Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, except, of course, what does.
A/N: Many thanks go out to: DyingRoses, kirjava2, threepastmidnight, Sandra18, Jade, BrItTsR, LupinFan227, Kou Shun'u, Gerontius T.
Difference Always Matters
by s. stewart
a.k.a.
carpetfibers
TWO
it's in between the minutes
I
GODRIC'S HOLLOW STOOD in silent repose. The dew glistened as morning slowly climbed and finished its recoloring of the horizon. Harry had tried refusing at first. He argued that he wouldn't be safe; he tried threatening even. But nothing he said deterred Remus Lupin from his object.
"You're coming with me to see Godric's Hollow," he had told Harry.
And so Harry went, unwillingly and frightened beyond his wits. His nightmares had always created Godric's Hollow as a dank, dark place, filled with shadows and screams of pain. It was none of those things in the morning light. There remained as memory of the horrors that took part on its grounds only the remains of a house. Beyond the broken stone grew only the wild grasses of the moor lands.
Only grass and stone, dampened by the dew; nothing else.
Harry felt angry, disappointed, and a whole other multitude of complicated emotions that he could no more explain than understand. Why should it look so innocent? Why should a place that held the deaths of his parents and whatever happiness he might have had with them look so normal? It was childish to feel so, but it was so unfair.
"It's yours now," Lupin said, his voice sounding farther away than two feet. "It's held in a wizarding trust by Gringott's until you're of age, but for all purposes, it's yours."
"Mine? Why would I want it?" Harry spat out, the words as distasteful as the idea to him.
"It was once a place your parents loved; your father grew up here- whole long lines of the Potter family were born and raised here."
"Yeah, well, I may have been born here but I certainly wasn't raised."
Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets, thankful for once that his second hand clothes were several sizes too large. Lupin couldn't see his fists there, tightly curled with nails that drew blood from their lodge in his palms.
"Harry-" Lupin tried to say, but Harry cut him off.
"Just leave it alone, Professor. I don't have any memories of this place- no, wait..." He broke off, a sarcastic edge added to his tone before he continued. "That's not true. I have the very clearmemory of my mother's scream as she was murdered. Not exactly what I would call a fond memory, but I suppose you take what you can get."
"Harry-" again though, Harry interrupted.
"I said to leave it alone! Just leave it alone! That's all I want- for everyone to leave me alone. Sirius is dead, because of me! Cedric died because of me! My father, my mother- dead because of me! Don't you see the pattern? People die because of me. I don't even have to know them well or love them- Voldemort kills them all. So I don't care about Godric's Hollow. I don't care if my parents lived here, or were happy here. I DON'T CARE!"
For a long, empty stretch of time there was only the heavy rush of Harry's breathing and the whispering of overgrown moor grass. Silence drew on and on and on- Harry hated it. The silence was wrong- the way he felt now, there should be storm clouds and thunder. The violence that felt so palpable to his blood didn't match the calm stirrings of the grass or the hazy blue of the morning sky.
It was as if nature was scolding him.
"Harry, answer me this, and we'll leave here and not mention it again. Only-" Lupin broke off, his voice sounding defeated and indescribably old. "Be honest when you answer. Can you do that?"
Harry blinked furiously, hating the vulnerability created by Lupin's gentle tones. "Yes."
"Is it that you don't care, or that you wish you didn't?" Lupin asked, and with those few words, the violence in Harry's chest melted completely.
"I- I...Professor, that is, I-" Harry closed his eyes, finding a welcome safety in the darkness. "Tell me, please...why? Why did he die? Not whose fault it is, not how- but why should he have died? Why him? Why?"
Lupin took no steps to console Harry; he didn't near or offer his arms for comfort. He simply stood, in empathic quiescence, knowing that there was no physical solace he could offer. He had only words, but he hoped words would be enough.
"There's right and wrong, good and bad in this world. We like to think that good and right fall hand in hand, and wrong and bad follow the same lines. But we forget, too easily, that the greatest wrongs always occur when the good suffer having done what's right."
"Even with Voldemort defeated, it won't change, will it?" Harry asked, the anger fading with each passing minute. His heart didn't feel as...raw. The wound was still there, deep and bleeding, but it was no longer foreign. The hurt felt as familiar as breathing, as familiar as speech.
"It's not something we can control, Harry. As long as there are those who use what is noble in ourselves to do evil, there will be good people who suffer, who hurt, and who die."
"How...how then do we survive it? Does it never stop hurting?"
Lupin finally dragged his eyes away from the rubble lined horizon and met Harry's gaze. The anger left Harry completely as a surge of empathy flooded his emotions. Of course, of course...of all the people who could understand, this man, this wizard surely understood the best.
"No, Harry, it doesn't. The loss and the frustration of injustice don't fade. They become part of your thoughts, your dreams, even coloring your speech. But Harry," and the sadness in Lupin's smile twisted at Harry's heart more than crumbled ruins that once made his parents' home did, "I wouldn't want the pain to stop. It reminds me of why it's important to keep fighting, to keep living. If you give up, it's like saying everything they did, everything that was sacrificed, was for nothing. And that is a knowledge too terrible to survive."
The words faded, until, much like the dew, they evaporated into a different existence. With their departure, Lupin once again picked up his careful guiding of Harry around the expansive lands that made up his inheritance.
Harry squinted through his lenses as a stretch of sunlight shot through the morning haze. It was nearly overhead now; had time really gone so quickly? Two hours vanished in what felt like minutes if not seconds. He lowered his gaze back to the ground, to the weed ridden stones that had made up the foundation of the Potter manor.
A thought struck him, surprising him by its newness. Why hadn't he ever thought to ask before?
"Professor?"
"It's Remus, Harry. I'm no longer your professor," Lupin reminded him, his voice still too tired for Harry's preference.
"Remus then. What happened to the rest of my family? That is, my grandparents," he asked, not quite brave enough to finish the rest of the thought: how did they die?
"Your father's parents?" Harry wondered why Lupin sounded so surprised by the question.
"Yes, my dad's parents; I know they aren't alive-"
"Actually, Harry," Lupin interrupted slowly, "We don't know that; your grandparents haven't been seen for over 17 years."
"I don't understand." He was sure they had died! Hadn't- that is, hadn't someone told him that? He couldn't remember...
Lupin stared into the sky, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. "The Potters disappeared shortly after the new year, 1979, a few weeks after your parents' marriage."
"Disappeared? As in vanished or as in left on vacation and never returned? Were they kidnaped?" The questions came out faster than Harry could mouth them, his mind light years ahead of his speech.
"We don't know; James and Lily returned from holiday in Switzerland and found the house empty. Nothing was missing, nothing was disturbed. There were no signs of dark magic- any magic at all in fact. The only thing out of place were your grandparents."
"Why wasn't I ever told this?" Harry asked slowly, his mind still puzzling over this new knowledge.
"I don't know- I had assumed you already knew," Lupin's thoughtful gaze settled back on Harry. "I can only imagine Dumbledore had his reasons."
"Of course he did. He always has his reasons, doesn't he..." Harry muttered.
"Albus Dumbledore is a great wizard, a great man, but there are times when I believe he forgets that responsibility does not rest with him alone." Lupin prodded Harry forward with his hand, urging him to continue the circling of the grounds. "It's an arrogance that all too often the kind suffer from: this belief that ignorance can indeed be a blessing. There will be many more times that you'll have to forgive Dumbledore for caring too much, Harry."
Harry didn't answer, but he didn't reject Lupin's words either. He remembered his anger so clearly, his certainty in his sole guilt- and then he remembered the sorrow peaked in the tears of a great wizard and yet still, old man.
"So they could still be alive then?" Harry asked, careful to keep the hope from his voice.
Lupin's hand tightened on his shoulder, as if in reassurance. "There is the possibility. But remember, people don't vanish for nearly 18 years without reason. If your grandparents are still alive, they've kept silent through their son's death and through their grandson's birth."
"But they could have been in hiding!"
"And not have returned after Voldemort's first defeat?" Lupin interjected shortly. "I don't think it's as simple as that, Harry."
"Maybe their secret keeper died?" Harry asked, the hopefulness he was trying to hide resounding noisily.
Lupin shook his head, an understanding smile curving his lips. "I don't know."
Harry's foot fell into suddenly loose soil. He glanced down, surprised. He was standing in the midst of a large rectangular plot of seemingly worked soil. The moor grass that grew so prolifically over the grounds had stopped at the plot's edges.
"James' garden," Lupin explained softly. "Your father had a weakness for growing things, particularly flowers . I remember when Sirius found out about it- he wasted no time in charming squeaking posies that sang: 'Jamsie, Jamsie, give us a whiff!' James was embarrassed at first, but after Lily mentioned how much she loved to garden herself...let's just say that your father suddenly embraced Herbology like it was oxygen itself."
Harry laughed abruptly, the sound surprising and then horrifying. How could he laugh about that? When all three of those people were dead- no, worse- murdered because of him.
"It's alright to laugh, Harry. Sirius was always laughing- he and your father, those two laughed more than anyone had right to. I've always wondered if perhaps, some part of them, knew that they wouldn't have as much time as the rest of us... I've always thought that your mother knew. There was a knowing in her eyes, an awareness she carried that-" the older wizard broke off, and shook his head as if clearing away the thought.
"That was Lily for you; her confidence was, at times, almost wondrous."
Harry stared back at the soil bed before hesitantly bowing down to touch the dirt. It clung to his fingers, rich in moisture and fertility. He dug farther into the soil, imagining his father having once done the same, having once too run his fingers through the damp earth and feeling the potential that hid there.
It struck him, like a slap in the face, that his father would have taught him how to grow plants in this very plot had he lived. A hundred different could have and should have memories skimmed over his vision; the images created from the few pictures Harry owned and the day dreams he used to indulge in while stuffed beneath the stairs in that dank closet.
It was an old ache, this pain, but still fragrant enough to wrench at his heart.
"I'm sorry, Remus, for what I said earlier." Harry didn't have to clarify what he was apologizing for. The plot of earth had said all the things that needed to be said, and now, Harry understood. "Can it be rebuilt?"
Lupin smiled, a much different smile from before, the age and weariness vanished away by the slight lifting of his lips and softening of his eyes. Once again, Harry felt the iron ball in his stomach ease into something far less tangible.
"Oh yes, Harry, it can be rebuilt. You can design the house however you wish, but your vault holds the original blue prints and diagrams. Godric's Hollow can be remade."
Harry scooped a handful of the soil into his pocket and closed his hand around it. Perhaps this could be the thing he looked forward to after- after everything. He glanced once more over the crumbled foundation, the stones pitted and littered by sixteen years of weather and age. Dimly, and shadowed by so many unknowns, the image of the once grand manor built itself over the ruined stones. His breath caught and with a lightness he couldn't bear to tarnish with guilt, he grinned.
He could have a home; for the first time in his life, he could truly have a home.
"Thanks Remus."
"You're welcome."
II
IT MADE SENSE, in an odd ironic sort of way, that Hermione should survive all sorts of encounters with the world's most dangerous wizard to only then fall near victim to the rampage of an errant taxi driver.
She had been waiting, somewhat impatiently, for her 'baby-sitter' as she had aptly named the somewhat pompous Order member assigned to accompany her to visit her parents and sister. Auvios Saxate Aalamire, or 'Auvi' as he preferred, had apparently found his task several pars beneath his worth and after depositing Hermione into her parents' care, had made haste for the nearest deli in search for proper sustenance.
It had been bad enough that she had to deal with 'Call me Auvi's' obvious disdain for his assignment, but when he had started in on her cooking ability, she was but a few seconds from losing all self control and hexing him soundly with a silencing charm, Ministry laws thrown to the wind. So, after several pointed comments on his part about needing to find some 'decent nosh' combined with her vocal encouragements on being quite content without his presence, Auvios Saxate Aalamire took off.
Hermione quickly found her parents, and after being embraced by them both, made a thorough perusal of her little sister, Jamie. Although a tad too pale for her liking, Hermione quickly pronounced Jamie as being as 'pixie-ish' as ever and certainly not in need of any get-well-soon gifts.
The two hours passed far too quickly, and after reassuring family et al that she was safe and enjoying her summer, Hermione once again hugged her parents and slipped her sister a package of chocolate frogs. She would have liked to spend some more time visiting, but Auvi had been explicit on the time restraints.
So it was with poorly masked displeasure that Hermione found herself waiting for her protector, who, by the last glance at her watch, was running 49 minutes and 32 seconds late. She was so intent in her annoyance and continued scanning of the crowds that she didn't notice the taxi until it was nearly on her.
Of course, though, if she had been left entirely to her devices, the perilous vehicle would have sent her flying across the square in a tangled heap of bones and bruises.
As it was, most thankfully, the fates had put her designation into much more capable hands- well, at least hands more capable than hers at that moment.
The horn blared, and Hermione reared her head up only in time to see the wide eyes of the much too close driver and a sudden blur of brown stripes sweep across her vision before her body was flung sideways. She crashed painfully into the pebbled sidewalk, her elbows becoming unwanted friends with the harsh surface, but her head landed in something far softer than the expected asphalt.
When an audible grunt met her ears, her mind absently noted that someone had conveniently softened her fall.
"Oy, Granger, I don't know whether to thank you or yell at you for not sharing my family's enthusiasm for meal times."
The recognition was instantaneous.
"George? George Weasley?" Hermione cried, rather stunned.
"At your service," he said with as much flourish as could be allowed whilst laying prone on the ground, a young woman's head pillowed in his stomach.
As if following the train of such thoughts, Hermione hastily pulled herself up, admirably hiding the aches her body discovered with the movement. George quickly mirrored her evolution, although he made no pretense of disguising the new bruises he carted.
"Are you alright?" he asked after a few awkward moments passed.
Hermione paused before answering; she was still tackling her near miss with the automobile. "Er...yes; at least, I think so."
"Well, that's good then," George replied lamely.
The awkwardness began to enter its intolerable stage just as both decided to end it.
"What are you-"
"What happened just-"
George cleared his throat as Hermione rubbed at her raw elbow.
"You first," he offered.
Hermione shrugged, gesturing toward the teaming curbside. "What happened just now? I completely missed everything up to when you, er, saved me."
George cleared his throat again, keeping his eyes fixed on an exceptionally uninteresting mound of grass. "One of the Muggle cars swerved into the wrong lane, and the taxi came up on the curb to miss the other car. I was walking up from the opposite side of the square having spotted you and arrived just in time to push you out of the way."
"Oh," and Hermione beat herself mentally for her articulate response. 'Or lack there of!' she intoned mutely. "Thank you, then. I should have paid better attention."
"It's a necessary quality when performing heroic acts, you know- impeccable timing. Takes a great deal of practice. I'm rather indebted to you now, Granger, for having given me such an excellent opportunity," George teased.
For the third time, the uncomfortable silence descended, almost vindictive in its parading.
"What were you asking?" Hermione asked, her voice abrupt.
"Yes, that." He eyed her curiously as the question he had wondered since first spotting her from across the people strewn square earlier reminded him of its existence. "What are you doing here?"
He cringed inwardly at the curtness of his words. He sounded about as suave and smooth as...well, as Ron!
It didn't seem to phase Hermione though, for she answered without pause. "I met with my parents and sister; just a quick visit to catch up on things." She continued as if feeling the need to explain herself further. "I had an escort, but Auvi claimed hunger pangs and hasn't returned yet."
She began to walk back toward her meeting place, her brow furrowed as a sudden thought plagued her. "And why are you calling me 'Granger' all of a sudden? I noticed it yesterday, too- it's alright to use my first name, you know."
"I enjoy variety," George joked.
"Yes, I noticed," Hermione remarked, an edge to her voice that made George wonder if perhaps she was talking about something else entirely. And just what had he said to make her lips scowl in such disapproval?
"If you like, I can wait with you until- er, Auvi was it- arrives," he offered in way of peace treaty to whatever subtle undertone he had unintentionally invoked.
"Thank you, but I'm quite alright," Hermione turned him down firmly. Her expression lightened minutely though as she added, "And thank you again- for earlier. I'll try to return the favor some time."
"O Fortuna! The gratitude of a pretty girl is more than thanks enough to any dashing hero!"
George quickly regretted his words as once again Hermione's features darkened.
"Quite so, I'm sure," she said and deliberately turned her back on him.
His mood tossed firmly into the gutter by her obvious disdain, George wasted no time in shoving his hands in his pockets and making for the nearest alley to apparate from. So far, his every dealing with Hermione Granger left him only more firmly entrenched in the conviction that it would be best to avoid future such one on one sessions.
Seconds after his departure, Hermione's shoulders sagged with the loss of adrenaline given energy her encounter gave her. With a rush of breath, she sighed and tugged at her braid fitfully. George had explained it plainly enough- but Merlin, what had just happened? She nearly died- or at the very least fell way to a future spent being numb from the neck down.
Her knees suddenly weak, she fumbled for a brace against the nearest street light. She groaned as she reviewed her painful conversation with George Weasley. Why was it that she never failed to find herself feeling priggish and inhibited whenever in his company? And the way she treated him after having saved her!
"There you are! Thought you wandered off somewhere," Auvi made his sudden entrance, a pleased smirk across his plentiful jowls. "Now come along, Miss Granger. I'll have you know I just finished a right proper bit of tuck. Real meal, that was."
He walked briskly, his hand firmly wrapped around Hermione's still sore arm, oblivious to her physical state entirely. As he continued his praises of the one bit eatery he had found, Hermione groaned yet again.
Whether it was from his grating voice or the new ache that sprung from the use of her knees, she wasn't sure. Either way, she longed to be back at 12 Grimmauld Place, a hot bath under her belt and her bed ready for use.
III
SLEEP WAS A slippery thing this summer. Some nights, Hermione fell into such a deep slumber it was near unconsciousness, and then other nights, in direct opposition, her mind refused any rest. She knew every line and crease that paved the ceiling above her bed, as did she know the every groove that criss crossed the tiled floor.
It peeved her to no end how uncooperative her mind could be at times. After all, her body was still sore from its contact with the pavement at Trafalgar square the day earlier. The bruises still ached, although the pain had dulled considerably. It was just that she was annoyed.
And tired. There was that as well.
With a frustrated groan, Hermione shoved off her blankets and stepped down into her slippers. She grabbed her robe and padded out from the room she shared with Ginny whenever the girl spent the night. As expected, the hallway was dark and silent. The only light came from beneath Sturgis Podmore's room near the stair, and as she passed by it, she could hear the dull hum and click of a typewriter's keys being punched.
Apparently she wasn't the only one having trouble with sleeping.
The kitchen was as equally dark and as equally silent as the hallway had been. And, at first, Hermione thought it as equally empty as well. She had thought it so until her careless glance over the large table caught the shadowed hulk of a seated figure. For the slightest of seconds, Hermione was reminded of an encounter from her childhood.
Her mother had always been an enthusiast of the arts. She felt it complimented her more rationally inclined mind to dose it with abundant portions of music, drawing, and architecture. For the first ten years of Hermione's life, every holiday, whether it be four weeks or three days, was spent drudging through the country side, visiting old manors, scouting out galleries, and attending different conservatories.
Hermione had a healthy appreciation for what her mother tried to instill in her. She even put her hand to learning the piano, although she had none of the natural talent that creates prodigy. As it was though, she had never felt the personal wonder and awe that came with viewing a truly great art until the summer before she first came to Hogwarts.
The figurine was unfinished, its half form emerging from a circular chunk of garnet marble. The torso sprung upward, its arms wrapped tightly over its neck. The face, without feature but for the slight dip of lips and eyes and rise of nose, curved toward the inlaid chest. It stood at barely half a foot, and never had Hermione seen something so raw with loneliness in her life. A deep sorrow had struck her ten year old self on that humid summer day- an unfamiliar sadness much too mature for a child's heart.
Hermione had never found a human expression in her daily encounters to match the emotion that unnamed and unfinished figurine had caused in her that day. She had never felt such palpable tragedy until she stepped into the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place on that early morning in July.
That rush of memory and deep sadness swept across her breast in the few seconds it took her to recognize the seated figure.
"Pro-Remus...you're back early," she said, the melancholy she inexplicably felt jading her tones audibly.
The shaggy wizard shifted, and the shadows recoated his face in a new cubist cross of light and dark. "You're up rather early, Hermione. Or late, I suppose."
She hovered near the doorway before shaking her head and heading toward the ice box to retrieve some of the left over pudding from the night before.
"Pudding?" she offered after retrieving the dish.
She heard the soft rumble of his laughter and the shift of his chair from behind her.
"Thank you, yes. I've run low on my chocolate."
And with that, Hermione understood more of the feeling that still wrapped around her. Chocolate- the comfort food of the wizarding world, in more ways than one. She quickly found two plates, the proper utensils, and brought it all to the table. In unspoken agreement, they both left the lights unlit.
After taking a few bites, the quiet was ended. "It's very good, Hermione. Molly's?"
She flushed in the darkness. "Actually, I made it."
"Really? It seems I've missed out then," he said and then went on. "How have you been?"
"A little busy, but fine." She shifted restlessly, toying with her fork full. "Remus- where's Harry?"
The sound of a dropped fork reverberated before words overtook it. "He's at Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts? But why? Is something wrong- did something happen to those horrid relations of his, the Dursleys?" She could easily imagine a hundred different scenarios that might bring Harry to Hogwarts, but each was worse than the next and none reassured her.
"He had need of the library, and Dumbledore offered its uses to him."
It was on the tip of her tongue to give in to curiosity and ask 'why?' but Hermione shrugged it off, and instead refocused on her pudding. She picked at it with her fork, suddenly wishing instead to have one of her mother's apple tarts.
"Was Professor Snape present at dinner?" Remus asked, the non sequitur of it surprising Hermione.
"Yes, although he left for his rooms immediately after. I wasn't sure if he meant at Hogwarts or here."
"Where does he normally sleep- when here, that is?"
Hermione put down her fork, tired of the chocolate and longing once again for the tang of her mother's pastries. "On the third floor, in the room adjoined to the library, I believe."
She could make out the dip of his head as he nodded. "Thanks." He gestured with his fork toward her plate. "I'll finish that if you're done."
"Please." She pushed the plate over to him, and rested her cheek on her palm as she watched the older wizard eat. Remus was enjoying her dessert- it was obvious even in the shadowed dark. It gave her a warmth to see his approval much like when having received perfect marks on a paper. It was a sense of deserved accomplishment.
"You'll make a wizard a fine wife someday, with talents like these," Remus teased gently, and for some reason she couldn't place, Hermione found herself annoyed by the comment.
Flippantly, she tossed back her braid and answered in like, "Or muggle, you know. There's no saying that I'll find my match in the wizarding world. Or even get married at all for that matter."
"One might hope the latter to be true, Miss Granger, if only to prevent the creation of future children of your sort annoying me in class."
For all that it surprised her to hear her potions professor's voice interrupt the dialogue, Hermione masked it marvelously well in her opinion.
"Severus: just the man I was meaning to find," Remus greeted easily enough.
"Can't say I reciprocate the feeling, Lupin," Snape said, his voice nearer now that he had fully entered the kitchen.
Hermione immediately stood, taking both of the now emptied plates with her. As she neared the ice box, a moment of hospitality hit her. "Professor, we were having some of the left over pudding. Would you like a plate?"
She braced herself for an acerbic refusal, but surprisingly, it didn't come.
"Do mind to use a clean plate, Miss Granger. And a glass of water with it."
While it wasn't exactly polite, Hermione was pleased nevertheless. Apparently, her snappish professor had a weakness for sweets. She could hardly think of any other reason for his condescension.
"I see you've had a busy evening then, Severus," Remus remarked enigmatically.
Hermione lifted her head from the dish holding the pudding to watch Snape's reaction. She could make out the careless lift of his shoulders and the tightening of his jaw, neither of which gave hint to the meaning.
"No different from nights past, I assure you." Snape seized the plate from Hermione's grasp impatiently and uttered no pleasantry in thanks. Hesitantly, Hermione reseated herself, albeit nearer to Lupin than to Snape.
"Hermione, I'd nearly forgotten. You'll have received your O.W.L.s by now- I suppose you've done as well as we've all expected," Remus smiled much in his mild way, his tone belying some hidden amusement that Hermione couldn't begin to fathom.
"No, sir," she lapsed into a momentary formality that she attributed to Snape's discomfiting presence, even if it was put off by his eating of her dessert. "I believe they'll arrive by the end of this week. Perhaps in time for Harry's birthday."
"Well, I'm certain you'll come out excellently. You still are the cleverest witch of your age that I've ever met," Remus said, his words an echo of those said two summers before.
Hermione flushed, her cheeks warm from the praise. "I hope so; I've gone over the questions since the exams enough times though to be unsure. I keep on remembering places and instances where I could have been more precise or less vague. To be honest-"
"Oh do be quiet. False humility has never been an admirable trait. We're all aware that you have the whole library memorized. All you needed to have done was regurgitate what you've read, and you'll have received perfect scores," Snape said crossly, his words punctuated by a stab in the air with his fork. "You'll not fare as well come the N.E.W.T.s; they rely on the ability to theorize, not spout out facts."
Hermione opened her mouth, not sure whether to be outraged or pleased. There was a backhanded compliment hidden in with all the criticism, she was sure. As it was, she simply closed her lips and replied with her silence.
There was a brief clatter when Snape dropped his fork onto his emptied plate noisily. Without prompting, Hermione rose to place his plate along with the two others and immediately got to washing them. It was with a slight start and near dropping of a plate that all the sink's contents were suddenly rid of their crumbs.
Thoroughly surprised, she glanced first to Remus who shrugged his shoulders in denial and then to Snape who merely glowered from his perch at the table's edge.
"It's best that you learn the profits of proper self care, Miss Granger, and go to bed. We have things to discuss that don't involve meddlesome children. You may leave," Snape ordered curtly, and despite her original inclination to stubbornly refuse, Hermione nevertheless nodded in agreement.
She wiped her hands dry and said good night to both men.
"Good night Remus; good night, Professor Snape."
"Good night Hermione. Do try to get some sleep," Remus replied kindly.
Snape merely jerked his chin in direction of the door. Hermione took her cue and left.
Once on the stair, she was tempted to stay and eavesdrop, but with the first bits of conversation, her conscience struck.
"...interesting article, Severus. I was curious if perhaps it might fall in with your research."
"Woods-vein- there is some potential. I've tried it before, however it reacted badly with the unicorn blood. It would lose its strength, but perhaps if diluted-"
"Or powdered. The article was rather specific on its ability to retain potency even when powdered..."
Hermione took the stairs two at time and moved beyond hearing distance. She supposed they were discussing variations on the Wolfsbane potion. She wondered, though, at Snape's practically civil tone. Even when addressing her, he had been singularly mild.
Perhaps he was merely tired; it was more morning than night now, after all.
She crashed onto her bed, releasing her braided hair as she fell. Sleep that had so evaded her earlier, landed in one massive wave. With her mind dashing between Harry's soon arrival and how woods-vein might react if tempered with lilypods, Hermione's eyes quickly closed and her dreams took the shape of her thoughts: a bespeckled boy with a flower bud in his mouth and a cauldron for clothes.
IV
SHE FOUND HER brother sulking in the den, his condition both pitiable and humorous in one go. The charm or potion or whatever concoction it was that the twins had decided to test on Ron was finally beginning to wear off, but such good tidings did little to relieve the scowl on his freckled face.
Still though, Ginny knew it was best to play sympathetic sister than teasing sibling.
"It's starting to wear off," she remarked casually as she entered the room.
Ron answered by crossing his arms defensively, as if hoping to hide the clinging rubbery material of his once prized Chudley Cannons shirt. "Ten hours too late to have saved me embarrassment."
"Oh Ron, it wasn't that bad. Hermione and Tonks were the only ones who saw-"
"Exactly! Tonks saw me! It was bad enough having Hermione use me as some sort of puzzle to solve, but then Tonks! She'll never forget it..." Ron said miserably.
"Why should you worry about what Tonks thinks? You'll hardly see her once classes start," Ginny pointed out, crossing to seat across from her brother. "Besides, I came here to discuss something other than your clothing woes."
With an air of grim acceptance, Ron gave one last tug on his transfigured clothing before letting his hands fall to his side. "What is it?"
"So glad to have your full attention," Ginny said wryly. "I was just wondering if you knew where George takes off to every night."
"Why don't you ask Fred?"
"I have, but he told me to ask George himself. But as I can't find him, I can hardly go do that, can I?" she replied snippishly.
"You know, Ginevra, this attitude of yours- it's hardly attractive." Ron smirked smugly as his sister's face turned an unsightly shade of red in her annoyance.
"It's a defense mechanism, Ronald. Since I can't hex you into oblivion during the summer because of the Ministry's idiotic laws, all I have are my words," she explained haughtily, a bit of the angry flush fading into her normal pallor.
"I've been wondering the same thing." Ron quickly returned to the original topic: their brother's mysterious ventures. "George's been acting strangely; Fred was complaining last week that he's never there to help with the shop. And Mum's been off about him nearly every morning- you always miss it waking up so late," the last bit came out accusingly, as if Ginny purposely slept to such late hours, which, of course, she did.
"Do you think he's met a girl?" Ginny wondered after a few moments of staring ponderously into the fire. She flicked a piece of thread into the flames, her smile widening as it flared before devouring the small bit of fabric.
Ron, too, turned his head to watch the fire as it dove in between the pieces of never burning wood. "Fred's always been the one for girls, not George. I don't think he even dated once while at Hogwarts."
Ginny switched her gaze to her brother, her eyes wide with surprise. "Really? But I thought he had something with that chaser, Alicia Spinnet."
Ron shrugged, the movement reminding him regretfully of the state of his clothing. Damn Fred- and damn Snape for having taught him how to make potions. As a matter of fact, just damn Snape in general for being a greasy git and general all out bastard of a wizard-
"I always wonder what it is you're going on about in your thoughts when you look like that."
Ginny's mild tones returned Ron directly to the homily decorated confines of the Burrow's den and its shared occupant.
"Snape- just damning him for being alive is all," he explained and his sister nodded as if, indeed, that explanation held any explaining at all.
She might have replied, if not for the sudden change of the fire's flames from brilliant scarlet to deep green. Ginny backed her chair away just in time for the brother in question to come stumbling out, soot falling from his hair in a fine dust.
George hardly had time to blink at them in surprise before Ginny latched onto his arm and dragged him into a neighboring chair. Ron acted in kind and quickly threw one of their mother's colorful knitted wraps over his lap. All in an attempt at domesticity, George mused.
"There. Now that you're all comfortable, perhaps you can shed some light into the situation." Ginny quickly took charge, her brown eyes glittering with the whirling of her mind.
Ron decided to play it by ear and take up the place of good natured side kick to his sister's show. "Right."
George saw his cue and fell into his expected role with more than a small bit of relief. He smiled easily enough and brought the blanket more tightly around him. "However I can be of service, dear sister and dear brother, I shall endeavor to do so."
"Firstly, what is it you're off doing every night so secretly? Is it for the Order?" Ginny shot out, her words emphasized as she jabbed her fingers in the air.
"Don't be daft- the Order wouldn't use him!" Ron cut in, but after a glance at his brother's unpresuming features, his eyes grew doubtful. "Would they? Are you on a mission for the Order?"
George steadied his grin, mindful to project only the air of typical mischevious plotting. "Wouldn't you like to know."
Ginny stopped her pacing, and turned to face him, her eyes shrewd. "No, Ron, that's not right...they'd have used both Fred and George, if they were thinking of using one. Besides, look at their brand of heroics: attacking Umbridge with fire crackers and gag swamps! Hardly the kind of stealth needed for Order work."
George's jaw tightened, his anger piqued unexpectedly by his sister's easy dismissal. Purposely though, he widened his grin and eased into a sloppy sprawl, allowing his knees to unlock and dangle carelessly. "Any other theories then, inspectors?"
"It's not a girl, is it George?" Ron's question was toned with disbelief in each syllable; George was finding himself depressed by his siblings' lack of faith in his abilities, both in wizardry and male finesse.
"You'll not get a pip from me, Ronniekins," he said with a flick of his hands before diving in for the kill. "Besides, if anyone's in the druthers about a female, it's not likely me. Oh no, I believe that dubious honor goes to you, my most esteemed younger brother. If you're not careful, Granger might discover she prefers books to your company- much like the rest of us have."
Ron's face went from embarrassed crimson, to angry purple, and finally to astonished white. He opened and closed his mouth twice as if to retort before finally standing from his chair and rushing from the room. Once past the door, he finally replied, "At least I have prospects! Better than whatever adle you've sponged up, likely paid for at that!"
George found himself torn between admiration and anger for his younger brother's semi decent retort. His thoughts were mirrored in his only sister's wry smile. But once she caught his gaze, her smile quickly became the angry frown George was all too familiar with- having been on the receiving end of its wrath from his mother.
"I can't believe you said that! You know how insecure he is about Hermione; it's agonizing just to get him to talk to her lately. Now he's going to avoid her for the rest of the summer- and since she's not going to even notice it- he'll be in a sulk when school starts, just when Harry'll probably need his support! Brilliant job, George, way to show your maturity."
George almost had the good grace to voice his apology- almost. His mind was more wrapped around a comment his sister interjected midway through her scolding.
"Does Granger not like him then? I thought they had that 'opposites attract' going for them."
Ginny crossed her arms and sat down in Ron's vacated chair with an audible huff. "Hardly. Ron's up in the clouds about Hermione; has been ever since she showed up in that dress for the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum attached to her side. You know how he possessive he is. She, on the other hand, barely notices he's alive except when it involves one of Harry's schemes or some other such." Her eyes widened in sudden awareness. "Nice try, you! Think you could distract me so easily- I think not. So, spill it George Weasley. Who is it that has you off for all these rendezvous's?"
George shifted nervously and then immediately stilled. His sister's lips were curving in a smug smatter of typical female 'just as I thought!' "You get five questions, Gin-gin, all of which must be yes or no, and none can involve names. After that, the subject'll be dropped."
"For tonight, that is," Ginny was quick to add.
He shrugged. "For tonight."
"Alright, so..." she drew her legs up and rested her chin atop her knees, her loose hair falling over her eyes. She cocked her head as she peered at her inscrutable brother, his typical grin still screwed over his lips. "Does this person have anything to do with the Order?"
"Yes."
"Are these meetings with this person business?"
George thought that one over carefully. It certainly wasn't like playing a bit of quidditch or even experimenting with a new potion, but it wasn't all work. He wanted to do it.
"Yes and no."
"So pleasure and business- I've got it! You have a partner for this don't you?" she exclaimed.
"Third question- and no. I haven't a partner."
"Oh," Ginny said, looking disappointed. "Is she a resource then?"
He made a crooked smile. "Gin-ny, if you ask tricky questions, how do you know which part of it I'm answering? One left- and it's no."
She frowned, annoyed that he had found her out. So was it 'no' to the 'she' part or 'no' to the 'resource' part? Bother Ron for taking off in a huff; so typical of males, really, to get their knickers in a twist when you needed them.
"Does Fred know?"
"No." George stood up, knocking the wrap to the wood paneled floor, and offered a hand to his sister. She took it with a sigh, before crossing her arms and allowing herself to pout. With a laugh, George threw an arm over her shoulder and gave her an affectionate squeeze. "If it all works out, Ginny, I promise, you'll be the first to know."
"You do know you can trust me, right? It's not like I'll run off to tell the others," she replied petulantly.
"I know. Just think of this as a belated attempt on my part to break away from my dual identity for a bit."
For an answer, Ginny returned the hug and skipped on ahead. "'Night George! Oh, and do try not to tease Ron too much about Hermione. Try to think of when you had your first crush."
George nodded before returning to the warm fire of the den. He stood, neither too tall nor too thin, his shadow juxtaposed as a stark relief in the flickering shadows. He sighed ruefully as he went over his sister's words. Ron was luckier than he in some respects.
At least Ron recognized when he liked a girl- George had felt attraction enough times, but genuine, romantic affection? No; he left that up to Fred's sort of exploits. George was far better at making girls laugh than at making love to them, not that he would try anyway. Besides, he had yet to meet a girl who could handle both his propensity for three year old humor and occasional drift into complete seriousness. Fred accused him of being manic once.
He sprawled out in front of the fire, the poker in hand to push at the logs and shift the flames. His evening had proved fruitless, due in no part to himself. It wasn't fair of him though to have neglected the shop so much of late. Fred was getting suspicious as it was, especially when the normal temptation of trying out new products on customers had failed to yield the usual enthusiasm from his twin.
George was finally able to ward off his twin's concerns after agreeing to take care of closing the shop- and finishing the required monetary paper work. The Department of Magical Patents and Licenses was still giving them trouble over their creations, whether in the ingredients used in certain potions or the wording in particular charms. The thought alone gave birth to a familiar headache and annoyance.
Damned Ministry; one would have hoped having both a father and brother in its employment might have opened a few doors, but alas! 'Twas not to be.
He shifted and rolled over onto his back, his arms folded to cradle his head from the unforgiving floor boards. Perhaps, it would be best to give up his little project, if only for a bit. Fred was frustrated with his secrecy; Mum was in full mother hen mode, squawking about every excuse he coughed up; Ron and Ginny were in cahoots over him; even the ever distant figure of his eldest sibling had taken a few moments to engage in a 'brotherly chat' which involved Bill attempting to give advice and George desperately trying to find a reason to escape.
So perhaps, it was time for a rest. Maybe his intense need to solve this little puzzle was his subconscious's attempt at trying to put the loss of Sirius to bed. Maybe he was as mental as Fred teased him of being.
For one small moment, a brief passing of seconds completely inconsequential to any one else who might have observed, George allowed himself to feel the pang of loneliness that came with being surrounded by so many. As prosaic as it seemed, especially if he gave in to weakness and voiced it aloud, George needed a friend.
Of all the six year old sentiments...nevertheless, as babes were oft in doing, the truth of it was irrefutable.
With a noisy sigh, George pushed himself from the floor, muttered the charm to douse the magical fire, and left the room, mindful for once, how grateful he was to share a room. It was harder to brood when one's brother was snoring like an overweight hippogriff not four feet away.
it's in between the minutes
TWO
by: s. stewart
a.k.a.
carpetfibers
Difference Always Matters
26SEPT04
1918