Chapter Sixty Six
Original Author Notes -
A/N: Just a quick comment: if you don't like the way I'm writing this, then stop reading it.
Miranda Granger never imagined that a magic hospital would be such a madhouse. Saint Mungo's was nearly as bad as King's Cross on a busy Saturday afternoon. Of course, the state of the front lobby meant little and less to Miranda. She cared only about seeing her daughter.
Jake was standing at her left side, his arm around her shoulders, while her mother was on her right. Berti was looking around a fair bit more than Jake or Miranda, but even still she was most intent upon the tall, gangly man speaking with a lobby nurse. They were staying close together, because Remus bade them too, but it was a good idea to avoid getting separated in the rabble of the witch and wizard hospital.
They'd been having a quiet evening, nothing extraordinary beyond their new normal of isolation. While they were sitting around in their hide-away home having tea Remus Lupin had come charging through the fireplace saying that it was over, Voldemort was dead.
And then they'd been told about the attack on Hogwarts, and that their daughter had been taken to Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, where she was now listed in critical condition. The entire family
abandoned their tea and demanded to be taken to this Saint Mungo's at once. Remus complied without a moment's hesitation.
When they flooed into the bustling hospital (the Grangers were growing almost accustomed to traveling by fire), they were thrust into a scene of chaos. People were everywhere. It made Miranda feel the fingers of panic tighten around her heart. How horrid had the attack on the school been to cause so many to be at the hospital? How badly had her Hermione been hurt?
"Stay here. I'll go find out where your daughter is, and don't tell anyone who you are," Remus had said to them before hurrying off to chase down a
nurse. The order not to reveal their identities had seemed peculiar, but at the same time completely unnecessary. Neither Jake, Miranda, nor Berti were in the mood to chat up strangers. They were waiting anxiously to be taken to Hermione.
Eventually, the nurse talking to Remus looked to the Grangers with a wide- eyed expression, and she gave a vigorous nod. Remus waved them over and Jake made a path with his elbows through the crowd with his wife and mother-in-law close on his heels.
Remus didn't say a word to them in the lobby, instead ushered them into the hallway. There the cacophony of sound was greatly reduced, as the crowd was mostly held at bay at the lobby doors. Miranda gripped Jake's arm.
"Your daughter's this way," Remus said as he led them down the corridor. "Sorry about the circus out there; the press is getting rabid. If they found out you were Hermione's family, I'm afraid they might have swarmed you. Might be the hospital will have to call in Aurors soon to keep them in line."
After their yuletide introduction to the darker side of the magical world, Miranda knew what Aurors were. Magic bobbies.
She also knew why their status as the immediate family members of Hermione Granger would cause an uproar. While prepping the fireplace for transport to Saint Mungo's, Remus had told them that Hermione had been instrumental in the battle that had been waged on Hogwarts school grounds… instrumental, while Harry had been the one to ultimately kill the enemy.
Miranda could scarcely believe it. Gentle, kind Harry a killer. But if he was the reason Hermione was wounded instead of dead she would rejoice in his accomplishment, even as she grieved that her dear Harry had been forced to take a life. Even one such as Voldemort's.
Remus suddenly stopped and turned to them. "Here we are, but first, before
you go in there, there's something you need to know."
"We want to see our little girl," Jake said curtly. He got along well enough with Remus Lupin, but Miranda was of a mind with her husband. She just wanted to see Hermione.
"I know… I won't keep you long. One question… do you know what an animagus is?"
Miranda had never heard the word before, and quite honestly didn't give a bloody damn about 'animaguses'. Jake shook his head with dangerously thinning tolerance. Berti didn't feel it necessary that she even comment, as she had only discovered a matter of days ago that such a thing as magic existed.
"Well," Remus went on hurriedly, "an animagus is a witch or wizard who has the ability to turn into an animal."
"Fascinating, but what's that have to do with us going in to be with our daughter?" Jake asked impatiently.
"Hermione and Harry are both animagi," Remus answered bluntly, realizing the Grangers were in no mood to mince words.
Miranda gaped. "You… you mean our Hermione's… she's an animal?"
"Not now, they turned her back to treat her, but I want to warn you because Harry is still in his animal form. He has been ever since the attack. He won't change back, we're not sure why, but I didn't want you to be alarmed when you went in there and found a panther at your daughter's bedside. It's just Harry, so there's no reason to be afraid."
Miranda looked up in astonishment at Jake. Jake was stony-faced as he took in the information. "Duly noted… now please, sir, stand aside."
Remus did so without another moment's hesitation and Jake opened the door.
When Miranda came in after her husband she privately had to thank Remus Lupin for his forewarning. For there was, just as he said, a large black panther lying on the floor in front of the hospital bed. Had she not been told to expect it, she may have panicked to see a seeming wild animal alone with her injured daughter.
The panther brought up his head at once when they entered, and for a second Miranda stared into its blue eyes. They were Harry's, she saw that in
a moment. She didn't even need the white lightning-bolt shaped scar over his right eye for her to identify him as her daughter's boyfriend. The eyes were Harry's as they met hers across the room. When she understood that, she was incapable of being afraid of the animal.
Miranda looked up at the bed, took in the sight of her daughter, and her heart burned and made her entire body ache. She felt pain as she never had before in her life. Hermione was lying motionless on her stomach, her back an enormous bandage.
She rushed to her daughter's bedside, so consumed with reaching her girl that she didn't even notice the panther get up and quickly move out of the way.
Miranda touched Hermione's hair. "Sweetie… can you hear me? It's Mum. We're here. Dad and Gram are here with you, honey."
Jake came up alongside Miranda and squeezed her shoulder.
"Oh, Jake… she's so pale."
Jake covered his mouth with his free hand, as though to hold back a sob. He obviously didn't trust himself to speak to his wife's observations.
Berti rounded the bed to stand at Hermione's other side. She eyed the monitoring charms over the head of the bed and grunted.
"Hermione…" Miranda whispered and took her daughter's limp hand.
Berti had tears brimming in her eyes, but she ignored them as she leaned closer to Hermione and said, "Now you listen to your grandmother, young lady. You're to get well, understand? I won't take any lip, you just do as I say… all right?"
"Mister and Missus Granger?" a male voice called from the door. Everyone turned to see a fat wizard with frizzy white hair enter the room.
"I'm Doctor Manmalis, I've been overseeing your daughter's treatment."
"How is she?" Jake asked.
Manmalis looked once to the panther in the room, then came in farther. "It's still too early to say. She was brought in with very extensive curse injuries. I understand you're both muggles?"
Jake and Miranda nodded, Miranda never once letting go of Hermione's hand.
"Well, it's a little difficult to explain if you aren't imbued with magic, but, in essence, the curse that was used against your daughter attacked her body and her magic. In a witch or wizard, the two are intricately interconnected. An affliction that affects only a witch or wizard's magic but leaves their body untouched can be just as crippling to them as a muggle disease like cancer is to nonmagical folk. Magic is an essential part of your daughter's natural defense mechanisms, and when she was wounded by the particular curse that she was struck with, her ability to protect herself was dealt a massive blow.
"Hermione was hit with what we in the healing profession term a two-tiered necrotizing curse. Well, I'll spare you the technical details; I don't want to overly alarm you…"
"Please, uh, we're doctors," Jake said in a carefully controlled voice, "just…
tell us what you know about what's happened to our daughter."
"Very well… these two-tiered necrotizing curses are so named for they are two-fold in that they eat away at the body, but they also consume the magical core of a witch or wizard. Either one alone can be fatal."
"Is she going to die?" Miranda asked thinly.
Manmalis pursed his lips. "I can't make any promises, but there are several factors working in her favor. First, she was brought in soon after she was cursed, so we were able to halt the toxic effects of the curse. Second, she's made it through the first twenty-four hours, which is often seen as a hurdle in recoveries such as these. We would hope to see some more improvement, but neither has her condition worsened.
"In my professional opinion, the greatest reason to hope for a full recovery is that these curses find damage to the body easier to inflict than damage to the magic. Magic is a burly thing, doesn't like to be attacked, and it fights like the devil. Considering how quickly Hermione was brought in, the most damage she suffered was physical. That we can heal, with time, but if her magic had been irrevocably damaged her chances of survival would have been low, and even then it would be only to live the rest of her life as a squib."
To Miranda's puzzled look, the doctor clarified, "Unable to perform magic."
Miranda fought to keep her breathing even. Of course she would trade Hermione's magic for her life any day, but she also knew she couldn't
properly understand what losing magic would be like. Miranda lived her entire life without doing a single bit of magic; it was impossible for her to fully comprehend how that might be an unfulfilling way to live. But she knew Hermione loved the world of magic, defined herself as a witch before all else. She could understand that Hermione would be devastated to lose the ability to do magic.
Even still, Miranda would think it a fair trade to have her girl live.
"Will Hermione be a squid?" Jake asked, knowing the same things that Miranda did about the importance of magic to their daughter.
"Squib. And no. On that, I can offer you complete reassurance. We've been watching her magical signature closely, and I have to say that your daughter is one of the most powerful muggle-borns we've ever encountered here at Saint Mungo's. Magic is not entirely hereditary, but there is a genetic component, such that muggle-born witches and wizards are often not as powerful as their pureblood or half-blood counterparts. I won't go into the magic eugenics hogwash the likes of Voldemort and his followers preach, because there are many pureblood witches who couldn't stand a chance against your daughter, but medically speaking there is an inherited component.
"But in Hermione's case, her strong magical core made it more resilient to the curse's attack." Manmalis smirked. "In a way, I suppose you could very accurately liken it to the literal events that unfolded… a human going toe to toe with a lioness."
"Lioness… that's the animal our daughter can turn into?" Miranda asked, still grappling with that new discovery about Hermione.
Manmalis nodded. "She was wounded when she was in her lioness form.
"But as I said, the bulk of the damage done to your daughter was physical. If we can heal her body, her magic should do the rest and there's no reason to think she won't make a full recovery."
Miranda tucked a strand of Hermione's hair back behind her ear and gazed down painfully and lovingly at her daughter's face, in profile as her head was turned to the side on the pillow.
"Allow me to make you all more comfortable," Manmalis said, and he produced his wand with practiced ease. He withdrew from his inside robe pockets some squares of taffy that he dropped on the floor. With a wave of his wand, they were transfigured into chairs.
"If you should need anything, just pop out into the hall and flag down a nurse," the healer said kindly then he turned to leave.
"Thank you," Jake said, then left Miranda's side to bring his wife one of the chairs. Miranda scooted it over next to the head of Hermione's bed and she sat down, her hand never letting go of Hermione's the entire time.
Jake took a chair to Berti on the other side of the bed, then he claimed the last one for himself near the foot of Hermione's bed. He brought a hand to rest on Hermione's sheet-covered legs for the sake of contact. Then the vigil began.
Miranda stared intently at Hermione's face. She looked so still, so unhealthily and painfully ashen. There was a bruise on her cheek, so where her skin wasn't chalky it was purple. She smelled unwell and coppery, like blood.
Miranda couldn't bear to think why. Her hair was a fright… it needed a good brushing. Miranda reached forward with her hand that wasn't holding Hermione's and began to brush at Hermione's hair with her fingers. It became a hypnotic action. She fell into a rhythm, and it was a task where she had some effect. She couldn't make Hermione better, though she so desperately wanted to. She wanted to have some maternal, magical ability to heal Hermione, take her pain for herself, but she didn't have that power. She could do nothing to heal her child, but her daughter's hair she could fix.
When Miranda was finished, Hermione's hair at least was in some semblance of order. It could do with a wash, and still a brush would be beneficial, but Hermione looked a bit more like herself with the tangles and knots picked apart. Miranda only wished she could do something about her daughter's back and face.
Miranda sat back and started when she saw the panther sitting right next to her chair. She had not even heard him approach her. Miranda blinked down at the panther with Harry's eyes. She met them steadily, saw beyond the cat façade to the anguished, aching young man he was inside. She looked through Knight and saw Harry.
Knight seemed to know it, or maybe Miranda only believed that he did. Either way, the panther broke eye contact with her and laid his head on Miranda's lap.
Miranda let her hand come to rest on Knight's head. Jake glanced over at them then back at Hermione's still form. Berti worried the edge of Hermione's bed sheet absently.
Hermione had so many people who needed her to live, if only she could know it and let it fortify her to fight for her life.
Chapter Sixty Seven
A day and night passed with no one in the hospital room leaving Hermione's side. They were undisturbed. The brigade of comrades, classmates, teachers, and friends holding back the sea of reporters and curious was a fierce force, a wall of loyalty to Harry and Hermione that gave those attending Hermione peace. The Weasleys made a few visitors patients, but Saint Mungo's did not ask the rowdy redheads to leave. There were still beds enough to accommodate the overzealous.
It was late, or early… or maybe neither. Time became meaningless at Hermione's silent bedside, but in any case, when Miranda left her daughter's room for the first time Jake and Berti were asleep in their chairs. Knight wasn't asleep, Miranda wasn't sure that he did sleep for she had never seen him, but she couldn't find sleep herself and decided to track down Remus Lupin and tell him the safe house was not needed anymore. If the threat of Voldemort was gone, she wanted to go home. When Hermione was better.
She found the wizard who had been their watch-protector in the lobby speaking to a reporter… while a dozen pressed around them to shamelessly listen in. They looked to be a disgruntled lot, and understandably so when Miranda overheard Remus saying that there was nothing new to report on either the conditions of Hermione Granger or Harry Potter and that they would be informed as soon as there was good cause for them to know. The press bristled at the brush-off, but the Aurors that Remus had warned might be called in for crowd control apparently had been, because when the robed
men and women standing around the lobby stepped toward the crowd everyone with a quill and camera backed away.
When Miranda got to speak with Remus, it was to discover he had already anticipated their desire to return home and was presently having some friends of his take all the personal effects in the safe house back to the Granger residence. Miranda thanked him for all he'd done and excused herself to return to her daughter's room.
On her way, she was stopped by a nurse. "Missus Granger!" Miranda turned. "Yes?"
"You probably don't remember me; I've been in to your daughter's room a few times to check on her and see to the nourishment spells."
"Yes, of course."
"I don't mean to bother you, but while I was looking in on your daughter I couldn't help but notice the way Harry Potter lets you comfort him."
Miranda was still getting used to the way others felt the inexplicable need to call Harry by his full name, and half the time with the inclusion of some long- winded title. At the moment, however, the observation was her tertiary concern (Hermione, naturally, being the first and the nurse's business being the second for the immediate time being). "Yes?" Miranda asked, a bit more icily. She was getting paranoid with all the reporters clamoring to get in to see Hermione and Harry. She wanted her children left alone and would be mightily indignant if this 'nurse' turned out not to be one at all but some newspaper mole in a costume.
"I wondered if you might be able to do something… it's for Harry Potter," the nurse quickly added, perhaps seeing Miranda's mounting suspicion and hostility.
Miranda was paused by the proposed benefactor of the request. "What sort of 'something' did you have in mind?"
The nurse looked hopeful at Miranda's change in attitude. "You see, Harry Potter hasn't eaten since he got here."
"That's been days ago," Miranda remarked in mild surprise.
The nurse nodded. "Three. We'll bring him food, but he won't touch it. We've managed to get him to drink, but not eat. I thought, maybe, if you
tried to cajole him… if he's close to you and trusts you maybe he'll eat for you."
He might, he might not, but at least it would be doing something when Miranda was feeling so completely helpless. She couldn't do anything for Hermione, but maybe she could for Harry.
"Yes… well, I'd certainly be willing to try."
The nurse smiled. "Wonderful! I'll go fetch a tray from the cafeteria. I'll be just a moment." The nurse turned and hurried away. Miranda stood in the corridor waiting, fretting about Hermione but worrying a fair bit about Harry, too. She wanted so desperately for this ordeal to be over and both her kids well again. She wanted things back to the way they were before Christmas Day.
Shortly, the nurse returned with a tray loaded with cuts of cooked meat. Miranda looked at it dubiously. She had been expecting soup or perhaps a sandwich, and the mother in her would have liked to see a few vegetables to balance out the overload of protein. The nurse explained to Miranda's visible concern, "Since Harry Potter's in his animagus form, this might be more tempting to him. Though…" the nurse hesitated, "if you could talk him into changing…" the nurse's face turned harried and drawn with professional (and maybe a bit more than professional) worry again, "it's just had a lot of us very worried about him."
Miranda actually believed that it did bother this nurse, at least.
"I'll see what I can do," Miranda said as she accepted the tray, "but don't expect any miracles." Then she wanted to snort at her own words. Don't expect miracles in a magical hospital for witches and wizards named after a saint of some sort.
She needed a vacation.
Mindful of her mother and husband who were still sleeping when she returned, Miranda slipped back into Hermione's room with care, making as little sound as humanly possible. Knight was sitting at Hermione's side, between Miranda's chair and Jake's. His black tail was curled on the tile floor beside him, his ears locked on Hermione's form. He was watching Hermione steadily with the level of focus a housecat might give a wounded bird floundering in the grass. But Hermione did nothing more overt than breathing; Miranda knew because she'd been just as intent on the young woman on the bed. But to that small sign of life, she'd been just as focused
as the panther was now. Miranda ached for Knight in his vigilant watch; she knew how hard it was to see Hermione like she was.
"Harry?" Miranda whispered.
Knight turned first an ear back in Miranda's direction where she stood near the door of the room, then he turned his head to look toward Miranda.
Miranda smiled as best she could and crossed the room to reclaim her seat. She set the tray of food in her lap and regarded Knight carefully. Knight looked at the food heaped on the tray, uninterested, and looked up at Miranda with painfully dull eyes.
"Harry, honey… I'd like you to eat something."
Knight just sat, unflinching, as though he had not understood a word she said. He made no move to take anything from the tray.
Miranda saw for herself the kind of dispassionate apathy Knight showed toward food, the disregard for his own well-being that had set the nursing staff to fretting, and she had to worry, too. "Please… a nurse told me that you haven't eaten anything in days. Could you just try to eat something? I'm worried about you."
Knight's facial muscles tightened and his ears went back. A look of clear distress. He didn't like that he made Miranda worry.
Miranda picked up a piece of chicken and offered it to him. Knight sniffed the proffered poultry, glanced up at Miranda, then opened his mouth and took the food in his teeth. With a few powerful chews of his great jaws, he swallowed the chicken and licked his lips.
"There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Miranda asked, and scratched Knight behind the ear. He closed his eyes partially. Miranda had been uncertain at first about how to treat Knight when he was not truly an animal, but inside actually the boy Harry she'd come to love in a very real sense. She was in a quandary over the question of how much like an animal to treat an animagus? But she discovered, through the long hours, that he didn't object to any form of touch. From the plaintive, seeking look in his eyes, he may have even needed it.
Miranda fed Knight a few more small parcels of food, cuts of pork and chicken, until he began to look fatigued at the thought of being forced to take anymore. Miranda smiled warmly. "That's plenty, I think… thank you, Harry." Miranda set the tray on the floor beside her chair then took Knight's head in her hands and kissed his brow tenderly. Knight rubbed his cheek
against her hand.
Miranda studied the feline features cupped between her palms. She looked closely at him and the inevitable question came upon her. "Harry… how far down in there are you?" Miranda asked as she gazed into his eyes. He stared back at her, his eyes unblinking and penetrating. When she looked into his eyes, she believed she could see Harry there, but it was behind a wall of panther. She thought perhaps it was his place to hide without leaving Hermione's side. The hospital staff would love to have the real Harry Potter, boy wonder or whatever they were calling him now, to fawn over and cater to. Truth be told, Miranda would very much like to take the young man up in a proper hug, but as she looked deeply into his face she decided against trying to coax him into changing back to a regular wizard. And she almost believed that he would, if she implored him.
She would love to see Harry's face, the face she knew, but she wouldn't try to make him change. She knew, and intellectually admitted it was probably only a fraction of the full story, of what had happened at Hogwarts during the attack. She knew some of what Harry had seen and what he'd done. She couldn't begrudge Harry not wanting to own up to it, to face it in human terms, even if Miranda would never think to condemn him for his actions.
Not in a hundred lifetimes. Hermione was still alive because of what he'd done, and Miranda loved him, man or panther, for it.
Mother and panther were locked together in a powerful bind of unwavering eye contact, understanding transcending species as they stared into one another's eyes. Not unsurprisingly, considering his heightened sense of hearing, when there was a tiny sound from within the room Knight heard it first. Miranda was watching him, marveling at this boy, when Knight's right ear, the ear on the side of Hermione's bed, turned away from Miranda and toward the bed. A light of urgency ignited in Knight's blue eyes and he pulled sharply away from Miranda's hold. Knight stood at once and turned to face the bed.
Miranda, startled, turned her head to follow Knight's gaze… and saw Hermione move.
She gasped and jumped to her feet. "Jake! Jake, Mum! Wake up! She's coming around!"
In a matter of seconds, everyone was crowding tightly around the bed and watching Hermione with bated breath.
Hermione's face moved in a scowl, her brow knit, and her lips parted.
Everyone in the room watched tensely.
Miranda gripped Hermione's hand and bent close. "Hermione?" "Mmm… Mum?" she croaked.
Miranda laughed through a torrent of happy tears. "Yes. Yes, honey, it's Mum."
"Uhhh… wh… where'm I?"
"Saint Mungo's Hospital," Jake said as he shuffled in closer to his daughter, beaming. "Hi, sweetheart."
Hermione didn't have the strength yet to open her eyes, but she gave a very faint smile. "Hhh, Dad…"
"Don't go forgetting your old gram now," Berti said with a delighted chuckle. Hermione's eyelids fluttered but stayed closed. "Mmmmm."
"How do you feel?" Miranda asked as she smoothed her free hand over Hermione's hair.
Hermione's tongue barely ventured out to touch the tip to her dry, chapped lips. "Thirsty… m' back hurts…"
"I know, sweetie, you were hurt, but you're going to be all right," Miranda said and gave Hermione's hand a tight squeeze. She could have done a back flip for joy when she felt Hermione's fingers squeeze back, for the first time in all the hours that Miranda had cradled a limp hand.
Then, suddenly, a panic-stricken worry etched into the lines of Hermione's face. She forced open her eyes, peeks of chocolate brown as Hermione willed them to see, and she whispered hoarsely, "Harry?"
"I'm here."
Miranda looked to her side and saw Harry standing next to her, just a few paces back and between Miranda and Jake. And it was Harry, the young man and not the panther. He looked just as battered and bruised and tousled as Hermione, but he was just as wonderfully alive. Miranda's cheeks hurt from the width of her grin. Her face was wet but she didn't care.
Harry stood back among the family that was gathered around Hermione's bed, in a perfect position to take in everything, but he had eyes only for
Hermione.
With as much grace as she could muster, Miranda let go of Hermione's hand and stepped back.
Harry stepped forward and took Hermione's hand in his own. Hermione squeezed his fingers even tighter than she had squeezed Miranda's.
Hermione watched Harry's every move as the young man went to his knees beside her bed.
Harry opened and closed his mouth soundlessly a few times, lost in the sight of her looking at him, then he pulled their joined hands up to his chest. "I… I thought you left me," Harry whispered brokenly.
Hermione managed a half-smile. "Told you… never happen."
Harry visibly shook as he closed his eyes, turned his head to the side, and laid it on the bed next to her shoulder. Hermione's nose was practically buried in Harry's black hair. She let her eyes fall shut, but it was not to fade back into oblivion. Instead, she looked peaceful. She looked heavenly blessed, bruised and torn and weary but unspeakably lovely for just being alive. Hermione gently freed her hand from Harry's and slowly slid her fingers up into his hair. The way she cupped his head with her hand, she looked as though she were holding him to her.
Harry choked on a sob and curled his fingers, desperately but tenderly, around her forearm.
Hermione barely pressed her lips into Harry's tangled hair, still weak but at least finally awake. "M'a'right, Harry," she said in a cracked, dry voice. It was the most beautiful sound Miranda had ever heard, second only perhaps to Hermione's first cry when she was born.
"M'fine, Harry," Hermione consoled while the young man's face twisted as he fought against crying. "M'okay… I love you," Hermione whispered.
A tear fell and Harry pulled Hermione's hand out of his hair and turned his head enough to place a kiss on her palm. He moved his hand from her arm, tracked it up to her hand, and let their fingers twine so naturally together. "I love you, too," he breathed haggardly.
Miranda found herself in Jake's arms, being hugged fiercely and kissed on the temple while she cried happily and watched her daughter and the young man who would one day be her husband return together from the brink of darkness.
And for them all, ensconced in the windowless hospital room, the sun shined brightly.
Chapter Sixty Eight
Original Author Notes -
A/N: This is it, the end of the journey. This story's been an incredible bit of fun for me, and I hope for many of you as well. It's probably safe to say I'm just as sad to see it end as some of the more devoted readers are. Before the last curtain drops on this story, I have to give special thanks to my techno-lohtar Sierra Phoenix, who made posting possible, my wonderful beta Sil, who sanded off the rough edges, and last but not least, the readers.
Thank you so much for all your wonderful support on this epic story. I won't forget how great all the people leaving comments about this fic have been during my dabble in the Harry Potter fandom.
***** EPILOGUE ******
Harry Potter apparated to the end of his driveway in the slowly falling snow the day before Christmas Eve. The path to the house was a swath cleared through the ivory drifts where Hermione had cast a heating charm to melt the snow clear through to the winter-brittle grass below. In the fenced pasture to Harry's right, Antigone gave a startle when he suddenly appeared, without warning, with a loud pop. To the mare's credit, she quickly realized it was the master of the house come home and went from the brink of bolting to nickering hopefully for a carrot in a matter of seconds.
Harry stepped over to the fence as the mare stuck her head over the top rail and nosed at his jacket. Harry chuckled. "You're lucky the feast at Hogwarts has something for everyone," he said gently and dug into his pocket for the carrot he had grabbed on his way out of the Great Hall. He broke it in half and gave both pieces to the horse, who crunched them loudly then snorted, her breath rushing from her nostrils in a white mist in the chilly air.
Twenty-year-old Harry gave the mare a final pat on the neck and turned his eyes to the house. He could see, in the front window, the Christmas tree twinkling with exactly-placed racing circuits of lights strung around the girth of the tree. Warm, inviting yellow light poured through the windows to stain the snow in the yard in cream hues. Icicles hung from the eaves and overhangs, catching the sun just enough to sparkle like lights that nature chose to string. From the driveway's end, it was the most comforting sight Harry could imagine seeing, be it on a good day or the most rotten day.
Their house was not large by any definition, they could have afforded a house five times the size, but they saw no need. It had all they required; a cozy house to live in, a place for Tiggy, and their property included a portion of a small woodland, which Professor Sprout had generously helped them to improve, where they could let loose and play as Knight and Sagehunter. The house itself was only a part of the package, and by anyone's accounts not the biggest part.
Their Camelot was as big as they saw need for it to be. Perhaps modest, but enough. Their home suited their needs for now. Any larger and they might waste unnecessary time looking for each other in it, Hermione liked to joke.
Harry, at the thought of his wife, smiled to himself and started toward the house. He thrust his hands in his pockets and Tiggy, seeing her source of treats had been exhausted, turned back to the task from which Harry had interrupted her when he apparated home, pawing at the snow to try and uncover bits of grass.
When Harry pushed open the front door the warmth inside the house suffused him in a great engulfing wave of comfort and content, as did that unique smell of Christmas that Harry was finally growing to love like most other people always had. The door jingled merrily, thanks to the jingle bells Hermione had affixed to the inside door handle. It was a cheery welcome for
those returning home, but it served as a handy announcement of arrivals, too.
"That you, Harry?" Hermione called from the living room.
Harry closed the door behind him and shucked his jacket. "Yeah," he called
back. He hung up his jacket, stomped off the snow on his shoes on the front rug, then moved beyond the foyer. When he came around to where he could see the living room he had to smile.
The fire burning warm and cozy from the stone fireplace was painting flickering orange light over the hearthrug where Crookshanks was curled in a ginger ball, dozing and purring with every other breath. On a perch set up in an unused corner of the living room, so she could think of it as her own, Hedwig was roosting. When Harry came into the room she gave a hoot of greeting.
At the well-known sound of salutation from her husband's familiar, and knowing to whom it would be sounded, Hermione looked up. Hermione was on the couch dressed in sweat pants and Harry's old, worn Quidditch T-shirt. It was practically thread-bare, the maroon was more a sickly purple, the gold a dingy yellow, and the letters spelling out 'POTTER' on the back were almost unreadable. But it was Hermione's favorite and she intended to wear the shirt until it literally fell off of her. She'd said as much. Harry hoped he was there when it happened. She had her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and her feet were tucked underneath her on the couch cushion. And everywhere, all around her, were notebooks and sheets of paper. She had a quill poised over a sheaf of parchment in her lap when she stopped to look at him.
"Hey," Hermione said with a bright smile, "how was the feast?"
Harry shrugged. "I can't believe how small first years are, every year it's like they get smaller… surely we were never that little. And have I mentioned how much I detest all this Liberation Day stuff?"
Hermione's smile became gentle and understanding. "I know, but it really is
an important day."
"Yeah, I know, and I might not mind putting up with it if it was just the one day out of the year, but making a drawn-out production of it… Merlin, Christmas gets lost in the shuffle with Liberation Day falling only a few days after Christmas day."
"Well, think how I feel," Hermione said with sudden sincerity and a dissatisfied frown.
"Huh?"
"I mean… it's every day of the year for us, but come this time of year I have to share you with the wizarding world." Hermione began to smile slyly.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Ha ha… funny."
"And you oughtn't complain about Liberation Day… considering how close it came to being called Harry Potter Day."
"Don't remind me," Harry groaned and shook droplets of melted snow from his hair. "Besides, you know I wouldn't have stood for that; wouldn't be a Liberation Day or Harry Potter Day or whatever the bloody hell you want to call it if it hadn't been for you. Who was it who convinced me to become an animagus? And who was it who kept on me to work at learning wandless magic? I would have been done for without both of those abilities, and you made me apply myself to learning them. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be standing here bemoaning Liberation Day."
Hermione gave him a lop-sided, tender smile for his words, then her face paled slightly and she gave a faint grimace.
"Queasy?" Harry asked sympathetically. Hermione nodded. "A bit."
"Would you like me to make you some tea?" "That'd be great. Thanks."
"No problem." Harry went to the kitchen and put on a kettle, taking from the cupboard Hermione's favorite herbal blend. While waiting for the water to boil, he perused the odd assortment of Christmas cards pinned on the refrigerator. The Potters got an obscene amount of Christmas cards from people they'd never met or heard of, but cards from friends and family got pinned on the refrigerator. The newest, one that Harry had not seen yet, had an animated front sporting swooping dragons, belching red and green fire.
He hardly needed to look inside to know it was from Ginny in Romania, where she was studying to be a dragon-keeper.
When the tea finished he filled a mug and carried it into the living room. When she saw him rejoin her in the living room, Hermione cleared off a spot on the couch beside her and put down her work on the coffee table to accept the steaming mug. "Thanks so much," she said with an appreciative sip.
Harry sat down close beside her and Hermione snuggled into his side in a well-rehearsed movement. Reflexively, Harry put his arm around her shoulders.
"I still wish you had come with me to the feast," Harry said wistfully. Harry
and Hermione got an unending parade of offers to appear at public events around Liberation Day, and most of those they declined because all they wanted was to live their lives in peace, but every year they agreed to go to Hogwarts's celebration when Headmaster Dumbledore asked them to attend a feast in their honor. By unofficial tradition, after the spirited rejoicing and celebrating with the children and professors in the Great Hall, Harry and Hermione would retire with Dumbledore to the headmaster's office for a drink where they would pay respects to the memory of those who were lost to Voldemort's campaign. James and Lily Potter, Aberforth Dumbledore, Kimmy, Sirius Black, Hagrid, Alastor Moody, and so many others… it was always a long, sobering list, but they made it a point never to forget a single one who'd been close to them.
This was the first year of the last three that both of them had not gone (the first two Liberation Days after the fateful battle, Harry and Hermione were still students at Hogwarts, so naturally they were in attendance so it could hardly be viewed as a choice to appear on their part).
Hermione put her head on Harry's shoulder. "It's only the fifth anniversary; there'll be more. I wanted to make some headway on this," she gestured at the stacks of papers on the coffee table.
"How's it coming?"
Hermione was quiet a moment, then she sighed. "Are you sure you want me
to do this?"
Harry smirked, rubbed Hermione's arm with his hand, and gave her a brief hug. "As certain as I was the other thousand times you asked me."
Hermione took another drink of her tea and seemed roll it around over her tongue before swallowing and speaking again. "There are countless people who write professionally who would jump at the chance to write the official Harry Potter biography, complete with interviews straight from the horse's mouth as they say."
"All strangers who don't know the Vanquisher of Lord Voldemort from any bloke on the street beyond my stupid scar," Harry said. "You know you're the only person I trust to do it right. Who knows me better? You were the one who told me that this book, my story, would be written by someone regardless of whether I wanted it to be or not, so make it on my terms, right? But if you don't want to do it—"
"No, I want to, I don't trust anyone else to do you justice either, I just… I'm
not a writer. I've read more books than I can count, but that's not the same as writing a book. I may be absolute rubbish at it."
"I don't believe for a second you could be horrible at something if you tried," Harry countered, then he smiled. "Well, except for flying on a broom, maybe. Besides, we will have it proofed before it's published."
She mulled that over quietly, half of her attention elsewhere. Where, Harry didn't know, but he knew it wasn't on the book. "You still want Mum and Dad to read it before anyone else does?"
Harry nodded; on that he was certain of his decision. "Yes."
Hermione shifted against him as though to pull away and look at him, but at the last minute she chose to stay put, snuggled up comfortably against him. She said from her position tucked against his side, "You're rather adamant about that."
He was and he knew it. "Mione… there are so many things Jake and Miranda don't know about me, well," he waved at the papers, "you know how much there is, and I don't want total strangers to know the real me before they do. I care about them too much to do that.
"And I want Ron to read it before it sees an editor, too."
"Ron? Why? He's not exactly a bibliophile, after all. It was the most I could do in school to get him to do his required reading. Why would he want to read this?"
Harry smirked. "Because he and I will have to make sure you give yourself
proper dues."
Hermione chuckled shyly into his shoulder, embarrassed and touched at once. "Harry…"
"And don't think we won't be right sticklers about it. We plan to be regular McGonagalls when she's grading term papers. If, by the end of reading that book, people aren't as enchanted with you as I am, then it's not been done right."
Hermione swatted him on the stomach with one hand. "Oh, Harry, stop it."
"Just giving you fair warning. You might end up the heroine of this book when it's all said and done."
She gave a theatrical groan at the very thought. "Merlin, no one would want to read it. They want to know about you."
"I'm all about you, Hermione." Harry placed a kiss on top of her head.
"Another thing the public doesn't know about their ruddy hero."
Hermione snorted lightly, took another sip of her tea, and snuggled down tighter against Harry as though settling in for a nap. He wouldn't mind if she did; certainly wouldn't be the first time she'd fallen asleep on him.
Harry loved that they could play with one another the way they did. With every additional year free of Voldemort's rein of terror that they could put behind them, it seemed the laughs and jokes came more easily. Five years ago, he never would have thought himself anything near to a happy-go-lucky person by nature, but he was discovering that life with Voldemort dead was vastly different from life with the dark lord's fate unknown. Life with Hermione was better than anything Harry had ever known before. Not that it had always been laughter and hugs. There had been some bad times right after the final battle, for Harry and Hermione both. There were gloomy days when Hermione's recovery took a turn for the worse, days when Harry had to face the fact he had inside him the capability for performing horrifically dark magic. But even those unsavory moments and unpleasant reminders were becoming ghostly remnants of the past. They were finally getting on with life, forging ahead with one another, and actually having the chance to be happy in the process.
"I'm only on third year," Hermione murmured absently as she surveyed the seemingly unending sea of papers and notes. Her voice shook Harry from his thoughts and he just barely craned his neck to look down at Hermione's head pillowed on his shoulder. "This thing may take years to finish."
"Then it takes years… not as though we're hurting for money. And once this thing hits the stores… I'm glad you handle the finances and not me."
"I've thought of that, too," Hermione said pensively. "If I don't turn this into a travesty of literature… Harry, your story will probably be in every wizard home in the world. Magical children will grow up reading your adventures before bed and playing Harry Potter against the Dementors in the yard with sticks. You're our modern Merlin."
"Ugh…"
"Not my words, I heard it on the wizard radio," Hermione said with a smile in the sound of her voice, then her tone turned softer and more serious as she
said, "but it's true."
Harry sighed, less than thrilled to say the least. But he too had heard that latest ostentatious nickname for him. As if Vanquisher of Lord Voldemort and the Boy Who Lived hadn't been enough monikers to have thrust upon him before he was twenty-one. "I try not to think about I," Harry grumbled. "So your book outsells Gilderoy Lockhart's best-seller. We'll just get another vault at Gringotts for all the money you make from this book and put it out of our minds completely."
Hermione made a thoughtful, ironic noise. "I've never heard of a celebrity with such a rotten opinion of money as you have." There was no recrimination in her voice, merely faintly amused observation.
Harry shrugged with the shoulder that was not serving as Hermione's headrest. "It's not what's important, but most people don't see it, and I guess that just… feels wrong to me."
"I know," Hermione said softly and laid her hand on his thigh. And she did know, he knew. She understood how he felt because he'd been given money in place of parents and had hated the trade every single second of his life.
But it wasn't appreciation for her depth of understanding of his quirky mind that was stirring Harry right then… it was the hand she'd so casually placed on his thigh. He'd been enjoying the calm, comfortable quiet of their evening, but shifting to a little less quiet and calm was definitely promising.
"I called Mum while you were out," Hermione said conversationally, her hand still on his leg. "I told her we'd be at Gram's at ten tomorrow morning."
"Uh huh," Harry returned as he brought up his free hand to trace Hermione's forearm affectionately… and in doing so just happening to nudge her hand a bit higher up his leg.
"Gram's really thrilled that you footed the bill to have Uncle Ben and his family flown over for the holidays; Mum said she's been going on and on about how wonderful it will be to have the whole family together for Christmas. If you ever had any lingering question as to whether or not Gram liked you before, you'll never have to worry again after this Christmas."
"Oh, good," Harry said, rather distracted in truth, as he shifted slightly forward on the couch cushion, wiggling his hips very discreetly closer to her perfect hand lying wonderfully, elegantly, enticingly high on his thigh.
"I've informed the owl post that we'd rather have our mail held than
forwarded to Gram's house, so we won't be bothered during Christmas. Though we should still take along Hedwig. No reason not to now that Gram knows all about the world of magic."
"Sure," Harry responded while subtly managing to get Hermione's hand an inch higher… and winding him sweetly tighter. The heat from the fire was noticeably oppressive just then, and strangely concentrated on his face. His pulse was quickening and his stomach tying itself in exquisite knots.
Hedwig hooted haughtily and turned on the perch to present her back to the couple. Crookshooks looked over at them, gave a sniff, and stood to primly pad out of the room.
"Oh, and Harry?" "Hmmm?"
Hermione lifted her head from his shoulder to look him in the eye… and how well he knew that devilish glint in her gaze. It shot a bolt of desire through him, head to toe, and made his jeans uncomfortably tight. "You're so transparent," said with a saucy voice and a wicked smirk.
Harry was breathless.
Hermione put down her mug, turned back to him on the couch, and promptly straddled him. Harry's hands immediately went to her hips, those hips his hands knew so well, and he buried his face in her stomach, nibbling lovingly at her belly through the thin material of the shirt. Hermione's fingers raked through his hair and she tugged at the back of his neck until Harry complied, drew back, and looked up at her.
Hermione spread her legs farther apart as she sat down on his lap, bent down, and captured his mouth with hers. Harry slipped his arms around her bum and hungrily tugged her closer to him. Their bodies touched and moved away, an exquisite dance of flesh and body heat. Harry deepened their kiss. Hermione trembled and hummed throatily into his mouth as their tongues dueled like fighting serpents. She splayed her fingers over his chest as Harry slipped his hands underneath her shirt and touched her back, lightly tracing the line of her scar with his fingertips.
Hermione tracked her hands purposefully over his torso, down his stomach, and at last she found the fly of his pants by touch alone. Harry broke from lavishing attention on her lips to bury his face in the crook of her neck.
Hermione freed the button of his jeans with practiced ease. He growled against her skin. Hermione gave a breathy laugh and blindly began to pull
down his zipper.
The fireplace flared and changed from yellow to green. Hermione leapt off Harry's lap and whirled to face the fireplace. Harry jumped to his feet and turned to face the kitchen as he hastily tugged back up his zipper just as Arthur Weasley strode through the floo into their living room.
"Happy Christmas, Potters!" he called cheerfully, arms laden with gifts like a red-haired Saint Nick.
"Oh, um… happy Christmas, Mister Weasley," Hermione said in a high-pitched voice. She noticed and cleared her throat a couple of times.
Harry turned to face their guest… but made it a point to stand behind Hermione. "Hi, Mister Weasley."
Arthur looked a brief moment at both of them then belly-laughed. "Oh! Sorry to interrupt, I'll just leave these presents with you, and you two can get back to the holiday shagging."
Hermione blushed beet red and Harry didn't know whether to curse Arthur Weasley for showing up when he did or thank him for making his obvious excitement vanish in record time. At least he could stop hiding behind Hermione.
Arthur went to the Christmas tree to unload his armfuls of brightly wrapped boxes. Harry hurried over to help. "Thank you, Harry."
"Sure, Mister Weasley. Looks like Missus Weasley outdid herself this year," Harry remarked as he looked at all the gifts.
"Yes, well, with Molly's oldest boys married off and starting to have babies she's become a bit fanatical about the knitting, I'm afraid. Can't toss a cat in the Burrow without the poor thing landing on a knitting needle. Good thing we don't have cats. But on the plus side, Molly is getting a good deal better at knitting. The boys will actually wear their jumpers out in public now."
Hermione came over to join them and looked askance at the tubular item Arthur had not put down on the floor with the others. "What's that?"
"Ah this… a little something courtesy of the ministry."
Harry and Hermione exchanged a look, both equally baffled, neither with a clue what could be in the tube.
"Now, I hope you two like it, because I'll confess I had a hand in it. Last year at Liberation Day the Minster of Magic decided there ought to be a proper monument to the saviors of the wizarding world from the terror of Lord Voldemort."
"Oh no," Harry groaned, "Mister Weasley, if you tell me there's a statue of me somewhere I'm going to go spare."
Arthur chortled. "That was their first idea, a matching set of twenty-foot statues for the both of you in Diagon Alley. Oh, they were spectacularly detailed, too, I saw the miniaturized models. Fully animated, waving and brandishing wands like the swashbucklers of old… very heroic-looking."
Harry's shoulders sagged. Hermione just gave a sickly smile like one given a hideous shirt for Christmas by a batty old grandparent.
"But," Arthur continued, "I told them you'd go spare if they erected a statue in your likeness."
"Bloody right," Harry mumbled.
"So, what did the ministry do instead?" Hermione asked, looking just as relived as Harry to find out that the statue idea had been axed.
Arthur tapped the tube in his possession. "This. When I told them that neither of you would appreciate larger-than-life replica bird perches, they asked me, as I knew you and Hermione personally and well at that, what the pair of you would like. They do want your approval, bad PR to have the hero and heroine of the wizarding world look down on the administration, though at times I'm sure it seems they're not all that horribly concerned about your opinions of the ministry, but I digress.
"So, I thought a long time about what the two of you might like. Since neither of you are much in the way of monument people, and that's what the ministry officials wanted, a big public-winning monument to Harry and Hermione Potter, it was hard to think of something fitting. But," Arthur held up the tube triumphantly, "I really think I've come through on this." He extended it to Hermione. "Go on, open it."
Hermione took the tube, glanced at Harry next to the tree, then shrugged and pried open one end of the hollow tube. She pulled from inside a thick rolled bit of paper, of a matching size with a wall poster.
Hermione set aside the tube and unrolled the paper. When she had it held out before her, she just looked at it at first, face inscrutable, then she looked
up at Arthur and said, "You did a very good job, Mister Weasley. It's perfect." "Ah! I knew you'd like it! Wait until I tell the fellows back at the office."
Harry stepped over to stand beside Hermione and look at the oversized paper that she held.
It was a wizard painting, he saw at once. It depicted a forest, or the edge of one, and in the background, through the trees, one could see the regal sight of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with its great towers rising toward the sky. In the foreground of the painting, two animals stared out of the piece of art straight at them. One was a black jaguar with striking blue eyes and a white lightning-bolt shaped scar over his right eye. The other was a maned lioness with dark brown eyes. As Harry and Hermione watched the artistic representations of Knight and Sagehunter, the two cats nuzzled each other, then Sagehunter yawned and displayed great canines. Knight moved
a few steps away and laid down on the forest floor, the tip of his tail twitching.
"It is perfect," Harry said, surprised despite himself, and he glanced up at Ron and Ginny's father. "But how does this give the ministry the monument they were slavering for?"
"Well, that's a complimentary replica of the real painting. The original's twenty-feet tall, those ministry heads have some preoccupation with twenty- foot tall monuments, and on Liberation Day it will be hung in the main lobby of the Ministry of Magic. The plaque on the frame will say 'In commemoration of the heroes of the wizarding world, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, shown above as the animagi Knight and Sagehunter, with undying gratitude and eternal thanks from the world of magic, hung this fifth Liberation Day'. A bit overdone, I know, but they're public figures, they're ripe with cheese."
"Well, if there had to be a monument, this will do very nicely," Hermione said as she smiled at Sagehunter swatting playfully at Knight's tail.
Harry nodded. "I could do without the twenty-foot-tall bit, but this is loads
better than a statue."
"Let's hang it over the fireplace, Harry," Hermione suggested brightly, and Harry agreed readily.
They had to take off of the mantel the picture of James and Lily in the park dancing, as well as a muggle photograph of Jake and Miranda Granger, and a wizard photograph of the trio on their graduation day from Hogwarts. When those were safely out of the way, Harry and Arthur stretched, arms overhead
and on their toes, to hang the painting. It magically straightened and stuck fast to the wall without the need for hammer or nails. The two cats came to acute attention at their new home and began to sniff around at the edges of the painting.
Hermione replaced the photos that had been taken down and stepped back to look at the finished effect. She stepped over to where Harry stood and hugged him around the waist. "It's great. We owe you big time for managing this in place of statues, Mister Weasley."
Arthur waved dismissively. "Nonsense, I'm just happy you like it.
"Well, I should be getting back to the Burrow before Molly wonders what's kept me. We're supposed to be going to George and Angelina's for dinner tonight, and if I keep Molly from Juliana and Geoffrey a minute more than necessary she'll have my hide. A bit of advice, you two, don't stand between a woman and her grandbabies, it's not pretty."
Harry smirked. "We'll keep that in mind."
"Happy Christmas, Harry and Hermione… I'll be out of here and you two can get back to what you were doing."
Hermione bit her lip and flushed pink. "Happy Christmas, Mister Weasley, and give our love to the family."
"You know I will," and with a wave Mister Weasley tossed a bit of floo powder into the flames and vanished through their emerald fireplace. Shortly afterward, it changed from green to yellow and orange and, were it not for the added presents under the tree and the new art on the wall, he may not have dropped by at all for how the room was just as it had been before his quick visit.
Harry shifted slightly and brought up his arms around Hermione from where he now stood behind her. They both watched their animagus likenesses frolicking in the painting. The artist had done an amazing job of capturing Knight and Sagehunter… or at least Harry knew the painter had done a wonderful job on Sagehunter, for it was a suitably eerie spitting image of the lioness being emulated, as all wizard paintings took great pains to be. It would suggest that the representation of Knight was equally spot-on if logic followed from Sagehunter's example.
"It's really very lovely, isn't it?" Hermione said softly as she brought up her hands to touch his arms as they crossed over her chest.
"Yeah, it is. Mister Weasley really saved our dignity by talking the ministry into this instead of statues."
Hermione almost laughed and leaned back barely in his embrace, her back pressing warmly and enticingly along his front.
"You know… we were in the middle of something," Harry whispered hopefully in her ear.
Hermione smiled then, a beautiful smile that bloomed on her face and made her almost seem to glow. She turned in his arms and looked up lasciviously at him. "So we were… better luck in the bedroom, perhaps?"
Harry didn't need to be told twice. With a grin, he scooped her up in his arms. Hermione squealed and instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. "Harry!" she cried breathlessly. But she didn't offer anything more in the way of protest as he carried her through their house toward the master bedroom. Not unless one wanted to call her nibbling on his ear a protest, which Harry wouldn't. It made him laugh and walk faster, hungry for her touch, blind with a burning need to make love to her.
And when he did, Harry Potter, Vanquisher of Lord Voldemort, husband to Hermione Potter (formerly Granger), was the happiest man on Earth.
END
The beast to the beast is calling, And the mind bends down to wait: Like the stealthy lord of the jungle, The man calls to his mate.