Chapter 36: A Lucky Bastard

Ron gave Hermione a dreamless sleep draught and put her to bed. He found Harry a few minutes later still sitting at her desk in the study.

"You alright?" Ron asked.

"Fine," Harry said.

Ron didn't think he looked fine. "You sure?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. How's Hermione?"

Ron dropped into one of the wingchairs in front of Hermione's desk. "Sleeping. I gave her a draught."

"Probably wise. I don't think I've ever seen her so shaken."

Ron nodded and raked his fingers through his beard.

"Did you know she'd been captured in Bulgaria?"

Ron nodded again. "But only recently. I found out while she was still in hospital."

Harry pushed his fingers through his hair. "I don't understand why she would have bound Viktor to keep that secret."

Ron was staring at the dying embers in the fireplace. He flicked his wand and two more sticks of wood flew to the grate causing the flames to rise again. "She didn't want us to know. She said she was afraid we'd feel compelled to hunt them down. She just wanted the fighting to stop."

Harry sighed and covered his face with his hand.

"Thank you for staying with her." Ron said.

Harry nodded from behind his hand. "Of course." His voice sounded choked.

Ron waited a few minutes, watching the fire lick the wood before he continued. "I know she appreciated having you here, but you know when she wakes up--"

"She's going to hate that I saw her like that," Harry said quietly.

"She'll be embarrassed, and probably awkward around you for awhile, but she'll get over it. She always does."

"How the hell did we let that happen?" Harry said in a hollow voice.

"It was my fault," Ron replied. "I never should have pushed her, and when she left, I should have gone after her."

Harry shook his head. "No, it wasn't just you. She's one of my best friends. She's like my sister, and yet, for three years, she felt she couldn't come to me." He shook his head again. "I was so caught up in my own issues after the war…what a pathetic bastard I was."

Ron looked at him. "Come on, Harry. We were all caught up in our own issues, Hermione included. It was a long time ago. We've all moved past it now."

Harry looked up sharply. "Well, it didn't feel like she'd moved past much today."

Ron sighed. "Well, now whose fault is that? I mean really? I love that woman like my next breath, but she shouldn't have kept those memories bottled all these years. That's just asking for trouble."

Harry let his head drop back against the chair. "I know; she knows that too, but it didn't make it any easier watching her put them back in."

There was knock on the door and Ginny came in carrying a tray of sandwiches and some pumpkin juice. "I thought you two might want a spot of lunch." She set the tray on the desk and sat next to Ron in the other wingchair. "Did you put Hermione to bed? I saw you carry her upstairs."

"Yeah, she's out."

"For how long," Ginny asked, taking a glass of juice.

"I just gave her enough draught to let her sleep a few hours. She's going to need to get ready for the party."

"Yeah, about that…" Ginny said.

Ron noticed Harry look away.

"Have you seen The Prophet this morning."

Ron took a sandwich and a glass of juice from the tray. "I read it in the hotel this morning. I assume you're talking about the gossip column."

Ginny nodded.

"Rubbish," Ron said.

"Still, to face all those people at the party after the morning she's already had. That's asking a lot, Ron." Ginny said softly.

Ron snorted. "She's going to the party. If I walk in there alone, I'm a cuckold. If she's with me the article's just rubbish."

"But--," Harry said.

"No," Ron said firmly. "No buts, she's going." He took a bite of his sandwich as if to emphasize the point. He noticed Harry and Ginny didn't seem to have any appetite at all.

Art and Emma and his cousins were still working on transfiguring the paper cups into water goblets when Ginny finally came back to the enlarged dining room. They were only two thirds of the way done.

"Good grief, the party is set to start in less than an hour," she complained. She was already wearing her elegant dress robes. "Worthless, the lot of you!" She flicked her wand at the table and the rest of the paper cups snapped into perfect crystal wine goblets.

"Mum!" Clive exclaimed leaning over to pick up one of the goblets. "That's bloody brilliant."

Ginny snorted. "Well, I'm glad you think so. Go get changed, all of you, go on."

As the four of them exited to get dressed upstairs, Ginny stopped Clive. "Where are your socks?"

"What do you mean?" Clive asked innocently.

"It was a simple question, Clive." Ginny glared at him. "Tell me you brought some to wear with your dress robes."

He shrugged. "I'll just transfigure some from something else, don't worry."

"No!" Ginny shouted. "I'm not having your socks turn into handkerchiefs half way through the party, you--"

"He can borrow a pair of mine, Auntie G.," Art said quickly. He wasn't sure why but his aunt seemed in a foul mood and provoking her seemed ill planned on Clive's part.

Art had been feeling uneasy ever since this morning and that damn gossip column, but his anxiety had really ratcheted up a notch when his father came home and a little while later was seen carrying his obviously distraught mother upstairs. He wasn't the only one who noticed the tension in the air. All of the kids were upset, which was evident in the fact that they kept messing up their transfigurations and having to redo them.

He wondered as he walked up the stairs to his room whether his mother would attend the party tonight.

As Art dug through his socks, looking for a descent black pair, he could hear Clive let out a low whistle behind him.

"What?" Art said, turning around, a pair of black dress socks in his hand.

"That's Emma's suitcase," Clive exclaimed.

"Yeah," Art said, handing him the socks.

"Is she staying here?" Clive asked.

"You know she's staying here, you daft git," Art said punching Clive on the shoulder.

"I knew she was staying here in this house. I did not know she was staying here in this room." His eyes narrowed. "You're shagging Emma Silsbury. You've bagged the Head Girl!"

"Shh!" Art hissed. "Shut your bloody trap!"

"Ho, yes," Clive continued in a softer voice. With his arms stretched out before him, he gave an exaggerated bow. "I supplicate myself before you O sex god! What is thy secret?"

Art could feel himself blushing. "Bugger off, Clive."

"No, I'm serious," Clive said, kneeling now. "First Susan Parker, now Emma Silsbury. You're a bloody genius!"

Art smacked him in the back of the head. "You're the only one who knows about Susan, so you better shut your trap or I'll hex it shut for you." He drew his wand for good measure.

"Ooh," Clive said, getting to his feet. "Emma doesn't know you bagged Susan first? Did you tell her you were a virgin, Artie? Did you give her the old let-me-share-something-with-you-I've-never-shared-before line? Does that sort of rubbish actually work?"

Art wanted to kill him. "No, I didn't give her some lame line to get her in bed. Here's a concept you probably can't understand, but I'll use small words so you can follow me. I actually love Emma, and I'm thinking about asking her to marry me."

Art could practically hear Clive's jaw hit the ground. "What? You can't be serious—not about loving her, all right, you love her. But marriage, come on Artie, marriage?"

"It's complicated," Art said gruffly, not wanting to explain the situation with Emma's parents and her sister.

"Oh, bollocks," Clive said, the blood draining from his face. "You've gone and knocked her up."

Art pushed him rather hard. "No, I haven't! Just drop it."

"Well, if she's not pregnant," Clive continued trying to puzzle the situation out. "Why would your parent's let you sleep in the same room, unless--do they even know? I mean what with your mum in hospital and all that, have they even been up here?"

Art rolled his eyes. "Yes they know. How stupid do you think they are?"

"Not stupid, distracted, but you say they know. And they're all right with it? Why aren't my parents as tolerant as yours? Devin and I can't get away with anything."

Art shrugged. "I reckon it's different when you have more than one."

"Bloody unfair is what it is!" Clive grumbled.

Art sighed. "Just go get dressed, yeah. We have to be downstairs in a bit."

"I still say you're the luckiest bastard I know."

"Get out," Art said firmly.