Always quick to speak her mind and first to raise her hand in class, Hermione Granger had rarely been at a loss for words. But as she stood in a wide, twilit field – working to catch her breath and slow her pounding heart – she had no clue what to say, or even what to think. She stared in disbelief at the remote location's only other inhabitant, who – despite the well-defined muscles on his bare, multi-scarred chest, his lack of glasses, and his muddied, bloodied appearance – looked unquestionably like her best friend…whom she had found murdered over a year ago.
The World I Leave Behind
Chapter Five: Truth and Consequences
"Wh…why did you…bring us here?" gasped the would-be Harry between rapid breaths. He was hunched over with his hands on the knees of his torn jeans, and – like Hermione – was soaked to the bone. "I Apparated us to the Burrow," he continued. "But just as it came into view, you pulled us here instead."
Hermione observed him shrewdly, checking his every tiny movement and slight change in facial expression, searching for the imperfection that would prove he was an imposter. But all she could find were Harry's confused look, Harry's lightning-shaped scar, and Harry's emerald green eyes, which stared back at her with seemingly genuine bewilderment.
"Do you know where we are?" asked Hermione in a carefully measured tone. She had to control her emotions; she could not let this…this…whoever he was cause her to drop her guard. It was impossible to think that Harry could…could be….
"Isn't this…where the Quidditch World Cup was held?" he answered, passing her impromptu test. "Where we camped while we looked for Horcruxes? Oh, that reminds me…."
He began to walk around the area and cast spells, the same protection and concealment charms that Hermione, Ron, and the real Harry had used to stay hidden during the months they spent camping on hilltops and mountainsides. As before, during their escape from Hogwarts, he cast his spells without a wand or words.
"They shouldn't be able to find us," he said, "as long as we don't say his name and trigger the Taboo, but I'm not taking any chances."
"How do you do that?" said Hermione incredulously, her academic curiosity temporarily overriding the mystery of his identity.
"It's a long story…." His words trailed off as he turned to look at her again. "Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"
"No," she responded, and then for several moments he simply stared as if he had just noticed her, and then a broad grin stretched across his face.
"God, Hermione – it's…it's so good to see you…." He moved toward her as he spoke, and as he reached for her, she could see that his eyes were watery. "I never thought I'd see you ag –"
"Stop," Hermione commanded. She held her hands out defensively and took a few steps back. "Don't…don't come any closer."
He stopped, but his smile did not fade completely. "It's really me, Hermione. I know how this must seem, but –"
"Do you? Because I was the one who found Harry's body after they killed him. It saw it, touched it…. It was him."
"It was a trick, Hermione; it had to be. Vol –"
Hermione's eyes flew wide, but he caught himself before he could finish the name. He grimaced.
"Sorry…I haven't had to watch my words for a long time." He looked down and pushed back his wet bangs with one hand while placing the other in his jeans pocket. How could anyone look and act so much like Harry?
He sighed, and looked back up.
"I've been locked inside the Chamber of Secrets since the battle at Hogwarts – er, the first one, over a year ago. Nobody knew I was there except for You-Know-Who. When Bill opened the wards, I was finally able to Disapparate…." He trailed off and, for a moment, seemed lost in thought. "Hermione – he knew that all of you were coming."
"I…I know," she replied. "But…never mind that right now." At the moment, Hermione didn't find the fact that the Order of the Phoenix had apparently been compromised to be the most important topic of discussion.
"You claim that you were kept in the Chamber of Secrets…how were you caught?"
"Oh…well…."
He shifted and averted his eyes as he paused; he was clearly holding something back…or perhaps he hadn't thought his story through very far.
"Just before You-Know-Who's time limit was up and the Death Eaters were about to attack again, I went into the forest like he'd told me to – you know, when he magnified his voice and spoke to the whole school – and when I found him, he…he took me."
Hermione eyed him suspiciously.
"Look," he went on, "there's more to it than that, but…but now isn't really the right time."
"Right…" Hermione said, narrowing her eyes further.
"Damn it, Hermione," he began to step toward her but held back, balling up his fists and drawing a deep, exasperated breath instead. "We've traveled back in time together; you were with me in the Department of Mysteries when Sirius died; you bought me a broom polishing kit; and we sat together in the top box to watch the Quidditch World Cup, right on this very spot!"
"Stop! Stop, that's enough…."
Hermione couldn't stand to hear any more. She had always followed and trusted logic above all else, and logically, nobody besides Harry, Ron, and herself could know the things that this person knew. Furthermore, the story of his capture fit with the timing of his disappearance, and if he had been locked within the school grounds, he certainly couldn't have escaped until Bill opened Hogwarts' anti-Apparition wards. Everything fit, and if the situation were a puzzle on a test, she would have her answer: Harry was alive.
But her heart could not bear the risk of believing; she had only just begun to recover from the damage Harry's death had caused – if she dared to hope, and then lost him again…it would destroy her.
And what of the grave next to Fred's by the Weasley's orchard? Hermione was no fool; she had seen the body up close, and it was Harry to the last detail. It wore Harry's robes, glasses, and – around its neck – the Mokeskin pouch Hagrid had given Harry for his birthday. The body even had the Invisibility Cloak on it.
But mostly, Hermione had spent a year accepting that her friend, the brother she never had, was gone. A world in which he still lived made no sense.
"Hermione," said the Harry before her in a soft, gentle voice. "If I was a…a Death Eater, or something, pretending to be me…then why did I save your life?"
"I don't…I don't know."
"And if I'm not who I say I am, then how do you explain the fact that, before you brought us here, I Apparated us to the Burrow?"
"I don't know."
"Well, then –"
"Listen," Hermione cut in. "There are a hundred things that I don't know right now, so until I get some answers, I'm going to proceed very carefully. And I absolutely will not let you go anywhere near the Burrow." She suddenly felt stronger, more decisive, and moved to take control of the situation.
"Okay…okay," she said, standing straighter. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to take you someplace safe for the time being, while I go back to the others – they will be wondering where I am. Later tonight, after I…check on some things, I will meet you and we can continue this…discussion. All right?"
"Um…sure, I suppose…." His brow furrowed in exactly the same way that Harry's always did, and he seemed unsupportive of – even disappointed at – Hermione's plan.
Of course, Hermione thought. If his job is to get close to me – probably to get close to the Order – then letting me leave is a gamble….
"Yeah, I guess you should get back," he continued in a resigned tone. "The others are probably going spare wondering what happened to you. Andy maybe…maybe it's best that I don't just show up out of the blue. But there's so much more to tell you; things that the Order needs to know. If you need more proof that I'm Harry, just ask me anything you want."
"No, no more questions until…until I can check on some things. Don't worry, I'll have plenty to ask you later." With other Order members backing me up, she thought.
"Well," he said. "Where to, then?"
"Here," said Hermione, reaching out her hand. He held it, and then with a pop, she took them both to their next destination.
They appeared inside a room that was faintly lit by the final, dimmed rays of the setting sun, which shone through a nearby window. Hermione waited for her companion's reaction as she watched him squint his eyes to examine his surroundings, his gaze travelling over an armchair, a sofa, and finally a boarded-up fireplace.
"Hermione," he said apprehensively. "Why have you brought me to the Dursleys'?" He turned to Hermione with a confused look, and she had to suppress the flutter that his recognition of the house had stirred inside her.
"The Order checks in on this house from time to time, but it isn't used. The Death Eaters haven't been spotted around here for ages, but it still isn't safe enough for your Aunt and Uncle to –" Hermione caught herself speaking to him as if he was Harry, and redoubled her efforts to guard against such slips. "It still isn't safe enough for the Dursleys to move back in."
"Well," he continued in a flat tone, "I bet they're just thrilled about that." He looked around the room again and shook his head. "From the new prison to the old one," he sighed, and fell into an armchair, causing a cloud of dust to launch into the air. Coughing, he stood back up. "Ugh…if Petunia saw that, she'd have a heart attack."
"You can wash up while I'm gone," said Hermione, observing his multiple layers of dust, mud, and dried blood. "But don't use any lights, Muggle or otherwise – the neighbors will know that the house is supposed to be vacant, and we don't want to attract any attention."
"You know me, Hermione – I like a low profile." He half-heartedly smiled at her, and Hermione resisted the impulse to smile back.
"I should be gone for only a few hours. Don't…don't go anywhere, okay?" Hermione was suddenly struck with a desperate urge to stay with him, to keep him in sight and ensure that he didn't disappear. What if she returned to find the house empty? Would she ever be able to go on without having solved this mystery once and for all?
She put her nervous energy to good use and moved about the room, casting the same protective charms he had used at the campsite. He stood with his hands in his jean pockets, and Hermione could feel his eyes on her as she worked. Finally, she turned to face him and prepared to leave.
"I'm…sorry about this," said Hermione, and she immediately kicked herself for meaning it.
"Yeah, well…just do what you have to so that you can believe me. I survived summer holidays at this place; a couple of hours won't kill me."
Hermione stood in place and stared at him for several moments, ready – but unwilling – to leave. Staring back, he gave her a tenuous smile. Finally, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and Disapparated.
To say that Hermoine was distracted would be an understatement, and as she arrived at the Burrow with an ear-splitting crack, she felt lucky that she hadn't splinched herself. The sky had gone fully dark, and – as it had been at the campsite and at Privet Drive – she saw no trace of the violent thunderstorm they had left behind at Hogwarts. She appeared just beyond the house's front yard and anti-Apparition charms, and could see the lawn by the light that shone through the Burrow's every window.
Almost immediately, Hermione heard a voice shout her name and saw movement by the front door. Ron was running at her, his torn, muddy clothes and scratched face still showing the signs of battle. His face held a wild, frantic look; his clear blue eyes caught the light and froze Hermione with their intensity. Ron didn't slow as he approached and he nearly knocked her over as he tackled her with a hug.
"Hermione! Oh my God…."
Ron squeezed her to him and for a moment Hermione stood in shock, her thoughts having been ripped from the all-consuming mystery of the new Harry to the boy who held her, the boy that she had only recently begun to understand how much she truly needed. Scenes from Hogwarts came rushing back to her: Death Eaters cursing Ron as he rushed to her aid atop the Astronomy tower; Ron a second from death at Voldemort's feet.
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, and she gripped him back just as enthusiastically. He released his hold to take her face in his warm, rough hands, met her eyes with a searing stare, and then crushed his lips to hers. The kiss was desperate, full of many unspoken emotions born not just from their brush with death, but also, Hermione knew, the feelings they had rediscovered during their reunion the day before. She tried to match his fervor with everything she had, to convey the things she hadn't yet found the courage to put into words, but the glorious moment ended as suddenly as it began.
Pulling away a few inches, Ron searched her face as he spoke in a rush.
"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
"No, no I'm fine – what about you?"
"Just a few scratches. How did you...when…. What happened? Bill brought dad and Percy here before he went back to Hogwarts to get me, and he said that he saw you here. I would never have come here if I knew you hadn't made it out…."
"I brought George here," Hermione explained. "But then I went back to…to…"
On instinct, Hermione decided to keep her hidden "Harry" a secret for the moment.
"…to find you."
It was true; she had reentered the battle to ensure Ron's safety as much as she had returned to find the supposed reincarnation of her late best friend. Ron didn't need to know the full story; at least, not yet. She found that it was easier to consider the imposter objectively while away from his perfect mannerisms and Harry's unmistakable grin, but a part of her was bracing for the horrible pain that was sure to accompany the confirmation that the dream wasn't real, that Harry hadn't rejoined to them. She wouldn't set the others up for that kind of heartbreaking disappointment.
"What kept you?" Ron asked. "Bill reckons we made it out just before the anti-Apparition wards went back up, and that was almost a half an hour ago."
"The wards were back before I could get out, so I…I took a school broom and flew upward until I passed the boundary and could Disapparate."
"Y-you...." Ron stuttered. "On a broom?"
"Yes, well…I was lucky in that no one seemed to notice." Hermione avoided Ron's disbelieving gaze, and was thankful to hear Bill's voice call to them from the house.
"Is it her?"
"Yeah, it is!" Ron yelled back. Hermione could hear the joy and relief in his voice, and she chided herself for not hurrying back faster; for leaving them to worry.
"C'mon," said Ron, taking her hand. "We should get inside."
He led Hermione into the house past a smiling Bill, who, up close, looked to be in pretty bad shape. There were several fresh wounds visible across his face and arms, and he labored to follow them into the house, limping and supporting himself against the wall.
"Bill," said Ron, who had turned to notice his eldest brother's difficulty. "Let me give you a hand."
"I've got it," Bill replied, waving Ron off.
"The stubborn git won't let anyone touch him until everyone else has been looked after first," Ron said to Hermione while frowning at Bill.
"Everyone…else?" Hermione repeated, terrified at the meaning behind his words.
"Yeah," Ron simply said, and they reached the doorway to the sitting room. As she entered, Hermione saw the rest of the people that had returned from Hogwarts gathered there. Charlie and Percy stood nearest, appearing a bit roughed up but uninjured; Kingsley sat in a chair by the fireplace with a bandaged leg propped up on a footrest; and across the room, George and Mr. Weasley lay on beds that Hermione knew were actually transfigured armchairs. They seemed to be in the worst shape, and were the rooms' only two occupants that didn't look up as she arrived.
"Oh thank heavens," squeaked Mrs. Weasley, who moved from a seat by her husband to wrap Hermione in a tight hug. Ginny, who had been standing by her father, followed and gave Hermione a look of relief over her mother's shoulder, an emotion which was echoed in the voices of the others in the room.
"What's…." Hermione trailed off, and Mrs. Weasley pulled away to follow Hermione's stare to the two still figures lying on the beds. Hermione saw the woman's expression darken, but George spoke before his mother got the chance.
"Hark – is that m-my…savior, I hear?" came his weak voice, but still he did not turn to look at them. Hermione walked to his bedside and saw that he was covered in cuts and fresh bruises, and that he lay rigid as if paralyzed.
"George…." was all Hermione could say.
"I-it isn't as bad as…it looks," he said with obvious difficulty. I was b-blindsided by the…bloody g-gargoyle outside the…h-headmaster's office, of all things. McGonagall s-sicced it on me."
"McGonagall," Hermione started, remembering the encounter with her Imperiused Transfiguration professor.
"She's upstairs, asleep," said Kingsley in his slow, deep voice. "Poppy's checking on her. It was the damndest thing; Minerva Apparated here by herself even though she was under the Imperius curse…she must have fought it. We found her outside the wards, just standing there, waiting for us. I was able to remove the curse, but just barely. In my years as an Auror, I've never come across an Imperius so strong."
Hermione immediately knew what must have happened after she left the professor to duel one-on-one with the Harry look-alike, whose power went beyond what she knew of magic.
"If you h-hadn't got me…out of there," wheezed George, "I would've b-been a…goner."
She took his hand and he winced, causing her to let it go.
"Will you be…okay?
"Not if he doesn't lie still," admonished Madame Pomfrey, who strode into the room and brushed past Hermione to check on her patient. "If you keep trying to move, the Skele-gro won't take properly." Catching Hermione's worried look, she added, "But if you do as I say, you should be back to normal in a day or two."
"W-will I be able to p-play the piano?" George asked.
"Of course, why wouldn't you?"
"Well…I c-couldn't before…."
"Not up to your usual standards, mate," groaned Ron, whose somber face cracked a small grin.
Madame Pomfrey turned her attention to Mr. Weasley, who remained unconscious and was terribly pale. "He still hasn't woken?" she asked with a glance at Mrs. Weasley.
"No," answered the Weasley matriarch in a frightful voice. Stroking the hair on her husband's head, she added, "Should he have?"
"It's hard to say…. On top of his injuries, he lost a lot of blood before I was able to treat him. I don't mean to alarm you Molly, but Arthur came…very close."
Hermione raised a hand to her mouth and gasped. She felt Ron's hold on her other hand tighten.
"It was all my fault," whimpered Percy. "I got into trouble with a bunch of Death Eaters, and dad got hurt fighting them off. Bill got us back here and then dad just…just collapsed."
"It's nobody's fault, Perce," said Charlie, who put a hand on his brother's shoulder, "but those damn Death Eaters."
"He's stable, Molly," continued Madame Pomfrey. "And that's a small miracle. If Ginny hadn't stepped in and acted as fast as she did…."
"Ginny?" Hermione repeated.
"Ginny saved her father's life," said Madame Pomfrey, who looked at Ginny appreciatively. "The bleeding wouldn't stop, and I couldn't understand why the wounds wouldn't close. I should have realized what I was dealing with, but Ginny recognized the dark magic straight away and knew the counter curse."
"It's just lucky that I was in the DA," Ginny added in a flat voice, with her eyes on her father. "Harry taught it to me. I guess that's another life debt the Weasleys owe him."
In her mind's eye, Hermione again pictured Harry – or whoever he was – Apparating between Ron and Voldemort as the latter cast the Killing Curse. Could the real Harry Potter have saved yet another Weasley life only an hour ago? The memory continued, and a new truth began to sink in: this person, whoever he was, could not possibly be in league with Voldemort.
Hermione had reasoned that an imposter might have aided her to gain her trust and be taken to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, but this person's actions had contributed to the destruction of Nagini, Voldemort's final Horcrux. The Dark Lord had seemed genuinely surprised to see him, and the danger had certainly felt real enough when Voldemort chased after them. But then…why didn't Voldemort kill this "Harry" when the boy stood defenseless in front of him?
Nothing made any sense, and the more uncertain Hermione was about the perplexing wizard's true motives, the more her wishful side fought to seize control of her. Hermione obsessed over any question she didn't know the answer to, and this one was killing her.
A spluttering cough snapped her attention back to the present, and – following the turning heads of the room's other occupants – Hermione saw that Mr. Weasley had begun to stir.
Molly uttered, "Arthur!" in a startled whisper, and her children closed in on their father's bed as one before Madame Pomfrey quickly shooed them back with a wave of her hand. She moved her wand over her patient, the tip of which glowed brightly. This seemed to satisfy her, as she put her wand away and leaned forward to speak to Mr. Weasley, just inches from his face.
"Arthur, it's Poppy – can you tell me how you feel?"
"Brilliant," he groaned, while he seemed to be shifting to find a position that wouldn't cause him pain. Mrs. Weasley raised her clasped hands to her chin as fresh tears fell down her face, and she smiled for the first time since Hermione arrived.
But contrary to the wave of relief that made its way across the room, Mr. Weasley was suddenly alarmed. "What…what happened?" Is everyone –"
"We're all here," assured Mrs. Weasley, and then – smiling at Hermione – she added, "every one of us."
"Thank God," he moaned, and then grunted in pain as he settled back into a relaxed position.
"Boys," instructed Madame Pomfrey, "help sit him up a little." Charlie and Percy moved forward and gently did as they were told, while Madame Pomfrey reached for a small bottle of potion that sat ready on a nearby table. "Try to drink this, Arthur. It will help."
He drank every drop, and with each gulp his face twisted with more disgust.
"I don't suppose I want to know what was in that?" he asked, as his sons lowered him back to the bed.
"Not if you want to keep it down," replied the matron.
"The mission," said Mr. Weasley, who had apparently just remembered the reason his family was in such rough shape.
"We got McGonagall," reported Bill. "Nobody really understands how; she just seemed to show up here on her own. We didn't get Dumbledore's portrait, and we didn't bring back the hat – but it doesn't really matter."
"Doesn't matter?" asked Charlie, incredulously.
Bill grinned at Charlie, and then positively beamed at Ron.
"Ron killed Nagini," he said. "Somehow the hat was just there, and Ron pulled out the sword and chopped the snake in half – and took a good chunk out of Voldemort's shoulder, too."
Cheers erupted from around the room as Ron's brothers patted his back, ruffled his hair, and high-fived each other in celebration. Ron's freckled face glowed red at the attention, but he seemed to appreciate it. Ginny, smiling wide, gave Ron a hug, during which he whispered in her ear. Hermione, still at Ron's side, was close enough to hear Ron tell her, "That one was for Harry." Ginny wiped at her eyes as they pulled apart, and she silently nodded her appreciation.
"Good lord, Ron," said Mr. Weasley over the ruckus. He was clearly taken aback by the news that his youngest son had fought Lord Voldemort and come away the winner. Similarly, his wife's face had gone white with shock. "Did you really?" he continued. "You killed it?"
"Yeah, dad – that's the last Horcrux gone. The next time somebody gets a lucky shot in, it'll be the end of that bloody bastard."
The color began to return to Mr. Weasley's face, and with watery eyes and a proud smile, he said, "Well done, son. Well done."
Hermione squeezed Ron's hand, which she had continued to hold, and flashed him a brilliant smile when he looked at her. Ron released her hand to put his arm around her, and she leaned into him.
Hermione closed her eyes and released a long breath. Despite being ambushed by a small army of waiting Death Eaters – including Voldemort himself – they were all going to be okay. Things could have easily gone much, much worse; if it weren't for the boy she had just left at Privet Drive, at least she, Ron, and possibly George would have been killed. As the others continued to excitedly discuss the ramifications of Ron's actions, Hermione's full attention once again drifted to their mysterious rescuer.
* * * * * * *
A short time later, Mrs. Weasley hastily threw together a quick dinner and everyone remained in the sitting room to eat with those who were still too injured to relocate to the kitchen. They ate in relative silence as a strange energy hung over the room; nearly all of them had just survived near-death experiences and their nerves were still on end, but at the same time, they rejoiced in the fact that they were all accounted for, hurt but whole.
Ron sat close beside Hermione on the sofa as they ate, and when she finished her helping of mashed potatoes, he uncharacteristically tried to persuade her to take the rest of his. Hermione's appetite wasn't up to it, however, as she continued to withdraw into her repeated examinations of each moment she had spent with Harry's double. It wasn't until she heard Harry's name spoken aloud that she realized a conversation had started around her.
"I mean, Harry and Dumbledore had it right, didn't they?" said Charlie. "I didn't like being kept in the dark, but nobody ever found out what they were up to."
"It's easy to say that now," countered Bill. "We'll certainly have to limit the flow of information more in the future…but I just can't believe that anyone who knew our plans would have sold us out to Voldemort."
"You don't reckon we should go somewhere else," said Ron. "Just to play it safe?"
"Nah," answered George, who was still in pain but already showed improvement. He was able to sit up enough to eat soup, which his mother fed to him. "With the Fidelius charm protecting this place, the only one who can tip off our whereabouts to You-Know-Poo is the Secret-Keeper. You haven't been inviting any Death Eaters over for tea, have you Bill?"
"No," Bill answered. "We should be fine here. And I've checked with the other safe houses using our new secure Floo Network, and nothing's happened."
"It's too quiet, if you ask me," added Kingsley. "After what we pulled, I would have expected some kind of response from Voldemort by now." The former Auror sat his empty plate on a table and stood, gripping his chair's armrest as he did so to lighten the weight on his injured leg. "I'm going to Shell Cottage to check on things there in person."
"I'll go with you," said Bill. "I should really get back to Fleur."
"I'm coming too," added Charlie.
After Bill and Charlie wished Mr. Weasley and George well, and received kisses from their mother, they joined Kingsley and the three of them left amidst green flames in the room's fireplace.
"I didn't know it was possible for us to create a private Floo Network," said Hermione while she watched the fire die down.
"It isn't supposed to be possible, George responded, a grin evident in his voice. "But since when has that ever stopped us from doing anything? It just took a while to figure it out, that's all."
"While you were helping yourself to dinner in the kitchen," said Mrs. Weasley to Hermione, "I took the liberty of using it to check in with your parents."
"My…parents?" echoed Hermione, stunned. How could she not have thought of them even once when they could be in grave danger?
"Yes, dear – we had them added to our network last night; we thought it might be wise with everything that's going on."
"Yes – thank you, Mrs. Weasley. And…they're okay? Nothing…unusual has happened, or…or…."
"Nothing at all. I warned them to be extra cautious and to not leave the house for a little while, but if anyone is looking for you there, the charms that Arthur put in place seem to have done the trick."
"Thank goodness," said Hermione, who felt unbelievably lucky to have not paid a price for forgetting something so vital. She slumped forward in relief and felt Ron's hand rub her back. Warmth seemed to spread from his touch throughout her body, and she closed her eyes to soak in the sensation. She remembered his embrace upon arriving at the Burrow, and his lips….
"They would like to speak with you tonight, when you can," added Mrs. Weasley, splashing cold water on Hermione's reverie. "I didn't go into any details," she continued, "but I think they could sense that everything wasn't all right here."
"I'll be sure to, Mrs. Weasley."
Ron took his hand from her back, laid it across Hermione's shoulders, and pulled her against his side. The warm, numbing feeling began to descend upon her again, and she rested her head upon his shoulder. Ron was a calming force against the storm of thoughts swirling around inside her head.
They stayed like that for a while, neither breaking the soothing, healing feeling between them with words. On Madame Pomfrey's orders, Mr. Weasley and George were eventually moved upstairs to get some proper bed rest, and a short time later, professor McGonagall entered the room with the help of Ginny and Madame Pomfrey on either side of her. Hermione was happy to see her former teacher up and in control of herself again, but then she felt a thrill of fear at the realization that McGonagall had seen – dueled – the person that Hermione was keeping secret.
"Minerva," said Mrs. Weasley, who rose to meet the new arrival. "We're so relieved to have you back. How are you?"
"Not…not well, Molly." Ginny and Madame Pomfrey lowered McGonagall into an armchair directly across from where Hermione sat with Ron. The professor rested back against the chair and caught her breath; the journey down the stairs seemed to have cost all of her strength. "Thank…thank you, Poppy…Miss Weasley."
"Let's get you fed," said Mrs. Weasley. "I've got soup, or there might be enough ham left…."
"Soup would be lovely, Molly…thank you."
Mrs. Weasley headed for the kitchen, with Madame Pomfrey following behind her. Ginny curled up on the opposite end of the sofa upon which Hermione sat with Ron.
"It's good to see you, professor," said Hermione, tentatively.
"Miss Granger," acknowledged McGonagall, her eyelids heavy.
"Do you, um, remember anything that…happened?"
McGonagall sighed and closed her eyes, and did not reopen them when she replied.
"No…no, I do not recall any of this evening's events. In fact, I have yet to remember anything of the past several months. My last memory is of my capture. I cannot be certain, but I…I believe it may have been Voldemort himself who cast the Imperius curse on me."
Just as Hermione had begun to relax at the news that her secret was safe, she reeled at the thought that anyone could wrest control of a curse performed by the most powerful dark wizard the world has ever known. Kingsley had nearly been unable to undo the new curse, and he was a top Auror that was trained in the removal of the Imperius. This…Harry…person…had topped Voldemort's curse, and he had done so without a wand. Whether or not he was really Harry, what would a wizard this powerful mean to the wizarding world, to the war? Hermione had just begun to consider the possibilities when the fireplace roared to life, and a face appeared in the flames.
"Kingsley," acknowledged Percy, who had been sitting quietly by the fire.
"Percy," said the deep voice in a grave tone that caused Hermione to brace for bad news. "Is Arthur there?"
"He's resting, but mum is in the kitchen – should I get her?"
"Get everyone who's up…Voldemort has responded to our attack."
The room went deathly still as Percy ran from the room, and in just a few moments, he returned with his mother, who hurried behind him with a look of alarm.
"That's everyone," said Percy. "George is asleep, too."
"All right," said Kingsley, and he drew a deep breath.
"We've just gotten word of three coordinated attacks that happened approximately twenty minutes ago. At the Ministry of Magic, someone walked into the main lobby and caused a massive explosion. It isn't clear what spell he used, but in addition to killing himself, the attacker took the lives of ten ministry workers and injured many more." Kingsley sighed. "They say that the blast left a small…crater…where the fountain used to be."
The horror that paralyzed Hermione was so absolute that she could not utter a sound, and neither did anyone else. She stared transfixed at the face in the fire, unable to process what she had just heard, unable to comprehend such loss.
"Survivors have said that the killer introduced himself…as Harry Potter. They say that he looked just like Potter, too. And…." Kingsley paused, and his eyes flitted from Ron to Mrs. Weasley before he went on. "And just before he…did it, they say that his only words were, 'I have a message for Ron Weasley.'"
"At the same time," Kingsley pressed on, despite the looks of shock on the faces of his captive audience, "Our sources say that a second Harry Potter entered the offices of the Daily Prophet. This one said he had a message for Hermione Granger. Not counting the attacker, the explosion killed thirteen witches and wizards."
"Thirteen…." Madame Pomfrey repeated in a whisper.
"And the third Harry Potter paid a visit to St. Mungo's."
"No," gasped Mrs. Weasley.
"Nearly twenty patients and hospital staff were killed in the blast." Kingsley again looked apologetically at Mrs. Weasley. "He said his message was for Ginny."
"But Ginny didn't go on the mission," argued Mrs. Weasley, her voice frantic. "She wasn't there!"
Kingsley had no response, and the room slipped into a deafening silence as everyone absorbed the terrible, unimaginable news. Finally, Ron spoke up.
"But…but the Death Eaters practically run all of those places!"
"We think it's symbolic," said Kingsley. "Voldemort wanted to make a statement, wanted to show everyone that nowhere is safe. Outside of Hogwarts, he targeted our central institutions. We're fairly certain that the attacks are over for now, but we're still looking into it. I should go. I'll let you know if we find out any more." And with a nod to the room in general, his face vanished.
Hermione's head was spinning. So many were dead…murdered…as a result of the raid she had taken part in. She felt completely overwhelmed. She felt nauseas. She felt…hot. Very hot.
"Ginny!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione turned to see heat radiating off the girl in waves. She was standing with her fists clenched, and the look on her face was beyond anger. Hermione felt a twinge of fear; Ginny looked…off. Unhinged.
"They want me?" she said, incredulously. "Am I supposed to be afraid now? Come after me, then! I HOPE they find me!"
The air was boiling. Mrs. Weasley tried to restrain her daughter but Ginny moved away, gesturing wildly as she raised her voice.
"If I get the chance, I will KILL every one of those bastards!"
Mrs. Weasley again reached out, and this time Ginny smacked her hand away.
"I'LL KILL THEM!"
The sofa near Ginny burst into flames, causing Hermione and Ron to leap off it. Ginny didn't seem to notice.
"What, Riddle thinks we won't defend ourselves if he dresses Death Eaters up as Harry?"
"Ginny, stop!" yelled Ron, who seized his sister's wrists only to jerk them away as if burned. "You're going to burn the house down!"
"DON'T YOU BE CALM!" she screamed at him. "Harry was your BEST FRIEND! How DARE they –"
"I know, Ginny! I know! And we're going to make them pay! But look – LOOK at what you're doing!"
Ginny finally seemed to take in what her out-of-control anger had unleashed, and she fell into an armchair with her face in her hands. Hermione pulled out her wand and, with quick spell work, doused the sofa.
Madame Pomfrey eased McGonagall back into her seat after having helped the professor move away from the fire. Mrs. Weasley stepped toward her daughter, but – apparently unsure how Ginny would react to her touch – simply stood next to her. Ron turned to Hermione and took her in his arms, and she clung to him for comfort.
"God," Hermione sobbed against him. "All those innocent people…."
"Bastards," spat Ginny, who uncovered her eyes to stare toward an empty corner of the room. Her face was now soaked with tears, but her expression remained hard, furious.
There was nothing else anyone could say.
* * * * * * *
Shortly afterward, Hermione lay in her guest bed in Ginny's room. Everyone had broken apart to be alone with his or her thoughts, and many had retired to their rooms, though Hermione suspected that few of them had yet managed to find sleep.
Earlier she had flooed her parents and lied as convincingly as possible, saying that while they should stay inside the house and use extra caution for the time being, they needn't worry about their daughter. They still wanted Hermione to return home, but trusted Mr. and Mrs. Weasley enough to let her stay.
She had remained in the sitting room with Ron for a little while, but instead of finding calm in his presence, Hermione feared that she had the opposite effect on him. In light of the killings made by the Harry imposters, she was a wreck over what to do about the Harry she had promised to meet. It could be suicide to keep him a secret and return to Privet Drive alone. But far from trying to kill her, this Harry had saved her – and Ron – from certain death. Could it really have been an act, part of a plan to murder more of the Order?
Hermione had silently debated these points back and forth, becoming outwardly more agitated as she struggled over what to do. Should she take the sensible, logical course of action and turn this "Harry" in, or follow her heart, which she could not deny believed his story even if her brain did not? For a reason that Hermione could not identify, she resisted at all costs sharing her predicament with anyone else.
But Ron could tell that something was wrong, and the more she avoided his questions – the more she withdrew from him to focus on her internal struggle – the more suspicious he seemed to become. In light of the day's traumatic events, Hermione reasoned that he probably feared a relapse; that she would break down and run away as she had before. Hermione felt horrible for making Ron worry yet again, but it took all of her strength to hide the true severity of her distress as well as she had. Truth be told, if Ron did suspect that she was close to snapping, he wasn't far off the mark.
Perhaps all that kept Hermione from falling apart was the crucial task that remained for her at the Burrow; the real reason she had left the boy behind at the Dursleys' house. Hermione had known that she would have to wait until everyone was asleep before she could move forward with her plan, and as the time for her to take action ticked nearer, she became proportionately more anxious. She was fairly sure that Ginny had recently succumbed to sleep, and her suspicions were confirmed when Ron entered the room and his sister did not stir.
"Hermione?" he whispered, having crept to her bedside. Hermione feigned sleep, and after a minute, heard Ron close the door behind him and climb the creaky staircase.
With tremendous effort, Hermione held off for another hour, straining to catch any sound that might signal that the coast wasn't clear. Finally, when she could no longer force herself to remain patient, she slowly, painstakingly left her bed and dressed.
Hermione was so cautious that she took ten minutes to descend the stairs and exit the house through the back door. It was still warm beneath the starry sky, which the bright, full moon painted a deep purple. She carefully made her way across the backyard and sped into a jog as she moved farther from the house. By the time she reached the orchard, the back of the Burrow was almost entirely obscured by trees. With a glance toward the orchard's edge, she found what she was looking for.
Next to Fred's final resting place was a second grave with an identical headstone – the only difference was that it had been marked with the name "Harry Potter."
Hermione froze for a moment. She had fled the magical world the night they found Harry's body and hadn't returned for the burial – one of her many regrets. As she stared at the stone, all of her swirling theories, fears, and regrets were burned away by one thing: a need to know.
With regret but no hesitation, she brandished her wand and – after a hastily cast noise-cancelling spell – began to shift dirt from the grave. If, in minutes, she were to gaze upon the cold face of her dead best friend, she would feel unforgivable shame…but there was no other way.
As the flicks of her wrist dug the hole deeper and deeper, her wand movements becoming faster and more frantic, Hermione's darkest memory – the event that had sent her life spiraling off course – pushed through her usual defenses.
For the first time, she did not fight it.
- - - - - - -
It was three days after the battle at Hogwarts, where Harry had gone missing. The wizarding world had been thrown into chaos as, emboldened by their victory, Voldemort and his Death Eaters seized control of Hogwarts and made grabs for more power within the Ministry of Magic and elsewhere. Those that had stood against Voldemort at the school went into hiding, or else stuck to the shadows when venturing out to gather information. Such was the case with Arthur Weasley and Hermione Granger, who Apparated into the loft above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, one of the many abandoned shops in Diagon Alley.
"Hm," said Mr. Weasley, looking around the empty, dusty room. "I thought our informant might have beaten us here; we're quite late."
"You don't think he ran into trouble?" asked Hermione. "Diagon Alley isn't the safest place to go these days…." Mr. Weasley did not respond as Hermione walked to the window, which had been boarded up. The room was dimly lit by the slivers of light that shone through the cracks between the boards. She found a particularly large gap between two planks of wood and bent closer to peek through the opening to the street below.
"Oh," she said, the moment she had put her eye to the gap. "There's something going on…people are running toward the center of the district…."
"What?" replied Mr. Weasley, and he joined her to take a turn looking through the boards. "Hermione…stay here," he said, straightening back up. "I'll go have a look."
"I won't let you leave by yourself, Mr. Weasley. We'll both go."
He scrutinized her for a moment before he conceded.
"Well, all right, but stick close to me and avoid moving out in the open."
Hermione nodded her consent, and together they took the stairs down to the shop and exited onto the street.
The late-afternoon sky was golden, and the setting sun cast long shadows that made it possible for them to remain somewhat concealed if they stuck to the side of the street. The area wasn't nearly as populated as it had been before these dark and dangerous times, but a good number of people still ran past Hermione as she and Mr. Weasley moved at a more cautious pace. The commotion increased as they neared the heart of Diagon Alley, and when Hermione happened to glance skyward, she lost her breath upon seeing the terrifyingly familiar green skull, the top of it just visible above nearby rooftops. Simultaneously, she and Mr. Weasley quickened their pace into a jog and headed directly for the Dark Mark.
They turned another corner, and the shock caused Hermione to stumble. Staining the sky was not one, but a dozen Dark Marks, the intensity of their combined glow casting all nearby stores and streets in a sickening green shade. The horrors floated directly above Gringotts Bank, where crowds of people had gathered to gaze up at them – no, not at them, they were looking at….
Hermione heard a terrible scream and realized it was her own.
Above the bronze double doors, stretched across the Gringotts sign, hung a lifeless, savaged body clad in ripped Gryffindor robes, with a face that held round-framed glasses beneath its messy mop of black hair.
Mr. Weasley ran forward and Hermione followed. Dodging past a few scattered groups of onlookers, they reached the steps that led to the bank's doors. Hermione's foot slipped when she came to a stop, and she looked down to find that the street was slick and glistening. Taking a step back, she took in the sloppy red letters written on the street that spanned the width of the steps above them:
"The boy who died."
The words were becoming increasingly illegible as more of the red liquid pooled into them, and – following the trail up the white stairs – Hermione saw the blood oozing from the robed figure.
Beside her, Mr. Weasley pulled out his wand and frantically began to cast spells in an attempt to bring the body down, but time after time, nothing worked. He finally conjured a rickety wooden ladder and climbed it. He could just reach the body from the top rung, but he had to further tear its robes to bring it down; a patch of black cloth remained stuck to the wall by whatever charm had been used to fasten it there.
Mr. Weasley descended the ladder slowly, careful not to jostle the figure in his arms. Upon reaching the ground, he laid the body on the stairs and Hermione joined him in kneeling beside it. Hermione touched a hand to its white face and found it to be ice cold. Brushing back its bangs, she could clearly see the lightning-shaped scar, and Harry's Mokeskin pouch hung around its neck.
Hermione's brain wasn't working. All thought was suspended while she unconsciously went through the motions of confirming what she already knew. She could feel a terrifying force about to break through; could feel a train charging down its tracks toward her, until – when Mr. Weasley opened the boy's robes – it slammed into her.
She spluttered incoherently as she saw the mutilated remains. The arms were flayed and twisted; the legs had been shattered. The chest was open.
Hermione slid down several steps as she recoiled in horror. She tried to turn away but could not dislodge her eyes from the abomination; it burned into her, becoming a hundred times more unbearable by the second.
From the other side of the body, a low sound escaped Mr. Weasley that sounded like a wounded animal. Hermione saw that his clothes were covered in the corpse's blood, and that he held one of its mangled hands in his.
A short shriek shot from Hermione's lips, quickly followed by another. Her brain was catching up; she was becoming aware of the full meaning of what she was seeing. The shouts turned into wails as she clawed at her legs, arms, and hair. She began to crawl back across the slippery steps toward what she now acknowledged was Harry, but Mr. Weasley met her halfway and locked her in a tight embrace, pressing her head to his chest and blocking Harry from view. Hermione struggled to break free as more screams ripped through her, but could not break his hold.
As they sat there, members of the watching crowd began to move closer to inspect the body for themselves. At this, Mr. Weasley pulled Hermione to her feet and spoke to her in a broken, urgent voice.
"W-we have to get him out of here," he said, holding her by the shoulders. Hermione looked past him back at Harry, who lay defiled and exposed. The Invisibility Cloak spilled out from the inside of the opened robes and onto the steps.
Without a word, Hermione moved to block the observers as they reached the stairs, while Mr. Weasley pulled Harry together enough to lift him in his arms. Hermione brandished her wand as she led Mr. Weasley past the crowds. Her fierce expression warned those that approached to turn away, even as she continued to sob. People stared after them but did not follow as they fled. They turned down a couple of streets until, reaching the end of a dark alleyway, they were safely out of sight.
"Hermione," came Mr. Weasley's strained voice, but she showed no sign of response as her eyes fixed on the body he carried. Her breathing had become shallow and stuttered; she found it difficult to take in air.
"Hermione!" he called again, and this time she caught his eye. His face was glazed in tears and specks of blood.
"I don't think you should try to Disapparate right now, and I can only side-along one at a time, so I need you to remain here for just a moment while I go ahead, all right?"
Hermione mutely nodded her understanding.
"Stay here," he stressed, and then Mr. Weasley took Harry away.
Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, only to find the ghastly image of Harry's broken body inside them. She looked around the alley and tried to steady her breathing. As a minute melted by, she felt her mind begin to shut itself down again; it was as if she remained hung between thoughts; a standing, breathing shell.
She almost didn't notice Mr. Weasley's return until he gripped her shoulder and prepared to Disapparate. She seized his arm with her hands and the alley faded away.
* * * * * * *
Tears flowed freely down Hermione's face as she continued to dig into Harry's grave at a frantic pace, her wand swinging wildly as thrown dirt rained down around her.
At last, she uncovered a long, plain wooden box. The shock of its appearance gave her pause, and when she used a levitation charm to gently lift the casket from its resting place, the fast, violent motions she had used to move the earth were replaced with grace and great care. She placed the box next to the open grave with a soft thud.
Hermione still had not caught her breath and her heart continued to beat wildly. Unable to fully accept what she was about to do, she moved to the coffin as if in a trance and knelt beside it. Her hands moved of their own accord to reach out and touch the wood. Her thumbs wrapped under the lid.
She had spent hours convincing herself that Harry rested peacefully inside, but if she found him there now, Hermione doubted she would ever find the strength to stand back up.
With a scream, she threw open the lid.
A breeze rustled through the trees.
An owl hooted in the distance.
And Hermione laughed.
It began in spurts and quickly rose to hysterics – loud, convulsive laughter that was punctuated by sporadic sobs. Then the howls turned mournful and she doubled over, wailing, as a year's worth of caged emotions were set free at last.
A year of nightmares, a year in exile, a year apart from those she needed most…had all been because of a lie.
For inside the box, adorned in immaculate Gryffindor robes, lay the decaying remains of Draco Malfoy.
Still weeping, Hermione leaned into the casket, removed the Mokeskin pouch from around Draco's neck, and pocketed it. She pulled apart the robes to find the body that had been ruined by dark magic and felt revulsion, but nothing more. She instinctively searched the robes' inside pockets for the Invisibility Cloak and found it missing.
Hermione closed the lid and steadied herself against it as she stood on shaking legs. With a growing urgency she levitated the coffin back into its plot and hastily, haphazardly piled the dirt back on top of it. She turned her back on the grave without a second thought, leaving the proud Slytherin to lie beneath the headstone that bore the name of his most hated rival.
Hermione choked out intermittent laughs and sobs as she pushed her trembling legs to carry her as fast as possible to the Burrow. Slowing to step through the back door, she raised a hand to cover her wet mouth, which muffled the spastic hiccupping sounds that continued to spurt forth.
She was completely possessed by a single thought: go to him. Nothing else mattered. Her only other consideration – the one thing that could have possibly penetrated her absolute focus on her destination – was the only other person that mattered to her as much: Ron. Leaving, once again, in the dead of night would be bad enough; she had to let Ron know that this wouldn't be like before, that she would be back. Scanning the kitchen for spare parchment and a quill, she spotted the remains of dinner that Mrs. Weasley hadn't felt up to clearing. Thinking of Harry, Hermione grabbed a basket that still held a few rolls and piled in other scattered leftovers.
"Hermione," came a voice, startling her. "What are you doing?"
Ginny had walked in wearing her oversized t-shirt, her bare legs and arms pale in the moonlight that entered through the kitchen window.
"Hermione?" Ginny repeated when she received no answer. "Why are you dressed? Have…have you been crying?"
Hermione shook her head and, looking away from Ginny, clutched the basket of food to her chest and walked past her. Hermione's entire being cried out for just one thing, and she would not – could not – be kept from it.
Ginny followed and – in a soft, caring tone – continued to call after Hermione, who moved quickly through the house and did not answer back. When Hermione went through the front door and down the porch steps, she heard Ginny say her name again, this time in a loud, stern voice. Hermione stopped and turned to see Ginny standing in the doorway with a wary look on her face.
"You promised that you wouldn't hurt him anymore," Ginny cautioned.
Remembering their discussion from the previous night, and the revelation that Harry's apparent death had, if possible, affected Ginny even more than herself, Hermione was struck with a sudden urge to shout her discovery at her, or to simply grab Ginny's arm and Apparate them both to where Harry waited. But then she remembered the killings and the mass murderers that had worn Harry's face, and decided against it. She could wait one more day; Hermione could plan the best way to handle the situation for everyone involved.
"I'll be back this time, Ginny. I swear. By noon tomorrow. I…I just have to see my parents right now. So much has happened, and…and I just need to make sure they are all right." Hermione felt horribly guilty for lying to Ginny when she knew what Harry's return would mean to her, and for not truly rushing to watch over her parents when she probably should. "Please, Ginny – please tell Ron. I'll be back. Noon tomorrow."
Ginny folded her arms and considered Hermione with a neutral expression.
"Are you sure that you're going to be okay?" she asked.
"Yes. Yes, I.... This isn't like last time, Ginny."
"Noon tomorrow," Ginny confirmed. "Don't make us worry."
"Thank you, Ginny." Hermione tried to give her a reassuring smile, and Ginny attempted one in return.
Hermione turned and hurried across the yard, passed through the gate, and stopped beyond the invisible wall of protective wards. She Disapparated with a last regretful glance at Ginny's silhouetted frame in the doorway, and appeared a moment later on the front porch of number four, Privet Drive. With a quick look around at the still, silent suburbs, she muttered the incantations that would allow her through the protective spells she had cast earlier, and then entered the house.
After closing the front door behind her, Hermione cautiously crept down the hall and into the living room where she had last seen Harry – he wasn't there. Thinking of the late hour, she sat her basket in an armchair, returned to the hall, and climbed the stairs. She checked Harry's old bedroom and then the others, but still found no trace of him.
As Hermione retraced her steps to the first floor, she felt a panic rising within her. He couldn't be gone, not after she'd just found him again. She thought of what a fool she had been to leave him….
And then, upon entering the kitchen, she saw him. The back door was open and he sat in the opening with his back to her, casting a long shadow across the kitchen floor as he gazed at the moon. The scene was so tranquil, so dreamlike, that Hermione froze on the spot, hesitant to disturb it. Her mind pushed forth a dozen things to call out to him, but the words caught in her throat. After several long moments, it was Harry that broke the silence.
"Did you check on what you wanted?" he asked calmly, without turning around.
Hermione's face twisted with emotion, and her eyes began to sting as she nodded and then whispered, "Yes."
"And?"
Tears spilled down her cheeks as Hermione stepped into the kitchen and again found herself unable to speak. Finally, with a swallow to ready her dry throat, she produced a single word:
"Harry."
He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled, as his own tears twinkled in the moonlight.
"That's what I've been waiting to hear."
Hermione moved slowly toward Harry as he stood and wiped his face. He showed no signs of the earlier battle – he was clean, his jeans were not torn, and he wore a simple white t-shirt. She stopped just inches from him and timidly reached out her hand to touch his chest with her fingers – he was solid, real. She looked into his face and no longer imagined deception or malice in his green gaze, but instead saw a shy first-year boy on the Hogwarts Express…a reluctant dancer at the Yule Ball…a friend by her bedside in the hospital wing.
She slid her arms around him, pressed her forehead to his chest, and wept.
"I know," he whispered, sniffling. "I missed you, too."
Something inside Hermione healed as they held one another, and she smiled while she cried against him.
* * * * * * *
A short while later, after the tears had gone and only smiles remained, Hermione began to tell Harry of the day's events. They sat at the kitchen table and Harry hungrily ate the food that Hermione had brought as he listened to her news. He lost his appetite, however, upon hearing of the murders that the Death Eaters had committed in his name.
"This…this is all my fault," he said, appearing sick. "Vol – You-Know-Who did this to keep anyone from trusting me; to stop anyone from helping me. If I hadn't escaped…."
"That's how I felt at first, too," said Hermione. "I mean, if the others and I hadn't gone to Hogwarts, none of this would have happened. But we can't blame ourselves, Harry – he did this. You-Know-Who had those people killed."
"I know…you're right, but still…God. All those people. He probably used Polyjuice potion – found a hair or something of mine in the Chamber of Secrets and…."
Harry's brow suddenly creased, and he gave Hermione a calculating look. "Wait – you knew that he was using my doubles to kill people, and you came back here anyway? Are you mental?"
"I knew that it was really you," Hermione said, defensively. "At least, a part of me did. I tried to ignore it…tried not to get my hopes up, but…I knew. I spent nearly every day with you for six years, Harry – I would know a fake."
"And besides," Hermione continued, "I found proof. It's…it's what I went back to the Burrow for."
Harry looked at her quizzically, and she took a deep breath and answered his unsaid question.
"I…dug up your grave. It was…it was Draco."
Harry's eyes went wide.
"You've got to understand," pleaded Hermione. "I was there when…. I mean, I found you – Draco – with Mr. Weasley. The body had been hung up on Gringotts, and it had been…been mangled, but its face – he looked exactly like you. I don't know how they did it; Polyjuice Potion wouldn't have lasted. He had your Invisibility Cloak, and this…." Hermione slid the Mokeskin pouch across the table. She felt her eyes sting again as she fought to explain. "You have to understand…if there had been any reason to think it might be a trick…. Harry, I'm so, so sorry that we never looked for you, or…or…."
Hermione turned away in shame, and Harry reached across the table to take her hand.
"I don't blame you, Hermione," he said. "Any of you. It was a cleaver plan. And anyway, it's my own fault that I got caught."
Hermione smiled and squeezed his hand back.
"Wow," Harry added, his gaze distant. "Draco. I wonder if he knew when we.…" Harry seemed to gather himself and, shifting in his chair, left his question unfinished. Before Hermione could inquire, Harry appeared to realize something and he spoke again.
"Wait – I was buried…at the Burrow?"
"Yes. At a spot by the orchard, next to Fred. It's lovely there."
Harry released her hand, sat back in his chair, and seemed to struggle with something.
"Uh…wow," he said, appearing to blink back tears.
"Is something wrong?"
"No, no. It's just…I can't believe that they…would…."
"Harry," said Hermione, smiling warmly. "You were – are – family to them. Of course they would want to...to keep you close."
"Do they…do they know?"
Harry asked with such obviously forced indifference that Hermione knew he must have been dying to know the answer all along.
"That you're alive? No. I haven't told them yet."
Harry didn't comment, but silently fidgeted with his pouch. He pulled from within it the remains of his wand, which had been broken while he and Hermione escaped the trap Voldemort had laid for him in Godric's Hollow. He considered the pieces for a moment, and then carefully sat them side-by-side on the table.
"Hermione, could I borrow your wand?"
"Well, yes," she said, handing it over. "But we've tried this before, Harry – it doesn't work."
"That was before," he countered, smiling. "Reparo!" he shouted, and he flicked Hermione's wand at his own. A flash of brilliant white light filled the room and left behind a solid, seemingly perfect wand. In addition, Hermione noticed that several scratches had been erased from the table.
Harry handed the borrowed wand back to its owner – who hesitantly lifted an arm to take it – and picked up his newly restored wand. Upon gripping it, a wide grin stretched across his face.
"It worked," he said. "I can tell."
"How," began Hermione, but then she shook her head. "You've got to tell me how you can do these things, Harry. What I've seen you do…it shouldn't be possible."
"I will," he said, the smile fading from his face. "But not tonight. It's…kind of…part of a bunch of other things that will take some time to explain."
"Well," Hermione sighed, her insatiable thirst for knowledge left unquenched. "The important thing is that you're back, Harry." She was suddenly overcome with excitement. "Just wait until the others find out. Oh, Harry – Ron and Ginny are going to –"
"I…don't think it's going to be that easy," Harry interrupted.
"I know," said Hermione. "You can't just pop up; after the killings, everyone would probably try to blast you to bits before you could get a word in. I should go first; I can explain things –"
"That's not it, Hermione – well, not all of it. The Death Eaters knew that you were coming today; knew exactly how you planned to enter the grounds. I've been thinking this over since you left, and I can't come up with any answer but this: there must be a spy inside the Order."
Hermione shuddered at the thought that anyone involved with the fight against Voldemort could have betrayed them, but she could not disagree with Harry's assessment.
"And if You-Know-Who got word that I was at the Burrow…."
"But it's protected by a Fidelius Charm –"
"Still, I would be putting everyone in even worse danger."
"Then…what? You aren't thinking of…of staying here…."
"Well, no…I haven't figured it out yet. The truth is, I need to know what's going on, what You-Know-Who is up to and where he might be, and the best source of that kind of information is the Order. Is there a place that's a bit more secure than here, somewhere I can have to myself? You could go back to the Burrow and keep me filled in – I mean, if you're willing…."
"Of course I'll help, Harry, but…I can't think of anywhere else. There are a few other secure locations – like Shell Cottage – but those are all in use. But…but maybe you can still go to the Burrow without anyone knowing that you are, well, you."
The idea had popped into Hermione's head out of nowhere, and before Harry could ask, she answered.
"Polyjuice Potion. I've been stockpiling it at my house for the Order. We could introduce you as…I don't know – a friend of mine, or something. Maybe I could get them to let you join up."
Harry considered this for a moment, and then nodded his approval of the plan.
"Yeah, that might work. It'd be…weird, I suppose. You know, being there with everyone at the Burrow, but not as myself…."
"Well, we could tell everyone eventually, once we've uncovered the spy. And I'm sure that we could trust Ron and Ginny straight away, and probably Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and –"
"No, I…I don't think so, Hermione. If we do this, I think we have to keep a tight lid on it."
"Not…not even Ron? Or Ginny? Harry, they –"
"Just let me…feel it out, okay? I mean, maybe the spy isn't really a spy, just someone that's been Imperiused, or…or something."
It appeared to Hermione that something else about letting Ron and Ginny in on the secret bothered Harry, but she was willing to let it go for now. The important thing was that Harry was back, and in one form or another, he would be rejoining them.
"Okay," she compromised. "We'll see how things go. But Harry...they took your death very hard. Ginny…."
Harry winced at the name, and held up a hand to stop Hermione from going any further.
"I know," he said.
"I'm…not sure that you do. We will tell them, right? Just as soon as we can be sure it's safe?"
Harry folded his arms and seemed to stare through her for a moment, then gave a curt nod.
"Okay then," Hermione confirmed. "I can go to my house and get the Polyjuice –"
"Stay," said Harry, his suddenly fearful voice giving Hermione pause.
"I mean…it's hard being alone, in this house. It's just so…quiet here. Like the chamber."
His wounded expression broke Hermione's heart. To have suffered through a year's imprisonment, all alone….
"Of course I'll stay, Harry. I was just about to say that I will get the potion from home tomorrow morning, and then we can find someone for you to disguise yourself as. This neighborhood is loaded with muggles; any one of them will probably do."
Harry looked away with an embarrassed smile. "Thanks, Hermione. It…it means a lot."
In that moment, Harry looked absolutely exhausted.
"Come on," Hermione said, and she took Harry's hand and led him out of the kitchen. "You're sleeping in a soft, warm bed tonight.
They climbed the stairs and entered Harry's room, at which point Hermione guided him to sit on his bed.
"I'll make a place on the floor and sleep right next to you."
"No, you take the bed," Harry protested, and he pulled her down to sit next to him. "I'll sleep on the floor."
"Harry Potter," said Hermione, adopting a tone of mock indignation, "You are sleeping on this bed if I have to stun you."
Harry scooted back to rest against the wall, yawned, and then grinned.
"You would, wouldn't you?"
She moved beside him, folded her arms, and smiled back as she looked him dead in the eyes.
"Try me."
"Yes mam," he replied, closing his eyes and still grinning.
"Wow," Hermione giggled. "You've changed. Since when does Harry Potter do what I –"
But Hermione was cut off when Harry's head fell against her shoulder – he was fast asleep. She stared at him for several minutes, watching his breathing slow and become more even, and marveled at the unexpected turns her life had taken.
In the past two days Hermione had returned to the magical world, reunited with Ron, nearly been killed by Voldemort himself, and miraculously gotten Harry back from the dead. And somehow, through it all, she had found herself again.
Their lives – and the world – were still in terrible danger, and the following days were sure to present more challenges and tough choices. But for the moment, Hermione allowed herself to think only of the boy next to her…allowed herself, for the first time in over a year, to hope.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Next:
The Burrow plays host to a number of new arrivals, including a strange new friend of Hermione's. But with the Death Eaters becoming more aggressive, and at least one of Voldemort's informants believed to have infiltrated the Order of the Phoenix, will the Weasleys take a chance on the unknown boy?
Coming soon, the sixth chapter in The World I Leave Behind, "Introductions."
"I can't do this . . . this isn't right . . ."
"You've brought this on yourself, mate."
"You would be willing to risk that?"
"It . . . moved me, what you said."
"He's made you cry again."
"Why can't I ever just tell you?"
"This is a friend of mine . . ."