Title: This Doesn't Need to be the End
Author: Barmy Bunk
Rating: Mild NC-17
Summary: Harry and Ron struggle with the death of their dearest friend in the aftermath of the final battle. Canon compliant until the end of OotP - AU 6th year. I feel the need to point out that Fudge is still minister, but it isn't really all that relevant.
Warnings: Language, Slash, Character Death. Also, it's a bit dramatic and angsty.
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Beta: The great and all-powerful Reni, who always saves me from disaster.
The Granger residence looked neat and cheery in the early morning sun. There were colorful flowers on either side of the walk, but Harry didn't know what kind they were. He had never really been much for flowers; the only ones he knew for sure were the ones he'd needed to know to scrape by in Potions. He probably wouldn't have even managed to scrape by if it hadn't been for Hermione's help.
Hermione.
He fought the urge to sick up all over the beautiful flora and furiously swiped at a tear. Ron grasped his hand and didn't let go as they stepped up onto the porch. He raised his hand to knock on the door, and they both nearly jumped out of their skins when it opened before he had a chance to do so.
A woman with straight dark hair and Hermione's soft brown eyes peered out at them, and all at once broke into a smile. "Harry! Ron!" She took in their bewildered expressions and added, "Oh, right; Hermione got permission to put some kind of wardy-charm thing on the property to let us know when we have visitors. Something about 'dark times' and 'for our protection.'" She glanced at their clasped hands and grinned at them.
The boys looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Hermione put up a ward by herself? Harry shook his head and swallowed thickly. Of course she had; she was brilliant. He hesitated, not knowing how to start. The only thing he could think of to say was, "Dr. Granger?"
"Ugh; no. Call me Jean. And come inside, for goodness' sake. I'll make some tea. It's so great to see you again; it's been ages! It's truly inexcusable that we've not had you over in all this time!" She ushered them into the house and headed for the kitchen. "David!" she yelled as she passed a staircase, "Harry and Ron are here!"
She gestured to some wooden barstools on the other side of a bar with a pale blue countertop as she began to busy herself in the kitchen. Harry was put immediately more at ease at the reminder of Mrs. Weasley. Mrs. Granger -- no, Jean -- washed her hands and put the kettle on, then began slicing some kind of bread. His stomach growled, and he was reminded that he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday's light, hurried dinner. That seemed like such a long time ago.
"So what brings you to our humble abode? Would you like butter on your pumpkin bread? Oh, sorry; you do like pumpkin bread, don't you?" When she suddenly looked up at them with those damned brown eyes, and she was biting her lip in the exact same way Hermione always had, he felt tears spring to his eyes. Ron looked away.
"I'm not all that hungry, Jean, but thanks anyway," Harry answered softly, playing with the strap on his rucksack.
Hermione's mother cocked her head at them, then set the knife down and began wiping her hands on a nearby towel. "I know that I don't know you boys very well -- although I feel like I do, as much as Hermione goes on about you -- but you both look a bit peaky. Are you quite all right?"
Their distress at the question did not go unnoticed; she slowly lowered her arms as her eyes went wide. "What happened?"
They were saved from answering by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The boys both turned to see a tall, olive-skinned man pulling a tee shirt on over a short-cropped mop of curly brown hair. He flashed them a smile full of perfect teeth. "Sorry, boys, I was just having a bit of a... lie-in..." he trailed off as he took in the scene in the kitchen. "What's going on? Where's Hermione? Is she in hospital?" He strode quickly over to his wife and took her hand.
"Do you have a sitting room where we can talk?" Harry asked. Jean pointed to the doorway behind the boys. "Do you think we can go in there, instead?"
"Harry, right?" said Mr. Granger. Harry nodded. "Sorry; it's been a while. But if Hermione needs us, I'd rather we just get right to the point." The statement wasn't unkind, but it was firm.
Harry sighed and closed his eyes to keep the tears at bay. He had known this wasn't going to be easy. Hermione's parents weren't stupid, after all. "Well... your daughter isn't in hospital. She's -- there was a battle -" his voice cracked, "and she… didn't make it."
"What? WHAT? What does that mean? What does that mean, David?" Mrs. Granger was clutching desperately at her husband's grey tee shirt, pleading with Hermione's eyes.
"We can show you, if you like," Harry said hoarsely, silent tears streaming down his face.
Ron couldn't hold back anymore; he put his head down on the counter and sobbed into the crook of his elbow. Hermione's mother covered her mouth with her hand, and her father pulled her into a close embrace.
"No! No, no, no, no, no, no," she wailed. "It can't be true; it can't! My baby, my baby..."
Mr. Granger had his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he held his wife, but his tears were still leaking through.
The boys waited quietly while they gathered themselves.
"What do you mean, you can show us?"
"In the Wizarding world, we can preserve our memories and show them to others," Harry unshouldered and unzipped his rucksack, "as long as we have the right tools." He pulled out Dumbledore's Pensieve and placed it on the countertop. He then glanced at Ron and hesitated, fingering his wand. "The thing is, Ron is in no fit state to be extracting his memories, so we're going to have to use mine. And mine are... well, different from anyone else's; or so I've been told."
"Is that bad?" Mr. Granger asked.
"Not really; not usually, anyway," Harry replied, "but in this case I'm afraid it may be. You'll be able to feel what I felt. It's up to you." He absently rubbed circles into Ron's shuddering back.
"Show m-me," Mrs. Granger said, turning around and wiping her eyes with her shirtsleeve.
"Mrs. Granger, are you sure? It could be a bit... overwhelming."
"Please, H-harry, it's Jean. And y-yes, I-I'm sure." She turned to her husband. "D-David?"
"I don't know if I can." He met Harry's eyes. "Is it very graphic? I mean, is there much... blood?" The man had to stifle a sob.
"No," Harry answered, "hers was very clean, but there will be others who were rendered unrecognizable last night."
"Others?" Mrs. Granger gasped.
"Yes. It was the final battle," he replied quietly.
"How many others?"
"We don't know yet. The final count wasn't ready before we left."
"Oh my god."
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes. Yes, I am." She drew herself up and nodded her head slightly hysterically, but emphatically.
Harry looked to Mr. Granger, who took his wife's hand and nodded, his face pale.
"All right, then." He raised his shaking wand hand to his temple and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he thought hard of the memory of last night and tried not to break his focus when he heard the Grangers gasp at the sight of his wand pulling at the glowing ribbon of memory. He gently lowered the silver strand into the Pensieve and leaned over to Ron, who was having a hard time getting his emotions back under control.
"You coming, mate?" he asked quietly.
Ron sat up a little and rubbed at his blotchy red face with both hands. "I c-can't, Harry," he responded shakily. "I can't g-go th-through that again. Once w-was too m-much for me. I know when we talked about it, I said I'd go with you, b-but I... I just... can't do it. I'm s-sorry. I'll be here when you get back, y-yeah?"
Harry squeezed Ron's shoulder reassuringly. "Yeah, Ron. That'll be good. Don't worry about it."
He turned back to the Grangers. "Are you ready?"
"As ready as we're likely to get," Mr. Granger replied.
"Okay," said Harry, blowing out a breath. "Since you're both Muggles, you won't be able to go in unless you're touching me in some way. I'll hold onto your hands, if that's all right with you; it's quite a drop if you're not used to it."
Mr. Granger cocked his head quizzically, reminding Harry somewhat of Fawkes. He would've laughed under different circumstances. "Drop?"
"Yes. When I touch the memory, the Pensieve will drop us into the place where it occurred." He held out a hand to each of them. They both gripped his hands firmly, Mrs. Granger with both of hers. "Deep breath, everyone," he said as he lowered his face to the stone basin.
They landed in a large, cool stone corridor that was bare but for two paintings and a rather large group of teenagers. Jean was suddenly awash with anxiety; she wondered if it was because this was how Harry had been feeling at the time, or because she knew what they were here to witness. She stole a glance at her David, always so calm and collected; he seemed to be experiencing the same thing, so these must be Harry's feelings.
"Professor Dumbledore sent us to meet Professors Snape and Lupin here, but as you can see, they've not come out yet," Harry narrated. "Professor Snape's personal quarters are behind that portrait over there. I thought it would be better to start here, but if you like, I can take us directly to the moment..." he trailed off as David clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"This is fine, Harry." Jean saw him stiffen and followed his gaze.
Her breath caught. Hermione. There was her little girl, in the middle of the group, holding tight to Harry's hand -- just as Jean herself had just been doing. She walked over to her baby and tried to touch her cheek, pat her hair -- anything just to feel her again -- only to have her hand fall right through. "Well, she looks fine," she managed to choke out.
"She was fine, at this point." Harry was looking at the floor. It occurred to her how difficult it must be for him to have to go through this again.
"Thank you for doing this, Harry. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it," she told him.
"It was the right thing to do," he said simply.
"Please let me do this alone," pleaded past-Harry. She quickly turned to catch the rest of the conversation.
"Harry, you need someone to watch your back," a dark-haired, somewhat chubby boy replied logically, "and who better than those who've fought with you before?"
"You're daft if you think we'd let you walk out there alone," Ron agreed.
Her daughter pressed her forehead against Harry's, her hand on the back of his neck. "We love you, Harry. Any one of us would die for you. That's what friends do." She heard David choke on a sob behind her, and she took a few steps backward to take his hand.
Past-Harry returned the gesture. "It's me, Hermione. It only has to be me. What would I do if-" his voice broke and he squeezed his eyes shut. "If something happened to you? Please don't put me in that position."
"Don't be such a hypocrite," Ron replied, shaking his head in exasperation. Jean smiled in spite of herself.
"That's a double standard, Harry," Hermione chastised quietly. "It's all right for you to die for us, but it's not okay if we return the favor?"
"It's not the same thing, and you know it!" He stepped away from Hermione and ran his hands through his hair. "He's probably going to kill me, anyway! It would make me feel better if I knew you guys were safe." Jean could feel his frustration, and it was all she could do not to try to hug him.
A blonde girl with large blue eyes and a wand behind her ear turned to him, then, with a look that Jean could only describe as unnerving. "You're not going to die, Harry. You'll be needed when it's over." She felt gooseflesh rise up on her arms, and she rubbed them absent-mindedly.
"That's Luna," Harry supplied. "She's always saying weird things like that. The red-haired girl leaning against the wall over there is Ginny -- you know about Ginny, right?" When she and David both nodded, he went on, "And the bloke she's holding hands with is Dean Thomas. He shares a dorm with Ron and me, and Neville over there, and..." he looked around the hall, and pointed to a boy who appeared to practicing spells, "Seamus."
Past-Harry leaned his forehead against the dungeon wall and sighed.
"And besides," Ginny added cheekily, "we want to show you how much we've learned under your brilliant tutelage." Several people laughed nervously, and even Harry managed a small smile.
"Thanks, Gin."
Ron and Hermione came over to stand on either side of him. Hermione took his hand again and Ron squeezed his shoulder. "All right, mate?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I just... I just wish things were different, you know?"
"You mean you wish a crazed maniac hadn't murdered your parents and come back from the dead to finish you off as well? I think we all wish that," Ron said.
"Well, actually, if circumstances were different, we would probably be different, too." Hermione looked at them seriously. "And it's not that I'm glad your life has been so difficult, Harry, but... I wouldn't want what we have to change." She paused thoughtfully. "It's special."
And it was. She could see it in the way they interacted. It was one thing to hear about it from her daughter alone, but it was quite another to see it in action. They had had so many heated conversations about her future and Harry and Ron and their places in it, and now she regretted raising her voice and being so stubborn. She would give anything to tell her daughter that she understood now.
One of the paintings swung open then -- she jumped, caught off guard -- and two adults stepped into the corridor. The first one cringed, probably at the number of teenagers he was to take charge of. The second man just looked resigned.
"Child soldiers," he said quietly.
"Think about it, Lupin; we weren't much older than they are now when we fought our first battles. And apart from that," he looked pointedly in the direction of her daughter and her two closest friends with a look of what appeared to be grudging respect on his face, "some of them haven't been children for quite some time."
"Huh. I missed that the first time around," said Harry. He looked confused, and not a little surprised. "That's Professor Snape," he pointed to the black-haired one, "he teaches Potions; and that's Professor Lupin, who teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts," he gestured to the second man.
The two men herded the students toward the second painting in the hall, and Professor Snape whispered something to it. When it swung open like the other one, Harry explained to them how they would be using the tunnel behind the portrait to enter the grounds.
"Wait!" said David. "Two men and twenty or so teenagers are expected to fight the battle on their own? That hardly seems fair! Where is everyone else? Don't you have some kind of wizard army?"
"The Ministry chose to ignore the proof of Voldemort's return, so we didn't have any backup. The headmaster, Order members, all the other adults and most of the older students are already on the grounds fighting the bigger part of the battle. Voldemort sent most of his army ahead of him to take the castle. The rest of us are going to meet him and a handful of his most trusted supporters," Harry quietly replied. "The house elves were left with orders to get the younger children out if the castle was compromised -- their magic is quite powerful, you know, but they have limits as to what they can do offensively -- fortunately, though, that wasn't necessary."
"Oh."
They stepped through the portrait entrance after two girls who appeared to be twins, and waited with the group gathered there. Professor Snape came through last, pulling the portrait shut behind him. The tunnel was instantly inky black, and twenty-three past-people simultaneously uttered "Lumos."
"Wow," Jean breathed, looking around at the dank, but brightly lit, passageway. "That's wonderful." Harry favored her with a little half-smile.
"Wasn't this tunnel caved in?"
Professor Snape looked askance at the boy, but Professor Lupin just chuckled. "It was, Harry, but Albus had it cleared recently. He thought it best to have all the emergency exits available."
Past-Harry nodded and wiped his palms on his robe. Jean could feel his anxiety escalating.
"Potter. I'd like a word," said Professor Snape.The Defense professor raised an eyebrow at him, but pushed to the front of the group and began to lead the children forward, giving the Potions professor and Harry the opportunity to walk behind everyone else. Harry stepped toward him, Ron and Hermione at his sides like bodyguards. Professor Snape glared at them, but then shook his head and sighed. "Potter, you're broadcasting your anxiety. It's understandable under the circumstances, but can you at least attempt to rein it in?"
Past-Harry raised his eyebrows. "All due respect, sir, but people I love are walking into an extremely dangerous situation and I'm pretty sure I'm about to die. Did you expect me to be calm?"
"No, I didn't; but it would behoove you to try." He nodded toward the group of students in front of them. "You're making the other children even more nervous; they may not realise why, but the fact remains that you're the cause. It's my personal opinion that they have enough to worry about without you foisting your emotions off on them."
They walked on in silence for a time, Past-Harry seemingly lost in thought. His anxiety had lost its edge. After a while, he turned back to the black-haired man. "Thank you, Professor Snape," he said sincerely.
The professor's brows furrowed. "For what, Potter?"
Harry shrugged. "Everything. Spying for us for so long, keeping me alive, putting up with me... I know it hasn't been easy for you." He smirked a little.
The dour man's lips twitched. "No. It hasn't. And you're welcome."
Eventually they came to the end of the tunnel, where there was a makeshift ladder carved into the stone. Professor Lupin came and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I know you can do this," he said earnestly. "I have the utmost faith in you."
"That's because you're the one who's been teaching him all year," Ron joked, trying to lighten the mood. It worked; nearly everyone smiled, including Jean and David.
"I'm glad that Professor Dumbledore convinced you to come back, Remus," Harry said. "I don't think I would've done as well with another Lockhart or... Umbridge." He gulped.
"That was the headmaster's selling point, actually," the professor -- Remus -- confided. "There wasn't anyone else he'd thought he could ask, so if I hadn't agreed to teach, the Ministry would have been allowed to appoint whomever they wished; and I daresay I wouldn't have been their top choice." There were shouts of protest at this, and several grimaces and shudders from children obviously imagining what could have been.
"I'm proud of you, Harry," Remus said, and hugged him right there in front of everyone. Even Jean knew that was a no-no with teenaged boys, but Harry didn't seem to mind too much.
"Thanks, Remus," Past-Harry whispered, flushing.
The Defense professor winked at him and then turned to head up and out of the tunnel. The students queued up behind him and began to make their way slowly out onto the grounds. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Professor Snape held back, the black-haired man apparently waiting to see everyone out before going up himself.
Harry turned to his friends. "I don't expect to live through this, you know," he began.
"We know, Harry," replied Ron.
Hermione said, "But you will -- I know you will. You deserve to live a life free from Voldemort for once."
Both Harrys smiled wistfully at her. "If only. I can't say I'd complain if I lived, but we all know my chances are slim. So in case I don't make it, I wanted you to know... I love you." He looked into their eyes. "Both of you. I'd never known, you know? Before you, I mean."
"We know, Harry," Ron repeated.
"And we love you, too." Hermione sniffled, tears in her eyes, and planted a kiss on his cheek. Then she stood on her tiptoes and Ron bent down a bit so she could give him one as well. "Now let's go get this over with so we can get on with our lives."
They surfaced from a large boulder on the far side of a lake. They must have walked quite a distance to have exited this far from the castle. Harry and his friends waited as Professor Snape applied a vial of purple liquid to the boulder entrance.
"They won't be able to access the castle that way," the professor stated when he was finished.
They all made their way to the edge of the grass by the lake, which was taller even than the adults, to a place where it gave way to gently sloping hillside. Harry explained that Headmaster Dumbledore had told them that the grass would be a good place to watch and wait for Voldemort to enter the fray, and that he had made a point of making Harry promise to stay put until that moment, no matter what he saw going on in the battle below. It obviously wasn't easy for him, but they really hadn't needed to wait long.
They had only been standing by for five or ten minutes, during which time Harry "introduced" Jean and David to the rest of the children, when the apparently self-proclaimed Dark Lord had arrived, striking down everyone in his path and demanding the audience of one Harry Potter.
Past-Harry and his entourage had begun to quietly descend the hill at the first sight of Voldemort and his six remaining Death Eaters. He explained to them that charging straight in had landed him in a lot of trouble before, and he wasn't going to make the same mistake at a time when everything -- and everyone -- he loved was at stake. The Dark Lord hadn't noticed their approach until Professor Snape directed a spell at one of the Death Eaters flanking him.
"Severusss," he hissed, sneering down at his fallen servant, "that is enough. We have nearly won this war. Come and take your rightful place at my side."
In response, Professor Snape took aim at another Death Eater who, shocked, managed to move out of the way only just in time. The Potions professor continued firing off spells, which spurred both sides into action. Jean screamed aloud when she saw the Asian girl fall after being hit with a green light.
Voldemort's face had twisted with the rage of betrayal, and he pointed his wand at Professor Snape's chest. "You'll pay for this insolence, Severus! Cru -"
Past-Harry leapt in front of his professor, aiming at Voldemort and shouting "Avada Kedavra" at the top of his lungs. Professor Snape was yelling at Harry, something including "idiot boy" and "out of the way" -- she didn't catch it all -- but it forced the Dark Lord to abandon the curse he had been about to throw and take evasive action, which had apparently been the entire point.
And so the fight had begun. At first, after the initial shock of seeing the hideous Voldemort for the very first time had faded, Jean hadn't been able to take her eyes off her daughter. But when she seemed to be holding her own, she looked around to take in the rest of the scene.
The blond boy Harry had called Colin was sobbing and furiously trying to save the life of his younger brother while Dean, Ginny, an older girl -- Katie? -- and Seamus formed a protective circle around the pair. A group made up of a boy and two girls she couldn't remember the names of had already managed to take down one Death Eater and were now concentrating on another, but they would need help, and soon. Hermione's dormitory mates, Lavender and Parvati, and Parvati's sister were struggling against a very large Death Eater who clearly had the upper hand, when three boys jumped in to help. She watched long enough to see Lavender -- who seemed to be shielding the others somehow -- fall from a very bloody spell that sliced her across the torso. This apparently left the others more vulnerable, and one of the boys took a curse that essentially reduced him to bits of tissue and bone. She looked away, queasy, to see that Remus and Neville were dueling a female Death Eater, Professor Snape was involved in an intricate dance with a regal-looking blond man, and Luna was, essentially, wandering, casting spells whenever and wherever she pleased. Ron and Hermione had stayed by Harry's side, but were currently trying to keep some... Dementors, probably, at bay while he battled the Dark Lord.
"I thought Muggles couldn't see Dementors," she wondered aloud.
"You can probably see them because it's my memory -- not yours. Be glad you can't feel what they're doing to people," Harry told her distractedly.
Actually, she wasn't so sure she couldn't. Harry's emotions were really distracting; she had been feeling so angry and afraid and frustrated and desperate and tired and... and protective, and all of that had been added to the knot of dread in her own stomach. But she hadn't missed the sudden sweep of cold despair that settled in and around her, and she definitely wasn't missing the shouting. There was a loud, but echoic dispassionate laugh that seemed to go on for ages, and a woman's high-pitched screaming followed shortly after.
"What was that?" she asked bewilderedly.
"You can hear it, too?" Harry seemed surprised.
"We both can," said David. "What is it?"
Harry toed the dirt with one foot. "It's the same thing I hear every time the Dementors come; the sound of Voldemort killing my mother."
"Oh my God!" Jean gasped, sickened, covering her mouth with a hand.
Her husband glanced appraisingly at past-Harry, who was still fighting fiercely against the dark wizard, despite his internal turmoil. "You're stronger than you look."
Harry sighed and ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head. "Not for long. It's almost time."
Jean looked back to her daughter, who had just created a huge transparent otter that drove the remainder of the Dementors away, but doing so had left her visibly weakened. Past-Harry had begun edging closer to her, probably in an effort to shield her from any stray spells, but Voldemort noticed his attempt. He smiled wickedly, and Jean's heart plummeted.
"Accio mudblood!" he roared, his wand aimed at Hermione. Her surprise was reflected in her eyes, and her wand dropped into the grass as she hurtled into his outstretched hand.
"Hermione!" Past-Harry and Ron screamed together, both their wands pointed at the dark wizard. Harry was shaking.
Fear and rage permeated the atmosphere.
The Harry beside her whipped out his wand and screamed at the Dark Lord, tears streaming down his face. "BASTARD!" he screeched. "Avada Kedavra! AVADA KEDAVRA!" But his efforts were ineffective against the memory of the dark wizard and he fell to his knees, sobbing with his head in his hands.
Voldemort's smile grew even wider as he cast a spell that seemed to prevent her daughter from struggling. "Do you care for this mudblood, Harry?" he asked evilly. "Do you love her?"
Jean felt Harry's rage dissipate as despair and a sense of overwhelming defeat took over.
"It's me you want," he uttered, lowering his wand.
"H-harry? What are you doing?" Ron choked out.
Harry ignored him. "Please. I... I'll go with you. Or you could just... I don't know -- kill me -- or something. Please."
Voldemort laughed cruelly and kept his wand pointed at Hermione. "Crucio."
"Noooo!" Harry cried, "Stop! I'll go with you, I promise! Just let her go, please!" A tear trickled slowly down his cheek.
The Dark Lord abruptly stopped laughing and watched the tear fall, then met Harry's eyes, his own red eyes blazing. "Avada Kedavra."
"NOOOOOOOO!" Harry screamed.
As Voldemort finally released his grip, her daughter fell gracefully to the ground, her expression peaceful, as if she hadn't felt a thing.
But Harry was still feeling. And before Jean even had a chance to deal with her own feelings, there was a tidal wave of his emotions; anguish and grief, rage and desperation, loathing and hatred -- so much hatred -- and love. Oh, how he had loved her. Images flashed through Jean's mind unbidden -- memories of things she'd never seen before -- of her daughter with Harry, with Harry and Ron, and with others, all of them saturated with love for her.
She noticed then that nearly everyone had fallen. Even Voldemort was on his knees, clutching his head and screaming in agony. Harry was standing over him, his eyes filled with tears, but his wand was steady. "Avada Kedavra," he whispered. The Dark Lord went preternaturally still, and fell; Harry dropped to his knees beside her daughter's crumpled form.
He turned her gently onto her back. "Hermione?" He brushed the curls out of her face as Ron knelt beside him. Harry touched his wand to her chest. "Ennervate." Nothing.
"Harry."
"No, Ron. Ennervate," he said calmly. There was no response.
"Harry," Ron sobbed.
"I said NO, Ron! Ennervate!" Again, nothing. "Damn it!" He touched her cheek softly. "Hermione?" His voice broke. "Hermione? You have to help me do this, okay? Ennervate!" A pause. "Ennervate! Ennervate! ENNERVATE! Wake up, damn you! Wake UP, you stubborn -" he choked on a sob and took her by the shoulders, shaking her. "Hermione, please wake up! It was supposed to be me; it was supposed to be me!"
He got to his feet and kicked at Voldemort's body. "GET UP!" he cried, and kicked harder. "Get up and kill me, you fucking bastard! It wasn't supposed to be her! It was supposed to be me! IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE HER!"
Remus tried to take hold of his arm, but Harry shrugged him off and backed away from him. "Don't touch me! Don't touch me!" he shrieked. He backed right into Ron, where he was now standing over Hermione's body. Ron wrapped his arms around the smaller boy and Harry broke down, turning and weeping into the red-haired boy's jumper. They both dropped to ground next to her daughter, consumed by their grief.
Jean turned to David, who had tears sliding down his face, and he gestured to the scene around them. Dozens and dozens of people -- the vast majority of them teenagers -- from the bigger part of the battle had made their way across the grounds and had probably been there to see Harry's collapse. They were all crying silently; some were alone, and some were holding others. She had been so caught up in Harry's violent surges of emotion that she hadn't even noticed their arrival.
After a long while, the headmaster came forward and began casting some kind of spell on each of the bodies, including those of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. "So the Ministry may fully appreciate their mistake," he gravely explained to those who shot him questioning looks. He looked at his deputy headmistress. "Minerva, how many parents of students from your house will need to be notified? I know there were many. Would like me to appoint one of the other professors to assist you?"
As she responded, Past-Harry and Ron bent over Hermione's small frame; Harry lovingly fingered a curl while Ron touched her cheek gently. The tall boy then planted a soft kiss to her lips, and the smaller boy followed suit. They rose as one, and Harry cleared his throat. All eyes were on him.
"We need to tell Hermione's parents."
"Yes, dear boy, I know; Professor McGonagall and I were just making arrangements to do just that."
"You misunderstand," said Ron. "What Harry means is that we -- he and I -- need to tell Hermione's parents."
Professor McGonagall shook her head sadly. "I don't think that's a very good idea -"
"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry interrupted, "but I wasn't asking permission."
She frowned and started to say something, but when the headmaster held up a hand, she sighed and nodded.
Harry looked at Professor Dumbledore. "May we borrow your Pensieve, sir?"
The headmaster looked surprised, but nodded his consent. "Minerva, would you mind retrieving it for them?"
She obviously did mind, but nodded anyway. "This way, please," she said briskly, beckoning the boys toward the castle.
As they walked away, Jean bent down to the Harry of her time; he was sitting on the ground with his knees against his chest, rocking back and forth while tears spilled from his eyes. "Harry, dear," she said hoarsely, "I think it's time to go."
Harry stepped back from the Pensieve and rough hands caught him. Keeper's hands. Ron was here to make it all right again.
He hadn't wanted to live through that ever again -- though it was his responsibility, and he'd done it -- but it was over now and he'd never have to do it again, and it was okay if he fell apart. He turned and cried his tears into Ron's chest.
For a time the kitchen was filled with the sounds of people in mourning; the Grangers suffering the loss of their daughter, and Harry and Ron grieving over the loss of their very best friend. After a while, though, the sobs turned to sniffles and, eventually, the room was quiet but for the occasional hiccough.
Ron began pouring the tea that Jean had started making before they'd entered the Pensieve. "I kept it hot," he stated simply, passing out the cups.
"Thank you," she said softly, her face blotchy and her eyes red and watery. Then she added, "for everything."
They sat in silence for bit, just drinking their tea and remembering, before Mr. Granger looked at Harry thoughtfully. "What was that?" he asked. "There at the end, that weakened everyone?"
Harry looked down at his empty teacup, a blush creeping into his face. "I'm not sure, really. We didn't exactly take the time to go over the details of the battle before we left, but... well, Professor Dumbledore has always said that the power I have that the Dark Lord didn't know about is love. See, there was this prophecy that was made before I was born, and it essentially said that I was going to be the one to bring down Voldemort, and I was going to do it with this unknown power. But I think Dumbledore was the only one who could have anticipated that. I've always been bad at Occlumency -- that means keeping my mind closed to others -- but Snape told me before we came here that I might have a particular talent for Legilimency; I always thought that was limited to reading other peoples' thoughts, but he said that it includes pushing thoughts and, in my case, feelings off onto others. Anyway, I'm supposed to meet with him when we get back."
"What about the memories?" Jean asked. "Those were very...overwhelming."
Harry's blush deepened. "You could see those? I didn't think you'd be able to, since you weren't actually there." He paused. "To tell you the truth, I didn't even know I'd done that until Ron told me on the way here. I honestly don't know how I did it, but I can tell you that I didn't do it on purpose. I just," his voice broke, "really loved her, you know?"
"We know, Harry," Jean answered, her own eyes brimming with tears again. "We all did." She stood up and set her teacup down on the counter. "Listen, there's something I want you to have. She made these two journals, one for herself and one for me. Last year, when the owl post was in danger of being intercepted, she developed them as a new way of communicating with me. We were very close; it was torture to send her off to school in the first place, much less have all forms of communication cut off. So she bought these brown leather journals, and spelled them so that we could write back and forth to each other." She sighed. "I should have known, you know. Her last entry was late last night, and she referred to David as "Daddy". She hasn't called him that in years, but I just thought that perhaps she'd had a rough day, and since she was getting to bed late, she'd tell me about it in the morning. But she didn't. That was her way of saying goodbye... just in case she couldn't." She wiped away a tear and shrugged. "Not much I can do about it now, I guess. Anyway, I'm sure it's in her dorm somewhere, so you'll have to get someone to get it for you; maybe Ginny will do it. Hermione told me about the stairs." She smiled weakly and rummaged around for a pen. "I suppose I'll need to write you up a note giving my permission."
"That's really not necessary, Mrs. Granger," Ron said.
"Jean," she replied.
"Jean," he repeated. "I'm sure the journal is worth a lot to you... I don't think we should take it."
"Nonsense," Jean said. "Hermione would have wanted you to have it; and anyway, you boys loved her, too."
"Only I think you should -"
"Ron. I really think it's for the best. She would have wanted you and Harry to have it," she said firmly, raising her eyebrow in an expression that brooked no argument.
Ron gulped. Harry noticed that he seemed a bit... nervous. He raised both eyebrows at him, silently questioning. Ron shook his head.
"Besides," Jean continued, "I think there are some things in there she would have wanted Harry to know."
Ron held her gaze for a long moment and then dropped his head, nodding once.
She had been his constant companion for six years, so it was difficult for Harry to reconcile the fact that Hermione was really and truly gone. It was weeks before he could think of her without his heart feeling as though it had been ripped to shreds, so at first he tried not to think of her. Of course, that didn't work so well, so he just resigned himself to trying not to cry, which was eventually amended to trying not to cry in public. Merlin knew he'd already done enough of that, but he couldn't help it; his heart hurt.
He and Ron had taken to spending all of their free time away from everyone else; the crowded Great Hall had proved to be especially awkward, since although Harry was hailed as the defeater of You-Know-Who, he was also the reason that the dark wizard had attacked the castle in the first place. Many lives had been lost, and there were those who hadn't yet decided how they felt about that.
So Harry hung out mostly just with Ron, because Ron knew what he was going through. They had both lost her. They didn't talk about her much, but it was understood that she was constantly in their thoughts.
He had also, surprisingly, spent quite a lot of time with Professor Snape, who was attempting to help him hone his Legilimency. He was in the dungeons less often now that classes had resumed, but was still required to go three evenings a week.
Ron was waiting for him in the common room when he returned from one such lesson. "He kept you late tonight."
"It's Friday; he knows I can have a lie-in tomorrow." Harry flopped into a chair and sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. "Snape is so... weird."
Ron snorted and turned the page of the book he was reading. "We've known that for a while, haven't we?"
"No; I mean, yes we have, but what I meant was that he's acting so differently now. He's not nice, exactly, but he's definitely... different."
"Well, maybe the fact that he doesn't have to pretend to be a Death Eater anymore -- thanks to you -- has something to do with it."
"Yeah, maybe." He suddenly sat up, remembering. "Did McGonagall get us Hermione's journal tonight?" The headmistress had been so busy with the Hogwarts rebuilding effort and the families of others lost in the battle that she hadn't had time before, but she'd promised Harry that she'd get the journal when he checked with her on his way down to the dungeons earlier.
Ron hesitated before responding. "Yes. It's up in my trunk."
"Well let's get it. I want to see what Jean was talking about," Harry said, standing and starting for the stairs.
"Harry, wait!" He continued when Harry stopped and turned around. "First of all, we can't read it up in the dormitory because the other guys are asleep. Second, we can't do it down here because there isn't enough privacy. What if someone wakes up and comes downstairs? Third, I'm sure it'll take us a while to get through the whole thing -- you know Hermione -- and we're going to want enough time to get through it uninterrupted. And fourth, it's almost two, and you've got to be tired after Snape's lesson," he said, ticking the points off on his fingers. His answer sounded rehearsed, but Harry could see the logic in it.
"Fine. Tomorrow, then," Harry said after a moment of thought. He walked back toward the fireplace. "What are you reading?"
"Oh. It's Hermione's photo album. McGonagall brought it down when she went to get the journal. Said Jean included it in her note."
"Let's have a look, then," Harry said, sitting next to Ron on the overstuffed sofa.
Ron turned back to the first page, which had a few Muggle photos of Hermione with her parents on Platform 9¾. "First year," he said, and Harry nodded in agreement. Ron turned the page.
There was a group photo of her with her dorm mates, which had also been taken with a Muggle camera. Lavender and Parvati looked particularly giggly, while Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I'd forgotten about that camera her parents bought her as a 'going away' present," Harry said fondly.
"It's too bad she got a Wizarding camera in third year," said Ron, "I rather like the Muggle photographs."
"Not me," replied Harry. "I like to see them move. Hey, there's one of us! Look how tiny we were!" He glanced sideways at Ron. "Hard to believe you were ever that small."
"I was still bigger than you."
Harry snorted. "Hermione was bigger than me then."
Ron smirked at him and closed the album. "As I mentioned earlier, it's two o'clock and we should both be in bed. We can finish looking at it tomorrow."
"And the journal," said Harry, stifling a yawn as they made for the stairs.
"And the journal," Ron repeated quietly, hugging the album to his chest.
The next morning, Harry woke to Ron shaking his shoulder. "Come on, you prat, we'll miss breakfast!"
"Wassup?" Harry murmured sleepily, rubbing his eyes.
"Breakfast, Harry. I've been trying to wake you for ages."
"Mmm." He yawned and stretched. "But I was having the best dream. Hermione -" He suddenly sat straight up. "The journal!" he exclaimed, scrambling out of bed. He grabbed Ron's arm and began pulling him toward the door. "Let's go read it!"
"Harry, wait! You're not dressed, mate. And the journal is in my trunk, remember? Besides, we'll need to eat a decent breakfast before we start on that, right? I'm sure there's nothing in that journal that can't wait a while. You know..." he paused a moment. "Maybe we should wait and read it over summer hols. We'll have loads of time then. Yeah, let's do it then."
Harry pretended not to hear that last bit and looked down at his bare chest and pyjama bottoms. "I suppose I'd better put some clothes on," he granted, "but we can just go to the Room of Requirement and ask Dobby to bring us something to eat. It's Saturday, and we don't have anything planned. I'm sure we can get through it in a day, don't you think?"
Ron looked as if he would argue, but then said, almost to himself, "Dobby always does bring us the best stuff."
"It's settled, then," Harry said, grabbing a Weasley jumper and pulling it over his head. "I need to brush my teeth. You grab the journal. Oh, and the photo album."
When he exited the loo a minute later, Ron was waiting by the door, album and journal in hand. He looked resigned. Harry's enthusiasm level dropped a bit.
"If you think it's still too soon, we don't have to do this," he said seriously.
A flicker of hope passed across Ron's face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. "No. Today is probably the best day for it. You have another lesson with Snape tomorrow, right?"
Harry nodded.
"Best to get it over with, then." He straightened, and held his head up as if he was going to face a firing squad.
"We'll take it slow, Ron, it's all right." He patted the other boy's back.
Ron choked, and Harry slapped his back harder. "You all right, mate?"
"Yeah. Fine," Ron gasped.
"You sure?"
Ron nodded.
"Okay," Harry said dubiously, "let's go then."
When they entered the Room of Requirement, Harry came to the conclusion that it must have been trying to make them feel more comfortable, because it looked like a cross between the common room and their dormitory, with an exact replica of the kitchen at The Burrow on the far side.
"Excellent," breathed Ron. He even smiled a little.
"Feels like home," agreed Harry.
They summoned Dobby, who thanked them profusely for choosing him and promptly brought them a feast fit for a dozen people. They thanked him in return and tucked in, sitting next to each other at the large table.
Harry opened the journal to the first page and read aloud through mouthfuls of toast.
23 October 1995 6:05 a.m.
Dearest Mum,
The owl post has been compromised. I'm sorry that I just had to send a plain, empty journal; I'm sure you had no idea what I meant by it. I bought two of them and charmed them so that we can write back and forth to each other without having to rely on the owls. As I am writing this, the letters will be appearing in your journal, and yours will work the same way. The charm marks the date and time automatically. When something new has been written, the Hogwarts crest will appear on the cover. I forced myself to wait a whole day to write this, so hopefully it won't take too awfully long for you to notice the difference and investigate. Write back soon.
Your loving daughter,
Hermione
"She was so clever," Harry said fondly.
"I don't know how we'll manage without her," Ron agreed glumly.
"We'll just have to work harder."
"Suppose."
7:21 a.m.
My beautiful, clever girl,
I left the journal out on the kitchen counter! I almost put it away in a drawer until you could explain yourself, so we were lucky. What's happened that we can't use the owls any longer? Although, if I may say so (and it may be a bit premature), this is definitely better.
Love,
Mum
"I like her," Harry declared.
"She reminds me of her," Ron added.
They continued to read as Hermione explained about the awful Umbridge, and the many ways the Ministry had been interfering with their life at Hogwarts last year. Many of the journal entries covered the simple day-to-day things that Jean would have missed out on otherwise. Things like the many, many times her daughter received perfect marks on a test, what they were feeding the flobberworms that week, something Ron had said that struck her as funny, or some new despicable thing that someone had done to Harry. Hermione wrote in it every single day, even if it was only to say something as simple as "Goodnight" or "I love you."
There truly were a great many complaints about Umbridge, only half about how useless her teaching was, and there was a good long entry about the unfairness of her having banned Harry from Quidditch for life, which caused a flurry of emotion to rise up within him, and he had to stop reading for a while.
Ron took over then, reading mostly about their daily life together. Harry thought it was amazing how many small details Hermione had noticed about him and Ron, and told her mother about. Some of the more subtle things he hadn't even known about himself, like the way he fisted his hand when he was being stubborn, or how he apparently had a habit of twisting a bit of the fabric on his robes between his thumb and forefinger when he was brainstorming. There were bits about Ron, too, like how he couldn't help but clench his jaw every time someone made a bad chess move, or the way he seemed to laugh with his whole being; as if every single time it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Harry smiled. He liked that about Ron, too.
There were bits about Hermione's home life, as well; they were always simple things, though, like Jean's new recipe for pumpkin soup (she had apparently taken quite a liking to all things pumpkin, after Hermione's repeated mentions of the delicious pumpkin juice that wasn't available in the Muggle world), David's fabulous new set of encyclopedias, and her grandfather's knee replacement surgery -- reading the details caused Ron to turn a not-so-lovely shade of green. Harry took over reading again after they'd sat down on the sofa in front of the fireplace, away from the food.
Hermione covered all of the big things that happened as well, like Mr. Weasley's snake bite and Harry's Rita Skeeter interview for The Quibbler. She and her mother discussed the D.A. extensively -- Jean was afraid it would get in the way of her studies -- and it was one of those discussions that lead Jean to ask Hermione about boys for the first time.
18 March 1996 11:36 p.m.
Speaking of things that interfere with your schoolwork, are there any boys who've caught your eye?
Harry looked up from his reading. "You know, I don't think I can remember a single time Hermione talked about a boy she fancied. There was that whole thing with Krum in fourth year, but I don't think that counts. I mean, they were just friends, I thought."
Ron cleared his throat and looked into the flames. "Maybe it was just more comfortable for her to talk to her mum about it," he mumbled.
"Yeah, I suppose it would have been. I feel guilty that I never even thought to ask." He looked back to the journal.
19 March 1996 6:17 a.m.
I don't have time for boys, Mum. Except Harry and Ron. Well, I sometimes help Neville with his assignments and during classes, but I don't fancy him.
6:19 a.m.
No one you think is handsome?
6:19 a.m.
Not particularly. I mean, Malfoy's handsome,
"WHAT?" Ron exclaimed. "Malfoy?"
"Shut up, berk, she wasn't finished."
and he's an utter arse. Anthony Goldstein is quite good-looking, but he's a bit boring. Ernie MacMillan isn't bad, either, but he's... I honestly can't think of a more fitting word than pompous. So no, there really isn't anyone I think is handsome -- except for Harry and Ron, of course.
A grin split Harry's face, and he looked up to see that Ron was smiling, too. "We're handsome," he said doltishly. He'd never though of himself that way before. He took a good look at Ron, and decided he could see where Hermione was coming from, there. Ron was tall and lean and surprisingly well-muscled, a fact that had eluded Harry before. His hair was a truly spectacular color, and always did what it was supposed to do; he also had a nicely-shaped jaw, and long legs and great hands. His eyes lingered on Ron's hands, and he wondered then if it was unusual to like your best mate's hands that way. He looked back up at his face in time to catch Ron quickly look away, face red.
"We are," he coughed.
Harry found himself suddenly embarrassed and uncomfortable in Ron's presence, for perhaps the first time ever. He went back to the journal in an effort to hide it.
6:27 a.m.
Do you fancy one of them?
6:27 a.m.
I just told you I didn't.
6:28 a.m.
I meant Harry or Ron.
6:28 a.m.
Oh. I've not really thought of them that way. They're just... Harry and Ron. They're... mine.
6:31 a.m.
What do you mean, they're yours? I don't think they'd take too kindly to hearing themselves described as property.
6:32 a.m.
That may be true, but it does feel that way. I can't imagine life without them.
6:33 a.m.
Well consider yourself lucky at this point that I have an early root canal at seven and I have to leave, but we are going to talk more about this later!
6:34 a.m.
All right, mum. Have a good day.
The discussion that evening had been surprisingly short. Hermione had simply stated that Harry and Ron were her two best friends, so of course she couldn't imagine life without them; and she had promised there were no boys she fancied, so Jean had let it go, although she'd seemed sceptical.
When they got to the point in the journal, several months later, in which Hermione detailed what she could of their impromptu visit to the Department of Mysteries and Sirius' subsequent death, they broke for lunch to recover. She had put a lot of emotion into the retelling.
Ron called for Dobby again while Harry went to use the loo. When he came back out, Ron was sitting at the kitchen table and staring at the many of his favorite foods that were heaped on his plate.
"That was... unpleasant," he said distantly, still staring at his plate.
Harry nodded, having forgotten that Ron wasn't looking at him. He'd splashed some cold water on his face when he was in the loo, but he knew his eyes were still red from crying. The loss of his godfather still hurt, and he'd been thinking of how hard it had been to live life without him, which made him remember what Hermione had told her mother: "I can't imagine life without them." And now here they were, trying to live life without her, and it was so hard, because he didn't much want a life without her.
He sat down across from Ron, who finally looked up at him with wet blue eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and he knew that Ron didn't want a life without her, either.
"I miss her," he said unnecessarily.
"Me too," Harry replied.
"I cried on my potatoes."
"That's all right, mate. We'll get you some more potatoes."
Ron sighed. Harry stood, picked up his own plate and laid it on the table next to Ron's. "Here," said Harry, clearing the potatoes away with Evanesco. He added another heaping pile into the empty space, then walked around the table and sat down next to him. "Better?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
They ate silently, side by side, so close their thighs were touching and their arms kept rubbing together; but it was all right, because they had to fill in the space she'd left somehow.
The journal was waiting for them when they'd finished. They sat down together on the sofa again, and Harry, with some trepidation, picked up where he'd left off.
She hadn't written much in the aftermath of the Department of Mysteries fiasco, and her mother didn't badger her about it; a fact for which Harry was extraordinarily thankful. There were many days missing from the journal when Hermione went home, and when it picked back up again she was writing from the Burrow.
There was a note about Harry's birthday, some fun facts about the Burrow and a lengthy description on how much Diagon Alley had changed since the last time she'd been there. Hermione asked about the wards she'd put on the house so many times that Jean finally had to promise her that she'd let her know if they weren't working.
After that Hermione began writing about school again. They had frequent conversations about what she was going to do when she left Hogwarts, because she was still undecided. Jean thought Hermione would enjoy being a professor, but didn't push her, which was nice.
She also didn't complain when Hermione mentioned the D.A. meetings had started up again, but perhaps that was because they were handled primarily by Professor Lupin instead of by Harry and his friends.
19 September 1996 12:01 a.m.
Happy birthday, sweetheart.
6:09 a.m.
Thanks, Mum. Seventeen doesn't feel any different than sixteen so far.
6:13 a.m.
I wouldn't have expected it to. Which class is first this morning?
6:13 a.m.
Defense. I find Professor Lupin to be a very attractive man. If you were single I think I'd be trying to play matchmaker.
6:15 a.m.
Ha! I have enough on my plate with your father, thank you very much. Let me know when you're attracted to someone for yourself.
6:16 a.m.
Will do. He's started D.A. meetings for any interested students. The first is supposed to be Saturday. I can't wait!
6:17 a.m.
Tell me you're going for the purpose of educating yourself and you're not just going so you can ogle your teacher.
6:17 a.m.
Mum. I do not ogle. I gaze appreciatively. And of course I'm going to educate myself -- it's probably the most important thing I'll learn this year, considering the circumstances.
6:19 a.m.
Same difference. Have a good day, baby.
6:20 a.m.
You too, Mum.
Harry grinned at Ron. "Did you know she liked Remus?"
"Nope. But if she's into older blokes, I'm surprised she never said anything about Sirius."
"Nah, he wasn't her type. Remus is clever and stable. Sirius was all mood swings and rash decisions."
An odd expression flickered across Ron's face. He opened his mouth and closed it again, then finally managed, "Still, he really was handsome, wasn't he?"
"Yeah, but looks aren't everything," Harry replied sagely.
"Oh, so you're the relationship expert now, are you?"
Harry nodded, trying not to smile. "Yes."
"Really." Ron crossed his arms over his chest. "And where did you obtain this wealth of information?"
"Sirius."
Ron grinned. "Yeah? And what did the wise and knowledgeable Mr. Black have to say on the subject?"
He said, "Always make sure you check your breath, because looks aren't everything."
They both laughed, and when they went back to Hermione's journal their mood was lighter than it had been before.
They mostly discussed classes and homework assignments and Adventures with Harry and Ron, but as they got deeper and deeper into October, conversation more frequently drifted toward the Hallowe'en Ball. She wanted to look nice, of course, but she just didn't have the time it took to browse all the catalogues and make trips into Hogsmeade to pick out a decent costume. She'd been helping Professor Lupin plan a special D.A. meeting, had three feet of Potions essay to research, was working on a side project for Professor Vector and helping Hagrid teach Grawp English.
"She looked amazing in that costume," the boys said simultaneously. They looked at each other and smiled. Harry could tell that Ron was picturing her in it, just like he had been.
"I'll never forget the way she looked in it."
"Mmm. She was perfect." Ron agreed, nodding.
17 October 1996 7:27 p.m.
Oh, Mum, what am I going to do? I don't know what possessed me to agree to it -- I'm doomed! The boys, they -- well it was all very sweet, but they actually noticed how stressed I've become over this stupid Hallowe'en Ball and, well, they told me not to worry about it anymore, that they would take care of my costume and escort me to the Ball. And I was so distracted, Mum, that I just agreed before I realized what I was agreeing to and IT IS GOING TO BE A DISASTER! I just know they're going to make me go as a Quidditch player. Oh, Mum, I'm going to be this repulsive orange THING
"Hey! I can't believe she had so little faith in us," Harry said at the same time that Ron said, "Hey! I didn't know she would have been willing to go as a Cannon!" They both stopped and looked at each other, then burst into laughter. Harry had to wipe tears from his eyes before he could see enough to continue.
and there's nothing I can do about it now because if I tell them I take it back it'll hurt their feelings and I don't want to hurt their feelings. How did I get myself into this situation?
It is nice to have two dates, though.
7:52 p.m.
I did warn you not to put too much on your plate, dear. Now you'll just have to make the most of it. I'm sure you'll look ravishing, whatever they choose.
18 October 1996 4:11 p.m.
I asked Ron today what they had in mind for my costume, and he told me to mind my business and not to worry, that they were taking care of it and I should focus my attention on more important things. He's right -- I know I should, but I can't help worrying over it.
26 October 1996 10:26 a.m.
I broke down and asked Harry about my costume this morning. He just smiled and told me they'd had it delivered already and not to worry, that it was going to be great. I'm worried.
29 October 1996 5:55 p.m.
Today I overheard Dean and Seamus say that the boys and I are going to the Ball in matching costumes. That confirms it, then. We're all going as Quidditch players. I knew this would happen.
30 October 1996 8:03 p.m.
Well, I asked the boys today if there was anything I needed to know about my costume, or if I needed to provide any accessories. They said that they've got everything covered, but then they argued for a while on whether I should wear my hair up or down; they finally decided to give me my costume three hours before the Ball, so that I could choose for myself. I suppose that's something.
1 November 1996 2:09 a.m.
I think I'm in love.
Harry stared at Hermione's tidy script for a moment before looking sharply up at Ron, who was blushing furiously and had his eyes squeezed shut like he was expecting the worst possible news. "Do you think this is too private? Should I skip ahead a bit?"
Ron opened his eyes and sighed. "We're already reading her journal, Harry. I think that's already a pretty serious invasion of privacy."
Harry nodded. "Right."
1 November 6:11 a.m.
WHAT? Was it someone at the Ball? You have to tell me all about it!
9:13 a.m.
Sorry I didn't catch you before work, but I had a bit of a lie-in and was barely able to get the boys up in time for a quick breakfast.
It was wonderful, mother; I wish you could have been there to see it. There were so many great costumes and decorations and food and dancing and I just had such a fantastic time! IT WAS BRILLIANT! I spent almost all night dancing. Even Professor Lupin asked me to dance! I danced with Harry and Ron most of the time, but the fact that they were even willing to get out there and dance was a miracle in itself. They hardly danced at all at the Yule Ball in fourth year! I also danced a bit with Neville. I think Anthony was going to ask me once, but Harry interrupted. He just grabbed my arm and dragged me out on the dance floor! That's all right, though; I'd rather have danced with him, anyway.
There was a small incident when I was dancing with Cormac -- he's a seventh year; I'm not sure if I've mentioned him before -- and well, he was getting a little handsy, you know how boys sometimes get, and I asked him to stop and he didn't so I tried to push away from him and he grabbed my arm and, well, Ron punched him in the face. Really hard, too. Professor Lupin was the only adult who saw it happen, and he sent Cormac to the hospital wing, but Ron didn't get in trouble at all! Professor Lupin just clapped him on the shoulder and told him to enjoy the rest of the Ball! It took me a while to get they boys calmed down -- Harry was furious that he hadn't been there to teach Cormac a lesson (he was getting our drinks at the time) -- but after I did, things went back to being just as wonderful as before.
I even got two goodnight kisses! It was the best night of my life!
5:57 p.m.
That sounds wonderful, sweetheart, but I'm still not entirely sure who it is you said you were in love with... Is it Harry, Ron or (and I sincerely hope not) Professor Lupin?
7:15 p.m.
It was wonderful! I've never felt so beautiful in all my life. The boys bought me a gown, mother! A gown! And a tiara! I went as a princess! Oh, you should have seen the looks on Parvati and Lavender's faces when the boys sent Ginny in with my costume! It was golden and flowy and shimmery and went all the way down to the floor. I don't know how they managed to get my size, but it was a perfect fit.
Oh, Mum. You'll never believe it. They were waiting for me when I came down the stairs and they were dressed as knights! They actually bowed and took my hands and kissed them and I cried and they wouldn't stop calling me "milady" and I laughed all night long! It was absolutely perfect.
7:26 p.m.
PLEASE tell me you got pictures!
7:26 p.m.
Better! The boys paid Colin Creevey to take pictures of us throughout the night! I can't wait to see them.
7:28 p.m.
You HAVE to send me copies. I can't possibly wait until Christmas to see them!
All right, so I've figured out that it probably isn't Professor Lupin that you've fallen for. So is it Harry or Ron?
Harry's pulse was racing; he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that question. If Hermione had been in love with Ron... well, the only word he could think of to describe how he felt about that was jealous. But glad. On the other hand, if she had been in love with him... thoughts of all the missed opportunities were likely to drive him insane. Why had she never said anything?
He chanced a quick glance at Ron, who was gripping the sofa cushion so hard his knuckles were white. His eyes were closed again. It was a small comfort that he seemed to be dreading the answer just as much as Harry himself.
7:30 p.m.
Oh, no! I could never choose between them like that! I love them both, Mum. Deeply. Madly.
Harry almost dropped the journal as he stumbled out of his seat, but caught it before it hit the floor. She had been in love with him. She had been in love with them. He choked on a sob and snuck a look at Ron, who was looking at the floor, tears already flowing freely. Harry furiously turned pages, trying to find the place in the journal where he'd left off.
7:35 p.m.
Hermione. You can't date them both at once. You'll break their hearts.
7:37 p.m.
I would never do anything to hurt them, Mother. I don't plan to tell them. At least, not for a long while. It's not fair to Harry; he has the fate of the Wizarding world on his shoulders already. He doesn't need this. But... someday... I hope to have a future with them. Both of them.
7:43 p.m.
Oh, sweetheart. That never works. They'll begin to resent the relationship and eventually become so jealous of each other that everyone's heart will be broken; it will be a very bitter end, my darling. Please don't do this -- for the sake of everyone involved.
7:47 p.m.
It'll work, Mum. You don't know them like I do. We can make it work.
7:49 p.m.
The only possible way for it to work is if the triangle was complete and they were in love with each other as well as with you. You've never once hinted that they could be. I don't think you have a hope, dear one.
7:51 p.m.
We shall see. Like I said, it will be a long time before I'll be able to approach them about it.
7:52 p.m.
You may have a very long wait ahead of you.
7:53 p.m.
I'm willing to wait for them.
7:53 p.m.
Are you quite sure there's no one else?
7:54 p.m.
Quite sure, Mum. I've never wanted anyone else. They're perfect.
7:55 p.m.
I think you need to give this some thought. I'll talk to you tomorrow, all right? I love you very much.
7:56 p.m.
I love you too, Mum.
Harry shakily lowered the journal to an end table. "I need a break. Want some tea?"
He got up and made the tea, thinking that sometimes making the tea was more therapeutic than actually drinking the tea. He focused on his task and, when he was finished, felt much better for having done it.
He handed Ron a cup and sat down next to him on the sofa with his own. "So."
"So," said Ron.
"At least she didn't play favorites, right?"
"Right."
They sipped their tea for a while.
"Were you in love with her?" Harry asked.
"Yeah. You?"
"I don't know."
Ron turned to look at Harry. "You don't know?"
"Well, I've never really thought about love, or my future, or love in my future. Didn't think I'd have one, did I? There was just that one disaster with Cho, and after that I was too focused on the war to think about things like that." He paused. "She was right, you know. About the reasons why she didn't want to tell me. It would have been a big distraction, and it's not really fair to get involved with someone if you think you're going to die, is it? But I wish she would have, anyway. I just... can't stop thinking about all the missed opportunities."
"So... between Cho and now, you haven't been attracted to anyone... at all?"
"Not once. I just didn't think about it."
"Did you love Cho?"
Harry frowned. "No. At least, I don't think so."
Ron gave him another questioning glance, complete with raised eyebrow.
"Well, what do you want from me? Have I ever been in love before? I wouldn't know it if it bit me in the arse. You guys and Sirius were the only people I've ever really loved." He looked at Ron with a sad smile. "You don't plan on dying anytime soon, do you?"
Ron gazed seriously back at him. "No. I don't."
Harry reached over and picked up the journal, flushing.
2 November 1996 1:00 p.m.
Well? Did you give it any thought?
2:08 p.m.
I couldn't stop giving it thought, actually.
2:09 p.m.
And?
2:09 p.m.
I have to do it, Mum. I'll never forgive myself if I don't at least ask. I would never be happy without them.
2:11 p.m.
I thought you might say that. I wish you wouldn't, darling, but if that's what you feel you must do, I'd recommend getting it out in the open sooner rather than later. Talk to them about it.
2:13 p.m.
I can't do that. It wouldn't be fair to Harry.
2:14 p.m.
Ron, then.
2:14 p.m.
It won't work if I'm not treating them equally from the beginning, Mother.
2:15 p.m.
If you talk to Ron, you will at least know if there's hope. The end of the war could be decades away.
2:16 p.m.
It won't be. Harry won't let it stretch out that long. There's already been too much death and destruction.
2:17 p.m.
Sweetheart, please.
2:17 p.m.
No. I won't ask one without the other knowing.
Jean had not given up. It was clear that this was not what she had in mind for her daughter, and she had apparently felt the need to bring it up during every single conversation the two of them had had over the weeks that followed, much to Hermione's obvious annoyance.
There was a break in December when Hermione had gone home for Christmas, but she picked right back up on her first night back at Hogwarts.
5 January 1997 9:34 p.m.
All right, Mum. I've thought about what you said at King's Cross, and I've decided to ask Ron about it this week.
6 January 1997 4:47 p.m.
Harry has an extra lesson with Professors Lupin, Snape and Dumbledore after D.A. practice on Saturday. I'll ask Ron then.
Harry's hands were shaking. He looked up at Ron, who had his head resting against the back of the sofa and his hands fisted in the hem of his shirt; once again, his eyes were closed. Harry was beginning to think this reaction was more than a coincidence.
11 January 1997 3:51 p.m.
I did it, Mother. I spoke to Ron,
Harry darted a stunned glance at Ron, who refused to meet his eye. When Harry continued reading, his voice was thick with disbelief, each word slow and deliberate.
and you'll never guess what he said! He loves me! And he thinks he loves Harry, too. Oh, you should have seen how red he was. He said he'd thought Harry was attractive for ages, but never considered the possibility of being in love with him. BUT he agrees with me that we should wait until after the war to approach Harry. It's just not fair to do it now, Mum. It isn't. I feel... guilty, though, now that Ron knows. Because that isn't fair, either.
Harry stood up shakily and gently set the journal back on the end table. Ron got slowly to his feet, the look on his face beseeching.
"Harry?"
Harry turned on Ron, eyes flashing, and pushed his finger into his chest. "YOU! You -- How could you -" He withdrew his hand and shook his head wildly, blinking back tears. He'd never felt so betrayed. "You're supposed to be my friend! You're supposed to be -- How could you keep this from me? We could have -" He broke off and shook his head again. "No! I can't -- I need -- I have to go," he choked out. He turned sharply on his heel and strode toward the door.
"We could have what?" asked Ron. Harry determinedly kept walking, did not turn around, even after he heard Ron hurrying to catch up to him.
Ron grabbed his arm and Harry spun around, prepared to fight, but Ron took the opportunity to take hold of his other arm.
"We could have done this?" Ron asked breathlessly, shoving him against the wall and pressing their mouths fiercely together.
Harry tried to fight him. He was angry and hurt and confused, and didn't know what to think of this at all. But Ron was quite a bit bigger and seemed to hold him there effortlessly. He had Harry's arms pinned with his hands just above the elbows, and was using the rest of his body to press him firmly against the wall.
He had never been this close to anyone in his life, and he couldn't help but think that this -- this kiss, because that was what it was, Ron was kissing him -- was nothing like the comparatively chaste one he'd shared with Cho that day. This was all intense heat and the thrusting of a tongue in his mouth and the sucking of his bottom lip, and he could feel Ron's erection pressing into him -- that was certainly different, but it felt good and it was Ron, so everything would be okay -- and he grunted, and just when he had decided to show Ron that he could probably kiss just as well and he had an erection of his own to press up against something, Ron backed off, apologizing profusely.
Harry's thought processes had become admittedly hazy, but he couldn't for the life of him imagine why on earth Ron thought it was necessary, or even okay to cut a snog like this short in order to apologize. What a prat.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry , I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking; I -"
Harry lunged at him, the force of his weight knocking them both to the ground. Ouch. That hadn't been what he'd intended to do. He pinned Ron's wrists to floor and ran his tongue from the underside of his chin all the way to his ear to make up for hurting him, then went back to Ron's mouth, which he hadn't had the chance to fully explore. Ron moaned, and it went straight to Harry's groin. He straightened his legs instead of supporting his weight on his knees, and when the first thing his cock seemed to come into contact with was Ron's denim-clad erection, he gasped. So did Ron, who promptly took advantage of the situation, and rolled them over so that Harry's back was on the floor.
Ron quickly pressed their cocks back together and began rocking back and forth, and oh God, it was the best thing Harry had ever felt and then Ron started sucking on his neck, and the combination of Ron's mouth on his skin and their cocks grinding against each other was too much and he was coming, and he couldn't believe it -- he hadn't even taken off his trousers.
Ron had apparently come too, because he now lay panting on top of Harry, and he was heavy, but Harry didn't mind that much, really. How could he, after what they'd just done?
What had they just done? He'd never done anything like that before and, frankly, he wasn't sure what to think about having done it now.
Ron rolled off of him then, and sat there with his back against the wall, looking at anything but Harry.
"Are we gay, then?" Harry asked. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.
"I don't know; I don't think so," Ron answered. "I mean, we're obviously, er… 'okay' with each other -- and don't get me wrong; I'm really happy about that because I was afraid you'd hate me -" There was a long pause. "But now I feel guilty because she wasn't here with us."
"Yeah," Harry agreed.
Ron paused. "How do you feel?"
"Confused," Harry replied, semi-honestly. He was also more than a little scared that everything was going to be different now; he couldn't afford to lose Ron. "I don't know what you want from me. I'm not sure exactly what it was she wanted from me."
Ron met Harry's eyes then and blushed, and the knot in Harry's stomach began to unravel.
"Just you, Harry. Just you."
26 April 1997 12:14 p.m.
Dearest boys,
I know that nothing will be the same after having read these entries, but I know Hermione would have wanted both of you to know, so I hope I've done the right thing by her.
I do hope that the two of you will be able to work something out between yourselves -- my daughter would have wanted you to carry on with out her -- but I'll understand if you don't feel comfortable talking to me about it. Whatever you do, don't sacrifice your friendship; it is something valuable indeed.
Please don't be a stranger. I'll keep my copy of this journal out, so do write whenever you can.
Let me know how things go.
Warmest regards,
Jean
5 June 1997 11:44 p.m.
Dear Jean,
I can't thank you enough for insisting we take the journal.
We spent a day and a half reading it and looking through Hermione's photo album. Thank you for that, by the way.
It took us a few days to work through how we felt about things -- it's much harder now that she's not here to tell us -- but we've decided to give it a go. It feels like there's this empty space where she should be, but we're just going to take it one day at a time.
Thanks again,
Ron
P.S. Harry says to tell you that we promise to visit during summer hols.
P.P.S. Do you think you'll have some more of that pumpkin bread?
-The End-
we were drawn from the weeds
we were brave like soldiers
falling down under the pale moonlight
you were holding to me
like a someone broken
and i couldn't tell you but i'm telling you now
just let me hold you while you're falling apart
just let me hold you and we'll both fall down
fall on me
tell me everything you want me to be
forever with you
forever in me
ever the same
we would stand in the wind
we were free like water
flowing down under the warmth of the sun
now it's cold and we're scared
and we've both been shaken
look at us, man
this doesn't need to be the end
just let me hold you while you're falling apart
just let me hold you and we'll both fall down
fall on me
tell me everything you want me to be
forever with you
forever in me
ever the same
call on me
i'll be there for you and you'll be there for me
forever it's you
forever in me
ever the same
you may need me there
to carry all your weight
but you're no burden, i assure
you tide me over
with a warmth i'll not forget
but i can only give you love
fall on me
tell me everything you want me to be
forever with you
forever in me
ever the same
call on me
i'll be there for you and you'll be there for me
forever it's you
forever in me
ever the same
forever it's you
forever in me
ever the same
ever the same
-Ever the Same by Rob Thomas
A/N: The idea for this story came to me nearly fully-formed, thanks to this song.