Chapter Seven: Canada Bound

Making my way downtown,

walking fast, faces passed,

and I'm home bound...

Staring blankly ahead

just making my way,

making my way

through the crowd...

And I still need you...

And I still miss you...

Vanessa Carlton, "A Thousand Miles"

"I can't believe them."

Hermione gritted her teeth, slammed her bookbag down on the seat next to her, and sat down, glowering at the opposite wall. Her treacherous mind was still replaying the words, bewildered and reproachful:

Shea, you idiot. What if she's actually a lesbian?

It chafed, bitterly so, that others of her age and gender could be so... so... inferior. And those.. boys! The violent spasm in Harry's face, and Ron's sudden coughing attack, had been salt in her wounds. All right, it did appease her a little that they had fought their laughter, in deference to her; but even so, it was cold companionship that found amusement in her wrath. This wasn't even her idea. They would be nowhere near that group of - underlings - if she'd just had the balls to say no, thank you, Dumbledore, I like my sanity, thanks all the same...

She could feel the hot blood of anger pulsing in her fingertips. The whole situation was ridiculous. She was sitting in a green Bug, of all things - yes, it was a lovely piece of magic, and even now she longed to know the mechanics of it, but it was still a horrid little Bug on the outside - and she was on her way to the most infamous laughingstock of a college that the planet had yet seen.

And it was in Canada. Canada. It would be cold!

Hermione glanced at the door, and her stomach clenched. Cold indeed. Cold as the hearts of her so-called friends, who still had not followed her. Consolation? Comfort? To be found in a pair of young men, who were supposedly responsible adults? Perish the thought.

She would not give the satisfaction of going after them. If they wanted to come in, distract her with conversations, heal the deep cut to her ego by means of their staunch, unflinching friendship, that was fine. Of course, she would make them work a little to get back into favor. In the words of the wise: If thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown, and be perverse, and say thee nay, that thou wilt woo...

Ah, but she was daydreaming now. Ron and Harry were fine, as boys went, but not mature enough to take the first step towards empathy. They were probably just outside the door, even now, debating whether to enter and risk her wrath.

It was a logical question. The cut had been sharp, and still she bled, though her blood was beginning to cool... Well, she would meet them halfway.

It was a great compromise to her hauteur, but she managed it. Plastering a benevolent smile on her face, Hermione rose to her feet and opened the compartment door, preparing to extend the hand of forgiveness.

No one was there to accept it.

The smile was gone now. Already she could feel the heat, briefly forgotten, flooding her face.

She braced herself, and looked.

The entire hallway. Empty.

Swayed between fury and tears, Hermione turned again and looked at her compartment with unseeing eyes. In her mind's eye she saw the eight of them - the six insufferable girls, and her two "friends" - sitting thigh-by-thigh in their small quarters, exchanging more jokes at her expense, and trading quips to hear that sickening falsetto laughter. (All right, it was a stereotype on her part, but was it not deserved?)

Vixens! Minxes! She slammed the door as hard as she could, and stood in the hallway, breathing heavily.

A thought of vengeance rose to her mind, as well as the memory of a few good hexes. She was quick to dismiss them. No, she wouldn't spoil their fun. But the thought of sitting alone, brooding and mourning by turns, was repulsive. I will pay them back. I'll find my own little... nest. For a fleeting instant, she enjoyed the mental image of four gleaming, muscled young men, their attentions and sympathies wholly for her as she, teary-eyed, recounted the betrayal of her friends.

Common sense rejected that, too... eventually. It needn't be so dramatic. But I won't sit alone all the way to Canada.

Her luggage was loaded; the weight of her bookbag against her side was a reassurance. Hermione took a few hesitant steps (awayfrom the front of the car)and slid open a compartment door at random, pushing her anger with the boys to the back of her mind.

Several heads, male and female alike, swiveled to face her. She offered them a wry smile. "May I sit with you?"

A blonde was the first to respond. Hoisting a pile of notebooks, papers, and Chocolate Frog cards into her lap, she gestured to the seat she had cleared away. "Sure, go ahead." Hermione moved to take the space, and met a pair of earnest, kind eyes as the blonde smiled. "I'm Rachael. The girl across from you is Megan, and this is Robert..."

As she made the introductions, Hermione feigned an engaging smile, reaching out mechanically to shake hands with each new face. A sigh rose within her, but she smothered it. This was a much better crowd. They were hospitable, and kind. Look at the ungrudging welcome they had given her! This was where she wanted to be. Go new places, meet new people, make new friends, right?

Even so, she was restless. She glanced from unfamiliar face to unfamiliar face, and something very like a knot settled in her stomach.

Only later did she realize what the problem was. Not once, though she had inspected the strange features carefully, had she seen a pair of green eyes or a nose overrun with freckles.

Ron was enjoying himself hugely. It had barely been five minutes, and already he felt comfortable with these six girls - with the exception of of the one who had infuriated Hermione. He was a bit scared of her - what was her name? Shea, yes, that was it, with her lingering eyes and strident laughter. She seemed nice enough, but anyone who could push the witch's buttons so successfully at one go was definitely someone to be wary of.

They had exchanged some stories and jokes already. Ron's retelling of his fifth-year Quidditch victory had gone over well, and then the redheaded female had quipped something about a running Scottish man, or something, that he hadn't quite understood; but he joined in the laughter anyway.

The whole group of them were incredibly high-spirited. In fact, gazing around at them all, he only noted two girls who were being unnervingly quiet: one, a dark-haired, stocky girl who had complained of motion sickness and then lapsed into silence, though she seemed to be listening to their exchanges with amusement; the second, a somber brunette who had not taken her slate-blue eyes off of Harry since he sat down. Ron glanced at his friend, and saw him returning the stare with defiance.

"Um, I don't think we've introduced ourselves," he intervened, breaking the contest of wills. "I'm Ron, this is Harry... Potter," he added, just in case.

He had assumed that her silence was because she, like some others, was scared of the Boy Who Lived... but she did not even bat an eyelash. "Tessa," she replied, sticking out a hand. They shook, awkwardly, and she continued: "This is Kayla - Marie - Snoop- err, Virginia, sorry - Shea - and Kate."

The merriment had abated slightly, and more than one pair of female eyes was now trained on Harry's forehead, where the flyaway dark hair revealed a bit of that famous lightning bolt. He smoothed it down; Ron recognized the rebellion in his eyes instantly. He coughed. Distraction... let's see... "So... anyone play wizard chess?"

"I do," Tessa answered promptly, but her eyes had returned to Harry. Strangely enough, her gaze held no fear, or contempt, or jealousy - if Ron sensed anything behind those bluey-gray orbs, it was an intense, biting, nervous curiosity.

What is it, damn you? he thought, annoyed with her indescretion. His voice held none of his irritation, however. "D'you want to play me?"

Finally, she looked straight at him, her full attention torn away as if in answer to his thoughts. "Yeah, why not?"

"You should tell him your lawnmower joke while you set up, Tess," Shea prodded.

"Oh, let me," Virginia begged. "She always tells it. Can I, Tess?"

A wry smile twisted her lips. "Be my guest."

The noise level had soared up again. Kate and Marie had started a little side conversation about kilts, and Virginia had launched into her story ("There was this guy, right, and one day he decided he wanted to take a class at the college..."). Tessa rummaged in her bookbag - what is it with girls and bookbags? Ron wondered briefly - and came up with a miniature wooden chess set, which she balanced on their knees. When she glanced up at him, her eyes were apologetic. "Sorry, it's Muggle chess - but my dad bought it for me, so, you know -"

"It's fine," said Ron hastily. "White or black?"

In answer, she took two pawns and rolled them between her palms, switching them from left to right, and back again, too quickly to follow. Then she held out two fists. Ron tapped the right, and she let her fingers uncurl.

Black.

"...and the professor's like, 'Well, that means you're in love with your wife, correct?'..." Virginia continued. She paused, savoring the moment, and then stopped altogether. Her eyes narrowed. "Hey, where are you going?"

Ron's head snapped up. Harry had risen to his feet and was already sliding back the door. "Oy, mate, where are you off to?"

He gestured helplessly. "I just... this doesn't feel right. 'Mione's upset, and I don't... we should go see what's up."

"I'd rather poke a dragon in the eye with a very short stick," the redhead retorted.

" 'Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup,'" Marie intoned cheerfully. She blinked and looked around when all eyes turned to her. "What?"

"You can invite her to come back with you," Shea offered, a thread of guilt in her voice. "I was just messing with her, you know."

"Yeah, you'll soon learn not to take us seriously," Kate said, and Ron fancied he had never heard a drier voice.

Harry hesitated for a second, one hand on the door. "You think we should..." he fumbled for a phrase, and halted. Tessa was watching him again, wariness in her eyes.

"Give her space?" Ron demanded. "I know we should, Harry."

"That's not what I meant," Harry said, coldly, and stepped out.

They all listened to his footsteps trail away. Kayla blinked and shook her head. "Is he always like that? He's so... depressed. Like, I dunno, he was cool in the hall and stuff, but he got really weird when his girlfriend person left. He kept like, twitching. I don't think I saw him smile at all, once he sat down. I was like, dude. It's okay."

Ron met her gaze dispassionately. "Depressed?" he asked, his voice deceptively mild. If these girls didn't know the horrors of his friend's life, he wouldn't be the one to fill them in. Oh, every little witch and wizard knew that Harry had survived the Killing Curse, aged one year, and they also knew that he had caused Voldemort's defeat... but few had been there, at his actual bedside, during those crucial moments in June when the semblence of life had shredded away... leaving nothing but the shell and the blood and the fear that every shallow breath would be his last...

...and then, watching the dullness, the apathy, the resentment for the next few months, with the spirit slowly reassembling behind those green eyes like shuttered windows...

For a while, it was like a dementor had sucked out his very soul, leaving nothing but darkness.

Ron shuddered and looked around. The memories were so bleak that for a moment he felt as if he sat in a dream... the noise of the car engine, the distant conversations, the light, the faces turned questioningly to his... and then Tessa prodded him.

"Your move, Ron."

He looked down at the chessboard they'd propped on their knees. She had made her opening move, a white knight two spaces in front of her queen's bishop.

The fog in his head cleared. This was real. This was chess. He'd beaten a Hogwarts professor's chess game when he was eleven. He could do this, easily. A deep breath filled his lungs.

"Hermione's not his girlfriend," he heard himself say.

"She's not?" Shea sounded surprised. "Is she yours?"

"We had a thing going during our school years, but it never really went anywhere... so no."

"She isn't really gay, is she? I'd feel so bad..."

A chuckle bubbled in his chest. He waved a hand airily. "No, believe me, she is not."

"Well, if she isn't Harry's girlfriend, then why was he being so weird when she left?" Kayla demanded aggressively.

Ron twitched. This was a point he hadn't considered.

"You know, Tess, it might have been your fault," someone was saying distantly. He surfaced to find Virginia watching Tessa like a cat.

"I don't know what you mean." The tone could have stripped paint. Even Ron, distracted as he was, could translate That Voice.

End of subject... end of subject...

"You were so staring at him!" Virginia, intentionally oblivious, lifted her eyebrows expressively. "I mean, good-looking, yes, but not droolworthy. Kayla's right... he totally looks depressed."

Her friend dismissed that possibility absently. "Oh, it was nothing like that. I thought I recognized his voice, is all." Ron made his move, and her attention promptly returned to the chessboard.

"To be fair, you were being weird," Kate said, a slight frown marring her brow as she watched her friend. "I haven't seen you so quiet during a car trip since the time you ate, like, a whole bag of Kookies at the mall, and you were trying not to puke all over our car."

"She's usually really hyper," Virginia whispered loudly, her comment addressed to Ron but intended for Tessa's ears.

The latter set a pawn down hard enough to make Ron's knees twinge. "You caught me out, Snoopy," she said, her voice suddenly icy and layered with biting sarcasm. "I have a thing for our dark and broody Mr. Potter. How can I help it? He's sooo dreamy. Look, I thought I recognized him from somewhere, all right? It freaked me out a little. Your move, Ron."

"Recognized him? From where?" the young man asked, curiously.

Tessa exhaled, obviously annoyed with them all. "Nowhere!" When she saw that their eyes remained on her, she sighed again. Leaning back against the seat cushions, as though resigning herself to the inevitable, she gave them all her most sullen deadpan. Her voice, barely a mutter, was low and resentful.

"A hot-n'-steamy sex dream," she confessed.

They all stared at her. She couldn't manage the straight face for long; after seeing Ron's bulging eyes, she caved, nearly upsetting their chessboard with her violent spasms of laughter.

"Guys, I'm kidding!"

The joke, once identified for what it was, was successful: most of her friends erupted in laughter over this, though Ron had to blink a couple of times to rid himself of the image in his mind's eye. Satisfied, Virginia returned to her rendition of the lawnmower joke; Marie broke out two huge bags of candy, one of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and the other of Shrek M&Ms. The conversation about kilts started up again, though Ron couldn't guess what sort of obscure private joke had spurred this.

Once, however, as the chess game progressed, he glanced up to find Tessa's face set in a thoughtful manner - and this time, he could detect a little fear before she shook it away and checked his king.

Megan held up her most recent Chocolate Frog card and inspected it. "Alright, I've got my third Hengist of Woodcroft, currently sprouting ivy from his ears, and I'm willing to trade. Does anyone have Circe?"

Rachael took a small deck from her back pocket and tapped the top card (the druidess Cliodna), murmuring "accio Circe" as she did. The deck rose in midair, shuffling itself. When she reached up for the top card, it had changed from Cliodna to Circe. "Trade for Hengist and Morgana?" she offered.

"Sure. Hermione, you wouldn't happen to have a Morgana, would you?" Megan looked askance at Hermione, who, despite all of their coaxing, refused to begin her own deck. The four cards she had obtained she held loosely, offering them to whoever would take them. She had no interest, she claimed, in chocolate-frog decks.

"Well, neither do we, really," Robert had told her. "But if you collect a certain eight, or ten, or twelve, you get prizes. Tiny flying broomsticks, or something. And those are most certainly collectable." He'd brought out a tiny sack, to show her the little Firebolt that he was so proud of. He'd thought to impress her, poor thing.

She'd spared him a disdainful look. "Oh, yes. Absolutely. Count me in. I totally want a bagful of useless tiny flying broomsticks."

Robert had looked hurt. Hermione, sighing, rubbed her eyes. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

"PMS, probably," Rachael had said, trying to win a laugh. The other girl shot her a glare.

Megan was starting to dislike her. Oh, she had been nice enough, when she first sat down. She'd certainly been unhesitant when Rachael offered her some Chocolate Frogs... but something seemed to be bugging her, and her responses, so cheerful at first, had grown more and more clipped and sarcastic. Now she was silent. Without saying a word, she rifled through her four cards and offered Megan her Morgana. The trade for Circe was completed.

Megan looked down at her own deck, fanning them out to see every picture. Hengist of Woodcroft, Lady of Salem, Uther Pendragon, Hedwig, Flamel, Viviane, Herne... she sighed and slid them shut. She was collecting for a miniature Nimbus 2000, but in truth, she had little interest in trading-card games either. It was a common fad among her peers, one that she only pretended to be absorbed in. If nothing else, the little broomsticks made good Christmas presents. And the game passed the time.

It certainly filled the icy silence.

I wish she would leave, Megan thought, glancing back at Hermione nervously. What is she trying to prove by staying here?

As if on cue, the door slid open again.

Robert, Rachael, and the other girl in the compartment with them - a dark brunette - had begun a debate over a Ptolemy card and hardly even looked up. Megan's eyes stayed on Hermione. When the door opened, she had flinched; now she was watching the figure in the doorway coldly. Still she did not speak.

" 'Mione, are you okay?"

Megan hurriedly dropped her gaze to her deck of cards. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hermione cast her a critical glance. What to do...

Hastily, to thwart suspicion, she poked Robert. "Do you have a Merlin?"

"Huh? A Merlin? Prob'ly... hold on, Meg- Rach, no, you're not getting my Ptolemy, I need it for the Comet 260-"

The conversation went on, growing in volume. Megan allowed herself a smug smile. Her friends were boisterous enough that her attention would go unnoticed - and thus, she was free to observe.

Hermione was talking again. Her voice was deceptively reasonable. "Why would I not be okay, Harry?" she inquired casually. "I get mortally insulted, and my friends think it's funny, and they go off and leave me to stew? Why would that offend me?" Though she kept her voice low, it was soon apparent that she was upset; barely a minute of exchange had gone by before shewas talking too quickly to follow.

Her eavesdropper, even though she was only catching one word of five, could tell:this was a prepared rant. She kept her eyes down as she unwrapped another Chocolate Frog, listening as hard as she could.Even so, shecould only catch phrases.Hermione's voice had gone from casual to a venomous hiss.

"I wouldn't be here at all if... I guess that I proposed... butyou two shouldn't have betrayed me... well, obviously I have little to complain of except for wounded pride... but I would have thought better of you, Harry... value of friendship would mean more to you of all people, seeing as it was Ron and I who found you in June-"

Here, the strange boy cut her off.

"Ron said you needed time to yourself," he commented, and his voice was as cold as ice. "Maybe he was right."

Hermione sputtered. "Me?"

Harry seemed about to say something, but by now the others in the compartment were starting toeye them curiously, and he changed his mind. "Can we talk in the hall?"

She got up and stormed past him. Megan met Harry's eyes for a fleeting second, and then he shut the door.

The others hesitated for a moment, sensing that something wasn't right. Then Rachael made a grab for something in Robert's hand, and he pulled away sharply, saying, "Rachael, I said you can't have it, all right?"

"If you'd just listen, I have Agrippa and Herne and we can work something out-"

Megan pressed her ear to the cold wall and listened.

"You have got some nerve," Hermione seethed, pacing up and down the hallway. "You and Ronald both owe me an apology for deserting me like that, and I think that-"

"I owe you an apology."

She stumbled over her own wrath. "Well, yes!" she asserted, and then stopped, feeling sudden confusion writhe in her gut. What had she said, in her anger? Somehow she couldn't remember. The words had just spilled out. It had been surprisingly easy, to actually confront him about something; she had held off since June, whether from fear or respect she couldn't tell--

Memory surged.

I thought the value of friendship would mean more to you of all people, seeing as it was Ron and I who found you in June...

Cold fingers settled on her heart. She couldn't believe her own nerve. Even so, she set her jaw grimly. This was their fault. His and Ron's. Not hers.

Still! How could I have said that?

Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his unruly hair. "Look, 'Mione, I'm sorry about the lesbian thing. You took it a little too personally, you know. Ron and I were sitting with them and they're actually nice... they just kid around a lot. Like Ron and his strip tennis. Surely you could have seen that?"

Her eyes smarted. Hermione blinked rebelliously, forcing the hormones back. "For God's sake, Harry, I'm not upset about that... well, I was, a little," she conceded, seeing him raise his eyebrows. "But you two shouldn't have turned around and gone and sat with them! At the very least, you could have proposed it to me! 'Hey, let's go sit with those strange chicks, what do you say?'"

"And what would you have said, if we had?" Harry asked dryly.

He'd cornered her. She changed the subject. "Well, if they're so nice and so clever, why aren't you still back there?"

"I wanted to see how you were."

It was her turn to raise her eyebrows. "After all this time. Let me guess: Jiminy Cricket just happened to come by and give your conscience a prod."

He blinked. " 'Jiminy'...?"

Stupid! Stupid! "Never mind. Be satisfied that I don't trust you." Hermione scowled at him. "What happened? Did one of them try to feel you up before they'd gotten you thoroughly drunk?"

To this, he was silent. The cold fingers on her heart squeezed, and for a moment she couldn't breathe. Irrational fears drummed in her chest. "Did they... really..."

Harry started, and focused on her face again. "Wh- oh. No. No, they didn't. I told you they were nice, didn't I?" he added. Absently he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's me, I think. I just wasn't comfortable.One of them was watching me, like she could see me... underneath."

"Meaning...?"

A long silence stretched. He cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and hoarse. "I felt like a snake again, with her eyes on me. Like... like it used to be, before..."

Hermione felt the hairs on her arms prickling. Before Voldemort's demise, Harry had had moments of weakness, where he and the Dark Lord exchanged more than just feelings; Harry had mentioned, briefly, feeling almost like a snake whenever Dumbledore drew near, or when he slept, or even when Voldemort was near. Snape had done the best to protect the boy with Occlumency, but You-Know-Who was ultimately stronger than a Potions Master...

"But he's dead, Harry," she whispered. "The Heir of Slytherin is dead. You..."

"I killed him, yes." The words were harsh, and for a moment Hermione recoiled. It was the first time he'd spoken it, and the bitter smile he offered her chilled her to the bone.

For a moment she held quite still, hearing the blood pound in her ears. Dumbledore was right. Oh my God, will we never be free?

"You don't think she's-" Harry started, and for a moment he sounded so young and helpless that she wanted to weep. "Necromancy, perhaps?"

"No, Harry," she said quietly. "Voldemort's power was such that only someone more powerful than him could raise him from the dead, and that's you, and maybe Dumbledore; and neither of you would ever do that, right, Harry?"

He must have heard the apprehension in her voice, for this time his smile reassured her, a little. "No, never." He sighed, and his shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me." He held out his arms, as if asking for comfort. "D'you forgive us, 'Mione?"

She hugged him as hard as she could, blinking fiercely. Howcould she be angry with him now? Her own trials seemed trivial, in comparison with his."Of course."

Harry nodded at the compartment she had vacated earlier. "I might sit down for a while. I need to unwind. Alone, if you don't mind," he added, seeing the offer on her lips before she'd voiced it.

"I'll lend you candles and bubble bath, if you need it," Hermione half-joked, pulling away. "Oh, and tell Ron I owe him a good smack upside the head. With a tennis racket."

"I will," he promised.

They might have stood there indefinitely, searching for words, if Robert hadn't slid the door open. "-gonna go see what Jesse and them are up to," he was saying. He stepped out into the corridor, nodded to Harry and Hermione, and then paused. A scowl crossed his face. "Rachael, you are going to pay dearly for that Ptolemy."

"Call if you need anything," the witch whispered to her friend, and went back to her seat. Robert slid the door shut again; she heard his footsteps go pounding down the hall.

"Want another Chocolate Frog?" Rachael offered, sympathetically.

"Why not? Chocolate makes everything better," Hermione said wearily, accepting the little package. When she ripped it open, the card slid into her lap - but she was too intent on the chocolate to pay it any heed.

The blonde gave her a cockeyed look. "Boy trouble?"

"Not the way you think," she replied before she bit. Milky sweetness dissolved in her mouth, and she could have sighed with relief. Amazing, how quickly chocolate could banish sorrows.

When she'd finished it, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Something was nagging her, something trivial but worrisome all the same: the three of them, all in different compartments. Ron was flirting with six girls at the front of the train; Harry was brooding somewhere behind her. It just didn't feel right. They'd always been together on the train to school. Always.

Not anymore, apparently, she thought, dispirited, and opened her eyes to find Megan watching her.

"Yes?" she demanded crossly.

The girl only shook her head and looked away.

She must have overheard, Hermione realized. Well, what does it matter? The world knows that Harry killed Voldemort in June. And why should I care, if someone I've never met before overhears a fight? She glared an unspoken challenge, but Megan still refused to meet her eyes.

This is the single worst train trip of my life, Hermione finally decided, dropping her gaze to her lap. She almost jumped at the sight that awaited her: Dumbledore, his wizened old face blinking up at her serenely, as if her very thoughts had summoned him. It took her a moment to realize that it was her Chocolate Frog card.

You bastard, she told him silently. You sowed our fears, and now I pay the price!

He didn't reply. Well, he couldn't, could he? He was only a photo. A stupid, useless photo that might, if she collected the ones that were supposed to go with him, win her a tiny flying broomstick.

Her eyes burned. Furious with everything - with Ron, with herself, with these stupid people, and with the suspicious old man whose advice had landed her here - she took the card in shaking hands and tore it down the middle.

Hooray... I've finally finished this bloody chapter... Shea, it wasn't a birthday present, but it's within the same week :D Good enough. I hope.

Guest starring: cameo appearances by Rachael and Mr. Sadie Hawkins Dance ;) And Megan, yay!

I've had this story running for over a year. Gracious God, I'm insane.

Plotbunnies, Ethan! Feel loved!

This is a fairly long chapter... I'm exhausted, but my muse is happy. It's Fyrie's doing, I promise. She finally got another chapter up. Of course, she has no idea that I exist, but still. Goddess worship is allowed, right?

Please review. It takes five seconds, and it makes my day.

T