Summary: Facing the imminent threat of the dragons of the First Task, Harry starts worrying about his death. Not one to baulk even when afraid he takes the action he deems most sensible, to prepare for the so likely possibility that he might die.
Author's Note: Harry's lackadaisical attitude towards dying never really bothered me in the past, but really... is he suicidal? Because he acts a little suicidal. There's a word for it I've forgotten, which means something along the lines of 'doesn't care about living, so throws self into dangerous situations to see if they die'. I've see Harry called that, and it felt very fitting.
This Harry isn't that, whatever the word was. Can you tell I'm bothered I forgot it? Because I am.
Double Time: This story is a prequel to another of my stories which is currently being worked on, Double Time. Connections between the two will not be blatant for some time, but do exist from the prologue of Double Time, a draft version of which has been posted in my Plotbunny collection for the moment.
Disclaimer: Did the calendar in the Harry Potter world follow any kind of logic, common sense or actual pattern? If not, I don't own the Harry Potter franchise; it belongs to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., and whoever else she sold the rights to.
21st of November 1994, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Hermione was sitting with Harry on the parapets of Hogwarts, looking across the Black Lake and watching the sun rise. They were isolated from their classmates, their house, the entire school. Even Ron, once their friend, was shunning Harry over his participation in the Tri-Wizard Tournament.
And in four days Harry would have to face a dragon, his entire plan was to summon his broom and fly - out fly one of the greatest beasts in the sky.
"I'm going to die, aren't I?" He whispers shakily, his eyes watering slightly.
"Harry..." Hermione was sitting near him, hoping to offer some comfort; but clearly it wasn't enough. Not with the First Task looming over him in the coming week.
"Eaten by a bloody dragon, it'll be impressive, I'm sure." He forces out a weak laugh, "I'm scared, Hermione. I don't want to die." Tears start flowing down his face as he goes silent, staring out across the lake.
Hermione finds her own eyes to be watering as she watches Harry break down. She shuffles over and wraps herself around him, holding him tightly, "Don't give up," she whispers, "please. Don't give up, try and survive. Win, I know you can, Harry." He doesn't respond except to lean into her, lightly placing one of his hands over her and gripping it.
Something felt right about the way she was holding him, she wondered if this was how her mother felt when she held her as she cried. But no, this was more than that, this wasn't just offering him comfort; she felt like Harry belonged in her arms, not just when he was sad, but when he was happy too. Feeling his warm body beneath her she realised she wouldn't survive losing him, not as she was, her life would be broken irreparably.
The two remain like that until the sun has risen well into the sky before Harry speaks up again, his tears all dried up but his voice still shaky, "Hermione, could you... do me a favour?"
"Anything." Hermione was certain she would do anything for Harry at that moment; he needed her more than ever, and she needed desperately to not lose her best friend. "Truly, I mean it Harry. Anything. Even if it's just a distraction, to help you relax, just ask."
He turns his head and looks at her, for a moment she thinks he might kiss her, or ask for more than a kiss, but the moment passes as he speaks, "Can you convince McGonagall to take me to Diagon Alley, before the task, I - I need to do something there."
"Professor McGonagall. And of course, Harry." Hermione isn't sure if she's relieved by the simplicity of his request, or disappointed he didn't ask something more from her. "But... why don't you think you could do that yourself?"
"She likes you, whereas for me... it's like I only exist when she needs to give me detention." He looks away, "I've seen Cedric with Professor Sprout, Krum with Karkaroff, they're working together regularly. Professor Mcgonagall on the other hand... she hasn't said a word to me."
"The champions aren't supposed to get help from staff, it just means she isn't going to help you cheat!" She responds, indignantly "If you're-"
"I'm not planning on cheating Hermione, just preparing." She can feel him tensing in her arms as he speaks, growing frustration evident in his voice "But it would be nice if our Head of House said something, anything to support me when the whole school seems to want to see me dead."
"Oh." Hermione's voice is quiet, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't..."
"Shouldn't have jumped to conclusions?" His tone drops from frustration to teasing, letting her know she was forgiven.
"Yeah." She squeezes him and puts her head on his shoulder, "Sorry. Do you want me to go ask her now?"
"As soon as possible, I... I want this done. I need this done."
"Alright, as soon as I see her." She can't help worrying what he feels he needs for the task so badly, that needs to be done so desperately - they already had the plan. As much as she didn't like it, it played to his strengths, what could he need in Diagon so badly when he was going to fly his Firebolt? Did it need maintenance? A servicing kit? Whatever it was, Hermione could only hope he gets it. Harry needed to survive this. He just has to.
-oOoOo-
To Harry's disappointment Hermione doesn't manage to corner Professor McGonagall until that afternoon after their Transfiguration lesson, as she didn't attend either breakfast or lunch in the great hall for one reason or another. Hermione does, however, convince McGonagall to take him to Diagon - so long as he told her what he was going to the Alley for, so there he was in her office about to tell her.
"Well Mr Potter? What reason do you have for requesting this excursion?" McGonagall, seems less willing and more resigned to listening to and possibly fulfilling his request - much as he had suspected she would be. If he hadn't asked Hermione he can't help but feel she wouldn't have heard him out at all.
Glancing at Hermione he knew what he was about to say would hurt his friend, but she couldn't know. Not yet. He looks down and Harry takes a deep breath to steady himself, "I'd like to keep that private, please. Just... Can you cast a secrecy or silencing charm Professor?" As he asks for the charm he gives a meaningful look at Hermione, who he can tell is hurt by his reluctance to let her know what he's after - and if he didn't think she would immediately try to deny it, talk him out of it, he'd happily let her know. Even get her help with it, she could certainly make one better than he could.
Hermione slowly retreated from the room, but when she reached the point of leaving McGonagall's office she turn around and quietly said, "Good luck, Harry." before leaving looking defeated.
As McGonagall watches her other student leave, she just raises an eyebrow and flicks her wand, "We are secure from prying ears, Mister Potter."
"Right... I, I want to make a will." He blurts out, wanting this over with quickly.
McGonagall blinks, both her eyebrows rising high into her hairline, "A... a will, Harry?" For the first time Harry thinks he can hear concern in her voice, but when he looks her face is the same stern mask as always.
"A will. Last will and Testament." Looking down at his shoes he sighs and continues, "I know what the task is professor, and, I, I don't think... I might not make it."
"I see." Unable to seet her face Harry can't tell what expression, but expects it to be the same stern, blank stare she always carries. "Your... request, it doesn't fall inside what would normally be acceptable." His heart sinks at her words, as expected as they might have been, "However, these are not normal circumstances. If you... if you believe you need this, to feel freer and more confident for the upcoming task - and I will not ask how you learnt of the task - then I will escort you Diagon Alley tomorrow, during the lunch period."
Breathing a sigh of relief Harry looks up at his head of house, giving her a weak smile, "Thank you, Professor."
That evening saw Hermione sticking extra close, pushing him to perfect the summoning charm even more - along with helping him with his schoolwork with such ferocity that in one evening he was further ahead with his homework than he had been all year. Harry could tell his secretiveness, his trip to Diagon, had spooked her. At no point had she asked what the trip was about, but she never needed to say the words, it was evident on her face; she wanted to know, desperately.
Still, he couldn't tell her - couldn't tell her he was planning for his death. Not to die, but in case he did, because it was so likely he would. When it was finally time to head to Diagon, and on to Gringotts, he had barely managed to convince her that he could be sent off with just one hug - bone-crushing as it was - and she should head to lunch.
"Are you ready to go, Mr Potter?" McGonagall's tone is friendlier than he normally hears from her, but her face remains a stern mask.
After a moments hesitation Harry responds, "Yeah, ready as I'll ever be." The two call out 'Diagon Alley!' and step through the floo in the Deputy Headmistress' office to the Alley.
-oOoOo-
Vault Keeper Ripstalk was rather surprised when a message came from the front of the bank informing him that the Potter Account Holder was here to see him, surprised and slightly annoyed. After all, he had had thirteen blessed years without Wizard interference on the accounts, only minor withdrawals for Tuition and school supplies, nothing worth noting. He even had gifts coming in! Gifts sent to the vaults he managed for the 'Boy-Who-Lived'! While he couldn't understand the Wizarding world's baffling sense of 'generosity' he certainly made use of it, and the Potter - Potter-Peverell now, he reminds himself with pride - vaults are fuller than ever.
But, annoyed as he might be, he can't refuse to see the Account Holder. Not on his first visit. After this one he can demand an appointment - and make the wizard wait weeks if he feels like it.
Pushing aside the paperwork for the latest contributions to the accounts - a bequeathment from some dead wizard named Pemberton - Ripstalk grumbles as he prepares a seat and papers for typical requests, wanting the immanent meeting with his client over with swiftly. When the pair - the boy Account Holder, and an older witch - walk in he casually waves to the boy to the chair, responding to the witches frown with only a glare. He has no obligation to provide hospitality to anyone other than his client.
"Welcome, Account Holder, I wish us both a swift and fortunate end to this meeting." Polite enough, he feels, but making clear that he, Vault Keeper Ripstalk, has better things to be getting on with. "I am Vault Keeper of the Potter-Peverell accounts. Your Vault Keeper. What is it you require this day?"
"Er, I need to make... a..." The boy pauses and sounds out the words, clearly trying to remember exactly what he needed. "Last Will and Testament." At least he didn't need to describe his need and ask advice on what the proper name was - some Account Holders are truly atrocious. Even for Wizards.
"Hmm, so, a will. Are you not a little young for that, Account Holder Potter?"
"I, well I have a suspicion I might... that I might die. This week." The boy's voice is nervous, almost fearful - a shameful display, especially if it is a planned death. His furtive glances to his escort he makes are peculiar, but wizard expressions are a challenge to read at the best of times.
"Predicting your own death? I do hope you aren't planning something," Ripstalk grumbles as he shuffles through some paperwork on his desk, pulling out a large sheaf of paper and examining it "the paperwork alone would be..." Ripstalk halts abruptly to stare at the his client before flatly stating; "You. You are the last Potter."
"Er, yeah. I thought that was-"
"No." He states, firmly, "You are the last Potter. The last in line to inherit. There are no other possible candidates for inheritance - no cousins, no Potter blood relations at all within accepted distance. This is unprecedented."
"I, I don't understand."
"Clearly. This complicates matters - the Will is required, as are other matters," Ripstalk pulls out a black basin and reaches for a sharp shining gold-coloured knife. Seeing McGonagall about to speak up and the boy turning to look at her like a cowed nug has Ripstalk glaring fiercely at her - no outsider can interfere with Family business within Gringotts. Once she settles back into silence and the boy turns back to him he pushes the bowl towards Harry and hands him the knife, "Bleed. It will be required - do you have a Primary Beneficiary in mind already?"
"Um. A what?" The boy is clearly still confused, a frustrating state of affairs he had managed to avoid simply by being left to manage the accounts without outside interference for ten years. Wizards, as ever, got in the way of banking.
"Someone the majority of your estate, all that is not declared to be passed to specific individuals, is granted to." Seeing Harry still looking between himself, the bowl and the blade with a mixture of confusion and worry, Ripstalk rolls his eyes in exasperation, "To simplify; you have one hundred galleons, you choose to give... Madam McGonagall here ten galleons, and name another the Primary Beneficiary - McGonagall is first given ten galleons, then all remaining galleons are granted to the Primary Beneficiary. The number need not be specified, as everything is passed to the named individual. With the blood this includes more than just coin; heirlooms, titles, property, vaults, the Account as a whole." The name being included he does not mention. Wizards can be particular about retaining their names, but he had Vaults that needed to be maintained and they would only accept a Potter. Blood and Ritual may be lesser than Flesh and Blood, but it would have to do.
Ripstalk can see he got through to the boy this time. Sadly, Ripstalk realises, even this somewhat slow comprehension is above average for a Wizard. "Again, Account Holder, Bleed. Fill the bowl, it will be required if you do perish."
He tries to hold back his grin as the boy begins bleeding into the bowl - oh, he does, it isn't proper to frighten children - but it is hard. Settling for glaring at the Witch escorting the Account Holder, Ripstalk decides he might as well satisfy his curiosity as he waits, "Why do you believe you might perish this week, Account Holder?"
"Call me Harry, please." The boy's attempt at casual speech is mildly offensive, but often the actions of children are, "I, well, I'm entered in the Tri-Wizard Tournament," Ripstalk was aware of this, so he turns to the boy - still bleeding, the bowl is only quarter full - and gives him a firm nod, one of the few human gestures he truly understands, "And the first task is on Thursday... it, well, its..." The boy shudders slightly he notes, he's afraid of something, "dragons. The first task is Dragons." Any disapproval Ripstalk felt over the boys reluctance and preparation for death vanishes, only a fool expects to face a Dragon alone and live.
"I see." Turning back to the witch, the educator, "Madam McGonagall, is the Account Holder not one of your charges? How, exactly, could such a situation have occurred?" Ripstalk recognises her flinch as one of fear, and seethes that he can offer no retribution now - a protector of children has permitted one of her charges to be forced into facing a Dragon and said charge seems wary of her.
A failure of duty and oath if Ripstalk had ever seen one. He would have to speak with the Lesser Vault Keepers and have a black mark placed on the McGonagall account, and that of her superior. It would mean little, but whatever petty spite he can manage will have to do, his honour demands no less.
The Madam shifts slightly, he cannot tell if it is out of nervousness or not - human emotions are hard to read, unlike those of a Goblin - and speaks "Once Mr Potter's name came out of the Goblet of Fire there was nothing to be done," Lies, outright lies. Perhaps not her own, but lies nonetheless. "We are searching for the perpetrator, and with Mad-Eye Moody on the task it is inevitable that we will find the saboteur." She is confident, he notes, a foolish misinformed confidence.
Snorting Ripstalk notices the bowl nearly full, he reaches out and waves a hand over the Account Holder's cut, sealing it cleanly "Enough, that is plenty. If you do not wish it to scar use Wizard healing - outside the bank" He growls the last, seeing the Witch start to reach for her wand, "Now, the blood will provide the continuation of the Account to the Primary Beneficiary - it is time to write the will itself." He performs a short ritual test on the blood blade - the boy labours under a curse of some kind, but his mind is his own, and his body is, if not healthy, able. Sufficient to meet standards for submitting a Will at the very least.
The next hour sees Ripstalk walking Account Holder Potter through the writing of an acceptable Last Will and Testament, and having to answer frustratingly simple questions as to the value of the account - each answer surprising the boy immensely. The result is shorter than most Wizard wills held at Gringotts, but with the writer a child still he would have fewer he feels indebted to, fewer he needs to repay upon his death.
Taking out a Blood Quill Ripstalk signs the document as the official Gringotts witness and hands it to Madam McGonagall, "Sign, you are the Wizarding witness for the document." He rumbles in amusement at the witch's scowl as she takes the quill, relishing the slight hiss she releases as the quill cuts the blood from the back of her hand.
"Now you, Account Holder Potter." Ignoring the boy's muttered 'Call me Harry' once more Ripstalk holds himself back from enjoying his clients pain, the boy - no, challenger, goes to face a dragon. He will either emerge a corpse, or a warrior - either way he deserves some respect. "Is your business here finished?" At their nods he continues, "Then we are done here," a brief wave of his hand sees a copy of the will made and stamped with 'Official Gringotts Copy', "and Account Holder - this is yours. Keep it, pass it to another for safekeeping, show it off to all, burn it, it is your sole free copy, do with it what you will." Truthfully Ripstalk knows the copy is effectively useless, the original will be locked and sealed away only so that it can only be opened on the owner's death, and only that original has any legal bearing. No goblin would accept a copy of an official document, far too insecure.
Noting the lack of proper farewells given by the pair as they leave Ripstalk debates adding a mark to the account for rudeness, but waves it away - it was a first meeting, three years late, and the child had been denied his heritage. If it wasn't Gringotts policy to provide assistance only when, and where, asked he could have informed him of so many things. And really, setting up that blood-adoption ritual had been far more assistance than was warranted, even if it was self interest that made him do it. He couldn't be expected to solve all the Account Holder's problems.
With their departure Ripstalk returns to his paperwork, scheming more ways to increase the wealth of the Potter-Peverell accounts and outdo his fellow Vault Keepers.
-oOoOo-
The two days between Harry's trip to Diagon and the first task were some of the most nerve wracking Hermione had ever experienced. Harry had grown ever more impatient, Krum kept staring at them in the library as they researched - dragging his gaggle of fan-girls with him. Harry, at least, had always managed to keep his fan-girls at arms length. Sometimes she wondered if he even knew he had them.
Between the strange stares and stalking of the quidditch star, dealing with Harry's temper and just not knowing what Harry had gone to Diagon for she felt like she was going mad. At least if she did, she would fit in better. Sanity seemed to be a rather unwanted commodity amongst wizards. But he had asked her to trust him when he came back from the Alley, giving her a light hug with one arm, so she would. She had too. It meant a lot that he had become comfortable enough with her to initiate himself, but that only made it harder to see him face such danger.
She gave Harry one final hug before he walks into the champions tent with Professor McGonagall and whispers, "Good Luck, Harry." into his ear. She suppresses the urge to kiss him good luck, he doesn't need the distraction. Not now. Not with this.
"He has the charm down, he has his broom." She mutters, "He'll be fine. He can out fly anything!" despite her words she can't seem to believe them herself, having difficulty controlling her breathing as she slowly makes her way into the stands. She's only just climbing the stairs to the seating as she notices Professor McGonagall start walking beside her, and hears the call for Cedric to enter the arena.
As much as she wants to support the Hufflepuff - him being the actual Hogwarts Champion, rather than the Hogwarts Victim that Harry is - she can't bring herself to hurry up the stairs to watch.
"Miss Granger?" Startled by her professor addressing her so suddenly Hermione jumps, "My apologies, Miss Granger. I merely wished to ask if you would sit with me? There is unlikely to be much common seating left with how we were both... delayed by Mister Potter." Hermione can hear nervousness in her voice, much to her own surprise. The normally unflappable Scot is actually showing concern for her student.
"Um, alright." Hermione responds awkwardly, she had intended, or expected, to end up sitting near Ron. The last few days he had been worse than ever - she had tried to bridge the gap between him and Harry, to help them make up, but Ron just didn't want to. And Harry... Harry refused to make the first move. Not that she could blame him. Her friendship with Ron had suffered recently as well, that she had spent so much time helping Harry - even if she wouldn't skip classes for him - was a sore point for the Weasley boy.
Sitting with the professors would at least stop her having to deal with him as she watched Harry fly, something that was terrifying enough without dragons involved.
So she follows Professor McGonagall through the stands to the small area set aside for staff and finds herself squeezed in between her head of house and Professor Flitwick, who gives her a sparkling, if a little pointy, grin. She had never seen his teeth from so close before, and they were sharp.
"Hello Miss Granger!" he greets her jovially, "Come to watch young Mister Potter take on the challenge with us then?" as he turns and cheers when Cedric's dragon roasts a... dog? It was definitely a dog, she realises he might be a little bloodthirsty. Just as goblins he was descended from are famed for being.
"Yes, professor," she replies quietly, covering her face as Cedric gets caught by the Swedish Short-Snout's flames. He still makes it past the dragon and collects a golden egg from its nest, what she realises must be the goal of the task, but she had no idea if he had managed to protect himself from the dragon-fire or not. The short-snout was famous for the heat of its breath, but maybe the seventh year had found something that had worked.
She hadn't. So Harry hadn't either. The image of Harry surrounded by dragon-fire and burning alive-
"Miss Granger!" A firm hand on her shoulder drags her out of her thoughts as Fleur Delacour enters the arena along with her Welsh Green, "Are you alright?" Seeing the look of concern on Professor McGonagall's face Hermione realises she hadn't panicked this badly since the Troll - even with Professor Lupin, Sirius, the dementors, she hadn't felt so helpless. Maybe with the dementors. But that wasn't panic, that was soul-crushing terror and surrendering herself to die.
Totally different.
Taking deep breaths she calms herself down and nods to her Professor to show that she's fine, and begins detachedly watching the French veela try to put her dragon to sleep. As she walks away with her golden egg the dragon woke up, or at least stirred in its sleep, breathing fire at the French girl, from Hermione's perspective she couldn't see if Fleur had been hit by the flames or not, but she manages to run out of the arena either way.
When the frustrating Bulgarian's turn comes about Hermione spends more time worrying over the fact that, by process of elimination, Harry was facing the Horntail than watching Krum's efforts. Her attention snaps onto the task in front of her when she flinches over Flitwick howls in response to Krum's curse striking the dragon's eye, causing it to stomp all over its own eggs. Truthfully when the dragon knocks him aside with one of its legs in its flailing, causing him to cradle his left arm as if it were broken and have to completely retry his approach she feels a shamefully vindictive glee. For making the mother hurt her own young he deserved that strike and to be hurt.
And after nearly an hour it was Harry's turn - she could barely stop herself biting through her own lip with worry as he walked into the arena facing the biggest and most dangerous of all the dragons. She knew he had killed a basilisk back in second year, something considered just as dangerous, but this was a Dragon. A giant, fire-breathing, dragon.
She finds her hand in Professor McGonagall's, whose face has gone a stark white, and she suspects her own has gone much the same.
Hearing Harry yell "Accio Firebolt!" gives her a sense of pride, she had taught him that charm, gotten him capable of casting it in time. Beside her Professor Flitwick seems to be of a similar opinion, speaking with Professor McGonagall about Harry's strategy and espousing the versatility of charms to the transfiguration professor. But Hermione wasn't paying attention to them, or to the screaming announcer who was failing to properly describe the spectacle.
The Firebolt soaring into the arena is what catches her attention, she watches it streak through the air to stop just in front of Harry. As much as she normally fears for her reckless friend when he takes flight, it's relief Hermione feels as he mounts his broom and kicks himself into the air and high into the sky. Her relief, however, is short lived - Harry dives back down towards the dragon, narrowly swerving away from a breath of flame.
Her shriek of fear at seeing him so nearly burnt by the fire distracts her from a hand being placed on her shoulder by Professor Flitwick, holding her in her seat when he notices her rising as if to leap forward into the arena to rescue Harry from the task.
"Harry!" she cries, gasping for air, unable to tear herself away from the spectacle as he makes another dive. He dodges the flames again but she can see the dragon's tail sweep out and strike his shoulder. "No!" She can't tell how badly he's been hurt, but as he remains flying she can hope it wasn't too badly, "He's okay. He's okay. Just his robes. He's okay." She mutters to herself, trying desperately to believe it's true.
Time seems to slow down as Harry continues his aerial dance with the Horntail, swerving left and right, up and down, just barely out of reach, "He's trying to lure it away!" her realisation comes just before the dragon rears up with its wings spread wide and Harry makes one final dive, going straight for the nest and snatching the golden egg up from the ground and speeding to the exit of the arena.
Almost as soon as he has the egg and clears the dragon she forces herself to her feat, throwing off both Professor McGonagall and Flitwick's hands, running as quickly as she can towards the champions tent.
-oOoOo-
In champions tent, while Madam Pomfrey was distracted by Cedric, Harry collects the copy of the will he had hidden there earlier. He had hidden so it would be found after his death, if it had happened, but now that wasn't necessary.
As soon as Madam Pomfrey returns and pronounces him 'healthy enough' Harry leaves the champions tent and finds everything to be a little strange, out of focus. Just few minutes ago everything had seemed right, where he could do anything and remain calm. Now he felt the enormity of what he had done - out flying a dragon, and living - crashing down on him.
Standing in the cold air of the Scottish highlands in November Harry shivers a little, but doesn't immediately start heading up to the castle as he can see his friends - friend - approaching. Hermione and Ron.
"Harry, you were Brilliant!" Hermione's voice is squeaky, strained and her face has marks where she must have been clutching it in fear. From the looks of it she isn't even aware she had done it. "You were amazing! You really were!"
But he couldn't keep his focus on Hermione, there was a red-headed elephant-in-the-room staring at him, pale as a ghost.
"Harry," Ron's voice was shaky as he spoke, "whoever put your name in that goblet - I - I reckon they're trying to do you in!"
Glancing at Hermione he can see her incredulous look, knowing both he and she had told Ron just that numerous times over the last three weeks, but he had never listened.
"Caught on, have you?" Harry's response is cold - he had forgiven Ron in his will, but here and now he needs something more than a passing acknowledgement. "Took you long enough."
Hermione was looking between them nervously, as Ron opened his mouth, before closing it again. He repeats that action a few times, never seeming to find the words.
"It's okay," Harry says, realising whatever it was he was waiting for wasn't forthcoming, "Forget it. Hermione? Can we..." He can see Ron grinning at him oddly, so Harry gives him a brief glare, stifling the red-head's grin, he's not letting him get off that easily. Seeing Ron is no longer grinning at him, Harry turns his attention back to Hermione, "Hermione you wanted to know why I went to Diagon?"
He can hear Ron mutter "He went to Diagon...?" in a sort-of-affronted tone, but ignores it.
As Hermione nods, he gives her a little smile "Let's go somewhere private and I'll tell you, okay?"
"Alright," She says as she reaches out and grabs his hand, dragging him out towards the Black Lake. Behind them he hears McGonagall stop Ron following them, telling him to give them privacy. Once they are a fair distance from anyone who might want to be listening in, Hermione starts her inquisition,"So, why did you go to Diagon?" her tone is imperious as she questions him, demanding to know why he went, "I didn't see anything... new, out there - you can outfly a dragon -" he can hear awe in her voice as she says that, "but it was just you, and the old plan. What did you need so badly you had me go to Professor McGonagall?"
"I... I- Iwentandmadeawill." He rushes it all out, nervous in a way he hadn't been with the Dragon.
Unsurprisingly Hermione has trouble interpreting that, and says so, "Harry, can you repeat that... slower?"
"I, um, I went to Gringotts, and I... I made a will. In case I died." He stares at his feet, just knowing she must be giving him a look, one of concern - disapproval - fear - and his train of thought is interrupted as he is engulfed by the arms of his bushy-haired friend.
"Harry... I'm sorry. I'm so, so, Sorry."
"What?" Hermione apologising, saying sorry, has left Harry rather confused.
"I should've... I should have helped more. Who cares if you cheat, you have to live. It's... it's so much more important." She pulls back a little and he can see her face, where her eyes are welling up with tears, "Books and cleverness... rules too, I put them before friendship again, didn't I?"
"No," he refutes firmly, "You... you stood by me. You were there, you helped when I asked. You've nothing to be sorry for Hermione."
"Oh, Harry..." she pulls him back again, and he wraps his own arms around her this time. "Is the will... is it private?"
"It is," There were parts of the will he didn't really want her to see, "but... if you want to read it, you can." but he couldn't refuse her. If it wasn't for her he wouldn't be there, wrapped up in her embrace and alive.
She just squeezes him tighter, "Are you sure?"
"Yes." He really wasn't, but... maybe it would change something. So he takes the slightly crumpled copy out of his pocket and hands it to her.
"I'll read it as we go back and get your score, maybe Ron'll have an apology for you by the time we get there?" she says, smiling.
Harry doubts it, but he does need to get his score for the task so they head back anyway, Hermione reading his will as they walk.
-oOoOo-
I, Harry James Potter, being of sound mind and body do hereby declare the following my Last Will and Testament, on this 22nd of November, 1994.
To Ronald Weasley, the man I love as a brother, I leave to you my Firebolt and a thousand Galleons, I pray you live a good life. Treat Hermione well, I know you have fancied her since last year so I stepped aside, she is worth the world so you better give it to her. I hope you come around and understand I wasn't lying, and if I'm not there to say it myself - I forgive you.
To Padfoot, my Godfather, Sirius Black, I leave you the photo album Hagrid gave me for my first Christmas. I know you have more money than you need, so I hope you can cherish these photos as much as I do instead of a more material gift.
To Fred and George Weasley, I return the parchment you gave me, and I hope you manage much mischief with it. Never forget the Marauders.
To Mr and Mrs Weasley, you showed me what a family was supposed to be, so thank you. I leave to you both one thousand Galleons each - I have been assured my vaults are sufficient for this, so take it and use it well. Your children are my friends, and deserve more.
To Hermione Jane Granger, I leave all that remains, my cloak, all my books, Hedwig if she'll accept you, everything that my Vault Keeper has said I can give you. I didn't know what love was until I met you, until I had been with you for years - you were my first hug, the first person to hold me without planning to hurt me. The first person I felt comfortable touching. There is nothing in this world I wouldn't do for you if I could, just to see you smile.
Goodbye, I go to face a dragon - and I suspect I shall not survive. May you all live longer lives than I did.
As Hermione starts reading the second to last paragraph she stopped walking, unable to do anything but focus all her attention on the parchment in her hands. As she finishes finishes it she had begun crying, and then at the end of the will a sob tears itself from her throat. She looks up to see Harry facing her, worry, discomfort and a little fear all colouring his face and she can't take it. She walks up to him, disregarding the tear stains on her face, and gives him the lightly presses her lips to his.
There is no explosion of feeling, but her stomach was already filled with butterflies from reading the words to her in his will. "You survived, Harry, you lived." She can see apprehension and confusion, maybe a little shock on his face now, so she takes a deep breath to fortify her resolve and continues, "And, Harry... I, I love you too." She smiles brightly, waiting for his response.
His answering grin melts her heart. He had lived - and what's more, he loved her back. What had begun as a day in the shadow of a dragon, had ended as a day of wonders.
End Note: Does it bother anyone else that in canon Harry only managed to complete his plan because of Hermione, but when he succeeds he just brushes her off and ignores her in favour of forgiving the loyalty-lacking redhead without even the most basic of apologies? Honestly, it's like Harry's in love with the red-headed food disposal unit.
Upon consideration, that would explain a lot. Would've been a better love story too.
... I also want to say I didn't realise I was writing the Gringott's scene from the goblin's perspective until I was halfway done with it. And wow, I was so very confused by that.