2. At the Grangers'
Although Hermione's parents were Muggles, they were quite definitely some of the nicest people Harry knew. They didn't have a problem with the fact that their daughter, in the eyes of most people, was 'abnormal', nor with the magical world that she lived in. Unlike Harry's relations, they didn't forbid Hermione to study - in fact they supported her. Harry had even seen the two of them in Diagon Alley, buying Hermione's new school books in Flourish & Blotts.
The disadvantage of it all was that Harry had no choice but to do the rest of his homework. And so that afternoon he found himself sitting on the Grangers' terrace with a pile of school books in front of his nose and a feather quill in his hand. Hermione was sitting next to him and reading some heavy old tome, the very sight of which made Harry feel drowsy, while Harriet Granger served them tea and scones.
"I baked them for you today - I hope you like the blueberry filling, Harry. I made a cake as well - you can take that to the Weasleys tomorrow as a present. It's so kind of them to take you both to the station. Ian has two nice bottles of wine as well, and." She paused, wandering what else she could send as a little present. Harry smiled to himself. Mrs. Granger reminded him very much of Ron's mother, Molly Weasley. Both had the same bustle about them. But unlike Mrs. Weasley, Harriet had a rather deep and pleasant voice.
Once the teacups were full, each with a generous helping of sugar - were the Grangers trying to ensure a steady supply of customers in their practice? - Harriet left them to themselves. Listlessly Harry noted down the ingredients and dosage for a potion against fire. He hadn't the faintest idea what he would ever use it for. He was just about to push aside the finished page when Hermione placed her hand on it, holding it down. "You've forgotten the formula," she said.
"Formula?" Harry stared at his notes.
"Yes, the words you have to say when you drink it. "Fire, as I found you, you shall disappear like the dew into the grass, like the dead man into his grave". That's written there too." She pointed at the Herbology book.
"Yes, but it does say it's not really proven whether or not the formula has any effect on the potion," he protested. "So I don't have to copy it." Hermione brushed this aside. "Write it down and then add that paragraph about its effect not being proven, and then you're done."
Harry looked reluctantly at the text. More writing.
"I don't want to compete with you for the top marks" he said, shutting the book. "Besides, Professor Sprout would think I'd copied your homework." He winked at her and reached for the Charms textbook. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I can't imagine how you can be so lazy and still get through all your exams," she grumbled. "Not to mention Ron."
She plunged back into her book and Harry chose not to continue the conversation. The annoying thing about Hermione's scolding was that she really was capable of making him feel guilty. Sighing, he picked up the Herbology textbook, wrote down the formula and explained that its effect was not proven. He masterfully ignored the triumphant grin that Hermione was hiding behind her book.
***
That evening, a business friend of the Grangers came to visit - Vincent Marvers, who looked about forty but already had snow-white hair. He fell into an animated conversation with Hermione's father, while Hermione and Harry helped Mrs. Granger in the kitchen. For Harry this was a matter of course. Living with the Dursleys, he was forced to do the housework, but here he was lending a hand out of choice, and was rewarded with a grateful smile from Mrs. Granger.
"I wish more men would help in the house," she grinned, handing him the plates and cutlery. "The only time I catch Ian in here is when there's a problem with the drain. or when he wants to fiddle around with the dishwasher. You should have seen the mess in here afterwards. it would be so wonderful to be able to do magic instead of spending half the day scrubbing the walls and floors. - Oh Harry, wait a second, I've forgotten the serviettes."
Together, Hermione and Harry carried out the plates and cutlery and set the table. Since the weather was warm they were eating on the terrace. Harry enjoyed the fact that he was accepted without question as a member of the Granger family and involved in all their activities. He could say without hesitation that he felt very comfortable with Hermione's family.
When they sat down at the table and started their meal, Marvers asked about Harry, and which school Hermione was attending. The Grangers answered without any embarrassment. Obviously, they didn't let slip anything that the Muggle world was not supposed to know about, but they told him that their daughter was at school in Scotland and that she liked it very much. They didn't need to lie about Hermione's grades, or about the fact that Harry was a school-friend who was spending one day of his holiday with them.
A roguish grin formed on Marver's lips. "He's staying the night, then? So I can assume he's more than just a school-friend?"
Harry looked up from his steak in astonishment at this assumption, while Hermione tossed back her hair in her usual way and glared disapprovingly at her father's friend. "That's right, he's my best friend," she said sharply.
At first Marvers looked surprised, and Harry was rather afraid he would laugh at Hermione's behaviour, although his own could hardly be called better in view of his last remark, but then he began to chuckle to himself. "Glad we've settled that one," he said then, winked at them and took a second helping.
After they had eaten a delicious dessert - Harriet's cherry gateau - the Grangers started to talk about dentistry with their guest. Hermione excused herself, stood up and nodded to Harry. Together they wandered out into the garden.
"They can talk about the latest drill prices and filling techniques without us." She grinned. "Not the most interesting of topics. Almost as bad as history with Professor Binns."
Harry laughed softly, letting Hermione lead him through the darkened garden. The Grangers owned quite a lot of land and seemed to have a taste for luxury. The only grass to be seen was on the pathways between flowerbeds full of bushes and shrubs. Some of the plants were over three meters high and formed alcoves which themselves looked like miniature gardens. In one alcove there was a large pond with a water feature, in the next some magnificent rose bushes and in a third a small well surrounded by stones. With a sigh, Hermione sank down onto a stone bench. She folded her arms behind her head and stared into the faintly glowing night sky. "Here we'll be out of earshot, and Marvers won't pick up anything he shouldn't."
Harry laid face downwards on the other stone bench and stretched luxuriously. "Like the idea that I could be more than just a school-friend to you?" he joked, and immediately regretted his words. Why on earth had he said that? It was lucky the moon wasn't shining brightly enough to reveal that he was blushing.
Hermione laughed softly and turned her head towards him. "Well, how much more would you like to be?" Harry gave an exclamation of surprise which made her laugh even more. She rolled off her bench and squatted in front of him on the grass, looking at him in amusement. She laid her hands on the edge of his bench and rested her head on them. Harry looked at her in surprise. Was it a serious question? Did she want a serious answer?
"Well. I." he muttered and noticed that his voice was hoarse. Hermione put her head on one side and looked at him intently. How could he answer without hurting her feelings, if she was serious, or making himself look stupid, if she was joking? As she had said earlier at the dinner table, she was his best friend. There was no other girl in the world who answered to that description. Hermione was the only one who understood him without words, who knew what he was thinking better than anyone else and who was always there for him. And the same applied to him. He had come to know Hermione well - very well. And whenever necessary he had protected her, and would continue to do so in the future. This wasn't something he wanted to risk with any stupid answer.
"I want to be what you need," he said, finally finding the right words to express what he felt.
Hermione blinked. The mischievous look had gone from her face and she now looked very serious. Harry started to worry that he'd said the wrong thing after all, but then she reached out and took off his glasses. "All these years and I've never looked at them so closely," she said softly, looking searchingly into his eyes. "They really are emerald-green."
"You can see that in this light?" he joked. Then he realised that the moon was now shining into his face. Of course she could see. but for him her eyes were still in the darkness.
"Move up a bit," she said, getting up. Harry obediently levered himself up on the bench and leant against a tree trunk behind him. Hermione sat down next to him. She still had his glasses in her hand and played with the side pieces, leaning her head against his shoulder. Harry felt increasingly warm and his heart beat loudly and nervously, but at the same time he enjoyed her closeness. And so for a while they simply sat there, close together, lost in their thoughts.
"How were the holidays?" Hermione asked, finally breaking the silence. "I mean.because of. Have you thought a lot about him?"
Harry knew she was talking about Sirius, and he sighed. "Much too often," he admitted. "I miss him so much."
Memories flooded into his mind and he felt for the mirror in his pocket. He would never be able to reach Sirius that way, but he couldn't bring himself to leave it behind. It had been the last present his godfather had given to him. And even though it was no use without him, he wouldn't go an inch without it.
A few moments later they heard muffled voices on the terrace and realised that Vincent Marvers was leaving. "I think we should go back," Hermione murmured. "Before Marvers develops his theory any further." She raised her head from Harry's shoulder and kissed him before giving him back his glasses. The kiss was short and gentle, but it was enough to make the tips of Harry's ears burn. Rather dazed, he put his glasses back on and saw that Hermione was already leaving the alcove. Hastily he scrambled off the bench and followed her.
Marvers was just about to leave. Hermione said goodbye to him swiftly and confidently, and next to her Harry felt like a self-conscious idiot who was either trying to hide something or who was, quite simply, an idiot. Luckily Marvers still seemed more occupied with various forms of dental treatment, and this time he dropped no embarrassing hints. Ian went with him to the door, while Harriet cleared the table. Without speaking, Harry and Hermione went to help her.
"You two must be tired," said Mrs. Granger, interpreting their silence. "I'll do the rest myself - you can go on up to your room." But both of them insisted on clearing up first. After Hermione had taken off the table cloth and Harry had pushed the garden chairs under the awning, Mrs. Granger shooed them upstairs without protest. She showed Harry the room while Hermione disappeared to the bathroom. The bedroom was very large, and besides Hermione's bed and the usual cupboards there was a pull-out couch in front of a TV set. Harriet had laid out cushions and blankets, and Harry's luggage was neatly arranged in the alcove between the wall and the couch. After wishing them goodnight, Mrs. Granger went back downstairs to tidy the kitchen.
"I'd love to use magic to clear up the kitchen for her," said Harry, as Hermione - toothbrush in mouth - rummaged in her cupboard for her nightclothes. "Can't the Ministry make an exception for good magic during the holidays?"
"It makes sense this way," mumbled Hermione, trying not to swallow the toothpaste. She hurried to the bathroom to rinse out her mouth and came back dressed in a long nightie. Harry grabbed his shorts and t-shirt and made his own way to the bathroom. He still had a peculiar feeling in his stomach that he couldn't quite place. He stood for a moment in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection. Was there anything different about him that would explain why Hermione was so attracted to him? The same tousled dark hair that he could never get under control. The same eyes. The same. well, the rest of his features had changed a little bit. But basically he was the same.
An idea stole up on him which put an immediate dampener on his excitement. Was she just acting out of sympathy, knowing how deeply Sirius' death had affected him?
This suspicion gave way to anxiety. He bent over the washbasin and splashed a few handfuls of water over his face. 'Not Hermione', he reproached himself. She wouldn't do that. Or would she? Or was he just worrying too much?
When he returned to the bedroom, all the lights were off apart from a small standard lamp next to his couch. Hermione was lying in bed, and for a moment he thought she was already asleep. He paused at the head of her bed and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead before almost shyly breathing a kiss onto her cheek. "Good night," he murmured.
"Good night, Harry," she answered softly, without opening her eyes. But she was smiling.
The couch was piled so high with cushions that Harry wondered if Mrs. Granger thought he was the princess on the pea. He arranged a few of them, switched off the light and sank down on the couch. For a while he silently stared into the darkness.
He was on the point of falling asleep when he heard short creak followed by soft footsteps. A moment later Hermione slipped under his blanket. Silently he put his arm around her and she snuggled up against him.
"At Hogwarts they'd kill us for this," Harry remarked.
Hermione laughed softly. "I'm afraid they would. that's why I'm here now."
He laughed too. Then he was silent for a moment before voicing his nagging thought. "Why me, Hermione?"
"What do you mean?" She yawned sleepily.
"Well. Because there's already a famous Quidditch player who's interested in you, and a friend who's insanely jealous of said famous Quidditch player."
"You don't even need to ask about Viktor." Again, she sounded amused. "You understood better than Ron that I wasn't serious about him. And as for Ron himself.he.he's jealous of you too. He's jealous of anyone he thinks of as a rival."
"Then he'll hate both of us now," Harry concluded. "I'm taking you away from him, you're taking me away from him."
"That's rubbish!" Hermione growled. "And he ought to know that."
Harry sighed. "I hope he will see it that way.But you still haven't answered my question."
"Do I have to?" she asked softly, burying her head deeper into his shirt. "Don't you already know?"
Harry started to think. His thoughts went back to the first year he'd spent at Hogwarts. He and Ron had thought that Hermione was a silly little swot, always poking her nose in where she wasn't wanted. But in the end she had helped them a lot, and with time she had become an irreplaceable friend. She had been the brains of the group, and Harry and Ron had supported her through the terrifying situations they had found themselves in. And at the same time, she had looked out for them. For the first time, Harry realised how often in the last four years she had thrown her arms around his neck in joy or concern. And how afraid he'd been when she was petrified by the basilisk. and how much it had bothered him when Hermione went to the Yule ball with Krum. Grinning, he remembered how he and Ron had gawped like a couple of idiots at Hermione, who had looked so different with her sleek hair and elegant ball-gown that at first they hadn't recognised her at all. Up till then, both of them had seen her only as their best friend and never as the very pretty girl that she was.
"The thing I do know is that I'm a complete idiot," Harry admitted now, smiling and pulling her closer. Hermione had always been there. And he had taken it for granted, not thought about it for a moment. He really was an idiot. How could he have thought that she was just feeling sorry for him?
She replied only with a brief giggle, and then they fell silent. In a few moments she was asleep. She lay in Harry's arms, breathing peacefully and softly, and he could still hardly believe it. That night, for the first time in months, he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
It must have been about four o'clock when a sudden gust of wind blew through the open window and rustled the curtains. For a few seconds it seemed as if an autumn storm were raging outside. Harry heard a long drawn- out howl which made him wake up with a start, and felt a dull, burning pain in his forehead. He pressed his hand against his scar groaned softly. The curtain thrashed the wall, glass broke somewhere outside and a dog began to bark loudly. Hermione sat up in alarm. "What's happened?"
Green lightning pierced the darkness of the night and a bone-chilling scream rang out in the silence.
Harry clenched his jaw and tried to concentrate on driving all thoughts from his head. In his panic the scar on his forehead seemed to throb like a second heartbeat, and through the pain he scarcely felt Hermione leaning over him to run her hand over his cheek. "You're burning up Harry." She gazed into his contorted face. "The scar," she murmured.
Harry gasped for air. "He's. killed again," he panted. "Dammit, he." He bit into the cushion to stop himself crying out as he was hit by a fresh wave of pain. Hermione's fingers dug anxiously into his shoulder but he hardly noticed. After a few seconds, which seemed like forever to him, the pain lessened and he could breathe again. Gasping, he sank back into the cushions, his hand still pressed against his forehead.
"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione's voice was shrill with panic.
He gesticulated with his free hand. "I'm alright now." He reached out for her and pulled her close as if to comfort her for what he'd just experienced. "It's.it.." He sat up and flicked on the lamp next to the couch. Warm light drove away the cold darkness. The curtain was still billowing gently but the howl of the storm had died away.
"He's killed someone," he muttered.
"Voldemort?" Hermione had sat up too and was staring at him in horror.
Harry nodded. "Yes. He.I...I didn't really see. Luckily."
"See?" She repeated. "Why should you see anything? You're supposed to close off your mind to him, Professor Snape was."
"Well you try doing that when you feel like you're being skewered," he hissed and rubbed his throbbing scar, not mentioning the fact that, admittedly through his own fault, he had learnt next to nothing from Snape. Harry threw back the blanket and switched on the television. Impatiently he flicked through the channels.
"Do you really think you'll find out anything there?" Hermione nodded at the TV screen.
"I want to be sure. There might be a report," Harry answered, selecting a news channel and sitting down again on the couch. Hermione sat down next to him.
"You can always feel it, when he kills..?"
Harry nodded dumbly.
"And sometimes you see it too?"
"I always see something." he said quietly. "Not much, but enough to." He broke off, shuddering. "I want it to stop."
Hermione looked at him. "It will only stop when Voldemort is dead."
"I know," he answered. "I hate that thought as much as I hate knowing when he murders someone."
She narrowed her eyes slightly and he sighed. His mind was reeling with all the events of the last school year and all the information he'd received. As yet only Dumbledore knew everything that he did. And when would he get the chance to speak to the headmaster? He looked at Hermione, wondering if he ought to confess everything to her. The whole truth, even though many details would be difficult to speak out loud. And even though he knew she would blame him for certain things he hadn't done due to his own stupidity, or rather his foolish stubbornness.
Would she still care about him if she knew everything? Harry sighed. It would be better for him to lay his cards openly on the table. There was no other person in the world with whom he could discuss this seriously. Not even Ron would understand everything. Nor did Harry want to burden his friend with the knowledge.
After a moment's hesitation, he took Hermione's hand and looked steadily into her eyes. "I have to tell you something.about me. And Voldemort.. And a few other things if you want to hear them."
Hermione swallowed, but nodded straight away. "Everything you have to tell," she said softly. And Harry, his hand still in hers, began to tell her.
***
It was almost six thirty in the morning and the sound of birdsong had been filling the room for quite some time. The morning sun slipped through the curtain onto the couch where the two of them were still sitting, Harry with his back against the wall and Hermione lying across his lap, both staring thoughtfully ahead of them. Absentmindedly, he let his fingers glide through her bushy hair as he watched the flickering pictures on the television screen. He had been afraid to speak about everything. Why he'd let himself be tricked by Voldemort and how Sirius had died as a result. The confrontation with Bellatrix Lestrange in the entrance hall of the Ministry. Voldemort, and then Dumbledore's appearance. Aunt Petunia. The Prophesy. Hermione had listened to everything without speaking. Every detail, without interrupting him. And she was still here next to him. She hadn't turned away, despite all his stupid mistakes. Despite the revelation that he must either murder or be murdered himself.
He felt a sense of relief that he hadn't felt for a very long time. He saw now that it had done him good to speak about everything, as if he'd been able to share something of the heavy burden he was carrying. He was alone no longer. And he was just enjoying the feeling when the television adverts were interrupted and a newsreader gave the report that Harry had been waiting for.
"We've just received news that the body of a young woman his been found near Little Whinging in Surrey."
Harry sat up so suddenly that Hermione was almost catapulted off the couch. She turned over hastily and stared like him at the TV screen. It showed a street filled with police cars and an ambulance. A street Harry knew very well. It was the street running parallel to Privet Drive.
".recovered the body at 6.07 this morning. The cause of death is as yet unknown. No evidence was found to indicate an attack or any form of physical abuse. As yet the police have no concrete leads. It is hoped that an autopsy will reveal more." The on-site reporter glanced at a stretcher, covered by a yellow cloth, which was being carried past her. "Police reports state that the victim is not a local. Her place of origin is unknown, and no papers were found on her. We would ask anyone who knows who she is to contact the local police station on the number shown below. All calls are confidential and the police will be grateful for any help you can provide."
A hastily-drawn sketch of the victim appeared on the screen. A few details were missing, but her identity was unmistakeable. Harry went pale with horror, and Hermione could hardly repress a shrill scream.
The unknown woman was Nymphadora Tonks.
Although Hermione's parents were Muggles, they were quite definitely some of the nicest people Harry knew. They didn't have a problem with the fact that their daughter, in the eyes of most people, was 'abnormal', nor with the magical world that she lived in. Unlike Harry's relations, they didn't forbid Hermione to study - in fact they supported her. Harry had even seen the two of them in Diagon Alley, buying Hermione's new school books in Flourish & Blotts.
The disadvantage of it all was that Harry had no choice but to do the rest of his homework. And so that afternoon he found himself sitting on the Grangers' terrace with a pile of school books in front of his nose and a feather quill in his hand. Hermione was sitting next to him and reading some heavy old tome, the very sight of which made Harry feel drowsy, while Harriet Granger served them tea and scones.
"I baked them for you today - I hope you like the blueberry filling, Harry. I made a cake as well - you can take that to the Weasleys tomorrow as a present. It's so kind of them to take you both to the station. Ian has two nice bottles of wine as well, and." She paused, wandering what else she could send as a little present. Harry smiled to himself. Mrs. Granger reminded him very much of Ron's mother, Molly Weasley. Both had the same bustle about them. But unlike Mrs. Weasley, Harriet had a rather deep and pleasant voice.
Once the teacups were full, each with a generous helping of sugar - were the Grangers trying to ensure a steady supply of customers in their practice? - Harriet left them to themselves. Listlessly Harry noted down the ingredients and dosage for a potion against fire. He hadn't the faintest idea what he would ever use it for. He was just about to push aside the finished page when Hermione placed her hand on it, holding it down. "You've forgotten the formula," she said.
"Formula?" Harry stared at his notes.
"Yes, the words you have to say when you drink it. "Fire, as I found you, you shall disappear like the dew into the grass, like the dead man into his grave". That's written there too." She pointed at the Herbology book.
"Yes, but it does say it's not really proven whether or not the formula has any effect on the potion," he protested. "So I don't have to copy it." Hermione brushed this aside. "Write it down and then add that paragraph about its effect not being proven, and then you're done."
Harry looked reluctantly at the text. More writing.
"I don't want to compete with you for the top marks" he said, shutting the book. "Besides, Professor Sprout would think I'd copied your homework." He winked at her and reached for the Charms textbook. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I can't imagine how you can be so lazy and still get through all your exams," she grumbled. "Not to mention Ron."
She plunged back into her book and Harry chose not to continue the conversation. The annoying thing about Hermione's scolding was that she really was capable of making him feel guilty. Sighing, he picked up the Herbology textbook, wrote down the formula and explained that its effect was not proven. He masterfully ignored the triumphant grin that Hermione was hiding behind her book.
***
That evening, a business friend of the Grangers came to visit - Vincent Marvers, who looked about forty but already had snow-white hair. He fell into an animated conversation with Hermione's father, while Hermione and Harry helped Mrs. Granger in the kitchen. For Harry this was a matter of course. Living with the Dursleys, he was forced to do the housework, but here he was lending a hand out of choice, and was rewarded with a grateful smile from Mrs. Granger.
"I wish more men would help in the house," she grinned, handing him the plates and cutlery. "The only time I catch Ian in here is when there's a problem with the drain. or when he wants to fiddle around with the dishwasher. You should have seen the mess in here afterwards. it would be so wonderful to be able to do magic instead of spending half the day scrubbing the walls and floors. - Oh Harry, wait a second, I've forgotten the serviettes."
Together, Hermione and Harry carried out the plates and cutlery and set the table. Since the weather was warm they were eating on the terrace. Harry enjoyed the fact that he was accepted without question as a member of the Granger family and involved in all their activities. He could say without hesitation that he felt very comfortable with Hermione's family.
When they sat down at the table and started their meal, Marvers asked about Harry, and which school Hermione was attending. The Grangers answered without any embarrassment. Obviously, they didn't let slip anything that the Muggle world was not supposed to know about, but they told him that their daughter was at school in Scotland and that she liked it very much. They didn't need to lie about Hermione's grades, or about the fact that Harry was a school-friend who was spending one day of his holiday with them.
A roguish grin formed on Marver's lips. "He's staying the night, then? So I can assume he's more than just a school-friend?"
Harry looked up from his steak in astonishment at this assumption, while Hermione tossed back her hair in her usual way and glared disapprovingly at her father's friend. "That's right, he's my best friend," she said sharply.
At first Marvers looked surprised, and Harry was rather afraid he would laugh at Hermione's behaviour, although his own could hardly be called better in view of his last remark, but then he began to chuckle to himself. "Glad we've settled that one," he said then, winked at them and took a second helping.
After they had eaten a delicious dessert - Harriet's cherry gateau - the Grangers started to talk about dentistry with their guest. Hermione excused herself, stood up and nodded to Harry. Together they wandered out into the garden.
"They can talk about the latest drill prices and filling techniques without us." She grinned. "Not the most interesting of topics. Almost as bad as history with Professor Binns."
Harry laughed softly, letting Hermione lead him through the darkened garden. The Grangers owned quite a lot of land and seemed to have a taste for luxury. The only grass to be seen was on the pathways between flowerbeds full of bushes and shrubs. Some of the plants were over three meters high and formed alcoves which themselves looked like miniature gardens. In one alcove there was a large pond with a water feature, in the next some magnificent rose bushes and in a third a small well surrounded by stones. With a sigh, Hermione sank down onto a stone bench. She folded her arms behind her head and stared into the faintly glowing night sky. "Here we'll be out of earshot, and Marvers won't pick up anything he shouldn't."
Harry laid face downwards on the other stone bench and stretched luxuriously. "Like the idea that I could be more than just a school-friend to you?" he joked, and immediately regretted his words. Why on earth had he said that? It was lucky the moon wasn't shining brightly enough to reveal that he was blushing.
Hermione laughed softly and turned her head towards him. "Well, how much more would you like to be?" Harry gave an exclamation of surprise which made her laugh even more. She rolled off her bench and squatted in front of him on the grass, looking at him in amusement. She laid her hands on the edge of his bench and rested her head on them. Harry looked at her in surprise. Was it a serious question? Did she want a serious answer?
"Well. I." he muttered and noticed that his voice was hoarse. Hermione put her head on one side and looked at him intently. How could he answer without hurting her feelings, if she was serious, or making himself look stupid, if she was joking? As she had said earlier at the dinner table, she was his best friend. There was no other girl in the world who answered to that description. Hermione was the only one who understood him without words, who knew what he was thinking better than anyone else and who was always there for him. And the same applied to him. He had come to know Hermione well - very well. And whenever necessary he had protected her, and would continue to do so in the future. This wasn't something he wanted to risk with any stupid answer.
"I want to be what you need," he said, finally finding the right words to express what he felt.
Hermione blinked. The mischievous look had gone from her face and she now looked very serious. Harry started to worry that he'd said the wrong thing after all, but then she reached out and took off his glasses. "All these years and I've never looked at them so closely," she said softly, looking searchingly into his eyes. "They really are emerald-green."
"You can see that in this light?" he joked. Then he realised that the moon was now shining into his face. Of course she could see. but for him her eyes were still in the darkness.
"Move up a bit," she said, getting up. Harry obediently levered himself up on the bench and leant against a tree trunk behind him. Hermione sat down next to him. She still had his glasses in her hand and played with the side pieces, leaning her head against his shoulder. Harry felt increasingly warm and his heart beat loudly and nervously, but at the same time he enjoyed her closeness. And so for a while they simply sat there, close together, lost in their thoughts.
"How were the holidays?" Hermione asked, finally breaking the silence. "I mean.because of. Have you thought a lot about him?"
Harry knew she was talking about Sirius, and he sighed. "Much too often," he admitted. "I miss him so much."
Memories flooded into his mind and he felt for the mirror in his pocket. He would never be able to reach Sirius that way, but he couldn't bring himself to leave it behind. It had been the last present his godfather had given to him. And even though it was no use without him, he wouldn't go an inch without it.
A few moments later they heard muffled voices on the terrace and realised that Vincent Marvers was leaving. "I think we should go back," Hermione murmured. "Before Marvers develops his theory any further." She raised her head from Harry's shoulder and kissed him before giving him back his glasses. The kiss was short and gentle, but it was enough to make the tips of Harry's ears burn. Rather dazed, he put his glasses back on and saw that Hermione was already leaving the alcove. Hastily he scrambled off the bench and followed her.
Marvers was just about to leave. Hermione said goodbye to him swiftly and confidently, and next to her Harry felt like a self-conscious idiot who was either trying to hide something or who was, quite simply, an idiot. Luckily Marvers still seemed more occupied with various forms of dental treatment, and this time he dropped no embarrassing hints. Ian went with him to the door, while Harriet cleared the table. Without speaking, Harry and Hermione went to help her.
"You two must be tired," said Mrs. Granger, interpreting their silence. "I'll do the rest myself - you can go on up to your room." But both of them insisted on clearing up first. After Hermione had taken off the table cloth and Harry had pushed the garden chairs under the awning, Mrs. Granger shooed them upstairs without protest. She showed Harry the room while Hermione disappeared to the bathroom. The bedroom was very large, and besides Hermione's bed and the usual cupboards there was a pull-out couch in front of a TV set. Harriet had laid out cushions and blankets, and Harry's luggage was neatly arranged in the alcove between the wall and the couch. After wishing them goodnight, Mrs. Granger went back downstairs to tidy the kitchen.
"I'd love to use magic to clear up the kitchen for her," said Harry, as Hermione - toothbrush in mouth - rummaged in her cupboard for her nightclothes. "Can't the Ministry make an exception for good magic during the holidays?"
"It makes sense this way," mumbled Hermione, trying not to swallow the toothpaste. She hurried to the bathroom to rinse out her mouth and came back dressed in a long nightie. Harry grabbed his shorts and t-shirt and made his own way to the bathroom. He still had a peculiar feeling in his stomach that he couldn't quite place. He stood for a moment in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection. Was there anything different about him that would explain why Hermione was so attracted to him? The same tousled dark hair that he could never get under control. The same eyes. The same. well, the rest of his features had changed a little bit. But basically he was the same.
An idea stole up on him which put an immediate dampener on his excitement. Was she just acting out of sympathy, knowing how deeply Sirius' death had affected him?
This suspicion gave way to anxiety. He bent over the washbasin and splashed a few handfuls of water over his face. 'Not Hermione', he reproached himself. She wouldn't do that. Or would she? Or was he just worrying too much?
When he returned to the bedroom, all the lights were off apart from a small standard lamp next to his couch. Hermione was lying in bed, and for a moment he thought she was already asleep. He paused at the head of her bed and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead before almost shyly breathing a kiss onto her cheek. "Good night," he murmured.
"Good night, Harry," she answered softly, without opening her eyes. But she was smiling.
The couch was piled so high with cushions that Harry wondered if Mrs. Granger thought he was the princess on the pea. He arranged a few of them, switched off the light and sank down on the couch. For a while he silently stared into the darkness.
He was on the point of falling asleep when he heard short creak followed by soft footsteps. A moment later Hermione slipped under his blanket. Silently he put his arm around her and she snuggled up against him.
"At Hogwarts they'd kill us for this," Harry remarked.
Hermione laughed softly. "I'm afraid they would. that's why I'm here now."
He laughed too. Then he was silent for a moment before voicing his nagging thought. "Why me, Hermione?"
"What do you mean?" She yawned sleepily.
"Well. Because there's already a famous Quidditch player who's interested in you, and a friend who's insanely jealous of said famous Quidditch player."
"You don't even need to ask about Viktor." Again, she sounded amused. "You understood better than Ron that I wasn't serious about him. And as for Ron himself.he.he's jealous of you too. He's jealous of anyone he thinks of as a rival."
"Then he'll hate both of us now," Harry concluded. "I'm taking you away from him, you're taking me away from him."
"That's rubbish!" Hermione growled. "And he ought to know that."
Harry sighed. "I hope he will see it that way.But you still haven't answered my question."
"Do I have to?" she asked softly, burying her head deeper into his shirt. "Don't you already know?"
Harry started to think. His thoughts went back to the first year he'd spent at Hogwarts. He and Ron had thought that Hermione was a silly little swot, always poking her nose in where she wasn't wanted. But in the end she had helped them a lot, and with time she had become an irreplaceable friend. She had been the brains of the group, and Harry and Ron had supported her through the terrifying situations they had found themselves in. And at the same time, she had looked out for them. For the first time, Harry realised how often in the last four years she had thrown her arms around his neck in joy or concern. And how afraid he'd been when she was petrified by the basilisk. and how much it had bothered him when Hermione went to the Yule ball with Krum. Grinning, he remembered how he and Ron had gawped like a couple of idiots at Hermione, who had looked so different with her sleek hair and elegant ball-gown that at first they hadn't recognised her at all. Up till then, both of them had seen her only as their best friend and never as the very pretty girl that she was.
"The thing I do know is that I'm a complete idiot," Harry admitted now, smiling and pulling her closer. Hermione had always been there. And he had taken it for granted, not thought about it for a moment. He really was an idiot. How could he have thought that she was just feeling sorry for him?
She replied only with a brief giggle, and then they fell silent. In a few moments she was asleep. She lay in Harry's arms, breathing peacefully and softly, and he could still hardly believe it. That night, for the first time in months, he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
It must have been about four o'clock when a sudden gust of wind blew through the open window and rustled the curtains. For a few seconds it seemed as if an autumn storm were raging outside. Harry heard a long drawn- out howl which made him wake up with a start, and felt a dull, burning pain in his forehead. He pressed his hand against his scar groaned softly. The curtain thrashed the wall, glass broke somewhere outside and a dog began to bark loudly. Hermione sat up in alarm. "What's happened?"
Green lightning pierced the darkness of the night and a bone-chilling scream rang out in the silence.
Harry clenched his jaw and tried to concentrate on driving all thoughts from his head. In his panic the scar on his forehead seemed to throb like a second heartbeat, and through the pain he scarcely felt Hermione leaning over him to run her hand over his cheek. "You're burning up Harry." She gazed into his contorted face. "The scar," she murmured.
Harry gasped for air. "He's. killed again," he panted. "Dammit, he." He bit into the cushion to stop himself crying out as he was hit by a fresh wave of pain. Hermione's fingers dug anxiously into his shoulder but he hardly noticed. After a few seconds, which seemed like forever to him, the pain lessened and he could breathe again. Gasping, he sank back into the cushions, his hand still pressed against his forehead.
"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione's voice was shrill with panic.
He gesticulated with his free hand. "I'm alright now." He reached out for her and pulled her close as if to comfort her for what he'd just experienced. "It's.it.." He sat up and flicked on the lamp next to the couch. Warm light drove away the cold darkness. The curtain was still billowing gently but the howl of the storm had died away.
"He's killed someone," he muttered.
"Voldemort?" Hermione had sat up too and was staring at him in horror.
Harry nodded. "Yes. He.I...I didn't really see. Luckily."
"See?" She repeated. "Why should you see anything? You're supposed to close off your mind to him, Professor Snape was."
"Well you try doing that when you feel like you're being skewered," he hissed and rubbed his throbbing scar, not mentioning the fact that, admittedly through his own fault, he had learnt next to nothing from Snape. Harry threw back the blanket and switched on the television. Impatiently he flicked through the channels.
"Do you really think you'll find out anything there?" Hermione nodded at the TV screen.
"I want to be sure. There might be a report," Harry answered, selecting a news channel and sitting down again on the couch. Hermione sat down next to him.
"You can always feel it, when he kills..?"
Harry nodded dumbly.
"And sometimes you see it too?"
"I always see something." he said quietly. "Not much, but enough to." He broke off, shuddering. "I want it to stop."
Hermione looked at him. "It will only stop when Voldemort is dead."
"I know," he answered. "I hate that thought as much as I hate knowing when he murders someone."
She narrowed her eyes slightly and he sighed. His mind was reeling with all the events of the last school year and all the information he'd received. As yet only Dumbledore knew everything that he did. And when would he get the chance to speak to the headmaster? He looked at Hermione, wondering if he ought to confess everything to her. The whole truth, even though many details would be difficult to speak out loud. And even though he knew she would blame him for certain things he hadn't done due to his own stupidity, or rather his foolish stubbornness.
Would she still care about him if she knew everything? Harry sighed. It would be better for him to lay his cards openly on the table. There was no other person in the world with whom he could discuss this seriously. Not even Ron would understand everything. Nor did Harry want to burden his friend with the knowledge.
After a moment's hesitation, he took Hermione's hand and looked steadily into her eyes. "I have to tell you something.about me. And Voldemort.. And a few other things if you want to hear them."
Hermione swallowed, but nodded straight away. "Everything you have to tell," she said softly. And Harry, his hand still in hers, began to tell her.
***
It was almost six thirty in the morning and the sound of birdsong had been filling the room for quite some time. The morning sun slipped through the curtain onto the couch where the two of them were still sitting, Harry with his back against the wall and Hermione lying across his lap, both staring thoughtfully ahead of them. Absentmindedly, he let his fingers glide through her bushy hair as he watched the flickering pictures on the television screen. He had been afraid to speak about everything. Why he'd let himself be tricked by Voldemort and how Sirius had died as a result. The confrontation with Bellatrix Lestrange in the entrance hall of the Ministry. Voldemort, and then Dumbledore's appearance. Aunt Petunia. The Prophesy. Hermione had listened to everything without speaking. Every detail, without interrupting him. And she was still here next to him. She hadn't turned away, despite all his stupid mistakes. Despite the revelation that he must either murder or be murdered himself.
He felt a sense of relief that he hadn't felt for a very long time. He saw now that it had done him good to speak about everything, as if he'd been able to share something of the heavy burden he was carrying. He was alone no longer. And he was just enjoying the feeling when the television adverts were interrupted and a newsreader gave the report that Harry had been waiting for.
"We've just received news that the body of a young woman his been found near Little Whinging in Surrey."
Harry sat up so suddenly that Hermione was almost catapulted off the couch. She turned over hastily and stared like him at the TV screen. It showed a street filled with police cars and an ambulance. A street Harry knew very well. It was the street running parallel to Privet Drive.
".recovered the body at 6.07 this morning. The cause of death is as yet unknown. No evidence was found to indicate an attack or any form of physical abuse. As yet the police have no concrete leads. It is hoped that an autopsy will reveal more." The on-site reporter glanced at a stretcher, covered by a yellow cloth, which was being carried past her. "Police reports state that the victim is not a local. Her place of origin is unknown, and no papers were found on her. We would ask anyone who knows who she is to contact the local police station on the number shown below. All calls are confidential and the police will be grateful for any help you can provide."
A hastily-drawn sketch of the victim appeared on the screen. A few details were missing, but her identity was unmistakeable. Harry went pale with horror, and Hermione could hardly repress a shrill scream.
The unknown woman was Nymphadora Tonks.