Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Moments in Love	By : Gandalfs-Beard Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 175861 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 14
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All rights belong to Rowling. Nor do I make any money from the story.

Chapter List
- 76
- 77
- 78
The Last Enemy

It was just past nine in the morning and the Prime Minister was sitting alone in his office, sipping his third cup of tea and absentmindedly rereading the same paragraph on the memo from the Chancellor of the Exchequer for the umpteenth time. Generally speaking, the Prime Minister had little problem following the Chancellor’s detailed monetary reports and budget proposals, but this morning, everything was slipping through his brain as if through a sieve.
He sighed, supposing it was due to the fact there was just too much else going on. Not only was he awaiting a telephone call from the president of the United States regarding the continuing pressure from the president’s opposition party to escalate the current situation in Iraq - apparently hoping that he, as the leader of the British equivalent to the American opposition party, would talk some sense into them - the Inquiry in the Parliament concerning Puddleby was growing more contentious, and peace talks with the more amenable faction of the IRA were breaking down again.
The Prime Minister had hoped for some good news from Minister Umbridge regarding her plan to put an end to the insurrection in the wizard world, but she hadn’t got back to him yet, and that was most worrisome of all. Everything else could eventually be navigated successfully as long as the bankers and corporate heads were happy, and with Umbridge in his corner, things in that regard were still going splendidly.
As the clock ticked on, the Prime Minister finally gave up trying to read the memo. He stood up and stretched, glancing at the liquor cabinet. Sighing, he decided that there wasn’t much point to remaining completely sober under the circumstances, as it was obvious he wouldn’t be getting any more work done until he heard from Minister Umbridge.
The PM opened the cabinet and retrieved a bottle of Glenlivet, adding a healthy splash of the Scotch to his tea. He drained the cup in one swallow, then poured himself a straight shot into the teacup, nearly filling it. While he sipped and paced in his office, the sound of wailing police sirens nearby caught his attention.
The Prime Minister frowned as the cacophony grew louder and closer; it sounded like the entirety of Scotland Yard had been mobilised. He wondered what the hell was going on. Surely if it was another protest or a bombing he would have been notified. Scurrying to the window, he looked out through the rain-streaked panes, shocked to see police vehicles screeching to a halt below, just outside the front doors of Number Ten.
“Bloody Hell!” the PM gasped when he saw fully armed special police units arriving. “What on earth...?”
The sound of flames crackling in the hearth of the marble fireplace behind him caught his attention, and he felt a surge of relief, whirling around to greet Minister Umbridge. But to his great shock, a tall elderly man with a long silvery beard and piercing blue eyes wearing gaudy, colourful robes emerged from the green flames instead, followed by another man - a balding, red haired man with glasses wearing more normal clothes.
“Wh...what the...? Who the hell are you?” asked the Prime Minister, dread settling in the pit of his stomach like a dead weight, having a horrible feeling that he already knew the answer.
“You may as well finish that,” said the elderly wizard, eyeing the PM’s teacup cannily. “It may be the last libation you will enjoy for the foreseeable future, and will no doubt ease what is certain to be a trying day for you...”
Banging and shouting from downstairs interrupted the wizard, and the Prime Minister considered bolting for his door and yelling for help.
“They will be here soon enough,” remarked the wizard calmly. “They are here for you, not for me or my colleague, and they are no doubt arguing with your staff regarding the proper procedure concerning your arrest...”
“My... my arrest?” The Prime Minister’s knees wobbled slightly. “Then you... you must be...”
“Albus Dumbledore, yes...” Dumbledore nodded. “I am here to inform you of current affairs and oversee a smooth arrest process. And this would be Arthur Weasley, the interim Acting Minister for Magic, though I have no doubt that he will eventually be ratified by the Wizengamot as a proper replacement for Minister Umbridge...”
“I still say it should be Kingsley,” muttered Arthur Weasley.
“Nonsense, Arthur,” said Dumbledore kindly. “There could be none more suited to the task, and Kingsley and Amelia quite agree with me, as does Warlock Greengrass...”
Trembling, his heart beginning to thud loudly in his ears, the Prime Minister thought that perhaps the old wizard was right and downed the rest of his whiskey in one huge gulp, then poured himself another cupful...

~o0o~
Harry blinked, wondering briefly where he and Hermione were as he awoke, then remembering that he was once again in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. He turned his head, groaning when it throbbed, unsurprised to see from the clock on the wall that it was almost noon; he had been up most of the night having a number of bones in his leg being regrown after all.
“Good Morning Harry,” said Hermione from her own hospital bed, where she herself was still recuperating. “So much for our weekend at home,” she sighed, sitting up and giving Harry a wan smile.
Harry grinned back at her. “It could have been worse. At least you didn’t need any Skelegro,”
“At least neither of us are dead,” said Hermione, raising an eyebrow. “I’m sorry I couldn’t cuddle you last night,” she went on, peering at Harry apologetically.
“Ahem, well, perhaps we can rectify that after you’ve both had some breakfast, Mrs Potter...” said a familiar voice. Harry and Hermione both turned a bit pink as they peered at Madam Pomfrey, who had just arrived with a trolley full of breakfast. “And you are quite correct dear. You are both very fortunate indeed, considering that you both took a direct hit from such a powerful Bombarda - by rights you should both be dead.
“Surviving that blast with only concussions, a few cracked ribs, a fractured wrist, and a broken leg between the both of you is nothing short of miraculous. Once again, Mr Potter’s skill with those amazing Chinese Runes has stood you all very well indeed.”
“Yeah, I suppose so.” Harry winced as he shifted his sore leg and took a deep breath. Pomfrey had healed his cracked ribs easily, but they were still sore as well. “It still hurts to breathe though.”
“Tell me about it,” Hermione groaned. “I almost feel worse than I did after the Battle of Hogwarts when we fought Voldemort’s forces. My head still hurts.”
“Which is why you will both be in this hospital ward for another day at least,” said Madam Pomfrey sternly.
“How’s everyone else?” asked Harry, suddenly realising that he and Hermione were the only ones left in the hospital wing.
“Perfectly fine, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey reassured him. “You and Mrs Potter sustained the worst injuries of those among you at the Ministry by far, and your friend Mr Finnigan only sustained a minor concussion and some bruising. I’ve sent everyone away for now, as you both need your rest - your concussions were much worse than Mr Finnigan’s.
“The headmaster did insist that you have access to a Wiz-vision in the meantime, however, to keep you informed until he has time to confer with you both. Apparently it has been enchanted to carry something called the BBC News as well...”
Once Harry and Hermione were sitting comfortably, with breakfast trays on their laps, Madam Pomfrey departed, returning moments later wheeling in a large Wiz-Vision monitor. Cheerily munching eggs and bacon, Harry and Hermione flicked back and forth between the ongoing BBC reports regarding the arrest of the muggle Prime Minister, and sparse updates on WVN featuring Rita Skeeter regarding the aftermath of the battle of Hogsmeade, and the changeover at the Ministry. For the moment, there was no mention that Harry or Hermione had been at the Ministry, although it was apparently presumed that they had fought at Hogsmeade.
Following their late breakfast, they spent the rest of the afternoon cuddling and watching the Wiz-Vision, satisfied to discover that the Prime Minister would be facing numerous charges - some of them quite horrifying - ranging from keeping a several young omen captive, locked up in a secret basement under Number Ten Downing Street, to stealing elections, conspiring with terrorist organisations, spying on political opponents in parliament, False Arrests of legal protesters, and framing and assassinating dissidents and whistleblowers, not to mention involving MI5 and MI6 in many of the illegal operations.
They also sadly learned that nearly half a dozen Order members and a number of Ministry associated wizards - including Warlock Goyle - had been killed during the Battle of Hogsmeade.
“At least it’s over,” Hermione sighed.
“But is it?” Both of Harry’s eyebrows popped up and he peered at Hermione earnestly. “I know Umbridge is gone and that the Unspeakables, Death Eaters and Snatchers were captured and that Madam Bones and Shacklebolt are cleaning up the Ministry, but is it really over?”
“A very good question Harry,” said a new voice in the ward. Harry and Hermione looked up to see Dumbledore smiling warmly at them.
“For now though,” continued the headmaster, “I would say so. Indeed, the Order and Monsieur Delacour’s people did manage to capture most of the Minister’s forces with thankfully minimal fatalities on both sides.
“And thanks to the other files recovered from the Department of Mysteries during your most recent incursion, the Order of the Phoenix was able to locate and shut down forever the other Internment Camps this afternoon. The vast majority of those who followed the Minister have been captured and are now being held to await trial... including Percy Weasley of course.”
“Good!” Harry scowled as he contemplated Percy’s role in the Minister’s administration. “I hope he goes to prison for a long, long time.”
“Ah, I daresay that he shall,” said Dumbledore. “You will have some say in the matter of course, as a member of the Wizengamot.”
“Oh... right!” Harry looked surprised at the idea that he would have some input into the official decision making process in the British wizard world. “I’d almost forgotten that I have a seat on the Wizengamot.”
“Indeed...” The Headmaster regarded Harry with twinkling eyes. “Admittedly, the Wizengamot will be a bit smaller than you recall, as a number of Warlocks with seats are themselves facing trial as active participants in Minister Umbridge’s criminal regime.”
“What about Bellatrix Lestrange?” asked Hermione. “Whatever happened to her?”
“Alas, Bellatrix Lestrange has thus far evaded capture,” Dumbledore sighed. “She was nowhere to be found in Hogsmeade, nor at any of the remaining Ministry facilities. Though I do have sources which indicate that she has departed Britain for the time-being. It is quite likely that she may one day be a thorn in our side again... but I have been assured by Angelika Machschnell that an international arrest warrant shall be issued for Bellatrix.”
“I suppose that’s something,” Harry grumbled.
“Quite!” Dumbledore agreed. “Madam Lestrange should not be underestimated of course, but without powerful allies or a government sponsor, her reach and her ability to do harm is greatly diminished. She is on the run and with a bit of luck on our side, one day she will slip up and be arrested.”
“Now that the Prime Minister has been arrested, what about Harry?” asked Hermione pointedly. “Is Harry going to be able to go out in public as himself anytime soon?”
“Ah, well, as the BBC has no doubt informed you, the current government shall collapse within a matter of days, and new elections called for. The current party in power shall likely find itself unceremoniously expelled - its seats in parliament drastically reduced.
“As a result of these transpirings, as the muggle investigation into the Minister’s activities move forward, the muggle arrest warrants for Harry and for Sirius will also be rescinded within the next few days. Indeed, I myself, and some members of the ICW committee for Statutory Violations will be monitoring the process to make certain that all persons unfairly targeted by the Prime Minister are publicly exonerated or released if already arrested.”
“That’s wonderful!” Hermione squealed, giving Harry a kiss on the cheek. “You’ll be able to go out as yourself again, Harry...”

~o0o~
Percy Weasley lay in his cot in his cell in the Ministry’s holding facility staring gloomily at the stone ceiling, wondering how he could have been such an idiot, and rather thinking that he didn’t deserve the comfortable mattress he was lying on.
He couldn’t sleep anyway. Every time he closed his eyes, all Percy could see now were the images of the burned corpses stacked in the smouldering rubble of a room at the Welsh Compound, and he couldn’t help thinking that somehow he was responsible for them.
He had actually believed the Minister’s lies that they had all deserved it for being dangerously violent rebels... or had he?
Percy tried his hardest to suppress the little whispers in the back of his mind which suggested that he had been lying to himself: that deep down he had known from the outset exactly what Dolores’s goals were - advancing the ideology of Pureblood Supremacy - and that he had knowingly approved them at every cruel step of the way - and that he had been on the path long before he had worked for Umbridge, ever since he had joined the Ministry.
It was far easier for Percy to believe that he was simply a gullible idiot than it was believing that it had been his own innate sense of superiority and eagerness to get ahead at the Ministry which had led him astray - led him to becoming a monster, but the whispers in the dark wouldn’t let him alone...
A ringing knock on the heavy cast-iron door shook Percy from his miserable reverie. He sat up on the cot as the door opened with a long, groaning creak. His eyes widened with surprise to see who was visiting.
“M...Mother? Father? ... Wh..what are you doing here?”
“Oh Percy!” Percy’s mother peered at him mournfully, dabbing at her tears with a hanky. “Do you really have to ask?”
“But... after everything... everything horrible I’ve done...?” Percy trailed off, his cheeks and ears burning with shame as his eyes flickered towards his father, then cast down at the floor.
Arthur Weasley swallowed uncomfortably, his expression softening. “You’re still our son, Percy, and Ron told me what you did. Thank you! ... Thank you for saving him...”
“I’m sorry,” said Percy in a small voice. “I’m sorry for everything...”
“I know,” Arthur responded gently. “I can’t prevent the wheels of justice from turning, Percy. Nor would I want to - your participation in Umbridge’s regime has enabled some of the most heinous crimes Britain has faced since the last time You-Know-Wh... since Voldemort was at the height of his power, and you will have to face the consequences of those actions. But...
Arthur heaved a deep breath, a tear trickling down one cheek. “But I forgive you anyway, Percy.”
Percy let out a sob and buried his face in his hands.
“I don’t deserve it... I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he muttered between sobs.
“Oh Percy,” said Molly again, wrapping her arms around her son.

~o0o~
“Shame, I’m going to miss going out with Harriet,” said Jennifer, when Harry and Hermione told the rest of the Coven the good news after Pomfrey let them leave the infirmary the following morning.
“Yeah... Me too,” Daphne added sadly.
“Says who?” Harry half-grinned and rolled his eyes. “Just because I don’t have to be someone else in public anymore, doesn’t mean I don’t want to be Harriet sometimes. You’ll still get your chance to dress me up like a dolly.”
“Mmm, zat is good,” said Fleur with a smirk, “because I was theenking of a lovely evening gown for your birthday.”
“Oooh! Excellent idea Fleur,” Parvati giggled. “Maybe we can find Harriet some nice lingerie too.”
“I can’t wait,” said Ginny, grinning from ear to ear. “Though I suppose Harriet would prefer to model the lingerie for Hermione alone.”
Luna peered at Harry perceptively and smiled. “Maybe we should keep this to ourselves though,” she said quietly. “Harry might not be ready for everyone to know that he’s a metamorphmagus who can change into a girl just yet.”
“Yes...” Hermione murmured, glancing around the corridor nervously, “maybe we should talk about presents for Harriet later.”
“True, it’s still a secret,” said Dora, nodding.
“Well, Dean already sort of knows, and so do Viktor and Neville,” Harry sighed. “I probably can’t hide it forever. Luna’s right - I dunno if I’m ready for that yet, but I’m not quite as fussed about it now that the Ministry isn’t after me anymore. Anyway... I’ve been thinking - what I really want to do is to visit Godric’s Hollow. That, I’m more than ready for...”
The rest of the Coven quieted and stopped teasing Harry about their plans for Harriet’s wardrobe. Hermione smiled sadly and slipped her hand into his, giving it a comforting squeeze.
“That’s a nice idea Harry,” she said. “We can go next weekend, or over the Easter Holiday if you’d like.”
“If you and Hermione want to go by yourselves, we’ll understand...” Ginny began.
“No!” Harry interjected firmly. “I want you all to come with me. You’re all family now. I’m going to bring the Ring of Peverell with me. I don’t know if it really does bring spirits back from the other side, but if it does, I want my parents to meet you all.”
“We’d like that Harry,” said Luna earnestly. “And they are real - I’m sure of that now more than ever. I heard the whispers beyond the veil in the Department of Mysteries.”
“Wait... you heard the voices too then?” asked Harry. “They weren’t just a figment of my imagination?”
He glanced at Hermione, who had been as close to the veil as anyone could possibly be without passing through it. Hermione looked briefly disconcerted.
“I... I thought I heard something too,” Hermione admitted. “I thought maybe it was just because I had been knocked on the head though. But Luna’s right, Harry. With everything we’ve learned, we know that the spirits of people who’ve died continue on after death, and... and that Peverell’s Ring is a real way to talk to them again - even if it can’t really bring them back to life.”
When Harry, Hermione and the rest of the Unaffiliated finally entered the Great Hall for breakfast, they were practically deafened by the resounding cheer that greeted them. All slightly taken aback and red-faced, they took their seats at the Mingling Table, where they were joined by many of their friends and family members.
“Blimey!” muttered Harry, who had been hoping to slip in to breakfast quietly.
“Everyone knows that you lot took the Ministry by storm...” said Padma, seeing the puzzled expressions their faces.
“...and that Harry and Hermione did in the Minister,” added Lavender, Viktor grinning at her side.
“It wasn’t me, I swear Harry,” said Ron. “Dad told me, but I dunno how everyone else already found out...”
“And the Daily Prophet isn’t issuing a new full edition until tomorrow.” Neville held up the slimmest copy of Britain’s preeminent wizarding newspaper that Harry or Hermione had ever seen. The headline emblazoned across the top was accompanied only by some pictures of Hogsmeade during and after the battle, and a sparse looking article.

Umbridge Era Finished and Daily Prophet Staff Undergoing Review
Full Story Tomorrow
Hermione shrugged at Harry, giving him a sympathetic half-smile. “Well, everyone was going to know eventually anyway, Harry.”
Harry nodded, sighing resignedly, then he shook his head and grinned.
“Suppose I should be getting used to it by now,” he chuckled. Gradually the hubbub in the Great Hall died down, and breakfast finally arrived...

~o0o~
Spring was in full bloom, the fragrance of lilac and honeysuckle on the air, and the Easter Holidays had finally arrived; nonetheless, the streets of Godric’s Hollow were wet with rain. The patter of gentle raindrops thrummed against the large umbrella which Harry held aloft over himself and Hermione as they walked arm in arm.
The rest of the Coven trailed behind them, under umbrellas of their own as they peered around the historical village with great interest. Fortunately, the locals seemed quite used to small groups of tourists, and paid them little heed. Harry heard several gasps and turned to see what the others were looking at, not seeing it at first.
“Harry...” Hermione pointed at a sign by a wild, overgrown hedge, and then he saw it behind the hedge, a cottage covered with ivy, much of it still standing, though the right side of roof had been blown off.
Harry recognised it immediately - the home he had shared with his parents - even though it wasn’t in a woodland glade as it had been in his journey into his soul, and through time and space.
“They’ve written all over it,” said Luna’s indignant voice.
“They shouldn’t have done that,” muttered Hermione, sounding equally vexed.
“What?” Harry tore his eyes away from his ruined childhood home; the entire Coven seemed annoyed.
“The sign - it’s got graffiti all over it!” Dora scowled.
Harry looked closer at the wooden Memorial Sign, embossed with gold lettering which detailed what had happened the night his parents had been killed. Surrounding the golden text, numerous people had left signatures and messages written in Everlasting Ink or carved into the wood - fourteen years worth of acknowledgment and best wishes for Harry Potter, the-Boy-Who-Lived. In that moment, it really hit home how much he had truly meant to so many people.
“No, it’s brilliant!” he said hoarsely, taking everyone by surprise. “It’s fine, really. I’m glad they did,” he added, beaming at them all.
He took Hermione’s hand again and she smiled at him, suddenly understanding. Harry gave his childhood home one last look, and continued down the road. Eventually the Coven passed a pub and came to a crossroad.
“The church is this way, I think,” said Dora, “We take another turn at the village square up ahead.”
When they reached the heart of the village, Harry was startled when the World War II memorial in the centre of the square shimmered, turning into a statue apparently only visible to wizards. Harry swallowed, his eyes stinging.
“It’s you as a baby with your mum and dad!” gasped Daphne. Everyone gawked at the statue for a moment before looking around the square.
“Is that the one? ...the right church?” asked Ginny, pointing at a little church with stained glass windows.
“Should be it, accordin’ to the map,” answered Dora, nodding. “Your parents should be in the little cemetery next to the church, Harry.”
Harry felt rooted to the spot, staring for a moment as his heart began to race. He was here, finally, and found that he couldn’t move. Hermione peered at him sadly and squeezed his hand.
“Come on Harry,” she said gently, leading him across the road toward the entrance of the graveyard, which was framed by a kissing gate adorned with pink and white roses.
Hermione led Harry through the gate into the cemetery and the others followed slowly, suddenly feeling a bit like they were intruding. They all fanned out a bit, looking at the gravestones.
“Oh, it’s Kendra and Arianna Dumbledore,” Harry distantly heard Jennifer say. “Isn’t that Professor Dumbledore’s mother and sister?”
“I think that’s right,” said Daphne. “They were mentioned in the Daily Prophet’s skewed reports about Dumbledore and Grindelwald.”
“Here’s another one,” Parvati’s voice called out, “I think it’s Harry’s ancestor...”
As everyone’s voices faded, somehow, Hermione seemed to know where she was going, weaving through the gravemarkers and granite headstones as if she were being drawn to the spot by a powerful force.
Almost numbly, Harry continued following Hermione’s lead; they would have plenty of time to visit the graves of Dumbledore’s family later. Suddenly, Hermione came to a halt.
“Harry, they’re here...”
Harry peered at the headstone, and sure enough, there were his parents names engraved in the white marble, along with a quote.
“‘The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death,’” Harry murmured, frowning in puzzlement. “Isn’t that a bit like a Death Eater idea - like that whole Master of Death business, Hermione?”
“No Harry,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “It’s a quote from the Bible. It doesn’t mean defeating Death in the same way. It’s more like what Luna and Parvati talked about that night after the little village in Wales with all the Inferi...”
“Oh! Yeah, I remember,” said Harry, “like going on after death in some sort of way.”
“That’s right,” Hermione agreed, nodding. “The Three Brothers created the Hallows, and Voldemort had his Horcruxes... but none of them were really ‘Masters of Death,’ Harry. It’s Love ... Love is what truly transcends Death! To Love someone is to keep them alive in your heart, even long after they’re gone. To pass on life from parent to child is an act of love... Love is Life...”
“...and that’s why Love is the greatest magic there is,” said Harry, finishing Hermione’s sentence, smiling at her, his eyes glistening wetly as rain dripped from the edge of the umbrella. He set the umbrella down, reached into his pocket, and clutched Peverell’s Ring in his hand, regarding the cracked obsidian gemstone with a pensive expression, then took a deep breath.
“I don’t think I really need this after all, Hermione,” he went on. “They’re already with me in a way. They have been all along. I can feel them with me - they already know you... and the others - through me.
“I think... I think this stone is for people who have regrets - people who don’t know who they are, or where they came from - people who need answers. But I don’t need answers anymore - not those sorts of answers anyway...”
Harry looked up again and peered earnestly into Hermione’s brown eyes, which gleamed golden as they always did in these moments.
“I don’t need those kinds of answers because I have you, Hermione,” he said quietly, leaning in to kiss her.
Their lips met, and for a timeless moment of eternity they were as one, neither of them caring as they grew wetter in the falling rain. Hermione lost herself to the moment, and found herself, in Harry, floating as if on a sea of gossamer. She was breathless and tingling when the kiss ended.
Beaming incandescently at Harry, her cheeks turning pink, eyelashes fluttering shyly, Hermione knew there was only one thing left to do. Still gripping Harry’s hand tightly with one hand, she raised her wand with the other, a wreath of roses blossoming from the circle she drew in the air. Harry caught it, and together they kneeled as he laid it on his parents grave.
They knelt for several minutes, then stood up, smiling at each other. They were silent for a moment, Harry’s iridescent green eyes meeting Hermione’s shining golden ones as she wrapped her arms around him, drawing him closer. Their lips met once more for another eternal kiss, Harry twirling one of the curls spilling from under Hermione’s knitted cap with his fingers, only parting when they heard giggles nearby.
“Sorry guys,” said Luna as everyone quieted, trying their hardest to look appropriately solemn. Luna didn’t bother trying to hide her beatific smile. “It’s just, you’re both glowing again.”
The Potters glanced at each other, surprised to see that Luna was right. The silvery luminous glow emanating from the pair of them was so bright, it was visible in daylight.
“I’m sure it’ll be faded by dinnertime tomorrow,” Ginny tried to reassure Harry and Hermione, just in case they might be concerned about the planned massive Easter Celebration at the Burrow.
Harry grinned. “Doesn’t matter really, does it?”
“Besides, it’d be a surprise for Hermione’s mum and auntie...” he added impishly, a suggestive look in his eye.
“Prat,” giggled Hermione, giving Harry a swat on the shoulder and a peck on the cheek. “They wouldn’t know that had anything to do with Coven rituals.”
“Well, fortunately no-one really seems to,” said Dora, smirking a bit, “Thank goodness! Seeing as loads of people saw us glowing on the rooftop in Puddleby that night...”
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Moments in Love