Chapter 7: Getting Lucky

When they arrived back home, Ron slumped into his favorite leather chair in front of the fireplace while Art went to find Winky. She was in the kitchen stirring an enormous cauldron of beef stew.

"Oh, Master Artie," Winky sobbed. "How is Miss?"

Art sighed and put his hand on the little elf's shoulder. "Not well. They have her in stasis. It all comes down to tomorrow's procedure."

"Is there anything Winky can do, sir?"

Art sighed. "Can I get a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches to go with that stew and some pumpkin juice?"

A few minutes later he was carrying a tray with dinner on it into the parlor. Art used his wand to light the fire and took his mother's chair next to his father. They ate in stunned silence and watched the logs get slowly consumed into ash.

Harry settled himself next to Hermione in the chair Ron had occupied all day. He made a half-hearted attempt to read a magazine, but his mind kept wandering. Unbidden memories of their friendship over the years kept surfacing. He wanted to focus on the happy times, but those weren't what kept coming to mind. He thought about her telling on him for having the Firebolt. He thought about how shocked she'd been when she thought he'd used the Felix Felicis to help Ron in Quiddich, and how hurt she'd been when Harry had told the truth and Ron had accused her of not believing in him. Oddly, he kept remembering how much she hated flying and how many times she'd done it anyway.

"You're pretty tough," he mumbled. "You can get through this."

Then he started thinking about every time he'd ever seen her embarrassed. It didn't happen often, hardly ever after school. He remembered how humiliated she'd been when he showed up in London unannounced and she'd been up partying all night with Viktor, but that was nothing compared to how embarrassed she'd been the time he walked in on her and Ron.

Ron and Hermione's physical relationship was still relatively new at the time, as was the hunt for the Horcruxes. Harry had gotten up to go to bed, but as he'd settled under the covers, he'd suddenly remembered something he'd forgotten to tell them. He hurried back to find Hermione on her knees in front of Ron. Stupidly, he'd at first though she was just resting her head in his lap, but Ron's open shirt and the look of ecstasy on his face told a different story. He'd actually started to say, "I forgot…" when it registered what was happening. Time froze. Harry couldn't get out of the room fast enough and the subsequent fight he and Ron had was among the worst in all their years of friendship.

It had been an awful week anyway. Nothing had worked according to plan and everything had been a huge waste of time. Harry had been on edge. None of them had slept very much and they were all feeling the strain of defeat. Ron had pulled himself together and followed Harry, and to Harry's thorough shame, he'd turned on Ron in a rage. He could still hear every awful, unfair word he'd said.

"I cannot believe you!" He'd shouted. "I'm trying to find the Horcruxes and all you care about is your bloody cock!"

"Harry, you walked in on us! Without knocking!" Ron shouted.

"I forgot something I needed to tell you, not that you care anyway!"

Ron clenched his fists. "Of course we care, we're here aren't we?"

"Oh you're here, but is it to help me or just to get time alone with Hermione?" Harry accused.

Ron threw up his hands. "What are you talking about? That's the first time we've…well…in over a week."

"Bollocks!" Harry spat. "You sleep with her every night."

"Yeah!" Ron shouted, "The operative word there being sleep."

"But you get to be with her! You get everything!"

"What? Are you jealous?" Ron was clearly flabbergasted, which is when Harry launched himself at him and the next thing he knew he was shoving Ron. And then Ron had caught him by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall. Physically outmatched Harry came back with the only thing he had, "Does she get anything out of it, or is just see to Ron's needs, so he'll go to bed without a fuss?"

That's when Ron's fist connected with Harry's nose. Harry reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose subconsciously as he remembered the pain, the crunching sound, and the warm gush of blood that followed.

"Stop!" Hermione had shouted from the door. Her face was positively crimson. "Please stop."

Ron let go of Harry's shirt, and both of them stood staring at the floor, chagrined.

"We need to go back," Hermione had continued. "We can't fight among ourselves and make this happen." She'd pulled out her wand and did a basic healing spell on Harry's nose. The relief was immediate. "Our current line of inquiry isn't getting us anywhere. We need to do more research and we need a break." She put her hand on Ron's arm. "Go to bed," she said softly. "I'll be there in a minute."

Ron opened his mouth as if to protest, but thought better of it and left.

Hermione turned to Harry. She was still very red-faced, and it looked like she was fighting back tears. "You should be ashamed of yourself," she'd said quietly, "Ron is very considerate of me and I don't ever do anything I don't want to do with him."

"Hermione, I'm sorry," Harry said, wiping at the blood on his face with his sleeve.

"Yeah," she said without looking at him. "Me too."

The next morning Hermione and Harry had woken first and spent an awkward, silent half hour drinking coffee and blushing before Ron woke up. He'd poured himself a cup of coffee and then looked at them both as he heated it with his wand. "Good thing we're all so close," he announced with a grin. "Or this could be awkward."

It had broken the ice and he and Hermione had both laughed. They'd gone on to do great things: awful, horrible, great things.

As the moon began to rise, Harry remembered a spring day when Clive was a toddler and Art was just starting to walk. They had been at Bill's, and Fleur had taken her girls in to get changed, so it was just Hermione and Ginny out on the lawn with their sons. He and Ron had been standing on the deck leaning over the balcony, watching them.

"How did we get so lucky?" Ron had asked.

Harry shook his head in the hospital as he looked at Hermione. He didn't know the answer then, and he still didn't. He reached over and took her hand.

Art was relieved when his father finally took the sleeping draught and went to bed. He remained watching the fire. He knew he should go to bed, but he was too restless to sleep and too tired to get up and do anything else. Winky had fussed over him a bit while she cleared the dinner dishes, but she finally relented and went off to her own tiny room in the broom cupboard. Technically, there was a full sized bedroom for her on the second floor, but she never slept there.

Art was startled when Emma's head appeared in the fireplace.

"Art?" she asked.

"Em?" Art said back.

A moment later Emma was stumbling from the fireplace and coughing. "I hate the Floo," she grumbled.

"What are you doing here?" Art asked, standing.

Emma was brushing herself off. "You didn't come back to school. I went to St. Mungo's and your uncle told me you'd brought your dad home to get some sleep." She looked up at him, "I just…wanted to see if you were alright." She looked somewhat sheepish.

Art sighed and held out his arms and she stepped in to hug him. He marveled at the comfort of holding her. Suddenly, his day didn't seem so bad. She smelled of roses, India ink, and Floo powder and he wanted nothing more than to melt into her and make the whole bloody week disappear.

She rubbed her hand up his chest. "I know I should have owled first, but you seemed so distraught last night, I --"

Art leaned down and kissed her. Suddenly, he needed to feel the warmth of her lips against his like he needed his next breath. When he finally pulled away from her, he asked, "Can you stay?"

Emma nodded. "I told McGonagall I'd be gone this weekend."

"Did you say where?" Art asked with trepidation. Their relationship, or at least the extent of it, wasn't exactly public knowledge.

"I told her my parents needed me home because my aunt was visiting."

"But --" Art started.

"My aunt really is visiting, and my parents agreed to let me come home," Emma smiled. "I actually arranged this weeks ago, and I'm sure I'll make it home tomorrow morning."

Art smiled back at her. "Tomorrow, eh?"

Emma's cheeks went pink. "I mean, I could go now, I suppose."

Art closed his hand around hers. "I don't think so," he said. "Let me give you the ten Knut tour. We can start with my bedroom."

Emma pulled back. "What about your dad?"

"He took a sleeping draught. I'll set the alarm and we'll get you out of here before anyone's the wiser." He winked. "If that's alright with you?"