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All in Time

Confessions

"I ever tell you much about my uncle Bilius?"

Ron's voice startled Harry—he jerked so hard that he fell from his bed, hit the wall on the other side, and slid with a groan to the flagstone floor.

What day was it?

"Ron?" Harry croaked. Footsteps sounded toward him and he looked to the foot of his bed. Ron stood there, looking down at Harry, his face drawn up in distaste.

"Merlin, Harry, what have you been doing?"

Something in Harry's stomach clenched and that gnawing feeling crept up his throat. He had a name for it now.

Guilt.

"Why are you here?"

Ron huffed out a breath and dropped the bag on his shoulder. He bent over and wrapped his hand around Harrys wrist, tugging. Harry went up, willing his body to be as compliant as his mind; a fruitless task. He stumbled against the redhead.

"Hell, Harry, have you washed recently? You stink of B.O. and stale whiskey and—is that vomit on your shirt?"

Harry tried to remember being sick, but couldn't, so he shrugged. "Maybe."

"All right, shower. Now." Ron lugged Harry into the bathroom and pushed him into the shower, wrenching it on cold. Harry felt a shock flash through his body and he sputtered, reaching for the handle. He turned it to a warmer temperature, yanked off his boxers and old t-shirt, and stood there, letting himself wake up.

"Anyway," Ron continued, "after Bilius' wife died, he went off the deep end. He was convinced it was his fault. She got splinched, bad, on the way to a Quidditch game he wanted to see, so he took the guilt for it. After the funeral, he started drinking. After about two weeks, Mum checked on him. He'd passed out on the floor in his own piss and shit. Mum took him home with her, sobered him up, and then hollered at him for a bit."

Harry scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned. "And he what? Saw the error of his ways, quit the self-pity, got sober and became a productive member of the family?"

Ron snorted. "Eh, no. He came straight back to his house, saw the Grimm, came back howling to us and died the next day."

"The point, Ron?"

"The point is, Harry, that unless you want me to take you back to the Burrow and tell Mum what you've been up to, you'll sober up."

"Oh no, Ron, you wouldn't." Harry's voice was radiating sarcasm and Ron bristled.

"Hey listen, I get it. You went through hell and back and everyone expected you to give more. I'm not saying you don't deserve to have a bit of self-pity and wallow sometimes. But drinking yourself into incompetency for three days straight is no fucking way to deal with it."

Harry wrenched the shower off and yanked a towel from the counter. He tied it around his waist and stepped out. He left the bathroom, Ron on his heels, and sat clumsily on the bed.

Ron stood in front of him and handed him two vials. Harry uncorked them and sniffed—a regular sobering potion and hangover cure—and downed them both. He shook his head roughly as they began to work. "Shit. Thanks."

"Yeah. So. You wanna tell me why 'Mione owled me yesterday, panicked because you were so drunk, you wouldn't respond to her?"

"She came over yesterday?"

Ron scoffed, "yeah, mate. She had to force her way into your wards, and found you completely unresponsive in bed. The only reason she didn't call McGonagall is 'cos she knows your fight with her was the trigger for it.

"Something else odd—she said Malfoy was the one who asked her to check on you."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Malfoy and I have been…on speaking terms." Harry got up and searched in his wardrobe for clothes and dressed in jeans and a Weasley jumper from that Christmas.

He turned to see Ron looking at him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

"What?"

Ron shook his head. "Nothing. Just…everything's changed so much. You're taking benders, talking to Malfoy. 'Mione's changing her specialty from Ministry work to potions. Me—I'm helping George open another shop here in Hogsmeade. Everything's different and it all changed so quickly."

Ron's voice was melancholic. Harry studied his friend's face and saw what he had only seen a handful of times there: despondency.

"Ron, what's happened?"

"I'm meeting 'Mione in Hogsmeade this afternoon. She wants to talk. I think she's going to break up with me."

"What?"

Ron nodded and scratched the back of his neck, ears turning pink. "We've been going downhill ever since she came back to school. She never wants to floo call me, never wants me to come for a weekend. She can't go past Hogsmeade except for holidays, and she spent all of them here. We're drifting apart, and I think she doesn't want me anymore, but if I can convince her to give me just until next fall, give us some time after she graduates…I don't know, mate."

Harry shuffled his feet, unsure what to say. They sat in silence for a moment before Ron suddenly stood and clapped his hands together. "Anyway. Let's focus on you right now. There may not be hope for my relationship, but there's still hope for you. First thing's first. Winky!"

Winky popped up with a slight crack. "Yes, Master Weasley?"

"Please change the bedding and scrub the bathroom. Then bring us up some leftovers from breakfast and coffee. I think we're going to need coffee."

"Yes, sirs." Winky snapped her fingers and the sheets tugged themselves out from under Harry, who was flung off the bed. She snapped again and fresh covers were tucked onto the mattress. While she worked on the bathroom, Ron handed Harry his wand and instructed him to get cleaning.

The firewhiskey bottles (filched from Snape's office, again) flew into the bin, along with old newspapers and some crumpled bits of parchment Harry had tried to start a letter with whilst still too drunk to pen more than garbled jumble of random syllables. Ron opened the curtains and cast an air freshening charm. He tidied up the piles of school items and put them on the desk. Lastly, he set a fire in the hearth, which crackled cheerfully despite the unhappiness radiating from the two men in the room.

As Harry sat in an armchair he heard Winky pop away. His stomach rumbled in anticipation of a meal.

"So tell me how you came to be here again? Start to finish."

"Well. Malfoy came up to 'Mione in the library yesterday morning and asked her to check on you. That you'd promised to talk to her about their Arithmacy project and he hadn't heard from you, nor had he seen you since Sunday night and you weren't opening the door. So she came to check on you and had to work a ton of magic to get through your wards. After she saw the state you were in, she did what she could, but said a sobering charm wouldn't have worked at that point, and there was no way to get a potion into your system. She sent a message right away asking me to come to the castle to check on you before we met and stayed with you all night."

Harry nodded. "She knew about the row I got in with McGonagall?"

"Oh yeah." The food arrived, and Ron paused to help himself to some bacon and toast. Harry took up a sausage for himself and nibbled on it directly from the fork. "Well, you know she and 'Mione work together all the time on the school. She went to deliver some plans for repurposing the old Necromancy corridor, and McGonagall told her all about it. Did you really say those things to her, Harry?"

Harry groaned, "yeah." Harry explained the realization he'd come to about his after-school life, and McGonagall's reaction to it. "She said I need to do more than be an at-home parent, I need to contribute something to Wizarding society. I lost my temper and maybe I wasn't as respectful as I should have been, but I don't regret what I said. The world's got no right to expect anything else from me anymore."

"Can't say I disagree with you. But McGonagall's been worried about you. You know she's always had a soft spot for you, mate."

"I know. I'll apologize to her."

"Good. It'll get 'Mione off my case."

Harry laughed a bit at that, lightened. "I need to talk to Hermione, too. And Malfoy, I guess."

"Yeah, how did that little turn of events come about?"

Harry considered what to tell Ron. He didn't want to give away how he'd been in the clock tower. He didn't want to give away the nature of their conversation, either. It felt like a private thing, his and Malfoy's moment in the tower.

"Malfoy…caught up to me the other morning. Said he wanted to talk. So we talked. He said he wanted to start over and be friends. Said he'd had too much hate in his life, and he wanted no more of it. Said even if we wouldn't be friends, he'd at least like to not be enemies anymore." Harry shrugged. "He came over the other night; actually it was him who suggested that I take time to raise Teddy instead of trying to do that and find a line of work, especially if there was nothing I was passionate about."

Ron nodded. "That's a good idea. You have the funds. And, I mean, if you were a woman, everyone would be behind it, I suppose."

"See?" Harry agreed. "I have to say, though, you're taking it better than I thought. Being friendly with Malfoy, I mean."

"Don't get me wrong—I don't trust the little bastard, and don't let your guard down around him. But we had to grow up after the war. I don't have time or energy for a grudge with Malfoy, and if he says he wants to start fresh, that's a choice up to you. Just know that if I have your go looking for your corpse, I'll beat the information out of him the old-fashioned way."

Harry laughed. "Noted."

Ron stayed for a while longer, before stretching and announcing that he should get going to the Three Broomsticks.

"Good luck, mate. You can come back if you want, later."

Ron gave him a wry smile. "Thanks. See you."

After Ron left, Harry found himself restless and anxious. He knew he should go speak with McGonagall, but was honestly too ashamed of his actions to do so. The gnawing in his stomach rose up as he thought about how rude he'd been.

He could go to the rest of his classes, he supposed, but after he cast a Tempus, found he only had forty-five minutes of Charms left in the day.

Harry shook his head at himself, knowing what he really wanted to do, and shocked at himself for it. He strode over to his desk and took up a quill and a piece of parchment.

Draco—

I'm an idiot. One day into a truce and I neglect to do the one thing you asked of me. I'll get Hermione to help you with Arithmancy.

Tea again tomorrow?

—Harry.

With a fancy bit of charmwork, Harry spelled the parchment to fold up into a paper airplane, told it to find Malfoy, and sent it on its way.

He then went back to the bathroom and, despite having just showered, drew himself a steaming bath. He relaxed for the better part of an hour, and when he rose from the water, steam plumed from his red skin. He gave his teeth a much-needed brushing, attempted (and failed) to control his hair, and tucked his glasses back behind his ears. He re-dressed in fresh clothes—a pair of brown trousers and a blue button-up—and tied a pair of black shoes.

A tapping came at his door then, and when he opened it, the little airplane flew back in, ramming him straight in the forehead, over and over until he succeeded in grabbing it from the air. He smoothed out the folds—

Scarhead—

You are an idiot. 4pm tomorrow. Put out decent biscuits this time.

—Draco.

Harry laughed, a half-manic, half-relieved sound, and replied that four would work and yes, he would ask Winky to bring up a good selection.

Next, he found another blank piece of parchment, and wrote a note to An, asking her to meet with him at the Three Broomsticks that weekend. He took the time to walk to the owlry and tie the letter to a brown school barn owl. He figured he'd probably hear from her in the morning.

Harry cast another Tempus. He had an hour until dinner, and intended to make an appearance.

In the meantime, he went to hunt down Hermione. She was, predictably, in the library, bushy hair bobbing over an open book. Thinking on his feet, Harry pulled a quill out of his bookbag and transfigured it into a yellow rose, which he lay on top of the book. Hermione looked up, blinking owlishly, taking a few seconds to really focus on him.

The resemblance between Hermione and McGonagall that second was astounding.

Hermione put her quill down and picked up the rose, turning it between her fingers before glaring at Harry. Her eyes were puffy and red, and a hint of a tremor shook her bottom lip.

Instantly, Harry forgot about seeking forgiveness. He reached out and put a hand on her arm. "What's happened?"

Hermione looked like she was trying to decide between being angry at him or being sad at whatever had made her sad.

Sad won out.

To Harry's horror, tears began to leak out of her eyes. She brushed them away almost as quickly as they fell, but one splattered onto her homework.

Harry's seen Teddy crying loads of times. He knows the four B's: Bottle, Bottom, Bubbles or Bed, and to check Teddy over to see if he's hungry or needs a new nappy, or if he's gassy or sleepy. Harry knows how to handle Teddy when he cries.

Harry has always panicked in the face of Hermione crying. He's never let it show, at least he thinks he hasn't, but he's had no clue what to do when his best friend's face has crumpled before, and nothing had changed when she did it now.

He pulled a chair up next to her and awkwardly patted her shoulder. She threw her arms around him and cried into his shoulder harder.

"It's all so fucked," she whispered into his shirt.

Harry panicked a bit further at swear. Hermione had always been poised, and when she hadn't been poised, she'd been pissed off. Slapping the smirk off of Draco came to mind and Harry had to collect himself quickly before he laughed. Hermione had only cried a handful of times since they came to know each other—usually over Ron's callousness.

"What's he done now?" Harry asked.

Hermione sobbed a couple of times before pulling away and rubbing her eyes with the sleeves of her oversized jumper poking out of her robes. "I can't talk about it here. Can we go back to my rooms?"

"Mine are closer," Harry offered.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I need to show you something in my rooms."

"All right," Harry nodded. He helped her pack up her things and leave a few tomes on the counter for Madame Pince to re-shelve. Hermione seemed to struggle under the weight of her bookbag, so Harry took it from her. They walked in silence to the fourth floor, underneath the Ravenclaw tower. A stained glass portrait of a woman with blonde hair curling in an invisible breeze swung open after touching palms with Hermione and smiled at her.

"Who's that supposed to be?"

"Eileithyia. She's a Greek goddess."

"Of what?" As far as Harry knew, most gods and goddesses in stories had been witches or wizards. There was no reason to honor them in the wizarding world unless they had done something remarkable.

Hermione chuckled, a bit manically. "If I told you, I'd ruin the surprise." Hermione had her back turned to Harry, arms folded against her chest. She spoke without turning.

"Ron broke up with me today because I wouldn't agree to marry him."

Harry blinked, uncomprehending. "What?"

She shrugged. "It was an all-or-nothing deal. Either I marry him within the next month, or, we break up."

"That seems a bit harsh," Harry said, not really knowing how to respond. "A month's not a lot of time to plan a wedding. Molly could do it, I suppose…" Harry derailed his train of thought when he noticed Hermione sobbing again into her hands. He came forward and rubbed his hand along her upper back. "Look, it'll be ok. If you're really that broken up about it, give him a bit, you know how he is." Personally, Harry thought Ron could go sit on the splintery end of a broomstick handle, but if Hermione was this broken up over him ending things…

"I-It's not th-the timing. It's the m-m-marriage. He wants to g-get married for all the wrong reas-s-sons."

"I know he loves you…"

Hermione took a few deep breaths. "Maybe in his o-own way, but after seeing him this afternoon, how he t-treated me, I can't. I just can't go back to him at all. He treated me more cruelly than he did in f-f-first year."

She was still keeping her back to him and he figured she needed some kinds of self-protection barrier, but Harry was getting frustrated not being able to look her in the eye. He tried to tug her shoulder around, but she stood still and shook off his hand.

He backed up a few paces and ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I don't even understand why he broke up with you? What happened today?"

She blew out a harsh sigh. "I've been keeping a secret. Only Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey know. Well, I think Madame Pince knows, but she hasn't said anything, anyway…"

"What?" Harry begged.

"Do you promise you won't leave me? You're all I have anymore."

Annoyed, Harry walked around and past Hermione, deciding not to give her a chance to avoid his eyes. "Yes," he said as he stopped in front of her. "I'm here, no matter—"

Hermione had undone her school robes. She had on a thick pink cashmere jumper and her uniform skirt.

Which under both protruded a large, round belly.

Harry looked into his best friend's face, took in her quivering chin and welling eyes. "I'm so scared, Harry."

Harry pulled her into his arms. "It's all right, it'll be all right. I've got you."

He decided then and there that his problems were, in fact, trivial. That focusing on his death, on other's deaths, held no importance when held to the life inside Hermione, and how he could help both. In putting his issues in perspective, he let go of his anger and resentment and self-pity and guilt in a breath that made Hermione's hair tickle around his nose.

"I've got you," he repeated, as Hermione began to sob anew.