AN: This story takes place three Easters after the fall of Voldemort. There might be quite a lot of Romione, but at heart, it's a Trio friendship fic, hence its category. At various points, it takes the absolute mickey out of, or gently pokes fun at: non-canon ships, fanfiction nicknames, the films and yes, even some of JK. Rowling statements (Sacrilege!) I might just warn people that there is an underlying theme of terrorism in much of this fic- just in case anyone is likely to be upset by this. In addition, there are a couple of references to events in the films, and a couple of slight anachronisms as a result. However, by and large, this follows the novels' timeline. PS: If anyone is curious about the inspiration for the newspaper article, I suggest you look up the 'Millennium Bridge' page on HP Wiki- not particularly timeline-compliant, I know.
In addition, a huge shout of thanks to HalfASlug! She generously agreed to let me borrow a bit of 'At The Park' for this fic. I suggest you read it before reading this- you'll be able to follow the ending to the story better.
Finally, a huge thanks to J.K. Rowling for creating these amazing characters in the first place. We all owe you a huge debt, Jo.
A Grimmauld Easter
Harry sighed and waved his wand, causing all the papers he'd been handling in his cubicle to arrange themselves neatly, ready for when he returned to the Auror Office on Monday. Although the Office continued operating throughout the Easter break, Kingsley had insisted that he and Ron have some time off with the family, and right now, Harry agreed with the Minister's viewpoint. It had been a tough week, Harry thought, as he stepped into the empty lift, a bottle of wine under each arm and a copy of Witch Weekly grasped in his right hand. There had been rumours of a Death Eater sympathizer planning retaliatory attacks on Muggleborns and Werewolves in the wake of the introduction of Lupin's Law, one of Hermione's pet projects that guaranteed free distribution of the Wolfsbane Potion and overturned Umbridge's previous legislation introduced under Fudge. Andromeda Tonks had been assigned an Auror- Neville- in the wake of anonymously posted death threats to her home. One had read: we're coming for you, you beast-loving, Mudblood-licking Blood Traitor scum.
There had since been no further leads, not even after a raid was ordered in which every shop in Knockturn Alley was searched, and trading suspended for the remainder of the week. Ron and Neville had participated in the raid alongside him, and Harry was especially determined to keep the file and subject matter he was now reading away from Ron's eyes. Ron had gone home on Thursday, or rather more likely, was spending quality alone time with Hermione in Grimmauld Place, and Harry didn't want his best mate's first Easter weekend with his wife ruined.
For just the previous evening, a young woman, formerly a junior Ravenclaw D.A. member who had fought valiantly in the Battle of Hogwarts, had been reported missing by her distressed mother. This had triggered Harry and the other remaining Aurors into full alert, ready for deployment. Two hours later, she had been found in an abandoned house barely two miles from the Ministry with the Dark Mark set over it, barely conscious. After she'd been transported to St. Mungo's, the victim had told Kingsley, behind closed doors, that her masked abductor had hit her with multiple applications of the Cruciatus Curse, repeatedly cut her face with curses, and had also tortured her with a knife. By mere coincidence, she was Muggleborn. Of course, Harry knew all too well who had carried out similar attacks on Muggleborns. This was a copycat crime, intended to send a strong message to a certain Ministry worker and survivor of the Battle of Hogwarts.
During the First and Second Wizarding Wars, according to Office archives, Bellatrix had been suspected of being behind thirteen of these horrific acts. Twelve had resulted in death, usually from blood loss or traumatic internal injuries caused by repeated Cruciatus Curses.
A complete blanket ban on reporters in the ward and around the scene of the crime had been signed off by Kingsley, at Harry's suggestion. If he'd opened up a newspaper, Ron would have left Grimmauld Place in a flash, micromanaging the case, working long hours, never letting Hermione out of his sight. In short, Easter for both of them would have been ruined.
No, it was Harry's responsibility to tell the couple himself. But first, he had some celebrating to do at Grimmauld Place, even if it was without his girlfriend. Ginny was still at the Holyhead Harpies practice in Northern Wales, but had promised to join Harry and the others at the Burrow the next day.
Lupin's Law had passed, albeit by a narrow majority of one. And of course, tomorrow was Easter Sunday. Harry smiled at the thought of his old friend eagerly drafting it in her office until the early hours of the morning while splattering ink over her hands. While he felt genuinely happy for Hermione, and thought Remus Lupin deserved such a legacy, Harry had decided to ignore his sneaky suspicions about how his two overworked, socially deprived best friends might have been celebrating, what with a whole house to themselves. And no portrait of Mrs. Black to scream insults at them at inopportune times. Harry shivered at a rather unpleasant, embarrassing memory as the golden gates swung open.
He turned to face the atrium, with the restored Fountain of Magical Brethren situated at its front. The house elf stood proudly alongside the centaur, the goblin and the wizard, and Harry grinned as he remembered what bill Hermione was currently drafting with the assistance of Luna- a fresh face in the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Department- Dobby's Law.
The list of names of those who'd died at the hands of the Death Eaters was etched onto a granite column behind the Fountain, and was a prominent fixture in the Atrium nowadays. Dobby's name was among them. Just beside the name of 'Nymphadora Tonks' was the name 'Remus John Lupin.' Harry swallowed a lump in his throat, put one of his bottles down, and raised the other.
"This one's for you Professor," he said quietly. His eyes flickered around the memorial wall, quickly spotting Sirius and his parents' names among the hundreds of others. Now fighting his eyes, which were burning slightly, he took a swig, and gave the memorial one last nod.
"Take care of Moony, you three. He deserves it."
At that, Harry picked up the other bottle, and stepped into the nearest fireplace. His head still spinning even after more than two years of regular use, Harry picked himself up off the sopping floor, and closed his eyes while determinedly picturing Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
...
Harry Apparated on the outer step of the once-detested house he now shared full-time with Ron and Hermione. Both had strong-armed him into accepting payment of rates from them, although he'd have gladly split his entire Gringotts money between the Weasleys and Hermione, whose cash reserves were still meagre four years after she'd emptied her account.
Then again, Harry thought, pausing before the door, Hermione was now effectively and legally a Weasley in every way- except surname, of course. In any case, it was the last Easter they'd be spending together in the same house. Even with the prospect of Ginny moving in some time before Christmas, the thought made him feel strangely lonely. It was the first time they wouldn't be living in close proximity to each other. Were his two best friends simply going to drift apart from him? He shook the ridiculous idea out of his head and knocked loudly, three times. That had been totally unnecessary until the portrait of Mrs. Black had been removed. Suffice it to say that on a particular occasion two Decembers beforehand, he had sincerely regretted not knocking.
He heard a faint voice, coming from what he assumed to be coming from the kitchen.
"Harry, is that you?"
"Indeed, Hermione," he called back. "Figured you two have had enough time to celebrate on your own," emphasizing the word a little more than absolutely necessary. He couldn't see her face, but Harry would have bet on a second round with that Hungarian Horntail that she would have turned a brilliant shade of magenta. Chuckling to himself, Harry gave the doorknob a tap with his wand and pulled it open. The familiar, hissing lanterns sprung into life along the musty passage, now thankfully devoid of elf heads, to the dining room. Entering it, he came across a sight that was simultaneously unusual and just inherently wrong.
A slightly pink-faced Hermione, the champion of SPEW, Lupin's Law and soon Dobby's Law, was being served omelettes and coffee by….an elf. She had a copy of The Guardian open, courtesy of the trip to the supermarket that morning. Ron was assisting Kreacher with the sprouts, while simultaneously washing the frying pan with magic. The sight did make Harry smile- it was so perfectly them. Ron waved offhandedly, still finishing the chores, while Hermione leapt out of her seat, and embraced him happily.
"How was work today?" she asked, briefly pressing her lips to his cheek.
The smile came off Harry's face.
"I'll tell you about that later- you both need to know it. But first, I think some wine, some celebrating, plus a couple of hours distracting you two from each other should do it. Here." With a flick of his wand, he conjured three glasses, pouring the contents of the bottles into them. He turned down to look at Kreacher, proudly wearing an apron.
"Apologies Kreacher, but this stuff might be a little potent for you. You've clearly done brilliantly. Just light the fire, feed Crookshanks upstairs, and I think you've done more than enough."
"As you say, Master," Kreacher croaked, bowing low. "What else could Kreacher have done for such defenders of elf rights?" At this, he turned to bow deeply at Ron and Hermione, and hurried out of the room, clicking his fingers once to ignite the logs lying in the grate.
Harry threw the copy of Witch Weekly down onto the table with a smack, starling Ron and Hermione.
"Stop moping and join us Ron," he called out, but putting on a voice of forced gentleness. "It seems Hermione has some explaining to do to you, and I'm sorry to inform you this way."
"Me? Some explaining to Ron…." Hermione leaned over Harry's shoulder to give a smirk at the headline.
Malfoy-Muggleborn Romance?
Shocking exclusive as to why Draco Malfoy may have unexpectedly dropped his opposition to brainy beauty Granger's bid to give vicious werewolves clemency.
Hermione gave a loud snort, and turned to stare at Harry, hands on hips while he tried to fight his smirk at the worried look on Ron's face as he hurried over. Hermione however seemed to be thinking along more logical lines as she, distinctly unimpressed with Harry's theatrics, raised an eyebrow coolly at him.
"Let me guess, was this…."
"Rita Skeeter," Harry chuckled. "Who else? She was the one after all, who suggested just last week that you and Ron were already having marriage counselling."
Ron's worried face was instantly replaced with a look of disgust.
"Give me this crap." He snatched the magazine off the table, and flicked it open to the relevant page, Hermione putting an arm around his waist as she peered over his shoulder at the slanderous junk Rita had yet again written about their love lives. He and Hermione began to take turns reading, punctuated by a snort or a giggle as the claims grew more and more tenuous. Hermione tut-tutted as she finished reading, snatched the magazine off Ron's grip and gave him a reprimanding shove for his earlier rudeness. Harry rolled his eyes to heaven. The pair of them couldn't keep their hands off each other, whether it was heated snogging, snuggling, or shoulder-barging.
"An abstention? Really? She turns a mere abstention in the face of public family opposition into a declaration of love?" Hermione snorted, tossing the copy of Witch Weekly straight into the freshly-ignited fire. "Rita really has lost it. That's even more ridiculous than the time she alleged in her biography that Dumbledore had assaulted multiple students in his office as Headmaster."
Ron let out a bark of laughter. "She didn't! Frankly, mate, I wonder why you even bothered to read and believe that stupid cow's account of Dumbledore."
Harry held up his hands in surrender.
"How was I supposed to feel?" he protested, knowing he was fighting a losing battle, what with Hermione on her husband's side. Even now, memories of Christmas 1997 made him feel colder than just about any other time.
"Oh, come off it, Harry," Hermione interrupted. "In addition, she seemed to decide it was time to bring back the stupid 'Golden Love Triangle' theory, mentioning that you, Harry, kissed me on the cheek when I got that promotion last October." Harry rolled his eyes yet again as he leaned forwards.
"You deserved the promotion Hermione," he said with quiet pride. "On the other hand Ron…" here, he injected a humorous tone into his voice as his eyes flashed with mirth, "Have you booked the tickets for next year's World Cup in Cairo?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Because the thing we all really need is for Bulgaria to get into the finals while we're watching, and it'll be Fourth Year all over again." Harry put on a shrill, poor imitation of Rita Skeeter. "What is Miss Granger doing on this side of the camp? Is she heading off to the Bulgaria tent to reunite with her old flame, that Bulgarian Bonbon Viktor Krum? Hey!" He ducked suddenly as Ron's butter knife whizzed over his head menacingly, followed by the distinctive sound of flesh smacking against flesh.
"Ron! Control yourself!"
"I will! As soon as that git stops me stirring me up, that is."
"Oh, for goodness sake, this is Harry's house. We are his guests, and it's only appropriate to treat his possessions with care and…"
"Which is something you still haven't taught me," Ron finished, pulling Hermione into a kiss. She offered little resistance. Harry let out a small cough behind them as, yet again, they violated their own policy of 'not in front of Harry.' It was when Ron deepened the kiss and one of his hands dipped below a height Harry was comfortable with that the Chosen One decided to make his presence known.
"Hem, hem."
They jumped and broke apart, arms still around each other and as flushed as ever. Harry had long suspected that their specific remedy to each bickering session occurred after he'd gone to bed. He raised an eyebrow at them, and anticipated a rejoinder from Hermione. But this time it was Ron who spoke up first, very reluctantly dropping his arms.
"Now I know that you spend too much time with my sister. Way too much time, if you know what I mean."
Harry turned away, but he made sure his next words were heard by Ron. Even now, nearly a month on from his best friends' marriage, and four years after he'd begun dating Ginny, he knew Molly Weasley's old rules regarding bedrooms would be vigorously enforced.
"Hypocrite. I bet you anything, Ron, that Molly would whip your hide if you were going to be sharing your old bedroom, getting l-"
"Speaking of which," Hermione cut across him, "When's Ginny going to be joining us at the Burrow?"
"Should be early tomorrow morning," Harry said. "That means," he turned to give Ron a wink, "five days until they clash with the Cannons. My girlfriend's team is going to make mincemeat of yours…"
"Stop," Ron groaned. "I'm sorry I threw your own butter knife at you, okay?"
Hermione laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Just do as he says," she pleaded. "Otherwise he'll be moaning about Quidditch 24/7 when I really want to continue celebrating the passing of my bill."
As was probably her intention, Ron's face lost its woebegone look, and Harry noticed he was unable to keep the slight lazy smile off his face, clearly lost in thoughts of the two days of domestic bliss he'd had. It was time to bring him down a peg or two.
"I know what you're thinking Ron," he called out to interrupt Ron's randy reminiscences. "And frankly, I find it disgusting. If you…."
"Harry," Hermione interrupted him in a conciliatory tone, but her lips quivered slightly in amusement, "I understand that you and Ginny can't see each other very often, what with your Auror work and her Quidditch career, but you must give allowances. We, after all are now-"
"I know," Harry sighed, waving his hand. "I was only the best man, after all. But I suggest you get that dopey smile off Ron's face, because if he can't keep his secrets to himself, then I have every right to spread mine." He raised his voice. "Such as the Holyhead Harpies' post-match celebrations, for instance."
Ron lost almost all colour in his cheeks. "No…you wouldn't." He turned desperately to look to Hermione for support, but she was too busy trying to stifle her laughter at his shell shocked face, up against Harry's triumphant one. Grumbling, he folded his arms against his chest and frowned in a manner strikingly similar to his wife's when she was hacked off.
"What?" he complained as Hermione's laughter grew louder. "It's none of his business anyway, what with us…"
"Hey, it's my house, you prat! The Chosen One's house, I'll have you know. Ow!"
Hermione smacked Harry with The Guardian, promptly putting an end to any ideas of him playing the fame card as Ron retaliated.
"And my brother knows a Hungarian Horntail with a score to settle. So I suggest, Potter, that you mind your own bloody business."
Hermione sighed.
"And you, Harry, always complain about Ron and I acting like an old married couple? Just look at you two!"
"I'll be proven right. Just give me time," Harry muttered, before Hermione's leg swung forwards threateningly. Concluding now was a good time to end the shenanigans before one of them (the most likely candidate was Hermione) murdered him, he pointed at the newspaper twisted in Hermione's hand.
"Any news of note?"
"Hmmm? Oh, nothing much, just that the Mayor's been re-elected. Here…" She folded out the newspaper's front page as Harry looked at the headline.
MAYOR DAVID YATES CREDITED WITH REDUCTION IN TERRORISM WITH MORE METROPOLITAN POLICE; RECORD THIRD TERM SECURED.
Labour Party officials were watching with excitement as the initial exit polling for Thursday's vote showed the party in control of the London Assembly, with incumbent Mayor David Yates' campaign to crack down on violent crime proving a hit for Londoners.
Mr. Yates, 47, was first elected in 1994 after securing the party's nomination for the job, vowing to overhaul London's increasingly dilapidated Underground rolling stock, clean up the River Thames, and lower unemployment east of the City. He won the greatest margin of any London mayor, promptly consolidating this to enact radical change. However, this quickly led to infighting with the Conservative Government, and his poll numbers faltered.
A set of tragedies then proceeded to blunt his poll numbers and reputation further. A leak of river water through an Underground Tunnel on the morning of June 15th 1996, resulted in severe damage to Westminster Station and the tragic deaths of five commuters. Yates apologized for what appeared to be shoddy construction, but that wasn't enough. The Mayor, the Greater London Authority and the network operator were hauled before a Royal Commission, but no sufficient explanation to the leak was found. Next, pressure was put on Yates after massive power outages and mysteriously downed pylons plagued the city day-in, day out through the rest of 1996 and into 1997.
A set of grisly murders, including the notorious case of Amelia Bones, who was trapped in a room locked from the inside, rattled the city through 1996, and Yates and his long-standing political opponent, the Prime Minister, jointly delivered on a promise to increase Metropolitan Police numbers by 15% and introduce night community patrols. But the spate of crime continued. Three officers were found dead during one of these patrols, with no evidence of any poisoning, knife, or gunshot wounds, although the police to this day still treat this case as suspected homicide.
The Brockdale Bridge disaster near Ebbsfleet frayed confidence in the Greater London Authority, whose mettle had been tested after its inadequate response to the West Country Hurricane, which left three dead, more than a hundred seriously injured, and more than 5000 homes destroyed.
The bridge, which had only been opened in 1987, snapped clean in two during rush-hour, sending twelve cars into the murky water of the River Thames. Two drowned, with the Mayor paying tribute to the efforts of the Fire Service, police and the RAF, which combined pulled fifteen survivors from a watery grave. In contrast to the Prime Minister's muted response, the Mayor did earn plaudits for personally attending the funerals of the victims, saying it would be the last time Londoners would lose lives due to faulty construction.
However, if there is one image associated with the Mayoralty of David Yates, it is of the calm, collected and reassuring message he delivered to Londoners and the world following the notorious attack on the Millennium Bridge in broad daylight on June 24th 1996. The attack, which pulverized the structure, consisted of at least seven sequenced blasts that destroyed the bridge's support columns and turned the middle section of the bridge, a proud landmark of London, into a crumbling heap of rubble. There were multiple serious injuries as debris fell onto the pedestrian underpasses on each side. Miraculously, the toll this time was surprisingly light, with dozens running away from the collapsing middle section to safety at each bank. Rescue operations began minutes later, with multiple survivors fished from the Thames even as what remained of the bridge crumbled further, directly threatening the rescuers' lives.
Yates cancelled his holiday plans and drove directly to the disaster area in an act of solidarity. Describing London as "scared, confused and desperate for answers," the Mayor called for calm and paid tribute to the heroism of emergency services and volunteers. With international praise of his handling of the disaster, Yates' approval rating rose above 50% for the first time since January 1995, where it consistently remained for the rest of his first term. CCTV footage taken before the collapse ultimately revealed nothing, and no traces of explosives were found at the site. The attack, which was thought to be possibly linked to Spanish armed radical group ETA or the Jihadist cell Al-Hiraza, was followed by more tragedies over the next two years, with suspicious gas leaks killing more Londoners, including some in their homes. Yates upped the pressure, putting more police onto the streets and vowing to bring terrorists to justice. An election, called early in 1997, confirmed Londoners' faith in Yates' ability to manage the embattled city.
Yates' hardline stance finally seemed to begin paying dividends, with a sharp drop-off in crime reported by the Metropolitan Police in the April-June 1998 quarter. With no further mass-tragedies in two years, the city was able to restore its battered image to the international community, rebuilding the Millennium Bridge in time for the city's millennium celebrations. Finally, Yates' pet projects he had promised back in 1994 could be achieved.
Yates, his legacy secure, was able to head off Conservative challenger Mike Newell with ease this week, with two-party exit polling indicating a vote of 57.4% to the incumbent, up 6.9% from the last election.
PICTURED: London Mayor David Yates in front of the London Assembly. His calm, collected, but tough response to the tragedies of 1996 earned him worldwide praise.
"Wow," Ron breathed. "All of this, and the Muggles had no idea how this all happened. Do any of them know?"
"Yes," Hermione replied, closing the newspaper and sighing as she downed the rest of her coffee. "The Minister of Magic is obliged to brief the Prime Minister on significant occurrences in our world, but of course, they can't tell anyone else. I mean, who would believe them?" Ron and Harry chuckled.
"So then…" Harry raised his glass of wine, interrupting the conversation. "A toast to Remus John Lupin, and to Lupin's Law." Their glasses clinked with his as they downed their first mouthful; Harry felt his mouth burn.
"Come on then, seconds," he demanded. "What are we waiting for? It's not even nine o'clock, and we've still got many more glasses to go…"
...
"So what was it that you wanted to tell us?" Ron queried some time later when they had all drunk their fill and had happily sprawled out on the moth-eaten couch in front of the roaring fire. Harry was sitting back peacefully on the left-hand side of the couch. Ron was situated on the right hand-side, with Hermione snuggled up beside him, lying her head on Ron's left shoulder. Both had finished their drinks, and as a consequence had clearly begun to slip into what Harry called cuddle o'clock.
Harry sighed unhappily. He knew he'd have to tell them soon, and such a horrible, targeted crime was only going to ensure Ron entered a frenzied state of overprotectiveness of Hermione.
"Well," he began, "it's quite horrible news actually." Hermione lifted her head off Ron's shoulder to listen intently, eyes full of concern.
"One of the DA fighters is in St. Mungo's. She- she was tortured." Harry swallowed uneasily as Ron's knuckles turned white. This was not going to elicit a good reaction from him.
"She's been able to tell us that it was a man wearing a Death Eater mask. There was a knife involved."
As Harry had expected, Ron instinctively grabbed Hermione's left forearm, where, even now, Bellatrix's sickening branding was clearly visible. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it reassuringly, before giving Harry a small nod to continue. But before Harry could begin to reassure them that the problem was being dealt with, Ron spoke up, his facial expression stony.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you shouldn't have to come rushing into the office when it's your first Easter together!" Harry shot back, feeling fired up. Why did he always have to stop his best friends from piling on too much and completely neglecting each other for his sake? "After seven years of me dragging you around while evading Voldemort, nearly getting all of you killed about fifty times over, you deserve this! And don't you dare contradict me on that you two," he added as both Ron and Hermione opened their mouths to object "because Kingsley gave you, Ron, time off. I think he's more of a softie than he lets on. And you, Hermione, can't do anything to help in this case, aside from ignoring these threats and ensuring those werewolves and elves get the care they deserve."
"Well, that should be dead easy," Ron chuckled, apparently deciding to put his fears to rest for the moment under Harry's gaze and instead turning to his wife. "I mean, if you could sign me up to SPEW Hermione, passing the next law should be a cup of tea." Harry flinched as rather unexpectedly, there was another outbreak of marital violence; Hermione had given Ron's face an almighty wallop with a cushion. "Yes, and a great treasurer you were, stuffing your face full with the food they sweated over to make," she sniffled indignantly. "I distinctly remember that you compared my knitting to wooly bladders." Harry let out a bark of laughter; he'd only had to put up with such irritating behavior from the pair of them for years. Sometimes, he forgot that they were successful, married young adults, instead of argumentative teenagers in Hogwarts robes.
"Well," Ron paused, smirking slightly, "some tactics go down better with elves, don't they?" He dipped his head to press his lips to her temple. Harry turned away to stare into the firelight as once again, the pair seemed to forget his presence. Absent-mindedly rubbing his left hand, the one Umbridge had had him repeatedly cut open more than five years ago, Harry reflected on how much their shared experiences had physically left marks. There was a giant purple bruise directly over his heart, product of the second and hopefully last Killing Curse that would ever hit him. Ron, now staring at Hermione with such tenderness that Harry wanted to bolt and lock the door behind them, had the tell-tale pale marks wrapping around his arms and most of his upper body- a product of that night of tragedy in the Ministry. Hermione, now gently tracing those very same scars, had many: Dolohov's long, pale line that had nearly ripped her internal organs in two, various marks all over her face and back from the chandelier and Bellatrix's curses at Malfoy Manor, the one on her throat, plus, of course, the Mudblood scar. It was a miracle that Ron and Hermione had collectively kept it hidden from him until after the Battle- probably to assuage his guilt over Dobby, he'd concluded. Once again, Harry realized how much his two best friends had put aside- purely for him. In his view, they were the reason Voldemort had been defeated, because skill, mothers' sacrifices and wands could only go so far.
As if reading his mind, Hermione removed one arm from Ron's grip to pull Harry closer to the middle of the couch. "It's only until tomorrow," she said gently. "You'll always have an opportunity to annoy Ron then." Harry turned around to look at them. "I wasn't thinking about that, honestly," he replied. "I was just thinking about Hogwarts. How you two wouldn't shut up, and how I nearly begun slitting my wrists in Sixth Year to resist abducting both of you, locking you both in the Room of Requirement, and letting you two spill it." Hermione opened her mouth in protest, while Ron looked thoroughly perplexed.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, I was there in Herbology that day. I saw how both of you reacted to the Slug Club Christmas party popping up." Both still looked surprised at how much Harry recalled of that lesson and he rolled his eyes. Clearly, they'd completely forgotten at the time he was witnessing it all.
"At the time," he continued, "I wanted to beat Ron's brains out with a Bludger about stuffing up a perfect opportunity. But given you two can't keep your hands off each other unless there's a screaming portrait to keep you in check, I'm now glad you two didn't get it together then. Even if I had to suffer McLaggen and Lavender from the sidelines."
"I ran into McLaggen the other day," Ron casually added. "At Quality Quidditch supplies." Hermione's mouth dropped open again. Clearly she was either shocked that Ron could now mention his old Quidditch nemesis so casually, or else she'd concluded Ron's sexuality had suddenly shifted without her knowing.
"How was he?" Harry asked. "Buying a Cleansweep Thirteen and playing pro? You've got to be kidding me." The thought of Cormac McLaggen overriding the captain and dictating another team's strategy was a horrifying prospect. And if he and Ginny ever crossed flightpaths, Harry knew that he was asking to be thrown off his broom after Sixth Year- even if he had fought valiantly in the Battle of Hogwarts.
"Nah, just browsing. I think he's still looking for a new career after that fiasco of a match." Ron's glee at this, even after so long, was obvious. Given Gryffindor had lost and he'd ended up with a cracked skull, Harry's amusement at that particular game, by contrast, was in short supply.
"Well, that's fortunate," Hermione sighed. "Like I said, he made Grawp look like a gentleman. At least the worst I had to put up with him was Hermy."
"Go on then," Harry said, grinning. "What did he call you at Slughorn's?"
"'Mione."
"'Mione?" Harry wrinkled his nose as Ron made a series of mysterious choking noises behind his raised fist. "No wonder you ditched him after five seconds." He raised the glass to his lips, drinking the last of the wine. Feeling a bit too emboldened for his own good, he thrust the empty glass into the air. "To Won-Won and 'Mione!" He failed to catch their frozen lips and stony looks, nor the single evil glance and nod they gave each other before he was tackled backwards off the couch, landing hard on the wooden floor.
"Ow!"
"You know you deserved it," came an indignant sniff.
"She's right you know," Ron chimed in, finally taking pity on the inebriated and bedraggled Harry and dragging him back into a sitting position on the couch. Harry shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness, before continuing.
"So, Hermione, are the rumours I've been hearing in the Auror Department true?" he asked, determined both to be distracted from the grisly crime he'd been working on, but also finding a topic which Ron and Hermione wouldn't kill him for raising.
Hermione smiled coyly. "Indeed they are. It seems Justin and Susan have decided to tie the knot. In my Department, no-one's been able to work because of the usual chit-chat. Except, of course, myself and Luna," she added haughtily.
"How did you find out?"
"Aberforth told me- he was in for a hearing. He's yet again being investigated by the Wizengamot. Something along the lines of a general lack of hygiene in the Hog's Head bar, so he's letting Hannah take charge of things in the interim." Hermione tailed off with a general expression of nausea, but her lips twitched very slightly.
Ron chuckled.
"Aberforth won't recognize the bar once Hannah's done with it. I bet you anything it'll be spotless for the inspectors, whenever they arrive."
"True," Hermione replied. "But it's also for Susan and Justin's engagement party next Tuesday evening. I briefly popped into the Hog's Head yesterday, and Hannah said all you had been invited. Half the DA's turning up."
"How come we never heard of this?" Ron asked. "I mean, sure, we're working our arses off, but that still doesn't stop them from owling us, or sending a Patronus…"
Hermione raised an eyebrow, sighing at Ron's ignorance.
"If you two had actually kept your DA Galleons instead of, I don't know, misplacing them, you would have known already this afternoon that you were invited. That's why Hannah had to tell me personally that you two were invited."
"Blimey, the things I learn," Ron muttered. "Next thing Harry, I'll have found out that my wife's Disapparated to Shanghai to liberate the elves there."
Hermione laughed, in spite of her effort to project an irritated demeanour.
"So then," she said lightly, turning to Harry. "Guess who the most recent regular patron of the Hog's Head is?"
"Seamus?" Harry replied. Somehow, he didn't think that was case- the answer was probably an unexpected candidate.
"Luna?" Ron piped up. "Luna with Neville?" Harry snorted. Of all the people visiting the Hog's Head, Luna Lovegood would have to be the most unlikely- even if she had been dating the more drink-happy Neville for nearly three years now. But Hermione was nodding her head.
"Correct, Ronald, partially. But not Luna. Just Neville."
"Sorry?"
"Oh, for goodness sake- it's obvious. They haven't been seen in public together for many months. Frankly, I think Neville might instead just have a tiny little crush on a certain barmaid who once sat to next to him in Herbology."
Harry's mouth fell open stupidly, as Ron choked- Hermione had to thump him on the back. Once he had finally recovered, still beetroot-coloured, he managed to splutter out a reply.
'But…I thought…Neville…Luna…would be together. We all did!"
"Yes," Hermione sighed sympathetically, clearly deciding to take pity on Ron's disbelief at this news. "Yes. All three of us did. But sometimes, things in life aren't as clear-cut as we'd all believe."
"Tell me about it," Harry sighed. "If Ron, you git, had just asked Hermione to the Yule Ball, I could have been spared all this." He waved his hand dramatically. But Ron now looked indignant at having been proven wrong. It was just like last week, when only for the fourth time ever, Hermione had beaten him at chess.
"Forget me and Hermione! Why didn't that effing git tell us?"
"Hypocrite," Harry shot back. "You might have been too bloody transparent by far Ron, but you definitely don't seem to practice what you preach. Or is he now a changed man, Hermione?"
Hermione flushed very slightly. "I wouldn't know Harry. Despite many years of reflection, I haven't decided that myself," she finished, wriggling around to give Ron a peck on the cheek before looking down at her watch.
"Oh, goodness, it's nearly midnight. Your mum will kill us if we're much longer." But Ron wasn't in a hurry, and neither was Harry, who knew he'd have a slight hangover in a few hours' time.
"Come off it," Ron muttered, pulling Hermione back down as she rose to begin grabbing her scarf, hat and cloak. "As long as we're there by dawn, she won't care. Besides, we know the drill, don't we Harry? Practiced it a few hundred times back in the day, didn't we?"
"Agreed," Harry replied, grinning. "Walk out the front door, cross to the park, hide behind a tree, link hands, then Destination, Determination and Deliberation. And getting back to the previous topic, Neville did tell us about when Trevor went missing last week when up at Hogwarts, didn't he?"
"Oh, yeah. I bet ol' Trevor was pleased to be freed from his owner at last."
"Neville was pleased too," Harry said, stifling a chuckle. "Order of Merlin, First Class, an up-and-coming Auror, Witch Weekly's most eligible bachelor, and the poor bloke still had a disobedient toad?"
"Reminds me of our first train-ride in," Hermione whispered, staring into the fire. "Remember?"
"Oh yeah," Harry replied. "Ron had dirt on his nose, I can remember that much. And if my sources are correct, you had dirt on your nose when you proposed to Hermione." Ron's ears rapidly turned scarlet as Hermione let out a stifled, conspiratorial chuckle in Harry's direction. Ron whipped around to face her, mortified.
"I thought I told you to never discuss that with anyone!"
"Come off it." Harry rolled his eyes. "There aren't any secrets hidden between us. And if there are, I'd like to hear them now. Yes Hermione?" Hermione's hand had shot into the air as if she was answering a question in class. But she suddenly looked unsure of herself.
"Oh, um, well, it's sort of stupid, but I sort of was fascinated by toads when I was five."
Harry whistled. "That figures," he said. "What with you barging into our compartment and asking 'Has anyone seen a toad?'" Hermione swatted him yet again. But Ron was now looking thoughtful. "Toads. Dirt on my nose. Where have I heard that before?" he whispered to himself. However Harry and Hermione, both now glaring indignantly at each other, weren't listening.
"Yes, Harry. I even persuaded Mum and Dad to take me to a park in Croydon to see if I could find them."
Ron spun around suddenly. "Sorry?"
"You heard me. I searched for them all over the park- including asking two boys who were building a sandcastle if they'd-" She stopped, staring at something Harry couldn't see. Ron shuffled round to face her.
"That sounds familiar," he said slowly. "I was there with Dad after we'd gone shopping to get Bill and Charlie new Hogwarts gear, and I remember a little bossy-pants- must have been half my height- informing me I had dirt on my nose. 'Right there.'
Comprehension struck both of them.
"Oh, my!" she whispered, eyes beginning to sparkle as she embraced Ron tightly.
Harry frowned in puzzlement. "Sorry, what have I been missing?"
But Ron and Hermione were still too focused on something that was beyond his grasp, currently, as she broke away and grabbed Ron's arm, looking thoroughly overwhelmed.
"Weren't you making a sandcastle?"
"That's right, I was," Ron whispered back. "No….wait, another boy was building one when I arrived. Rather sloppily, I might add."
A vague memory began to stir deep within Harry, from a time when he had no friends, from just before he'd begun primary school. It had been the first time he'd ever had a conversation with anyone his age. Who were those children? He struggled to remember the details as Ron continued his reminiscing.
"You- you had a book, didn't you? Toads and frogs?"
"Yes I did! Wasn't that the first of our arguments over whether books were fun or not?"
"And I remember some fat dolt bullying the other boy who was with us, remember?"
Harry's head snapped up. In a rush, images were flooding his brain. The boy with red hair who'd approached him at a park, hadn't run away and had instead helped him build a castle, a bossy posh little girl who'd arrived, asking about toads, her rabbiting on about books, her concern he'd never had any, them both glaring at his cousin, their faces full of concern as he was taken away from the first children that had cared at all by his uncle…..
His heart began to pound faster. Surely not….
"Oi, poo-face," he said aloud to himself. Ron and Hermione turned to stare at him.
"What in the name of Merlin's…"
"You heard me. Dudley's favourite insult. Ever heard of it?" He tried to keep his voice steady as he stared pleadingly back at them, hoping against hope. He'd never dwelt on that memory again since boarding the Hogwarts Express, but before then he'd longed to know who those children had been, even if had always been a lost cause with Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley making it collectively impossible. Now, his longest childhood mystery might just be at an end…
Hermione's eyes widened.
"You should have told us," she whispered, tears now beginning to overflow. "You should have told us you had no parents." At this, she turned and buried her face into Ron's shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and started stroking her hair, while staring back at Harry.
"Damn it," he said slowly. "We'd asked you what your name was. Five seconds more and I'd have known that famous Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, had just built a sandcastle with me. Your cousin can go and shove a Nimbus up his-"
Harry let out a sigh. As horrible as his cousin had been to him, it was irrelevant. The small shoot of positive change that Harry had spotted just before the Dursleys left Number Four, Privet Drive had bloomed.
"It doesn't matter anymore, what he did." A small smile crept onto his face. "It seems nearly getting kissed by Dementors, and me then saving him, turned him around. He quit smoking last year, and I do now occasionally write letters to him. He last said that he was now in training to become a youth worker, and now has a girlfriend." Ron grumbled to himself at that, clearly still believing that that wasn't enough to make up for a lifetime of cruelty- much like he'd been after Harry had explained Snape's motives to him. But Hermione sniffed, raised her head off Ron's shoulder, and smiled at Harry with an expression of joy that even exceeded that when she'd passed Lupin's Law earlier that week.
Harry had thought until just a minute beforehand that half his life had included his two best friends. He was wrong, yet again. Just like when he'd found out he was a wizard, so he'd found out that Ron and Hermione had crossed his path much earlier, by the most tenuously linked strokes of fate, and they had played an even bigger role in his life than he'd credited them for.
"You two. It was always you two," Hermione whispered happily, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. She pulled one arm away from Ron, still stroking her hair, to wrap it around Harry, who closed his eyes and surrendered to the surge of emotions passing through all of them.
Somewhere in the house, a grandfather clock began to chime midnight.
"Happy Easter," Hermione whispered from his right as she tightened her grip on Harry, sandwiching the three of them together. None of them needed to say anything, warmed not so much by the radiant fire, but by each other's' presence after what was for Harry one of the most difficult days of the week.