The whisper overtook the crowd at Hogwarts slowly, gradually rising in volume, speed, and power like a tidal wave that crashed upon the shore.
"Harry Potter is gone."
"Harry Potter has left Hogwarts!"
"Has anyone seen Ginny?"
Ron Weasley's face was drawn tight and pale, and his shock of red hair seemed even brighter against the starkness of his face. He didn't seem to quite know what to do with himself; his tall, lanky form must have filled a thousand doorways that day as he searched the castle for the two people among hundreds that had gone missing since the war had begun.
Hermione Granger watched him with a sort of terrified pity, trailing behind him at times in the hallways when she could find the time.
They were walking silently down the corridor in the dungeons when he stopped suddenly and faced her blankly.
"Hermione," he said weakly, "They're gone. They're both gone. They left me. They left us here."
Something inside of her twisted, knotted, and clenched painfully, making all the breath in her come whooshing out. "Ron…"
"They're gone," he repeated, bewildered. "Why did they go?"
She stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around him. "Ron, they've gone into hiding, that's all. They're not really gone."
"Of course not," he said slowly. "They wouldn't leave me. Harry, he - and Ginny. Charlie was always her favorite, but when we were little, we were close, we always played together. Gods, Hermione, what am I doing here? I'm supposed to be helping, I was helping Hagrid with the, the - the - "
"The what?" she prompted.
"I don't remember." His face was crestfallen, and he visibly shook himself. He looked down at her and gently extracted himself from her grip. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. Where were you?"
"I was - I was - I was following you," she said lamely, hands dropping to her sides awkwardly. "And I was helping Dumbledore and Flitwick charm the gates."
He smiled faintly at her. "That's our Hermione."
Our Hermione? There was only the two of them now, she thought wildly, and she found that she was prone to the aftershock of Harry's departure just as Ron was. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to sink to her knees and cry and cry and cry like a little child.
Ron sensed her sadness. Of course he did. Seven years of being close friends gave him the ability. He touched her hand. "Don't worry, Hermione."
"How can I not worry?" she cried. "Those are our friends! Ginny, she's my friend as well! And Harry - "
To her utter amazement, she burst into tears.
Ron looked horrified, and he hugged her tightly, if not awkwardly, and made vague soothing noises.
After a long while, her sobbing ceased, and he was relieved when she flashed him a shaky smile.
"Really, that was silly of me." She wiped at her eyes quickly. "I know they're all right. They're together, and Harry wouldn't let anything happen to either of them. I know."
"That's good," Ron said softly, patting her head. "That's good to know."
I'm not very good at writing letters and saying what I think in them; one time Ron told me that no matter what happens, I'll always be a little silent on what I feel and think. But I had to try, so I decided to write you a letter.
I sent Will off last night. I think you know. Mothers always do, Mrs. Weasley told me that. He looks so small, for a one year old. He has your eyes.
I know now would be the right place for me to tell you how sorry I am. I don't think I can ever say how sorry I am. I wonder if you'd believe me if I told you it was because I thought it was for the best. I made the decision, you know, not anyone else. I kept it all to myself - maybe that's what Ron meant, that when it comes down to the most important things, I keep it to myself.
I hate this war. You're the only one I ever told that to. Everyone else, they never asked me what I thought. But I hate it. I hate how corrupt everything is, I hate how I don't know who to trust, I hate that.
Now I don't know what else to say because there are too many things I want to say to you - I want so badly to write your name, to print it a thousand times. But it's too dangerous. There's no way anyone could get this letter, but it's still too dangerous.
I remember what you looked like that night. You wore a black dress that wasn't all black, and you had let your hair fall over your shoulders. You kept pulling up the hem of your dress to show me your new shoes; they sparkled. I don't think I'd ever seen anything so beautiful before that night.
You laughed when I stuttered and tripped over the step into the Three Broomsticks, and I thought I'd die, but you smiled and kissed me.
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I love you I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry
Harry Potter's hand clenched around the edge of the letter, intending to crumple it, but for some reason he couldn't bear the thought. Instead, he moved sharply and jerkily towards the edge of the cliff, bracing his hand against the rock. He watched the letter float from his unresisting hand until a wave reached up and snagged it down under the ocean, a tossing blanket of frothy white foam.
He bowed his head against the rough rock, feeling it scratch his cheek. His hands felt chalky and he imagined he was dirty all over.
Three years, his brain chanted silently, three years. He raised his head just in time to see the sun, a ball of flame, become swallowed by the sea - for an instant; the whole world was aflame with peach, orange, red, gold, and crimson that bled across the sky. The water had turned blinding, and even when he closed his eyes, he could see the ruby red waves moving against his eyelids. When he opened his eyes again - and the emerald of his eyes was striking against the setting - the sun had set and his body ached all over.
Day one had passed.
Draco sighed. Ginny had ignored him for the better part of the morning, and while she had looked after Will, she was obviously furious with him. Not that he cared; it kept her out of his way and let him think.
But after eight hours of straight thinking, he wanted to jump off the mountain. Every two hours or so he would hear the baby cry and after a moment, Ginny would soothe him or feed him or do whatever she did to quiet him.
After the tenth solid hour of pacing restlessly and thinking - although his thoughts now were more random and unbalanced - he gave up. He went to find Ginny; he wasn't so desperate that he'd sink to talking to himself, but he'd settle for a Weasley.
She didn't say anything even when he sat across from her and cleared his throat. She was staring into a cup of tea and blowing lightly at the steam that rose, wafting it several inches away from the pink and yellow cup before it dissipated.
He frowned and folded his arms across his chest and made a sound in his throat impatiently. "Ginny, don't be unreasonable."
She drank her tea silently, and he saw that her knuckles were white where she clutched at the blasted teacup.
"This ridiculous," he told her harshly. "You're being incredibly selfish, do you know?"
She set the teacup down with enough force so that the tea sloshed dangerously over the rim and leveled a glower at him. "Malfoy, I've accepted as you obviously have that we're just not going to get along, and believe me, I've cried rivers. Now I just want you to leave me alone."
His lips quirked unconsciously. "For three years?"
Her own lips tightened into a line and she didn't bother to respond.
He tilted his chair on the back legs and contemplated her emotionlessly, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Harry has gone into hiding, presumably a few hours after you and I did. I would assume he left the country, although he isn't exactly known for his brilliance, and I can't say for sure. Will is my son, and I'm bringing him with us because I trust no one else to take care of a Malfoy's son. We're going back to Hogsmead in three years to meet with Harry because, apparently, that's when the war really starts. Harry asked me to hide you. Dumbledore doesn't know. No one knows. I don't think I've forgotten anything."
"Why?" she asked softly.
He said noncommittally, "You are important, Ginny. There's no sense in having you die early in the war. You're meant to play a turning role in this war. And you need to recognize the fact that you're making a sacrifice, but it's in no way larger than the sacrifices Potter has to make." He shrugged his shoulders lazily. "I may dislike Potter, but I'm still objective. I see his side of the story, and I pity him. It's not that difficult."
Ginny sat back in her chair, openly studying him. Malfoy was clever…second in his class, after Hermione. But she wasn't thinking of his skills as a wizard so much as she was, for the first time, seriously considering Malfoy was a person. He played manipulation, as his cards, and he employed to the highest level. She had the strong impression that he thought about everything he said before actually saying the words; he calculated every angle, every line and step, every breath and tone and look in his eyes and on his face.
"If anything, you have to trust me and I have to trust you," he said simply. "There isn't another way around it. I know; I thought long and hard on it, believe me. Just accept that I can't tell you anymore right now. I don't even know the whole story. Harry's probably the only one who does, and as we all know, he's gone MIA."
"All right…Draco," she said quietly, folding her fingers. "I'll trust you."
Draco pushed himself away from the table, and he touched her on the head briefly as he walked around her and out of the kitchen.
The room stunk of foul and unspeakable things, the man thought morosely. Drafty it was not, but it made up for that a thousand times over in the polluted smell. His robes felt soiled, and he thought that his every pore was dirtied. His eyes were jaded; his hands tainted.
"How do you think he is hiding, my Lord?" Lucius Malfoy was asking as he furrowed his brow in hard thought. "Do you suppose he has a Secret Keeper?"
"Don't be absurd, Malfoy," Professor Severus Snape snapped irritably, discreetly wiping his hands on his black robes.
Lucius turned a chilling stare upon the Hogwarts Potions Master, the man whom he did not completely trust, and responded slowly and clearly, "And why is that such a preposterous idea that you would call me absurd? Harry Potter is a Gryffindor," Lucius sneered, "He will no doubt have entrusted one of his closest friends to guard the knowledge of his whereabouts. One need only seek out those select few and force them to confess what they know. The Mudblood Granger, or the Weasley."
"The chances that you could even draw within ten feet of a Hogwarts student at the moment is nearly impossible," Snape said just as coldly. "And think, Lucius, for Merlin's sake. After that mess with his parents; do you really think Dumbledore wouldn't have kept that incident in mind?"
"So you say Potter's still at Hogwarts?" The expression on Lucius' face said that he himself clearly thought otherwise.
"No, of course not," Snape said smoothly. "I think he has gone into hiding. In fact, I'd almost swear it, my Lord."
"Do you, really? Almost?" Lord Voldemort mused. "You must be quite sure then, Severus."
Snape inclined his head in a deferential manner.
"So how is he hiding?" Lucius demanded.
Snape widened his black eyes. "Why, the traditional way, of course. By running."
"Severus has a point," Voldemort cut in abruptly, before Lucius could open his mouth. His red eyes gleamed, and for a moment, went very, very bright. "I believe he may be right. Harry Potter is running, but he is not so hidden that eyes will not see him. Alert the ones loyal to our cause. Alert them to watch for a boy with black hair and green eyes and a scar upon his forehead. Alert them to wait for Harry Potter's arrival."
"Harry Potter is gone."
"Harry Potter has left Hogwarts!"
"Has anyone seen Ginny?"
Ron Weasley's face was drawn tight and pale, and his shock of red hair seemed even brighter against the starkness of his face. He didn't seem to quite know what to do with himself; his tall, lanky form must have filled a thousand doorways that day as he searched the castle for the two people among hundreds that had gone missing since the war had begun.
Hermione Granger watched him with a sort of terrified pity, trailing behind him at times in the hallways when she could find the time.
They were walking silently down the corridor in the dungeons when he stopped suddenly and faced her blankly.
"Hermione," he said weakly, "They're gone. They're both gone. They left me. They left us here."
Something inside of her twisted, knotted, and clenched painfully, making all the breath in her come whooshing out. "Ron…"
"They're gone," he repeated, bewildered. "Why did they go?"
She stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around him. "Ron, they've gone into hiding, that's all. They're not really gone."
"Of course not," he said slowly. "They wouldn't leave me. Harry, he - and Ginny. Charlie was always her favorite, but when we were little, we were close, we always played together. Gods, Hermione, what am I doing here? I'm supposed to be helping, I was helping Hagrid with the, the - the - "
"The what?" she prompted.
"I don't remember." His face was crestfallen, and he visibly shook himself. He looked down at her and gently extracted himself from her grip. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. Where were you?"
"I was - I was - I was following you," she said lamely, hands dropping to her sides awkwardly. "And I was helping Dumbledore and Flitwick charm the gates."
He smiled faintly at her. "That's our Hermione."
Our Hermione? There was only the two of them now, she thought wildly, and she found that she was prone to the aftershock of Harry's departure just as Ron was. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to sink to her knees and cry and cry and cry like a little child.
Ron sensed her sadness. Of course he did. Seven years of being close friends gave him the ability. He touched her hand. "Don't worry, Hermione."
"How can I not worry?" she cried. "Those are our friends! Ginny, she's my friend as well! And Harry - "
To her utter amazement, she burst into tears.
Ron looked horrified, and he hugged her tightly, if not awkwardly, and made vague soothing noises.
After a long while, her sobbing ceased, and he was relieved when she flashed him a shaky smile.
"Really, that was silly of me." She wiped at her eyes quickly. "I know they're all right. They're together, and Harry wouldn't let anything happen to either of them. I know."
"That's good," Ron said softly, patting her head. "That's good to know."
I'm not very good at writing letters and saying what I think in them; one time Ron told me that no matter what happens, I'll always be a little silent on what I feel and think. But I had to try, so I decided to write you a letter.
I sent Will off last night. I think you know. Mothers always do, Mrs. Weasley told me that. He looks so small, for a one year old. He has your eyes.
I know now would be the right place for me to tell you how sorry I am. I don't think I can ever say how sorry I am. I wonder if you'd believe me if I told you it was because I thought it was for the best. I made the decision, you know, not anyone else. I kept it all to myself - maybe that's what Ron meant, that when it comes down to the most important things, I keep it to myself.
I hate this war. You're the only one I ever told that to. Everyone else, they never asked me what I thought. But I hate it. I hate how corrupt everything is, I hate how I don't know who to trust, I hate that.
Now I don't know what else to say because there are too many things I want to say to you - I want so badly to write your name, to print it a thousand times. But it's too dangerous. There's no way anyone could get this letter, but it's still too dangerous.
I remember what you looked like that night. You wore a black dress that wasn't all black, and you had let your hair fall over your shoulders. You kept pulling up the hem of your dress to show me your new shoes; they sparkled. I don't think I'd ever seen anything so beautiful before that night.
You laughed when I stuttered and tripped over the step into the Three Broomsticks, and I thought I'd die, but you smiled and kissed me.
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I love you I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry
Harry Potter's hand clenched around the edge of the letter, intending to crumple it, but for some reason he couldn't bear the thought. Instead, he moved sharply and jerkily towards the edge of the cliff, bracing his hand against the rock. He watched the letter float from his unresisting hand until a wave reached up and snagged it down under the ocean, a tossing blanket of frothy white foam.
He bowed his head against the rough rock, feeling it scratch his cheek. His hands felt chalky and he imagined he was dirty all over.
Three years, his brain chanted silently, three years. He raised his head just in time to see the sun, a ball of flame, become swallowed by the sea - for an instant; the whole world was aflame with peach, orange, red, gold, and crimson that bled across the sky. The water had turned blinding, and even when he closed his eyes, he could see the ruby red waves moving against his eyelids. When he opened his eyes again - and the emerald of his eyes was striking against the setting - the sun had set and his body ached all over.
Day one had passed.
Draco sighed. Ginny had ignored him for the better part of the morning, and while she had looked after Will, she was obviously furious with him. Not that he cared; it kept her out of his way and let him think.
But after eight hours of straight thinking, he wanted to jump off the mountain. Every two hours or so he would hear the baby cry and after a moment, Ginny would soothe him or feed him or do whatever she did to quiet him.
After the tenth solid hour of pacing restlessly and thinking - although his thoughts now were more random and unbalanced - he gave up. He went to find Ginny; he wasn't so desperate that he'd sink to talking to himself, but he'd settle for a Weasley.
She didn't say anything even when he sat across from her and cleared his throat. She was staring into a cup of tea and blowing lightly at the steam that rose, wafting it several inches away from the pink and yellow cup before it dissipated.
He frowned and folded his arms across his chest and made a sound in his throat impatiently. "Ginny, don't be unreasonable."
She drank her tea silently, and he saw that her knuckles were white where she clutched at the blasted teacup.
"This ridiculous," he told her harshly. "You're being incredibly selfish, do you know?"
She set the teacup down with enough force so that the tea sloshed dangerously over the rim and leveled a glower at him. "Malfoy, I've accepted as you obviously have that we're just not going to get along, and believe me, I've cried rivers. Now I just want you to leave me alone."
His lips quirked unconsciously. "For three years?"
Her own lips tightened into a line and she didn't bother to respond.
He tilted his chair on the back legs and contemplated her emotionlessly, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Harry has gone into hiding, presumably a few hours after you and I did. I would assume he left the country, although he isn't exactly known for his brilliance, and I can't say for sure. Will is my son, and I'm bringing him with us because I trust no one else to take care of a Malfoy's son. We're going back to Hogsmead in three years to meet with Harry because, apparently, that's when the war really starts. Harry asked me to hide you. Dumbledore doesn't know. No one knows. I don't think I've forgotten anything."
"Why?" she asked softly.
He said noncommittally, "You are important, Ginny. There's no sense in having you die early in the war. You're meant to play a turning role in this war. And you need to recognize the fact that you're making a sacrifice, but it's in no way larger than the sacrifices Potter has to make." He shrugged his shoulders lazily. "I may dislike Potter, but I'm still objective. I see his side of the story, and I pity him. It's not that difficult."
Ginny sat back in her chair, openly studying him. Malfoy was clever…second in his class, after Hermione. But she wasn't thinking of his skills as a wizard so much as she was, for the first time, seriously considering Malfoy was a person. He played manipulation, as his cards, and he employed to the highest level. She had the strong impression that he thought about everything he said before actually saying the words; he calculated every angle, every line and step, every breath and tone and look in his eyes and on his face.
"If anything, you have to trust me and I have to trust you," he said simply. "There isn't another way around it. I know; I thought long and hard on it, believe me. Just accept that I can't tell you anymore right now. I don't even know the whole story. Harry's probably the only one who does, and as we all know, he's gone MIA."
"All right…Draco," she said quietly, folding her fingers. "I'll trust you."
Draco pushed himself away from the table, and he touched her on the head briefly as he walked around her and out of the kitchen.
The room stunk of foul and unspeakable things, the man thought morosely. Drafty it was not, but it made up for that a thousand times over in the polluted smell. His robes felt soiled, and he thought that his every pore was dirtied. His eyes were jaded; his hands tainted.
"How do you think he is hiding, my Lord?" Lucius Malfoy was asking as he furrowed his brow in hard thought. "Do you suppose he has a Secret Keeper?"
"Don't be absurd, Malfoy," Professor Severus Snape snapped irritably, discreetly wiping his hands on his black robes.
Lucius turned a chilling stare upon the Hogwarts Potions Master, the man whom he did not completely trust, and responded slowly and clearly, "And why is that such a preposterous idea that you would call me absurd? Harry Potter is a Gryffindor," Lucius sneered, "He will no doubt have entrusted one of his closest friends to guard the knowledge of his whereabouts. One need only seek out those select few and force them to confess what they know. The Mudblood Granger, or the Weasley."
"The chances that you could even draw within ten feet of a Hogwarts student at the moment is nearly impossible," Snape said just as coldly. "And think, Lucius, for Merlin's sake. After that mess with his parents; do you really think Dumbledore wouldn't have kept that incident in mind?"
"So you say Potter's still at Hogwarts?" The expression on Lucius' face said that he himself clearly thought otherwise.
"No, of course not," Snape said smoothly. "I think he has gone into hiding. In fact, I'd almost swear it, my Lord."
"Do you, really? Almost?" Lord Voldemort mused. "You must be quite sure then, Severus."
Snape inclined his head in a deferential manner.
"So how is he hiding?" Lucius demanded.
Snape widened his black eyes. "Why, the traditional way, of course. By running."
"Severus has a point," Voldemort cut in abruptly, before Lucius could open his mouth. His red eyes gleamed, and for a moment, went very, very bright. "I believe he may be right. Harry Potter is running, but he is not so hidden that eyes will not see him. Alert the ones loyal to our cause. Alert them to watch for a boy with black hair and green eyes and a scar upon his forehead. Alert them to wait for Harry Potter's arrival."
