AN: I'm writing this fic as part of a community event in a Harmony discord. These regular updates are me trying to keep up with the competition so I apologise followers for the spam. I'm posting as I write, as is part of the challenge I'm completing. This chapter I smashed out in a day so it is likely very ropey. I am sorry for any typos. I will proof again but I know they slip through and they are annoying.
Also, I use some excerpts from DH in this chapter. I don't own them, yaddah yaddah, disclaimer etc. This is a fanfiction. It's not for profit, just for people to read and enjoy.
Even Hermione Granger's incredibly organised mind could not have foreseen becoming Harry Potter's girlfriend while on the run. Becoming anyone's girlfriend, in fact. If she had, she might have prepared herself. She had thought to pack their toothbrushes and toiletries, brought along the tent with its furniture and equipment; she packed the boys' clothes as well as her own, even thought to bring along stationery so she could research and study while they were in hiding. What she didn't think to pack was a contraceptive potion. As she lay on her bed across from Harry, staring at his peaceful face while he slept, she realised that this was going to be a problem.
Hermione was well-versed in the cycles of her body. When she first started menstruating, her mum had talked her through the whole thing. She had been in her third year when puberty struck, which had really not helped matters when she was taking around three times as many classes as the others in her year. It also didn't help that her two best friends were boys. Thankfully, they were pretty clueless so never noticed the awkward changes that she was going through. They hadn't even noticed she was a girl until the Yule Ball. But she was all too aware of her body and now, suddenly sexually active, she was intensely aware of Harry's as well.
She had never truly thought of Ron in the same way, which now, in hindsight, she realised was a little odd. When he was dating Lavender, she never wished that it was her being kissed by him, she was just hurt. She hadn't even been that jealous. It was the disrespect that hurt her the most, how he disregarded her immediately when humiliated about his lack of experience with girls. He went for the easy option, one that he didn't really care for in the first place, just so he wasn't left behind. When she did begin to pine for Ron, it was really for his respect. She wanted him to see her , appreciate the things she did for him and Harry, and maybe show her that he cared. He started to show it, slowly, working out his feelings, but it had been excruciating to be patient.
And along came the horcrux. Those caring moments were gone. He was bitter, jealous, and nasty. He insulted her efforts, insulted Harry's efforts, and just showed a total lack of respect.
While Harry hadn't been perfect as he sunk into a funk, retreating away in himself as he lost his hope, he kept his head around her and didn't lash out. Even when he was angry with her, he still showed respect and felt guilty for his behaviour. He knew when he was in the wrong. It was the greatest difference between the boys. Harry was mature. Ron was not.
It was when she started to see Harry as a man and not a boy, her body's reactions around him changed. She was attracted to him in a new way, a way that she hadn't truly felt before. She was feeling sexual desire. Her! When she saw his body hair and the leanness of his form, his strength and virility, her first thought was how much she wanted to touch him. She couldn't stop looking at him in the quiet days when she was researching portkey travel, stealing glances at him while he was reading.
But then it shifted again, her desire for him turned emotional. He openly cried before her, showing her his complete trust, as he let her see the depths of his pain and loss. All she wanted then was to be his comfort in his lonely world. When she discovered later that night that her feelings were mutual, saw the physical proof of it when Harry was trying to hide his erection, she simply had to take that step.
It had been the best decision she had ever made. Every moment since had been joyous, everything around her became more beautiful and more hopeful, and Harry… he changed. He became romantic. Only a day into their new relationship, they were exploring their feelings, their bodies, and enjoying every moment of it.
The only problem was where they were heading. Hermione knew where. She suspected Harry knew too, considering the number of erections he had in the last 24 hours. But what were they going to do about it? They would have to bring it up eventually. They could buy condoms on their next shopping trip, but she had a feeling that Harry would probably pass out from embarrassment. He pretty much nearly did when she had to buy tampons. The only choice then was for them to plan around her cycle and be careful.
It was maddening that she was having to worry about such a thing. They were in mortal danger and she was thinking about sex! Her thoughts travelled back to Harry's words to her the night before, about how they couldn't let Voldemort ruin their chance of happiness. Perhaps now was the time, when things were at their darkest. They had each other and they had to live. So why not live together?
The autumn morning sunlight filtered through the window behind their makeshift bed. It wasn't much of a window, more of a translucent sheet of mesh. Magic kept the elements out while letting the light in. It shone on Harry's face, causing his long dark eyelashes to leave intricate shadows on his face. He was breathing softly. For once, he was restful, his body still. His face was completely relaxed. Hermione wanted to touch him, feel the roughness of his stubble under her fingertips. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, make him moan again with the pleasure of her touch.
He gave a soft sigh suddenly, moving his face into his pillow, still asleep. She wondered what he was dreaming about.
Me?
The thought of him dreaming of her, desiring her, set her skin tingling all over. She had never felt this way before. It was completely new. The feeling of being wanted. Everything that Harry did, the way he admired her body, the way his touches were so respectful and yet so needy, it was all for her. He wanted her. He chose her. He wanted to fight for her.
Harry Potter is my boyfriend.
She rolled onto her back at the thought. She was in a relationship with the most famous wizard alive and no one knew. She smiled. It was bizarre that Harry was finally getting the privacy he deserved while having a ten thousand galleon bounty on his head. He could enjoy time alone with her with total privacy.
She caught movement across from her. Harry's eyes were now open, awake. The light caught his eyes in such a way, they appeared greener than ever. Their colour was unnaturally bright and vivid. Without his glasses concealing them, they shone with some sort of inner power, or so it seemed. Their verdant hue reminded her of the vibrant colour of trees in the peak of summer, their leaves brightened by the sunlight, the stunning colour of glorious life.
He cleared his throat and smiled, closing his eyes sleepily. It was her favourite smile, the slow, true smile that caused his cheek to dimple.
"Morning," he greeted, then he rolled onto his back and stretched rather comically. He gave a ridiculous sound as he did, a sort of prolonged 'yaaa'.
"Morning," Hermione said back, amused. "Did you sleep well?"
Harry opened his eyes as he rolled onto his side, his sleeping bag rolling with him. He grinned at her, that silly lopsided grin that now made her heart jump. He used to wear that smile all the time… before he became the only hope the country had against Voldemort. Before Dumbledore set him on an impossible mission…
"Hmm… yes. Best night's sleep in a while. No nightmares," he reported. "You?"
Hermione nodded. "Same here, but I think we were pretty tired out." Harry beamed at her, his eyes glinting. She saw his gaze drop to her lips and she knew what he was thinking.
"Yes, we were," he agreed. He moved onto his back, putting his hands behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. "It really has been a wild couple of days."
Hermione wiggled out from her sleeping bag, rubbing at her face to clear the sleep from her eyes.
"What's the time?" She asked him. Harry searched for his watch.
"Um… oh shit. It's eleven. Whoa, I really did sleep like a log," he remarked. Hermione blinked in surprise. They never slept in. Usually, because they were too anxious. He shuffled out of his sleeping bag, revealing that he had slept in just his boxers. Hermione couldn't help but eye up Harry's flat stomach with the tantalising lines of his muscles and the dips of his hip bones that angled downwards towards what was concealed within his black boxers. He turned his back to her and she could see clearly in the light the scars that he pointed out to her. There were others, she noticed, small scars that he likely picked up from being in many life-threatening situations.
Harry scratched his chin, scowling. "I really need some more clothes. I can't keep charming the same pair of jeans clean. They'll come apart at the seams when I least expect it."
Hermione laughed at the thought of Harry's clothes suddenly coming apart comically.
"That could be embarrassing."
"Hmm," Harry bent down to pick up his jeans, "I've never shopped for muggle clothes before. Only robes."
"Are you suggesting that we go clothes shopping?" Hermione asked, a little incredulous. Harry turned, his mouth falling open a little, cheeks turning a little pink.
"I suppose it is a bit far down the priority list."
"Just a bit," she said, grinning, "but I don't see why we can't go to other shops when we do our next supply run. In fact, we should go soon. When we move camp next, maybe?"
Harry straightened, holding an armful of clothes which he carried over to his bed.
"Sure. It's been over a week since…" He trailed off. Hermione understood why. When they did their first supply run, it had been the day after Ron had left them. It felt like far longer. "We still have Polyjuice from those muggles, right?" He asked her, changing the subject. Hermione nodded. "Good. Then maybe we should do it today."
"I… was sort of hoping to finish going over Dumbledore's Biography today," Hermione said, a little uncertain about broaching the topic. Her heart jumped a little as she mentioned it. The things that she had come across already had her very worried, but she had to check that it was true before she broke the news to Harry. She had to read it to the end.
Harry nodded. "Okay. That's fair enough. The sooner you get through it, the sooner we get closer to working out why Dumbledore wants us to know about the Hallows and possibly Grindelwald."
He lifted his head, looking up at her, tilting his head to the side as he considered her. "Do you mind if I use the bathroom before you go in the shower?"
"Of course not. It's all yours." He grinned and scooped up his clothes, heading out of the bedroom. As he disappeared into the living room, she heard his shocked gasp. "Merlin, it's cold…"
She laughed under her breath and went about gathering her clothes. As she did, she thought about her remark about wanting to get more clothes. It was one of the tragic things about Harry, he had very few personal items, including his clothes. They were all cast-offs that he hadn't got around to replacing. When he spent any free time practically in protective custody for his own safety, he hadn't had the chance to do things for himself. She sighed sadly, walking over to his side of the bedroom. What few clothes he had packed were all in his rucksack. It was all he had brought with him from Privet Drive, having left his trunk behind. He had assured her that he left nothing important behind, which was all the more heartbreaking. He could fit his life in a small rucksack.
She went back to her bag which contained a lot more than Harry's, considering she had to put an extension charm on it. She fetched some clean clothes and dressed while Harry was in the bathroom. For a moment, her fingers lingered on her chest, touching the scar that marred her torso. Her mind went back again to how Harry had laid himself bare for her to help her embrace her own body, then when she plucked up the courage to show him, he worshiped her body and made her feel appreciated. His attentive side was coming out as he felt no need to hold it back. He wasn't afraid to show that he cared.
Once fully dressed, she took up her wand and summoned her washbag and towel. She heard Harry leaving the bathroom.
"I'm done!" He called to her.
"Okay!" She shouted back. She noticed then that he had taken the horcrux with him, making the decision to be the one to wear it for the day. It worried her. It was only a matter of time now before Voldemort discovered about the blood feud Harry had evoked and his reaction was bound to be terrible. Harry likely didn't quite fathom what a stroke of genius it had been for him to make such a public threat. The symbolism of the date, the location and his reasons would not be missed. The Ministry would likely prevent the information from making it to the public. Harry's declaration of war would bring a lot of people hope. He was fighting back and he was so committed to his desire for justice, he had put his own life on the line.
She understood his line of thought. Harry believed that he had to kill Voldemort or be killed himself. It was black and white, prophesised, his predestined path that he was trapped within. He knew the truth of it, having heard the prophecy himself, yet Voldemort didn't know that part of the prophecy. He wasn't aware that Harry had to seek vengeance or die.
Her chest felt incredibly tight as her mind went to such things. Panic sparked to life. Those were the stakes. They had to defeat Voldemort because the alternative was too horrific to even contemplate. She forced herself away from such thoughts. It was odd that she was having them without the horcrux to guide her down the spiral of negativity. She was now the only person standing at Harry's side to fight with him and guard his back. His responsibilities were now hers. She wasn't just with him to help with the horcruxes. She was there to fight his war, for his life, and her right to live free from persecution.
Feeling steeled and ready to continue her task of unravelling Dumbledore's riddles, she went to get herself sorted for another day with her boyfriend, Harry Potter, her Chosen One.
It was only until after they ate their lunch (leftover bolognese) that the new couple settled into their separate research projects. Hermione took her place at the table, leaning over the biography, her hair tied back in a loose bun as she read intently. Her notepad was open next to her, her hand poised over it, clutching her biro. She read a passage, made notes, and sometimes she would get up and cross-reference with one of her own books. Hermione had to know that the information Rita had dug up on Dumbledore was accurate. She had The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts open as well, open not on the chapters that detailed their current enemy's history and rise to power, but on Grindelwald's.
Her attention was fixated on the damning piece of evidence that Rita had uncovered from Bathilda herself. A letter that a seventeen-year-old Albus Dumbledore had written to his new friend, Gellert Grindelwald.
Gellert,
Your point about Wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES' OWN GOOD - this, I think, is the crucial point . Yes, we have been given power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counterarguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this, it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)
Albus
People can change. She told herself. You know that Professor Dumbledore changed. She had to keep telling herself of that fact. Dumbledore had risen to fame because he had defeated Grindelwald. He opposed him. And yet here was the proof that at one point in his life, he had supported him. Encouraged him, even.
Hermione's gaze gravitated to the most damning line of them all.
For the Greater Good.
She had cross-referenced it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. The slogan had been Grindelwald's. He had those words carved above the doors to his prison, Nurmengard, the dreadful place where he kept his captured enemies. After his defeat at Dumbledore's hand, his own prison then served as his dungeon for the rest of his life. For all she knew, he was still there.
Is that what Dumbledore is trying to say to us? Does he want us to find Grindelwald? Does he think his former friend and nemesis would help them in their conquest against the current Dark Lord?
She flicked back through the biography, looking for the chapter that chronicled the two wizards' relationship during the summer that they met at Godric's Hollow. Rage curled in her insides when her gaze ranged over the passage where Rita smugly admits to using veritaserum on Bathilda. She continued scanning the page until she found what she was looking for.
"He seemed a charming boy to me, whatever he became later. Naturally, I introduced him to poor Albus, who was missing the company of lads his own age. The boys took to each other at once." They certainly did. Bathilda shows me a letter, kept by her that Albus Dumbledore sent Gellert Grindelwald in the dead of night. "Yes, even after they'd spent all day in discussion - both such brilliant young boys, they got on like a cauldron on fire - I'd sometimes hear an owl tapping at Gellert's bedroom window, delivering a letter from Albus! An idea would have struck him and he had to let Gellert know immediately!"
Hermione pulled at her lip thoughtfully. It had to be during this time that Dumbledore was introduced to the myth of the Deathly Hallows and ended up acquiring Bathilda's copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. She glanced up at Harry across from her. He was studying the book. It was open in front of him and he was writing notes of his own. She smiled to herself. Harry was surprising her all the time. When she settled down to get to work, he had done the same, saying that he wanted to research his own family history and the link he had to the Deathly Hallows himself.
"It's all connected, " Harry had explained when he took the book and sat down opposite her. "Godric's Hollow, my family, this book, the Hallows… and Dumbledore and Grindelwald. If you look into the last two, I'll look into the others. "
Harry lifted his head, sensing her scrutiny. He eyed the Biography a moment, then looked over to the stacks of books that she had left out on the table for them to use.
"Did you find anything in the Genealogy?" She asked him, her eyes traveling to the second tome that Harry had next to him. She had borrowed the Genealogy from Kreacher, deciding that it might be a good idea to know their enemy a little better and explore the family alliances.
"Hmm?" He looked up at her. He then glanced over at the Genealogy. He frowned at the title: Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. "No. They had no male heirs so died out." She nodded. It had been a long shot to expect that there were any existing Peverells that they could talk to about the Hallows. "I thought I'd go back over the Tale of the Three Brothers. We know now that there is some truth to it. We know the cloak is real, so that means that the stone and the wand aare out there somewhere."
Hermione felt a thrill of foreboding at the mention of the wand, but she raised her head, thinking about it for a moment. Could there really be a wand out there that was as powerful as the story claimed? Unbeatable, as Beedle claimed.
"I have never heard of a wand being more powerful than any other. A wand is only as powerful as the wizard," she said. Harry glanced up at her, then frowned.
"Bathilda said that Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus Peverell were the names of the Three Brothers," Hermione put her pen down and listened. She gave a nod, encouraging him to continue. "She said that they were the inventors of these Hallows. Now if the wand is anything like my cloak, then we have to assume that it is more powerful."
He tapped his chin with his pen.
"The stone… remember again what Bathilda said. No magic can bring back the dead, so what does this stone really do? My guess is that it brings back echoes of the dead… a bit like what happened when I saw my parents and Cedric in the Graveyard. I know that sort of magic exists. I've seen it myself," he frowned down at his notes. "I can see how that could be useful. An echo of Dumbledore, for example? We wouldn't have to guess his motives anymore."
Hermione considered what he was saying. It did sound fantastical and her rational mind was telling her that it wasn't possible, but then, if Bathilda Bagshot herself confirmed it, she couldn't exactly dispute someone who had done a lot more research on the subject than she had. She looked down at the book that Harry had been studying in detail. She could see the symbol upside down and sighed.
"So what you are saying is that Dumbledore's answer to our current treasure hunt is another treasure hunt?"
Harry gave a bitter laugh. "It certainly seems that way, but I feel like we have a bit more of a headstart with this one. I wonder… if this Elder Wand would be powerful enough to destroy a horcrux."
Now that was an interesting thought. Hermione met his gaze again.
"Or powerful enough to defeat Vol- Tom." Harry's eyes flashed in warning in time for her to stop herself.
"That too," he said quietly. "It's worth looking into, especially when my wand and his cancel each other out. It's a shame I can't ask a wandmaker about this… this…" Harry stalled, his eyes going wide. "No…"
The blood drained from his face. Hermione reached out for his hand at once, scared that it was his scar again, but his famous mark was pink and inert, not the angry red it had been yesterday when he went under.
"Harry… Harry, what's wrong?"
His gaze had glazed over with horror. "It was while Ron was here, I don't think you heard about it, but I had a vision of Tom torturing Gregorovitch." His eyes roved over to hers. "He's a foreign wandmaker." She nodded, knowing the name. "I thought that Tom was obsessing over Gregorovich so he could find out more about our wands and their connection, but in the vision, he was torturing him and broke into his mind for information."
Harry looked over at her again, his green eyes so wide that he had white all around his brilliant irises.
"He saw a memory of a thief stealing something from Gregorovitch. Something… small. He was referring to an 'it' and Gregorovitch was saying that he didn't have it anymore. And since I had that vision, I've been dreaming of that thief every now and then… Tom's hunting him down because he wants what he stole."
Hermione felt a strong thrill of dread. "Hermione, what if he's after the Elder Wand? What if… if we're too late and figuring out this riddle?"
"You would know if he found this thief…?"
"Yeah… I would I suppose," Harry said, sighing a little with relief, "but this has upped the stakes. Even if he's not after the Elder Wand, he's after something and the fact that he's asked two wandmakers about it is too much of a coincidence. Whatever this Elder Wand is, I think I need to find it. Destroying the horcruxes is all well and good, but after all that, I've still got to face him."
Hermione felt cold as Harry brought back the seriousness of their situation into the foreground. What they were doing, the research they were conducting, was to find a way to give Harry a chance against Voldemort, to save his life.
Harry's gaze then dipped down to the Biography.
"What about you? Have you… found enough to confirm that Rita isn't talking out of her beetle butt?"
Hermione's smile was a bit half-hearted. She knew he was using humour to detract away from the weighty topic he had just dropped between them. She fully sobered when she realised that he had asked her about her current research. Her gaze dipped down, seeing the copy of the damning letter that Dumbledore had written to Grindelwald. As she did, she frowned, seeing something that she hadn't spotted before.
She picked up the book and looked more closely. It was so faint, she barely noticed, but where Albus had signed his name at the bottom of the letter, he had stylised the A.
It was the Deathly Hallows symbol. She lowered the book, staring across at Harry as shock washed over her. Bathilda's words came to her.
It symbolises the Hallows. The triangle is the Cloak, the circle the Stone and the line is the Wand. Those who believe themselves on the quest to unite the Hallows wear the symbol to show themselves to other believers. Rather daft really, considering that most believers end up killing each other but there you have it.
Dumbledore had been revealing himself to Grindelwald as a believer. They both believed in the tale, that uniting the three Hallows would make them the Master of Death.
There was no dancing around it now. She had to tell Harry.
"I… I think so," she said, a little shaky, "you aren't going to take this well so…"
Harry frowned, glancing between her and the Biography. "You think I'm going to go off on one?"
"I know you will."
Harry harrumphed. "Alright, if you think it's that bad… let me hear it."
"I still have the last couple of chapters to read, but I'm fairly sure that the information Rita got from Bathilda is authentic. She… includes a copy of a letter that Dumbledore wrote to Grindelwald and I've pretty sure it's real. It… has the symbol on it. The Deathly Hallows symbol."
Harry drew in a sharp breath, his eyes widening, but he didn't interrupt. He leaned forwards, listening intently.
"After Dumbledore's mother died, he had to return home to Godric's Hollow as it made him the head of the family. During that time, he met Grindelwald, who had come to stay with Bathilda after he had been expelled… here, I'll read out what Rita wrote." She went to find the passage.
"Educated at Durmstrang, a school famous even then for its unfortunate tolerance of the Dark Arts, Grindelwald showed himself quite as precociously brilliant as Dumbledore. Rather than channel his abilities into the attainment of awards and prizes, however, Gellert Grindelwald devoted himself no other pursuits. At sixteen years old, even Durmstrang felt it could no longer turn a blind eye to the twisted experiments of Gellert Grindelwald, and he was expelled. Hitherto, all that has been known of Grindelwald's next movements is that he "traveled around for some months." It can now be revealed that Grindelwald chose to visit his great-aunt in Godric's Hollow, and that there, intensely shocking though it will be for many to hear it, he struck up a close friendship with none other than Albus Dumbledore."
She glanced up at Harry often to see his reaction. He was nervously tapping at the table. When she finished reading, she met his gaze.
"From what Bathilda says in this, their friendship came to an end when Ariana died. Grindelwald left, apparently distraught, and Bathilda never saw him again. Now whatever happened to that poor girl, it must have caused their friendship to sever. Rita mentions how Albus and his brother had a fight and-."
"Aberforth broke his nose," Harry finished, then he shook his head and waved for her to continue. Hermione was surprised that he knew that much, but then she remembered that he had spoken to Elphias Doge and Muriel at the wedding about it.
"Right… all Rita has about what happened to Ariana is just speculation. Bathilda hadn't been present, but she is quoted saying that the girl was frail and ill. I… I don't believe this nonsense about her being locked away because she was a squib. There isn't a lick of proof and… well… I think Bathilda would know if that was the case and Rita had…" She looked away from Harry, her anger lashing into action. Her teeth clenched together. "She used veritaserum on Bathilda."
"WHAT?!" Harry roared, making her jump violently. He jumped to his feet, his green eyes blazing as they did when he was furious. "How… How do you know?"
"Oh, she admits it. The bitch is proud of herself."
She could feel the heat rolling off of Harry as his magic flared, the pages of the books ruffling. Rather than be scared of his temper, his righteous fury, she found it strangely exhilarating as she, too, basked in her outrage towards the journalist for her inhumane methods.
"If I cross paths with that woman again, I don't think I'll be able to control myself," Harry growled and took a deep breath. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and sat back down.
"I'm going to force her into a beetle form and crush her," Hermione said calmly. Harry let out a dark laugh.
"Too quick… but anyway… from what you're saying, Dumbledore was friends with Grindelwald, but after tragedy struck, he left and went to be the Dark Wizard he was famous for being, before Dumbledore then defeated him."
"That was many years later," Hermione told him, "and… there is more. This is going to be hard… but you need to read this. It's a letter Dumbledore wrote to Grindelwald." She flicked through the pages, finding the copy of the letter. Taking a deep breath, she turned the book around and showed him the letter.
He took the book, grimacing at it, then frowned as he saw the printed copy of the handwritten letter. He let out a breathy sigh.
"That's definitely his handwriting." Of course, Harry would know his hand. His frown only deepened as he began to read, and then there was what Hermione feared. The hurt, the shock, the disbelief… the disgust. And then, there was the anger. He practically threw the book down, turning his face away from her. She tentatively took the book back and, as she did, the damning words were vivid as she glanced down.
For the Greater Good.
"I… I know it doesn't make for pleasant reading," she said cautiously. Harry let out a harsh sigh, struggling with his anger. He folded his arms, his face stony.
"Yeah, you could say that," he said, his voice bitter, sarcastic. Hermione felt a jolt of warning. His back was up. He was hurting and was defensive. This was old Harry making a return - angry, resentful Harry.
"Whatever friendship they had, whatever this was," she gestured at the copy of the letter, "it certainly didn't last."
"It doesn't change that he wrote those things," Harry said quietly, his hurt eyes flashing over to her. "Oppressing muggles for their own good?"
"Maybe he did believe these things when he was seventeen," Hermione said reluctantly, "but the whole of the rest of his life was devoted to fighting the Dark Arts. Dumbledore was the one who stopped Grindelwald, the one who always voted for Muggle protection and Muggle-born rights, who fought Tom from the start, and who died trying to bring him down."
Harry reached up, taking off his glasses. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose.
"He was seventeen, Harry, he spent a lot more of his life doing good than he did believing this rubbish about the 'right to rule'," she made a disgusted sound. "It's 'Magic is Might' all over again. I know… I know it hurts to see that he even thought that way but he changed. People can change, Harry."
"Can they?" He shot back savagely. "You read that line… 'For the Greater Good'? Do you remember what Bathilda said? About Dumbledore making decisions for 'the greater good' even when they weren't his to make? A bit close to home, don't you think?"
Hermione stared at him, catching the hint of a tear in his eye.
"It is," she admitted, "more than you know." His gaze flashed her way again and she saw that it was indeed a tear sparkling in his eye. "'For the Greater Good' became Grindelwald's slogan, his justification for all the atrocities he committed later. And it looks like Dumbledore gave him the idea. 'For the Greater Good' was even carved over the entrance to Nurmengard."
Harry's brow creased. "Nurmengard?"
"The prison Grindelwald had built to hold his opponents. He ended up in there himself, once Dumbledore had caught him… and he did catch him and defeat him," Hermione said emphatically, gesturing over to The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. "Dumbledore changed. Grindelwald, on the other hand…"
Harry let out a long breath, closing his eyes. "Right… Grindelwald…" He was taking back control over his emotions. Hermione could really see the effort he was putting in. His hands were out of sight but she had a suspicion they were in tight fists. He lifted his chin and turned back fully to face her. His eyes were a little red-rimmed. She could see the hurt as clear as anything. He felt betrayed.
Again.
She reached across the table with both her hands, looking intently at him. His eyebrows lifted, confused, but he raised his hands up to the table and extended them out towards her. She took them in his.
"This is why I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want this to tarnish your memories of him." She said softly. Harry gave a wet sniff. "Don't let Rita rob you of what good memories you have." He met her gaze and his hands squeezed hers in a gesture to show that he listened.
"Whatever he said in that letter, don't let it overshadow the man you knew. He's the one that matters right now. He's the one who worked so hard to protect you, the one that loved you," she continued. She looked down at the biography and felt a hot swoop of rage. How dare that book cause Harry more pain? How dare Rita Skeeter abuse Bathilda to get her big break? And how dare Dumbledore cause Harry to lose faith?
Her impulsive side kicked in and she stood up.
"How about we destroy the jerk that wrote letters to Grindelwald?" She asked him. Harry looked up at her, puzzled.
"Hermione, he's already dead."
"Oh no, I mean the seventeen-year-old bigot in these pages." She picked up the biography, closing it with a snap. "Come on. I think I know just the thing to do."
She set off, finding her boots. A baffled Harry followed her, stumbling into his trainers. He asked her a few times what they were doing, but she brushed them off, determined. She pushed through the flap of the tent, stepping out into brilliant sunshine.
Her astonished breath left her in a rough gasp. The forest was spectacular. The colours were so rich and so warm. Harry joined her at her elbow and she heard his awe-filled gasp. She turned to him, sharing a wide-eyed wondrous look with her boyfriend.
"And I thought this place was beautiful at night…" Harry said quietly.
"It's stunning," she agreed and she grinned as she walked over to the spot where they had kissed many times. The leaf litter was noticeably more crushed at the spot than elsewhere in the clearing. She set the book down in the middle of the crater of their passion and took a few steps back, drawing her wand. The book was perfectly positioned, the image of Dumbledore lounging behind his desk clear for them to see. She glanced back at Harry. He gave her a questioning look, but pulled out his own wand.
"You can go first," she told him, gesturing at the book. Harry's mouth dropped open as he realised what she wanted to do.
"You… you want to destroy a book?" He gasped.
"No, I want you to destroy that book," she pointed at it with her wand, "because we've got what we wanted from it and now it's time for it to go. Just picture who you want to hex the most."
Harry laughed, the sound warming her heart. He was returning.
"There are a few people I would like to hex."
"Only a few?" Hermione asked, glad that he was coming back into himself, pulling away from his anger.
"Well… you know, I don't want to be too ambitious," he said as his mouth tugged at the corner. "Ron would be one."
"Damn, that was my choice."
"Oh…" Harry then grinned. "So this is for me, but you have the first choice?"
"I thought you'd want to hex Tom, or Dumbledore…" She said, enjoying Harry's spark as it flared back into his eyes. Harry laughed.
"We can't imagine the same person then?" Harry asked. He twirled his wand in his fingers in a dextrous way that strangely made Hermione want to kiss him.
"We both want Ron?" She asked him, grinning.
"He is the one who left us." Harry pointed out with a smirk, his cheeks a little pink. Then he turned his gaze down to the book. "As much as I feel hurt by Dumbledore's lack of trust in me, he never abandoned me. Even in death, he's trying to help."
Hermione's heart warmed as she saw the desolate pain ebb away, replaced with that glint that excited her so much. Harry raised his wand, flashing a glance her way.
"I won't completely blow it to pieces. You should have a shot too." He said, then he closed one eye, aiming. He surprised her by throwing his hex without uttering a word. There was a bright flash of orange and she smelt a strong, hot scent that reminded her of gunpowder.
She looked at the book across from them. It was still standing, but in the middle with a perfect hole, the edges smoldering from Harry's curse. Hermione was impressed with Harry's precision and how he could now cast adeptly non-verbally. He had been right. Practice is key.
"If I did that verbally, it probably would have blown up." Harry lowered his wand. He looked across at her. "Finish Ron off will you?"
She smirked and raised her wand.
Confringo .
Her orange blasting hex zapped at the book and it exploded. Scraps of paper erupted upwards, igniting as they did and crumpling down to the ground as embers. Both her and Harry cringed back before they were showered with ashes. Harry was laughing.
"I said finish and you went with obliterating… I like your choice of-."
Harry cut off, his head snapping around. Hermione heard it too. A thud and a crunch in the distance. Harry lifted his hand, warning her to be quiet. He moved, careful, quiet, as he paced towards the sound. Hermione was alert, her eyes searching for the source of the sound.
"I can see someone," Harry whispered to her, gesturing down by the river. "Hermione… we should leave. If they appeared suddenly then they apparated…"
Her heart lurched at the thought. She moved to his side, adrenaline spiking as she saw the figure in the distance, clearly searching.
"I'll get my bag. You grab your cloak. We'll just pack up the tent as it is." She said. Harry nodded and joined her in the tent. Harry snatched his cloak from where they left it. He turned, stilling.
"Strange the sneakoscope didn't go off."
"I think they're too far," Hermione said as she grabbed her beaded bag from the table. She followed Harry back outside and they saw in alarm that the figure was getting closer.
"I'm sure the charms work but…" Hermione began. Harry shook his head and pulled her towards him, throwing the cloak over them both.
" Muffliato, " Harry whispered as he went to conceal any noise they made.
Under the cloak, they packed the tent away, and shrunk it down so it would fit in Hermione's bag. The figure was getting closer, dressed in a thick cloak with the hood up. She grabbed Harry's arm and he looked at her. She could see the question on his lips. Where?
She remembered, out of nowhere, the island Harry had brought up a week ago.
"That island… you said was remote," she whispered. Harry's eyes glinted and she knew he got it. With a firm tug on her arm, Harry twisted on the spot and sent them both away from their beautiful forest hideaway.
Their charms stayed active even after they had gone. The cloaked figure crunched through more of the hillock before dropping down under a tree, grumbling. He pulled down the hood of his cloak, revealing a shock of red hair that matched the autumn theme of the Forest of Dean. Ron sighed, holding the deluminator in his hands, and waited for their voices to come out of it again.
