A/N: The chapter's a bit late, so sorry. My friend and my puppy both needed some love and attention today when I'd planned to write, so it took me a bit of time to finish this up. Anyway, here it is now.
Chapter Nineteen
Harry hadn't come to a decision about what to do with Hermione yet, but he couldn't deny that she was right about Ginny. Well, of course she was, she was always right, wasn't she? But he wasn't looking forward to dealing with this. On some deep level, he liked the constant battles with Ginny—it meant he was sticking around. It was a long-term conflict, and while he may not like the "conflict" part, he was definitely pleased about the "long-term" bit. He'd never had that before. Sirius was with him wherever he went, but he was reaching the upper limits of the amount of time he'd spent in one place. If he resolved the problem with Ginny, it would feel like it was over. Like he was wrapping things up so he could move on.
Harry didn't want to move on. He didn't want to leave this place. It was harder to be here than he'd like it to be, but he was tired of running away when things got uncomfortable. Maybe clearing things up with Ginny didn't have to feel like leave-taking. Maybe it was something he needed to do to make it easier to stay. If he thought about it that way, if he made it into a thing that cemented his place here . . . then it was something he wanted to do.
He found her after Quidditch practice, after he'd showered and was willing to put off his homework for a bit. Hermione had been avoiding him all day, even going so far as to sit farther toward the front of the room, out of her usual seat, so as not to sit next to him. Draco had tried to tease him about it, but Harry's cold look stopped him. Ever since their first meeting, when Harry had tried to cover up speaking Parseltongue, Draco had seemed just the tiniest bit afraid of him—or maybe it was just that Harry now had a very tangible control over Draco's life. Harry had been worried about that almost constantly, but that's what Quidditch practice was for. He let all the worry stream out behind him as his broom streaked across the sky, and he was feeling much better when he finally touched down. By the time he got out of the shower, he felt calm and ready to face Ginny.
It took him some time to find her. The people in his house agreed that she'd gone off somewhere with Cho Chang to study, but he had to go to Ravenclaw to find them. Even then, no one seemed to know, until he found Luna Lovegood in the library.
"They went down the secret passageway to that classroom we used for the first meeting," she said, seeming to be far more concerned with the text she was reading than with Harry's questions. Harry didn't take it personally. She always seemed to be about two steps removed from whatever she was doing.
"What are they doing down there?"
"Practicing," Luna said, and her eyes met his with conspiracy winking in the gaze. "You know, just some extra studying."
"Oh, right," Harry said. "They didn't invite you?" He didn't like that. She might be odd, but she deserved to have someone to practice with . . .
"Oh, they did, but I think I've mastered this week."
Harry almost laughed at how casually she said it. She hadn't seemed to have much trouble with any of the spells they were learning, other than the Incarcerous spell. Harry suspected it was just a difficulty with intent, on that one; she was too free-spirited to want people to be bound up. She was a very good witch, going at each new spell with a single-minded determination until it was perfect and all without seeming to attach any personal feeling to it. Well, he'd see how she did with the Patronus spell soon enough, that was impossible to master without personal feeling. Harry was looking forward to teaching that one. He'd gotten his first corporeal Patronus at an early age, but that's because Sirius could be a real slave-driver about Defensive spells. And now that the Order was growing suspicious of the Dementors guarding Azkaban prison, it was high time to teach it to the others.
"Well, thanks for your help, Luna. I'll see you around."
"Yes, I think you will," she murmured seriously.
Harry went down the passageway to the second-floor classroom, and he stood outside the door, thinking. He couldn't hear anything, which might mean they had finished and gone, but he was hoping meant they'd gotten good at the silencing spell he'd taught them. And he was thinking that bursting into the room would be a good test of how well the lessons had improved their combat skills. If he could catch them off-guard, he'd know there was still a lot of work to be done. That decided, he tried the door and found it locked. That was good, but the fact that a simple Alohamora took care of it wasn't. They needed something a little stronger to keep the door closed. The only people who could possibly find them in this room would have the worst kind of intentions, and they needed to be taking that into account.
Except for the fact that you came down here to find them and you don't have any bad intentions . . .
He shielded himself first, then flung the door open and struck. Cho fell to the ground in a complete Body-Bind, but the spell bounced harmlessly off Ginny's Shielding Charm, and his own barely stood up to the Bat-Bogey hex she threw at him. It was only then that she gasped, "Oh, Evan, it's you!"
He grinned. "That was excellent, Ginny! That's exactly right, to protect yourself before retaliating!"
She grinned back and accepted his congratulatory handshake. Harry let Cho wait until he'd praised Ginny before he released her. She stood up with a rueful look and red cheeks. "I guess I still need to work on my reaction time," she said.
"You and half the group," Harry shrugged. "I came into our bedroom last night and had Seamus and Dean down before Ron figured out what was going on. Neville's the one who got me, though. When I turned my back on him to deal with Ron, he took my wand."
Ginny raised her eyebrows. "I guess he didn't learn his lesson after he saw what you did to Draco."
"What do you mean?"
"You're plenty dangerous without a wand, that's what."
"That's the idea," he drawled. "But that's something we'll keep amongst the people who saw it happen, right?"
Ginny and Cho gave him surprised looks. "Okay . . ."
"Element of surprise, ladies."
"Right."
"Oh, makes sense."
"Evan, what are you doing here, anyway?" Cho asked.
"Oh . . ." Harry felt his face going red. "I wanted to talk to Ginny for a few minutes, that's all. Luna said you were down here. You guys can finish up if you want."
"I think we're done here, actually," Ginny said. She pointed to a pile of broken wood in the corner. "That used to be one of the chairs, until Cho demolished it."
"Good work," Harry said, observing the jagged splinters. "And you, Ginny, how's Reducto working for you?"
Ginny shrugged modestly. Cho pointed to the other corner that contained rubble and said, "That's her work."
Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. There was barely anything that made it identifiable as a piece of furniture. It was mostly sawdust. "Wow. You're pretty dangerous, there, Ginny."
"Don't you forget it," she muttered.
Harry just smiled and shrugged that one off. He was here to apologise, after all. There was always the chance that he'd completely screw it up, but barring that, she probably wouldn't be using her considerable power to destroy him.
"I'll let you guys talk," Cho said, backing out of the room.
"Wait a minute," Harry said. "Let me walk back up the tunnel with you."
"Why?" Cho asked suspiciously.
"If someone sees you coming out of it alone, they'll get curious and investigate, and I'd rather keep this room a secret so we can keep using it."
"And if we come out of it together?"
"Well, Miss Cho . . ." Harry said, and winked at her.
She and Ginny both laughed and made a joke about all three of them exiting the tunnel that made even Harry blush, then Ginny agreed to wait for him until he saw Cho back up through the tunnel. He did so quickly, and there wasn't anything to worry about, since no one was around. When he went back down, he had to stop outside the room and take a deep breath. Then he went in.
"I'm here to tell you that I'm sorry," he said immediately.
Ginny sucked in a breath. "You are?" she asked, and she sounded so vulnerable that Harry's guilt skyrocketed.
"Yes," he said firmly, cementing it in his own mind as well as hers. "I made a real mess of this, you know. I didn't mean to. I meant what I said all that time ago: that when you're just being yourself, you're a great girl. The thing is, I've got too many hang-ups of my own, and I don't know how to deal with other people's. It's just . . ." He shrugged. "I don't know how to get close to people, it's not something I'm used to. And I'm not used to anyone being around long enough that it matters."
Ginny didn't roll her eyes, but he could see that it took real effort to hold back.
"I know that sounds pathetic, but it's true. I never really had any friends before I came here, and the longest I've ever dated a girl was a few weeks. I knew that I didn't want us to be dating, but I went about it in the worst possible way. I shouldn't have picked a fight, and I shouldn't have hurt your feelings. That was wrong of me. You deserve to be treated better than that, and I'm sorry that I did it. Do you believe me?"
"Believe that you're sorry?" Ginny confirmed. He nodded. She cracked a nervous smile. "Yeah, I do. I've acted like enough of a, er, a witch to be sure that you were good and sorry."
Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to smile at that or not, so he tried not to. "Well, I am. I think we've both figured out that we're not the right people for each other, but I wish we'd figured that out without getting hurt by it."
Ginny seemed to accept that, nodding a little. "Me, too. I need to apologise, while we're here. I . . . I should have just accepted that I'm not every man's fantasy or whatever I got so upset about. You were right about me, I think. I'm used to boys chasing me, I'm not used to chasing one. I should have accepted that you didn't want me, and it was me being arrogant that made it so hard to see."
"Uh . . . for the record, I kinda did. Want you. But anyway, that's not really the point. The point is, I want us to be able to move on. I know that this year has been really hard for you, with Quidditch and all, and especially what happened with your father, and . . . you've actually stood up to it amazingly well. I don't blame you for getting upset with me, I was a jerk, and you had enough stress."
Ginny looked down and sighed. "The thing with Quidditch has been very hard," she said quietly, painfully. "But everything that's happened this year . . . I needed it. I needed to grow up. The things I was worried about were just stupid and juvenile, and I needed all of that to wake me up to how childish I've been, to make me see that I'm not that special. And to make me see what's going on in the world, the things that I really need to be focusing on."
Harry smiled, at last. "Not special? Didn't you see what you did to that chair, or whatever it used to be? You're a good fighter, you know. I'm glad you've gotten so focused on this, even though I really wish none of had to be worried about it. You've been . . . I've been really impressed with you recently. I have a lot of respect for the way you've dealt with everything that's been thrown at you this year." She'd grown up more than she thought she had, in his opinion.
"And I think I need to tell you that the things I accused you of aren't true, exactly. You impress me, too. I thought you had this high-and-mighty attitude, but . . . I just didn't see you for who you really are. You just overthink everything. You're so awfully serious about all of this, and I finally see that you are the way you are because you're so worried about this war. You think it's up to you to keep us all safe, that you have to be the best possible asset in case the fighting gets so bad they need us kids. And while it's kind of a hero complex, I can respect it. You're right, I don't want to date you. But I do respect you."
"Mutual respect. I can live with that. You?"
Ginny smiled at him and shrugged. "Yeah, that's good for me."
"Well, then." He put an arm over her shoulders and walked toward the door. "Let's go study, shall we? I'd rather not have anyone in our group tell a professor they didn't do their homework, but if they'd like to see an exemplary Reducto . . ."
Ginny giggled as they entered the tunnel. "Aw, your father would love it."
"Probably."
They exited the tunnel, looking around cautiously for any curious eyes. While Harry could have laughed off the idea of having a secret snogging session with Cho Chang because it was so silly, he couldn't say the same for Ginny Weasley. If they were to ever have a secret snogging session, it would be because he was interested in getting serious with her, and that wasn't likely. Ginny was like a mirror held up to the parts of him that wanted to be a simple, open, bold Gryffindor . . . and that was something he couldn't be, and hadn't been in a long time. Dating her would be a nightmare of trodden-down wishes and constant competition, and they'd throttle each other. He'd rather not let the school think they were together, because they'd he'd feel honour-bound to date her and save her reputation. And then he'd be getting a good hard look at his own stubborn streak and reckless courage in someone who could indulge in it while he couldn't.
Is it immoral to tell the Sorting Hat where to put someone? I really should have been a Slytherin, I know that, but . . . the people I'm living with are what I wish I was.
They should have looked harder before they exited the tunnel. They didn't see anyone immediately and they felt safe, but then someone came around the corner and not only surprised them, but made Harry's heart drop straight through the stones beneath him to the next storey of the castle.
"Why, Mr. Rivers, Miss Weasley," she sang out. "Whatever were you doing alone here at this time of night?"
"Just doing a bit of studying," Harry said indifferently.
"Which you could not have done in your common room, or the library, I suppose?"
"Too noisy," Harry shrugged.
"With too many eyes, I suspect," Umbridge said triumphantly, her mean little eyes gleaming with glee. "I do not appreciate your pathetic attempts at lying, Mr. Rivers. You have broken the rules regarding proper conduct, and worse yet, you have seduced an innocent young girl into breaking them. This is atrocious behaviour, and I cannot allow it. You will be seeing me for detention, Mr. Rivers, every night for a week. You will use some of that time to write a letter of apology to Miss Weasley, and another to her parents. Is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," Harry whispered, his stomach clenching in dread.
Ginny was gaping at Umbridge with shock and anger, but Harry squeezed her hand hard and shook his head with warning. Umbridge was absolving her of guilt to be able to heap more onto Harry, and Ginny had better just take what she was given and keep her mouth shut. Harry could deal with Umbridge, he wasn't about to let Ginny take the blame when this had been his idea. He could have waited until she came back to Gryffindor, and that would have been smarter. Or maybe it was just all these thoughts he was having about Gryffindor bringing a certain chivalrous instinct to the surface. Ginny still looked angry, but she sighed and stayed quiet.
"You will return to your dormitory, Miss Weasley," Umbridge said. "I will keep Mr. Rivers here until I am quite certain you will not meet up again on the way. I will make sure he does not take advantage of your innocence again."
Harry nearly laughed at that, but since Ginny was doing such an admirable job of keeping her mouth shut, he supposed he ought to do the same. He dreaded what would happen when word got out about the reason for his detention, as it inevitably would. Well, it was possible that no one would know which girl was involved. At least he hoped that. An unnamed girl was a far more interesting addition to his reputation than one whose identity was known, when you got right down to it. Maybe Umbridge, in making him out to be the big, bad, werewolf, would keep the poor girl's reputation safe.
He was sick when he thought about how he'd explain it to Hermione, the one person he thought might care, but she'd believe him if he said it wasn't true and it was just Umbridge picking on him. This was, of course, assuming she ever talked to him again. What was he going to do about Hermione?
As it turned out, he didn't have to do anything about Hermione. She came to him just after dinner the next day. He was trudging his way to upstairs to be sure he was presentable, so Umbridge couldn't criticise him, and Hermione stopped him and pulled him away from the main path. She didn't go too far away, or into an empty room, so it obviously wasn't to do with their lessons. That was hopeful, maybe that meant it was about them.
The thing was, he hadn't realised how important her friendship had become. It had crept up on him, and suddenly she was the one he was always confiding in, making plans with, turning to for help with their Defense class. When she wasn't available, he didn't know what to do. He'd started to turn to the left (she always walked on his left, he didn't know why) a million times over the last two days, to say something to her, but she was never there. Sometimes Ron or Draco was, but he couldn't just tell them things. That was asking for trouble.
And so, he'd decided, he'd do pretty much anything to keep her around, even if it meant pretending he was wrong for protecting her even when he didn't think he was.
"Hermione, I'm so glad you're willing to talk to me. I want to apologise."
"Oh, just stop," she muttered. Her smile was wry and private. "You know perfectly well you don't have anything to apologise for."
"I don't?"
"Of course not. I was being unfair to say what I did, and it's not your fault that I got upset. I, I, well I . . ." She was looking at the ground, stammering, her voice whispery quiet. Like she'd been when he first met her. He hated that, he never wanted her to act like that around him. He put his hand under her chin and raised her face. "I wanted something I can't have, that's all," she said, a little too defiantly. "You never promised me what I was asking for, and I'm the one who needs to apologise, not you. I was being irrational."
Harry had let go of her chin, but he did reach out and take her hand. "Can I at least apologise for letting things go this long? I wanted to find you later that night and try to work this out, but I thought you needed some time."
"I did," she admitted. "But really, I understand. I won't push you like that again. Friends don't have to tell each other every little thing, do they? I can live with the fact that there's things you can't tell me for some reason. I . . . have a few things I want to share with you sometime, maybe, but not right now, and you've been far more accepting of that than I have."
Harry had gathered enough from talking to Hermione and hearing the gossip to have understood what had really happened to Hermione down in the dungeons last spring, but he did want to hear it from her, sometime. But he hadn't pushed her about it too much.
"So . . . we're okay, then?" Harry quizzed her. He was never entirely sure about these things unless somebody said so.
Hermione chuckled. "Yes, Evan, we're fine."
She even allowed a brief hug. He didn't want to push his luck by making it too strong of an embrace, and he really had to go, anyway.
"I have to get going, I have detention," he muttered.
"Not with Umbridge?" she gasped.
"Yes," he sighed.
"Why?"
Harry blushed. "She saw me and Ginny alone and made some assumptions."
"Ah. Were you and Ginny doing anything untoward?"
Harry scowled. "Of course not! If you must know, I was apologising to her, because I knew you were right about the way I treated her."
Hermione blinked a few times, processing that. "Oh. Good."
"Yeah," he shrugged. "We agreed that we respect each other and that we'd kill each other if we tried to date. That's about the best I can do."
"You did fine," she assured him. "Now, go, before you're late for your detention."
"I shudder to think. Do you want me to come help you work on that Galleon idea after?"
"No, I get the feeling you'll need some rest after this. We'll work on it tomorrow."
"Okay."
With things resolved between both Ginny and Hermione, Harry walked into Umbridge's office with a level of confidence he hadn't expected to have. She could do what she liked to him, but it wasn't going to change that he'd done the right thing. He had that going for him.
It was on his fourth day of detention that Harry finally broke down. He'd been treating his own hand over the last few days. At first it had been stupid lines: "I am not above the rules" over and over until he was so numb with boredom that his hand barely even hurt. But the fourth night, she'd made him compose long, sickly-sweet apology letters to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, and it had taken forever. The writing had turned the entire back of his hand, all the way from wrist to knuckles, into one great oozing mass. It was disgusting, and he was so shaken and exhausted that he was afraid to brew anything himself.
He stumbled into the darkened common room, thinking that it was too late for anyone to even be around (Umbridge had imposed an earlier curfew recently) and so worn down that he was actually considering Flooing home and asking Sirius for help. But one person was still awake, laying on her stomach in front of the banked fire with a book open in front of her. Harry stopped and stared at her dumbly.
"Hermione, what are you doing up?"
It was a stupid question to ask when he could have wept with relief upon seeing her, the pain in his hand so intense that he was cradling against his chest, wrapped in his robes. He hadn't broken, though. Not in front of her. He wouldn't let her make him into a weeping child or a liar.
Hermione sat up, revealing the large, shallow bowl that had been sitting beside her while she studied.
"I was keeping some essence of murtlap warm," she said quietly. "But be quiet, or Professor McGonagall will have to come send us to bed."
"Hermione, you are so amazing," he moaned, going to his knees beside her, keeping his hand drawn in to himself.
"I know," she smiled, and reached out to take his hand. Then she gasped as her fingers made contact with the sticky sleeve of his robes. "Oh, Evan . . ."
"Don't nag me again about this," he begged quietly. "I can't deal with it right now."
"I'm not going to," she sighed. "I'd like to, but I won't. All the people who could help already know how awful she is. I just wish there were someone else she could take out all this violence on." Tears ran down her cheeks as she worked, Transfiguring an empty cup that had been left on a table into a bowl and using the Aguamenti charm to fill it with water. She cleaned his hand tenderly before she treated it with the murtlap, and Harry found himself relaxing more and more as she worked. She was going to take care of him, and she wasn't going to make him defend himself anymore.
"I . . . Oh, I promised I wouldn't . . ." she mumbled.
"What is it?"
"Questions you can't answer."
"I'll try," he whispered, sitting now with his back against a chair and his head tilted back while she worked.
"Well, I've been thinking, since it's become quite clear what you're thinking . . . What would she do that would be so much worse than this, if you rebelled against it?"
Harry didn't even move his head. "You're right, I can't answer."
"But you have an answer," she replied. "It's why you've wanted this kept quiet, to protect yourself from the truly awful thing she would do to you if she couldn't do this. I know you don't want to say. It's okay, I have an idea."
Harry's eyes popped open and he looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing," she said softly, her hands pressing over his gently, soothingly. "It's okay, I don't mean anything. I told you I wouldn't pry anymore."
"But you'll still do all this for me," he sighed, staring down at his hand, which was now neatly wrapped in bandages and hardly any pain at all. Which was some relief, but not enough. The tension in his shoulders had given him a vicious headache and he felt shaky. He was tired, anyway, the pressures of OWL year combined with leading a secret Defense class and being the shining hope of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were catching up with him. But it was the guilt that really choked him. Hermione was too good of a friend, much more than he deserved.
"If you want to tell people you burned it or something, I'll back you up," Hermione said, her voice seeming to float like mist through his weary perceptions.
"You'd really do that?"
"If you need me to, of course I would."
Harry opened his mouth to say thank you and he couldn't get anything out. His throat was clogged with something, he could barely breathe. Hermione's hand stretched out and touched his face, and he sucked in a deep breath.
"It's okay, I know you're tired and in pain. Just go to bed. We can talk in the morning."
"Why?"
Hermione's face looked patient. "I think you're too tired to talk right now, that's all."
"No, why . . . why do you want to be friends with me? Don't you know that it will only get you hurt?"
"I can hardly help it," she said, "after everything you've done for me. I know you didn't plan on it, but we are friends now, and that means a great deal to me."
"Hermione," he whispered. He sat up straight and reached out and took her hands. "I have to tell you. I really have to."
She squeezed his hands and said nothing.
After how much he'd dreaded this moment, now that he was in it, he felt nothing but relief and true amazement that there was someone he could say it to. The dam in his throat flooded over with tears and he released a harsh sob. She drew his head onto her shoulder and he let the tears come, even though he never cried, and knew that she wouldn't think less of him for it. "My name . . . isn't Evan."
She stiffened, but only said, "Oh?"
"It's Harry. I'm Harry Potter."
"I know," she said calmly.
He yanked his head off her shoulder and sat back. "What?" he yelped.
"Shh, shh," she urged, waving her hands. "Well, okay, I didn't know, but I was pretty sure."
"How could you know that? You somehow figured it out because of my detentions with Umbridge?"
Hermione shrugged. "Yes, that. Plus you dye your hair."
"You knew that?"
She shrugged again. "Oh, we girls will gossip and we decided your hair colour doesn't match your skin tone. Most of them just think you're trying to impress them or something—although, you really don't want to know Luna's theory—but none of them know how many secrets you have. I do. And I knew that you were trying to hide who you are. There are only so many reasons to do that. Once I looked at your situation with Umbridge, and the fact that your dad had only supposedly known Professor Lupin a few months before he let him move into your house, and the way you and Neville always seem to be so tense around each other, well . . . it all added up. I shouldn't try to make myself sound so smart, I wasn't totally sure until a few days ago."
"Let me guess, the day you apologised."
"I thought you had a pretty good reason to be keeping secrets."
Harry buried his face in his hands, trying not to cry anymore. "I'm sorry."
"What have you got to be sorry about?" she said, scooting up beside him so she could rub her hand over his back.
"Being born," he muttered.
"Don't talk like that."
"Fine. I just . . . I had to come back, don't you see? He'd started going after anyone who knew me, trying to find me, and he was going to start hurting my . . . hurting people. He wanted me so badly he was going to hurt a bunch of innocent people, and I had to protect them."
It felt so good to say all this to someone, but why did that have to mean that he would cry the whole way through? This was totally embarrassing.
Hermione's hand moved in circles. "I understand." Then she went stiff and her hand stilled. "That's why you've been so adamant about the fact that he's got a body again. You know. How do you know, though?"
Harry shook his head miserably. "I was there. I saw it. I fucking gave it to him!"
"What?" she whispered.
"He— took— my— blood. He tied me up and took it to make his body because he thought I owed it to him or something, and he was going to kill me, only I got away. And that's how we caught Peter Pettigrew, Pettigrew was helping him and he's the one that gave me to Voldemort, took me by surprise, but I captured him and got him arrested so Sirius could be pardoned." Harry realised he had started to babble, and he shut up.
"When I was reading about You-Know-Who, studying him, I read that he was afraid of the headmaster, of Dumbledore, I mean. That Dumbledore was the only wizard powerful enough to stand against him."
Harry nodded. "So you think I'm doomed, too?"
Hermione's hand moved over his back again. "No, I don't. I just thought that was probably why you were here, at Hogwarts. Staying under his protection."
"Yeah, somewhat. But he and Sirius have been very insistent that I need to get my OWLS and my NEWTS. They're convinced I'll be the one who survives this and I need to focus on my future. Well, actually, I think they're both expecting me to get killed but they want me to think positively until then."
Hermione sighed and laid her cheek against his shoulder. "I figured out who you were, but I hadn't had a chance yet to think about all the horrible weight you're carrying. Ev— Harry . . . does that mean you think you have to fight Voldemort or something?"
Harry leaned his head over and laid his cheek on her head for a moment, just appreciating all the comfort she was giving him. She was the one who hated physical contact and she'd barely stopped touching him this whole time. She was being absolutely selfless, but his confession had him so drained that all he could do was accept it and try to appreciate it.
"I don't want to, no. But I don't think he'll stop coming after me. I think I have to fight him to keep him from hurting everyone around me, instead. If it was just that he was a horrible Dark wizard, I'd take my place in the fighting ranks with everyone else and do my part, whatever it was. But whatever happened when I was an infant, whatever it was that weakened him so much, has made it personal. He wants it to be personal, even if I don't, so I have to try."
"That's what this is all about, isn't it? These Defense lessons, all your exercise, all your studies. You're training yourself."
"Well, I'm smart, but not so smart that I could have taught myself all of this. Sirius had a hand in it."
"Oh. Yes. Sirius Black. That would be the beloved Professor Rivers, would it?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so."
"I can see that, now that I think of it. I've seen a picture or two of him when he was young, in a couple of books. I can't believe I didn't recognize him."
"You didn't recognize me, either," he said. "And I've been told I look exactly like my dad."
"Oh. Yes, I guess you do. Or you would, if your hair was the right colour and you were wearing those glasses he was wearing in the pictures."
"My hair is that colour, and I used to wear glasses. I'm trying not to be recognised."
"Yes, I gathered," she replied with a bit of sarcastic humour in her voice. "But why, really? Doesn't You-Know-Who know that you're here?"
"Voldemort," he said distinctly, "does. But not very many other people. I haven't been here since I was eight, and I didn't know anyone here or what was really going on. I needed time to figure everything out."
"When were you planning to tell people?"
"I just told you," he sighed, leaning back against the chair again, Hermione sitting beside him but no longer touching him. Her eyes were bright with curiosity, and here he was too exhausted to explain anymore.
"Everyone else, though."
"We've been talking about it. Probably after the OWL exams are finished."
"Oh. That's only a few months from now."
"I know. But it's time for that."
"You're hardly going to be able to breathe for all the reporters and curious people wanting to know everything."
"Not to mention Death Eaters trying to bring me to Voldemort," Harry sighed. "I know. But I can't hide forever."
Hermione lifted his bandaged hand and kissed his fingers. "You're very brave— Harry. Don't worry, I promise I won't call you that in front of anyone."
"Thanks. But I'm not brave. I can't afford to be."
Hermione smiled. "Brave enough to trust me."
"That's not bravery, it's common sense. You're a good friend, Hermione. But now that you know, you wouldn't . . . I know you won't want to keep this up, now."
Hermione crossed her arms over herself and looked deep in thought. "But Harry, it's you who wouldn't want to be friends with me. I'm not anybody important. I want to fight You-Know-Who, I want to help with the war, because your being here doesn't change that he's still everyone's problem. What he does is evil, and I want to help work against him. But I'm not powerful, or well-connected, or anything like that. Now that you don't have to pretend when you're around me anymore . . . well, listen, I understand. I really do."
"What?" Harry said in surprise. "How could you think that? I don't need someone to be well-connected to be friends with them. I just thought now that you knew how dangerous it would be, you'd want to back off."
Hermione was wringing her hands now. "Listen, I can't deny that I'm a little bit scared. Okay, a lot scared. But I said I would fight him, and I will. If he takes a special interest in me because he wants to hurt you, then I'll . . . well, I'd deal with it. If you still wanted to be friends, anyway."
Harry stared at her in shock. "And you think I'm brave?" he muttered. "Hermione, you'd really— you'd stay with me?"
"If you're crazy enough to want me around."
Harry let out a wild laugh, but stopped before he could make too much noise. "Don't you know how much I think of you? You're my best friend! You're a brilliant witch, and you're the only person I know who reads more than I do, and you'd actually risk Voldemort to be my friend, that's just . . . I can't . . ."
He leaned forward and hugged her. She let him.
"I still want you around," he assured her. "Who else is going to charm those Galleons for me?"
She giggled, but it was weak. She was tired and wrung out and weepy, just like he was. She laid her head against his shoulder again, and sighed.
"It's definitely not the right time, but I think I could tell you what happened last year. Now that I know we're still going to be friends. Don't worry, it can wait. I'm just glad to know that I think I could. I guess that whole thing seems sort of petty to you, doesn't it?"
Harry tried to imagine what he would have done tonight, knowing that Hermione was there to talk to, and not talking. If he'd had his friend right there and his need to share his burden was piling up, and he was trying to hold back because it wasn't the right time.
"It doesn't seem petty at all," he assured her. "I want to be able to do this for you, like you've done for me. If you're ready, then you should. No time like the present."
She pulled away from him. She looked down. "No, no, not tonight, I don't think," she stammered. Her hair fell over her face, covering it.
Harry reached out and brushed her hair back. "No more hiding. If I can do it, then you can. I'm here, Hermione."
She began to shiver. There were memories in her eyes, haunting memories. Her hands twisted together until Harry grabbed them. Her shivering was almost violent, and her breath was too quick and shallow. She didn't cry, though. Not like he had.
"Hermione, I'm here," he said again. "I'm right here."
She broke. "He raped me," she gasped.
Harry rubbed his thumbs over her hands. "I know. I mean, I guessed."
She looked up for just a moment. "Oh."
"But I want you to tell me."
She nodded jerkily. "I went off with him to comfort him when he lost the tournament. He was so upset. He accused me of helping Cedric Diggory and he got in this rage and said I was sleeping with Cedric and trying to keep him, keep Viktor, from winning, and he started hitting me, and I didn't . . . I didn't . . ." She was shaking so hard that Harry let go of her hands and pulled her against him. "I couldn't stop him, he was so strong, and I was bleeding and my face hurt and I didn't even know he'd torn my clothes off until he was already—" She gasped for breath. "You know, right?" she said, her voice pleading with him not to make her say anything more.
He wished he hadn't spent his tears on himself, he should have saved them for her, she deserved them. She sat hunched over and shaking, her arms crossed over herself for protection, haunted and lost. He couldn't take it away, much as he wanted to. All he could do was hold onto her until the shaking stopped, and hope that helped. What was he supposed to say now? What was his role, here, as her friend, besides hunting Krum down and castrating him? Shouldn't he say something?
"It won't ever happen again," he said. "I won't let anything like that happen to you, not ever. I wish I'd been here, I wish I'd been your friend last year so I could have kept this from happening . . ." If I'd been here I would have beaten his arse into the ground, I would have killed him, I would have had him begging for—
Hermione's shaking was slowing down. She was relaxing. "Don't," she whispered. "It's not your fault. We can't think like that, neither of us can think like that."
"Okay," he said. "Okay, we won't. At least I'm here now. I'll keep you safe now."
Hermione sighed, and relaxed against him even more. "Yes. I know you will."