Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Damaged Bridges	By : Gandalfs-Beard Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 46850 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, all rights belong to Rowling and Warner Bros, nor do I make any money from the production of this work.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Fragmented Souls

Albus Dumbledore departed the hospital wing with Professor McGonagall as they both shared a look. Even though Minerva didn’t say, “I told you so,” her expression spoke volumes. Dumbledore sighed, mentally kicking himself once again for his ill-considered decisions. At least Harry’s quick thinking had saved Horace Slughorn’s life.
Dumbledore hoped that his new course of action, made with the counsel of both Minerva and Severus, would yield more positive results in the long term. There was no question that Dumbledore felt much better about himself from a moral standpoint, but there was still the matter of devising a new means of ridding Harry of the piece of Voldemort which resided in him.
The headmaster took stock of the fact that Harry appeared to be drawing ever closer to Hermione Granger, more than simply providing her comfort and solace in her time of great need, giving credence to Nymphadora Tonks’s claims. A positive expression of Love in Harry’s life - as opposed to the grief expressed at Sirius’s death - could prove to be a critical factor in eventually achieving this goal.
It was entirely possible that Voldemort’s soul fragment - which hadn’t been strongly bound to Harry through the process required to make him an actual horcrux - would not be able to withstand a bombardment of overt intimacy and affection in conjunction with the right combination of spells...

~o0o~
“Harry m’boy, I can’t thank you enough,” Professor Slughorn said weakly from his hospital bed, still looking quite out of sorts despite Madam Pomfrey’s ministrations. “Truly, no words can express my utmost gratitude. True or not, you do your reputation as the Chosen One justice...”
“Really sir, it was nothing,” said Harry, flushing with embarrassment. “Anyone could’ve done the same. I was just lucky you had some bezoars in your kit. ”
Hermione frowned at Harry’s attempt to downplay his quick actions, still feeling thoroughly chagrined at having briefly frozen. And Slughorn was having none of it either.
“Nonsense Harry!” he admonished. “If not for you, I would surely be departed from this mortal plane. I have very little to offer in return for my life at the moment, but if there is anything I can do to repay you - anything at all - just name it and I will do my utmost to see that your desires are met.”
Harry swallowed nervously as his eyes widened, unable to help feeling slightly guilty for even considering taking advantage of this moment. He glanced at Hermione, who appeared to be torn herself. Biting her lip, she gave Harry an almost imperceptible nod. Harry gulped again and took a deep breath to steel himself, turning back to Slughorn.
“Er... There is actually something, sir. I... I was wondering...” Harry faltered, then took another deep breath before starting again.
“I need to know - what can you tell me about horcruxes and Tom Riddle?” Harry asked quietly.
“Merlin’s beard!” Slughorn gasped. “He... he told you? Dumbledore actually told you about the memory?”
“It’s important,” said Harry as conviction surged within. “Please Professor! I need to know. It’s true what they say - I am the Chosen One, and I need to know what you told Riddle if I’m ever going to have a chance to defeat him - to put an end to him once and for all.”
A flicker of fear crossed Slughorn’s features, replaced by a look of shame. Harry pressed on relentlessly.
“My mother,” said Harry quietly but firmly, “Even if I wasn’t the Chosen One - he took her from me - I never got a chance to know her.”
A tear trickled down Slughorn’s cheek and slowly he nodded.
“Of course... of course, Harry! Vengeance is not always to be encouraged - but given the circumstances... it is your right; and there is no question that the world will be the better for ridding us of Tom Riddle’s cruelty.
“But I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me when you view the memory. It is a moment which shames me. I fear... I fear that I am responsible for the monster which Tom Riddle became. It is all my fault!” Slughorn’s voice cracked, and another tear rolled down his cheek. “It is my fault that Lily... that your mother... It is my fault she is dead.”
Harry felt his own eyes stinging and shook his head. “No... no it’s not your fault, sir - Riddle was already a monster! You didn’t make him that way. But I forgive you anyway...”
Slughorn peered into Harry’s green eyes - into her eyes - Lily’s eyes - their iridescence plainly visible even through Harry’s glasses.
“Thank you! Thank you! You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear those words from... er... ” Slughorn hesitated, then reached for a wad of tissues on his bedside table; he dabbed his wet cheeks and blew his nose. “Thank you, Harry! If... if you’ll have Poppy - Madam Pomfrey - if you’ll have her bring me a vial, I’ll give you the memory right now.”
“That was brilliant, Harry,” Hermione whispered into his ear while Slughorn’s attention was diverted extracting a true copy of his memory with his wand. “I know how hard that was for you.”
Ten minutes later, Harry exited the hospital wing with Hermione in tow, both of them tingling with anticipation as they raced to the headmaster’s office.

~o0o~
“Harry, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, his bushy white eyebrows arching in surprise when the two students entered his office, “I certainly didn’t expect to see you both again so soon, given this morning’s turmoil...”
“I’ve got it - Professor Slughorn’s real memory - I have it,” Harry interjected, unable to contain himself. Hermione fidgeted beside him, beaming proudly.
Dumbledore’s clear blue eyes widened, momentarily astounded when Harry handed him a crystal vial full of swirling silvery mist. His face broke into a smile and his eyes began to twinkle.
“My word Harry! This is magnificent news indeed! I had no doubt that you would eventually get through to him like no other, but I must confess, I did not expect you to succeed quite so quickly.”
“Er... I had help.” Harry grinned at Hermione. “Hermione helped me work out the right way to approach Professor Slughorn...”
“But Dumbledore’s right,” said Hermione, turning slightly pink. “Only you could have done it in the end, Harry.”
Dumbledore’s smile broadened as he peered at the young pair cannily, pleased to see that his earlier rumination was coming to fruition.
“Ah, regardless Miss Granger, it would seem that there is some credit to be shared. Well done, the both of you.”
Dumbledore stood up, pushing his chair back and striding eagerly over to the cabinet containing his Pensieve, then placing it carefully on his desk and tipping the contents of the vial into it. He beckoned his two pupils, indicating that they should enter the memory first.
One after the other, Harry and Hermione submerged their faces into the billowing clouds, tumbling into the Pensieve, followed by the headmaster. A short while later, the three of them emerged from the stone basin, landing feet first on the Persian rug in front of Dumbldore’s desk.
Dumbledore looked somewhat shaken as he took his seat once more, but unsurprised. Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, looking equally appalled. Dumbledore conjure up a steaming pot of Earl Grey and three cups. They all sat sipping their tea for a few minutes before Dumbledore seemed ready to begin.
“Well, this certainly confirms my worst fears,” said the headmaster. “It would appear that our work is cut out for us.”
“Seven Horcruxes!” Harry still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that Voldemort was willing to tear his soul into so many pieces even though he knew that Riddle had killed countless people.
“Well, technically six, plus you, Harry,” said Hermione anxiously. “Voldemort would have counted himself as one of the pieces of soul.”
“Indeed!” Dumbledore nodded. “Quite so, Miss Granger.”
Harry frowned thoughtfully for a moment. “So that means there are only four left then - besides me... I killed the diary, and you killed the ring.”
“Yes, I believe so,” Dumbledore agreed. “The difficulty which remains is determining what the rest of horcruxes are, and where Voldemort may have hidden them.”
“I suppose my scar will help a bit,” Harry muttered. “It gets more painful whenever Voldemort’s near or when he’s feeling particularly angry. I never really paid it much attention in second year, but I think the diary was making it hurt. ... I reckoned it was just Voldemort brooding at the time. If we look in the most likely places, my scar ought to pinpoint the horcruxes.”
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, looking a bit surprised again. “Intriguing! That is a very credible deduction which hadn’t occurred to me, Harry. ... In any case, I believe I can shed some light on at least two of the items, and perhaps even a third, and it is possible that we may deduce some of their locations. There are two more memories worth perusing, if you would both care to join me in the Pensieve again...”
Twice more the headmaster and his students tumbled into the stone basin and returned. Taking their seats once more, and sipping fresh cups of tea, the discussion continued. Dumbledore leaned back in his chair quietly, listening to Harry and Hermione’s take on what they had witnessed.
“So, Slytherin’s Locket and Hufflepuff’s Cup...” Harry mused. “Maybe Voldemort made the Sword of Gryffindor and something of Ravenclaw’s into horcruxes too, then.”
“Well, the Sword of Gryffindor isn’t very likely from what you told me about the Chamber of Secrets, Harry,” Hermione pointed out. “It only presents itself to worthy Gryffindors...”
“Oh! Right... of course,” Harry groaned, feeling a bit stupid.
“...But it’s possible he might have got his hands on Ravenclaw’s Diadem,” Hermione added. “It’s another famous artifact of one of the Founders which went missing ages ago. So that’s something to consider.”
“Okay!” said Harry, brightening. “That makes sense, Hermione - he’d do anything to find it. I bet he did. So that just leaves one more to work out.”
“But there doesn’t seem to be much to go on as to where they might be,” Hermione grumbled. “Professor Dumbledore found the one at the Gaunts, and Voldemort’s not very likely to have left one at his father’s estate - Professor Dumbledore would’ve found it too anyway. And I doubt Voldemort would hide one at the orphanage.”
“Well, we know Riddle returned to Hogwarts to try and get a job,” Harry reasoned. “Maybe he hid one of the horcruxes here before he met Professor Dumbledore, or before he left.”
“Hmm... If he had enough time, that’s a good possibility,” Hermione agreed, nodding her bushy head. “But where?”
“Maybe the Chamber of Secrets!” Harry proffered eagerly, sure that was where Voldemort would have hidden it.
“But would he have had time, Harry?” Hermione bit her lip and peered at him. “He wouldn’t have wanted Professor Dumbledore to get suspicious if he’d hung around too long after being turned down for the job. It would have to be somewhere he had relatively easy access to.” Hermione glanced at Dumbledore quickly.
Dumbledore raised his bushy eyebrows and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “It is true that Riddle was in the castle for a short while after departing my office - several of the portraits confirmed as much. But I’m doubtful that he would have had time to visit the Chamber. And he reached my office very shortly after his arrival at the front doors.”
Harry and Hermione both racked their brains trying to think of more places to hide things - especially important things that Voldemort wouldn’t want anyone else to find. Thunderstruck, Harry’s eyes widened when it hit him.
“The Room of Requirement!” Harry gasped. “I’d bet you anything Voldemort found it when he was at school here.” His heart racing, Harry turned to look at Dumbledore. “Malfoy was working on that Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things, right sir? That’s what you told us. Maybe Riddle hid something there.”
Dumbledore’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Excellent Harry! That is a splendid suggestion indeed! And if your hypothesis regarding your scar is correct, we may see another horcrux defeated this very afternoon...”
The headmaster looked almost giddy when he addressed Hermione. “And Miss Granger, I do believe your deduction regarding Ravenclaw’s Diadem is very likely. All that remains to be seen then, is which horcrux is secreted in the Room of Requirement. Well, there is no time like the present, shall we then...?”
Dumbledore stood up quickly and gestured towards the door of his office, indicating that Harry and Hermione should lead the way before retrieving a necessary item adorning the wall of his office.
Harry practically sprinted through the castle and up the stairs, and down a corridor, Hermione puffing as she tried to keep up, Dumbledore not far behind. Several third year Ravenclaw girls squeaked with surprise and flattened themselves against a wall, gawking at the odd trio barreling past them.
Panting, Harry, Hermione, and Dumbledore finally reached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. The woven portrait of Barnabas was nearly flattened by a troll in a tutu when he was distracted by the strange threesome who had breathlessly come to screeching halt in front of him. Even the trolls stopped pirouetting on the tips of their toes to see what was going on.
Harry paced back and forth several times, then pushed open the door which had magically made its appearance.
His jaw dropped at the sight within, beholding an enormous cavernous room, bigger than a cathedral, containing mountains and heaps of all manner of items from the mundane to the bizarre stacked on top of each other. Rays of cold light streamed through the windows in the vaulted ceiling, piercing the whorls of dust swirling in the air. Hermione’s breath caught in awe as she looked over Harry’s shoulder.
“Is... is this it?” asked Harry, his voice nearly a whisper, his chest still heaving rapidly in shallow breaths.
“Indeed it is, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “After viewing Draco Malfoy’s memory, I came searching for the Vanishing Cabinet myself, to ensure that it was quite beyond repair. I located it and dismantled it completely.
“Now... take a moment Harry. Still your thoughts and take a deep breath - several if you have to. Then tell me what you feel.”
Harry tried to calm himself and closed his eyes, remembering his Occlumency training, ignoring the thoughts swirling in his head and the feelings coursing through his nerves. He allowed his scar to itch and burn, trying to separate out the sensations which were coming through the link between himself and Voldemort from those he hoped were coming from a horcrux.
But the Second Technique wasn’t quite enough. Harry reached for Hermione’s hand and gave it a squeeze, breathing in deeply through his nose, releasing it through his lips slowly as he felt her warmth and affection spread up his arm and through his body. The pain in his scar flickered - the sensation of Voldemort within faded - his scar throbbed, pulsed, beating in time with another piece of Riddle - not the one at the other end of his inner-connection, but with one on the outside, somewhere in the chamber.
Harry could feel it impinging on the surface of his skin, reaching painfully through his scar, seeking out the link inside him.
“It’s here,” he said, opening his eyes. “I can feel it. Whatever you do, don’t let go of my hand Hermione. As long as I can feel you, I can block Voldemort and feel the horcrux.”
“I won’t let go Harry,” said Hermione, licking her dry lips nervously and gripping Harry’s hand as tightly as she could. “I promise!”
That promise was almost broken when Harry - focused as intently as he was on following the source of the pain in his scar - nearly tripped over several bottles of sherry, sending them clattering across the stone floor until they were stopped by what looked like a giant stuffed troll. Hermione grunted as she grabbed Harry’s arm with her other hand and held him upright.
“Thanks Hermione,” Harry muttered.
Hermione glanced upwards when movement caught her eye. “There’s fanged frisbees too,” she sighed. “Keep an eye on your feet, and I’ll look out above.”
Dumbledore tried his hardest to follow his own advice, practically holding his breath as he followed Harry and Hermione through the canyons of centuries worth of detritus, passing a broken desk piled high with old editions of Naughty Witches magazines, and a stack of books with racy titles and pictures of scantily clad witches and wizards engaging in scandalous acts on their covers.
“Duck!” shouted Hermione, pulling Harry out of the way when a Self-Slinging Slingshot sent a glittering red and gold gobstone flying at his head. Dumbledore waved his wand and the slingshot fell behind a mound of filthy old robes.
“Blimey! It’s like a bloody death trap in here.” Harry eyed a gigantic battle-axe with a stained blade, and the dented suit of armour beside it nervously, hoping it wouldn’t suddenly spring to life. Harry paused and closed his eyes again, taking several more deep breaths.
When Harry began moving again, he crept cautiously down the aisle, and took a number of turns, leading Hermione by the hand as Dumbledore kept pace behind them. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows when they took a left at the pile of wooden ebony panels which had once been the Vanishing Cabinet.
Harry came to a dead stop when he finally reached a cupboard corroded by acid. His heart thumping wildly, a sharp searing sensation in his scar, he peered around, seeing a crumbling bust of an ugly old sorcerer on top of a nearby crate. His eyes fell on something glinting on a battered bookshelf beside it - a tarnished, ancient looking silver tiara.
Hermione gasped when she saw what Harry was looking at. Dumbledore stepped forward eagerly, his eyes widening.
“Is... could that that be the horcrux?” asked Harry as he stared at the tiara, almost certain that it was.
“Yes, Harry - Ravenclaw’s Diadem,” Dumbledore murmured, nodding slowly, barely able to believe it himself. “Magnificent! ... Truly magnificent,” he said, lifting the tiara from the dusty shelf riddled with woodworm. “You have done splendidly, Harry!”
“Oh Harry,” Hermione squealed. “You’ve done it! You actually found one.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you, Hermione.” Harry shot her a grin, the pain in his scar ebbing slightly when she blushed and pulled him into a hug.
“Quite so,” Dumbledore agreed, his eyes twinkling merrily. “Perhaps then, you would do us the honour Miss Granger.” Dumbledore reached into his outer robes, and drew the Sword of Gryffindor from the scabbard hidden beneath.
“Me?” Hermione squeaked.
Dumbledore nodded, beaming. “ Thus far, Harry has defeated Riddle’s Diary, and I his Ring. As Harry’s partner, it seems only fitting that you should be afforded this opportunity.”
Hermione swallowed nervously, taking the long silver blade from Dumbledore’s hand. She shivered slightly as she held the bejeweled hilt of the sword for the first time. She glanced at Harry, who nodded as the headmaster had done.
“Go on Hermione,” Harry urged. “This one’s all yours!”
“If... if you’re sure,” she said uncertainly.
“Absolutely sure,” said Harry. “Dumbledore’s right. You’re my partner... more than that really. You deserve a shot to help me finish Voldemort.”
“Okay! Alright then.” Hermione gulped again and lofted the heavy sword with both hands as Dumbledore set the diadem on the stone floor in front of her.
Hermione took a deep breath. “You can do this... you can do this,” she muttered to herself.
With a grunt, Hermione swung the sword, striking the diadem, sending up a shower of sparks. The diadem shuddered; an ear-piercing shriek echoed throughout the Room of Hidden Things. A tornado of smoke billowed from the diadem as it rocked and screeched. A gale force wind swept through the chamber, whipping at their robes.
Harry staggered and fell to his knees groaning, clutching at his scar which felt all it once as if it were about to burst while being skewered with a blazing fire iron.
“Harry!” Hermione screamed, dropping the sword with a clang and flinging her arms around him.
The diadem trembled, letting out one final shriek, and the howling tempest came to an end as a pustulant black venom oozed from the shattered crown.
Looking slightly aghast, Dumbledore picked up the sword and peered at Harry with concern.
“Harry?”
“Bloody Hell!” Harry swore, pale and clammy, his scar still feeling like a raw burn. “So that’s what that was... Last summer - while I was with the Dursleys - one night... I thought it was just Voldemort being angry about something... But it was when you destroyed the Ring - it must have been. The only other times I’ve felt like that was whenever Voldemort was right there too. ... And when I stabbed the Diary with the Basilisk Fang I thought I was just in pain from everything else...”
“Doesn’t that mean that Voldemort knows, then? ...that we’re destroying his horcruxes?” Hermione asked, her eyes still full of tears as she cuddled Harry. “Wouldn’t he feel it too?”
“I do not believe so Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, shaking his head. “There is no indication that he was ever aware of the destruction of the Ring. I suspect that Voldemort’s soul is too badly damaged for him to have the necessary self-awareness to recognise when a piece of it goes missing.
“In any case, Harry, I am truly sorry. I had no idea...”
“It’s alright!” said Harry, clambering to his feet with Hermione’s assistance and rubbing at his scar. “I don’t care. I can put up with it. ... It’s worth it knowing that we’ve done in a bit more of Voldemort, and the pain’ll go away eventually. I’ll be fine by this evening.”
“Be that as it may, Harry, I expect a pain potion from Madam Pomfrey will ease your suffering. I think a visit to the hospital wing is in order.”

~o0o~
Draco swallowed nervously as he stared at the little cottage in the wooded vale, water dripping from the light blond hair plastered to his forehead. The wind picked up and the rain continued to plummet from coal-grey skies above. His heart thumping loudly against the wall of his chest, his stomach tied up in knots, Draco glanced at the Dark Lord’s coldly neutral features.
“S...sir? Why are we here?” Draco finally dared to ask.
“A lesson, Draco... and a test of your resolve,” the Dark Lord replied, his voice high and icy. “If you are to eventually redeem your father’s disgrace, I must be certain that you truly are prepared for any future tasks which I may have in store for you. I must see for myself that you have the capacity to take your father’s place at my side.”
Draco nodded in understanding, feeling an odd mix of elation and terror - grateful that the Dark Lord wasn’t going to kill him, and grateful that he was being given another chance to prove his worth. He eyed the cottage, seeing movement inside through the rain streaked windows.
“What... What did they do?” asked Draco.
“Does it matter?”
“N...no!” Draco said quickly. “I... I was just wondering.”
The Dark Lord’s head tilted slightly, the barest hint of a wry smile curling the corners of his lips.
“Of course,” hissed the Dark Lord. “To answer your question, their mere existence is reason enough. I chose a lesson which I believe should prove rewarding to you. I was given to understand that you were eager to participate in the events at the Quidditch World Cup, but that you were ordered to remain in the nearby woods by your father. Is that true?”
“Yes!” Draco nodded again, feeling a flicker of excitement in his lower abdomen when the scene replayed itself in his mind - the scene of the muggle camp manager, his wife, and children being held aloft, high above the campgrounds by the spells of Draco’s father and the other Death Eaters - the camp manager’s wife dangled upside down revealing all that lay beneath her nightgown.
“Then this should be sport for you, Draco - more recreation than schooling. These are simply muggles - their only worth is as chattel - playthings for the amusement of superior species such as ourselves.” The Dark Lord noted with satisfaction the hesitation in Draco’s eyes diminishing - replaced with something far more useful to him.
“Come Draco - Show me how you would toy with those who only live at our sufferance.”
His wand in hand, the Dark Lord strode along the cobblestone pathway and the door of the cottage flew open with a bang, startling its inhabitants. Draco scurried behind the Dark Lord, splashing through puddles and treading mud into the foyer.
“What the bloody hell?” shouted a balding man with glasses who had pushed his wife, son, and daughter behind him. “Whadda you lot think you’re doin’? Get outta my house!”
The Dark Lord chuckled mirthlessly, aiming his wand at the muggle. The balding man froze in place, shocked, unable to do more than blink his eyelids; his wife and daughter screamed when he toppled over and stared at them from the floor.
“Now Draco,” the Dark Lord hissed, “Show me what your father and your dear Auntie Bellatrix have taught you. Show me how your inferiors deserve to be treated.”
There was a moment in which Draco hesitated again, wishing he had Crabbe or Goyle - or his father - to do the dirty work for him. But then Draco remembered he was a Malfoy - a Pureblood - a Noble. If his father could do it, then so could he.
Draco took a deep breath - his mild nausea fading as the knot in his stomach loosened. He felt his trepidation fall away to be supplanted by a surge of confidence and desire, more than glad that he himself was not presently being held under threat by the Dark Lord’s wand.
Draco aimed his own wand first at the dark haired boy with glasses, imagining him to be Potter.
“Crucio,” growled Draco, a sneer on his lips.
The arc of magic leapt from the end of Draco’s wand - a red bolt of lightning - and the boy fell to the ground screaming as his mother and sister both sobbed in horror. Draco aimed his wand at the teenage girl, imagining her to be Granger as he considered which spell to use next, and the cottage once again filled with screams...

~o0o~
Harry felt a bit better after a pain potion and a calming draught, unable to believe how much had happened in the space of a few hours - saving Slughorn, then finding and killing another Horcrux.
“Blimey!” Dora gasped, when Harry and Hermione had filled her in on most of the details over a late lunch which they were still eating. “I can’t believe there was one of those bloody things in the castle, and that you managed to find it. So, that’s it then, three horcruxes down...”
“...and three more to go,” said Hermione, beaming. “And I just know we’ll find some way to get rid of the piece of Voldemort in Harry...”
“...and Dumbledore reckons that Voldemort’s snake is probably the other horcrux,” said Harry. “I’m still not sure how he works that out though.”
“Maybe because you saw some things through his snake’s eyes,” Hermione suggested, looking a bit uncertain, “like the muggle caretaker getting killed at Riddle Manor, and like Mr Weasley getting bitten...”
“But Dumbledore told me at the end of fifth year that he thought it was because Voldemort was possessing Nagini at the time,” Harry pointed out.
“Oh!” Hermione bit her lip and frowned.
“Well... Dumbledore did suggest this time that he thought that Voldemort ‘had an unusual amount of control over her, even for a Parselmouth’...” she said, quoting Dumbledore word for word, “so maybe Dumbledore’s rethought things a bit. Especially given your link with the other Horcruxes - that might explain why you saw the murder of the old caretaker through Nagini’s eyes, even though Voldemort wasn’t possessing her at the time.”
Harry thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, alright then. That does seem to explain why Dumbledore thinks Nagini’s a horcrux too then.” Harry glanced at Dora who shrugged.
“I really dunno enough about this sort of thing,” said Dora, “I remember how upset you were when you stayed at Grimmauld Place over Christmas that year - thinkin’ you somehow did it to Arthur yourself, but it was obvious that you hadn’t really - that’s all I know.
“But what Hermione said makes the most sense. So I bet that’s what Dumbledore’s thinking too. Anyway, any other clues where to look for the other ones?”
“Not really,” Harry sighed. “But Dumbledore’s going through some of the memories again, and he seems like he might have a possible lead on one of the others. He said he’d let us know, and that we’d all go and look for it together if he thinks it’s worth it - you too, Dora.”
“Right! Excellent... Could use a field-trip. I’ve been feeling a bit cooped up ‘ere at ‘Hogwarts,” Dora added with a grin and a wink. “‘Opefully it’ll be somewhere nice, like the seaside,” she chortled.
“Yeah, right!” Harry grinned. “Voldemort at the beach? That’s bloody likely!”
“Voldy in swimming trunks - now there’s an ‘orrible thought,” Dora snorted mirthfully.
Hermione giggled, and gave a mock shiver. “Oh, that’s nice, Dora! Thanks for the image!”
“Well, there’s one way of gettin’ over it,” said Dora, raising her eyebrows with a meaningful look at Hermione.
Harry reddened, suddenly finding more interest in the remains of his bangers and mash as Dora and Hermione both giggled.
“Sorry Harry!” Dora gave him an apologetic grin. “I think I’m done with lunch for now anyway, so I’ll just let you both get on with things.”
Finishing their own lunches shortly after Dora departed, Harry washed the plates off in the little kitchen sink and set them on the rack to dry. Harry knew a house-elf - probably Dobby, who had brought them lunch in his and Hermione’s quarters - would collect them at some point, but it didn’t occur to him to simply leave the dishes sitting around dirty.
Hermione had already cleaned her teeth by the time Harry was finished, and Harry followed suit. By this time, Harry was feeling a bit drowsy after the eventful morning and yawned.
“Come on Harry,” said Hermione, giving Harry a kiss on the cheek and leading him to their bedroom. “Madam Pomfrey said you should just rest up anyway.”
“Sounds good to me,” Harry agreed.
Harry let out a contented little sigh as he settled on their bed with Hermione in his arms. Whatever remained of the pain in his scar abated under Hermione’s affections - her minty kisses, and her gentle caresses - stroking his messy thatch of hair.
Hermione snuggled against Harry, nestled in the crook of his shoulder. She bit her lip, seeing the peace in his eyes, considering other ways to ease his burdens, thinking that maybe soon, she might be ready to go just a bit further.
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Damaged Bridges