A/N: I do not own any character references by JK Rowling in the Harry Potter series or agree with her comments. This story is a product of my pure imagination. I do not profit from this and will not pay for any commissions for art about this story.
I'm just a kid and life is a nightmare
I'm just a kid, I know that it's not fair
Nobody cares, I'm alone and the world is
Having more fun than me
~ I'm Just a Kid by Simple Plan
~*~12th December 1997 ~*~
The wind had finally died down. After a week of nervously pacing at their camp at Loch Maree, eyes constantly drifting toward the direction of Hogwarts that was closer than they were comfortable with, Harry and Hermione agreed it was time to move on.
So, they packed up in the dark, their breath visible against the darkness of the night, and vanished from the loch without a trace. After two days, with tired and sore feet, they had found Loch Duich.
Amongst the water, like a painting, stood the ruins of an old stone castle, and scaffolding along its walls showed how it was being restored. The sign at the gate warned it was closed for renovations, due to re-open in two years. The isolation was perfect for them.
Apparating beyond the bridge, they'd cast their usual concealment spells, followed by checking to make sure they were alone on the island. When it came up blank, they had the place to themselves.
The castle had numerous rooms, some of which had clearly been renovated and were ready for tourists to see what it had once been. They had settled in a living quarter with a narrow window overlooking the loch, where they had pitched their tent. The snow had returned, but inside the stone walls and canvas, the wind and elements no longer bothered them.
Hermione stepped out into the wide room, just as a slight breeze came through a crack in the window. Frost was building up on the crack, making the sunlight refract and casting small rainbows around the room. She hugged her jumper close, moving closer to the window, and watched the loch, seeing that it had grown more silver in appearance, like glass, as the ice built up around the castle walls.
The only sounds were the distant birds, the natural groaning of the old walls, and the slight wind through the broken window. So quiet that she could hear Harry's pop as he apparated into the castle, then heard the scuffing of his boots on the stone floor. She glanced behind her as he stepped into the doorway, paper bags clutched in his arms.
"I got some food," he said, his cheeks pink from the cold and snowflakes still clinging to his scarf.
Hermione moved quickly to take the paper bags from him. "I was beginning to worry that you fell through the ice."
"Nah," he said, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "The village's store was only a mile away, and it was still open."
She opened the first bag. More bread, a block of cheese, some eggs, and a can of soup. In the second, she found pasta, some chicken, and tuna in cans, and at the bottom sat a book. The cover was bright pink, Making the Grade.
Hermione looked at him, "A romance novel?"
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I figured you could use a break from Spellman's Syllabuses and Magical Histories of the Twenty Century."
She laughed, "That's not their titles." Reaching out, she used his shoulder for balance as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Can't wait to read it."
His ears were turning red, but he grinned. "It's about a professor and his student, sounded interesting."
Hermione looked at him with a grin. "Oh, really?"
Harry cleared his throat and moved to put the pasta away in the cabinets. "Yeah, I thought you'd like it."
Hermione watched him, the book still in her hand, as she set her bag on the table. "You know, you were my professor once."
The box of pasta he'd been holding slipped through his fingers and hit the floor as he turned around. "What?!"
Nonchalantly, she perched herself in the armchair, curling her legs under her. "Well, you were," she said, "The DA, remember?"
Harry bent down, grabbing the box. "You can't say stuff like that, Hermione. Bloody Hell."
Hermione bit her lip as he turned away from her. While their first time on the loch had been exciting, they had come together one other time, saying it was to keep each other warm. It was like something in her libido had been activated, and she had lost track of how many times while Harry was on watch that she had pleasured herself thinking of him. "Why not?" she asked, barely hiding her grin. "It's not like you assigned homework."
Harry turned to her, his face flushed. "Yeah, well, you're lucky I didn't give out detentions."
She wiggled her eyebrows, "Ooh, detention with Professor Potter? What would that have involved if I were a naughty girl?"
Harry groaned and threw the kitchen towel at her, and she caught it with a laugh.
Later that night, Harry was walking the perimeter of the castle before nightfall, and Hermione was pacing the floor of their tent. Her hands were buzzing with anxiety as she flapped them, trying to get blood flow back to them. For some reason, at the bottom of her bag, she had packed her Hogwarts uniform. The shirt was much looser than it should have been, showing obvious signs of starvation, and the skirt was slowly creeping down her hips as she walked.
The sun was dipping lower on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the tent as the flap opened back up and Harry walked in.
He froze when he saw her, and as if she had timed it, her skirt fell to her ankles.
"Nevermind!" Hermione squeaked as she pulled back up her skirt.
Harry swallowed hard. "But class is in session, Miss Granger."
Hermione looked up at him, "Seriously?"
"You can't be late… can you?" Harry asked.
Hermione nearly moaned as he walked closer to her.
"I think you should take a seat and turn to page 54 in your book and read it to me," Harry said.
Hermione swallowed hard and walked over to the table where the damn romance novel sat and grabbed it. Sitting down, she turned to page 54. Looking up at him as he took his coat off, she blinked, "Read it, sir?"
"Yes," Harry said.
Hermione swallowed hard and started reading it.
"You're late, Miss Archer," Professor Hale said, not looking up from the stack of essays spread along his desk. "Class already ended."
"I needed to see you," she said, closing the door behind her with a soft click, "Right after class didn't seem… appropriate."
He finally looked up, and their eyes locked. His blue eyes were unreadable. "You're here now, what do you need?"
She crossed the room slowly. When she reached his desk, she didn't sit in the chair. Instead, she leaned against his desk. "Tell me this is a bad idea," she whispered.
His pen twitched in his fingers. "It's a terrible idea."
Reaching up to her top, she unbuttoned the top of her blouse. He stood, and suddenly his hands were on her waist, pushing her back against the essays on his desk.
"We have ten minutes before my next class," He growled.
"Then we better not waste them," She stated.
Hermione frowned, "Well, it doesn't tell anything. That's just sad."
"Class is in session, Miss Granger, are you…stacking off?" Harry asked.
Hermione looked up at him as he leaned against the counter across from her. She bit her lip as he rolled his sleeves up, showing his forearms that he knew she had a weakness for.
"Stand up, Miss Granger," he commanded.
Hermione stood up so fast that her chair fell back to the floor, and she could feel the new familiar warmth spreading between her legs as they trembled.
Harry approached her, his hands reaching for her waist. Pulling her close, his lips brushed her ear. "You've been a very naughty girl, Miss Granger," he whispered. "I think it's time for your punishment."
Hermione groaned as his hands moved lower, cupping her bottom and picking her up. Throwing her arms around his neck, she was surprised when, instead of heading toward the bed, he turned and laid her back against the table. Moving his hands down her legs, he hooked his thumb in her knickers and pulled them down her legs. Flipping up her skirt, he groaned, "Definitely punishment."
Hermione moaned as his fingers grazed her.
"I've heard you, Miss Granger," He smirked, biting her ear, "Don't think I haven't. How you pleasure yourself when you think I'm not close enough to hear you, but I do, and it's torture."
"Fuck, Harry," Hermione moaned as he slid a finger inside her, and his thumb found her clit.
Grabbing onto the table, she gasped as his finger moved faster than another joined it. Feeling her orgasm building, she gasped out his name.
"Come for me," he whispered into her ear, then kissed her hard.
She screamed into his mouth as she came hard, clenching down on his fingers.
Catching her breath as he slowly continued to stroke her, she realized she had clutched his back so hard that she could have left marks. "Sorry," she gasped.
Harry stepped back, unbuckling his belt, "Fuck, Hermione." His trousers dropped to the floor, and his penis sprang up, hitting his stomach as he leaned forward and kissed her hard, spreading her legs as he moved between them.
Hermione groaned as she felt him breach her entrance, and much faster than their previous two times, thrust inside her, filling her. Hermione cried out, her back arching as she grabbed onto the back of his head.
"Are you okay?" Harry asked, fighting for breath.
"Never better, move!" Hermione gasped.
Harry grabbed her hips and thrust hard and fast. Moaning as her body shook, each time he filled her. She felt another orgasm quickly building, "Touch me!" she gasped.
Harry moved one hand between them without losing his blinding rhythm and found her clit. Once, twice, and a third time was the charm as she shattered into a million pieces. A few more hard thrusts as Harry filled her, falling forward on her, he too shaking.
"Holy shit, Hermione," Harry gasped, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face.
"My God," Hermione said, throwing her arm over her eyes, "Why haven't we been doing that this whole time?"
Harry giggled, sending her into her own giggles. Pulling out of her, he picked her up and carried her to bed, kissing her.
Hermione sighed as he lay on top of her and she played with the long hairs on the back of his head. "You need a haircut."
Harry grinned against her skin, "Why, you don't like it? You sure seem to pull it a lot."
Hermione gasped, hitting him, "I do not!"
Harry laughed, "You just did! My sore scalp says so!"
Hermione sighed as Harry pulled the covers over both of them. "Nox!"
Harry kissed her shoulder, "Goodnight, Hermione."
"Night, Harry," Hermione said, closing her eyes.
~*~23rd December 1997 ~*~
Hermione exited the tent, rubbing her arms as she looked around for Harry. After he had come to her with his theory of Godric's Hollow and Bathilda Bagshot, she had exhausted herself thinking of any possibility that could go wrong, and every possibility that they could do to remain safe.
Going into town three days ago, she purposely pretended to slip on some ice and stumbled into a couple who were Christmas shopping so that she could obtain hair from them. They practiced apparating and disapparating under his cloak together. Only then did she feel it would be almost safe enough to go to Godric's Hollow.
Leaving the quarters they were in, Hermione found Harry down the hall staring at an old portrait. Slipping behind him, she took his hand and squeezed it. "Are you okay? We don't have to do this tomorrow."
"No, we'll go. I just…" he trailed off, "I'm about to go to my home, Hermione. The place where I actually had family. I could have grown up and spent holidays there. You and Ron would have come over to hang out. Would I have had brothers and sisters?" He whispered.
Hermione swallowed back her tears. "I wish you would have gotten all of that."
"Would I have been the same person if they had lived?" Harry wondered.
Hermione smiled through her tears, "Yes. No doubt about that. You are you because you are an amazing man, not because of how you were raised. Look at how the Dursleys treated you. You could have been so mean and hateful because of how you were treated. Instead, you grew into the kind, thoughtful, wonderful man that YOU made yourself."
Harry turned to her and pulled her into a hug. Hermione felt the top of her head getting wet, but didn't say anything. "Come to bed. We need rest for tomorrow."
Harry nodded as he let her lead him by hand back to the tent.
~*~24th December 1997 ~*~
Hermione looked out the small window after packing the tent away in her beaded bag. The sun was nearly to the horizon as Harry picked up the vials of Polyjuice, handing hers to her. Taking a breath, Hermione gulped down her potion. Coughing as she shrank slightly, she looked up and saw Harry transforming into a balding, middle-aged man with the Horcrux around his neck. Tucking her beaded bag into the inside pocket of her coat, she buttoned it up.
"Ready?" she asked.
He nodded, and she wrapped her arms around him as he lowered the Invisibility Cloak around them. Closing her eyes, they turned into darkness once again.
Hermione pulled away from him as a wave of nausea hit her.
"You okay?" Harry frowned, grabbing her hand.
Hermione let out a slow breath as it passed, "Yeah. It's been too long since we've apparated, and between that and the damn potion, I nearly got sick."
Looking around, they were standing in the middle of a lane. The sky was darkening over the cottages that stood on both sides of the small lane where they stood. Christmas decorations twinkled in their windows.
A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the center of the village.
Hermione's heart raced seeing all the snow in the village. Snow meant footprints they'd leave behind them.
"All this snow!" Hermione whispered beneath the cloak. "Why didn't we think of snow? After all our precautions, we'll leave prints! We'll just have to get rid of them — you go in front, I'll do it —"
"Let's take off the Cloak," said Harry.
Hermione looked at him, feeling scared. "What?"
"Oh, come on, we don't look like us and there's no one around." Harry told her, removing the cloak from their bodies.
Hermione glanced around, paranoid at the houses, but no one was looking out of their windows.
He stowed the Cloak under his jacket, and they made their way forward unhampered, the icy air stinging their faces as they passed more cottages.
Hermione watched as Harry gazed at each house they passed as if it would trigger a memory from long ago.
Then the little lane along which they were walking curved to the left and the heart of the village, a small square, was revealed to them. Strung all around with colored lights, there was what looked like a war memorial in the middle, partly obscured by a windblown Christmas tree. There were several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel-bright across the square. The snow here had become impacted: It was hard and slippery where people had trodden on it all day. Villagers were crisscrossing in front of them, their figures briefly illuminated by streetlamps. They heard a snatch of laughter and pop music as the pub door opened and closed; then they heard a carol start up inside the little church.
Hermione froze as she recognized the carol.
"Harry, I think it's Christmas Eve!" said Hermione.
"Is it?" Harry asked.
They had not seen a newspaper for weeks. Never finding one in the last town they left.
"I'm sure it is," said Hermione, her eyes upon the church. "They . . . they'll be in there, won't they? Your mum and dad? I can see the graveyard behind it."
She reached for his hand and took the lead for the first time, pulling him forward. Halfway across the square, however, she stopped as she saw the memorial.
"Harry, look!" As they had passed it, it had transformed. Instead of an obelisk covered in names, there was a statue of three people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and a baby boy sitting in his mother's arms. Snow lay upon all their heads, like fluffy white caps.
Hermione swallowed hard as Harry drew closer, gazing up into his parents' faces. She tried not to cry as she saw the tiny baby, free of a scar on his head.
"C'mon," said Harry, turning again toward the church.
As they crossed the road, he glanced over his shoulder at the memorial, and the singing grew louder as they approached the church.
There was a kissing gate at the entrance to the graveyard. Hermione pushed it open as quietly as possible, and they edged through it. On either side of the slippery path to the church doors, the snow lay deep and untouched. They moved off through the snow, carving deep trenches behind them as they walked around the building, keeping to the shadows beneath the brilliant windows. Behind the church, row upon row of snowy tombstones protruded from a blanket of pale blue that was flecked with dazzling red, gold, and green wherever the reflections from the stained glass hit the snow.
Harry let go of her hand so they could clear the tombstones.
Clearing the one nearest to her, she heard Harry say, "Look at this, it's an Abbott, could be some long-lost relation of Hannah's!"
"Keep your voice down," Hermione begged him.
Wading deeper into the snow and the graveyard, she peered at the words on old headstones, every now and then squinting into the surrounding darkness to make absolutely sure that they were unaccompanied. She was two rows away from Harry when she cleared a stone and gasped. DUMBLEDORE was carved into it.
"Harry, here!"
"Is it — ?" Harry asked excitedly.
Hermione's heart broke, "No, but look!" She pointed to the dark stone.
KENDRA DUMBLEDORE and, a short way below her dates of birth and death, AND HER DAUGHTER ARIANA. There was also a quotation: Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also
Hermione looked at Harry, seeing how it was affecting him. "Are you sure he never mentioned — ?" Hermione began.
"No," said Harry curtly, then, "let's keep looking," and he turned away,
Hermione moved to the next tombstone and saw a P, "Here!" cried Hermione again as she saw an e next to the P instead, "Oh no, sorry! I thought it said Potter."
She rubbed at the moss-covered, crumbling stone and frowned as he walked away. "Harry, come back a moment."
"What?" He said a little short.
"Look at this!" Hermione said as a symbol emerged underneath the moss. She pointed to it. "Harry, that's the mark in the book!"
"Yeah . . . it could be. . . ." Harry said.
Hermione lit her wand and pointed it at the name on the headstone. "It says Ig — Ignotus, I think...." Where had she heard that name before?
"I'm going to keep looking for my parents, all right?" Harry told her, a slight edge to his voice, and he set off again, leaving her crouched beside the old grave.
Suddenly, the graveyard fell silent, far too quiet. Hermione glanced behind them at the church, then back to Harry. The carols had stopped. They both froze as they watched the churchgoers leave the church and make their way to the square. Neither moved until someone inside the church turned off the lights.
Only then did Hermione feel that she could breathe as she moved to the next tombstone, much newer than the last. As she uncovered it, her heart began to race.
"Harry," She breathed out, "hey're here . . . right here."
The headstone was only two rows behind Kendra and Ariana's. It was made of white marble, just like Dumbledore's tomb, and this made it easy to read, as it seemed to shine in the dark.
JAMES POTTER LILY POTTER
BORN 27 MARCH 1960 BORN 30 JANUARY 1960
DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
"'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death' . . ." Harry whispered. "Isn't that a Death Eater idea? Why is that there?"
"It doesn't mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry," said Hermione, her voice gentle. "It means . . . you know . . . living beyond death. Living after death."
Glancing at him, she saw in the darkness his lips pressed hard together, looking down at the thick snow. He sniffed slightly, and Hermioned took his hand, squeezing it tightly as she saw tears rolling down his nose. He squeezed it back as he took gulps of the cold night air.
Clearing her throat, he didn't look at her. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Potter." Harry's eyes snapped to her, but she looked straight at their tombstone. "I thought I'd introduce myself. I am Hermione. Hermione Granger. I am your son's best friend. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I just want to tell you that you would be so proud of him." She said, swallowing back her own tears as they sprang to her eyes, "He's grown up into an amazing man, but… I'm sorry. I refuse… to let him join you any time soon."
Raising her wand, she moved it in a circle through the air, and a wreath of Christmas roses bloomed before their eyes. Harry caught it and laid it propped on his parents' grave.
Sniffing, Hermione wiped away her tears as Harry stood.
He put his arm around Hermione's shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, and they turned in silence and walked away through the snow, past Dumbledore's mother and sister, back toward the dark church and the out-of-sight kissing gate.
They were back toward the grave of the unknown Abbott when Hermione could feel eyes on her.
"Harry, stop." Hermione froze, grabbing his coat in her grasp, wand tight in her hand.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked.
Hermione pulled him down to her and whispered in his ear. "There's someone there. Someone watching us. I can tell. There, over by the bushes."
They stood quite still, holding on to each other, gazing at the dense black boundary of the graveyard.
"Are you sure?" Harry asked.
"I saw something move, I could have sworn I did…" She broke from him to free her wand arm.
"We look like Muggles," Harry pointed out.
Hermione hissed. "Muggles who've just been laying flowers on your parents' grave! Harry, I'm sure there's someone over there!"
"It's a cat," said Harry, after a second or two, "or a bird. If it was a Death Eater we'd be dead by now. But let's get out of here, and we can put the Cloak back on."
They glanced back repeatedly as they made their way out of the graveyard. Reaching the slippery pavement, they pulled the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves.
The pub was fuller than before: Many voices inside it were now singing the carol that they had heard as they approached the church. Hermione murmured, "Let's go this way," and pulled him down the dark street leading out of the village in the opposite direction from which they had entered. The cottages became fewer, then the lane turned into open country again. They walked as quickly as they dared, past more windows sparkling with multicolored lights, the outlines of Christmas trees dark through the curtains.
"How are we going to find Bathilda's house?" asked Hermione, who was shivering a little and kept glancing back over her shoulder. "Harry? What do you think? Harry?" She tugged at his arm, but Harry was not paying attention.
Next moment he had sped up, dragging Hermione along with him; she slipped a little on the ice. "Harry —"
"Look... Look at it, Hermione..." Harry said.
Hermione frowned, "I don't . . . oh!" She saw it.
The hedge had grown wild in the sixteen years since and the rubble lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in dark ivy and snow, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart.
They stood at the gate, gazing up at the wreck of what must once have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.
"I wonder why nobody's ever rebuilt it?" whispered Hermione.
"Maybe you can't rebuild it?" Harry replied. "Maybe it's like the injuries from Dark Magic and you can't repair the damage?"
Hermione gasped. "You're not going to go inside? It looks unsafe, it might — oh, Harry, look!"
His touch on the gate seemed to have done it. A sign had risen out of the ground in front of them, up through the tangles of nettles and weeds, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower, and in golden letters upon the wood it said: On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family.
And all around these neatly lettered words, scribbles had been added by other witches and wizards who had come to see the place where the Boy Who Lived had escaped. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink; others had carved their initials into the wood, still others had left messages. The most recent of these, shining brightly over sixteen years' worth of magical graffiti, all said similar things. Good luck, Harry, wherever you are. If you read this, Harry, we're all behind you! Long live Harry Potter.
"They shouldn't have written on the sign!" said Hermione.
But Harry beamed at her. "It's brilliant. I'm glad they did. I . . ." He broke off.
Hermione looked over as he did. A figure was hobbling up the lane toward them, silhouetted by the bright lights in the distant square.
Hermione gripped her wand hard. It seemed to be a woman, and she was moving slowly, possibly frightened of slipping on the snowy ground. Her stoop, her stoutness, her shuffling gait all gave an impression of extreme age. They watched in silence as she drew nearer.
At last she came to a halt a few yards from them and simply stood there in the middle of the frozen road, facing them. Hermione pinched Harry's arm as the old woman gazed at the house that Muggles could not see. She was definitely magical. She shouldn't have been able to see them as they were still covered in the cloak, but she raised a gloved hand and beckoned.
Hermione moved closer to him under the Cloak, her arm pressed against his. "How does she know?"
He shook his head, and the woman beckoned again, more vigorously.
Hermione's uneasiness was making her nauseous. Finally, Harry spoke, causing Hermione to gasp and jump. "Are you Bathilda?"
The muffled figure nodded and beckoned again. Beneath the Cloak, Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Harry raised his eyebrows; Hermione gave a tiny, nervous nod. They stepped toward the woman and, at once, she turned and hobbled off back the way they had come.
Leading them past several houses, she turned in at a gate. They followed her up the front path through a garden nearly as overgrown as the one they had just left. She fumbled for a moment with a key at the front door, then opened it and stepped back to let them pass. She smelled bad, or perhaps it was her house. The nausea crept back as they sidled past her and pulled off the Cloak.
She was tiny, smaller than Hermione herself.
She closed the door behind them, her knuckles blue and mottled against the peeling paint, then turned and peered into Harry's face. Her eyes were thick with cataracts and sunken into folds of transparent skin, and her whole face was dotted with broken veins and liver spots. The odor of old age, of dust, of unwashed clothes and stale food intensified as she unwound a moth-eaten black shawl, revealing a head of scant white hair through which the scalp showed clearly.
Hermione shifted uneasily, looking between her and Harry.
"Bathilda?" Harry repeated.
She nodded again.
Bathilda shuffled past them, pushing Hermione aside as though she had not seen her, and vanished into what seemed to be a sitting room.
Hermione grabbed onto Harry. "Harry, I'm not sure about this," breathed Hermione.
"Look at the size of her; I think we could overpower her if we had to," said Harry. "Listen, I should have told you, I knew she wasn't all there. Muriel called her 'gaga.'"
Hermione heard hissing from within the house and jumped and clutched Harry's arm.
"It's okay," said Harry reassuringly, and he led the way into the sitting room.
Bathilda was tottering around the place, lighting candles, but it was still very dark, not to mention extremely dirty.
Thick dust crunched beneath their feet, and Hermione was having to breathe through her mouth to escape the smell. Looking around, Bathilda had no one looking after her in her old age. It was like a hoarder lived within the house. Old books, magazines, and Daily Prophets were all scattered around the room.
She lit the candles clumsily by hand, her trailing lace cuff in constant danger of catching fire.
"Let me do that," offered Harry, and he took the matches from her.
She stood watching him as he finished lighting the candle stubs that stood on saucers around the room, perched precariously on stacks of books and on side tables crammed with cracked and moldy cups. Harry spotted one last candle on a bow-fronted chest of drawers on which there stood a large number of photographs. When the flame danced into life, its reflection wavered on their dusty glass and silver.
Bathilda fumbled with logs for the fire, he muttered "Tergeo"
The dust vanished from the photographs. Most of the frames were empty. Hermione watched him grab one.
"Mrs. — Miss — Bagshot?" he said, and his voice shook slightly. "Who is this?"
Hermione had stepped forward and lit the fire for Bathilda.
"Miss Bagshot?" Harry repeated, and he advanced with the picture in his hands as the flames burst into life in the fireplace.
Bathilda looked up at his voice, "Who is this person?" Harry asked her, pushing the picture forward.
She peered at it solemnly, then up at Harry. "Do you know who this is?" he repeated in a much slower and louder voice than usual. "This man? Do you know him? What's he called?"
Bathilda merely looked vague. "Who is this man?" he repeated loudly.
Hermione stepped forward. "Harry, what are you doing?" asked Hermione.
"This picture, Hermione, it's the thief, the thief who stole from Gregorovitch! Please!" he said to Bathilda. "Who is this?" But she only stared at him.
"Why did you ask us to come with you, Mrs. — Miss — Bagshot?" asked Hermione, "Was there something you wanted to tell us?"
It was as if she had not even heard Hermione. Bathilda now shuffled a few steps closer to Harry. With a little jerk of her head, she looked back into the hall.
"You want us to leave?" he asked. She repeated the gesture, this time pointing firstly at him, then at herself, then at the ceiling. "Oh, right . . . Hermione, I think she wants me to go upstairs with her."
"All right," said Hermione, "let's go."
But when Hermione moved, Bathilda shook her head with surprising vigor, once more pointing first at Harry, then to herself.
"She wants me to go with her, alone." Harry stated.
Hermione looked at the old woman suspiciously. Something didn't feel right. "Why?" asked Hermione,
"Maybe Dumbledore told her to give the sword to me, and only to me?" Harry told her.
Hermione glanced at Bathilda. "Do you really think she knows who you are?"
"Yes," said Harry, looking down into the milky eyes fixed upon his own, "I think she does."
Hermione bit her lip, "Well, okay then, but be quick, Harry." Not feeling good about it.
"Lead the way," Harry told Bathilda.
She shuffled around him toward the door. Harry glanced back at Hermione with a reassuring smile. Hermione just stood hugging herself in the midst of the candlelit squalor, looking toward the bookcase.
Hermione was looking through the books on the shelves, listening closely as she heard a crash upstairs.
"Harry?" She asked as she ran up the stairs. Taking two at a time.
"Accio . . . Accio Wand . . ." She heard Harry gasp out.
Moving toward the gasping, Hermione entered a bedroom to see Harry wrapped up by a snake. He had gone limp, his arm bleeding, and Hermione fired off a stunning spell. Nagini let Harry go, but did not freeze. Instead, it struck out at her.
Hermione dived aside with a shriek; her deflected curse hit the curtained window, which shattered.
Harry ducked to avoid another shower of broken glass, and Hermione had to dive under the bed as the snake lashed out at her again. Firing off reducio, with a bang and a flash of red light, and the snake flew into the air, smacking Harry hard in the face as it went. Harry raised his wand, but as he did so, he yelled, "He's coming! Hermione, he's coming!"
As he yelled, the snake fell, hissing wildly. It smashed shelves from the wall, and splintered china flew everywhere as Harry jumped over the bed and seized Hermione by the arm, hurting her arm in the process.
She screamed out in pain as he pulled her back across the bed.
The snake reared again as Harry took a running leap, dragging Hermione with him. It went to strike again, and Hermione screamed, "Confringo!" Her spell flew around the room, exploding the wardrobe mirror and ricocheting back at them, bouncing from floor to ceiling.
Pulling Hermione with him, he leapt from bed to broken dressing table and then straight out of the smashed window into nothingness. The glass tore at her jacket, and she screamed, it reverberating through the night as they twisted in midair.
Hermione didn't know where they landed, but when they landed, Harry was screaming. It was almost as if he was convulsing, crawling to him in the snow, "Harry! Harry! Wake up!" She yelled, touching his face.
When he didn't wake, she stood up, doing the protective enchantments around them with shaking hands as fast as she could.
Behind her, Harry moaned, groaning out different words. She thought she understood them, but it didn't make sense. Like "Not Dad" and "Don't hurt Mum."
Erecting the tent as fast as possible, Harry was still unconscious, moaning out as if in pain. Levitating him into the bottom bunk, he groaned in pain, clutching his chest. She grabbed her beaded bag, "Accio dittany!"
The bottle of dittany jumped out of her bag, and she caught it. Grabbing his arm as he shook, she used her wand to sanitize the wound where Nagini had bitten him. Cleaning the dirt and already darkening skin away from the wound, she applied the dittany and watched his skin slowly knit back together.
Harry was still in a fit, clutching at his chest as he moaned unintelligible words. Grabbing at his jumper, she pulled at his shirt. He fought her, lashing out at her as if she were someone else.
"Harry, Harry, it's just me!" Hermione yelled.
But he did not hear her.
She vanished his jumper and gasped. The locket looked like it was eating into his skin underneath his t-shirt. Red, angry, and bleeding. Grabbing at the chain of the locket, she did her best to pull it from his neck. Once it was free, she tried to pull it from his chest, but it would not budge. His skin gave a sickening sound as she tried to pull, and he yelled out.
Grabbing her wand, she pointed at the locket and attempted a severing charm. Harry screamed out as blood squirted across his chest. She was finally able to remove it and threw it across the room. Her hands shook as she applied more dittany onto his chest. He calmed but still convulsed at odd intervals, almost shivering. Hermione took every blanket in the tent and piled it upon Harry's body to see if that would help.
Harry continued to moan garbled words and groans.
His face was turning bright red as he held his breath, then would gasp for air. The sweat started to pool at his brow. Running over to the sink, she got a bowl of cool water. Grabbing a sponge, she went back to the bed and started sponging his face. Small scratches covered his face and arms. Hermione gently sponged him off, removing tiny bits of glass when she found them within his skin.
Hermione did not leave his side, did not sleep a wink the entire night. Harry fitted in and out of semi-consciousness, never fully waking up. He would have moments where he was more coherent, but throughout the night, she held vigil by his side.
It was near dawn when Harry became clearer.
"No . . ."
Hermione perked up as she sponged his face. "Harry, it's all right, you're all right!"
"No . . . I dropped it. . . . I dropped it. . . ." Harry moaned.
Hermione ran her fingers through his hair. "Harry, it's okay, wake up, wake up!"
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
"Harry," Hermione whispered. "Do you feel all — all right?"
"Yes," he said, looking around. "We got away."
"Yes," said Hermione. "I had to use a Hover Charm to get you into your bunk, I couldn't lift you. You've been . . . Well, you haven't been quite . . ."
Harry stared at her. She wasn't sure how well he could see without his glasses, but his hand reached out to hers, running his thumb over the hand holding onto the sponge.
"You've been ill," she finished. "Quite ill."
Harry shifted. "How long ago did we leave?"
Hermione swallowed hard. "Hours ago. It's nearly morning."
"And I've been . . . what, unconscious?" Harry asked.
"Not exactly," said Hermione uncomfortably. "You've been shouting and moaning and . . . things," she stated uneasily. She bit her lip, "I couldn't get the Horcrux off you," Hermione said, "It was stuck, stuck to your chest. You've got a mark; I'm sorry, I had to use a Severing Charm to get it away. The snake bit you too, but I've cleaned the wound and put some dittany on it. . . ."
He pulled the sweaty T-shirt he was wearing away from himself and looked down. At the scarlet oval over his heart, where the locket had burned him. "Where've you put the Horcrux?"
"In my bag. I think we should keep it off for a while." Hermione informed him.
He lay back on his pillows. "We shouldn't have gone to Godric's Hollow. It's my fault, it's all my fault, Hermione, I'm sorry."
Hermione sighed. "It's not your fault. I wanted to go too; I really thought Dumbledore might have left the sword there for you."
"Yeah, well . . . we got that wrong, didn't we?" Harry stated bitterly.
"What happened, Harry? What happened when she took you upstairs? Was the snake hiding somewhere? Did it just come out and kill her and attack you?" Hermione asked.
"No," he said. "She was the snake . . . or the snake was her . . . all along."
Hermione gasped, "W-what?"
He closed his eyes. "Bathilda must've been dead a while. The snake was . . . was inside her. You-Know-Who put it there in Godric's Hollow, to wait. You were right. He knew I'd go back."
"The snake was inside her?" Hermione asked, nauseous again at the thought of it.
He opened his eyes again, "Lupin said there would be magic we'd never imagined," Harry said. "She didn't want to talk in front of you, because it was Parseltongue, all Parseltongue, and I didn't realize, but of course I could understand her. Once we were up in the room, the snake sent a message to You-Know-Who, I heard it happen inside my head, I felt him get excited, he said to keep me there . . . and then . . ." He trailed off. ". . . she changed, changed into the snake, and attacked." He looked down at the puncture marks. "It wasn't supposed to kill me, just keep me there till You-Know-Who came."
Hermione swallowed back the bile that came forth, then gasped as he sat up and threw back the covers. "Harry, no, I'm sure you ought to rest!"
"You're the one who needs sleep. No offense, but you look terrible. I'm fine. I'll keep watch for a while. Where's my wand?" Harry asked, sitting at the edge of the bed.
Hermione's heart dropped. In all the panic, she had nearly forgotten the shattered remains of his wand that he had landed on.
"Where's my wand, Hermione?"
Hermione bit her lip as tears came to her eyes. "Harry . . ."
"Where's my wand?" He asked.
Hermione reached down beside the bed where she had set his wand. It was nearly in two pieces, only the core of the feather within, was holding it together.
Harry took it into his hands. Then he held out the wand to Hermione. "Mend it. Please."
Tears slid down her face, "Harry, I don't think, when it's broken like this —"
"Please, Hermione, try!" Harry begged.
Hermione took out her own wand, "R-Reparo."
The dangling half of the wand resealed itself and Harry held it up. "Lumos!"
The wand sparked feebly, then went out. Harry pointed it at Hermione. "Expelliarmus!" Hermione's wand gave a little jerk, but did not leave her hand. The feeble attempt at magic was too much for Harry's wand, which split into two again.
He stared at it in disbelief.
"Harry," Hermione whispered. "I'm so, so sorry. I think it was me. As we were leaving, you know, the snake was coming for us, and so I cast a Blasting Curse, and it rebounded everywhere, and it must have — must have hit —"
"It was an accident," said Harry mechanically. "We'll — we'll find a way to repair it."
"Harry, I don't think we're going to be able to," said Hermione, the tears trickling down her face. "Remember . . . remember Ron? When he broke his wand, crashing the car? It was never the same again, he had to get a new one."
"Well," he said, in a falsely matter-of-fact voice, "well, I'll just borrow yours for now, then. While I keep watch."
Hermione handed him her wand, and he stood up, stumbling a bit, and walked to the tent's entrance.
Hermione sobbed as he went out into the cold, feeling as if he were trying to escape from her. "Happy Christmas, Harry," she whispered.
~*~25th December 1997 ~*~
Wiping her tears as she made two cups of tea, one for herself and the other for Harry. Harry had not re-entered the tent, and Hermione had the distinct feeling that he was upset with her. She wished more than anything that she still had her time turner so that she could turn back time to make sure his wand hadn't been destroyed.
Taking a breath, she exited the tent. "Harry?" She asked hesitantly. Swallowing hard, she crouched down beside him, two cups of tea trembling in her hands.
"Thanks," he said, taking one of the cups.
Hermione bit her lip. "Do you mind if I talk to you?"
"No," he said a bit coldly.
Hermione sat down next to him, "Harry, you wanted to know who that man in the picture was. Well . . . I've got the book." Timidly she pushed it onto his lap, a pristine copy of The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore.
Harry looked at her, surprised. "Where — how — ?"
Hermione sighed. "It was in Bathilda's sitting room, just lying there. . . . This note was sticking out of the top of it." Hermione read the few lines of spiky, acid-green writing aloud. "'Dear Batty, Thanks for your help. Here's a copy of the book, hope you like it. You said everything, even if you don't remember it. Rita.' I think it must have arrived while the real Bathilda was alive, but perhaps she wasn't in any fit state to read it?"
"No, she probably wasn't." Harry said, looking at the book.
Hermione swallowed hard, and couldn't stop the tears from coming, seeing how mad he seemed at her. "You're still really angry at me, aren't you?"
"No," he said quietly. "No, Hermione, I know it was an accident. You were trying to get us out of there alive, and you were incredible. I'd be dead if you hadn't been there to help me. Hell Hermione, I'd be dead five or more times over if it weren't for you over the years. I am just sad about it, that's all." He gave her a small smile, then turned back to the book.
He riffled through the pages, looking for photographs. Together they read through the book, Harry came across the one he sought almost at once, the young Dumbledore and his handsome companion, roaring with laughter at some long-forgotten joke. Then Hermione saw the caption. Albus Dumbledore, shortly after his mother's death, with his friend Gellert Grindelwald.
Slowly she looked up at Harry. "Grindelwald?"
Harry searched the pages and together, Hermione and Harry started to read the chapter where Grindelwald was mentioned telling the history of Dumbledore and Grindelwald's friendship. Hermione finished the chapter just a bit before Harry, and as soon as he was done, she pulled it from his hands and closed it, not liking the look on Harry's face. "Harry —"
But he shook his head.
Hermione took his hand, "Harry. Listen to me. It — it doesn't make very nice reading —"
"Yeah, you could say that —"
"— but don't forget, Harry, this is Rita Skeeter writing." Hermione reminded, "And you know how truthful she is." Hermione told him, rolling her eyes.
"You did read that letter to Grindelwald, didn't you?" Harry asked.
"Yes, I — I did." She hesitated, looking upset, cradling her tea in her cold hands. "I think that's the worst bit. I know Bathilda thought it was all just talk, but 'For the Greater Good' became Grindelwald's slogan, his justification for all the atrocities he committed later. And . . . from that . . . it looks like Dumbledore gave him the idea. They say 'For the Greater Good' was even carved over the entrance to Nurmengard."
Harry looked at her, confused. "What's Nurmengard?"
"The prison Grindelwald had built to hold his opponents. He ended up in there himself, once Dumbledore had caught him. Anyway, it's — it's an awful thought that Dumbledore's ideas helped Grindelwald rise to power. But on the other hand, even Rita can't pretend that they knew each other for more than a few months one summer when they were both really young, and —"
"I thought you'd say that," said Harry with a sigh. "I thought you'd say 'They were young.' They were the same age as we are now. And here we are, risking our lives to fight the Dark Arts, and there he was, in a huddle with his new best friend, plotting their rise to power over the Muggles."
Harry stood up and started pacing.
"I'm not trying to defend what Dumbledore wrote," said Hermione. "All that 'right to rule' rubbish, it's 'Magic Is Might' all over again. But Harry, his mother had just died, he was stuck alone in the house —"
"Alone? He wasn't alone! He had his brother and sister for company, his Squib sister he was keeping locked up —" Harry stated, raising his voice.
"I don't believe it," said Hermione as she stood up. "Whatever was wrong with that girl, I don't think she was a Squib. The Dumbledore we knew would never, ever have allowed —"
"The Dumbledore we thought we knew didn't want to conquer Muggles by force!" Harry shouted, his voice echoing across the empty hilltop, and several blackbirds rose into the air, squawking and spiraling against the pearly sky.
Hermione shook her head. "He changed, Harry, he changed! It's as simple as that! Maybe he did believe these things when he was seventeen, but the whole of the rest of his life was devoted to fighting the Dark Arts! Dumbledore was the one who stopped Grindelwald, the one who always voted for Muggle protection and Muggle-born rights, who fought You-Know-Who from the start, and who died trying to bring him down!"
Hermione swallowed, looking at him, "Harry, I'm sorry, but I think the real reason you're so angry is that Dumbledore never told you any of this himself."
"Maybe I am!" Harry bellowed, and he flung his arms over his head. "Look what he asked from me, Hermione! Look what he asked of US?! Risk your life, Harry! And again! And again! And don't expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I'm doing, trust me even though I don't trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!" Hermione swallowed back the tears at the pain in his voice as it cracked.
Hermione inhaled a shaky breath. "He loved you," Hermione whispered. "I know he loved you."
Harry dropped his arms. "I don't know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn't love, the mess he's left me in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me." Harry picked up Hermione's wand, which he had dropped in the snow, and sat back down in the entrance of the tent. "Thanks for the tea. I'll finish the watch. You get back in the warm."
Hermione closed her eyes, holding back her tears. She bent down and picked up the book that had fallen to the ground, then walked past him back to the tent. Brushing the top of his head with her hand, she kissed it. Harry closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.
"Harry, why don't we just redo our protective enchantments and you come to bed?" Hermione asked.
Harry sighed, running his hand over his face, "I shouldn't."
Hermione knelt in front of him. "Harry, it's Christmas."
Harry looked at her sadly, and Hermione's heart broke. Reaching up, she cupped the back of his head and pulled him in for a kiss. "Come to bed? I'll let you unwrap a present."
Harry was confused. "How did you buy anything?"
Hermione grinned, holding out her arms, "I'm your present, silly."
Harry laughed. Laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes as he pulled her into his arms. Kissing her hard, he held her to his chest, "Thank you, Hermione."
"I'm serious," Hermione said as she stood up and pulled him into the tent.
"Wait, the enchantments," Harry said.
Hermione grinned, pushing him inside the tent, "Go wait for me. I'll make it quick."
After quickly resetting everything, she walked into the tent.
Slowly, she peeled the damp layers of his clothing from his body, kissing the reddened skin over his heart where the scarlet oval lay on his scarred skin. Still red and angry. "I'm sorry I couldn't heal it better."
After weeks of practice, Harry pulled every layer from the top half of her body with one try. Lacing his fingers into hers, he whispered, "Don't worry about it."
Hermione moaned as his lips crashed into hers, reminding her that he was alive. He was well. They both were. His mouth moved across hers. Desperate, hungry. She clung to him.
Hermione curled up on the sofa with a book by candlelight after waking up from a nightmare. Not wanting to bother Harry, she had left the bedroom area, wearing one of Harry's old Christmas jumpers that Mrs. Weasley had knitted for him. Sitting by the candlelight, she opened Tales of Beetle the Bard and started reading through it again. It was bothering her that it had to hold some significance. There was some reason why Dumbledore felt it was important to leave it to her, but she had yet to figure that out.
"Why are you up?"
Hermione looked up to see Harry, shirtless, in only his boxers, scratching his chest, "Couldn't sleep. Why are you up?"
Harry yawned, "Nightmare. Normal type, not Tom type." Harry walked over and sat down beside her, lying down, he put his head in her lap and sighed, "I've gotten used to you in the bed beside me."
Hermione smiled, running her fingers through his hair. Harry nuzzled into her stomach and kissed it. A few minutes later, Hermione smiled as Harry's soft snores filled the room, as she went back to the book.
*Rowling, J.K.. Harry Potter: The Complete Collection (1-7). Pottermore Publishing. Kindle Edition.
Preview of Chapter 8 - My Happy Ending
Hermione bit the inside of her lip so hard she tasted copper. "We kept moving."
"That's not really an answer," Ron said.
Hermione shrugged, "Neither was your question a real question."
Harry stayed quiet as they walked on, close to an hour in, Ron spoke up again. "So, when I was gone, how did you decide where to go next?"
"A map," She snapped.
"Right, okay," Ron stated behind her.
She heard Ron ask, "Is she mad at you too?"
Hermione's jaw tightened, the pressure behind her eyes beginning to build again. She picked up the pace and walked ahead for space and air before she exploded. She could almost feel her magic sparking in her hair.
Harry murmured something to him. She didn't want to hear it. Refused to hear it, even. The ground beneath her feet felt as unstable as she felt. Everything felt like a lie. The fake calm that they had built was gone, and she was tired of pretending.