Chapter 4
Hermione
My mind won't stop churning. Hasn't, since I woke up in that waiting room.
Before that.
In the back of my brain, I'm still spinning tales to tell Bellatrix while that knife digs into my skin. I keep watching the water sliding down the drain, expecting it to be tinged pink with my blood.
Despite the heat of the shower pounding down on my head, goosebumps break out over my body. I reach up and smack one of the runes on the wall, and the shower head changes from a storm to a drizzle.
Thank goodness they never change the prefect bathroom password.
They really should. Prefects share that password around like its candy. Most of the upperclassmen sneak in here to bathe. I'll mention it to Professor McGonagall next year.
Next year.
We're back in Hogwarts, with three years left to go. Two, until we leave. If we follow the original timeline. But how can we follow the original timeline, when Harry has already fucked it all to hell? Not that I'm complaining. I don't think I could have done it better myself if we'd had weeks to plan, and that's saying something. Between his actions in the maze and his devil may care attitude since coming out of it, he's already thrown half of what happened before out of whack.
Merlin. I can't keep it all straight in my head.
If it weren't for the fact that Harry seems to remember dying too, I'd be convinced that everything that's happened was some sort of dream. That the twins were testing one of their daydream toffees on me, and it's had a horrible, catastrophic side-effect.
But Harry does remember. He knew before he stepped out of the castle tonight that he'd be coming face to face with Voldemort in a few minutes time. He didn't even hesitate. Harry held me in his arms and promised me he'd come out alive, and he did. More than that! He captured Wormtail, freed Sirius, destroyed a Horcrux, and claimed the Sword of Gryffindor, all in one fell swoop.
My fingers trail up to my lips, rubbing against the smooth skin with prune fingers.
He kissed me.
That never happened before.
I've been kissed before. But that…that wasn't just a kiss. It was an experience. Power surged through me from my fingers to my toes. Harry practically radiated it. I felt like I was flying and sinking all at once. Imploding and exploding. Butterflies burst to life inside my stomach while the earth dropped out from underneath my feet.
Which means that this has to be real. I don't have the imagination to dream up such nonsense. Events that spectacular can only happen around Harry.
I need to talk to him alone. He knows a lot more about what prompted this blast to the past than I do. I'm sure of it.
I pour the conditioner into my hand and lather my hair, stepping out of the spray to let it sit a while. I slide down the magically warmed tile and let the steam seep into my pores.
My left arm, the one that Bellatrix carved her brand into, is clean. The skin is blemish free, though phantom pains have been shooting down my arm all night. I run my fingers over the slick skin. If I close my eyes, I can almost feel the letters scrapped into my flesh. Can something hurt if it hasn't happened to you yet?
My head wilts on my neck, unable to support the storm gathering inside me. I dig the heels of my palms into my closed eyes, fighting off the headache building there. Holding the tears inside.
Harry was different tonight. Or maybe it's the fact that his seventeen-year-old personality was shining through his fourteen-year-old body. Either way, I'm not the only one who noticed.
By the time Snape stormed out of the Hospital Wing, he was staring at Harry as if he could almost taste the change in him.
No.
It's not just that the last three years had a profound effect on us. This was a different Harry from fourth year. Different from Harry yesterday morning, when we were fighting over the Hallows. Perhaps the strangers among us tonight simply thought Harry was usually that intense. That Harry made it a habit of bursting with power, and regularly threatened incompetent Ministers with magical swords covered in snake blood.
I mean, yeah, he kind of does.
A smile cracks my face before it falls again.
But anyone who knew him even the slightest bit knows that while brave, Harry is rather reserved. Until pushed, at least. In our timeline, Harry has been on the verge of bursting with frustration for ages. This Harry though…no. Any hope we had of slipping back into place as if nothing had changed vanished the moment Harry climbed from the ground brandishing the Sword of Gryffindor like he knew how to use it.
Which, to be honest, was…hot.
Not hot. Harry is not hot. He's my best friend, and we don't think about each other like that. But there's a reason why half the girls at Hogwarts swoon every time he walks into a room, and yeah, if I didn't know it before tonight, I understand the inclination now.
I really, really get it.
Professor McGonagall gave the Weasley's a direct order, and as one they turned to Harry to wait for his instructions instead. While that sort of leadership certainly fell on Harry's shoulders in our original timeline, it doesn't happen for years yet. Without a word tonight, they fell into step behind him. His mere presence was enough to change the order of things. By the time the last straggler left the Hospital Wing, even Dumbledore was taking his cue from Harry freaking Potter.
Unfathomable.
Maybe he should die more often.
If nothing else, it's an effective focuser. He keeps this up, and he'll pass all his OWLs with flying colors.
Yet, it makes a beautiful sort of sense. It's what Dumbledore was training him for, after all. So that Harry could lead. Dumbledore wasn't going to live forever, and though I know better than to mention it to Harry, what happened on that Astronomy Tower never made sense to me. Especially after the reading of the will. Dumbledore knew he was going to die.
Soon.
That's why he left us the items that he did.
How he knew remains the mystery.
But the truth is that Dumbledore spent the last year of his life prepping Harry for the burdens that would soon fall on his shoulders, and the results of that preparation were evident tonight. He might have physically been the youngest in the room, but there wasn't a moment that he wasn't in control of it.
The next question is does Harry realize it?
Probably not. He was always the last to see the impression he made on others.
When my fingers are so pruny I've lost my fingerprint, I rinse my hair and sneak back into my dorm.
After I braid my curls away from my face, I pull out a book to wait.
I give it an hour before I climb out of my four-poster bed. My roommates were already asleep before I made it back to the dorm. Thank goodness. I have zero desire to deal with Lav-Lav tonight and all her insidious questions about Harry. I needed to give Ron enough time to pass out, though, before I grab the map and the cloak.
I'm physically exhausted. My muscles scream in protest. But I don't think I could sleep even with the help of a potion.
I was dead. We were dead.
Now I'm sneaking into the boy's dormitory.
I bet this isn't what the founders had in mind when they put wards on the girl's dorms but chose not to do the same with the boys.
The sounds of snoring greet me as I creep into the fourth-year dorm. Ron really needs to learn to use a silencing charm on his bed. Though, in this case, his outrageous snorts help mask the light tread of my slippered feet. I lift the edge of Harry's trunk and reach to where I know the cloak is kept. I fling it around my shoulders, tucking my hair into the hood, before pulling the map from the trunk and quietly shutting the lid.
I stop in the common room to activate the map.
"I solemnly swear I am up to no good— "
My eyes glaze over when the image of the seventh-floor hallway appears on the map.
The cabinet...
The vanishing cabinet is there right now. Broken, waiting for some aspiring student to pull it from purgatory and fix it.
I take off at a run.
Harry is asleep by the time I make it back to the hospital wing. He's on his back, no blanket, still wearing his clothes. The only thing he took off were his shoes and socks. His ankles are crossed, and his hands are linked behind his head. His wand is still in the holder on his wrist. One glance tells me that he spelled his clothes to fit him better, because his jeans are snug on his hips, and the plain white t-shirt Ron brought him has risen on his stomach to show the soft sprinkling of hair below his belly button.
He's too skinny. Years of neglect had more than one physical consequence on his body that I know will leave a permanent mark. It's part of what makes his power so remarkable. All that strength packed into such a compact form.
It's more than just his magic too. Even at this age, the outlines of his muscles are clear. I watch him for a moment, as his lungs swell with every breath, his chest expanding and contrasting. With every inhale he takes, the ridges on his abs appear, the muscles in his body flexing in his sleep.
He's even still wearing his glasses.
We were dead and now he's so filled with life.
Looking at the boy he was, it's easy to see the man he becomes. Three years seems insignificant in the grand scheme of things. But watching him now, it seems like the difference between one life and the next.
Seven hours ago, we were dead, then ten minutes after that he was kissing me.
With shaking fingers, I lift my hand to his face, pushing his untidy fringe from over his eyes. He catches my wrist as my fingertips graze his skin, his eyes popping open to look for his attacker.
"It's just me," I whisper, and he releases my wrist with a sigh.
Living in a tent for half a year on the run, from...well, everyone ...does tend to have an effect on one's reflexes.
"You alright?" Harry asks me, not moving a muscle. My fingers trail over his face, before taking my hand away.
"I should be asking you that," I reply, pulling up a chair.
Harry sits up in the bed, putting his back to the wall. With a flick of his wrist the curtains pull closed around us. Another minute longer, and we're surrounded by the usual privacy charms we used for the tent.
"I don't think Pomfrey would enjoy walking into this conversation," Harry says with a sheepish grin.
"Did you put the notice me not charm up too?"
Harry nods, twirling his wand between his fingers.
"Yeah. The only people who might be able to take them down would be one of the Professors, and even then, probably only Dumbledore or McGonagall, Snape and Flitwick."
Harry lists the most powerful beings in the castle, outside of himself, not even realizing he's compared his skill to theirs.
His head falls back against the wall, and the silence sits thick between them.
"Come here," he says, patting the bed next him.
"I'm okay down here," I say.
I pretend I'm conformable, even though years of experience has proven that these are some of the most uncomfortable chairs in the castle. I think Madam Pomfrey does it on purpose, to discourage students from lounging around waiting on their sick friends all day.
Still, I don't think I should push my luck anymore today.
Tonight.
Whatever.
I'm painfully aware of all the touching we've done tonight. Harry isn't a particularly touchy person. Though it wasn't uncommon for us to huddle together in the tent, I like to think it had more to do with warmth and needing physical comfort than anything else.
Though, after the events of the day (has it really only been a day?!) maybe that's all he's offering now too.
Harry opens his eyes and lifts his brow in my direction, and I shed my cloak and climb into the bed next to him without another word.
It's peaceful with him. Crazy as that sounds. For the first time since this bizarro hell began, I feel like I can breathe easily.
"So," he starts, then links his fingers with mine.
"It's real, right?" I ask, proud that you can barely hear the tremble in my voice.
"I'm going to say yes, unless it's possible to share a hallucination.
He phrases it like a question, so I answer it as such.
"I'm sure it is. There are potions that offer a similar effect. But that's usually for the purposes of getting high. And those types of fantasies are similar, but not identical, as each person's own brain chemistry alters the potion to give you a unique experience. I don't know how we could be experiencing anything like that."
"Right," he says, running his thumb along the inside of my palm. I conceal the shiver at his unconscious touch.
It's…a lot.
"Do you want to start," he asks, "or shall I?"
I sag in relief to be given the choice.
"You, please." I angle my body to see his face. I tuck my feet into my body criss-cross, and one of my knees ends up on his thigh. It isn't a very big bed. He doesn't release my hand, so I wrap my other around both of ours and sit them in my lap. "I feel like maybe you got more information than I did."
Harry scoffs, his chest rising in irritation.
"If that's what you want to call it. I came to sitting in a waiting room. I was having a bad dream, and I got sick all over the floor. Only the sick never appeared. Then I realized I wasn't in the tent. Someone called my name as I was trying to make a break for the exit. I realized I was in the same clothes as my dream. That's when they took me to Mortimer."
He stares at her, his expression flat.
"Not a dream, by the way. Nightmare. Worst moment of my life." Harry cups my cheek, and I lean into his touch. "Thank Merlin for do-overs." He leans his forehead against mine, and he's trembling against me.
"Mortimer?" I ask quietly, my curiosity and need for knowledge quickly overriding my fear.
Harry pulls away, running his free hand through his hair instead.
"My personal undertaker, he claimed. He yelled at me for dying again."
" Again !?"
I should have brought my bag. Or at least quill and parchment. I should be taking notes. Maybe the Headmaster will let me use his pensive. We know about it by the end of fourth year, don't we?
I'm already frowning, and we haven't gotten out of the waiting room yet.
"Yes. Again. Apparently, I'm quite brilliant at it. Do it all the time. Big surprise there. But there's a predetermined file or something? We're supposed to die at a certain time. Fate, or what not. He said I'm supposed to live until I'm a hundred and seventy something, and the fact that I keep dying is going to get him fired. So, this time when he sent me back, he let me keep my memories. That's when I found you. That was the paper he made you sign. It gave you the right to retain your memory. Now here we are. Though the wanker could have picked a better time to drop us."
"That's an understatement," Hermione agrees, her mind wandering off in a thousand different directions. "I don't believe in fate," I add distractedly.
"Well, you don't believe in prophecy either, Mi. Yet here we are."
"I wonder why he picked now?"
"He didn't tell me when he was going to place me. Another asshole who makes choices for my life without letting me know beforehand. What he did say though was I would be young enough to learn from my mistakes but old enough to—" Harry chokes on the words. A blush rushes up his neck, visible even in the dark. "Just old enough."
"Hmmm."
"He says I'm the strongest wizard since Merlin. Powerful, but a moron."
My hands jerk to cover my mouth, but my giggles can't be hidden. Harry chuckles too.
"It is funny," he says grudgingly, "if you don't think about it too hard. Mortimer kept going on about the stronger the magic, the stupider the wizard. He said that Merlin died a shit load of times too. Lucky me."
Harry sounds disgusted with the whole situation. I can't say I blame him. But…
"Your power has changed, Harry. Even now, sitting here in the dark, you're almost glowing with it. Have you not noticed?"
Harry shrugs, then loses the fight against a yawn.
"No. I'll take your word for it. One thing that hasn't changed is how God damned angry I am. Sirius is lucky I love him. Because if I wasn't so concerned about getting his ass out of that cave and free from Grimmauld Place, there's few things on earth that could have stopped me from pinning Dumbledore's ass to the ground and demanding answers out of him."
I scoff, but reply with, "Professor Dumbledore, Harry," in reaction to Harry's lack of title usage more out of habit than anything else.
"I'm so mad, Mi. So, fucking angry. When I was with Mortimer, he was listing off the number of times I've died. I stopped listening because there were so many. Almost every one of those experiences can be blamed on the fact that I had no idea what was going on. I don't care if everyone thinks I'm too young. Do you think the Queen of England grew up not knowing her responsibilities, because people thought she was too young to handle it? No. She was taught from birth what to expect. In trying to protect me, they've screwed us again and again. 'The Chosen One' had no fucking clue what he was chosen for until he was bleeding out on the floor.
"I watched that Bastard and his sycophants kill you today, Mi. We wouldn't have been in that position, if I had all the facts before hand."
I lean into his shoulder, offering him whatever support I can. I know him so well it's almost like I can see his fury in the air. I feel its echo in my own chest, coursing in time with my blood.
"What are we going to do then?" I ask, already creating a dozen different plans depending on his answer.
Something Harry said is tickling at the back of my mind.
"That hinges on what happens tomorrow. If Dumbledore offers to tell me about the prophecy and agrees to start training us now, then we'll go along with the status quo. At least for the time being. But if he blows smoke up my ass, then I don't know."
Thats...
Huh.
Strong as Merlin, who also died multiple times…
"What?" Harry prods, and I shake my head. My eyes are so dry I have to blink several times, telling me I've been staring off into space.
"I have a theory about the power thing," I announce.
Harry smiles at me.
"Of course, you do. Let's hear it then."
"If you keep dying, and they keep sending you back to try it again, could you be collecting magics?"
Harry's face freezes, his eyes getting a faraway look. He licks his lips, his hands tightening into fists.
"Think about it. They let us keep our memories this time, so that's an additional three years of skills and practice that we didn't have the last time we were this age. Which means we can use the extra knowledge that we have. But technically we still shouldn't be able to, because we're not as strong now magically as we are in three years. But what if every time you die and come back, you just keep adding on to what was already there. Even if you didn't remember the previous knowledge you'd learned, its…echo, for lack of a better word, was always there."
I scrunch my face in irritation. I'm not describing this very well.
Harry seems to understand anyway.
"It's like playing a game of cards," he breathes, "and every hand, instead of turning in all your cards, you keep some, so your card count keeps getting bigger and bigger."
"Exactly!" Relief surges in me that Harry seems to understand what I was saying.
"I died twice third year. That would explain why, by the end of it, I could perform a spell most adult Wizards can't."
"Did they keep sending Merlin back to try again, because he was one of the strongest Wizards in history or— "
"Was he one of the strongest Wizards in history," Harry picks up my thought, " because he kept dying, so they kept sending him back?"
My stomach flutters and heat rises in my chest. My mind, always racing, freezes at the thought.
"If that were true, Harry…" I stop to consider the consequences if something like that were possible. "There wouldn't be a spell on earth that you couldn't perform. All you'd have to do is learn it. You'd be more powerful than Dumbledore. More powerful than Voldemort. More powerful than everyone."
Harry's shoulders droop, and he pulls at the back of his neck. His head hits the wall with a thunk. I can't think of a time I've seen him so dejected.
Exhausted.
"I don't really care, to be honest," He decrees. Like I'd just asked him to choose between coffee and tea. "I just want this over with. I have to fight him, and I have to win, because anything else is unacceptable. But outside of that, it makes little difference to me. What good is unimaginable power if you can't even protect the people you love?"
Which is why Harry will win, when the time is right.
I move to put my back against the wall, and Harry immediately lifts his arm to wrap it around my shoulders. I snuggle into his side, his warmth fighting back the chill of the night.
"Master of Death…"
I huff under my breath.
"Oh Harry, please not this again. I don't think I can spend the next three years listening to you go on about those damn Hallows."
"No. I mean. Yes, but…" he shakes his head and looks at me "When I was dead, the guy was listing off my supposed titles, and Master of Death was one of them. I didn't really think about it at the time, because yeah— "
"Yeah," I concur with a smile.
"But Mortimer, the guy, person, thingy. He called me the Master of Death. Several times. Actually, he said whoever gifted me that title deserved to be fired, because the only thing I'd mastered was doing it. But still, that's gotta mean something. Right? Actually, what he said was— "
Harry scrunches up his nose, concentrating on whatever happened after he died but before they found each other.
"Harry James Potter, Bond-Mate, The Boy Who Lived, The Man Who Conquered, Master of Death, one third of The Golden Trio, The Hero of Hogwarts, The Deliverer of Damnation, and The Death Eaters Bogeyman."
My eyes pop out of my head, and I choke on my tongue as Harry rattles off the impressive list of titles associated with him.
Wait a minute.
Son of a…
"The Golden Trio? You don't think that means the three of us, do you? Oh God! I got a nickname!"
My head falls to his chest, and I can feel the rumble of his laughter through his shirt.
"I think that's a safe assumption, Mi. Actually, it's worse than that. I have it on good authority they call you Gryffindor's Princess."
Bugger.
I can't keep the groan of frustration from behind my lips.
I lift my head from his chest, catching his eyes. He's watching me with a relaxed half-smile on his face. His eyes are glowing in the dimness with amusement.
"Why do you keep calling me that? Mi? You've never called me that before."
His mouth drops open in an O, shock evident on his face.
"I'm not complaining," I hurry to assure him, seeing the look of panic behind his eyes. "I like it. It's just new."
I do like it. It kind of sounds like he's saying mine.
Which, yeah. I shouldn't be thinking things like that.
"I'm sorry. I, ah, I didn't mean to. I think I read it in my file. I sneaked a peek when the bloke's back was turned. It must have stuck with me."
My heart speeds up until I'm sure Harry can see it thundering away in my chest.
"You saw your file? I was in it? What did it say? Tell me!"
"No. I took a quick peek, then shoved it away. I don't care what you say, Hermione. There is such a thing as too much information. I don't want to know what's supposed to happen fifty years from now. This conversation right here proves that nothing is written in stone."
He closes his eyes again, head resting against the wall.
"That's sensible, I suppose. But come on, tell me something. Anything. All I got from Valdis was 'congratulations, you're dead. Sign here, and welcome to the afterlife.'"
"I'll tell you that you're not supposed to die until you're almost two hundred and in the arms of your soul mate. That's all I peeked at your portion."
Harry cracks his eyes then closes them again at the shocked expression on my face.
"Soul mate? I have a soul mate? Who?" I demand curiosity burning a fire in my veins.
"Some bloke who doesn't deserve you, I'm sure."
He doesn't even open his eyes this time.
"That's all you're going to give me?" I pout.
"Honestly, that's all I saw. Hermione Granger, Golden Trio, Gryffindors Princess, dies at 210 or some outrageous age, with her soulmate. I freaked out and shoved it away."
"Next time," I instruct him, "try to take it with you."
Harry huffs out a laugh.
"Duly noted."
One of the things I love most about Harry is there isn't ever any need to fill the silence between us. We can sit together for hours, days, and never need to whisper a word. Even now it isn't strained. I sit with him in stillness while I gather my wandering thoughts.
"Hermione."
"Hmmm?"
His thumb is running up and down my arm, and goosebumps pebble over my skin.
"My scar held a Horcrux."
Ahh.
That.
I tilt my head to better see his face. His eyes are still closed, and his face is peaceful, his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.
Sometimes it really sucks to be right so often.
"I know," I say, soft and gentle.
"I did too, I think. Or I wasn't surprised when he told me. He took it out. It hurt like-like nothing I've ever felt before. But tonight, when Riddle, and then the snake showed up, I didn't feel any of the pain in my scar like I usually did. I felt them , but I didn't feel like I was dying because of it."
His voice shakes.
"I thought it was a good thing, when I let Mortimer take it out of me. But now I feel like I've lost an advantage. I hated having him in my head. Sometimes, though, we used it to our advantage."
My chest hurts, and I realize it was from lack of oxygen when I gasp in a breath. My heart bursts through my ribs as adrenaline surges through my blood.
I twist in his grip, rising to my knees. I take Harry's face in my hands, forcing him to look up at me.
"No, Harry. Absolutely not. You are not allowed to regret that you got that monster out of your head. I don't care what sort of advantage you thought it brought us, the price you paid wasn't worth it. I want to scream from the top of the Astronomy Tower that you're free of that bastard."
His face falls, eyes tight with worry.
"But— "
"No buts, Harry. Today or three years from now, nothing has changed. We're still searching for Horcuxes. With yours gone, we're one down."
"Two," Harry says. "I killed the snake."
"Two," I agree. "All we need to do now is destroy the locket again, find the cup, the ring and the Ravenclaw artifact, then Avada that bastard."
"That's all, huh?" Harry jokes sarcastically.
"Easy Peasy."
Harry starts to snort, his chest hiccupping in spasms. My giggles flit out of me in peeps, until the laughter explodes from my pores. I collapse onto Harry's chest, my hands gripping the front of his shirt. His arms rise to wrap around me, his head resting on my shoulder, as our combined laughter roars until tears slip from our eyes.
I wipe the moisture from my face, then his, before settling back into his side again.
Harry broaches the next topic of discussion.
"On a different, yet no less amusing subject, what are we going to do about Ron? He'll notice something is different. He already has. You should have seen the looks he was giving me tonight."
I did. But still, it's Ron.
"No offense to Ronald, Harry, but are you sure he will? He's not known for being quick on the uptake."
"I kissed you in the middle of the Great Hall, Mi. Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's going to know something's up. Not to mention the fact that this morning I could barely conjure the shield spell, and now I can do it wandless and wordlessly."
I try not to squirm at the reminder of that kiss. I ignore the heat that rushes up my cheeks and pretend I haven't been thinking about it approximately every fifteen seconds anyway.
Defend and deflect. It's what they teach in dueling. Maybe it'll work here too.
"Merlin, Harry. Ronald is fifteen again." I know I'm whining. I don't care. "You know how obnoxious he was at that age! He barely survived without me hexing his bollocks off the first time around."
Harry laughs quietly. "Yes, well. Now you have three years more tolerance built up. If nothing else, we'll be able to escape the Won-Won debacle this time around."
I cringe, scrunching up my nose. I'm not so sure about that.
Defend and deflect.
"What else did Mortimer say?"
Harry twists his head on his neck, using a finger to push his glasses higher up his nose.
"Make friends with the Goblins. A little interspecies corporation never hurt anyone."
"Quite sensible."
Harry nods.
"Yeah. I figured one way or another I'd have to go to the bank this summer anyway. I can ask to talk about my parent's estate. I want to see if there were any books in the vault too. My parents were highly trained in defense. Maybe there's something in there I can use. I've never really taken the time to go through it. I didn't care about it before. Never really understood there was more than gold stored there. Just pulled out enough money for school and went on my way. Now, though, I think I'd like to learn about my history."
His eyes are shining, and he looks away by the end of his spiel.
"That's a really good idea, Harry. I'd love to help if you want the company."
His answering smile is soft and happy.
"Of course, you can come. But don't lie. You're only interested because I mentioned books."
I laugh at that, smacking him on the chest.
"What else?" I prompt, knowing from his tone that there's more to discuss.
"You're not going to like it."
I elbow him in the side, telling him to get a move on it.
"He told me to bond a House Elf. I already have one in mind."
I lean back into Harry's shoulder.
"You're right, I don't. Dobby will be thrilled though."
"Winky too, if she'll have us. You saw her tonight, Mi. She looks broken. I was thinking you should bond with her."
"Me?" I squeak. "Harry! I can't—I can't bond an elf. You know how I feel about that."
"You." He says and chucks me under the chin. "No one would take better care of her than you. They need the bond, and deep down I know you know that. Instead of trying to free them, start by showing them what a good master looks like. Change the system from the inside out."
I sigh into Harry's arm.
"When do you plan on doing this?"
"Tomorrow. If Dumbledore isn't honest with us tomorrow, I—I'll have to run from the Dursley's. I can't stay there and pretend that I don't know what's going on in the background. I need to train. To spend every waking moment until the final confrontation preparing so that when I face him for real, I can beat him. And we need to search for the Horcruxes. I can't do either if I'm pretending to be fifteen again and ignorant of everything around me. If I bonded with Dobby, well, at least he could make sure I didn't starve."
His thumb is doing that distracting thing up and down my arm again.
" We won't starve, Harry. Where you go, I go. You'd think you'd have gotten that through your head by now."
Harry tries to pull away, and I already know what's coming. I bury myself into his side, not letting him put an ounce of distance between us.
"I don't think you should come this time, Mi. You have your parents back. You should stay with them. Stay in school. Stay with the library, and you can help me from here. We've already proved how dangerous being around me is. I won't be able to take it if something happens to you again."
"Harry," I try to interrupt him, but he talks right over me.
"No, Mi. You had your say, now it's my turn. You are the most important person to me in the world. The most important thing. I'd die a hundred times over if it meant keeping you safe, and I didn't. I didn't keep you safe. You died, and I watched, and there was nothing I could do about it."
I want to comfort him. To tell him it's alright now. But a sob catches in my throat. His lips touch the side of my head, then with strength that catches me off guard, he all but pulls me into his lap.
I have a leg on either side of his, and when I look in his face, tears are streaming down his face.
"I know you were the one tortured. But I had to listen to it. I had to listen to you scream, and that brilliant bloody mind of yours lie through your teeth even while she was hurting you so horribly."
His voice breaks, and I gasp as the image of it flicks across my mind like a move.
"I watched, knowing I was right there but still too far away, as that bitch Bellatrix pulled the knife across your throat. Then Riddle killed me. And I'll live the rest of my life, however long that is, watching as your lifeless body drops to the floor on repeat in the back of my mind. I won't do it again, Mi. I can't."
For the second time tonight, I'm in Harry's arms, my hands digging into his shirt.
Only this time, instead of tears filled with laughter and release, he holds me as I sob.
When he breaks, I break. Finally letting go of all the fear and terror of the day before. Of the last several years where there was no other choice but to keep moving forward. I can taste his sorrow on my tongue. It's heavy in my heart, warring for the place of superiority in my soul.
The tears of his grief drop onto my shoulders, as Harry presses me into his chest and buries his face into my hair. His lips are moving but I can only make out half of what he's saying.
Thought I lost you.
Won't risk it again.
Love you so much.
Insignificant mumbles from the man who means everything.
I died, and he died, and even if it never happened, we're still paying the price.
We'll pay with nightmares of things that never existed but still left a scar.
I officially hate time travel.
It's a long while before our tears dry up and our breathing returns to normal. With a muttered spell under my breath, I clean Harry's glasses. He runs his hands over my face, wiping away the baby hairs that stuck to my skin from my weeping.
The air around us is stirring. Weak daylight filters through the windows, giving the curtain around us an ethereal glow before Harry breaks the sanctity of our peace again.
My head is resting on his chest, my arms wrapped around his arms and my hands on his shoulders. I feel like a monkey. I feel safe.
His hands rub up and down my back, his rhythm never slowing.
"That bitch is going to die by my hand, Hermione. I promise you that."
I have no doubt he means every word.
"Thank you, Harry. That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me." I wait for a heartbeat, two, and then, "But no matter where you go, I'm still going with you."
His shoulders slump in defeat.
"Why are you so stubborn?"
"I'd blame you, but I think we both know I was born this way."
His breath huffs against my head. Reluctantly, I pull away so I can see him clearly.
"I'm going to burn Malfoy Manor to the ground," Harry growls.
He'll get no complaints from me.
But…
I unlatch my hands from their death grip on Harry, his shirt now extremely worse for wear.
I'm sitting on Harry's lap.
No…I'm straddling Harry's lap
As inconspicuously as I can, I slide to the side and reclaim my previous spot.
"We need to talk about Malfoy."
"Ugh. Do we have to?" Harry grouses but rolls his eyes and nods his head. "Yeah, okay."
"He was scared, Harry. Scared for us as well as himself. He could have identified us. He knew who we were. He lied right to Bellatrix's face. To his father's face. He could have elevated himself as Riddle's right hand man for handing us over, and he didn't"
Harry is seventeen, stuck in his almost fifteen-year-old body, and suddenly looks one hundred.
"I know. I was thinking the same thing, before you got here tonight. I think we need to try to turn him, before Riddle gets his hooks in. Draco probably already knows what happened tonight. Or at least the version Riddle tells his followers. He may be a foul loathsome evil little cockroach," he pauses, waiting for the giggle he knows I'm going to grace him with.
He isn't disappointed.
"But he doesn't deserve whatever Riddle does to him to put that amount of fear on his face. I still have nightmares about finding Malfoy in that bathroom in sixth year. If we can stop that from happening, we should."
Oh yeah. That reminds me.
"Speaking of sixth year, I grabbed the vanishing cabinet on my way down here tonight."
"What?" Harry exclaims, jerking in shock.
"Yeah. I activated the map, and then it dawned on me. It's just sitting up there. Broken. So, I found it, shrunk it, and put it in my pocket. Maybe we should buy its twin and we use them ourselves. But that avenue into the school, at least, is dead to the Death Eater's use."
"You're a genius, Hermione. Do you know that?"
I try not to preen under his praise.
"Can I tell you a secret?" I ask after the silence stretches for a bit.
"Of course. You know you can always tell me anything."
I pull my lips over my teeth, before replying in a small voice, "I'm kind of looking forward to taking my OWLs again."
Harry barks out a laugh, that damn distracting thumb running up and down my arm again.
"Only you would be happy about a chance to re-take an exam," he chuckles under his breath. "And what about your parents? Are you excited to see them?"
I'm slower to answer that. I've purposely avoided thinking of them yet.
"Yes. I am. I honestly never thought I'd see them again. But the danger is still there. The reason I sent them away is still pertinent. I think I may spend some time with them this summer, then strongly suggest they go abroad. Maybe an extended holiday, or a jaunt with Doctors Without Borders. They've always talked about doing that one day. With the right persuasion, I could make that happen. And I won't have to take their memories again."
"That's a good idea, Mi," Harry says, giving her arm a squeeze. "Though, it just occurred to me. You realize we won't be able to do magic outside of school."
I jerk at his side, dumbfounded at the truth in his words.
"Bugger," I pout, deflating with the realization.
"Indeed," Harry agrees. "If Dumbledore agrees to train me, I'm going to insist on moving to Grimmauld place a lot sooner this summer. If nothing else, we can use the holiday to plan how to attack the next school year. I wish we lived closer to each other. You know I need your brain."
Oh!
That's a great idea.
"Can I use Hedwig tomorrow?" I ask, and Harry gives me a bemused smile.
"Of course, you never have to ask. She'll be happy for something to deliver."
Easier ways to communicate…
"Do you know what a cell phone is, Harry?"
The bemused expression doesn't ease any.
"I live with Muggles, Mi. Yeah. I do. I don't have one though. The Dursley's would never pay for me to have a portable phone. They barely tolerate the one or two times I've received calls on the home phone."
"Oh, I know that. But my parents have them. They offered to get me one, but Muggle electronics won't work in the castle. Too much magical interference. Now though, I'll send my parents an owl and ask if they'd get us both one! It'll be perfect. We can talk as much as we need to, and no one will be the wiser. Even if Voldemort's followers were sitting outside your Aunt and Uncle's house, there's no way they'd think to spy on Muggle technology."
Harry's face lights up, then falls just as quickly.
"That's genius. Brilliant! But I wouldn't want your folks to go out of their way. Aren't those things expensive."
"Well yeah," I agree. "But my parents are both Dentists. They can afford it. And if it makes you feel better, you can pay them back after we visit the bank. Or from the Triwizard earnings. Are you still planning on giving it to the twins for their joke shop?"
"Absolutely. I don't need it, and their shop was amazing. I might see if they can't make us something special even. Their dark arts defense line was top notch."
I wholeheartedly agree.
The sun filtering in under the curtain casts weird shadows on the ground, and my eyelids start to droop. I've been awake for well over twenty-four hours now, I'm sure. My bones feel heavy, and my head tilts onto Harry's chest.
He roughly clears his throat, grabbing at the back of his neck again. I jerk myself awake. "By the way, I'm sorry about kissing you like that earlier."
My heart sinks, but I blank my face when I feel Harry look at me.
"We can blame it on my nerves, or whatever. I mean, I don't regret it," he quickly assures me, rubbing his thumb along the outside of my arm. "Honestly, it feels like we should have done that a long time ago. At least once. Get it out of our systems, or whatnot. But I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you without asking first."
A blush blooms up my cheeks, and I duck my head to avoid his gaze.
Should have done it ages ago?
Stop it Hermione! We don't feel that way about Harry, and he doesn't feel that way about us!
"Don't worry about it, Harry. We'd just come back to life. I think? I can excuse your impertinence this once."
Silence sits for a moment, then…
"What about the next time?" he asks, his voice so quiet I barely hear him.
Next time?
I don't reply, and neither does he.
The sun has crested the horizon, and rays of yellows and oranges peek in through the cracks of the curtains as exhaustion finally pulls me under. I don't put up any fight when Harry slips his arms under my shoulders and knees, laying me down on the mattress. The blanket is pulled up to my shoulders, and Harry's lips press into my forehead. I turn onto my side, and he slips in behind me. Harry's power, a steady comfort in a time and place when everything feels out of order cocoons me in warmth as I succumb to sleep.