Chapter Eleven

Back in the Gryffindor common room, Harry sat alone in front of the fireplace. It was a quiet, rainy evening; most of his classmates were either already upstairs in bed or buried in their own homework. He had a Potions essay he should have been writing, but tonight, knowing what was happening in the hospital wing, he simply couldn't concentrate.

He'd seen it on Hermione's face today: This would be bad. Worse than bad. Draco Malfoy, if he survived his first full moon, would be a condemned man.

How could I have been so stupid? For the millionth time, Harry closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to the lids, trying to blot out the memory of Draco's body, clamped in the werewolf's powerful jaws, whipping back and forth through the air.

It seemed impossible to Harry that a few short weeks ago he'd been so convinced the duel was the right thing to do – no, the only thing to do. He had assumed, correctly, that everyone at Hogwarts was watching him, waiting for him to set the tone of the war against Voldemort.

And set the tone I did. I showed everybody how to be just as ruthless and inhuman as the so-called Dark Lord himself.

Heart-wrenching as it had been, though, Harry was glad he had gone today to visit Hermione. Ginny had finally prompted him to go, relaying to both Harry and Ron that Hermione could use some moral support; truthfully, Harry had been wanting to go see her for weeks, but he'd been too afraid – afraid of the accusations in her eyes, afraid of the loathing in her voice.

But she forgave me. Just like that, she forgave me.

Earning Hermione's forgiveness had lifted an enormous weight off of Harry's shoulders even as another burden of grief had descended upon his heart: Hermione was in love with Malfoy. He hadn't needed her to say it; the truth had been written all over her face.

Harry couldn't pin down the exact moment when his feelings for Hermione had deepened from friendship and respect into something more…intimate. Her phone calls this past summer had been a rare bright spot in his lonely, grief-clouded world, yet he hadn't realized even then how much he looked forward to hearing her voice. Perhaps this term at the train station was when he'd first noticed the strange tingle she stirred deep-down in his stomach; her new curves and bouncy hair-do might have had something to do with that, he supposed.

In any case, whenever it had happened, it had happened – Harry had become smitten with Hermione, and over the last few months, he'd sensed that the feeling was reciprocated. Hadn't she proven that by kissing him the night before his duel with Malfoy?

Leaning forward, Harry rested his face in his hands, his elbows propped on his knees. That kiss had held all the promise of a wonderful future – of a life together. He'd gone to sleep that night wondering if this was how his father had felt after his first kiss with Lilly Evans; had James known, as Harry had, that he was the luckiest man alive because he had won the heart of the most precious woman alive? Harry had floated on air the next day, even with the duel looming before him.

Sure, she'd had her reservations about them as a couple, and she'd been perfectly honest about her feelings for Malfoy. But Harry was confident nothing would ever have come of that bad-boy crush if Malfoy weren't now lying suspended between life and death in the hospital wing, because Hermione would never have allied herself with someone who refused to disavow Voldemort, with someone who so openly embraced an ideology she, like Harry, found repulsive. With time, he had felt then and still believed now, Malfoy would have faded from Hermione's thoughts while Harry grew in her heart.

And I put an end to all of that. I put these wheels in motion, made it possible for her to fall in love with Malfoy – I lost her, all by myself.

Still, Harry decided as he fell resignedly back in his chair, painful as it was, he'd needed to see for himself what he'd glimpsed in Ginny's guarded expressions: Hermione was in love with Malfoy. So he'd gone to the hospital wing, he'd asked for her forgiveness – the only thing he could expect from her now – and when the worst had been confirmed by her eyes alone, he'd actually been relived. At least he knew where he stood with her now, and they could move on, as friends.

Today, Harry had also made another important discovery: He would rather have Hermione as a friend than lose her entirely. And so he had made a decision to stand by her, and thereby to stand by Malfoy, no matter what. He would be the friend Hermione deserved, trusting that in time his other feelings for her would dull into nothing more than memories.

Unfortunately, Ron, who had been terribly temperamental since being stripped of his Prefect's badge, didn't seem to share Harry's inclination for remaining supportive of Hermione. When Ginny had asked them to go visit her, Ron had told her that Draco Malfoy could shove off, and Hermione right along with him. Harry suspected Ron would have been more sympathetic to Malfoy's predicament if Hermione wasn't holed up in the hospital wing caring for him, though of course he'd had the sense not to say that with Ron's temper so on edge.

The truth was, Harry and Ron weren't getting on so well these days. They'd shown solidarity in front of Dumbledore, who thoroughly chastised them and threatened expulsion if they engaged in any more rule-breaking, and in front of their classmates. They hadn't outright argued about the duel, about Hermione's care of Malfoy, or anything. But while Ron lapped up the praise of their schoolmates for finally giving Malfoy his due, as they put it, Harry visibly shrank from the attention, which seemed to enrage Ron. The strain between them had significantly worsened when, less than a week after the duel, Mr. Weasley had shown up at the castle to speak with Ron privately; although Ron never discussed what was said, Harry knew it must have been bad, because when Ron emerged from Dumbledore's office he looked as if he'd been crying.

Mr. Weasley hadn't asked to speak with Harry. On the one hand, Harry was relieved to escape the tongue-lashing, while on the other he was wounded that the Weasleys weren't treating him like a son as usual and giving him the same punishment they'd given Ron. Not that he could really blame them; he had put Ron and Hermione in grave danger, and nothing but sheer dumb luck had kept them all from suffering a fate similar to Malfoy's – or something worse.

All in all, nothing had been the same between Harry and Ron since the night of the duel. Their conversations were tense and awkward; they shuffled around the subject of Malfoy and Hermione until the weight of all they didn't say crept in between them like an immovable boulder, pushing them further and further apart. Harry had begun to feel adrift again, like he had the night Sirius died, as he realized how truly alone he was without either of his best friends.

The minutes ticked on toward midnight while Harry sorted painfully through the chaos of his life. Students drifted up to the dormitories in small groups until Harry was finally all alone in the common room. He stared into the fireplace, wishing, as he often did, that he could expect Sirius's head to pop up amidst the flames. What he wouldn't give for his godfather's advice right now!

Or maybe I should be glad he's not here to see what a mess I've made of things. Sirius was hot-headed, but he wouldn't have been as stupid as I've been – he would never have lowered himself to Malfoy's level, or have thought it was the right thing to do…

Or would he? Harry knew Sirius had performed some ill-advised stunts during his Hogwarts years, like teaching himself to become an unregistered Animangus so he could keep Lupin company during the full moons – a serious crime and a perilous spell for an untrained wizard. Not to mention the danger Sirius had willingly placed himself, his friends, and the whole of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade in by encouraging Lupin not to remain locked away in the Shrieking Shack during his transformations!

And my dad went along with all of that. Maybe I'm not so different from him and Sirius after all…

A sudden idea occurred to Harry, and even though he shoved it immediately out of his mind, he suspected it would nest in the corner of his consciousness, nibbling away at his better judgment day by day. After all, Hermione was right: Malfoy would have no friends at Hogwarts from now on, aside from the two of them. And hadn't he, Harry, faced down Voldemort and a veritable army of Death Eaters? Surely he was prepared to work a spell that Sirius and his father had managed without the benefits of his experience –

"Up to no good?"

Harry jumped guiltily as Ginny sank down into the chair across from his. He hoped she would chalk his red cheeks up to the firelight.

"Couldn't sleep," he responded, trying to sound innocent.

Ginny nodded. He tried not to notice how pretty she looked with the flames reflecting in her eyes and her brick-red hair tumbling around her shoulders. What was happening to all of them, anyway? Hermione was certainly rounding out in all the right places, he still couldn't help noticing, and now, he was starting to miss when Ginny was just Ron's little sister, not a beautiful girl in her own right.

"Do you think, if something…bad happens tonight, Dumbledore will announce it to the whole school?"

Harry stared into the fire, considering Ginny's question. He tried not to dwell on the possibility that Malfoy might very soon be dead; nevertheless, he could picture the stark silence in the Great Hall following Dumbledore's solemn announcement, could hear the accusatory whispers as even those who were at this moment his supporters began to call him a murderer.

Then I'd really know how Sirius felt. Only, I'd have earned the title.

"Probably," he answered.

The gravity of what might be happening in the hospital wing settled in around them. Without a word, Ginny rose, crossed to him, and sank down on Harry's lap with her head resting on his shoulder; pleasantly surprised, he, in turn, wrapped his arms around her waist and laid his cheek against her silky, sweet-smelling hair.

"Let's just stay right here," Ginny suggested quietly, nuzzling her nose into his neck. "Let's just stay like this, okay, Harry? At least until morning."

Unable to think of a more comforting way to pass the awful night ahead, Harry nodded. By dawn, though they had spoken hardly a word to each other, he was thankful for Ginny's company; she kept his demons at bay simply by being there.