out of the room. Harry looked to Miranda and saw she was holding up a honey-colored dress he'd bought her… but while she was holding the dress she was meaningfully fingering the silver bow that had been affixed to the box.
Harry glanced toward the kitchen to make sure Berti was still occupied. "The seamstress who made it was a witch," Harry explained. "The threads and material are magical. When you put that on it will always be a perfect fit."
Miranda's expression lit up. "Oh, well that's just devilishly clever! I have to say, a real smart lot, those magical folk. Imagine how much you'd save on clothes if you didn't 'stress the seams', so to speak."
Jake looked closer at the dress. "I imagine once lunch is here I'll wish my trousers were like that."
Hermione laughed.
"Thank you very much, Harry. It's not only a beautiful dress, but I'll never have to fear it will be relegated to the back of the closet should I suffer too much of good living." Miranda said the last with an amused smile.
Jake threw a look over his shoulder and verified that Berti was still in the kitchen. He turned his attention back to Harry. "Think you may have time enough to explain these?" He held up two rectangular pieces of paper decorated with tiny figures darting around the front.
"They're tickets to next year's Quidditch World Cup." Hermione gasped.
Jake's eyebrows rose, though whether it was more for Hermione's reaction or learning the nature of the gift was hard to say.
"I thought you and Miranda might like to go. Of course, there's no telling who the teams will be yet, but you said you'd like to see a Quidditch match so I didn't imagine the teams would make that much difference."
"I certainly would like to see a match, and you're right on the teams, makes no matter to a regular bloke like me. This ought to be dreadfully exciting to watch."
Miranda nodded. "Yes, I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time, but maybe
you'd rather take Harry to this match." Miranda turned to smile reassuringly at Harry. "I'm very touched that you'd buy a ticket for me, but surely you'd be better company for Jake than me. I think you boys could make a real smashing day of it. And I dare say Jake would find you much more entertaining than he would me."
"She's right on that count, son," Jake threw in before Harry could protest, "and besides, if Miranda and I were to go who would have the patience to spend half the time explaining it all to the dunderhead nonmagic fellow? I could do with having an expert on the subject on hand. What do you say, care to make it a blokes' day on the town?"
"If you're sure, Miranda…"
"Course I am," Miranda replied, then her gaze shifted to Hermione. "What is it, honey?"
Hermione was still staring gape-jaw at the tickets in Jake's hand. "Oh… I… nothing."
Jake frowned at Hermione's expression and he eyed the tickets a bit more warily. "What's the trouble? These tickets weren't illegally procured, were they?"
"No, it's not that, just…" Hermione turned to address Harry, "weren't those terribly expensive?"
Jake and Miranda blinked; they had no notion of the price of Quidditch World Cup tickets. Hermione's shock to the gift was the first clue they had as to real the monetary value of Jake's present.
Harry shrugged. "Not so much as you'd think, actually. I asked the Quidditch shop owner in Diagon Alley how I'd go about getting two tickets, I just wanted to know where to go, but he started contacting people right there and then, the name 'Harry Potter' got thrown around a bit, and before I knew it…" Harry gestured at the tickets.
"I didn't realize you were quite that… famous," Miranda mused aloud.
Jake hefted the tickets thoughtfully. "After that shopping trip to the magic store alley, I'd believe it." Jake looked up at his wife. "There didn't seem to be a single person there that didn't know Harry on sight."
"You get kind of used to it," Harry muttered, twitchy at the turn of conversation. It caused his abnormal existence to intrude upon this pocket of
normal he'd discovered in Hermione's family.
"What did I miss?" Berti asked jovially as she rejoined the family after making certain none of their food was in peril of being ruined. Harry was almost relieved to have Berti show up, as it meant all discussion about Harry's undesired fame in the wizarding world would come to a screeching halt.
"Just remarking on how Harry appears to have figured my size perfectly," Miranda said as she held up the dress.
"Well, of course you'll have to try it on to know that, but it is very pretty nevertheless."
Miranda merely smiled and nodded.
"Here you go, Harry," Hermione said as she handed him a small package,
"this one's from Gram."
Harry was feeling relaxed and comfortable again, the topic of his status in the wizarding world completely out of mind, and he turned to tearing the brightly colored paper from his present. He cleared away enough wrapping to expose the front of the box, and he stared at it with a crease on his brow as he tried to figure out what it was.
When he did figure it out, his eyes went saucer-wide and heat suffused his face so instantaneously and so hotly that it felt like he'd ducked his head into a blazing furnace. As though the box meant to jump up and bite him, he slapped the paper back over the cover of the box and looked up in something close to panic.
Unfortunately, his reaction had gotten the attention of everyone in the room.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, her tone laced with concern for the state he presented. "What did you get?"
"Nothing!" he yelped.
Hermione pursed her lips, scrutinizing the clues and concluding that it was most certainly the opposite of nothing. Blast him for having such an astute girlfriend.
"Mum," Miranda intoned wearily and dreadfully, "what did you get him?" Berti just lifted an eyebrow.
Hermione leaned over and tried to pry the haphazardly concealed gift from Harry's hands. He wouldn't let her have it at first, for a second he resolutely shook his head to say Hermione wouldn't get it from him without brute force and maybe a hex or two, then he surrendered to complete humiliation and loosened his death-grip on the small box.
Hermione took the gift from him, brushed aside the wrinkled wrapping paper, read the logo on the box that had rattled Harry so, then her eyes went wide to match Harry's. "Gram!" she turned to look at her grandmother in borderline horror, her own complexion turning scarlet, "you got Harry condoms?!"
Jake very nearly ripped the new tie he'd been trying on and looked up sharply. Miranda gave a piteous groan.
"There is nothing wrong with safety, Hermione," Berti lectured, unruffled by the presumptuousness of her present and the ripple effect it had had on everyone in the room.
"Mum, really," Miranda grumbled.
"They're fifteen, Berti," Jake groused.
"You're as old as your soul, I say, and these two aren't a set of teenage souls, I can tell you that."
Before anyone else could speak there was a resounding knock on the front door. Harry leapt to his feet with an agility and speed nearly enough to compare to that of the jaguar. "I'll get it!" He all but fled from the family gathering.
"Who on earth could that be on Christmas morning?" Berti's voice trailed after Harry's retreat.
When Harry opened the door all thought about his condoms for Christmas vanished as he stared at the last person he'd ever expect to see on Berti's doorstep. The visitor's white beard was fluttering to one side in the wind and tugging at the bottoms of his robes, somehow looking a queer approximation of Saint Nick.
"Headmaster?" Harry stammered, completely baffled.
"Hello, Harry. I would wish you happy Christmas, but I fear it would make a liar of me." Dumbledore's manner was serious and grim, his eyes intense
and void of any of the whimsical amusement that so often seemed to dance just behind the half-moon spectacles.
"Who is it, Harry?" Miranda called.
Harry stared up at Dumbledore, still dumbstruck. He couldn't seem to really grasp that Dumbledore was standing on the threshold of Harry's escape to normalcy. It was the normal life in the house and the fantastic and magical outside. Dumbledore was standing there trying to bring it back in when Harry felt that he'd finally shoved it out to the cold to at last enjoy some manner of reprieve.
"May I come in?" Dumbledore asked when it became apparent Harry was not going to invite the headmaster in of his own volition, if for no other reason than he was still boggling over Dumbledore's arrival.
Harry snapped out of his stupor. "Oh. Uh… yeah…" he stepped aside and Dumbledore entered Berti's house.
Harry looked past the new guest to the family gathered in front of the Christmas tree. Hermione was sitting on the floor still as stone, her expression locked on the elder wizard and her attention razor-sharp. Completely gone was the care-free, laughing young woman Harry had come to know in Hermione when it came to Christmas. Miranda and Jake were merely curious; they apparently knew who Dumbledore was or knew enough to recognize a wizard from their daughter's other life. Berti was gawking at the stranger in robes that had walked into her home.
Dumbledore managed a courteous smile for the last, as though naturally inclined to assuage any concerns about his intentions. "You must be Roberta Richardson, Hermione's grandmother. A real pleasure to meet you."
"And you are…?" "Albus Dumbledore."
Hermione spoke up then. "Dumbledore's the headmaster at the school Harry and I attend."
"Oh. I see. Well then, what brings you here on Christmas morning, Mister Dumbledore?"
Harry didn't want to know. He didn't want to hear why Dumbledore had come to Berti's on Christmas morning. It would end all this contentment, he knew that with a sickness in his stomach. 'Go away,' he thought longingly,
almost willing the headmaster to hear his thoughts. Dumbledore could just turn around and leave and it wouldn't have to destroy this peace Harry had found. He'd gladly go back to agonizing over condoms and enduring Berti's colorful comments and making him blush all shades of red. He'd be all too happy to weather that, if only Dumbledore would change his mind and leave.
Instead, he turned to Harry.
Harry reluctantly met Dumbledore's eyes. The older man was studying Harry closely, as though seeking answers beyond his eyes, straight into the core of all that Harry was. "I regret that I must be the bringer of ill tidings."
Harry's heart was pounding wildly. 'It's Ron', he thought at once, in certain dread. 'It's Sirius. It's Ginny and George and Fred and Molly and Neville and Seamus and Colin Creevey'… it became so many people that Harry couldn't take the strain of all their unknown fates. As much as he hated to hear what Dumbledore came to tell him, it would be a relief to know who it wasn't. How many lives would he not have to imagine gone, for one more day? It would be worth knowing the doom of one. 'Let it just be one,' Harry's mind wailed.
"I'm afraid there was an attack on your aunt and uncle's home last night. Your cousin was killed."
"Goodness!" Berti gasped, but she was the only one to breathe a sound at the news. Everywhere else a deafening silence had enveloped the room. Harry just stared at the headmaster. It took a moment to register.
"Dudley?" he said numbly. He thought it would be someone from the world of magic, someone he'd befriended, gone to school with, fretted over exams with and commiserated with over Snape's unfortunate personality. He couldn't quite decide what it felt like to know it had been Dudley, the boy who'd made his childhood a living hell. He didn't know where he'd finally find himself on the issue when his head stopped spinning. Angry? Sad? Guilty? In some horrible, despicable way, slightly happy? He honestly didn't know.
Dudley had tormented him, beat him up regularly, despised every minute that Harry lived and breathed and was a stain on his perfect home life with overindulgent parents.
And now he was dead.
"What happened? Have the police been notified?" Berti asked.
"No. We're handling this internally for the time being, taking into consideration the specifics of the attack," Dumbledore answered.
No one was prepared for the backlash to Dumbledore's off-hand reply. "The
school?! What is the school doing handling a murder internally?!"
Dumbledore looked toward Hermione. Understanding registered on his face in the next second. "Ahh… well…" but even the headmaster didn't know how to backpedal out of the jam he'd put himself in. But then, how was he to know Hermione's grandmother didn't know her granddaughter was a witch?
Hermione was the one to speak to Berti's outrage. "It's not what you think. Harry and I don't go to a normal school, Gram."
Berti looked quickly toward Hermione, still outraged at the flippant manner in which the headmaster of a school presumed to handle a homicide
'internally'. "What? Then what kind of school is this that apparently cares to undertake internal murder investigations? Are you two attending some kind of espionage academy? Are you two training to be cold-blooded killers?"
"No!" Hermione vehemently denied any suggestion of the sort. "No, Gram, not espionage… magic."
There was a pause. "I beg your pardon?"
Hermione took a deep breath and lifted her head."Harry and I go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry's a wizard. And I'm a… witch."
Berti narrowed her eyes at Hermione and seemed to try to see past the falsehood. Her expression grew all the more dour and disappointed as the seconds wore on and Hermione did not cave, did not so much as crack.
Finally, Berti said in a low voice, "If that's your spy school's cover story for their real nature, it's a poor one. I'd have thought you would be smarter than that, Hermione."
"She's telling the truth," Jake volunteered. "Hermione is a witch."
Berti turned agog eyes toward her son-in-law next. "Are you all mad? That's impossible. There is no such thing as magic!"
"I am sure this must come as an enormous shock, madam, but I can assure you there is," Dumbledore said.
"Sir, I hope you'll take no offense when I say that I'm not ready to believe that my Hermione can do magic. Bad enough my family expects me to believe it, but to have it from a stranger…"
"Mum," Miranda interjected gently. "You must have always realized there was something special about Hermione."
Berti pursed her lips. "Of course I have." "Haven't you ever tried to put your finger on it?
"She can do things you and I could only dream of doing. She has a gift greater than any you've ever imagined."
Berti was silent. It seemed she could not decide how to stand her ground against the preposterous idea of magic being real, and her granddaughter practicing it no less, when the numbers were so against her. At last, she turned a long, measuring look on Hermione. Berti looked at Hermione as though she'd never seen her own granddaughter before… maybe she understood at that moment that, in a way, she never truly had. Hermione watched her grandmother carefully for her next move.
"Tell me truthfully, Hermione," Berti finally said, "is all of this true? Are you really a… a witch?"
"Yes, Gram. I am. I've always been. It doesn't change who I am. It doesn't make me any less your granddaughter."
"Dear," Berti said, almost as though insulted, "I will always know you're my granddaughter, no matter what." She considered her granddaughter critically a moment, as one might a puzzling work of art. "Would you be able to do a spot of this magic, then? Show me."
Hermione winced."I can't. I'm underage; it's not allowed for me or Harry to use any magic outside the school grounds." Just then, Hermione stopped and looked around, noticing something amiss for the first time. "Where's Kimmy?"
Harry only then registered that the house elf had been absent for the entirety of Christmas morning. Only then did his danger sense spike at the fact.
Things had been that good before Dumbledore arrived.
"Don't you think there's rather a bit more to concern ourselves with right now than Harry's dog?" Berti queried.
"She's not my dog, actually," Harry said in a voice that seemed far-off to his own ears, "She's not even a dog."
Berti's mouth dropped open, but before she could ask, Dumbledore said,
"She's been in close communication with me since the attack on your family, serving as a live link to you, though on your end a bit more… unseen a presence, and now for reasons I better understand." He cast a brief glance toward Berti. "I called to her when I learned of your cousin's death to insure you had not been attacked as well. She's been keeping me up to date on the state of things here while I was at the scene of the crime.
"Harry… I relented to your and Miss Granger's desire for as near a normal Christmas as you could manage, for there was still the possibility that Voldemort would keep to ground while he built up his forces and that you might yet be able to enjoy a relatively trouble-free holiday. I did so want that for you; I know you've sought little else than to be free of the worry. I had counted on Kimmy's presence being enough." The headmaster rested a hand on Harry's tensed shoulder. "I hope you can see now that that can no longer be. Voldemort sent Death Eaters to your aunt and uncle's house for you. Their frustration to find three muggles with no knowledge of your whereabouts… the tragic fate of your cousin aside, his failure to get to you will likely inflame Voldemort further. I have to insist you return to Hogwarts. Well enough professors have stayed over the holiday that you'd be much safer having them near for protection. And I will be there to keep watch."
Harry nodded mutely. Returning to Hogwarts. It made sense. He couldn't expect Dumbledore to let him stay when one of his own family had been killed.
"I'm going back, too," Hermione stated as she stood up.
Dumbledore gave an acknowledging nod. He looked to have expected nothing else from Hermione than to demand to go with Harry.
Harry was still in a daze. His cousin had been killed because of him. He'd never liked the Dursleys, but he'd never wanted them dead. Even when he was really furious at them, when he'd been four years old and crying in his locked cupboard, quietly so no one would hear him and make it worse for him, he'd not gone so far as to wish them killed. Usually, he just wanted to be anywhere but where he was, anywhere but where they were. He wanted to leave them, but leave them alive and as horrid and mean as always. He never wanted to see them lying on the floor with unblinking, lifeless eyes, like Cedric's eyes had been in the graveyard.
Then Harry glanced up at the others in the room. At Hermione, ready to walk out the door right then with him. He loved her for that. Almost as much as he was scared for her. He looked at Jake and Miranda watching with
frightened eyes… frightened for their daughter's safety, but for his, too. He thought he might love them, too, for how they had so selflessly allowed him into their home and lives. He'd been a dangerous target that they'd given a place in their family gatherings and traditions, so close to all that he had dreamed and wished for the whole of his buggered up life. He looked at Berti who was taxing and so apt to embarrass him, but she treated him like she treated Jake and there was a peculiar comfort in that. It struck him then that Berti had been the one who was supportive of him and Hermione being together the fastest, even quicker than Jake and Miranda. It had been veiled in all her japes and jokes and teasing, but there from the start. Strange how that had never really registered until now.
Harry looked at them all, people who had become precious and dear to him, and he couldn't walk out and leave them to luck.
"The Grangers… Gram…," Harry said lowly before he dragged his eyes back to Dumbledore. The older man seemed to know Harry's thoughts, for he gave a small nod. "They'll be taken care of, Harry, I can promise you that."
Harry dropped his eyes to the floor, took a breath to marshal his fortitude, then stepped away from Dumbledore to face Hermione's family. He looked up and met Miranda's eyes first. She looked so terribly worried for him that Harry wanted her to wrap him up in a hug. He had never wanted that from anyone save Hermione before, but at that moment he wanted Miranda to hug him, maybe kiss him on the forehead and run a hand through his hair, too.
Harry straightened. "You should all leave with us." Miranda and Jake took each other's hands.
"What is it, Harry?" Berti asked, for once no tease or taunt in her voice. It made her sound so confident… like Hermione.
"You're in danger. It's a long story… but I can't leave until I know you're going to be safe."
Berti looked still too thrown to put it all together, but Jake spoke for the lot of them. "We'll come with you."
Harry needed strength. He needed to find a grip on sanity before he absolutely flew apart.
Suddenly Hermione was at his side, slipping her hand into his, and he clung to her.
"I suggest you all pack as though for an extended holiday," Dumbledore said
to all present, "and if you find your luggage a bit overburdened I'd be glad to work a bit of minimizing magic. Oh, and Miss Granger, I had Kimmy send your familiar along to the school earlier this morning, anticipating your decision to return with Harry, so don't fret when you can't find him."
Jake and Miranda wordlessly stood and headed for their shared bedroom to pack. After another moment studying Hermione, Berti rose and left the living room to tend to her own preparations.
Harry closed his eyes. He hadn't felt tired for his sleepless night until just then. "Headmaster?" He turned to face Dumbledore. "I need to stop by Gringotts… and I need to see my aunt and uncle."
Hermione's hold on him intensified.
"Are you certain?" Dumbledore asked gravely.
Harry nodded. His aunt and uncle's son died because of him. He didn't know what he would say to them, what he could say, but he couldn't slink away and pretend Dudley wasn't dead.
"Very well."
With reluctance, Harry disentangled his fingers from Hermione's to see to his meager bit of packing… football and all.