Chapter 5

Harry

"I thought he said that Hermione wasn't his girlfriend."

"Maybe he doesn't realize that she is."

"Oi! Don't look at me. I have no idea what's going on."

"I'm surprised Madam Pomfrey let them stay like that."

They think they're whispering.

They're not.

"She tried to make Hermione leave when she checked on me this morning," I mumble through a haze of exhaustion without ever opening my eyes. I tighten my hands around the witch currently asleep in my arms. "I threatened to run her through with my sword. Madam Pomfrey said she was going to tell the Headmaster, then never came back."

I ease my way out from behind Hermione, careful as I withdrawal my arm from under the pillow we were sharing. My nose twitches as the hairs that have escaped her nightly braid graze against my face.

"By the way," I add as I slip off the edge of the bed. "You guys aren't as quiet as you think you are."

I don't remember taking my glasses off before I fell asleep, which means Hermione must have sometime this morning. I find them on the chair with her cloak.

Hermione makes a huffing sound, and I pull the blanket that we were sharing back up to her shoulders and tuck my portion of the fabric around her back, cocooning her inside. She makes a sound of discontent and wiggles backwards, probably searching out my warmth. Without thinking, I move her hair away from her face, then rub my fingers gently down her hairline and over her chin. She settles immediately.

Careful not to wake her, I slip the sword out from under the pillow.

Ron opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off instead.

"If you wake her up," I threaten him with a low tone, tapping him on the chest with the hilt of the sword. "I'll be running you through with this instead." It takes more strength than it'd be worth to hide my smirk at the way Ron's look of disgruntlement wars with the amused expressions of the rest of the Weasleys. It's only Ron, Bill, and their parents this morning, thank Merlin. I don't think I could handle the twins yet today. Not to mention a pouting thirteen-year-old Ginny.

A shudder runs up my spine in horror at the thought.

She's cute at sixteen, but at thirteen, not so much.

I drop into a squat to pull on my socks and trainers.

"It's not really your sword," Ron says petulantly. I look up from the floor at my best friend. Hermione was right. He is obnoxious at this age. Where it made her cringe though, I can't help but smile. I've always been broody, as Hermione has so often pointed out. She's the serious, studious one. I don't know how many times she's fallen asleep with her nose in a book. But Ron, Ron keeps us sane, for as much as he drives us insane.

"Try to take it from me, Ron, and find out," I grin at him. "Lost for a thousand years, and it appears to me twice. Maybe the sword picks the wizard. Besides that, I'm descended from the Peverell brothers, who in turn are descended from Gryffindor on the maternal side. I'm sure a case could be made somewhere that I am the rightful owner of the sword."

Bill turns his head to hide his snort.

"Where in Merlin did you learn that from?" Ron demands.

"Three guesses," I tell him, climbing to my feet.

Ron meets my eye, and we grin.

"Hermione," we supply together.

I head towards the loo, with the entire assembled Weasley crew trailing in my wake. Ron tries to follow me inside, and I quickly turn and shut the door in his face and lean my body against it. There's a thump against the other side, where Ron didn't stop fast enough and walked into the door.

I use the toilet and wash my hands, before slipping the scabbard back over my shoulders and setting the sword across my spine. I'm sure that Dumbledore won't try to take it from me. After all, he tried to will it to me in the previous timeline. I plan to simply keep it with me until such time as someone asks for it back. When they do, I'll tell them to go to hell.

I should probably disillusion it though. It's asking for trouble wearing a thousand-year-old blade across my back in the middle of hundreds of students. I can't remember what year we learned that spell. Not yet, I know that much. Which means I need to ask about it and wait for someone to show me how before I do it myself.

I run a quick scourgify over my clothes, hoping you can't tell Hermione spent the wee hours of the morning clutching at me and crying.

All four Weasleys are waiting for me when I get out.

"What time is it?" I ask, looking at the window and seeing the sun fairly high over the skyline.

"After eleven, dear," Mrs. Weasley replies. "We thought it best to wake you before Sirius finished with the Ministry. Peaky?"

Mrs. Weasley openly examines me from top to bottom. It's a look I've long associated with the woman as being weighed, measured, and found starving. I'm sure it says something that the first thing Mrs. Weasley ever tries to do in my presence is feed me. It doesn't matter if we've been apart for months or hours.

I've often wondered if the size of her sons is more due to genetics or how much she feeds them.

"I could eat, yeah, Mrs. Weasley," I confirm, allowing myself to be led out of the Hospital Wing with a single glance at Hermione, who is still sound asleep in the bed.

As it is, it's causing me physical pain to walk away without her. I don't know if it's because I watched her die yesterday or that I let Mortimer get into my head. But my breathing comes just a smidgen easier when Hermione is in my line of sight. It's a long distance between the Great Hall and where she's still asleep. As soon as I turn the corner out of the Hospital Wing, my hands spasm with the need to ensure her safety.

Bellatrix has to die.

I won't sleep easy again until she's hanging out in Mortimer's waiting room.

I'm seriously considering making a trip to Azkaban and simply slitting her throat in her cell. It'll save everyone a lot of pain and heartbreak in the long run.

I realize I've stopped walking entirely, and am already partially facing the other direction again.

"You know she's going to go nutters when she wakes up and finds out you left her there," Ron observes, rightly guessing I'm stressing over leaving Hermione asleep.

I shake my head and flex my hands, pivoting to resume our walk down the hallway. We've fallen a good step behind his parents now.

"She couldn't sleep last night. You know the way her brain works. I was still listening to her ramble as the sun came up. If she's asleep after we get some food, I'll wake her up before we meet with Dumbledore."

Speaking of which.

I raise my voice some.

"Any idea when we'll be called to the Headmaster, Mr. Weasley?"

"Haven't the foggiest," he replies. "Ministry officials have been in and out of the castle all morning. I took the day off, though, so that I could stay with you lot. It's become a tradition, after all. When one of our children comes face to face with You Know Who, it's nice to spend a little quality time together as a family."

Mrs. Weasley scowls and slaps her husband's arm, but Mr. Weasley grins over his shoulder at us.

I swallow back the lump of emotion that gets stuck in my throat.

"Thanks, guys. I appreciate it."

We turn the last corner into the Great Hall. There's only a handful of students there. Stragglers getting a late breakfast or early birds grabbing an early lunch.

Relief surges through me. I'm not yet ready to face the rumor mill that is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Ron grabs my arm, and we let the others pull ahead even further.

"Umm, Mate. Why was Hermione asleep in your bed this morning?"

I give him a confused look, trying to look like I don't understand the question. This wouldn't have worked a few months ago. Or in a few years?

Either way, I'm thankful for Ron's dimness. He's brilliant when it comes to chess, but rather daft at interpersonal relations yet.

Not that he gets much better at it.

"Because she fell asleep there, and I didn't have the heart to wake her up. I was made to understand in rather fierce tones that she doesn't appreciate me almost dying at the hands of Voldemort again. If I woke her, there was no telling how much longer she'd lecture me for."

All true, as far as truths were concerned.

"Yeah," Ron says, looking a little lighter. "That makes sense. She's as bad as Mum sometimes." Ron comes to a stop, so I do too. The Weasleys make themselves comfortable at the Gryffindor table, Mrs. Weasley already piling a plate high. Bet a sickle that it's for me.

Ron seems to be struggling with what he wants to say.

"What?" I push. My stomach gives a rather vocal growl now that I'm so close to food.

Ron seems to make up his mind.

"You guys aren't together though, are you? I mean yesterday, before the task, and then last night afterward, and now today…"

Okay. Maybe he's not as dim as he looks.

When did Ron start to develop feelings for Hermione?

Sixth year? Fifth? Fourth? Was Ron jealous of Hermione for going to the Yule Ball with Krum, or jealous of Krum for going with Hermione?

Was he jealous, jealous? Or irritated because it caught him by surprise to see Hermione glowing as she was on the arm of someone else when Ron was convinced she'd lied and skived off the dance altogether.

Does any of that make a difference, after what I saw in that file.

Soul Mate, Hermione Jean Granger.

The Horcruxes show us what we fear worse, and Ron's fear was losing Hermione to me. But that's three years from now. What about today?

It does make a difference. It makes all the difference in the world. I've already proven things don't always go to plan.

I won't get in the way of whatever Ron and Hermione have. I need them too much to risk losing either of them. If those months alone in that tent with Hermione taught me one thing, it's that we need Ron in our life. Just because Ron doesn't remember what he and Hermione were to each other, or what they were becoming, doesn't mean Hermione doesn't. If she wanted it yesterday, there's no reason for her to have suddenly changed her mind.

I won't get between them.

"No, Ron. We're not together, but Hermione…" How do I even put it into words? The truth, I suppose. "Hermione is the most important person in my life, Mate. I'd die for you both, but— "

Ron interrupts me, grabbing my shoulders. He shakes me, his fingers digging into my arms. Blood rushes to his face with the tips of his ears turning pink and determination coating his features.

"We'd die for you too, Harry," Ron says in a hard voice. "You know that. Don't go off and do something stupid. We can get through this together."

I pull Ron into a hard hug, smacking him on the back.

I have to clear my throat before I can talk.

"I know, Ron. And I don't plan on running off and doing something stupid. I promise, any stupid decisions, I'll make sure you'll be right there next to me."

"Damn right I will," Ron says, pulling away again.

"But Hermione," I continue. "I'll kill for her. I plan on it. I'm going to kill that bastard Riddle, for good this time. Cut off his head and scatter the ashes like you would a vampire. I'm going to watch his pitiful excuse for a soul burn, and anyone who would dare take her from us can burn right along with him."

My anger simmers in the pit of my stomach.

"They hate me, Ron, because he can't defeat me. But they hate her, simply for being who she is. We'll win this war, because of her. Because of my mother. She and I aren't together, but Hermione was the first person to give me a hug after my parents died. The first person to tell me she loved me. She's the most important person in my life, and when you look death in the eye and walk away again, sometimes you need to hold the hand of the person you love most."

Ron gaps at me like a fish out of water.

Too much. I said too much.

"And you've said this to her?"

I shrug my shoulders, pushing my glasses up my nose.

"Not in so many words, no."

"And you think she's not your girlfriend?" He asks again, gaping at me with pink tipped ears.

"She's like my sister, Mate," I say automatically. It tastes like a lie, though, and it sits bitter and foul on the tip of my tongue.

Ron huffs disbelievingly, his eyes round in his head.

"You're taking the piss out of me, right?"

"What?" I demand, starting to feel defensive.

"Umm, Harry. I don't know how to break it to you, and maybe it's because you don't have any siblings. But I don't talk about my sister like that. And I certainly wouldn't kiss her like you kissed Hermione yesterday."

I'm running on like four hours sleep, talking about Hermione is making me need to see Hermione like someone used a compulsion charm on me, and my stomach is growling so hard I think Mrs. Weasley just heard it, because she throws a suspicious look over her shoulder at us.

"Look. I'm hungry. I—I can't deal with this right now. Voldemort is back, and frankly it doesn't matter if Mi was my soul mate. I can't deal with that right now. Ask me again after I've ran Voldy through with my sword, okay?"

Ron's head jerks back in surprise at my outburst.

"Yeah. Okay. Sorry, Mate."

"No. I'm sorry. Just—can we go eat. It's…I'll tell you about everything, after we eat and ditch your folks."

"Sure," Ron agrees, heading towards the tables. "I'm ruddy starving anyway."

"Haven't you already eaten once today?" I ask him.

"Hours ago!" he complains, and I smile watching him slide onto the benches beside Bill.

"Harry, dear. I've made you a plate," Mrs. Weasley says as soon as I sit down.

I smile at her, before I tuck into the food.

It's kind of a relief, honestly, to know that no matter what point in time it is, some things will never change.

Somehow, I feel her before I hear her.

I'm halfway through my second helping of pie when Hermione's voice rings out over the Great Hall.

"Harry James Potter!"

The air of camaraderie freezes in the room before excited chattering picks up again.

Let the rumor mill start to churn.

I turn in my seat, grinning up at the girl to my left. She's changed from her Gryffindor sleep pants and is wearing jeans and a shirt. Her hands are on her hips and her hair is a mass of riotous curls that hang in layers past her shoulders.

She's so bleeding lovely like this.

Fucking Mortimer.

"Ohhh, someone's in trouble with the Missus," one of the twins' taunts. The three missing Weasley's joined us about halfway through our meal.

"Oh, shush you," Mrs. Weasley admonishes.

"You needed sleep, Mi."

I give her my cheekiest smile, looking up at her from the bench.

"Madam Pomfrey almost caught me in your bed!" she hisses, then blushes when she realizes what she's said.

My grin only gets wider.

"Too late for that, I'm afraid. She'd already caught us. I threatened to stab her if she woke you up."

"Oh Harry, you didn't!" she laments, but I'd swear she's pleased rather than irritated.

"Come on," I say, motioning with my head for her to join us. I scoot over on the bench, giving Ron a hard shove. He grumbles but moves aside for her. Hermione slumps in defeat as she takes the seat in between us.

She leans in close to whisper to me, and I start to pile hotcakes on a plate for her.

"I was scared when I woke up and you weren't there. It's been months since you weren't the first thing I saw in the morning."

I link one of her hands with mine, lifting it to my lips before I've even considered what I'm doing.

"I know," I say, lowering my mouth to her ear. "I'm sorry. I almost couldn't do it. My hands were shaking when they were leading me away from the Hospital Wing. I thought I was having an episode or something. I gotta admit it makes me feel better to know it freaked you out as well. I'm starting to wonder if he didn't do something to us before he shoved us through that door."

"If I ever get my hands on that Mortimer guy, I have about a thousand questions to ask him," Hermione declares in a low growl.

Poor Mortimer. Sucks to be him.

Hermione on a quest is not to be trifled with.

While conversation picked back up once Hermione sat down, I can feel several sets of eyes flicking to watch us as we whisper to each other.

This has to stop.

Right then.

I squeeze it once, feeling her pulse throb in her fingers, then let go of her hand.

Hermione exhales through her nose, lips pulled tight, before seeming to sit up straighter and tucking into her food.

"When do you have to leave, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?"

"We'll leave after we meet with Dumbledore."

I sit back and listen to the Twins harass their siblings and Mrs. Weasley's scolding. I watch Arthur as he watches the chaos with an amused smile on his face. I've always thought Mr. Weasley rather liked the pandemonium that is his household. If Molly spends all her time smothering her children, she's less likely to notice what her husband is getting up to behind her back.

As soon as Hermione pushes away her plate, I act.

"Hermione. I'm stuck on that last homework assignment for McGonagall. Ron, you are too, right?"

We haven't had any homework for days. No need. All the classes have been testing and readying for the end of the school year.

Ron boggles his answer, before he catches on.

"Wha—yeah! Yeah. Stuck. Transfiguration. Changing stuff into other stuff. Need 'Mione's help."

If Hermione rolled her eyes back any further, they'd get stuck that way.

"We better try to get it done before that other thing we have to do today." I turn towards the Weasleys who wear expressions from amusement to bemusement to plain out flabbergasted.

"Right," Ron agrees.

The three of us rise from the table, and practically sprint from the Great Hall.

"That was real subtle Harry," Mi grouses, and I look down when her hand slides into mine.

"Thanks," I mumble. "I try."

"Where are we really going then?" Ron asks.

"The Room of Requirement," Hermione and I say together.

I stop and glance at her, my jaw on my chest. I find my expression mirrored on her face, looking up at me with her chocolate eyes.

"Huh?" Ron asks. "What the bloody hell is the room of requirement?"

I close my eyes and send a prayer to Merlin.

I hate time travel.