Disclaimer: The world is a much better place with J.K. Rowling in it.
Hermione tosses on the bed. She can blame the insomnia on the baby, and the back pains that started up last week, but she knows it's more than that. Since he left almost a month ago, the apartment has felt so … empty. Cold. Silent. It's so uncomfortable without him here. Even knowing he was in a different room gave her a sense of comfort. Now, all she has are her own thoughts and Ron's persistent check-ups that got old after the first day. Ron's intentions are good, that's for sure, but he's no Harry. This isn't Ron's area of expertise.
He's not Harry.
It's weird. At eleven, at fourteen, at seventeen, at twenty, all she had been able to see was Harry's nobleness. She knew he loved her, of course, and she loved him, too, but she hadn't considered him anything but a hero and a friend. And now …
She rolls onto her side, groans, and lies on her back again.
I miss him.
She cries a little, like she has every night. She can blame it on the insomnia, and she can blame it on the back pains, and she can blame it on the blotchy skin, the hormones, the shortness of breath … but it's more than that.
So much more.
-------------
It's raining.
Harry pulls his cloak more tightly around his body, shivering slightly. He peers out of the small cave he's huddling in. There's a light glowing from the small house he's been watching for hours. He shakes his head and bends back over the parchment paper.
Hermione,
Everything has been set into motion.
We're going to get her.
I'm so bloody nervous. And at the same time, I'm ready for this. I've never been more ready.
I wish you were here. I want you to hug me and tell me everything will be all right. To kiss my cheek like you always did, before any of this happened. Actually, no, I wish you would do more than that. I want you to kiss me on my lips and tell me you love me. I want you to promise me that you'll never leave me. I want –
Harry stops and wipes everything away with one sweep of his wand. He hesitates, and rewrites the one sentence.
I wish you were here.
I miss you.
Harry.
He rolls up the paper and turns to Hedwig, who has been napping by his side. He strokes her feathers gently, and her eyes open. She clicks her beak and offers her leg to him. He attaches the letter, and she nips his nose affectionately. She stares at him as forcefully as an old owl can. Be safe, she orders him.
Harry smiles, marvelling at how this owl seems to know what's going to come next. "I'll be all right," he promises. "And you be careful, too."
He watches her as she flies out into the rain.
Take care of Hermione for me.
"Harry?" a gruff voice says behind him.
Harry turns. Moody is hobbling towards him. Still alive, Harry marvels. They shake hands.
"What a piece of work she is, that one. All the others—dead, locked up—and she refuses to give herself up." Moody looks up into the rain. "I think she still believes that the Dark Lord will rise—again and again and again."
Harry nods, remaining silent.
"You all right?" Moody asks, and then adds, before Harry can answer, "That was a bloody stupid question. Of course you aren't. And yet you are."
Harry frowns.
That didn't even make sense.
Moody pats him on the shoulder. "This will all be over very soon," he says in a hoarse whisper. "It will all be over," he repeats, and turns away.
Harry watches him go, wondering if that man will ever die. He chuckles a little, walking out of the cave.
This will all be over very soon.
He walks over to the main tent, hidden by trees and bushes. Lupin and Tonks are bent over pieces of parchment paper and photographs of Bellatrix. He watches them, almost in awe. They figured it out, right? They are meant for each other. Lupin, with his wrinkles and his quiet dignity. Tonks with her bubblegum pink hair and her clumsiness.
They love each other. There's no question about it.
Lupin looks up and sees Harry. He smiles, and Harry attempts to smile back, his stomach twisted into an enormous knot.
"You almost ready?" Lupin asks, stepping away from the table and stretching his back.
He already knows the answer.
Harry is more than ready.
"This will all be over very soon," Lupin says, sitting down in a wooden chair. Tonks smiles at Harry, turning her head back to the papers.
"She's created a whole life for herself," she says. "Well, I guess it's more that she's taken someone else's life."
Moody comes into the tent, dripping with water. His grey hair hangs loosely from his skull.
"It's time, Harry."
Harry nods, and looks back at Tonks and Lupin. She's joined her husband at the chair, gripping his hand tightly.
"Be safe," she says softly.
But when he looks at her, he doesn't see Tonks.
All he can see is Hermione.
Be safe.
He turns back to Moody, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head. He tucks his wand into his sleeve.
Be safe.
Her voice, echoing in his ears.
She's the girl, isn't she?
He takes another step forward, out of the tent.
Be safe.
The rain beats down onto his cloak, and he doesn't feel a thing.
The image of Sirius, falling backwards, eyes wide, comes into Harry's mind.
You need to go, Hermione says in his head.
Bellatrix's face swims through his mind.
Go.
The anger courses through his veins as he breathes in, breathes out.
It's time.
-------------
Bellatrix Lestrange is sitting in her living room, right near the fire. Actually, it's not really her living room. Olivia's. But Olivia is locked up in a trunk right now, so it's Bellatrix's home.
It's been a long day. She sighs, touching her face. There are wrinkles, but they aren't hers. Olivia, locked up in a trunk, hidden to her husband, Edward … these wrinkles, this hideous blond-grey hair … they are Olivia's.
Bellatrix isn't even sure why she's put so much effort into this. There is no one left but her, and it's getting boring, honestly. Living like a Mudblood. Pathetic. She's going slightly mad.
She peers at the clock on the mantelpiece, starting to feel impatient and slightly worried. Where on earth is Edward, anyway? Bellatrix winces. She honestly detests the man, the stupid, pathetic Mudblood, but she always feels uneasy when he takes a long while to get home from work.
Bellatrix leans back in the chair and shuts her eyes.
It's been a long day.
She hears the front door slam shut.
Back into character, she commands herself, rising from the chair, rising to the occasion.
"Ed,
darling, is that you?"
A shadow stretches out across the hall,
and she hears footsteps.
"Edward?"
The footsteps stop. The fire pops, and sizzles out, and all of the lights in the house shut off.
Bellatrix takes out her wand. "Lumos," she mutters, the tip of her wand igniting. She holds it out in front of her, searching for a figure.
"Expelliarmus!" a voice cries out. As her wand flies out of her hand, Bellatrix is lifted into the air and slammed against a wall. She crumples to the ground, glancing up in time to see a cloaked figure walking towards her with a wand in each hand.
She closes her eyes, concentrating. Stup—
"Petrificus Totalus!" the stranger screams, and Bellatrix's arms and legs snap shut. Her eyes are wide and frozen as she watches him come into the light. He pauses, his eyes shadowed by the hood of his robes. "I think this is the first time I've seen you look so desperate."
Bellatrix tries frenziedly to move, her body searing with pain from her fall.
"It took me a very long time to find you," he says. "Congratulations, you fooled us all—for a while. You were the only one—the only one." He clears his throat. "I'm guessing you're wondering how we found you." His voice is soft, childlike, even. But his mouth is curled in disdain. "I don't think it's even worth it to tell you." He spreads his arms wide. "Here we are. That's all that matters, I think." He pauses. "I'm sure you'd like to talk." He waves his wand at her, and her mouth opens.
"Who are you?" she asks, trying to keep the hint of malice in her voice.
The lips twitch into a small smile, and he steps back into the shadows.
"Are you going to kill me?" Bellatrix demands.
"Kill you? No. I am not a killer. Only once. Only once."
"Then what will you do with me?"
"It's not for me to decide." He pauses. "The others will be here soon. I came first, because there was something I wanted to tell you."
"And what would that be?"
"I wanted you to know I hate you."
Bellatrix laughs. "Is that all? Who are you?" she adds. "Come into the light, show your face, you coward! Too afraid to fight me, to kill me! Show your face!"
There's silence for a several moments. Bellatrix lets out short, shallow breaths.
"I am the Boy Who Lived," comes a voice from the opposite side of the room. And then there is silence more.
Bellatrix snarls in rage. "Harry Potter! Come and fight me, you coward! Come out and fight me like a man!"
The front door slams shut as Bellatrix continues to scream. But Harry doesn't listen. All he can hear is the thumping of his heart, ringing in his ears. He nods at Lupin when he reaches the bushes. "She's all yours," he says quietly.
-------------
Hermione's eyes flutter open the moment she hears the door slam shut. She sits up, wincing with pain. She sets her legs on the floor, standing up as quickly as she can. It's still dark, and all of the lights in the house are off. She stumbles out of her room, clinging to the wall.
She reaches the living room to find Harry, shivering in a sodden cloak, his wand still clutched tightly in one hand. There is an intensity in his eyes that was not there before—and there is peace.
She is beautiful, just standing there, the moonlight shining down onto half of her face. Her hands are clenched in fists, and she's just staring straight back at him. And inside of his head, he's telling her the things he just can't possibly say out loud.
I love you.
I want to be with you.
I want to marry you.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
In three swift steps, he reaches her, and he pulls her towards him, and she clamps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his wet chest. They crumble to the floor, and Hermione feels his body shuddering against her. She strokes his hair, feeling his breath against her neck and the baby inside of her.
Her body is so warm. He can feel her stomach pressed against him, and he puts one hand to it, almost instinctively. His baby.
Her baby.
Their baby.
A/N: I know some of you are probably thinking What? That's it for the whole Bellatrix thing? Yes, it is. I know it's not much, but I didn't want it to be. It just didn't feel right. It's a subplot—it's not the main story, and it didn't feel right making it long. I hope you all understand, and if you don't … I can email the longer version to you …
