Chapter Fifty One
Original Author Notes -
A/N: This chapter is shorter than usual, I realize that, but the scene that came after this one deserved, in my mind, a chapter all its own for the significance of the material it covers. Just to whet your appetites a bit :)
If Berti had any lingering doubts about the existence of magic, and any remaining concerns about the collective sanity of her family members, those issues were put to rest soon after everyone was back in the living room with luggage bulging. Dumbledore produced his wand, gave a quick flick, and all the suitcases and bags shrank to be no larger than a ring box. Berti shrieked at first, regarded her miniaturized baggage with a sharp eye, then looked long and hard at Dumbledore, Harry, and Hermione in turn. She didn't say anything about her first exposure to the reality of magic, and neither did she put up another moment of protest or utter another word of doubt about anything that followed.
And if anything would test a muggle's mettle when faced with the wizarding world for the first time, it would be the events that followed that luggage- shrinking incident. Dumbledore led them to the closet in the bedroom that Hermione had been using during their holiday stay, and without a word he opened the door. Just inside, wearing a gray pin-striped pair of boxers with pin-striped suspenders to match, was Kimmy. She looked somber and closer to her age than Harry or Hermione had ever seen her. Berti balked for the
briefest moment at the sight of the strange creature in her closet.
"That's Kimmy," Hermione whispered to her grandmother, and with a quirk of one eyebrow and a press of her lips Berti took it in stride.
Dumbledore parted the coats in the closet to reveal the small-scale door to Kimmy's portable home never-away-from-home. Another swish of his wand caused the door to enlarge to four times its normal size. After that, it was small matter for the entire group to walk into Kimmy's likewise engorgioed abode. Berti lagged behind by only the smallest degree, but follow she did, without speaking a word.
They had to do a bit of hop-scotching over Britain to get where they needed to be, like travelers with connecting flights. From Kimmy's fireplace they flooed to a public fireplace in Diagon Alley. Berti was a trooper as she trailed after those in her family more familiar with the magic shopping center of sorts. Harry excused himself to accompany Dumbledore alone to the wizarding bank. His errand lasted no more than five minutes, and when he was finished Dumbledore took them all to yet another public fireplace for the next leg of their journey. That floo connected them to a wizard's hearth outside of Surrey. The resident welcomed his fire-born guests warmly, exchanged familiar words with Dumbledore, was gracious to the muggles (enough to make one suspect he was muggle-born), did a double-take when he realized who Harry was, then it was out the front door like a pack of vagabonds, the whole of their belongings stuffed in their pockets.
From there they walked, a strange entourage, though there was no one to witness it. The streets were empty; everyone was inside the houses opening gifts and spending time with their loved ones. It made the multitude of houses the happier on the inside for it, but the streets outside the gloomier. Harry knew these streets; they'd always been bleak and foreboding to him, but today was by far the worst the streets had ever been.
When they reached the single-digit block of Privet Drive Harry sought his aunt and uncle's house. It wasn't hard to spot. From nearly the entire block away Harry could see the damage. There were enormous black scorch marks on the façade. The paint was scorched and burnt. The grass was dead in seemingly random strips and patches, as though a Dementor had frolicked in the lawn and left decay in its wake. On the second floor… Harry paused and Jake nearly ran into him from the back when Harry saw that part of the house was missing. Dudley's bedroom wall was gone, destroyed, torn open and leaving the room within bare like the innards of a mauled deer. The car had been upturned and set on fire. Flames still licked from the windows, though feeble and flailing because everything that could burn had already.
There were wizards and witches everywhere, swarming the place. Probably Aurors, most likely some ministry officials, too.
Harry hadn't been prepared to see the house so devastated. He thought of how immaculately clean Petunia always insisted the house be, and all for what? It was a wreck now. No amount of dusting and vacuuming in the world would put the house to rights. Vernon made such a fuss about the yard, because appearances were all-important and the yard was out there for all to see, and that was ruined, too.
Harry approached the house with the others, in a state of mild shock. He wondered why the muggle police weren't thick as flies around the place… or thick as Aurors, as seemed to be the case. It was obvious from a block away that there had been an act of unbelievable violence in this quiet neighborhood… why wasn't it causing more of an uproar?
As the group got closer, Harry was less certain of the damage he thought he'd noted from the end of the street. A house nearer and he could swear that he'd only imagined the Aurors. In fact… he wasn't entirely certain he was on the right street. He started to look at the other houses on the block, trying to read their numbers to get his bearings, when Dumbledore waved his wand and Harry blinked. There it was, as he'd seen it before. The house in shambles, the yard destroyed, the wizards and witches working over the house like industrious ants scurrying around a shattered mound.
"Confudus charm when you get closer," Dumbledore explained. Harry didn't respond other than to nod dumbly.
When they reached four Privet Drive they walked on to the browned, brittle grass and stepped over gouges in the ground. The Aurors took note of their arrival but only one, presumably the head Auror, approached them. "Dumbledore," he said gravely and then spared a meaningful, intent look at Harry before turning again to Dumbledore, "I hadn't thought you'd bring the boy."
Harry was too far gone, staring at the damage to Dudley's former room up- close, to neither notice nor care that the Auror was talking about him as though he wasn't right there.
"Harry asked to come."
"That isn't wise. You're endangering him by bringing him here."
"Not as much as you believe, I should think. Voldemort will not return when a quarter of the Aurors in the Ministry of Magic are here," Dumbledore replied confidently. For a moment Dumbledore examined the damage to the house. "Have you found anything?"
The Auror looked sidelong at Harry for a few seconds then shook his head and sighed. "Nothing we didn't already know. Nothing that will help us track You Know Who down." The Auror growled under his breath. "After he was defeated the first time we were so sure we'd whittled down the ranks of You Know Who's followers enough to neuter them from posing this kind of threat ever again. We thought it would safeguard against this."
"We all let hope enchant us, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said.
"Where are my aunt and uncle?" Harry asked as he turned from examining the house to address the Auror for the first time.
The Auror regarded Harry seriously then ticked his chin toward the house.
"Inside."
Harry set his eyes on the front door and took a long, deep breath.
Hermione came up beside him and touched his hand. "You don't have to do this, Harry."
Harry's jaw set. He was sure of only one thing right now. "No, I do." Jake placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "We're with you, son."
That gave Harry more courage than he would have predicted. With a pause to steel himself for the worst, he started toward the front door. Without having to look, he could feel all of them following after him. Hermione, Dumbledore, Miranda, Jake, and Berti. Even Berti didn't drop back, utterly baffled and deluged with more new information than she could comfortably process though she was. They all bolstered his resolve with their support.
It carried Harry to the front step.
The door was unlocked. Harry pushed it open and already it was like another reality had shoved into this one in the small space taken up by four Privet Drive. This looked nothing like the house Aunt Petunia kept. It was unfit to be seen. It would reflect badly on the Dursleys to have their home look like this. Debris was everywhere. Glass littered the floor. Burn marks blackened the white banister of the stairs. The carpet was ripped and curled in the corners like wet parchment. The photos on the wall were smashed or
missing or merely black pits. Aurors were here, too, pouring over every inch of the house.
Harry stepped into the foyer and gazed around. His cupboard under the stairs no longer had a door. How many times when he was little had he wished for that? Just as many times as he'd wished the door was ten times thicker, he decided.
Harry walked slowly through the house… what was left of it. It smelled. Of fire and death and fear. Harry knew what each of those smelled like, and the house smelled like each in turn.
Where had Dudley died? Would there be… marks? A bloodstain, a residual image burned on the wallpaper like some victim of a magical Mount Vesuvius? Maybe there hadn't been enough left to salvage for a decent memorial service. Dudley Dursley might be mourned at his funeral using an empty casket.
How had he died? Was it quickly? Somehow, deep in his bones, Harry didn't think so. Dudley was not brave, just cruel. He would have screamed. He would have cried for his mother who could not save him and he would have flailed and maybe that made Harry a monster for being the cause of it.
"I want the lot of you out of my house! You've no right! Your kind are the reason my son's dead!"
Harry's every sense sought out his uncle at the harsh, sudden sound of his voice. He sounded different… he'd never sounded quite like that before. It was more than angry, less than the indomitable monster he'd seemed to a five-year-old undernourished child. More and less, less and more, Vernon and unlike him all at once… like the house around him.
Harry found his aunt and uncle in the kitchen; he needed only follow Vernon's bellows. Vernon and Petunia were both still in pajamas, though smeared with soot and… and blood. That answered some of Harry's questions, though he could have gone just as well without having those particular answers.
Vernon's face was purple and twisted with agony and rage. Petunia was shaking and crying, a frail waif at her husband's side. Her hair was a frightful mess. Her hands were red.
An Auror had been trying to reason with the Dursleys, to no avail, when those arriving with Dumbledore came into the kitchen, Harry at the head of the procession.
"I don't give a damn who you're looking for! GET OUT! I want none of your kind here!"
Petunia, simpering, looked up and her watery gaze fell on Harry. Instantly, her eyes widened and she wailed like a dying beast.
Vernon's eyes snapped to Harry. His expression turned darker violet… and murderous.
Harry swallowed. Where to start? "Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia… I heard… I'm so sorry…"
Without a word, Vernon marched swiftly across the room and unceremoniously punched Harry in the face with his ham-like fist.
Several things happened at once. Harry went down from the blow, because he knew it hurt less to follow inertia when it came to his uncle's 'lessons', taking into consideration Vernon's advantage of size. Harry toppled to the floor with the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. In the same instant, Hermione lunged forward toward the Dursleys, just as Dumbledore caught her, taking special care to keep her hands restrained. Berti audibly gasped. Jake immediately stepped between Vernon and Harry, heedless of the fact that Vernon easily outweighed Jake by seven stones. "Sir! Please, restrain yourself!"
Vernon glared down viciously at Harry, as though unaware of Jake right in front of him blocking his way to Harry. His rage had given him tunnel- vision. "YOU! It's your fault! You killed our Dudley!"
Harry brought up a hand to his mouth and winced when he touched the place where his lip had split. He wiped at the blood trickling down his chin as he looked up at Vernon. "I'm sorry… I didn't want—"
"But you DID! You killed him just as much as they did, you hideous little freak. We took you in, and this is what we get for our trouble? We should have smothered you the moment you turned up on our doorstep, would have saved us so. much. GRIEF! Would have saved Dudley!"
Petunia dropped to her knees crying and rocking to and fro.
"You wouldn't have dared…" Hermione seethed hotly and pulled ineffectually at Dumbledore's restraining hands.
Vernon's fierce gaze snapped over to Hermione. "I nearly did, you bloody little wretch. But Petunia said 'he's my sister's, Vernon, we can't just kill
him'. She thought he might be set straight! Ha!" Vernon turned mad eyes back on Harry. "Would that your life had been traded for Dudley's, you worthless shit!"
Harry slowly got to his feet and presently stood facing his furious uncle, Jake still standing firmly between them. Harry wiped a streak of blood off on the back of his hand and glanced at the stain. With abnormal calm, Harry looked his uncle square in the eye and said simply, "That's the last time you do that, Uncle Vernon."
"You're damn right it is! I never want to see you near us again! Consider yourself homeless, and good riddance; you've been filth in this house from day one! I hope the people who did this find you. I hope you pay for what you've done to our family!"
From behind him arms were tugging at Harry lovingly, drawing him into a protective hold. Miranda. Harry went without a fight. Jake risked taking his eyes off Vernon to glance toward Harry, checking on him in his stretch of silence.
Vernon spat caustically at Jake and Miranda, "You'll get the same if you associate with this freak of nature. He's a curse. You're bloody more than welcome to him. Now get him out of my house!" With that, Vernon whirled around and returned to his wife's side.
Miranda's arms held Harry tighter, and Harry was worried if she kept doing that he might do something frail. Like cry. He couldn't do that. His threadbare control was all he had, all the Dursleys had left him in the last five minutes. Harry couldn't show his aunt and uncle such weakness. He couldn't be the pathetic little boy they always professed him to be. If he broke, he'd become that; he'd make them right. He couldn't let it happen. It was ingrained; he never let them see him in pain.
Harry struggled in Miranda's hold.
"Shhh… honey," Miranda said gently, "it's all right."
But it wasn't. Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and pulled himself from Miranda's safe, motherly arms. His voice was on the cusp of broken even to his own ears. "Don't. I… I need a couple minutes. I have to get out of here."
Dumbledore, still holding on to Hermione (for she still looked fit to throw a few hexes at the Dursleys), said gravely, "Harry… you can't go far. You can't leave the premises. It's too dangerous."
Harry was about to hit the point of frantic. "I… fine, I won't, I just… I need to go." Anywhere but this house, anyplace away from Vernon and Petunia.
At that Dumbledore gave a wordless, understanding nod, and Harry pushed past the Grangers, past Gram, past the Aurors, and out of the wrecked house of his tormented childhood. It had been a place of darkness before, but now the blackness was suffocating. It was stained with death, and for all Vernon's ranting he was right about one thing… it was because of Harry that Dudley was dead.
Chapter Fifty Two
Original Author Notes -
A/N: This author's note will not apply to many of you. A great many of you are wonderful, delightful readers and the reason I am able to enjoy sharing my fics with fellow fans. This author's note is not for you, so take no heed to what follows. For the rest…
very angry MissAnnThropic* I can put up with all manner of readers pointing out female lions don't have manes because you didn't read the initial transformation scene closely enough, or the continual reminders that Harry has green eyes because you couldn't bother to read my numerous author's notes addressing that very detail. I can ignore all that. But I have to say that you've finally made me see red, and I'm sorry that it's come to that.
Understand that I am not beholden unto any updating schedule. I thought I was being generous to delay the start of posting this story until I was so far into the writing of it so you might enjoy frequent updates. But I am under no obligation to rigidly adhere to an every-other-day updating schedule. I have because I chose to, but I don't have to. I could update once a month or once every three months like a great number of fanfic authors if I wanted to. Yet there's a five day gap and I catch flak.
This chapter should have been a highlight moment for me, as the writer, to see the readers finally get to read. Instead, I'm bitter. I've suffered much in silence concerning VC, but this latest snafu was more than I could quietly chew.
To those of you who have been fantastic, patient, and understanding, I'm sorry that you even had to see the preceding ugliness. Rest assured you were not the target of my displeasure in any way. Amid my fury, I went ahead with posting this chapter for your sakes. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Hermione felt very much like the proverbial caged lion as she paced a patch of blackened grass just in front of four Privet Drive. Her family was close by, Dumbledore was talking to the head Auror again, and the other Aurors were still examining every inch of the muggle home for clues. At the edge of the Dursleys' property line, practically in the street, was Harry. It was the farthest he could go in his need to escape without being too far to be safe.
In deference to his wishes, everyone was keeping well away from him. He was standing perfectly still, his back to the house, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.
He could not have been standing there for more than ten minutes, but to Hermione it felt like hours.
She'd heard Harry say he needed a couple of minutes, her mother had insisted Hermione respect that, but everything in her screamed for her to go to him. He was hurting. She had to help him, it wasn't a matter of want or desire, she had to. It was as inarguable as the sun rising in the east.
Hermione paced more furiously. She couldn't stay still. When she passed near her mother, Miranda reached out and touched her shoulder. "Hermione… please, sweetie, calm down."
"How can I?" Hermione retorted, lowly enough that her voice wouldn't carry to where Harry stood across the yard. He was probably making an effort not to notice anything going on at the house, anyway. "Did you hear what that horrible man said to him?"
Miranda frowned. "He was upset; he just lost his son." Miranda tried to tug Hermione closer but Hermione felt she might go stark raving mad if she was confined. She shied from the invitation for comfort, shrugged off her mother's hand, and stood a pace away. Miranda's expression became troubled by that, but she didn't speak to it. Instead what she did say was, "You know that Mister Dursley was wrong about Harry no longer having a home, don't you?"
Hermione gave a tight smile. "I know, Mum." Hermione glanced toward Harry forlornly. "I don't know if Harry knows."
The sight of Harry alone and aching set Hermione to pacing again.
Dumbledore rejoined the Grangers after speaking a bit longer with the Auror in charge. Hermione whirled to face the headmaster, expectant and impatient. Hermione could see the worried look on her mother's face as she watched her daughter. Hermione couldn't make her mother understand the restless necessity in her blood. Didn't they realize she needed to go to Harry?
Apparently, Dumbledore alone did. He studied Hermione a moment then said, "Miss Granger… contrary to Harry's earlier demands to be alone, I believe he would benefit greatly from your presence."
Hermione didn't have to be told twice. She turned at once and started across the yard toward her boyfriend. The knot of manic energy in her chest began to uncoil the closer she got to him.
Her steps slowed when she was less than five feet from him. He was standing so still he might have been made of stone or perhaps under the effects of the petrificus totalus. "Harry?" she ventured.
Harry didn't move at her voice but Hermione could sense he would have invited her to his side if he had bothered to talk. She came up beside him and looked up into his face searchingly. Harry was staring down the street with unfocused eyes, lost inside himself. There was a tension in his jaw and a tightness in the skin around his eyes that betrayed his anguish.
Hermione carefully curled her hand around his crooked elbow.
"Mione," he croaked, and Hermione leaned closer. Harry's lips moved soundlessly a moment, then he blinked and turned his head to look at her. The wind ruffled his dark hair as he faced her. There was something powerfully raw in his gaze that took Hermione's breath away. She didn't know what it meant but it reached into her very core.
Harry stared intently at her face, into her eyes, then he said, "I never thanked you."
She didn't really know what to make of that; fair to say it was not what she'd been expecting him to say in that moment. "For what?"
Harry slipped his hand from his pocket to wrap his fingers around her wrist, his fingertips on her pulse point. Not quite holding her hand, but holding on to her just the same. He looked straight at her; he may as well have been looking straight into her for the intensity of his eyes. And when he spoke,
there was a powerful frankness to his voice. "For what you did the night Cedric died."
Hermione's lungs seemed to stop working in a breathless second. Her heart began beating wildly. A tight flutter hit her in the bottom of her stomach and raced between her legs. Her knees threatened to shake for a fleeting moment. Her thoughts returned to that night, that unspoken night, when she had given Harry the most precious treasure she had ever possessed.
She'd accepted it as an extreme act of love for a desperate friend. She had not permitted herself to think on it beyond that. Harry had seemed to agree to the unspoken vow to let it be just what it had been, a supreme act of caring from a friend in a dire moment, because neither of them had ever broached the subject. Hermione was okay with that. Harry was all right, and that was all she'd asked of that night's events.
But now, in his eyes… it wasn't a nameless form anymore. He wasn't leaving it at that night, an incredible moment in time that had simply come and gone. He was making it their now.
Hermione felt immense, intense emotions threatening to drag her under. A part of her wanted so very much to drown. Instead she reached up and touched Harry's face… in much the way she'd touched him in bed that fateful night. "You never have to thank me for that, Harry," she whispered earnestly.
Harry shook his head. "I should never stop thanking you. Hermione, if you hadn't… if you hadn't been there… if you hadn't been with me…" he brought up both hands to rest them on either side of her slender neck, thumbs tracing her jaw line. He looked deeply into her eyes so she might see the truth, and what a profound truth it was. It rendered Hermione breathless; she couldn't even think for being lost in Harry's burning, direct gaze. "Without you, I honestly think I may have gone mad." Then the intensity in his eyes shifted, went from fierce conviction to blinding adoration, and he said in a soft voice, "I love you."
Hermione closed her eyes in unmitigated joy. She had, of course, known Harry loved her. But he'd never said the words. He didn't trust himself to believe he could love the right way, not enough to be permitted to say it. It made Hermione ache inside, but she knew that he didn't believe he deserved the very thing most children took as a birthright, knowing love, any more than he could once have fathomed being loved. He knew his parents had loved him, but it was like knowing he'd be a fraction of his weight if he were standing on the moon; it was a truth he could know intellectually but couldn't conceptualize emotionally. And for all that, he wouldn't blaspheme the idea
of love by saying it; Hermione knew that he didn't think he'd earned it. There were rites of passage he was waiting on before he dared to tell anyone that he, Harry Potter, loved them. Even with her. He had trials to overcome to prove to himself that he was worthy of telling Hermione that he loved her.
She'd never pushed him for a proclamation; it would have been pointless and caused Harry unnecessary anxiety. If he couldn't say the word she wouldn't force it out of him. It was just a word. She'd had other ways of knowing.
Hermione went on faith in his touch and his kiss and his smile to believe he loved her in the absence of those three words. But to hear them… it was a missing piece of the puzzle of her heart. It would seem that if Harry had imagined tests to his right to claim to love someone, he'd passed them.
Hermione opened her eyes and gazed up at him. "I love you, too."
For a moment they stayed like that, staring into each other's eyes and basking in the aftermath of their proclamations. For that moment, the mangled house and mangled family so near was forgotten.
It was Harry who broke the perfect stillness first. "I… I have one of your Christmas presents." He removed one hand from her person to reach into his pocket and pull out a small box. "You never got to open it… here." He held it out to her.
Puzzled but curious, Hermione took the brightly wrapped gift, looked up questioningly into Harry's eyes, then proceeded to tear off the Christmas paper. The first thing she noticed about the box was the engraved seal of Gringotts Wizard Bank on the front. Even more perplexed than before, Hermione opened the box to see what was inside.
It was a gold medallion, linked to a chain so it might be worn like a necklace. It was the size of the silver dollar Uncle Ben had sent her once when she'd asked about American money. This coin, however, was pure gold. Hermione looked at it closer. Written around the circumference, encircling the more ornate version of the Gringotts emblem that was on the front of the box, was goblin script. All witches and wizards could read some goblin, as it was the language of their currency, but the characters on the medallion weren't those typically used on wizard money. It required Hermione to study them more closely than she would have the writing on regular wizard money.
Hermione slowly put together some of the key words on the medallion, and when it clicked what she was looking at she gasped. It was a Full Rights Vault Granting medallion. It deemed all of Harry's fortune equally hers. It was the wizarding world's equivalent of the muggle practice of putting her name on the account.
"Harry…" she began only to find herself quite speechless.
Harry gave her a nervous smile. "I want to know that if anything… if anything happens to me you'll be taken care of. You can do whatever you want with the money, it makes no difference to me. I trust you."
It could be all the gold in Britain or a pence, that didn't matter to Hermione. What did matter was a rather significant legal detail concerning the medallion. The particular medallion Harry had given her granted another person complete rights to a wizard or witch's vault on the basis of that individual being the original vault-holder's spouse. It was a tradition from ages past; goblins were very stubborn to change their ways. In no other area of wizard law would it be binding, but in wizard banking law…
Did Harry even realize what he'd done? Hermione didn't know that he did; Harry was still very much a babe in the woods when it came to so many things in the wizarding world. He may very well have given her the medallion with no knowledge of what it would mean in goblin legal terms, beyond giving her access to his wealth.
"Harry… when you got this for me, did the goblin who gave it to you explain what it is? Do you… do you understand what it means in Gringott law?"
Harry looked directly at her and nodded.
Hermione gaped. Her heart was pounding almost too hard to bear.
"It doesn't… if you never want it to go beyond banking law, I… I understand. But I… when we're old enough… I want to marry you."
For a few second she could only stare openly at him, dumbstruck.
When it sank in, Hermione wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him senseless. Instead she slipped her free hand inside his open jacket and rested her palm and splayed her fingers on his chest (she could feel his heart pounding almost as hard as hers) and stood on her toes to kiss him on the mouth, feather-soft, mindful of the cut on his lip.
Of course, in the back of her mind, she'd known they would get married one day. They'd already agreed to children; it only made sense. But she never would have expected Harry to propose so soon, when they were still so young. But it didn't change the answer, whether he asked today or five years from now.
Hermione looked up into Harry's face, gripped the goblin medallion tighter in her hand, and said lowly, "You better not die on me, Harry. I won't be your widow before I've even married you."
Harry's expression flickered with uncertainty a moment. "Does that mean that you will marry me?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes."
Harry broke into a huge grin. It pulled at the edges of his cut and he started to bleed again, but he didn't seem to notice nor care. He bent down and scooped her up in a hug that lifted her off her feet. Hermione clutched at him tightly. She wanted to scream for sheer happiness. Instead she clenched her eyes shut so she wouldn't see the burned and broken house or the dead grass or the skeleton of the Dursleys' car. She wanted to limit her awareness to only Harry.
"I shouldn't be this happy," Harry muttered into her hair, as though musing aloud to himself at an unexplainable phenomenon. Hermione ached because she knew he was sincere… he couldn't think himself deserving of normal happiness. Or maybe he meant he shouldn't experience anything good so soon and so near to the tragedy of his cousin's death. The death of the cousin who had tormented him and hated him and certainly never loved him. No more than Harry's aunt and uncle ever cared about him. Hermione wanted to feel sorry for them, but she just couldn't. Her heart wasn't that big, there wasn't room for her to find any compassion for people who had treated the person she loved so horribly. The love she felt for Harry was too much, it pressed at the confines of her heart, leaving no space for the Dursleys.
In silent response to his doubts, Hermione raked the fingers of her free hand through his black hair. She tried to imagine doing it for the rest of her life.
She liked that notion very much. Voldemort had to die, because Hermione wasn't about to give up her future, this wondrous future with Harry.
Finally, Harry put her down and Hermione stepped back to look up at his face. He was flushed, his mouth was bleeding, but he looked completely different from the young man who'd fled his aunt and uncle's house less than an hour ago. She contemplated the fact that she was looking at her future husband and it astounded her even as it made her giddy.
How long would it take her to get used to going by Hermione Potter, she wondered? There would be time enough to find out. There would be… Hermione wouldn't stand for Voldemort or his followers to deny her that.
"I expect I'll need to activate this," Hermione said with a look down at the gold medallion, their personal engagement promise.
Harry nodded. "Just your magical imprint will 'sign the deed', to use a muggle term."
Hermione nodded and put it in her pocket. It would have to wait until they were back at Hogwarts and she could use magic. When she looked up she turned to glance at her parents, grandmother, and Dumbledore. They were all waiting. Much as she loathed to end this moment, she didn't want to linger at this house any longer than necessary, either. It was well past time that Harry left this part of his life behind forever.
"It's time to go," she said gently to Harry.
Harry sighed, much of the glee in his face chased away by the reality waiting beyond the two of them, but he gave a confident nod and took her hand.
Together, they started back across the yard to where their friends and family waited.
As they drew near them, Hermione could see the looks on her parents' and grandmother's faces. It was all too knowing. Hermione could only imagine what her and Harry's exchange had looked like from a distance. They would have seen it in muggle terms, and for once it would have been as equally accurate as the wizard interpretation, if not quite precise in the finer details. And the best part was the fact that the expressions on her family's faces were accepting and maybe, outside of this terrible place and the terrible things that had happened here, they might have been happy. Miranda was smiling, eyes moist but not releasing tears. Jake was looking at Harry with something undeniably approving in his face. Berti's eyes were bright without a trace of flippancy or displeasure as she looked back and forth between the two. For their voiceless approval, for their acceptance of Harry even in this testing hour, she could never thank them enough, nor love them enough.
When they had rejoined the group Harry looked to Dumbledore. "My aunt and uncle made it pretty clear they don't want us here anymore. I think we should leave them be."
Dumbledore nodded.
Harry dug into the pocket of his jeans with his free hand and came out with a tiny version of a physician's type bag. Harry held it out toward Dumbledore. "Would you mind, sir?"
"Not at all." Dumbledore waved his wand and the bag returned to its normal proportions, bulging at the sides and suddenly much heavier than it had been before. Harry had to let go of Hermione's hand to heft the leather bag with both hands. He carried it to Jake and handed it to him. "Here. This is to make sure you and Miranda and Berti can hole up somewhere safe."
Jake opened the bag while Miranda leaned in to have a look. When they saw the contents they both gaped. The bag was full of money. It was well enough money to support all of them comfortably for at least a year without any of them working a single day.
"Harry! This is too much. We can't take this," Miranda protested at once.
"Please, just take it. I can't stand the thought of any of you getting hurt because of me. And if it takes more than that," he gestured at the bag in Jake's hand, "to make sure you're all safe, I'll pay it. Twice over, if need be."
"Son…" Jake started to say with a faint shake of his head, but Harry interrupted him. "Don't worry about the money. That's not even a quarter of my inheritance, you won't break me, and it's just money. It's never been more than a reminder to me. I don't care about money, but I care about you three not being in danger, or ending up like Dudley, just for being important to me."
"We'll take this for now," Jake said solemnly, "on the understanding that you have to take back whatever we return to you when this is all over."
Harry sighed but relented, for it meant the Grangers would be taking it. It would be there if they needed it.
"Where are we to go?" Miranda asked, naturally turning to look at Dumbledore.
"Harry and Hermione, of course, will be going back to Hogwarts with me. I've made arrangements for the three of you. The less we involve ministry workers in this endeavor the better. You'll floo from Tomlin's house, that's the wizard we met earlier today when we flooed to Surrey, to Remus Lupin's. He'll be expecting you." Dumbledore glanced at Hermione meaningfully. "I take it you trust Remus to adequately see to the safety of your family?"
Hermione conferred silently with Harry then nodded.
"Do you really think we can up and disappear like this? What about all our obligations and commitments? What about Jake and Miranda's dental practice? What about my husband's horse?" Berti asked.
"I will see to it that everything is tended to. We can place substitute dentists, witches and wizards, of course, in the Grangers' place of business to maintain their clientele until they're in a position to return to work. And your husband's horse will be similarly cared for in your absence, have no fear on that count, Missus Richardson." Dumbledore regarded the state of their surroundings in thought. "We should be going now, I should think."
Hermione squeezed Harry's hand but said nothing as they fell in behind Dumbledore for the return trek.
The walk back to Tomlin's house was quiet. Everyone was caught up in their own thoughts, their own fears, their own speculations about what the future would hold. The wizard who owned the house with the nearest floo was not home when they got there, but the door opened for Dumbledore and he took them inside just the same. At the fireplace he reached into an urn placed on the mantel, threw the handful of powder into the flames, and focused intently on the sudden surge of green fire. Then he turned to those congregated behind him. He directed his next words to Jake, Miranda, and Berti specifically. "This will take you straight to Remus Lupin's residence. As I said, he's expecting you and he'll make sure you get to where you're going without running into any trouble. He's an old student of mine and a good friend of Harry's. There are no questions as to his loyalty. I've no doubt you'll find him quite agreeable."
Then it was time for goodbyes. Miranda folded Hermione up in a hug first, then placed a kiss on her forehead and smoothed her hands over the young woman's hair.
"Be careful, Mum," Hermione said thickly.
"You be careful," Miranda returned, and then she reached over to embrace Harry, "both of you."
Harry hugged Miranda back tightly. "We will be." While Miranda kissed Harry on the forehead Hermione was hugging her father. With a parting brush at his hair with her hand, Miranda sent Harry to bid farewell to Jake. Hermione was just saying her goodbyes to Berti.
The two men hugged briefly, just long enough for Jake to say, "Look after my daughter, Harry."
"I promise." With every fiber of his being, he promised.
When Harry was faced with Berti he frowned. "Gram… I'm so sorry to drag
you into this…"
Berti pulled him into a hug to which Harry quickly relented, because there was never any arguing with Berti. "Don't be silly, dear, family doesn't turn its back on their own. And you'll just have to accept that that unfortunate, unsavory couple back there was not your family. Not anymore."
At that moment, Harry would have been hard-pressed to remember why he didn't used to like Hermione's grandmother much. He loved her now, much in the way he loved Miranda and Jake.
When all their goodbyes were said, Dumbledore gestured meaningfully at the dancing green fire. Jake picked up the bag of money off the floor and approached the flames first. He hesitated. "I don't know how you magical lot get used to this," he muttered.
"You don't," Harry said, with a hint of humor, from his place at Hermione's side. "I hate flooing."
Jake laughed. "Ha! Well, like an adhesive bandage I suppose," and with that he hunkered down as though heading into a stiff wind and rushed into the fireplace. The fire belched and flared and then Jake was gone.
Miranda went next.
When it was Berti's turn Dumbledore stepped forward, "Would you rather I accompany you, madam?"
Berti waved him off from helping her and instead turned to gesture toward Harry and Hermione pointedly."I want you to keep these two safe and sound or you'll answer to me, wizard or no."
Dumbledore smiled. "You've sufficiently intimidated me; I'd be terrified to do anything less than what you command."
Berti grunted and eyed Dumbledore critically. "Might be you wizards aren't a bad lot, if the two I've met are any indication." Then, with an admirable aplomb for a woman so completely out of her comfort zone, she marched into the fire and disappeared. The fire flickered and changed back to orange and yellow.
Harry's shoulders sagged once the Grangers were gone, as though some part of his courage had gone through the fire with them. Hermione took his hand and leaned into his side to offer him her support.
Dumbledore repeated the process of activating the floo and when all was ready he turned to his two students. Without needing to be prodded, they both approached the emerald flames. Within a matter of minutes, Tomlin's house was empty and the fire sputtering in normal colors.
Chapter Fifty Three
Original Author Notes -
A/N: Wow! For all the animosity I was feeling toward a handful of reviewers in Chapter 51, it has been replaced in spades with awed gratitude toward a multitude of reviewers. I didn't expect the deluge of support and positive comments from all of you after reading how aggravated I was. It's safe to say I was blown away. I'm amazed and deeply moved. Thank all of you very, very much for the overwhelming support. And to those of you who apologized, apology accepted.
The floo from Tomlin's house spit them out in Headmaster Dumbledore's office. Fawkes gave a squawk at their arrival and a few of the portraits craned to see who had come through the fireplace, but otherwise the room was calm and quiet. It was a stark contrast to the scene they'd found at the Dursleys'.
After brushing off his robes, Dumbledore turned to the two teenagers. They were standing uncertainly, side by side. Dumbledore's eyes lingered longer on Harry than they did on Hermione."I think you would be well served to go to the hospital wing and have that cut on your lip tended, Harry. I'm not as adept at the healing arts as Madam Pomfrey."
Harry touched the tip of his tongue to the open wound and gave a weary nod. "All right."
"Come on, Harry," Hermione whispered softly and tugged Harry toward the door. Harry let himself be led. When it was Hermione taking him by the hand, it was easy.
They didn't see anyone in the hallways on their trek to the hospital wing, and when they pushed open the doors to the school infirmary Madam Pomfrey seemed to startle at having visitors. She turned and saw Harry's face. "Well, for Merlin's sake, Mister Potter, one would think you could manage to keep out of my care while you're not even at school. Come on, over here." The mediwitch beckoned him toward a bed so she might examine him. Hermione followed, staying close.
Pomfrey squinted at Harry's split lip once Harry had taken a seat on the bed and she tisked. "Nasty bit of work. Stay there and don't touch it." She left her patient's bedside to fetch a bottle of viscous green potion, which she proceeded to dab on Harry's cut.
"That stings," Harry hissed.
"Mmm hmm," Pomfrey merely hummed back in her usual officious manner. Then her demeanor softened visibly. "I heard about your cousin. I'm sorry."
It was doubtful that she knew how many split lips dear old Dudley had given Harry through the years before he had a mediwitch to patch him up, but that was neither here nor there as far as Harry was concerned. It still served to bring back the vivid memories of the Dursleys' house blown full of holes and bearing burn marks from cast spells.
Harry frowned and sat still the rest of the visit. He didn't want to chance any conversation that might cause Pomfrey to bring up Dudley again.
When Madam Pomfrey discharged Harry, injury cleaned, set to healing, and generously smeared with medical potion, he surrendered to Hermione's guidance and compliantly followed her, trusting in her to take him somewhere safe where he could let down the remainder of his splintered guard.
Hermione led them to Gryffindor tower.
There was no one in the common room when they stepped through the portrait hole. The fireplace was out and cold, but upon their entrance a flame leapt to life on the logs and quicker than any muggle fireplace would take to fire it was soon burning steadily, inviting and warm. It clearly appeared to warm only them.
"Did anyone stay over at Hogwarts for Christmas?" Harry wondered aloud at the deserted common room.
"I'm sure some did. I imagine they must be outside playing in the snow."
It sounded obscene to think of games in the snow when they'd just been at the scene of a murder. It didn't fit the frame. Harry gave up trying to sort it out.
Hermione dropped his hand for the first time since leaving the hospital wing to dig into her jacket pockets and withdraw her shrunken luggage."Go ahead and get settled in and I'll meet you back here."
Harry nodded and trudged up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. The five beds were all equally untouched, no hint of errant socks or hastily shed pajamas on the floor. Harry took a fair guess that none of his roommates were at Hogwarts over the Christmas holiday. It was both a relief and a let-down.
He didn't particularly want Seamus cracking lewd jokes or Dean fretting over the state of the common space, but so many empty beds arrayed around him made it seem eerily like the rightful occupants were deceased. And it would imply heavy losses for all the other boys to be dead.
Harry concluded he was thinking too much about death.
He crossed to his bed and took his own luggage from his pockets. He took out his wand to reinstate their normal sizes, then he began to shove things back into some semblance of their proper place. He noticed his clothes smelled like smoke, and he paused in his straightening up task to change into clean clothes. He kicked his ash-scented items aside and resumed his efforts to put away his luggage. It struck him as he haphazardly put away his belongings that the entirety of his worldly possessions were in this room.
Whatever he might have left at the Dursleys' he would not go back for. They'd probably burn anything he left behind for the satisfaction of searing him from their lives before he would have had a chance to go back, anyway. All he saw before him was the whole of what he could call his own. It was a pithy amount of things to show for a life.
That thought exhausted him and he stopped his unpacking to sit down heavily on his bed. He was motionless for a time, mind a void, too inundated to feel anything concrete, then he happened to glance up at his nightstand.
Some of the gloominess in him melted away when he laid eyes upon the framed wizard picture of him and Hermione at the Yule Ball last year. He still had that. He had his parents' photo album in his trunk, safe and undamaged. He had his father's invisibility cloak, he had his Firebolt. He
had everything that was of real value to him, everything important.
And Hermione was waiting for him downstairs, or would be shortly if she wasn't already. Harry breathed in and sat up straighter at the thought. He wouldn't spare another thought for anything he may have lost; he still had the most precious thing in the world to him.
He wanted to be with her again, the compulsion rose in him and he didn't bother fighting it. Leaving his unpacking half-done, Harry rose from his bed and left the dorm room. He breathed a sigh of relief, of reprieve, to find Hermione sitting cross-legged on the couch waiting for him. She, too, had changed into different jeans and a clean shirt. Maybe she'd smelled the aftershave of death on her clothes, too.
Hermione turned to look at him when he came downstairs and she smiled, kind and offering so much peace to his troubled mind.
Harry crossed the room and joined her on the couch, all but falling back on the cushions next to her. Hermione at once curled into his side and it made things quite a bit better.
"Are any of your roommates here for the Christmas holiday?" she asked.
Harry, his head thrown back and resting on the back of the couch, rolled his head from side to side in a shake. "No. Yours?"
"I think Lavender might be here, I saw her robe out, but it looks like everyone else is gone. Is it always this empty at Christmas?"
Of course, Harry had spent Christmas at the school before. He could tell her.
"Pretty much. No one would be here if they have somewhere to go."
Hermione silently mulled that over a moment then rested her head on his shoulder. She snuggled into his side like Crookshanks settling in for a nap in a window sill. "For a while, it was a perfect Christmas."
Harry lifted his head to lay his check against the top of her head. He looped his arm around her back and held her closer… for her sake and for his. "Yeah, it was." For a while, it had been the most amazing Christmas of his entire life.
Just then, Hermione pulled away from Harry's hold. Harry let her go, faintly disappointed, and watched to see what had made her move. Hermione sat up, reached over to the couch space behind her, and retrieved the Gringotts
box with the medallion inside. She must have brought it back down with her when she came back to the common room after unpacking her things. She opened the box and pulled out the medallion, the chain dangling from her hand as she palmed the gold disk. She set aside the box and used her newly freed hand to draw her wand. She concentrated, gave her wand a swish over the medallion, whispered, "identum," and tapped the precious metal with the tip of her wand. There was a momentary golden glow that etched yellow light into the markings of the goblin script, then the medallion returned to looking as it always had. Except now a fidelus charm would reveal that it was active. Hermione could walk into Gringotts tomorrow without him and she could access the Potter family vault as easily as he did.
Harry watched Hermione intently with a tightness in his chest and a lump in his throat.
Hermione put away her wand, then proceeded to affix the medallion around her neck. It came to rest between her breasts, a golden vow given on a black day. Hermione traced her fingers over the finely-etched lettering of the goblin language, then she glanced up at Harry through her eyelashes."We'll have more Christmases, Harry. Perfect ones."
Harry hoped she was right. He reached out a hand and touched the medallion lightly, as reverently as he might touch her body beyond the gold and cloth. Hermione smiled and tucked the medallion into her clothes and against her skin.
"Are you hungry?" Hermione asked. "It's probably close to dinnertime." "Not really."
Hermione studied him with a worried crinkle on her brow."You haven't eaten all day."
"Neither have you. Are you hungry?"
Hermione paused to consider his question then she looked bemused by the answer. "Not really." Hermione pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at Harry, then sighed. "All right, then I won't pester you to eat, but you really should get some sleep, Harry. I know you haven't slept since the night before last."
That idea actually sounded tempting. He was exhausted, and there was an appeal to the promise of ending this day. But he didn't want to part from her. She was the only thing that seemed to offer him any comfort; she alone kept this day from being yet another ugly scar in his life. He didn't want to
go back to that depressingly empty dorm room without her.
"Will you come to bed with me?" he asked as he looked hopefully at her.
Hermione blinked once, and that was all the time it took for her to make up her mind. With a small smile, she grabbed his hand, stood, and pulled him after her. Harry went without hesitation.
Hermione led him up the stairs to the boys' dorm and opened the door to the empty room. At Harry's bed she let go of his hand and started to rifle through his unlatched trunk. Harry didn't ask what she was looking for and neither did he protest her search; he didn't mind her pawing through his things. He ducked in past her shoulder to snatch a set of pajamas when Hermione dug past them and he moved out of the way to the far end of his bed. There he proceeded to change for bed, his back considerately turned to Hermione, while she continued to search through his possessions.
When Harry turned back around, dressed for bed, he paused when he saw Hermione standing on the other side of his bed wearing his Quidditch shirt. It was a size too large and went down to nearly mid-thigh on her, but that still left plenty about the sight of her for Harry to appreciate. She'd shucked her pants while he'd been turned away and his brain hitched a fraction of a second on her slim, naked legs. She looked positively irresistible in the maroon and gold shirt, and it stirred wild things in him to know that, right then, she had 'POTTER' emblazoned across her back.
Hermione gave a bashful smile and plucked at the sleeve. "Is it all right if I borrow this?"
"It's all right if you keep that," Harry answered on reflex.
Hermione chuckled. "Careful or I'll be apt to take you up on that." Hermione turned down the comforter on Harry's bed and crawled in. She nestled down, got comfortable, and looked up at him where he continued to stand watching her. "Come to bed, Harry," she beckoned in an angel-sweet voice.
Dumbly, Harry crawled in with her. He'd barely had a chance to get situated when Hermione curled against his side and wrapped up in him, her arm around his waist, one leg tangled with his, her head on his shoulder. When she pressed against him, he could tell that she wasn't wearing a bra… but she was wearing the medallion. Harry let his eyes drift shut, the nearest to perfectly content that he could ever imagine being.
For whatever mental reason, Hermione thought he was worth marrying. If he didn't screw up, he could have this every night for the rest of his life.
He'd move the earth to have that, so it seemed, for a moment, a small thing to kill just one wizard.
Just one wizard for Hermione in his bed, draped over him and sighing into his shoulder, for years and years to come. Just one wizard…
In a matter of minutes, Harry was asleep, with Hermione not far behind.
She was sunning on the savannah, the sun soaking wonderfully into her bones, heating her blood, gilding her mane and setting the horizon to dancing. She was lying in the grass, tawny as her coat. She could smell the sweet scent of the earth, the tree over her shoulder, the gazelles in the distance. They lived by her clemency. Her power was sure, uncontested, a part of her every cell. She could not be anything but a weapon even at rest, dangerous even in repose.
She was a queen of the grasslands. And she was not alone.
She looked over her shoulder, into the squat tree, where her blue-eyed panther stretched across the lowest limb. He turned his head to her. Hers, that black master of the jungle. But he was in her realm now.
She stood and went to him. The branch he'd chosen for a resting place was low… she might not be the climber he was, but she could reach him easily enough. He watched her, interested and alert, as she jumped up to join him. His gaze was intense, his presence intoxicating.
She sat wedged in the crotch of the tree, she laid down like he did, straddling the branch. She crowded his back end; he didn't move to give her more room. She didn't want him to. She rested her head on his haunches and thrilled in having him all around her.
His body was warm beneath her… not as warm as the sun but just as hot to her blood. His scent was thick, right there, suffusing her. She did so covet his smell. He was living and solid and glorious under her.
"I can't figure how they got away with this," a familiar male voice carried to her ears, distant but growing clearer.
"They're so cute together." A female. Familiar, too. Growing even more familiar by the second. Hermione wanted to tune them out, but consciousness was creeping back to her in their exchange.
"We should do something about this, don't you think?"
"If you wake them, Ron, I swear you'll be hexed cross-eyed for a week."
"Didn't I tell you to stop spending time with that wanker? He's a real rotten influence on you."
"Seamus is not a wanker. Keep your voice down."
Hermione knew them now. Ron and Ginny. They were in the room, somewhere nearby. They were trying to be quiet, but 'quiet' and 'Weasley' had never been concepts on friendly terms.
While they bickered, Hermione became aware of her physical surroundings. She was in bed, though technically half of her mattress was Harry. He was lying on his stomach and she was very nearly lying right on top of him. She had pillowed her head between his shoulder blades, her torso favoring him to bear her weight more than the bed itself. Her right arm was thrown over the far side of his body in a veritable sprawl. She was rising and falling gently with Harry's breathing. Hermione had never had a better pillow. The thin material of Harry's pajama shirt allowed her to feel his body heat on every inch that they touched; it allowed her to smell him where he lay just beneath her nose.
It was such a great way to wake up that for a while she didn't recall why they were in a Hogwarts bed where Ron and Ginny could argue over them when they should have been at Berti's, or at least her parents'.
"Honestly, Ginny, we ought to… I mean, look! Her hair's all over his face. You know that's got to be driving him mad."
"Yeah, he looks really put out," Ginny retorted sarcastically.
"Well, all right, I'll give you he doesn't much look like a bloke who had his cousin killed yesterday."
Hermione's happy morning came crashing down. She remembered yesterday in a rush. Dudley Dursley being murdered by Death Eaters, the interruption of their perfect Christmas morning by Dumbledore bringing them the news, her parents and grandmother going into hiding. Without thinking, she curled the loose arm she had draped over Harry to hug him barely to her like a child might clutch a teddy bear.
"Awww," Ginny cooed.
"Gack. And she nicked his Quidditch shirt, too. That's just not right."
"And you're about as romantic as a kidney pie fart in the middle of a candle- lit dinner. Let's go down to the common room."
"And just leave them like this?"
"I swear, Ron, if you wake them, I'll—"
Hermione opened her eyes at last and looked over at her friends. They were both wearing new knit sweaters with the first letter of their names on the front (rather to say Ginny's had a 'G' on the front; Ron was standing slightly offset so Hermione couldn't see the front of his, but she'd bet anything that Ron's had a matching 'R'). Ginny was standing in a position to see Hermione first, and she never finished whatever threat she'd intended to make to her brother when she saw Hermione's eyes open. When Ron turned his head to see what had tripped his sister Hermione whispered, "If you wake Harry I'll hex you bald."
"Hermione…" Ron turned fully to address Hermione, though he looked distinctly uncomfortable as she continued to lie sprawled over Harry's sleeping form. "Uh… we heard—"
Hermione gingerly moved to get off the bed without waking Harry."Tell me in the common room what you heard, I don't want to wake Harry."
"Ron woke Harry," Harry mumbled against the mattress.
Ginny snorted. Hermione froze and shifted against Harry's back to peer at his face. Harry peeked open an eye and gave a weak first-thing-in-the- morning smile.
"How long have you been awake?" Hermione asked.
"Long enough to assure Ron that I gave you that shirt."
Ron made a strangled, scandalized noise at that. "Mate, if you were awake then why didn't you bloody say something?"
"Because I didn't want Hermione to get up off me just yet," Harry answered plainly.
"Oh, that's so sweet," Ginny said.
"That's really more than I wanted to know. So, uh, you two want to get up
out of bed now, or you want to just meet up later and talk about… uh… everything?"
Harry grunted. "That depends on Hermione." He shifted up slightly on to his side to look toward her. "You getting up?"
Hermione fought a smile. "Much as I'd like to have a lie in with my own personal Harry Potter pillow, I'm sure there's a lot of stuff for all of us to cover to catch everyone up on all the news. Probably best we get a start on it."
Harry grumbled under his breath. "All right, if you insist. Want to just meet in the common room in ten minutes?"
Hermione nodded and reluctantly climbed out of bed. Ginny leapt forward when Hermione started toward the door."I'll go with you, keep you company while you get dressed. We can squeeze in a spot of girl talk."
"Oh, sweet Merlin, take cover," Ron groaned. As Hermione and Ginny were traipsing out of the boys' dorm room Ron yelped. "Oiy! Hermione! Harry, she left her bra on our floor!"
Hermione just managed not to laugh at Ron as she descended the stairs. She didn't bother to go back and fetch her clothes; she could get them later,
and it would do Ron good to fidget a bit. It wasn't as though any of the other boys that shared that room were there to be affronted by her delicates.
Ginny positively squealed and hurried closely after Hermione.
Lavender was already awake and about to head down to breakfast when Hermione and Ginny nearly bumped into her at the door.
"Oh hi, Hermione, Ginny, I didn't know you two were…" then Lavender's eyes bulged when she realized Hermione looked to be wearing nothing more than Harry Potter's Quidditch shirt.
"Good morning, Lavender," Hermione said politely, making no matter of her attire, and stepped around the other Gryffindor girl. Lavender stood there another moment gawking then scurried down the stairs. Hermione did not doubt it would be to set rumors to flying, but she and Harry were very good at disregarding rumors, the true ones just as well as the false.
Ginny closed the girls' dorm room door the moment they were alone and whirled to Hermione."Ooo! You two did it, didn't you?"
"What? No. Ginny, we just slept."
Ginny bounded over to Parvati's neatly made, unused bed and sat down, cross-legged and bobbing energetically. "Please, Mione, I'm not your mum, you don't have to give me that story."
"It's not a story. And don't call me 'Mione'."
Ginny grinned cloyingly. "You let Harry call you that."
Hermione went to her trunk and started to search for some clothes to wear. She noted that her empty bed had not gone to waste last night.
Crookshanks was still curled primly in the middle, like a prince upon a throne pillow. "Harry's my…" Hermione cut herself short. She very nearly said 'fiancé'. "…boyfriend. He can get away with things you can't."
"Oh, I'll bet. So what did he 'get away with' last night?"
Hermione slipped on a pair of pants and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ginny, we slept, that's it. Harry didn't sleep at all the night before and it had been a really long, difficult day and he just didn't want to be alone. We were both out like a light in about five minutes flat."
Ginny pouted. "That's it? Damn. I was going to ask you how was it? I've heard that it hurts the first time."
Hermione trained her expression very carefully to betray nothing at that remark, but something obviously slipped, because Ginny's eyes went wide as saucers and she made a high-pitched noise that sent Crookshanks running.
"Merlin! You two did do it!"
Hermione grabbed up a bra and shirt and hastily turned away from Ginny to don both… and to try and conceal the furious blush that suffused her face.
Unfortunately, Ginny was too damn observant for Hermione's good. It would seem Ginny got all the powers of observation that should have gone to Ron, on top of her own.
"Come on, Hermione! Tell! Was it while you were at your parents' for Christmas holiday? Was he good? You know, he'd have to be bloody fantastic to keep up with his whole Boy Who Lived reputation. How big is he? Seamus likes to boast about how impressive he is, but I have to wonder if it's not the quiet types really toting the big wands; what is that muggle phrase, the one that puts Dad in fits of laughter, 'talk quietly but carry a big stick' or something like that—"
Hermione had quickly put on her bra and top while Ginny prattled on, the Gringotts medallion ending up on the outside of her clothes at the end of the process. Hermione spun back around to face Ginny before she had the presence of mind to tuck it back inside her clothes. "Will you keep your voice down? A bit louder and Ron might hear you."
Ginny snapped her mouth shut at once and sat there mute, duly chastised, then she nodded and continued in a much lower pitch. "I'm sorry. But come on, Hermione, you're killing me here. I'm dying to know everything."
Hermione wavered and chewed on her bottom lip. She'd missed out on 'girl talk' for most of her life because at first she was never pretty or popular enough to be included with the other girls at school, and then she went and made her two best friends guys. She considered Ginny closely and felt she might be able to trust her. "You have to swear you won't tell anyone."
"I swear. Put a spell on me if you think I'll tell anyone; make it a real nasty one so that if I tell anybody I'll turn into a slug or, worse yet, a Slytherin."
Hermione was tempted, but the fact Ginny was entirely sincere and willing to have a spell cast on her was good enough for the time being. Hermione went over to sit on Parvati's bed next to Ginny. Then she had absolutely no idea what to say. She folded her hands in her lap and studied her fingers nervously. "I don't know where to start."
Ginny's enthusiasm was thankfully tailored to match the shift in the conversation's tone. "So you and Harry did shag?"
Hermione nodded.
"Is it true that it… you know… hurts the first time?" Hermione nodded again.
"How bad?"
Hermione considered her memories of the experience a moment. "It feels more like a burning sensation. There's a sharp pain when he first…" she made a suggestive hand gesture so she wouldn't have to say it, "then burning. But it gets so caught up in everything else that you stop paying attention to it."
"Does it really not hurt the times after that?"
Hermione shrugged. "I don't know, Harry and I only did it the once."
"When?"
"Right after the Triwizard Tournament."
Ginny's jaw dropped. "Really?! I had no idea you guys got together that long ago. I figured it was just during the summer."
"We weren't together, it was… a really weird situation." Hermione sighed and frowned as she tried to put it to words. "That night when he came back from the third task I couldn't bear not knowing that he was still okay, so I snuck over to the boys' dorm room and climbed into bed with Harry. I didn't expect anything to happen, I just wanted to be with him, then he started kissing me and… well…" Hermione made an 'ergo' gesture and blushed slightly.
"But you two didn't get together then?" Hermione shook her head.
Ginny seemed to find a huge flaw in that sequence of events, but she didn't point it out. "Other than the… burning… how was it?"
"Good, I guess. Intense. 'Overload' probably best pegs it. Maybe next time," she felt her face get hot, "it'll be better. That first time it was more just the fact that it was Harry." Hermione quickly amended, "But it wasn't bad, and I don't regret it."
"I didn't think you did." Ginny suddenly smiled.
"What?" Hermione asked warily. Ginny shook her head. "Nothing."
"It's not nothing, I know that smile. What?"
Ginny winced. "Don't take this as any kind of insult, because it's not, but I was just thinking that most of the students here at Hogwarts would probably name you as the girl most likely not to lose your virginity until you were thirty… but here you've actually lost it earlier than just about all of us."
"Only because it was Harry," Hermione stated.
Ginny nodded in immediate agreement, then that sly, mischievous smile was back. "So I guess that leaves one question… what are the measurements on the 'wand' of the famous Boy Who Lived?"
Hermione had to be absolutely scarlet. "Well, since his is the only 'wand' I've ever seen I'm not really fit to judge. I think it's… uh… impressive enough." Hermione felt like her skin was on fire from the chest up. "Besides, would you really be able to sit across the breakfast table from him and act totally normal if I told you he was hung like a horse?"
Ginny broke into roaring laughter. When she could breathe again she wiped tears from her eyes and gasped, "No… you're right… I probably don't want to know."
Hermione chuckled. "Come on, the boys are probably wondering what's keeping us."
Hermione and Ginny stood and moved toward the door. Ginny opened the door and held it for Hermione to go through first… but Hermione never got a chance. Ginny suddenly slammed the door shut again and stepped up close to Hermione, invading her personal space without so much as a word of explanation. Hermione drew back when Ginny seemed to reach up toward her throat. Just shy of Hermione's throat Ginny's hand stopped and Hermione looked down and realized Ginny had taken the medallion between her fingers and was studying it closely.
There was no doubt, from the look on her face, that Ginny knew exactly what it was. She tore her eyes from the medallion to look at Hermione. "Did Harry give you this?"
"Yes. It was a Christmas present."
Ginny deliberately put it back against Hermione's shirt and pondered it there a moment longer. "Did Harry have any idea what it implied in Gringott law?"
Hermione smirked. Seemed she was not the only one to notice that Harry could be a bit clueless when it came to the wizarding world."I asked him the same thing… and yes, he did."
Ginny looked floored. "Did he mean that, though?"
Hermione fought off a full-blown smile and said in an even voice, "Since he actually proposed after I questioned him about the medallion, yes, I imagine he did mean it."
Ginny's mouth dropped open. Hermione stood and watched and waited for it to click. When it did, Ginny grinned and leapt at Hermione, wrapping her in a bear hug. "Oh, wow! I can't believe… I'm so happy for you! Merlin's beard! You and Harry. Congratulations!"
"Thank you."
Ginny broke away from Hermione and collected herself. When she was more presentable (that was to say, not a veritable beacon flashing 'I've been hearing naughty secrets, ask me all about it'), she cocked her head at Hermione.
Hermione's brow knit in silent query.
"You've really got one of the good ones, you know. Harry's a great guy and I know he'll always be good to you."
Hermione smiled gently. "I know," she breathed as she slipped the medallion inside her shirt.
Ginny gave her another genuine smile and opened the door.
When the two girls reached the common room Harry and Ron were waiting… Ron impatiently."What took so bloody long?" he rounded irately when he caught sight of them.
"I was just telling Hermione all about Seamus," Ginny replied airily.
Ron's ears reddened. "That bloody git, well knock it off because I don't want to hear one word of it."
Hermione sent Ginny a grateful look then she let her eyes find Harry. He was watching her, a smile behind his eyes, and Hermione wanted to throw her arms wide on the roof of the astronomy tower and scream. Right then, she felt like she could leap from the tower and never hit the ground. This joy in her chest would give her wings to fly.
All his faults and scars and issues included, she really did have one of the good ones.