Chapter Thirty-Four

Breakthroughs

~*~

A/N: Harry, Harry, Harry.

Patronus Prodigy, Quidditch Ace, Defeater of Dark Lords.

How much you have to learn.

(Thanks to Cap'n Kathy, Firelox and Joe for beta-reading.)

~*~

Zsuzsa Zabini was guilty, Ron decided, after reading through her ninth file. The files were stuffed with eyewitness accounts; there was an official record of the most recent spells performed by Zabini's wand, many of which had been Unforgivable Curses, and there was plenty of written correspondence between Zabini and Malfoy… Zabini and Pettigrew… Zabini and Rookwood… Most of the letters had been sent from Moscow, where Mrs. Zabini had served as Ambassador to the Russian Ministry. And unless someone had been controlling her quill from there, Zsusza Zabini was going to spend a very long time in Culparrat. Ron almost felt sorry for her, seeing as her son was dead and she must've had a very hard year. Almost. But not quite.

"Ron, take a look at this." Sirius raced into the room and nearly threw the Daily Prophet onto Ron's desk. "Another Dementor - it escaped Azkaban yesterday and made it to shore before anyone saw it -"

"Oh, right." Ron glanced up at Sirius. "Harry told me last night."

"What about Arthur - does your dad know about it now?"

"Probably."

"Does everyone in the Ministry know about this but me?" Sirius demanded.

Ron felt a bit uncomfortable. "I don't think it was a big deal."

"Not a big deal?"

"It just got to shore, they turned it around, it's not like it hurt anyone -"

"And when it comes to problems at Azkaban, no one wants to keep me informed." Sirius's face was dark. "That's it, is it?"

Ron looked down at his files. "I've found some great stuff on Zabini," he began, but it was no good.

"Of everyone you know, Ron, I have the most right to know what's happening with the Dementors."

Ron really didn't want to look up, but he did, right into Sirius's very angry eyes. "I know."

"I want to hear about things like this. Harry should have come to me."

"Tell Harry that, then."

"I will." Sirius left the paper on Ron's desk and strode out of the room.

Ron blew out a breath. His mum had always told him that he was volatile, but he had a feeling that Sirius had him beat in that department, and he didn't envy Harry, who was riding one dragon and was about to face another one. He picked up the paper and looked at the picture on the front, of a dragon keeper driving a Patronus toward a dark, hooded figure.

Oblivious P.A.P. Allows Dementor to Escape

"That's bollocks!" he said aloud, but, as Flummery had written the article and Peltier had taken the photograph, Ron wasn't surprised. Quickly, he skimmed the rest of the page.

At 5pm yesterday, an unrestrained Dementor terrorized the shoreline, not ten minutes' broom flight from Stornoway (where Kitty Douglas, late wife and mother, lost her soul to another rogue Dementor, last July). It is believed that the Dementor escaped from Azkaban while Lisa Sergenev, Harry Potter, and Mick O'Mullet were on patrol. Mr. O'Mullet, who serves as Associate Director of the Permanent Azkaban Patrol (P.A.P.) was unavailable for comment.

"He was probably out doing his bloody job!" Ron shouted at the paper.

The dragon riding team who were in the air at the time of the escape seemed unaware that a Dementor had gone soul hunting on shore until they were informed by a dragon keeper. No alert had reached the Ministry. When the Daily Prophet requested any new Azkaban-related news at 5:15pm, the uninformed Minister declared: "There is no new information to report."

This second escape begs two questions: how responsible is a Minister who is unaware of a potentially fatal breach of security in a major Ministry department? How effective is a Minister who creates a faulty P.A.P.?

"Well, perhaps if you weren't such a stupid waste of life, you'd remember that there was no P.A.P., when the first one escaped!" Ron yelled. "Not one problem in months, but all you'll print is this irresponsible rubbish -"

He couldn't read any more. He crumpled the front page in his fist and threw it against the wall.

"It's not as bad as it might have been," came a soft voice from the door. "Flummery's done far worse. I kept waiting for her to say something much nastier, but I suppose the Prophet is keeping a closer eye on her now."

Ron looked up, relieved to see Hermione there, watching him with her hands behind her back. "That article's crap!" he said. "She might've been worse before, but her insinuations are bad enough - and how does she know all that stuff? What is she doing? Hiding in the bushes? How's she getting into the dragon camp, and how is she always on the spot for these articles? Who's tipping her off? I'll tell you who - it's Malfoy." Ron brought his fist down on his desk. "He did it in school and he's doing it now. He's probably got them on salary, the dirty great -"

"Ron." Hermione came to his desk, tilted her head and looked at him. "You didn't eat any breakfast."

"I was late getting up, wasn't I?"

"Yes." She pulled a little white paper bag from behind her back and set it on his desk. "Brain food," she said, and leaned across the desk to kiss him. "Don't let Flummery put you off your work," she murmured, tapping his files. "You're better than she is. Forget her. Forget Malfoy. Concentrate on what's important." She tried to pull away. "No, I've got to go, Penny's expecting me in ten minutes -"

But Ron put his hands on either side of her face and kept her there for a good, long kiss that took the anger right out of him. "You're the best," he said, when he finally let her straighten up. "Thanks, Hermione."

"No problem. Oh - and I'm going to get lunch at the Lighthouse at one, with Penelope and Fleur," she said, raising an eyebrow. "If you want to meet us."

Ron snorted casually and hoped that his ears weren't red. "Nah. Why not invite Bill? He's upstairs with Dad, sitting in on some meeting."

"No, he's not starting work with us for a couple of weeks. We're hoping to have the charm ready for testing by the twenty-fourth, but I have a feeling Fleur's going to try and get it finished earlier than that." Hermione giggled a bit, then sobered. "But it's a completely professional environment, of course. Extremely serious."

"Don't I know it." Ron grinned and reached out his hand, and Hermione squeezed it.

"See you at dinner," she said.

"See you." Ron watched her as she left the office, throwing a smile over her shoulder at him as she went, and he felt like the luckiest man on earth. She was brilliant. She was even letting him take her to the Cannons match, on Valentine's Day. He dug into the little paper bag she'd left and munched happily on a bacon sandwich, and decided that he wouldn't let Flummery put him off his work. Nothing that stupid reporter could say would come between him and putting Zabini where she belonged. He opened the tenth file, and found yet another letter she had written to Lucius Malfoy. Ron was grateful that the Russian Ministry had been nosy enough about the mail to file away copies of all correspondence without their employees' knowledge. If only the employees hadn't been so suspiciously curt in their writing, he thought, disappointed at a glance by the length of the letter.

7 Jun 98

M,

It is finished. My son knows what to do. Inform yours that things are in place. I believe you still mean for him to arrange for our entry. The date remains the same. Tell him eleven o'clock.

Z

Ron dropped his sandwich and his heart pounded painfully in his throat. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Responsible for something. Right here in black and white. With shaking hands, Ron picked up the letter and read it again. And again. And by the twentieth read, he knew exactly what it meant.

The final battle had begun on the thirtieth of June, at the leaving feast. They'd been listening to McGonagall give a farewell speech in the Great Hall when it had started.

And Malfoy hadn't been in the Hall.

Ron remembered it with perfect accuracy. It hadn't bothered him to see Malfoy's usual seat empty. He had assumed - they all had - that Malfoy's absence was meant to insult McGonagall and the rest of them. He had not been there when half the students had stood and turned on the rest of them. Most of the Slytherins had stood, along with several of the Ravenclaws, a good number of the Hufflepuffs, a few of the teachers and even, to Ron's horror, a handful of Gryffindors. All had leveled their wands at the unsuspecting students, trapping them. Blaise Zabini had been there, leading his Slytherin classmates - Zabini would have been convicted straight away if he hadn't been crushed when the ceiling had begun to fall.

But Malfoy… Ron realized it now. He supposed he should have realized it before, but it had all happened so fast, and the fight had been so brutal, that he had never questioned, after that moment, just what had happened to Draco Malfoy.

He had gone to the gates and tricked the wards down. He had let his father onto Hogwarts grounds. Along with all the Death Eaters.

And Voldemort.

Ron realized that he was hyperventilating, but he didn't care. If it was all true, if he was right, then he was going to put Malfoy in prison forever. Forever. He couldn't wait.

Still trembling, he rifled haphazardly through the rest of Zabini's tenth file, but there was nothing. He proceeded to the eleventh and final stack of papers, praying that there would be something else, something even more condemning, among these wonderful, wonderful letters. And even when there was nothing else to read, Ron remained undaunted. Malfoy Manor, he realized slowly, had never been properly searched. Fudge had forbidden a seizure of the Malfoy possessions, and after Lucius's death, it had no longer seemed a priority.

But Ron knew where the Malfoys' hidden trap door was. And the current Minister was bound to let him open it.

"Find something good?"

Sirius was back. "Good?" Ron said, a little hysterically. "Good? Malfoy's a criminal. Look at this letter." He shoved it into Sirius's hands and explained its significance.

"Yes… you may be on to something," Sirius said. He handed the letter back, looking distracted.

"I'll tell you what I'm on to. I'm going to put him away and he's going to pay for every sick thing he's ever done to Hermione, and to Harry, and to Ginny, and to me - no wonder he dropped those charges against me, last autumn. He didn't want us doing any more digging. Oh, but he's in for it now -"

But Sirius seemed unmoved. "Something has to be done," he muttered. "And soon. This can't happen again - it could have killed someone. It could have worse than killed someone…"

Ron realized that Sirius was lost in his own thoughts. It was always a while before Sirius's attention came back to law - once he had started thinking about the Dementors, he was usually a lost cause. But Ron had never felt he had the right to interfere in Sirius's tirades where the Dementors were concerned. It seemed criminal to ask him to concentrate on anything else, and so Ron had spent a lot of time listening to furious, frightening rants that seemed to come out of the blue. Sirius often stopped in the middle of work to brainstorm possible means of Dementor destruction. At this point, Ron knew more about what the Azkaban guards had done to Sirius than he was comfortable knowing, but he had never interrupted. This was the first time he'd ever wanted to.

"…can't be impossible," Sirius was saying now. "Has to be a way."

Ron nodded. But deep down, he wondered if there really was a way to kill the Dementors, just like he wondered if there was a way to wake Hermione's parents. Some things just seemed indestructible. Like curse-comas, and creatures that had never really been alive to begin with.

"I'm going to go out there and try something else as soon as I get my mind around something feasible - have to give it a shot, can't sit around forever while they get into villages and try to kill people. And Harry can't ride that dragon for too much longer, I just spoke with him, and he's not himself at all. He's ill. He looks old. It's got to stop."

Ron nodded again, more vigorously. "That's the truth," he said, thinking of both Harry's situation and Ginny's. "The dragon riding's got to stop."

"Yes." Looking vaguely determined, Sirius paced across the office. He sat at his own desk and opened up a file before turning back to Ron. "Did you say you had found something interesting, before?" he said. "Sorry, I didn't hear -"

Ron couldn't help a laugh. "Yeah, I found something interesting," he said, glad that Sirius had returned to the present, to share his victory. "I found something brilliant." He waved his wand, and sent Zsuzsa Zabini's letter flying to Sirius's desk. "Zabini to Malfoy. Have a look at that."

~*~

Dear Hermione,

It was no trouble at all to write a recommendation letter for you, and I will happily write another if you should ever need one.

I am happy for your success with the Imprisonment Enchantment; and yes, it is your success. The absorption and distillation of external input is part of a Thinker's natural process. Your ability to hear the good in Ron's suggestion, and to apply it to your spell work, is a direct result of the time and effort you spent here. Do not frustrate yourself trying to divide the credit. From what you have told me of Ron, I am sure that he is happy to have influenced you in such a useful way. Breathe deeply, and allow yourself to enjoy your successes. It is not conceit to accept that you have accomplished something great. Remember, though, that there are pitfalls and obstacles to overcome in the construction of any new spell. You will surely come across these, as you and your associates work to build the Imprisonment Enchantment. Do not fool yourself into believing that the idea is faulty; the spell map you sent to me is evidence of an idea beautifully conceived. Be patient in its execution, and you will succeed yet again.

I sense another deep frustration in your letter; forgive me for naming it. I know that your parents' condition preys upon your heart, and I know that you came here to find relief for them in your own gifts. This may yet come to pass. I Think on them often, and though I have yet to make any progress of my own, I will continue to keep them in my daily thoughts. That is all we can do, Hermione. You have not failed them. You put such heavy pressure on yourself, and you must stop. Let go. Love them, but allow yourself to be free of your feelings of responsibility for their condition. I know that I am asking you to do something far more difficult than Thinking, but it is imperative that you try.

It is nothing short of amazing that your friend is a Healer, and I agree that you may be of great help to each other in waking your parents. Remember that Healing, too, is an intuitive process and that any pressure she feels will hinder her progress as well; therefore, let her work peacefully. If there is indeed a residual curse in her way then perhaps you might begin there. I understand that mediwizards have no magic capable of wiping out such shadows; it is one thing to heal active physical pain, but healing the ghost of physical pain is quite another concept. Let us both Think patiently on that, for now.

I am always glad to hear from you. Please write again, and keep me up to date on your life and work. If you should ever require a retreat, remember: you are always welcome here.

Your friend,

Delia

Hermione had kept the letter in her pocket for a week. The pale blue stationery seemed like a breath of ocean air, and Delia's words had calmed her very much. After Ginny had told her that her parents were still suffering from the Cruciatus Curse - even if it was merely a shadow - Hermione had begun having nightmares. She had only been to St. Mungo's once, and it had been a fruitless visit. The mediwizards were helpless to repeal a residual. They could not detect the remaining curse with even the most modern magic, and the Head of Cursology had demanded to know how Hermione knew it was there in the first place. Hermione had introduced him to Ginny.

Ginny had decided, in the interest of her safety, not to tell many people about her gift, but she had consented to demonstrate her abilities for the directors of St. Mungo's. It had been a wise decision. Hermione was proud that a career now awaited Ginny at such a prestigious hospital - if Ginny wanted it. She was also relieved that the hospital directors had given Ginny an identification badge and twenty-four hour access to the Grangers' room - not that access was going to do her much good. Until Hermione could think of a way to unblock her parents, Ginny couldn't even get near them.

At least the Imprisonment Enchantment was coming along, and Hermione gave it her full attention, knowing that she'd go mad otherwise. It was an excellent distraction - it even gave her a feeling of accomplishment. Each day, Fleur built a slightly bigger model of the spell on Penny's living room table, and each day, a new prisoner beetle was sacrificed. After practicing construction for nearly three weeks, Fleur could build invisible prison walls from floor to ceiling, and it was no longer safe to practice in Penny's flat. The spell was very, very powerful, and none of them was keen on getting splinched.

"We'll have to take it outside," Hermione said, one Friday afternoon. "Where should we go?"

"The Burrow," Penny said at once. "We can work in the Quidditch glen without any Muggle attention, and I can leave Leo with Molly." She grinned. "How's that for selfish?"

Hermione glanced at Fleur, and worked hard to keep the smile out of her voice. "I'll ask Bill to meet us there on Monday morning, shall I?"

Fleur nodded, but did a bad job of sounding casual when she asked for directions. And on Monday morning at nine, the three women found themselves in the glen beyond the Burrow, staring down at a fully-grown Blast-Ended Skrewt.

"I 'ate zoze things," Fleur complained, her accent coming back in full force as she pulled her wand and took several steps backward. "Why do we 'av to use it?"

Hermione shrugged. "It's bigger than a beetle, and it's not exactly cruelty to animals if it gets splinched. There are a few more penned up on the edge of the woods there, in case we can't put this one back together. I got them from Meg Castellwild - you know, Penny, the gamekeeper who stepped in for Hagrid? She was happy to give them up, too. She said she usually liked Hagrid's strange beasts, but that he must've been drunk when he came up with these ones."

Fleur snorted. "Zat would explain it, oui - keep it back, 'Ermione!"

"Hello there, ladies."

Fleur froze, wand out, and turned her head toward the voice.

"Hi, Bill," Hermione said.

He looked like he always did - dragonhide boots, the vest that made him seem like some sort of wizard pirate, and the ponytail. Hermione wasn't certain that she had ever seen his shirt quite so crisp, however, or his ponytail quite so well combed. His smile wasn't as relaxed as usual, either. "Hi. Thanks for the owl - those spell maps are amazing, I've never seen anything like them. You two did a fantastic job."

Hermione beamed. "Thanks. Let me introduce Fleur Delacour - or do you know each other from Gringotts?" She looked from one to the other of them, and neither seemed to know what to say.

"We know each other," Bill finally said. "How've you been, Miss Delacour?" He put out his hand.

Fleur took it. "I 'av been well, thank you, Mr. Weasley. And you?"

"Great, thanks." They stood looking at each other for a minute too long, and then everyone, including Hermione, jumped.

Fleur had just screamed bloody murder and leapt back.

"What happened?" Bill demanded, looking startled.

"It - it touched me!" Fleur pointed to the skrewt; it stood only feet away, its stinger end pointed at her.

Bill began to laugh. "It's ugly, all right. What the hell is that thing?"

"It's just a Blast-Ended Skrewt." Hermione giggled. "Hagrid made them."

"Get it away from me," Fleur said, still sounding panicked. "S'il tu plait, zose things were in ze maze and I 'ate zem-"

You ate them? It was as if Ron was living in her head. Hermione could not help a grin, but she pointed her wand and Banished the skrewt to the center of the field. She had grown to like Fleur a lot more than she'd thought she could, but there was still something satisfying about seeing her lose her cool. "There," she said. "That ought to be far enough. Go on and Imprison it, Fleur - it deserves to splinch itself."

Looking shaken and annoyed, Fleur stalked away from Bill, who still seemed amused. She advanced on the skrewt and drew her wand.

"Captio Semscindor!" she shouted, and the air in front of her shimmered. She moved to the right. "Captio Semscindor!" She walked in a careful circle around the skrewt, taking care not to touch the spell she was building, putting it up in wall-sized sections until the skrewt was her hostage. "Captio Semscindor!" she finished, and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "There!" she called across the field. "'Ow long did that take?"

"About eight minutes," Penny called back, then spoke in a normal voice. "Is that about the size of a cell, do you think?"

Hermione shook her head. "The cells at Culparrat are twice as big as the space she just Imprisoned, aren't they? We'll have to do some exact measurements, of course, but let's say it requires about fifteen minutes per cell…" Hermione did quick calculations in her head. "She's going to be working every day for a month."

"Only if you make her work alone," Bill said. "You can't possibly expect her to charm a whole prison by herself. The Ministry will have to hire assistants for her."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. He was awfully protective.

"That's true," Penny said. "But there's no point in hiring anyone until we're ready to build it at Culparrat. First, let's make sure the spell is as solid as it can be. We may have to adjust the layers a bit. We need to know if it can be broken."

"I'll see what I can do." Bill pulled his wand and jogged out to Fleur, who held up her hands to stop him. Hermione had to strain to hear her speak.

"No, don't come closer, Bill - it begins right there." She pointed to empty space, looking very worried.

"It's all right, Fleur. I know how to reveal spells."

So they were on a first name basis. Hermione grinned to herself. She had already decided not to tell Penny what she suspected, because it didn't seem appropriate to gossip about other people's relationships at work, but she wished there were someone here to share the joke. She would have to tell Ron about it later.

"Hermione?" Penny was sitting on the ground, frowning at one of the layer maps. "If Bill can break that charm, I think we should start to adjust the spell here. This is… well, not a weak spot, exactly, but I'm not sure it's the best possible support mechanism."

Hermione dropped to her knees and studied the map until they heard a loud cry from the center of the field.

"MERDE!"

They looked up to see Fleur with her hands on her hips, looking extremely frustrated. The skrewt was scurrying off in the other direction. Bill must have broken the spell, and it hadn't taken him too long to do it.

"It's all right, Fleur!" Hermione shouted. "We're going to try and improve it a bit - come and have a look at this map -"

"Non, I will try this again," Fleur shouted back. She pulled her hair away from her face and secured it, looking determined. "Perhaps it is not the spell, perhaps my work was weak." She pointed her wand at the skrewt and brought it flying back into the center of her space. "Captio Semscindor!"

When Fleur's second attempt didn't work, she and Bill stayed out in the center of the field to keep trying. Hermione could no longer hear much of their conversation, but they seemed to be working well together, and at one point, when the skrewt had scurried off again and Fleur was looking furious, Bill reached up a hand and pushed a bit of loose hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry," Hermione heard him say. Fleur jumped. "I'm really, really sorry." Hermione wasn't sure what he was sorry about, but it seemed to make sense to Fleur, who nodded and walked away to catch the skrewt.

Hermione stopped watching. She began to rethink the magical paths of the layer in front of her, not minding at all that there was more work to do. Delia needn't have warned her to stay patient throughout the pitfalls, Hermione thought, tracing her wand over one area of the map and rearranging the lines. She needed the pitfalls to engage her mind and keep her from dwelling on other things.

Hermione was so engrossed in rearranging the structure of the weak layer that she was shocked when Bill said it was time for lunch. Had it really been hours? Hermione glanced up at the bright, overcast sky, then stood and followed the rest of them into the Burrow.

"Adam, my lad!" Bill said, and gave him a clip round the ear. "What's going on?"

"Molly says I can ask my friends to come and stay, if I like." Adam beamed. "She worked it out with the Ministry and the Children's Home, and I'm allowed to go down Knockturn Alley with Diggory and tell them about it. If they don't come on their own, they're going to get dragged here, like I was. They'll get their hair charmed and everything. They'll probably hate me for a while, but I don't really care. And I told Molly that there's five of us, but she says that's a fine number."

Hermione had never heard Adam - whom she was still not used to calling Adam - sound so honestly happy. She was amazed that he'd recovered so well from the shocking news of his parents. Everyone always said that children were resilient, and she supposed that Harry had been, but it was still very surprising. Perhaps Adam hadn't had time to get over the shock.

"That's great news," Bill said, clapping Adam on the back. "When will all this happen, then?"

"Next month." Mrs. Weasley came in with Leo on her hip, balancing a tray of sandwiches in the air. Bill put the sandwiches on the table and fell into the armchair, and Molly handed Leo to his mother. "I need time to prepare the house, and to make sure you're all willing to give up your rooms. I'm sure Ron will want to claim all his old posters, at the very least. I almost hate to pack up your things." Molly sighed. She pulled a bottle out of her apron pocket for Leo, and tugged fondly on Bill's ponytail. "I haven't moved a single badge in your room, dear."

"Mum…" Bill glanced at Fleur, who had settled on the sofa beside Hermione. "I'm twenty-nine."

"And you're my baby." Molly bussed his head, and held out her hand to Fleur. "Have we met? I seem to remember -"

Fleur looked pink and shy as she shook Mrs. Weasley's hand. "Fleur Delacour. I was at 'Ogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament. It is very nice to meet you, Mrs. Weasley."

"It's very nice to meet you too, dear. Let's get started then, shall we, Adam?" Mrs. Weasley headed for the stairs, and Adam followed her. "All of you are welcome to stay for dinner," she called, as they disappeared.

"'E is not your brother?" Fleur asked, when it was just the four of them.

"No, Mum's sort of adopted him. He was living in a cellar down Knockturn Alley and Ron brought him over here."

Fleur kept her eyes on her sandwich. "And she is bringing other children here, as well?"

"Looks like it."

"What a wonderful woman."

Bill flushed. "Well she's only happy when there's a crowd, really." But he looked proud.

Hermione caught Penny's eye, and Penelope raised an eyebrow. "We all love Mrs. Weasley," Penelope said. She gave Hermione a knowing half-smile. "What does your mum do, Fleur?" She put Leo's bottle in his mouth, and he put his fat hands on either side of it and shut his eyes.

"She was a fashion model," Fleur said proudly. "But she does not work now. She volunteers in many places. What about your mother?"

"She's a school secretary," said Penelope. "But I don't see much of her - I'm Muggle-born, I'm not sure if you knew that."

Fleur shook her head and looked at Hermione. "And your mother?"

Hermione supposed she should have seen it coming. She saw Penelope and Bill glance at her, and knew she had to answer. She couldn't sit here and pity herself. They had all lost people. Even Fleur. "She's a dentist. Was a dentist." She never knew which tense to use.

Fleur's face fell. "Oh, no. I am sorry." She was quiet for a moment. "In the war?"

Hermione nodded, then shook her head. "But she's not dead, she's - she and my dad are in St. Mungo's. They're not conscious anymore." The Burrow had never felt so cold. "They were attacked." It sounded so melodramatic. She had tried to think of shorter, less brutal ways to explain it. But there weren't any.

Fleur touched Hermione's hand, and Hermione worried, for a minute, that she was going to cry. She had been so careful not to think of her parents. She had tried so hard to let it go. Or perhaps she had only been avoiding it - she hadn't braved the hospital in two weeks. Hermione felt suddenly guilty and tired. "I'm so sorry," she managed. "I want to work, but would anyone mind if I went home for today? I'll make it up tomorrow."

They all encouraged her to go home and lie down, and Hermione felt worse. They had lost just as much as she had, and she was the only one being a baby about it. Feeling sad wasn't a good enough reason to shirk responsibilities. If it were, then Harry should never have taken on a single responsibility in his whole life. But she knew that her concentration was ruined, and that she would be no help to any of them for the rest of the afternoon.

"Forgive me for asking," Fleur said, as Hermione grabbed her cloak.

"Oh, Fleur, it's not your fault." Hermione wrapped herself up in her cloak. "See you all tomorrow."

She Disapparated, but she didn't go home. She didn't want to lie down, she didn't want to Think; she just wanted her mother and father. She Apparated on the steps of St. Mungo's and identified herself to the front desk, then hurried through the corridors and past the kind wards, worried that if she would burst into tears in public if she didn't get into her parents' room soon. When she smacked into someone in the hall, she didn't even stop to apologize.

"Hermione? Hermione, hi!"

She stopped and tried to focus. "Neville," she said. "H-hi. S-sorry about that."

He looked at her face, and shook his head. "It's all right," he said. "You go on, I'll talk to you later."

But it was too late. Hermione lost her composure right there, and buried her face in her hands. She was glad when Neville put an arm around her shoulders and asked her to remind him which room number it was. He steered her into her parents' room and stood quietly beside her, keeping his arm around her.

"I c-can't get used to it," she sobbed. She tried to control herself, but it was no good.

Neville patted her shoulder. "You don't get used to it," he said. "You just…" He shrugged. "I don't know. Never mind. I'm sure it's different for everyone."

Hermione looked at him through swimming eyes. "But h-how do you f-feel?" she asked. "What's it l-like after so l-long?"

Neville glanced at her, and shrugged. "It's strange. I… still think they're going to snap out of it. But then again, I know they're not."

Hermione sniffled. "Do you think you've accepted th-that?"

"Yes." Neville smiled a little. "Oh, there's a voice that tells me not to give up hope, and I haven't. But I know I don't have any control over what happens."

Hermione's shoulders heaved. "I'm s-supposed to have some control. I went to C-Cortona -"

"I heard about that!" Neville squeezed her shoulders. "You're so clever, Hermione. It must've been brilliant."

"S-sort of. Not r-really." She wiped her face with both hands. Neville dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and she took it. "Thanks. I wanted to Think up a spell to h-heal them." She gestured to her parents with the ruined handkerchief. "But I couldn't. And D-Delia said I have to let go before I can Think properly, but I c-can't d-do it…" Hermione lost herself again, and covered her eyes with the handkerchief.

"Of course you can't." Neville laughed through his nose. "Let go? Of your parents? I'd like to see anyone try."

"But you s-said you accepted -"

"That's different."

"H-how?"

Neville frowned. "Dunno. I suppose… I stopped waiting for it. I used to wait, when I was younger. I'd come here and sit for hours, and just wait. I used to think they'd get their minds back and help me with my schoolwork, and then I'd get better at school. Things like that. I used to put things on hold. And I used to fantasize all the time about the things we'd do together. Spent hours and hours. Wasted loads of time. Used to daydream about it in class every day - and you saw how great I was at school."

"But you don't do that now?"

"No. I dream about it sometimes." He gave Hermione a smile. "But that's different, isn't it?"

Hermione had never been so glad to know Neville Longbottom. She had always liked him very much, but now she felt that she could ask him anything.

"When did that change? What happened?"

Neville tilted up his chin, as if considering. "You know when I think it was? There was this one day, in fifth year - and you can't tell anyone this."

"Neville, honestly."

"Right. I came to visit them and they were walking around, oblivious to me, and... Actually, have you met my parents?"

"No."

"They're in a really different state from yours. It might help if you have a better idea - I'll take you, if you want. It's just down the hall."

Knowing that she was being granted the deepest kind of trust, Hermione let Neville take her hand, and she went with him to his parents' hospital room. It was big, and open, and his parents were wide awake at a small table, playing a game of cards.

"Hello, Mum," Neville said. "This is Hermione Granger. We went to Hogwarts together."

Mrs. Longbottom looked up at him. "Oh. Of course, Hogwarts." she said. "Nice to meet you. He's told us so much about you."

"It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Longbottom," Hermione said. "Neville has told me about you as well."

"Silly!" Mrs. Longbottom let out a polite laugh. "Neville can barely talk yet. He's only a baby!"

"He should be talking," Mr. Longbottom said, throwing some cards on the table. "He's over a year old. Mum says that I was talking at six months."

Neville snorted, and Hermione was amazed. Was he really laughing? Had he made his peace with this? They were awake, and yet they didn't know him. It was worse - much worse - than what she was dealing with.

"They can only remember up to the time they were hit with the curse," Neville whispered. "They don't know who I am, but lately I've been hearing lovely stories about how developmentally challenged I was as a baby."

"Do you work here, young man?" his father demanded.

"No. My name's Neville."

"My son's name is Neville. Let me tell you something, Neville." Mr. Longbottom looked up from his game of cards. "Never play clubs when hearts are on the table!" And as if he'd just made perfect sense of a perfectly good joke, Mr. Longbottom went into strange, inhuman shrieks of laughter. His wife joined him, and soon they were howling like a pair of hyenas. Hermione felt a terrible chill.

"You see," Neville said, "sometimes they acknowledge me. They never know me, but they'll ask who I am - this is a good day, really. They're not wandering around or anything. I was just in here a minute ago, and they were friendly then, too. Sometimes I'll stand here all day, and they won't even notice there's another person in the room. Sometimes they hate each other, or one will think the other is some sort of burglar, or they both think that I am, and you should see the fights."

"Neville…I don't know what…"

"It's all right, Hermione, I just wanted you to see what I was talking about." He squeezed her hand and took her into the corridor again. "Bye, Mum and Dad," he called, and shut the door behind him. They walked slowly back toward the Grangers' room. "So I was here one day, and it was one of the days that they didn't acknowledge me at all. It was just after Dumbledore died, and Dumbledore had been a real friend to me." Neville blinked hard. "He gave me an open invitation to his office on my first day at school, and I took him up on it several times. He really loved my parents. I used to go and talk to him when I needed to chat about… anything. Everything. He never made me feel funny about any of it. When he died, I just about lost it. I came here for help, and I needed Mum and Dad to snap out of it. I needed them more than I ever had. And I shouted at them to come back - I really lost it. I went completely mad, for about an hour. And then I cried for… I don't know how long."

Hermione leaned her head on Neville's shoulder, thinking how brave he really was. None of them had known about any of that. He had never said a word.

"Because no matter what I did, no matter how loud I was, no matter if I slapped them - and I did - they were gone. Just gone." Neville was quiet for a minute. He opened the door to the Grangers' room and brought Hermione to stand between her mum and dad's beds. "That's when I realized that they weren't coming back. I cried harder than I've ever cried in my whole life. And the next day… and I'm not saying it was overnight, I was building up to that for a long time… but the next day, it was like something had been lifted. And it's never come back."

Hermione put her free hand on her mother's. "Perhaps I should shout," she said.

Neville squeezed her hand again, and then he let it go. "Then I'll leave you to it," he said. "Pop by Hogwarts any time, Hermione. You've… you've got an open invitation to my office, all right?" He laughed a little.

Hermione looked up at him and held out his handkerchief.

"Keep it," he said, and softly shut the door behind him.

"That was Neville, Mum," Hermione said quietly. Tears filled her eyes again, and her first instinct was to hold them back, but she wondered if that was part of the problem. So instead she let them come; they blurred her vision and tumbled down her face. "Neville Longbottom. His parents are down the hall. I went to school with him, and he's just the n-nicest…" She bowed her head. "He was the second person ever to ask me on a date. He invited me to the Yule Ball, I don't know if I ever told you that. I turned him down. I was already going out with a famous Quidditch player. I know I told you that. I remember how mad Dad got about Viktor's age." Hermione laughed and sobbed at the same time.

"Viktor got married, you know. He's got a baby and everything. I wish I could show you the pictures he sent, they're so sweet." She touched her mother's face. "I love you so much, Mum -" she said, and began to cry openly. "The weirdest - things - bother me. There was a - song you used to sing - about a train - and I can only remember half the - words." She smoothed her mother's hair out of her face over and over again. "What if I have - a baby someday and I can't - remember the words? You have to - wake up and remind me." She bent down and kissed her mother's cheek - she wrapped her arms around her mother's neck and stopped talking. There was no more space in her breath for words. She knew that her face was all wet and disgusting but it didn't matter right now.

"Wake up," she finally managed. "Please, Mum, please. Please." Hermione straightened and took her mother by the shoulders. She had never let herself do this before, but she couldn't stop herself now. "I know you can hear me." She shook her. "I know you can hear me, you can't just be lying there, your eyes are open, damn it, you're not trying hard enough - wake up -" She shook harder. She shook until she knew it would have been painful if her mother had been awake, and when Mrs. Granger still gave no response, Hermione let out a half-scream of anger and whirled around to her father's bed.

"Dad, come on. Come on." She touched his face. It was smooth; the spell she'd cast had done a perfect job of keeping him clean-shaven. Hermione didn't want to see him with a beard and be reminded of how much time had passed, but it suddenly infuriated her that she had cast such a useless spell. What was the point of pretending? Why was she cutting their hair and cleaning their stupid teeth? They weren't coming back. They couldn't hear her, they didn't know her, and they weren't coming back, not ever. They would lie here and waste away and miss her wedding, and her career, and her life. They would never know what she became. They would never be proud of her again. They would never hug her, or laugh at her, or tell her not to worry so much, or ask her to turn her light on so that she wouldn't ruin her eyes while she read, or poke her between the shoulder blades and tell her to stand up straight. They were gone. Just gone.

Hermione doubled over and sobbed into her father's shoulder. She crawled into his bed beside him, unseeing, not caring who came in and saw her like this, and she wept into the front of his hospital gown as if she were a very little girl. She cried without limiting herself. She cried without shame. She cried until her eyes were sore and her voice was gone, and she didn't stop until her body decided that it was time. She didn't know how long she had been there. It hardly mattered. She only knew that it was dark outside the window and that the lamps had come on automatically. Or perhaps a nurse had come in and lit them. Hermione had paid no attention. Perhaps she would sleep here tonight. Perhaps it was all right to stay. Ron would worry, but she couldn't bring herself to get up just now. She hadn't felt so quiet and empty and peaceful in a long, long time. She wrapped an arm around her father's chest and sniffled into his shoulder.

"I wish you could have a good cry," she murmured, and kissed his cheek. His eyes were wide open and frightened. They had been like that for years. They would be like that forever. "At least then you could have a good night's sleep." She stroked the lifeless skin just under his eyebrows, and passed her fingers over his forehead, wishing she could smooth away the terrified lines. "Couldn't you, Dad?" She didn't know what she was talking about. She was babbling. "You could cry and cry, and let go of this residual and all those horrible memories. You could rest. You could get out all the fear and you could empty out all the curses, and you'd be so calm and quiet, and your eyes would close, and you could sleep…"

She trailed off, so far gone that she almost didn't hear what she was saying.

Almost.

"You could… Dad… you'd really feel better, wouldn't you? If you had a good cry?" Hermione propped herself up on her elbow and looked down into her father's terrified face. "Dad?" she whispered. "What if… what if I could find a way to give you that? What if I could…" She passed a hand over his unblinking eyes, hearing her heartbeat thud in her ears. "Because there's a weeping hex, isn't there? Lacrimosum. I remember learning it…" She sat up and slid off the bed, her mind whirring along with her heart. "A hex won't do it, but that's the basic idea, if I could make you weep, if I could give you a sort of… release, then perhaps you could let go of the residual… at least you could shut your eyes…"

"Tears are a gift. Tears unblock, they cleanse and create space. Dry your eyes child, and sit up again when you are ready."

Hermione stood between the beds, Delia's voice in her mind. She looked from her father to her mother and she knew that she was right. She knew it in the middle of her bones. She didn't have to ask Ron. She didn't have to ask Delia. This was the path she had been meant to find - this was the spell that would clear a space for Ginny. And even if there was nothing that Ginny could do, Hermione would have the relief of knowing that her parents were no longer in their state of frozen pain.

"I love you both so much," she whispered, feeling alive all over. "But I have to go home and start working. Right now."

~*~

Harry lay on his back on the sofa with a pile of jelly slugs on his stomach. He tossed another one into the air, caught it in his mouth, and washed it down with Butterbeer. It was hard to drink the Butterbeer while lying on his back, but Harry managed not to choke.

He should have been cleaning the Notch. It was a revolting mess. When he had lived with the Dursleys Harry had always been extremely clean, and out of respect for Remus and Sirius he'd kept his things tidy at Lupin Lodge. But now that he had a space of his own, and could do what he liked, it gave him a sort of rush to leave his things lying around. He still half-expected that Aunt Petunia would appear and shout at him to clean it up, and it was always a surprise when Ron didn't say anything. It had been several days since either of them had lifted a finger to clean the living room or kitchen - though Harry had noticed with some amusement that Ron's room, at least, was always spotless.

Short of tidying up, he supposed it would have been a good idea to eat an actual meal, take a shower and go to bed; he was, after all, hungry, dirty and tired. But just now there was something relaxing about drinking Butterbeer and catching jelly slugs in his mouth, and he wasn't in the mood to do anything clever. He'd turned down a trip to the pub with Ron, knowing that it was going to involve intense legal discussions, and he hadn't bothered asking Ginny to come over. She'd been perpetually busy since Valentine's Day, with schoolwork and Healing and Malfoy.

Harry flung a jelly slug at the wall and watched it slide down to the carpet.

"Harry?"

He sat up straight, and the jelly slugs went everywhere.

"Can I come in?"

Harry was thrilled to hear Ginny's voice - thrilled and horrified - why had she chosen to come over tonight? The house was disgusting, he hadn't washed, and what did she want, anyway?

"Yes - wait, just a minute -"

There was nothing he could do about the way he smelled, but he quickly banished five days' worth of plates into the kitchen sink and picked the jelly slugs off the sofa and floor. He piled them on the table.

"Coming -"

He turned down the lamps a bit and lit a fire instead - the darker the room was, the better it would look - then adjusted his glasses, pushed a hand through his hair and ran to open the door.

Ginny stood there with her schoolbag, looking rather nervous. Clearly she had bothered to shower; her hair was still damp. "Sorry, are you busy?"

Harry realized he was blocking the door. "No, that's all right." He let her in and shut the door behind her. "I just wasn't expecting - sorry about the house."

"I don't care about that." Ginny put her bag on the sofa and sat beside it. "I just have to study, and Hermione's trying to Think, so I thought I'd come over here. Do you mind if I stay?"

Harry shook his head.

"Mind if we have music?"

Harry flicked on the wireless, which was tuned to the sports channel. He left it there long enough to hear that the Falcons were beating the Harpies, then switched it to music.

"That's all right, you can keep the Quidditch on -"

He shrugged and hovered at the end of the couch, unsure whether he should sit next to her. Sometimes after working, she complained that she was too open to be near him. It didn't seem to stop her from being near other people, but Harry tried to put that out of his head. It was good that she was here. He didn't want to talk about the rest of it. "I don't want to listen to the Falcons win another game. I still can't believe they beat the Cannons."

"Yeah, I know, it's a shame," Ginny agreed, taking a stack of books out of her bag. Her eyes strayed to the front of Harry's shirt and she snickered. "What did you do?"

Harry looked down and realized that the jelly slugs had left a large and colorful mark on the front of his white T-shirt. "I - well." He tried to get the slugs off the table before Ginny could see them and make the connection, but she was already laughing again.

"Oh, were you eating a nice, healthy dinner off yourself?"

He smiled a little. "No."

"Seriously, is that all you've eaten?"

Ginny looked at him with real concern for the first time in a while, and Harry heard Malfoy's voice in his head as clearly as if he were on dragon back. If only your girlfriend had time to take better care of you

"I wasn't hungry, all right?" he said stiffly, and went towards his room, not sure why he was suddenly so annoyed. "I need a shower."

Ginny looked confused. "I can go," she said, putting a hand on her books. "I know you have things to do, I can study at home."

"No, no," Harry said quickly. He didn't want her to go. He just wanted to be clean, and to sit near her, and to stop thinking about Malfoy. He should have been able to stop - he knew how ridiculous it was - but the idea hung over him like a black cloud and he couldn't shake it. "I'll be right back - stay and study as long as you want." He heard Ginny sigh behind him as he went into his room, and he wondered if she'd still be there when he came back.

It was strange to get into the shower, knowing that she was out there. Harry brought all his things into the toilet and undressed there. He didn't want to walk down the hall in a towel, though the idea of her seeing him like that made him rather warm. She had, once. By accident, on his birthday. And then she'd given him that book - he still read through it every so often - with the pages and pages of memories from everyone else, and just a few words from her. I am here, she'd said. At the time, it had seemed an enormous statement, but lately Harry had found himself wishing that she had been a little less vague. It would have been nice to have something to point to, to reassure himself.

He shook his head and turned on the water. He was being stupid. After all they'd been through together he didn't need to ask her for explanations. He wouldn't do it. He didn't know what was the matter with him.

Perhaps it was left over from the Dementors.

He took a short shower, keeping the water as hot as he could stand it, and he felt much better when he got out. Like something had been burnt off. He threw on clean jeans and a T-shirt and went back into the living room without bothering to dry his hair, a heavy feeling in his stomach. Perhaps she'd gone home.

It was such a relief to see her still sitting on his sofa that Harry stood in the doorway for a moment and looked at her. She had clipped her hair back, but she'd missed a big piece and it fell over her shoulder, making her look messy and distracted in a way that Harry liked. She frowned into the massive book that lay open in her lap, keeping her fingers on the page of another open book that sat next to her.

"To successfully divine with runes using the Caslutra Method, the history of Caslutra's reign must be fully understood by the diviner," Ginny read. She shifted her eyes to the other book. "The Caslutra Dynasty - a hundred years of terror in wizarding Egypt. Oh, like I want to read about that." She hefted the book into her lap, on top of the other one. "Come on, Harry, sit with me," she said, without looking up. It always gave Harry a shock when she knew he was there without actually looking at him. "You can tell me what you remember about all this."

"I'll never be able to sneak up on you, will I?"

She glanced up, looking a bit guilty. "I didn't mean to invade, I could just feel you there. I can try not to do that." She shrugged and looked down.

Harry opened his mouth to protest - he hadn't meant it that way. He'd been joking. But nothing he said to Ginny lately seemed to work out, and he had a feeling that if he tried to correct it, he'd just dig himself deeper. So he changed the subject.

"Want anything to drink?"

"That's all right." She kept her eyes on her book. "Just let me know if you need to go to bed, and I'll go home."

Why did she keep talking about going? Did she want to go? Why had everything been so difficult lately? Harry couldn't read her at all, and he wished he could remember something about Ancient Runes so that he'd at least be able to help her study. But seventh year had been a blur. He still wasn't quite sure how he'd passed any of his classes, and he had a feeling that someone had seen his name on his N.E.W.T.s and been afraid to give him bad marks.

Worried that it wasn't the best thing to do, Harry ventured over to the sofa and sat gingerly beside Ginny's schoolbag. "I don't know how much I can help you with this," he said honestly. "But I can hold one of those books, or something." He felt the stupidity of the offer as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Ginny, however, didn't seem to think it was stupid. She smiled a bit, pushed the schoolbag to the floor, and unloaded one of her books onto Harry's lap. She moved closer to him in order to see both books at the same time, and the loose lock of her hair brushed against his arm. It was amazing that something so little could give him such a wonderful chill. It was good to feel her at his side. Harry held his breath and slipped his arm around her waist. He waited for her to say that she couldn't handle the contact.

Instead her body relaxed. Her head fell softly onto his shoulder.

"You're okay?" he asked.

"For a little while, I should be."

Harry let out his breath, and rested his cheek on her hair. He tapped the book in his lap. "Is this homework, or are you just studying for the N.E.W.T.s?"

"It's for an essay. But it's not due until next week." Ginny's hand sneaked between his back and the sofa, and her fingers curled round his waist. "Let's not read," she said quietly. She turned up her face and kissed his jaw.

Harry breathed in through his nose and shut his eyes.

"You smell nice." Ginny kissed him again and moved her fingers on his waist. Her other hand came up to his face, and she slid her fingers into his wet hair and sighed.

Harry leaned into her hand, grateful for the sensation and very glad that he had showered. It had been weeks since they'd sat close together like this. Weeks since she'd kissed him. He'd hardly touched her at the Cannons' match. It had felt strange to be on a double date in front of his friends, and he had had no idea of how to behave on such a romantically charged holiday - and he had felt pressured to perform, somehow, as he had watched Ron with Hermione. Ron was so relaxed about all of it, and Hermione knew him so well that nothing between them was ever forced or tense. They had been friends for such a long time that their relationship seemed to Harry to be easy.

Nothing about Ginny was easy. Being with her made life better, but positioning himself next to her was a challenge every single time. He always felt self-conscious. She seemed comfortable, and he envied her for it; he tried to stop thinking about it and just let go, but so far he hadn't been able to. Never entirely. And finding things to say to her, especially lately, was almost impossible. He'd been incapable of saying anything good since she'd started working with the dragons, and silence now seemed the safest policy.

A nagging voice in his head told him that his real problem had nothing to do with Ginny. It was his fault, whatever it was. But he didn't know how that could be possible - he'd been doing everything he knew how to do, and he still wasn't getting it right.

He breathed in the scent of her - like shampoo and wood smoke, tonight. The smell of the fire had got into her hair. She was tracing the tip of her nose against his cheek, sending little shocks down his neck, letting him know that she wanted to be kissed. This was the only easy part - when talking was unnecessary and he could tell exactly what he was supposed to do. When the air was charged like this, when the silence felt heavy and he felt drugged, when he could feel every breath she took against his skin and when her chest rose and fell, brushing his arm…

He turned his head and slid his mouth into place, and a deep, satisfied sound came from both of them. Harry felt Ginny's face go hot; she slid her hand across his chest and rested it in the center of his T-shirt.

Unthinkingly, he mirrored her touch with his hand on her body.

Ginny took a sharp, choked breath against his mouth. "H… Harry…"

He wasn't sure what he was thinking. But it felt good, she felt good, and he silently begged her not to stop him now, not to tell him she couldn't stand it, not to cry out in sudden pain and jerk away from him.

She clenched her fingers on his T-shirt and pressed towards him.

It was all the invitation Harry needed. For a long time he held his breath, keeping his eyes closed, keeping his mouth on hers. But they weren't kissing now. She breathed jerkily against his lips, holding tight to his waist, making no protests. It was all so simple. There was no doubt here, no wondering how she felt for him or whether they trusted each other enough. Ginny was his, and she cared for him, and somehow he had already known what she would feel like and how she would move. Had he done this before - known her before? He'd never heard her sound like this, and yet the noises were familiar. The fantastic, frustrating, pounding tension in his body was familiar, too, and it drove out everything that had been threatening his peace of mind. He forgot that he had hardly spoken to Ginny in the past two weeks, and that just a few minutes ago he had felt awkward and unsure. Hands were better than words. He had the feeling again - he'd had it before, with her - that he was flying. That he had found something he knew how to do without stopping to think. It was the thinking that ruined it. The thinking and the talking.

"We have to talk," she gasped.

Harry froze, his hand still on her, and opened his eyes. Ginny had pulled her face back slightly and she was breathing hard. He felt every breath rise and fall against his palm. She had to be joking. Talk - now?

"I need to know what's going on," she said, still sounding out of breath.

Was he supposed to move his hand off her for this conversation? Harry gave her a pleading look.

But Ginny wasn't finished. "Everything's been strange lately, and I can't just… we can't just…" She looked frustrated. "I'm sorry, I don't really want to think about it either, but we have to."

It required great strength of will, but Harry dropped his hand into his lap and sat back. "Think about… what?"

She gave him a look that suggested he was being rather stupid. "About us," she said. "About the way we've both been acting. Don't you think it's been strange?"

Harry shrugged.

"You don't think so?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know. We're fine tonight, aren't we?"

"Yes… but haven't things been a bit strained?" Ginny tilted her head and gave him a shrewd look. Her cheeks were still very pink beneath her freckles. "I've hardly had a word out of you for a month."

Harry wanted to remind her that it had hardly been a month; he'd taken her to the game for Valentine's Day not two weeks ago. But he only pressed his mouth shut and shrugged.

"And now suddenly everything's fine? It isn't, and I can't just -" Ginny lowered her eyes and turned pinker. "We need to sort things out first. Or I won't feel right."

So it was an ultimatum. He had to talk or nothing else would happen. Harry knew things had been strained between them - she was right about that - but what good did she think talking would do? Was talking going to stop her from riding Malfoy's broom? Harry wanted to ask, but he had a feeling that if he brought that up it would backfire on him. "I don't know what there is to sort out," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. He withdrew his arm from around her waist.

"Well." She pulled her arm back too and kept her eyes on her lap. "I know my situation at work isn't the best. I know it's bothering you."

Harry instinctively leaned back.

"Not because I can feel it bothering you, Harry," she said, looking up at him. "There's no need to try and get away from me, I'm not going to feel things anymore without your permission."

"Oh." Harry stayed back. "I didn't know if you could help it."

"Well I've had lots of practice lately." She shrugged. "I can't always help it - not with you. But I'm fine right now, and I can hold off pretty much everyone else all the time."

Even Malfoy? Harry wanted to ask. He'd read, in one of her books, about how Healers could be as attracted to their enemies as they were to their friends. It was something about the draw of deep energy, regardless of whether the energy was positive or negative. And she'd said before that it was difficult to keep Malfoy's feelings away from her. Harry didn't like the way it all sounded. It sounded too much like the way she dealt with him.

"What are you thinking?"

He jumped. "Nothing."

"Harry…" Ginny sounded disappointed. "Just tell me."

He occupied himself pulling a stray thread out of the back of the sofa cushion. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not?"

He glanced at her, then went back to pulling the thread. "I just don't."

"But I'm trying to talk to you. I want to talk to you."

He was well aware of that. "Well I'm sort of tired," he said.

She watched him for a minute. "So that's it?"

"It?"

"You're not going to say anything else?" Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and looked very uncomfortable.

"I don't know what to say, Ginny." It was true. He had tried, several times, to tell her how much it bothered him that she worked so closely with Malfoy, but she never listened to his side of it. She always came back with explanations, and he ended up feeling like he was wrong for being bothered. But he didn't know how to stop being bothered. There really wasn't much else to say.

And he couldn't say it. Not truthfully. Harry knew, very dimly, that the real problem went much deeper than his irritation with her working relationships. Ginny stirred something else to life in him, something much darker and more uncomfortable, something he had always kept at bay. But it was easier not to think too hard about the things that swirled in him, deep beneath the surface. Easier to blame it all on Malfoy. Easier, safer, and much more familiar.

Except that meant blaming it on Ginny, too.

"All right." Ginny didn't sound angry, but she leaned down and picked up her schoolbag. She reached over Harry's lap and grabbed her book on Egyptian history, and stuffed it in with her other things.

"Are you going?" Harry wished she wouldn't. He wished there didn't have to be a talk. Everything had been perfect, for a few minutes.

"I'm sort of tired myself," she said, and stood. "I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"

Harry nodded. He had a bad feeling that if he didn't try to say something right now - to stop her from leaving - then it was going to be a while before he had another chance.

But the door shut behind her before he could think of a single word.

~*~

Hermione had started to Think. She'd spent an hour and a half researching in her room, which she'd cleared of most of the clutter when she'd returned from Cortona, and then Ginny had been nice enough to turn off her music and leave the house when she'd seen Hermione settle down to meditate. But Hermione had very quickly reached a stopping point in her meditation. She needed another book.

Scanning the shelves, she reached for one that would help her take her mind off things, and curled up with it on Remus' big chair.

"Nothing like a quiet evening with Advanced Concept and Theory of Modern Arithmancy," Remus said. Hermione looked up, dazed. She hadn't heard him come in, but he was standing in front of her now, holding a book in his own hand.

"Oh!" Hermione said. "Do you want your chair?"

He laughed. "No, please, stay where you are. I'm fine on the sofa."

"Okay," Hermione said, but she felt a little guilty. This was Remus' house, and they'd all invaded it in the summer. No one could have foreseen that she and Ginny would still be here as late as February. She knew that Molly would have gladly let her stay at the Burrow, but there was something calming about Lupin Lodge, and Hermione knew that it was a much better Thinking environment. She felt her face grow warm when she thought that Molly might not turn as blind an eye as Remus did to her irregular comings and goings and her breakfast returns from the Notch.

"Remus?"

"Mmmm?" He kept his eyes on the slim paperback in his hands.

"I just… it's really nice of you to let me stay here. It's not annoying to have me around, is it?"

Remus looked up from his book. "Hermione," he said. "Don't be ridiculous. I love having you and Ginny here and the boys down the street. Sirius and I both feel like we're reliving a bit of our youth, although I'm not sure that he ever outgrew his."

Hermione laughed, feeling better. Remus didn't look old to her. When he was relaxed and smiling, he looked quite young, despite the graying hair and the lines around his eyes.

"Actually," Remus shifted in his seat to face her. "You look a bit tired this evening. Have you been to see your parents?"

"Yes." Hermione shut her book and took a breath. "I've been to see them and I… had a sort of revelation."

Remus raised his eyebrows.

"I think I can get rid of the residual."

Remus's chin went down and he looked up at her with narrow eyes. "A revelation indeed." He put his book aside. "How do you think it can be done?"

"I think - well, it's never been done before." Hermione could feel herself growing impatient with excitement. Perhaps it would help to talk it out. Perhaps it was the right way to approach this. Meditation had been almost impossible and she had to sort through the idea in order to solidify her concept.

"Just tell me."

Hermione did. She told him about meeting Neville, and about trying to speak to her own parents. She told him, very briefly, about crying beside her father and about the words that Delia had said to her months ago, on Cortona.

"And it just clicked. I knew immediately what I had to do," Hermione said, hoping that she was making sense. "I've never felt this way about a spell - not one of my very own. I've felt it before about Ron's ideas, and those have always been right. I just knew this was right. I know there's no precedent, I know there's no theory - I don't care. I know." Hermione leaned forward in a passion, with her book in her hands and her elbows on her knees. "So I came home, locked myself in my room, and started Thinking about the spell. You see, they've got the memory of the curse locked up inside of them, and it's - it's like a dam. There has to be a way to break it. It's like…" She stopped, trying to find the words to explain what she'd thought in her head earlier, but she couldn't do it. For once, she was operating on pure instinct, and there were no definitions.

"A balloon?" Remus prompted. "Letting the air out of a balloon?"

"Yes, a bit. What I saw… when I was meditating...it's difficult to explain how I came to a conclusion, actually. But there's a positive element to this. It's not just about taking out – it's about giving, or, feeding. Nourishment. When you let the air out of a balloon, the balloon isn't any happier for it. The balloon actually wants the air. My parents need the tears."

"So it's essentially a form of medication?"

"You could call it that." Suddenly, Hermione was a little bit confused. What had she thought earlier? She closed her eyes for a second and tried to recreate the images and feelings in her head. Remus was silent.

Without warning, Hermione could see the spell, alive in her head as if she'd already drawn it. Opening her eyes, and tapping on her Arithmancy book, she said, "I know how to map it now. The words - the words." She thought a moment. Naming spells was one of the fun parts. "Lacrimus Salacium. The Weeping Relief Spell. Not very poetic, I'm afraid - but meaningful to me."

Remus nodded. "Can you show it to me?" he asked. "Map it for me?"

Hermione hoped that she could. She pulled out her wand and pointed it into thin air. "Experiri Lacrimus Salacium!"

Points of light connected with each other in the air. Knots of red, representing pain, swirled around in glaring red streaks. They twisted and turned and joined together until they were concentrated into one, enormous knot. The light surrounded the red, golden in color, not unlike the Gryffindor colors, and grew brighter, and more powerful. Slowly, something began to escape from the circle – tears – enormous, bright blue teardrops that looked ready to burst, nearly opaque in their fullness.

The tears continued to grow, until they could no longer contain themselves, and exploded, sending smaller droplets of water showering over the ball of red and seeming to melt it. The knot dimmed, and flickered, and separated in the air until it was no more.

Hermione took a deep breath and looked over at Remus, who looked impressed.

"How did you come up with that?" he asked. "Can you just see it, and then make it happen?"

"Sort of," Hermione said, feeling a rush of pride. "It's never happened this fast before. But I still have to look things up, of course. I'm not an expert at Arithmancy, and I spent an hour researching how to make one path turn on another so that I could make the tears turn back on the pain."

"An hour?" Remus shook his head. "You really came up with all of this tonight?"

Hermione beamed. "Well, I've become much better at working without books since I've trained with Delia."

"I can see that," Remus said, smiling. "It looks very powerful, that spell."

"It's small - but yes, it's very focused. In theory, very powerful." Hermione bit her lip. "I think I need to test it before I cast it on my parents. And then perhaps Ginny can try again, and see if she can get any closer to them - actually it might help to have her there when I cast this one as well." Hermione knew she was talking too fast, but she couldn't stop. "Because she might be able to sense things happening to them, you know, see if the spell's really working - I need to find her. Do you know where she is?"

"Not upstairs preparing for her N.E.W.T.s, I can assure you that." Remus' tone was not light.

"I'm so sorry, Remus," Hermione felt guilty again. "I shouldn't have asked her to help with my parents, should I?"

He sighed. "It's not that. She's doing too much everywhere. She's making herself ill and she's going to have to learn to pick her battles. In many ways, Ginny - " He stopped.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"She's… young. What I mean is, she is full of very strong ideals and noble principles, and she doesn't have a realistic concept of what is actually possible. It's good to be idealistic - but there needs to be balance. Surely you learned the importance of balance at Cortona? But Ginny will learn. I just don't want her to kill herself before she works this out."

"Do you want me to talk to her?"

"No. I don't think so." Remus stood and smoothed his robes. "But I think that it's very important to remember to have fun. Care for a drink at the Snout's Fair? A stroll might help you clear your head. And it doesn't seem that Sirius is going to be home at any human hour."

Hermione agreed. A drink sounded lovely - a Butterbeer. She'd learned to steer clear of anything more potent. She felt as if she had come into her own, walking down the street with Remus and discussing magical theory. She had always admired him as a teacher, and now he spoke to her as an equal.

"I don't want you to get your hopes up, Hermione. I think this weeping spell you've conceived is an excellent idea, but your parents are very ill. Even if it works, there will still be obstacles - possibly insurmountable obstacles. But what you've told me about the Longbottoms is encouraging - I didn't realize that they were so advanced."

"You think it's advanced that they can only remember things that happened seventeen years ago?"

"They're awake, Hermione. The Longbottoms were my friends - I went to visit them several times in the beginning, and they weren't as immobile as your parents, but they were incoherent. They babbled and ranted and raved and knew nothing about themselves or their surroundings. So we know that the effects of the Cruciatus Curse can wear off given time. I think that your spell may speed up the waking process. But you'll need Ginny to help restore their minds. There is actual, physical damage to them, you know that."

"Yes." From anyone else, such harsh truths might have brought tears to her eyes or cause unsettled feelings in her stomach. But from Remus, it all seemed rational.

"Here we are," he said, swinging open the heavy wooden door to the Snout's Fair. "And here are Ron and Sirius," he added, nodding to a booth in the corner. "Hard at work."

Ron and Sirius looked quite settled in. There was a half-finished bottle of Goldie's Liquid Curse on the table between them. Sirius was leaning forward, an intense look on his face, speaking and gesturing with manic energy. Ron was twirling his glass on the table, looking a bit bored.

Hermione and Remus ordered Butterbeers and joined them.

"…how to kill something that was never alive," Sirius was saying. "Maybe there's a way to dissolve them. Turn them into smoke." He puffed on the brightly-colored tube between his fingers, and blew out a cloud of spiced smoke. "They're solid creatures. If they exist, then they can be destroyed."

Remus gave Hermione a look, and then slid into the booth, pushing Sirius closer to the wall. "You know those things have terrible side effects," he said, pointing to the sqworm.

"You're joking." Sirius took another puff. "I never knew that. Was that discovered while I was in prison?"

Hermione slid in next to Ron, not sure what shocked her more – the sight of Sirius smoking, or the fact that he'd so coolly mentioned Azkaban. He and Ron must have been closer than she realized. Or else he was very drunk.

"I'm glad you're here," Ron whispered, and kissed her on the cheek. "He won't drop it. I can't get him to change the bloody subject."

Hermione patted Ron on the knee and took a sip of her Butterbeer.

"Tell Sirius and Ron what you've worked out, Hermione," Remus instructed, his voice firm. "I'm sure they'll find it interesting." There was a warning tone in his voice, and Hermione was surprised to see Sirius paying attention to her.

"It's about my parents," she began.

"Really?" Ron asked, tucking a leg under him and turning to face her. "Did something happen? Are they doing better?"

"No, no… nothing like that." She forgot for a moment that Remus and Sirius were listening as well. "I went to St. Mungo's today, and I saw Neville, and I saw his parents."

"And?"

"And he gave me an idea. So I went to see my parents, and ended up having a nervous breakdown."

Ron grabbed her hand. "What happened? You do look tired," he said. "And your hair's more insane than usual."

"Thanks," Hermione answered, reaching back and plaiting her hair. "How's that?"

"I like it the other way," Ron answered. He pulled at a piece of hair that she'd missed. "Put it back."

Hermione smiled at him. She wanted to give him a kiss, but Sirius snickered, reminding her that they were not alone.

"Remus, I love it when you wear your hair like that," he said, mocking Ron. "And those robes bring out the dirt under your fingernails."

"Shut up," Ron and Remus said in unison.

"Right, sorry," Hermione said. She finished telling them about her day.

When she had finished telling them about the spell, and when Remus had backed her up by describing the look of it in the air, Ron leaned back and whistled. "My, my. Did it take you two whole hours to work that out?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Was he being a prat on purpose? "Two hours is not a long time, Ron. Delia told me that it's taken her years to discover some solutions. I realize this isn't a huge spell, but it's a huge deal to me, and I thought - "

"You're the worst Thinker ever," Ron interrupted. His eyes were twinkling.

"Oh," Hermione laughed. "Sorry. I guess I am tired. I didn't see that one coming."

"Hold on. That's brilliant." Sirius leaned across the table and pushed the bottle of Liquid Curse out of the way. Ron poured himself and Sirius another shot.

"Well, I thought it was a good idea," said Hermione, feeling pleased. "I just hope it will help my parents."

"So your theory is to suck the fear out of your parents with this spell?" Sirius's eyes had the very hollow look that they'd had in the Shrieking Shack all those years ago. Hermione really could understand why some people still crossed the street when they saw Sirius coming. She wondered if he'd had that look before Azkaban, and suspected that he'd always been a bit mad. "You're saying that the tears turn back on the pain - so are they a force of attack, or do they act as a drain, to draw out all the unpleasantness?"

Hermione nodded. "Both. The spell feeds the energy behind tears straight into the pain, in order to dissolve it, and then the pain can be released, through actual tears, which are the end product of the spell."

"You came up with that," Ron said under his breath, "and it already sounds like something out of a textbook. Next year it'll be on the O.W.L.s and everyone'll be forced to memorize it. You're cursing generations of students forever -"

Hermione elbowed him.

Sirius's eyes turned bright. "The Dementors feed on human happiness," he said. "Perhaps that spell could be manipulated to work on them."

"Sirius," Remus said, moving the glass of Liquid Curse farther away from his friend. "Perhaps we should discuss this at home, and leave Ron and Hermione to enjoy this news in peace. She conceived the spell for a very specific purpose that has nothing to do with -"

But Sirius wasn't listening. "They suck the happiness out of you. And then they take your soul. All those people, all those people in St. Mungo's wandering around that Post-Dementor Soul-Sucking ward. They have no souls."

"That is unfortunate, Sirius, but I don't think - "

"Unfortunate?" Sirius seemed to have forgotten that Ron and Hermione were still at the booth.

"I've never seen him this mad before," Ron whispered to her. "I don't think he'll notice if we make a run for it."

Hermione put a finger to her lips, wanting to listen in case she could help. She'd studied with Delia to become a Thinker and, even if it had been for fairly selfish reasons, she wanted to be able to help others as well. Sirius was right; the Dementors were a problem and no one else seemed to be worrying about them. She could remember the Hogwarts grounds in their third year. She remembered the feeling that had washed over her as a hundred Dementors had rushed upon her, Harry, and Sirius. She hadn't been able to fight. The coldness, the despair, and the weakness that had filled her knees - the only thing that had felt worse had been seeing her parents for the first time, after the attack.

Sirius had felt like that every day for twelve years. And he'd had equally bad things to dwell on. Worse, in some ways, because the people he loved were dead and he'd been blamed for it.

"Sirius?" she ventured.

But he and Remus were now arguing. Or, rather, Sirius was ranting on about his idea, while Remus listened with his usual poise, wearing an expression that indicated that he was going to come back at any second with a rant of his own, if Sirius wasn't careful.

"Sirius?" Hermione said, more loudly this time. He looked over at her, mouth open, mid-sentence. "Tell me where you're going with that idea."

"Well," he said, looking surprised that someone was trying to converse with him. "You were saying that your new spell would drain the terror out of your parents. And I was just thinking that we could apply the same principles to draw all human energy out of the Dementors. Perhaps even to draw out those people's souls."

Hermione considered this for a minute. Everyone was watching her. What Sirius said made theoretical sense. But she didn't know enough about the Dementors to know whether or not the theory would translate to reality, and the idea of getting back people's souls seemed far-fetched indeed.

"I could research it," she offered. "But I wouldn't want you to get your hopes up. There are hundreds of Dementors. I suspect that you would have to get them all at once. They seem to be more of a … unified body than individuals. I bet if you tried a destructive spell on one of them that the others around it would be able to sustain it."

"That's true," Remus chimed in, before Sirius could speak. "I can tell you right now that the Dementors can and do operate as a single body, when attacked. It's survival instinct of the lowest kind. They can feed off each other, in order to stave off everything but the most powerful Patronus."

"They don't care about each other. They're selfish creatures - look at the way they've escaped individually."

"Yes, but if they are contained together and one Dementor sees another one wasting away, he will be able to rejuvenate him."

"Look, I know." Sirius's eyes were fierce. "That's a lecture I don't need, Professor, all right?"

Hermione shifted closer to Ron, feeling rather uncomfortable. Ron didn't seem too pleased to be present for the fight either; he shared a sidelong glance with her, and pulled the Liquid Curse out of Sirius's reach.

"Sirius…"

"No one has ever tried to kill Dementors before, Remus. And you know it's important to try."

"Yes of course. And you're right, no one has ever tried to kill them." Remus sounded as though his patience was wearing thin. "But they have been researched. People have tried to figure out ways to control them. I know that you're familiar with the attempts of Ebonard LaTarte in the nineteenth century."

"He only studied them so that he could learn how to communicate with them. That's why we've got the Dementors working as prison guards in the first place - that's why they could be used in Voldemort's bloody service, for God's sake. Good thing he got his soul sucked."

"Sirius! His intentions may not have been honorable, but his research was valid."

"Is it worth it to read up on this Ebonard person?" Hermione asked, wanting to stop the argument. Both men turned to look at her as if she was a surprising presence; they had obviously forgotten, as she had done earlier, that they were not alone. "Would it help me if I tried to Think on his research?"

"I thought you weren't supposed to use books while Thinking," Ron said lightly, giving her a playful punch. "I thought we were weaning you off of those."

"You should talk. You spend all day at your job at the library."

"It's the archives. And it's legal research."

"So?"

Ron laughed. "I don't know. Just ignore me and help Sirius so that he leaves me alone at work."

Sirius cracked a smile. "Never, Weasley." He looked at Hermione. "What should I do to help?"

"Well… any factual information you can give to me would help. Anything you might know that I couldn't learn in books."

"They're evil, soul-sucking, destructive creatures who feed on human emotion."

"Thank you so much for that groundbreaking data." Remus looked tired, and he stood up, motioning for Sirius to follow. "It's not going to happen overnight," he said. "Don't go doing anything foolish. Hermione has other obligations at the moment, and when those have been seen through, she's going to have to Think about what you're proposing. It could take weeks, or months, or years. And when she does come up with a solution - " Remus smiled encouragingly at Hermione "- I have no doubt that it will involve the work of many wizards and witches, a lot of powerful magic, and more work than one person alone can handle. Do you understand me?"

Sirius downed his glass of Liquid Curse before sliding out of the booth and stumbling to his feet. "Sometimes, Remus, I think you don't trust me."

As soon as they were out of earshot, Ron snorted. "I certainly don't trust him. Not when it comes to the Dementors. Did you see how unreasonable he got? It's like he can't see logic where they're concerned - and it's not like I blame him, but it worries me, because he doesn't seem sane about it. I don't think he's ever been completely sane, to tell you the truth."

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"Well, you know what they say about great minds." Ron kissed the side of her mouth. He smelled lightly of spirits, but he didn't seem tipsy in the least, and Hermione had the feeling that Sirius had been responsible for downing most of the bottle. "I wouldn't give him any information ahead of time, Hermione, or he might do something really stupid."

"Don't worry," she answered. "I'm the cleverest witch of my age." She turned towards him a bit so that he could kiss her more fully, but pulled away before they could start anything serious. People were at the booths and tables all around them.

Ron idly brushed her hair away from her shoulders and throat. "You're clever all right," he said, studying her eyes. "We hardly got to talk at all when you got here - but do you really think you've solved something, with your parents?"

"I know I have," Hermione said unhesitatingly. "It's not everything, but it's a very good start. It's going to give them relief, even if they never know it."

"They'll know it." Ron touched her mouth with the pad of his thumb. "They're lucky you're theirs, you know that?"

Hermione felt a stinging sensation behind her eyes, and she worried that her tears might get the better of her again. She ducked her head and leaned her forehead on Ron's shoulder.

Ron pulled her close. "Come here, you're tired. Want to go home?"

Hermione nodded, but she wasn't ready to move just yet. For once, in public, she shut her eyes and let Ron hold her for a very long time.