Chapter Twelve: Determinacy

Ministry of Magic
15th December, 8.34pm

Harry came to with his face pressed into the mess of broken glass and spilled champagne that covered the floor of the Ministry atrium. Something cold and damp was falling onto the back of his neck, and he realised the charm that kept the snow from falling must have failed. Above the ringing in his ears he could hear, faintly, the sound of screams.

He realised, belatedly, that the wet on the floor was not just champagne. He could see a shoe lying on the floor a little to his left, but no sign of whoever it had belonged to, which was strange because it hadn't been the sort of party where people just kicked off their -

What sort of party had it been? His thoughts were coming too slow, Harry realised. He'd been standing at the edge of the dancefloor, watching as Theo and -

"Herm-" Harry tried to form her name, but his throat was thick with dust and his voice emerged as nothing more than a whisper. The last thing he could remember was watching her dancing with Theo. She'd looked astonishing - her olive skin gilded by the candlelight as she twirled in Theo's arms, before her bright smile faded as she had looked at something over Harry's shoulder -

Theo had shouted, Harry remembered. He'd shouted, and Harry had turned and seen Marcus, with that awful, fixed expression on his face; the look of raw terror in his eyes as he had raised his hand and -

Harry pushed himself upright, everything else eclipsed by the thought that he had to find Hermione; had to make sure that she was alright, that she hadn't been hurt.

"Hermione!" he tried again, though his voice was rough and harsh to his own ears. He tried to suck in a deep breath, but started to choke on the taste of metal at the back of his throat before someone kicked him, hard, in the shoulder.

"Ow!" Harry yelped, collapsing back. "Jesus - fuck - what are you -"

"What is it with you, Harry?" asked an over-deep voice on which Harry recognised the effects of a Distortion Charm. "Why can't you ever just stay down?"

Harry groaned as a dragon hide boot came to rest on the side of his jaw, applying enough pressure to squash his nose into a pool of warm, sticky liquid on the stone floor.

"Perhaps you can explain it for me," the voice went on. The man was looming over him, his face lost in shadow. "Because I never did understand." He sounded calm and thoughtful, neither of which, Harry felt, boded well.

"Agh," he ground out, feeling splinters of glass cutting into his cheek. "Understand what?"

"What's so special about you?"

"What?" Harry managed to choke the word out. The man leaned closer to him, and through his shattered glasses Harry could make out the threefold image of his hooded silhouette in the flickering light of those candles that hadn't been extinguished by the explosion.

"I wonder," the man said quietly. "Do you have enough Peverell in you to make the Invocation st-"

"Harry!"

Above him the man jerked upright. Harry tried again to get up, but was stopped by a vicious pain that stabbed through his stomach as the man kicked him again.

"Hermione!" he tried to shout once more, but his voice emerged as a croak and Harry subsided, coughing, to the floor, where he rolled onto his back.

The man had disappeared, leaving Harry staring up into the dark recesses of the atrium ceiling before Hermione's face appeared above him.

She was ashen pale, with a streak of something dark that might have been blood across one cheek, her hair tumbling haphazardly from its updo as she fell to her knees beside him.

"Oh my god," she was whispering. "Oh shit, oh my god -"

"It's - I'm fine," Harry tried to tell her. "Where's Ron, he was right beside -"

"Over here," Ron's voice sounded shaky, but he was getting to his feet, shaking his head so that fragments of glass fell to the floor in a glittering shower. "Hermione, have you seen Callie?"

"She was by the bar," Hermione said. She had pulled Harry half onto her lap, and had her wand out to examine what turned out to be a rather nasty gash across his abdomen, but now she looked up to Ron and pointed towards the other side of the room. "I think she was a reasonable distance away from - from -"

"It was Marcus," Harry whispered, as Ron went stumbling away in the direction Hermione had pointed. "It was Marcus, and he - he -"

"I know," Hermione said. "I saw him before you, remember?"

Harry nodded, because he did remember, but it was all getting a bit fuzzy. "I think I hit my head," he said, his voice sounding as though it was coming from rather a long way away, until a stinging pain brought him back to himself.

"Sorry," Hermione was saying, and Harry realised that the sharp pain had been a very gentle Stinging Hex. "I'm so sorry, Harry, but you have to stay awake, I need to see how deep this is."

"Could you do it without hexing me, maybe?" Harry asked breathlessly, and Hermione gave a surprised little huff of laughter as she peeled back his shirt. It wasn't exactly how he'd imagined it, but the fact that he had been imagining it was -

"This doesn't look too bad," Hermione murmured, and Harry nodded, trying to give her a reassuring smile. It quickly turned to a grimace when her fingers pressed against the tender spot on the side of his abdomen.

"Fuck - no - that's where he kicked me."

"Where who kicked you?" Hermione said, looking down at him in consternation.

"That guy - the - oh, Merlin's fucking beard, he was here."

"Who was?" Theo appeared in front of them, and Harry dragged his gaze from Hermione to look at him. Theo's dress robes were torn and his hair was dishevelled in a way that he was somehow managing to pull off. For once, Harry didn't find himself annoyed by Nott's presence, recalling the way he had pushed Hermione behind him before he shouted.

"The Invocation guy," Harry said, wincing when Hermione's hand tightened on his - how long had she been holding his hand, and how had he not realised sooner?

"How do you know it was him?" she said, her voice so quiet Harry realised that his hearing must be recovering.

"He spoke to me," he said. "He asked - he asked what was so special about me." He frowned, trying to remember. "He called me Harry, like we know each other, but his voice was -"

"Did he get any of your blood?" Theo asked urgently.

"No," Harry shuddered at the memory. "No, he was going to, he said something about Peverells, but then you -" He blinked up at Hermione in wonder. "You called my name," he whispered, "and he ran."

"Potter," Theo said, then again, more sharply. "Harry!" Harry frowned, reluctantly breaking his gaze from Hermione's.

"What?" he demanded, and Theo had the temerity to roll his eyes. Behind his shoulder, Harry watched as Malfoy hauled Robards to his feet. The Minister looked shaken, but unhurt.

"Did you see his face?" Theo asked, and Harry winced, shaking his head.

"He was wearing a cloak, and there wasn't enough light," he told him.

"Alright," Theo said, rocking back on his heels. He exchanged a glance with Hermione over Harry's head. "Do you want to wait for the Healers to arrive or…?"

"Harry?" Hermione asked. "Do you -"

"Is Callie OK?"

He felt Hermione shift as she looked behind her. "Yes - yes, Ron's got her - she looks fine."

"Neville?"

This time there was a longer pause, and then Hermione exhaled loudly. "Yeah, he's right there by the lifts, he's alright."

"What about Marcus?" Harry demanded. "Is he -"

"I'm sorry," Theo shook his head. "He was right at the centre of the blast, he didn't have a chance."

"Fuck," Harry swore, scrunching his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. "Oh, fuck it."

He went to sit up again, and this time, when he was expecting the pain, it was somehow more bearable.

"Easy there," said Theo, catching his arm as Harry got shakily to his feet. "Take it slow, you don't want to -"

"Take me home," Harry said to Hermione. "Please just - just take me home before they start taking photographs."

"OK," she nodded, pulling his arm across her still-bare shoulders.

"They'll want witness interviews," Theo said, but Hermione waved her free hand dismissively.

"They know where to find us," she told Theo, before starting to guide Harry back in the direction of the phone box.

He looked down at her as they walked, and realised that her velvet dress was streaked with muck. In amongst the larger sorrows Harry felt a deep pang at the thought of how beautiful she had looked - how radiant - in that moment that she had looked at him and smiled, just before everything had gone to shit.

"You're not hurt?" he asked, suddenly realising that in his relief at seeing her alive he hadn't checked before.

"Just some bruises," Hermione said, steering him past what looked like a bundle of cloth but Harry knew very likely wasn't. "Theo got me out of the way."

"Bastard," Harry sighed. "I guess I have to be grateful to him now."

Hermione's arm was warm under his hand, but Harry still felt goosebumps rise across her skin.

"I think he finds the animosity entertaining," she said softly, as they reached the phone box in the corner of the atrium. "Though honestly, I still don't know why you hate him so much."

The door was hanging open, but when Hermione lifted the receiver and listened for a moment, relief crossed her features. "It's working," she said. "Come on, let's -"

"How can you not know?" Harry asked as she propped him against the wall of the booth and closed the door behind them.

"Know what?" Hermione asked, staring up at him, the little line of confusion between her eyebrows so perfect that he could just -

"Whoa, there," she said, reaching for his shoulder as he listed forward. Harry caught his weight against the opposite wall of the booth, hissing when his wrist twinged.

"Are you alright?" Hermione's eyes were wide with concern.

"I've been trying to talk to you all evening," Harry said, aware that it didn't make too much sense as an answer.

"OK," Hermione nodded slowly. "Will you let me get you home first?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "Yeah, that's probably best."

oOo

No. 12 Grimmauld Place
15th December 2009, 9.43pm

She hadn't realised that her hands were shaking until she went to wring out the washcloth in the bathroom.

Hermione dropped the stained cotton and gripped the porcelain tightly, meeting her own gaze in the mirror above the sink. There was a bloodstain on her cheek, and she swiped viciously at it, leaving pinkish tracks of water dribbling towards her jaw.

"Get it together," she breathed, raising her shoulders high and dropping her chin to take a deep breath.

"Does the Mudblood One need anything else?" Kreacher asked, sidling into the doorway. "Kreacher has given Master the Pain Potion, and administered the Dittany, as directed."

"No, Kreacher," Hermione said, swiping quickly at the tears on her cheeks. "You've done a wonderful job, thank you."

The elf hovered in the doorway for a moment, his wizened features unreadable.

"Master needs the Mudblood One," he said softly. "In the parlour, he asks for Miss Hermione."

Hermione jerked her head round to look at him. "Kreacher -"

"Do not be getting used to it," the elf sniffed, eyeing her closely, before abruptly disapparating.

"As if," Hermione laughed shakily to herself, smoothing her hair behind her ears before she stared back at her reflection. "Courage," she told herself. "Be brave."

She picked up the cloth, frowned at the rust-coloured stains, and then cast a Scourgify before opening the cabinet and removing the Skele-Gro that she suspected Harry needed, despite his denials.

"Hey," he said when she stepped back into the parlour. "Where were you?"

"I wanted to rinse this," Hermione said, holding up the rag she'd mopped his wounds with. "I know I could have just -"

"It feels more real when you do it the Muggle way, right?" Harry's smile was crooked, but real, and Hermione smiled back, in spite of her shaking hands; in spite of everything that had happened.

"I have the Skele-Gro!" she said, remembering suddenly, and fishing in her pocket for the bottle.

"I really don't think it's broken," Harry said, rolling up his cuff and examining his swollen wrist. "Just a sprain."

"Still," Hermione said, crossing the room and taking his hand, turning it gently so that Harry's palm was open towards the ceiling. "Better safe than sorry."

She pulled out her wand and started to wave it in the incantation for the Fractus Egritudo, before Harry closed his fingers around hers.

"No," he muttered. "Enough."

"What are you -"

He didn't let her finish the question before he had pulled her towards him, and then he was kissing her, their mouths meeting too hard in a clash of teeth and lips that should have been painful but instead was perfect - just perfect -

"Hermione," Harry breathed when they broke apart, one hand on the back of her neck and the other resting at the base of her throat. "Hermione I've been trying - I've wanted - "

"Oh, Harry," she whispered. "Oh, I didn't know how to tell you, how to -"

She was talking too much, but it didn't matter, because he was kissing her again, and this time it was gentle: it was tender and wonderful and -

"I know," Harry sighed, when she slipped her hands under his shirt to run them over his shoulders. "I couldn't, I thought -"

"Shh," Hermione told him, pressing her mouth gently to his. Harry followed the movement of her lips, winding his fingers into her hair. Hermione grazed her hands across the hard muscles of his back, her touch feather-light as she found old scars, and danced her fingers over new.

She knew the stories behind almost all of them, Hermione realised, as his arm snaked around her waist, drawing her into his lap. Her touch traced the map of a territory that she had crossed many times, but now she found that Harry, her friend, was an undiscovered country.

"I thought you were dead," she said, the words pressed from her mouth to his. "You were just lying there and -"

"I couldn't have died without doing this." His hands had found the zip at the back of her dress, and then the grubby velvet had fallen away so that there was nothing between them but skin and sharply caught breaths. "I wouldn't have, Hermione, I -"

"I know," she gasped, as his fingers crept up the sensitive curve of her waist. "I know, oh - Harry - I -"

A/N: I guess oops...but louder?