Hermione Full of Grace | By : AdamantEve Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 13378 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Standard
disclaimers apply.
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In which
the truth struggles to set them free.
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The following day at the Ministry had Hermione staring at
the pigeonhole again.
It was disconcerting, really. Up until she reached her office, she had been
daydreaming about Harry in the fireplace, confessing his love for her. Now, faced with the reality that the key—that key!—was within reach, she realized
she had to get her bushy brown head out of the clouds and into the reality that
was her obsessive life.
The key to the Leabharlann Ársa Runa.
The library
of all libraries.
To her
at least.
Children dreamed of Disneyland; she
dreamed of Runic Libraries.
What’s a nerd like her to do?
She would be writing a proposal
that morning asking Lysander to support her Elf Laws,
and when she had it prepared, she would have to give it to him. For the proposal to make any impression at
all, she had to speak to him, face to face, primarily to tell him that whatever
happened the last time they met has nothing to do with this worthy cause. She would go to the library, use the key to
summon him and there she would serve the proposal up. Of course, it was perfectly natural if she
perused the shelves of the library before she summoned him…
Shite.
I don’t even believe that dribble.
She rubbed delicately at her
temples, easing the ache creeping into her skull.
When the ache eased, she
stubbornly sat on her desk and furtively wrote her proposal. She alternated between work and her proposal,
which was rather naughty of her, but considering the emotional investment she
had made for S.P.E.W. and everything that went with it, she wasn’t about to put
things off another second.
She was so completely engrossed
in her task that she hadn’t noticed the time, yet again, until Harry peeked
over her books and startled her.
Given the stealthy nature of
her proposal writing, she gave a sharp yelp, almost overturning her ink bottle
in her guilt.
“Harry! G-Goodness!”
He chuckled. “Well, don’t you look like you got caught
with your hand in the cookie jar?”
She reddened, briskly
reorganizing the papers on her desk. “Whatever do you mean, Harry?”
“You look very cute when you’re
breaking some kind of rule.”
She reddened even more. “Is that why you always asked me to
bail you out of trouble?”
“Oh, most definitely!” he
replied, charming smile at its best.
Hermione tried not to drool all
over herself seeing it.
Reorganizing her thoughts, she
put her papers away, wordlessly charming her proposal pages to seem
insignificant and not worth anyone’s perusal.
Transeo! she
thought, casually waving her wand.
As she rose from her desk,
Harry shot her a funny look.
She blinked. “What?”
He looked pointedly at the
papers on her desk, then at her, before saying, “Nothing. So, where are we going to have lunch today?”
He knows I’ve charmed something! she thought with a slight chill. These were the kinds of things one couldn’t
get past Harry. There was a reason he
was predictably on the rise in his department; he was just such a natural at
his job.
“There’s a nice little Korean
place just off the Leaky Cauldron…”
They headed out of the WizCOF and out of the Ministry, discussing mundane things and
laughing lightly over her visit to Hogwarts the night before.
It was when they were seated,
picking at their kimchi when Harry
popped the question.
No, not that question; a
different one.
“So, what’s so important with
those papers on your desk that you don’t want anyone to think they were
interesting enough to read?” He moved
his chopsticks to open and close in his grasp.
Blast it all! He
even knew I used a Transeo! Surprise me, will he? Well, two can play at that game!
“Well, what was so important
about Mundungus that you had to pull Hit Wizard
duties when an Auror has no business doing so?”
He grinned. She grinned back.
“I asked first,” he said.
“Woman’s prerogative not to
answer a question she deems inappropriate.”
His eyebrow arched looking vastly
amused. “Oh? Inappropriate she says! Now I’m really interested.”
She laughed, raising her own
chopsticks to fend off his that were suddenly attempting to clip her nose. “You answer my question and I’ll answer
yours.”
He smiled. “Shacklebolt’s such
a traitor. I asked him nicely not to
tell you. I knew you’d be displeased.”
“Yes, because Hit Wizard duties
can be every bit as dangerous as Auror duties and
you, taking on danger someone else is supposed to deal with is like you jumping
into a burning house to save someone when there are firemen all over the
place.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” he said,
picking at some flavored seaweed. “Old
Dung is generally harmless.”
“Old Dung is a dirty crook who
once tried to hex Arthur Weasley when Arthur’s back
was turned.”
Harry scoffed. “Like Dung could ever get
away with something like that with me.
At any rate, I just didn’t want anyone there forgetting that he was
pivotal to the destruction of Voldemort. He gave us that horcrux,
Hermione, because he had decided, just that once, that it was the right thing
to do, and because of that, we had one less of Voldemort’s
soul to deal with. If Voldemort had gotten hold of that locket, he may have been
too powerful that day we fought him and you might be—I might not have been able
to save you.”
She smiled gently, noticing the
break in his sentence. She knew Harry
pulling Hit Wizard to deal with Dung himself had something to do with the horcrux, she hadn’t realized that he had appreciated Mundungus’s gesture so much because it just might have
saved her life. “I think you would have
been able to save me still, Harry.”
“I don’t want to think about
what might have happened if Voldemort had just been
the slightest bit stronger.”
“You would’ve come through for
me. You always do.” And she did believe in what she said,
wholeheartedly.
He shrugged.
What a marvelous man he was,
more so because he didn’t know it.
“And now it’s your turn to
tell,” he said. “What were you writing
when I caught you at it?”
She blushed. “Proposal,” she said, hoping he would take it
at face value.
Harry wasn’t fooled. “For what?”
“Elves.”
“Oh, doing personal stuff while
at work. Granger, I’m surprised at you!”
He looked anything but
disapproving and Hermione almost breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to ask details. He wasn’t.
“So what new proposal
have you come up with now?” he asked.
“I believe you haven’t gone into maternity benefits yet.”
Oh, Merlin, he’s going into details. Why, of all times, did he have to be
interested now?
Because he knows you’re guilty of something. The auror in him
can practically smell it.
Well, wait a minute… what do I have to be guilty for? This proposal is for a worthy cause! I have an obligation to set aside my personal
issues with Lysander to get the help I need. It’s just business!
Harry doesn’t like Lysander, you
know it, and by associating with Lysander, you feel
like you’re betraying Harry. Kind of
like associating with Draco Malfoy…
It is NOT the same as associating with Malfoy! Malfoy is an evil
little bugger whose twisted ideals represent everything I, Harry and the side
of good stands against.
And Lysander is…?
A flirt; a rich man who’s just too used to getting
whatever he wants with money and irresistible charm. A man who’s after me and someone Harry simply
doesn’t approve of for some reason.
He tried to buy you with a bag.
He came over to the Ministry to apologize for it. He now knows it was a mistake.
Harry hates him anyway.
And why should Harry dictate the men I go out with?
Because his opinion matters to
you.
Well then, that’s just dandy. Lysander’s perfect,
if a little misguided… Harry’s just going to have to give the man a second
chance, because by God, Lysander can really help the
cause! I just know he can!
Hermione snapped momentarily
out of her thoughts. She caught Harry
gazing at her curiously. She
reddened.
“I… “ she
swallowed. “I’m writing a proposal to Lysander. I’m asking
his support to lobby for Elf Laws in Higher Legislation. Cecily Ackwater
told me she’d get the majority votes necessary in the Legislative Committee to
elevate my proposals if I can get Lysander to help me
push for a two-thirds plus one vote in the Enactment Committee.”
Harry stared at her, frozen by
her words.
Desperately, she went on. “Cecily said I can get the two-thirds plus
one vote with Lysander behind me. And if it gets passed in EnCom,
it will be up for Final Formulation.
Harry, this is the farthest I’ve ever aspired since I set up
S.P.E.W. Don’t you see? When before I could hardly get someone in the
LegCom to accept my proposals in their dockets, now
I’m looking at a possible Final Formulation!
Harry…”
He breathed, and she couldn’t
tell exactly what he was thinking, but she had seen that look on his eyes
before; when long ago, he was raging to go to the Department of Mysteries to
save Sirius and she was pleading him to reconsider. His eyes on her were cold.
“I thought you didn’t want to
have anything to do with him, anymore,” he said in an even tone.
“On a personal level,”
she said. “This is business.”
“And what’s in it for him? What would compel him to give his support?”
“Well, there are a number of
incentives, of course, mostly financial and the like. It’s not a lot, but he’s a decent man—“
“Decent
man? You don’t know anything about
him.”
“I know that in the past five
hundred years, they have a flawless record of business dealings—“
“That doesn’t tell you anything
about him. That just means he’s good at
making money while he’s sleeping with the right government people. I’m talking about what kind of person he
is.”
Disgruntled by Harry’s
terminologies, she frowned. “That’s all
beside the point. I will give him this
proposal and we will see how it works out.
Ultimately, if he asks for too much, I cannot work with him. Are we understanding
each other here?”
Harry’s gaze didn’t waver and
they stared at one another, waiting for one or the other to blink first.
She did.
Dammit!
Harry finally pulled his gaze
away, but he looked as displeased as ever.
“You’re going to meet with him when you give him this proposal, I
assume.”
“Yes, of course I will.”
“I can accompany you.”
She frowned. “I can do this by myself, thank you.”
“You can, but I’d like to offer
my support. I am a member of
S.P.E.W., aren’t I?”
“Could’ve fooled me!” she shot
back. “Knitted any hats, lately?”
He wasn’t the least bit
moved. “Hermione, I don’t trust that
man. I can’t exactly explain why, yet,
but I have a bad feeling about him. If
anything, you’re always one of the first to weigh out my hunches. You don’t have to listen to me now, but
you’re most welcome to disprove me. I want
you to disprove me, just so I don’t have to worry about you getting in way
over your head with Athanasius.”
“Harry, this is ridicul—“
“Remember Malfoy?
Sixth year. I
was right about him!”
Hermione gaped at him, mildly
shocked at Harry’s forthright manner. Of
course, one of the things she loved about her relationship with Harry was trust
and honesty, but until now, she was the one who was being brutally honest
with him. She hadn’t realized how
difficult it was to be on the other end.
She remembered Malfoy, and sixth year and every sordid detail about
it. It was the year she thought she was
losing Harry, and Ron and everyone. And
in her effort to grasp at straws, she had failed Harry in the worse way.
Sixth year and Lysander were completely unrelated, of course, but Harry
was pushing all the wrong buttons.
I can’t deal with this right now.
Regaining her poise, she
clamped her mouth shut and narrowed her gaze.
She put down her chopsticks and started to gather her things.
He sighed. “Hermione, where are you going?”
“Away. I am going away. I can’t—it’s a little too—I will go back
to the ministry, grab a sandwich and work.
I can’t understand why I’m obsessing about you and Lysander getting along, anyway. It’s not like its necessary for the Elf
proposals—“
Harry scowled. “I don’t want to get along with that
bastard!”
“Yes, well…”
He sighed, frustrated and
perhaps a little sorry. “Hermione, please
don’t go. Look, I’ll shut up about
it, alright? I’ll do anything, just
don’t leave. I missed having you at the
house, you know, and I just want to have lunch with my best friend. Please?”
He wasn’t smiling, but he was
pulling out all the big guns. That
pleading look on his face that she was yet to resist, the entreaties,
declarations that he’d missed her… it was all designed for her to give in. She wished Harry weren’t so good at this.
What in the world am I doing, huh? I’m walking out on Harry because we’re
fighting about Lysander?
Ridiculous.
She relaxed on her seat,
sighing. Everything about the
conversation that had pulled her taut eased away as she looked into his
beautiful green gaze. “I don’t like
fighting with you, Harry.”
He seemed terribly
relieved. “My
feelings, exactly. The last time
we did, I didn’t sleep very well.”
“Neither did I,”
she muttered.
“That fight was about Lysander too, you know.”
She frowned. “Harry…” she said
in a warning tone.
He put his hands up in
surrender. “Fine, fine…”
The food came, and Harry tossed
some cubes of butter on the hot surface of the cooking pan before laying out
the strips of beef on it.
Hermione watched him, amused at
the easy way he worked the meat and vegetables, as if he had been doing it all
his life. In retrospect, he had. Living with the Dursleys
had taught him how to cook, if nothing else.
Harry did his share of the
cooking in the house, and he seemed to like it, but he didn’t do it all the time,
so she suspected it had more to do with pleasing her and Ron than pleasing
himself, which is why she tried to do the cooking as much as she could.
As the beef cooked and the
wonderful aroma wafted between them, he smiled at her from across the hot pot. “I’m going to see Ginny today.”
Why? Why do I keep
doing this to myself?
Hermione shoveled some rice
into her rice bowl, waving away some of the smoke from the cooking meat and
muttering a charm on her hair to keep the smell of Korean hot pot from sticking
to it. “Date?”
He seemed surprised at her
assumption. “Oh, nothing like that. She owled me this morning; told me she was dropping by the
Ministry to see her father; asked me if we could talk. I owled her back
and told her it was a good idea.”
Yes, a good idea. A
good idea if you want to take a knife and stab it through my heart.
She smiled. “Good time as any to start catching up, I
suppose.” She gestured for him to give
her his rice bowl so she could fill it.
He gave her the bowl. “Hermione, if I wanted to ‘catch up’ with
Ginny, I’d ask her out to dinner. There
isn’t going to be any real catching up today between us.”
Hermione could almost hear the
fast paced ba-da-bump of her heart. He’s not going back to her. Oh, but Merlin, is it so very evil of me to
be—well—relieved about that?
“S-So—“ She
cleared her throat, cursing herself inwardly for her crumbling poise. “So you… and—err—Ginny…?”
He shook his head. “I’ve talked to Ron about it, remember? I promised him I’d talk to Ginny about it
soon; how she and I… well, it’s not going to work anymore.”
She nodded. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry.
For you both, I mean. If it
hadn’t been for the war, you and she… well, it might have been different.”
His lowered gaze met hers. “Perhaps a bit too different than I would’ve
liked.”
What in God’s name does that mean? she wondered, giving his rice bowl over with a
questioning look.
He merely smiled. “Anyway, after lunch, d’you think you can spare a
few minutes shopping with me? I—well,
after I talk to Ginny, I’d like to give her a parting gift. You know… she and I had something special
after all, however brief.”
As much as jumping off a bridge
would’ve been easier for her, Hermione couldn’t help but be impressed. “Well, that’s right classy of you, Harry.”
“Are you being snarky or do you really mean that?”
She rolled her eyes. “I mean it, silly. Now I’ll just have to go with you to make
sure you don’t botch it up by buying her something stupid like a salad bowl.”
He reached out to give her hand
a grateful squeeze. “Thank you, but I’ve
got the gift figured out, see.”
“Oh? Let’s hear it, then. Lord knows I can do with a few laughs.”
He shot her a warning glance,
though his eyes were alight. “You’ll
see. I’m sure it’ll be ready when we get
there. And I don’t think you’ll be
laughing, either.”
That’s for sure, she thought somewhat
bitterly. Parting gift or not, it was
still a gift to a woman who wasn’t her.
Isn’t there some kind of award for when you help the love
of your life buy a gift for his ex-girlfriend?
Yes, there is. It’s
called: Canonization.
Saint Hermione stifled a sigh
and began to eat her lunch.
Sad thing was she wasn’t even
Catholic.
00000000000000000000
Harry Potter noticed Gail looking
past him and over his shoulder as they sat face to face on their joined
desks. He turned to follow her gaze and
saw that it was Ginny at the door of the Auror
Department.
Ginny certainly was quite the
distraction. Standing at a tall five
feet and nine inches, flaming red hair luscious against her milky, slightly
freckled skin, she was much more beautiful now than she was during his
sixth year.
Everyone was looking at her;
admiring her, and Harry had to admit that he couldn’t blame anyone for it at
all.
But what had him sighing and
dreaming before now felt strangely…
Unfulfilling, he thought somewhat
regretfully.
Ginny Weasley,
gorgeous, fiery and oh, so attractive, was now just a sweet memory in his
mind.
It wasn’t the least bit fair to
compare Ginny to Hermione. They were,
after all, two completely different people with qualities contradicting in
almost everything.
Where Ginny was athletic,
Hermione was cerebral; where Ginny was the epitome of femininity, Hermione was
the picture of sophistication; where Ginny had been learning her spells…
Hermione was fighting beside me in the war… died for me…
came back to life.
It was not fair. No
woman should ever have to compete with something like that, but Ginny had been
a part of his life, and Hermione was… right now, she was his everything.
“Merlin, what a lovely woman,”
said Gail softly. “And oh, Potter, I
think she’s headed this way! Oh, dear…
she’s smiling at you!”
“Relax,” said Harry, pulling
his drawer open to take out a wrapped package. “I know her.
Hullo, Ginny!”
Ginny’s brilliant smile could
have lit up the room. “Hullo,
Harry. It’s been a while, hasn’t
it?” She gave him a hug.
He smiled, pulling away from
her in a deliberate attempt to mark the distance between them. He gestured to Gail. “Ginny, this is Gail Coppercane. She’s my partner.”
Ginny nodded, extending a
hand. “Nice to meet
you. I’m Ginny Weasley.”
Gail shook the offered
hand. “Arthur Weasley’s…?”
“My
dad.”
“Why, of course he is! I should’ve known by the hair. I met your brothers the other day.”
“Which
ones?”
“The
twin ones.”
“We’re not all like them, you
know,” said Ginny with a chuckle.
“Really? I was rather hoping you were!”
Ginny’s eyes rolled, as they
always did when someone got her started on the discussion of her family, but it
never meant she was disgusted of them.
In fact, it meant the exact opposite of that, just that Ginny didn’t
want anyone realizing how soft she was on her brothers. Harry recognized the tell-tale signs of
Gail’s uncanny talent to get everyone (well, most of everyone. Some of the effect has worn off with Harry)
in a good mood.
“We’d love to stay and chat,
Gail,” said Harry, leading Ginny away.
“But Ginny and I have to talk.”
“Fine,”
harrumphed Gail. “But don’t
be too long, Potter! I can’t cover your arse all afternoon, you know.”
“Yes, yes.”
Ginny waved to Gail over her
shoulder as she followed Harry out of the offices and down the hallways. The entire time, he had his hands shoved into
the pockets of his trousers, growing nervous at each passing moment.
Wordlessly, Harry let them to
the in-house coffee shop. Ginny sat
across from him on the small round table and made herself comfortable.
People were staring at her
again. She really was quite beautiful, and
the red hair made her extremely noticeable.
She leaned over the table,
coffee mugs between them, and smiled, the eager anticipation in her eyes
doubling Harry’s anxiety. It never
occurred to him that this talk wouldn’t end well, and perhaps he should
expect the worse. This was Ginny, for
goodness sake, and if anyone in the remote vicinity saw him get bat-bogeyed,
he’d have to work on regaining his credibility as an auror
for the next six months.
“You look good, Harry,” she
said.
Steady, captain. Just remember how to counter a bat-bogey and
you can save yourself the humiliation, he thought with an inward
wince.
“Thanks,” he said, muddling
over whether he should return the compliment, as doing so might give her the
wrong idea. “I’m well taken cared of.”
The tragedy of it was he hadn’t
even planned on making remote insinuations, but there it was, tumbling out of
his lips.
Predictably, a slight frown
puckered Ginny’s lips. Whether it was
because of the insinuation that someone was there to take care of him or
whether it was because he didn’t reciprocate with a, “You look gorgeous as
always, Ginny,” he couldn’t tell. He’d
leave it to her to tell him.
“You’ve been busy these past
few months?” she asked.
It made Harry realize that she
just might have grown past casting bat-bogey hexes. Still, there was no harm in staying
alert.
So they exchanged quite a bit
of small talk, trying to get past the awkwardness that had festered between
them in the past two and a half years.
She told him how she had been and asked him how he was doing.
She never asked about Hermione,
which was strange, and, Harry thought, a bit annoying, but he kept telling
himself that this was not something to dwell on.
He concentrated on the present
thread of conversation.
Ginny had just left Hogwarts,
and she was in the midst of pursuing a career.
Her smile was tinged with something when she brought it up.
“I was thinking I’d round up
dragons with Charlie in Romania,” she
said.
Harry thought this quite
fascinating and he grinned. “Well,
that’s exciting, isn’t it? I’d take the
opportunity, if I were you.”
She paused for a bit. “Then… then again, there’s Gringotts, right here in London. Bill would help me get a position if I asked
him for it… in case I decided to stay…”
Warning bells rang in Harry’s
brain. Uh-oh. Here it comes.
“Do I have reason to stay,
Harry?”
And there they were; at the talk.
Harry looked down at his coffee
with a soft sigh. “I’m not a
reason, Ginny. Not anymore.”
Just like that, he had said
it.
He tensed for a moment, ready
to spring a shield against her bat-bogey hex.
But the hex didn’t come.
“I’m guessing,” she said softly, “that you’re not actually afraid Voldemort’s ghost will come and harm me because I’m your
girlfriend.”
He looked up at her, meeting
her eyes. He shook his head. “No. Nothing like that.”
She took a deep breath, turning
a swizzle stick between her fingers. “I
was afraid you’d outgrow me, Harry, but I suppose I was prepared for it. Still hurts, though.”
He was mildly surprised that
she had partially understood, but while out-growing her was one of the reasons
he couldn’t go back to Ginny, the other reasons were far more compelling.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t plan it this way. When I broke up with you back then, I really
thought—I thought we’d have a chance to try again in the future.”
She nodded with noticeable
effort. “Me, too. A girl doesn’t just fall in love with the
savior of the world and be expected to move on like he was just some notch on
her belt…”
“I’m sorry,” he said again,
truly meaning it this time. He honestly
never thought about it as being “in love”.
What he had with Ginny was so special, but he thought he was too young
then to be “in love”. He was sixteen;
what did he know about it? And what did she
know about it, come to that? Now he was nineteen, and he still didn’t know
a blessed thing, except that he was in love; had been in love; to the
one woman who wouldn’t love him anymore than a best friend would. He therefore understood exactly where Ginny
was coming from, and he wished she didn’t have to feel that way.
“I—“ she
began, hesitated, then went on. “I think
I knew the exact time I lost you, Harry.”
“Ginny, don’t—“
“It’s
fine, Harry. I need to get this out of
my system. Will you give me that, at
least?”
He sighed, nodding.
“It was at the start of the
school year, your seventh,” she said, watching him for any sign that he
understood.
He didn’t. He waited and she went on.
“First Quidditch
match of the year. Gryffindor
against the Slytherins.”
He knew in a second and
understood it to its full context. She
didn’t need to explain any further, but he let her.
“Hermione received the news
about her parents,” she said softly.
“Right there, on the Quidditch Pitch. McGonagall pulled her to the side of the
stands and told her. You didn’t know
what news McGonagall brought then; nobody did, but I suppose you saw it on her
face. You were supposed to be looking for
the snitch—in the storm—but you saw nothing but her face, and you saw—“
“Her
pain. I saw her
pain.”
Ginny nodded. “She rushed out of there so quickly and you…
you just followed, Harry. One of
the few things you enjoyed during your life with—with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named
in the background was Quidditch and beating the Slytherins. When you
saw Hermione run away, suddenly nothing else mattered. You left the pitch; left us without a
Seeker and we lost that game. But you
didn’t care.”
“I didn’t,” he admitted softly.
That day he followed Hermione
off the Quidditch Pitch, everything else surrounding
his life had melted away, except for how much she meant to him, and how her
pain was for him to help her bear. He
found out later that McGonagall had wanted to deliver the news to Hermione in
the castle, but Hermione had seen the look on the Headmistress’s face and had
demanded to be told.
He remembered passing
McGonagall on the stands as he rushed after her and heard the good
Headmistress’s voice pleading, “Help her, please!” through the howling of the
wind.
Hermione had been running
through the rain, hysterical as she fought wind and water to get back to the
castle across the fields. He had used
his Firebolt to catch up with her, and when he did,
he had to hold her tight to keep her from getting away.
He had taken her into his arms,
held her even when she tried to bat him away, but he was firm, and he wouldn’t
let her go off alone, not in her state.
Harry had never heard such
wounded sobs from anyone before, and to hear it from Hermione had been beyond
intense.
She cried in his arms then,
giving up the struggle to get away from him.
Huddled in his Quidditch cloaks, she told him
her parents had been killed; their clinic attacked by Death Eaters; that they
were gone.
Harry remembered how, right
then, with Hermione sobbing in his arms, he promised that every single Death
Eater was going to pay for taking so much from her. Perhaps back then, he already knew he would
be there for her, because the both of them only had each other left, but the threat
of Voldemort always put his future planning on the
back burner.
But that moment had been
different; that moment he was thinking that he would be there for her for as
long as he was alive. Amidst the
despair, there was a brief instance where he swore to take care of her beyond
Voldemort; a whisper of something better. Maybe it was a good omen, and suddenly, he
had something—someone—to live for after the war.
Ron arrived a bit later,
lending his own comfort to her. The boy
with the emotional range of a teaspoon had shown surprising sensitivity when he
let her cry on his shoulder, and maybe in that instance, Ron realized something
as well.
“Hermione, let Harry take you to
the castle. I’ll go on ahead and fix your common room for you. Do you want anything from Madam Pomfrey?” Ron had said. He had been referring to the Head Tower’s
common room and Harry had marveled at Ron’s self-possession in the face of this
crisis.
“No… please. I just
want you and Harry to be with me…” she had whispered.
“Alright.
We’ll take care of you, then,” he said. It was the first and last time Ron placed a
kiss on Hermione’s forehead. Such loving
care that Harry hadn’t failed to notice.
Ron then gave Hermione over to
Harry and Harry tucked her securely in his cloak. He held her tight as he took her on the Firebolt. He kept
the speed easy so as not to scare her and Ron went on ahead as promised.
They kept her company in her
common room that weekend and for some reason, they didn’t see a peep of Ernie
McMillan, Head Boy, in the next seven days.
Ron confessed to Harry later
that he had threatened Ernie with a good old fashioned beating if Ernie upset
Hermione with so much as a careless look.
The Head Boy had apparently opted to disappear completely, lest he
unwittingly disrupt Hermione’s mourning.
Harry pulled himself back to
the present, feeling a suspicious liquidity in his eyes as he remembered just
how badly Hermione had taken her parents’ death, and how she recovered because
he and Ron loved her well enough to carry her through, and because she had been
strong enough to want to get better.
“That’s when I knew I lost you,
Harry,” Ginny said, breaking through his reminiscence. “Whether I lost you to her… I wasn’t sure,
but I understood just how different our paths would be, right then, and how she
would be on your path with you. If
you want me to put it bluntly Harry… how could I compete? She—Merlin, she was going to bloody save the
world with you, Harry. None of us girls
stood a chance in hell.”
He felt the heat rise in his
cheeks. She had hit the nail right on
the head a second time. “It’s not just
that, Ginny. There are other… simpler
things about her; hundreds of them…”
She said nothing, and Harry
felt like hitting himself for being so insensitive. But he supposed it had to be said. He didn’t want anyone thinking that
Hermione’s heroism was all there was to his love for her, although it was no
small thing, either. But it was her
other special qualities that made him cherish her so much. It wasn’t just that Hermione was the Girl Who
Helped Him Fight Voldemort, it was also because she
was The Girl whose smile made him feel everything was going to be alright, or
The Girl who worried for Ron when he was out late, or The Girl whose unwavering
loyalty made her stand by him in the face of opposition, though it would be
that same loyalty which would compel her to tell him that he was in the wrong,
and so on, and so forth.
“It’s the simple things that
make it last, after all,” said Ginny after a while.
He nodded.
They fell silent, and everything
that needed to be said had been said.
There hadn’t been any hexing, which said a lot about Ginny. She’d grown more than he had given her credit
for, he supposed, but it was like she said: they had gone on different paths,
and he was on a path she’d never understand quite as well as Hermione, or Ron,
does.
“I have something for you,” he
said, reaching into his robe for the present he had bought her. He set it gently on the table and Ginny’s
surprise was evident.
“R-Really, Harry,” she
said. “You didn’t have to…”
“What we had was important to
me,” he said. “I’d want you to have
this; to make you understand.”
She took the small parcel, unwrapping it daintily.
She opened the box and a small smile tugged at the corner of her
lips. She brought out its contents and
she let out a breath, touched by the gentle friendship spell that went with
it.
It was a charm bracelet in
white, yellow and red gold, and it was spelled to express the friendship the
giver had for her. She looked over the
charms attached to the chain, chuckling as she understood the meaning of each
one.
There was a quaffle,
a flower, the Roman numeral six, and a bat.
She giggled at the bat.
“It’s lovely, Harry. Thank you,” she said, slipping the bracelet
on. “And it’s a Truth Teller, too, isn’t
it?”
He nodded. “Tells you exactly how I feel about you. Just this one time, though. It wouldn’t do to have you know how I feel
all the time.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” She smiled, leaning back on her seat.
For the first time in almost
two and a half years, the silence between them was finally comfortable.
Ginny looked up at the ministry
clock. “I think I’ve kept you long
enough. Gail would disapprove.”
Harry recognized his cue. “Have my neck on a block if I abandon her.”
They stood.
Ginny gave him a warm embrace
goodbye. “Good luck, Harry. Give my love to Ron and Hermione. I haven’t seen either of them in ages, and
the git calls himself my brother.”
He embraced her back. “I will.”
She kissed him on the cheek and
stepped away.
He watched her walk off for a
brief moment before he headed back to his department.
That day, Ginny accepted two
things: One, that Harry Potter would find happiness with someone else; and two,
the job in Romania.
0000000000000000000000
Fitfully harassed with all the
work she was putting in that day, Hermione thought she could take a moment to
enjoy nonsensical conversation with her two zany bosses. She sat down with them at tea, pushing aside
the clutter of evidence so they could talk on the long table.
She never thought talking about
nothing could be so enjoyable. No wonder
Archibald and Heartcomb did it all the time.
When the tea had gone cold,
Hermione went back to her desk, put in the finishing touches to her WizCOF work and submitted them to Heartcomb
for checking.
Heartcomb was
pleased. “Good work, Granger. I think that’s about all for today. You may go home.”
It was about five in the
afternoon and Hermione marveled at how early she thought that was. She thought about what she would do with all
her spare time that day and decided she would finish her proposal in the
Ministry Library.
When she packed up her work
things, her gaze once more fell on the pigeonhole.
She was surprised to feel
little to no guilt about it.
She wasn’t hiding anything from
Harry anymore. She had told him her
plans to speak to Lysander and while that
conversation hadn’t gone very well, she was glad she didn’t have to feel
wretched about meeting with the billionaire.
Hermione took the key to the Leabharlann Ársa Runa with
her as she left the office.
The proposal was almost done
when she sat in the Ministry Library. It
didn’t take more than two hours to put in the last of the details, and after
she had refined her work with document spells, she gathered her things and
headed to the Auror Department.
She was going to bid Harry
goodbye, as she decided she wasn’t going to blindside him and go meet Lysander without telling him about it. She wasn’t looking forward to the impending
argument they would be having, but she didn’t like the feeling of sneaking
around behind Harry’s back. If he
insisted on coming with her, then she would just have to employ every means
necessary to keep him from following.
As it turned out, Harry wasn’t
in. Remus told
her he had been sent out to King’s Cross where a Death Eater sighting had been
reported.
Hermione sighed. “Well then, can you give him a message for
me?”
“Certainly, Hermione,” said Remus in his kind, accommodating way.
“Please tell him I’ll be
meeting with Lysander tonight and that he is not to
worry. Tell him not to look for me or go
into a conniption fit. I will be home
before ten and I would appreciate it if he doesn’t chew my head off when I get
there.”
Remus
chuckled. “Let’s hope he doesn’t kill
the messenger.”
She grinned. “That’s why I told you. Harry’ll have no choice but to treat you with respect, and
he’d even listen to you if you tell him I’m a big girl and can take care of
myself.” She arched her eyebrow as she
said this, hoping Remus would get the hint.
Remus
did. “He might listen. I make no promises.”
“No promises asked. Thank you, Remus.”
He nodded and saw her off to
the fireplaces.
With her conscience cleared,
she happily made her way to the Leabharlann Ársa Runa.
000000000000000000000000
The library was supposed to be
open when Hermione got there, seeing as she was within hours, but the gates
were slid shut, and she wondered if the library was on some kind of special
holiday. She thought about turning back,
but she remembered Lysander telling her that she
could have access to the library at her own convenience, whatever the
hour. She used the key.
Turning the lock, the gates
magically slid open and the door glowed invitingly. Apparently, library admittance was more
exclusive than she realized.
When she stepped through the
doors, she felt the wards allowing her to pass through before closing her in
again. Crossing the threshold from the
dimly lit reception hall, the candles flickered to life on their own, lighting
the place up entirely for her.
The library was made of dark
stone and bright torches. It reminded
her a bit of Hogwarts, except there were floors and floors of shelves and
books, spinning round like a corkscrew with a complement of tables, chairs and
couches set in the middle.
Stone monuments of sleeping
kings in full armor were set against the mighty columns. On the windows were tapestries depicting
battles, pilgrimages, clansmen dancing with their
clanswomen between Beltan fires and burning pines
amidst the snow during Winter Solstice.
A ghost floated in from above
the crisscrossing rafters; his red tartan and kilt the only color to his
phantasmal form. He had a mane of dark
hair spilling down his shoulders and his eyes were sunken in, but he didn’t
look scary at all. In fact, he looked
very kind.
“Welcome to the Leabharlann Ársa Runa,” he said
in a dignified tone. His English had a
slight Scottish accent, but his Irish Gaelic was perfect. “I am Lord Feargan Gilleasbaig Eircheard Mac a’Bhaird*, Clan Laird of the clan Mac a’Bhaird
and present Keeper of the Tomes in this fine collection. Is this your first time here?”
She smiled, liking this ghost
instantly. “Yes, m’lord. I’m
Hermione Granger and it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He inclined his head. “Then you will come this way so we can begin
our brief tour.”
When he turned, Hermione had to
stifle a horrified cry when she saw the gaping cavern of a wound on the back of
his head. It looked like someone had hit
him with a jackhammer; probably a disgruntled clansman.
Trying to keep her eyes away
from his brains, she followed her tour guide.
He very proficiently explained the main sections in the library. He then asked her if she was familiar with
runes, a polite way to ask her if she could read them. She answered that yes, she was fluent in
runes, and that seemed to please him immensely.
He ushered her to the other half of the library that extended farther
than the building appeared to accommodate.
They were the runic books, and there were thousands and thousands of
them.
Hermione gazed upon the rows
and rows in wondrous delight.
“The books in these three
rows,” said Lord Mac a’Bhaird, gesturing to the three
nearest, “may be taken out of the library.
We expect you to return them, of course.”
Her jaw dropped and she looked
at him. “You’re shit—er—you’re
kidding me, right?”
“Noo,
Ms. Granger. I’m no’ shittin’
y’.” He smiled, dropping his dignified
diction for his more natural Highland
drawl.
She giggled, walking into the
first row to look the books over. She let
her fingers run on the spines, the embossed runes forming words in her
mind.
“Brilliant,” she
whispered.
Lord Mac a’Bhaird
nodded. “Indeed. If you decide to venture further, Ms.
Granger, know that those books cannot be checked out without proper clearance.”
Hermione nodded, sliding a book
out of the shelf reverently.
“Way up there,” said the lord,
pointing to the higher floors, “are the ancient runic spells. Mostly indecipherable, you understand, but if
you’re up to the challenge…”
“One challenge at a time, m’lord,” she said softly, as if increasing the volume of
her voice would blow the dream away. She
opened the book, barely paying attention to Lord Mac a’Bhaird,
and began to read.
00000000000000000000
“She said what?” asked
Harry, the rush of blood to his face spreading warmth over his eyes. It wasn’t anger, exactly, but a great deal of
annoyance. He told her he would
go with her. But no, she had to go do it
by herself in her own stubborn fashion!
Remus didn’t
even look up from the documents he was perusing. “She said she’ll be meeting Mr. Lysander and that you are not to go looking for her or to
go into a conniption fit. She’ll be home
before ten so you shouldn’t worry.”
Harry pursed his lips. She planned this, the sneak! She let Remus
deliver the message so the man can talk me out of going right after her! And she knows I can’t ever be angry at Remus. Sneaky… but brilliant.
He was, however, unable to hold
back making an explosively frustrated gesture with his arms. “Argh! I can’t
believe she went and met with him behind my back!”
Remus
cleared his throat. “Technically, she’s
not doing it behind your back. The fact
that she told you means she doesn’t want to do it on the sly. Just that it seems she’d much rather do this
by herself.”
Harry growled. “Do you—do you see what this man is doing to
her? He’s drawing her away from me! He’s—“
“Harry,” Remus
interrupted in a kind voice. “If you’re
so concerned about anyone taking her away from you, might I suggest you talk
to her about it?”
Harry stared at him
incredulously, hustling Remus to a more private
corner of the office. “You know I can’t
do that.”
Remus shot
him a disapproving look. “You love her,
don’t you?”
“Well, I—“
“Don’t you?”
Harry saw the serious
expression on Remus’s face. “Yes. More than anyone or
anything.”
“Then listen to me. If what you feel for her is true, then you
have to tell her, and when you do, you’d have to… you’d have to be willing to
let her go, Harry. You can’t keep doing
this to her, and you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
Harry’s felt a spasm in his
chest. He blinked hard, hoping to erase Remus’s words from his mind, but it was useless. “Remus… I-I don’t
think I can do that. I don’t think I’m
strong enough…”
Remus cocked
him an understanding smile. He clapped
Harry’s shoulder supportively. “I think
you are. You’ve dealt with worse,
haven’t you?”
Harry shook his head
stubbornly. “I think I’d rather be done
in by Voldemort.”
“Too late for that, I’m afraid. Chap’s a bit too under the weather to do
anyone any harm anymore.”
Harry should’ve found that
funny but he was feeling a bit too beside himself right now. Remus was
absolutely right, and the mere thought that he just might lose Hermione
that night made him sick, because he did have to talk to her after what Remus said.
He couldn’t go on this way;
loving her when she didn’t know it; keeping her away from men who might make
her happy. It was either he spent the
rest of his life hurting himself for loving her from a distance or telling her
and letting the fates take over. If he
was lucky, they could find their friendship again, after the awkwardness wore
off. They could even be best friends,
again.
Fancy a miracle, Potter?
She may even love you back.
He dared not think more on
it.
Oh, but that look in her eyes last night, when she was
hundreds of miles away from you…
Could’ve been the fire.
Lights play tricks.
He closed his eyes and took a
deep, calming breath. He didn’t want to
think about it anymore.
Looking at his watch, he saw
the time. “Home before ten,” he
muttered. It was a while yet. It was only eight.
What the hell am I going to do until then?
His eyes fell on the pile at
his desk and he realized exactly what he needed to do.
000000000000000000000
Hermione forgot the time.
She quite simply forgot the
time as she piled unrestricted runic books around her on one of the library
tables and read. It was almost like a
time-warp, the way she never noticed how two hours had passed her by. One minute she was opening a book about the
duality of Arithmantic charts and then the next
minute she had gotten through sixty pages of Gaelic runes.
Her watch said it was nearing
nine. If she wanted to get home before
ten, she had to speak to Lysander soon.
Her headache made its presence
known again.
Another reason to get all this
over with.
She was just going over this
thought when she saw none other than Lysander Athanasius walking to her from the entrance of the
library. He was carrying an old,
worn-out book. Maybe he was returning
something. Or maybe it was another
cover-story, like the scarf. She
certainly didn’t summon him.
Sir Mac a’Bhaird
was just then bowing away from him.
She arched an eyebrow at Lysander’s approaching form and he dealt her an amused
grin.
While she didn’t exactly feel
like smiling back, she couldn’t help but look a bit amused herself.
“Buying a scarf for your
mother?” she said as he reached her.
He chuckled, pulling up a chair
beside her and taking a seat. He looked
relaxed in his expensive white linen shirt and beige chinos. This was a new look for him, but it wasn’t
unpleasant.
The way he looked at her made
her blush and she tried to keep her composure.
“Interesting look you’ve got going
there,” she said as casually as she could.
“Missed work today, did you?”
“I thought I’d kick back a
bit. Try out this thing they call…
relaxing.”
“And how’s that going?”
“Boring. I don’t see what the fuss is all about.”
She laughed softly and realized
she was getting too comfortable. She
touched her fingers to her proposal, as if to draw discipline from it. “Mr. Athanasius—“
“Damn,” he whispered. “And I thought you weren’t upset with me
anymore.”
Hermione arched an
eyebrow. “Oh, I still am. You should’ve known better than to give me
that bag and I shudder at the possible thoughts you had of me when you decided
to give it.”
He cocked a smile. “Makes me shudder too,
honestly.”
His tone definitely suggested
that his shuddering hadn’t been the least bit unpleasant. It made her feel heady and it irked her that
she couldn’t control herself completely whenever he was near.
Damn him! she
thought bitterly. It’s almost as if
he’s casting some sort of spell! She
frowned. “Mr. Athanasius, let me make my
intentions for meeting you here perfectly clear. I have a proposal.”
“Oh, you know I like those.”
She glared at him but failed
miserably at coming across as annoyed.
He raised his hands, letting
her speak.
She handed him the scroll and
he took it, unrolling it to give it a quick read.
He began to smile. “You’re asking for my support. You’re… trusting
me…”
She nodded in as businesslike a
way as possible. “Yes. I do trust you, Mr. Athanasius. For the cause, you understand. I wouldn’t have asked for your help
otherwise. Some people are more blessed
than others, so it is for us graced with the capacity to help to actually do
something with what we have. You are
a kind and decent man, Mr. Athanasius, in spite of
your little foibles and frolics with unassuming women.”
He chuckled at this and she
could have sworn there was a hint of mockery in his eyes, like he thought she
made too much of him.
She went on. “But I meant what I said the other day, and I
was upset. I wasn’t just playing
coy. What you did—“
Lysander
shrugged, not looking the least bit bothered.
“Was a mistake.
It won’t happen again.”
“I won’t let it happen
again.” She knew he wasn’t stupid. She couldn’t have more than a business
relationship with him, but if she had to spell it out, she would, just so there
wasn’t any confusion between them.
He smiled faintly. He rolled the proposal and took out his
wand. Tossing the scroll in the air, he
cast a charm and the roll disappeared.
Putting his wand aside, he took the book he was carrying earlier and
opened it to the first page.
“Do you know what this is?” he
asked.
Arching her eyebrow, she shook
her head. She saw the cover. It had some
markings on it that made no sense to her.
“It’s one of the first-ever
written thesis; about… well, it has a little about oppression and racism and…
slavery, you might call it.”
Intrigued, Hermione leaned
over, listening.
“There’s a foreword,” he
said. “I’ve always found it moving.”
She remained silent. The melodic quality of his voice was hypnotic,
and she felt her heart pounding in response.
“Do you want me to read it to
you?”
“Y-Yes, please.”
He read from the book. “’I am ashamed that the color of your skin
fills me with fear. I am mortified that
my fear of change keeps my eyes closed.
I am terrified that my blindness has kept me from learning. I have learned that all that stands between
me and you is my ignorance.’ Eileithyia Athanasius, wife of Isidore Athanasius. They were my ancestors, and they spoke the
Language better than I ever did.”
“What language…?”
He gave her the book. “The book is about five hundred years
old. Preservation charms around it
abound, and I’ve kept it by me since I was a child. I am lending it to you.”
She looked at it. It was in a language she didn’t recognize in
the least.
Her brows knotted. “What is it?”
He smiled. “You will be able to read it soon enough.”
“But—“
“Trust me. You already do, anyway.”
She fell silent, drowning in
his gaze.
He stared at her for Hermione
didn’t know how long, and when she felt the touch of his hand on hers, she
didn’t flinch away.
“I can give you what you want,
Hermione,” he said softly. “You just
have to let me.”
She frowned ever so
slightly. “And how do you know what I
want, Lysander?
You don’t know a thing about me.”
“I do know something about
you. Not a lot, but enough. You are lonely, not because you’re alone, but
because the man you love doesn’t love you in return.”
The truth hit her like a
sledgehammer to the gut. It was almost
like she felt physical pain at his words.
“You don’t know that he doesn’t!”
“I can read it in your eyes.”
She trembled at what seemed
like an imaginary draft running down her spine.
“You just want him to love you,
don’t you?” he asked.
She glared at him with grim
determination, but before she could stop herself, words tumbled out of her
mouth. “It’s too much to ask of him.”
“Love isn’t asked for. It’s given.
I can give you that.”
Hermione shook her head, as if
to block out his voice. “It only works
if it’s given both ways, Lysander. You don’t give it and expect something in
return.”
He smiled. “Oh, but we do expect, don’t we? Which is why it hurts so
much when we get nothing.”
She gritted her teeth,
half-incensed that he had her caught in this conversation. “What do you mean—“
“I’m laying it out in the open,
Hermione. I can love you in any way you
want; give you anything you ask; provide for you in every way you require, but
I will expect something; the promise that you’ll be there when I need you.”
“There is absolutely nothing
that you can give me to agree to—“
He smiled. “I am not talking about material things,
Hermione. Since that day we met at the
Ministry, tell me how I’ve made you feel.”
She reddened. “I absolutely will not—“
“Tell me.”
His voice was terribly persuasive
in its soft insistence.
She swallowed. “Like I was wanted.”
“You were.”
“Like I
was beautiful.”
“You are.”
“Like I was—“
“The
only thing that mattered to me.” The hushed quality of his tone filled her
senses. It was almost like a
perfume. Sweet;
insistent; intoxicating.
The warmth she derived from his
words gave her pleasure for the briefest moment, but then it began to horrify
her, and she wasn’t sure why. She tried
to resist him; tried to say no, but she couldn’t. A headache pounded through her head and she
pulled away physically, but the distance couldn’t be marked.
He cocked a smile. “You fascinate me, Hermione Jane Granger, and
that’s the absolute truth. I can make
you feel that way every blessed day of your life, for as long as you want me
to. I can’t promise that you’ll learn to
love me, you know, but as far as substitutes go, I’d say I’m not all that bad.”
She opened her mouth to protest
and his fingers gently stilled her lips.
“You do not like that I use the
word substitute, but that’s what I, and every man you think to replace him with,
will be. Face it, Hermione, every man
after Harry Potter will be nothing more than a replacement to you. A dummy you can direct your affections to.”
“That’s—that’s almost obscene,”
she whispered in a tremulous voice.
“Almost,
but not quite.”
She shook, not certain about
the feelings he stirred in her at all.
Temptation.
I want what he has to offer.
No. No, you
don’t. You’re drugged.
I’m lonely. Is it
so bad to let him give you company?
Perhaps not…
Gathering her materials, she
pushed herself away from him, not even bothering to organize everything in her
bag as she scooped her things in it.
“I have to go,” she said
hurriedly. “I can’t stay here. It’s late.”
Lysander
watched her wordlessly, making no move to get in her way.
Frantically, she snatched her
bag and muttered a quick goodbye to him.
Sir Mac a’Bhaird
met her at the door.
“I must go,
Sir Mac a’Bhaird.”
He nodded. “Very good, madam. Shall we see you again?”
For a second, she nonsensically
wondered who else was there to expect her.
“I-I don’t know.”
“Then it would be a welcome
surprise,” he said. “Good evening to
you.”
She nodded, hurrying out the
library, through the doors and back out into Muggle
London.
She wasted no time to find a
secluded spot, and waving her wand, she apparated
herself to Grimmauld
Place while echoes of Lysander’s voice whispered in her head.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pronunciation guide:
Feargun Gilleasbaig Eircheard Mac a’Bhaird – FERgun giLESpik ERchart MakBEE
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