Falling Fronts
((*))
The Sunlit days were dimmer than Hermione remembered.
In some ways they were very much the same. Harry and Ginny were inseparable. When they weren't in classes they were with each other, either enjoying the warm summer weather or Harry setting up in the library as Ginny studied for her OWLS. The only person that seemed to be trying to separate the two of them, other than Romilda Vane, was Snape who seemed to have become even more bitter at the sight of Harry and Ginny holding hands as they walked from class to class.
In her original time line, Hermione hadn't believed Snape was bitter when Harry had told her he lost ten points from Gryffindor for having his collar out of dress code. But when it happened again, Hermione supposed it may have something to do with Snape's memories of another red head who had walked with a boy who looked like Harry.
'Why was you collar disheveled?" Hermione asked slyly at the Gryffindor table that breakfast when Harry shared the story that had occurred the night before. Harry's cheeks flushed scarlet, " Got caught in the wind when we were flying," he answered quickly, "Forgot to fix it when we came back inside."
"Mhmm," Hermione nodded as she dropped a sugar cube in her tea and opened her morning paper.
"Anyone we know?" Harry asked.
"You're just looking for a way to change the subject before Ron comes down from upstairs and finds out about your out of dress code with his sister story,"Hermione said skimming the front page and flipping inside.
"Maybe," Harry said rather quickly, "Oh come on Hermione—if he finds out about that he might just find out about you and Fred."
She nearly slopped her tea in her lap, "Harry Potter don't you—"
"Anyone we know in the paper?" Ron asked, settling himself next to Hermione. She tried to convey a jinx in her eyes before turning from Harry to Ron.
"Not today, just a little blurp about a new Head of Treasury meeting with Goblins at Gringotts," Hermione said before taking the unread paper and passing it to Ron "Someone named Pius Something or Other."
"Been a quite week," Ron said looking over the front page as he assembled his plate, the breakfast sausages and fried eggs plopping in place. "Think the Death Eaters are on a Holiday?"
"I'm sure Voldemort's somewhere on the coast applying suntan lotion over his snake nose while Bellatrix is throwing hexes at sandcastles," Hermione quipped, noting Harry snorting from across the table. Ron's face flushed, "I didn't mean they were at the beach. I just supposed maybe there regrouping or planning something big."
His eyes didn't meet Hermione's and he quickly turned the page. Hermione turned to Harry who seemed to give her a look that said you know better than to mock him before ten. She sat up straight and turned to Ron again. "I know you didn't mean that—I was just trying to be funny."
Because if she had her choice of Weasley's to sit next to her, she knew there was one in particular who would have laughed at her Death Eater Beach Holiday. Hell, Fred would have gone a long with it and thrown in Borgin and Burkes were now advertising Vacation Packages for Death Eaters along the Rivera.
Ron responded with a silent nod and kept at his breakfast.
The reason the sunlit days had been dimmer, Hermione supposed, was her fault. In her past—how it could have happened—she and Ron had used the afternoons where Ginny and Harry were flying sitting in the Common Room, or walking the grounds themselves. It's when they apologized to one another for each other's behavior through the entire Lavender ordeal. Its where they learned how to be friends again. Where Hermione forgave and, despite her better judgement she was sure—began to find herself again infatuated with Ronald Weasley.
They were sunlit days for her because she had him back. She didn't have to worry about Lavender popping out behind the thicket. She just had to worry if he would still like her in a month when she returned to him at the Burrow.
This time, she found herself still avoiding Ron. Not intentionally, just out of habit. Harry and Ginny's absence had taken away the bumper they had created and neither Ron nor herself seemed to be racing to fill the void. He was doing what ever it was post-Quidditch-not-daiting-Lavender Ron did and she stayed in the library, hoping that the fifth years she was helping were picking up more than just study tips but survival tips that would serve them well in the next year.
She looked again at Harry who shrugged and then turned his head to the doors with a smile. Ginny had just entered the Hall.
"Morning," she said, kissing Harry on the cheek with a smile. "Morning you two," she said as she took her seat next to Harry.
Ron seemed to scowl, hoping to avoid another gaff with his words. "Morning Ginny. Ready for your first round of exams?"
Ginny wrinkled her eye brows and casually leaned on Harry's arm. "I'm ready for them to be done. I've decided I'm dropping Divination and History of Magic, so I figure there's no reason to study for them anyway. Just going to settle and cut my losses."
"Worked for me," Harry laughed, "Although you probably shouldn't share your academic destruction with Hermione, she looks petrified at the thought."
Ron smiled now and looked at Hermione. His icy, blue eyes searching over Hermione's face in a way she couldn't miss. She had seen that gaze before—last time. When the two of them—
No, absolutely not. He doesn't. He can't—
She turned away and stood up quickly, gathering her bag.
"Oh Hermione I was joking—I'll at least get an A in Divination—half of that is charisma and charm—" Ginny joked.
"I know," Hermione said with a smile, "I just need to send of a letter to mum and dad quick—we're planning on going to Brussels this summer and they wanted me to send them my itinerary."
That was a lie—but it would be a useful one. And if she started soon enough with the lie, it would be so deep and so well know that maybe perhaps she would believe it.
She could hear footsteps following her and for the briefest moment she wondered if Ron had gotten up. She kept going, trying to lengthen her stride before she heard the soft, cheerful voice of Ashleigh Smith calling from behind.
"Hermione! Hermione slow down for a second," she called.
Ashleigh Smith was a Hufflepuff, and had been the Head Girl for the year. She had her hair cut just above her shoulders in a sandy bob. With eyes that mimicked the summer sky and a spew of freckles across her cheeks, Ashleigh was easy to trust and easy to befriend. When Ron started dating Lavender, Ashleigh convinced Steve Davers the Head boy that they should spice up the patrols and pair the prefects with other Houses. "It'll create a sense a inter-house unity," she had styled it to the prefects when route assignments were made. Ron usually did his tour with Padme Patel, while Hermione made rounds with Ashleigh, who had convinced "I'll be able to share you tips for when you're Head Girl next year."
But in all these experiences Hermione had learned another truth—Ashleigh horrible at hiding bad news. It spilled across her face as though she was going to be sick and her face looked like she had just been tasked with dating the Giant Squid.
"Do you have a minute?" Ashleigh asked, nodding to the side corridor,"I—er—Have something to tell you."
"Do you have the new Patrol Assignments? When are we going again?" Hermione asked, trying to stay chipper.
"It's abut the Patrol Assignments-I let Steve make then. He volunteered when I was studying for my NEWTs and he—he changed the patrol teams," Ashleigh explained. "I'm so sorry, but he split us up. You're on patrol duty with Ron next week."
Good luck avoiding him this time…Hermione cringed. " Oh well—"
"I volunteered to switch you back but Steve said he had given Ron the assignments last night—and he said he wanted to talk to me when we did Patrol," Ashleigh's face flushed with a shadow of a smile. It was similar to the one Hermione kept for Fred and she wondered if Ashleigh and Steve had those special smiles for each other and she just hadn't noticed.
"It's alright—I can do a patrol with Ron, it won't be the end of the world. Where are we patrolling?" Hermione asked, hoping to sound chipper.
"The Towers," Ashleigh said, opening a little note book, just ot be sure. "I have you down for the Ravenclaw, Astronomy and charms corridor. Just at Curfew, make sure no wanders before bed."
"Not a problem—"Hermione said, "Ron and I used to do that round last year, we have a system. It shouldn't be a problem at all."
Ashleigh gave a smile of relief. "Thanks Hermione," she said as she heard her own name called from Steve in the Main corridor and Hermione noticed he was carrying two bags on his shoulder.
Hermione waved and watched the two disappear and, in envy, wished she could have swapped out Ron for Fred for the next few weeks. That he would be here. That he could be standing in the corridor waiting for her with her bag and a warm smile.
Instead she had Ron.
Which wasn't a bad thing. And a part of her felt awful for even wishing she could switch the two. She could just see his eyes. Those ice blue, sometimes sharp, sometimes kind, eyes looking over her face. In that gentle awe. That genuine look of love that he sometimes gave her.
You need to tell Ron, Harry had said. He had brought it up a few times since their initial conversation. And to be fair, she probably should. It had been weeks since Ron and Lavender had ended. Romilda Vane, Hermione noticed one day, seemed to be tryng to flirt with Ron but he had simply rolled his eyes and moved to another area of the library closer to Hermione's table.
You need to tell Ron, but she knew what the aftermath would be. And despite the fact that she wasn't in love with him, she knew that she'd be sacrificing one of the strongest rays of light in these sun lit days, her once constant friendship with Ron.
((*))
What Hermione liked most about patrolling the Towers was it had to be split up.
The castle was so large that the only way you'd ever complete the sweep within the patrol time was splitting up—one to Ravenclaw, one to the astronomy before they walked the Charms Corridor that led to Gryffindor tower.
In another life, she would have savored that walk back to the tower. It would be a few minutes with Ron. In another life, he would have been overly apologetic for Lavender. He would have been tripping over himself, trying to redeem himself. Try to make it right, and in another life, she had welcomed it.
But this time it was different. It was almost as though he wasn't sure about himself around her. He was nervous; he had upped his usual self-deprecation jokes. Sometimes they did talk, but Lavender never came up. She was a silent wedge that had been placed between them. It was as though they had an unspoken agreement—Ron wouldn't bring her up and Lavender and Hermione wouldn't ask after her.
She wouldn't lie, she was glad he hadn't tried to talk to her. She was nervous what a private conversation with Ron could lead to. If he suggested something, she would feel obligated to fill him in on her and Fred—Harry was right, no matter what she said, she knew Harry was right—but she also knew Ron, and knew that he was the jealous, insecure type. But she was afraid that if he knew, he'd be angry and wouldn't come with them to find the horcruxes.
She didn't care if he was angry—he could be angry at her and she could care less. But Harry needed Ron to be there. Maybe not the full while, but from the get go. Harry needed to know that his friends where beside him. That they supported him. That Ron supported him. Ron would be what Harry would miss the most—he always had been.
And she wouldn't get in the way of that.
It was the last night of their patrol. Ron had taken the Ravenclaw one the last few nights and as Hermione finished her sweep of the Astronomy tower she found that she had a few minutes before she was due to meet him in the Charms corridor.
Then the thought came to her. She could go up to their tower. It wasn't too far off. She could just go up, see if the stars had broken free from the clouds and were at last visible. She hadn't gone up since Fred had been up there in March, and she had imagined it so many time she didn't know what was true and what was memory and what she had embellished. A part of her was convinced if she went up there she would smell his aftershave still lingering in the summer wind.
It'll only take a minute, Hermione told herself as she strode to the tower. Besides, it's not too far from Charms—you'll probably beat Ron there.
She tapped on the door and climbed the stairs. When she reached the top, she couldn't smell his after shave. But if she tried hard, she could pretend. She could tell herself their was a slight aroma of gunpowder and pine that seemed to linger when Fred was there.
"I miss you" she said to the empty wind. "I really—really miss you." She turned her eyes to the sky and saw the stars above. It wouldn't be long now and she'd have him back. They'd have a few weeks of summer together before—
Before she started packing for them all. Before she emptied her house and set the enchantments so it could be a safe house if they needed it. Before she had to tell him she was leaving. Before she had to tell him goodbye.
Can you save them Hermione? Can you save them all?
"Hermione?" a voice said unsure from below the stairs, "Are you up here?"
Shit.
"Ron?" Hermione asked, flying down the stairs, meeting him half way, "I'm sorry, I thought I heard something coming from up here, came up to give it a look. Nothing here at all. Come on lets go—"
Ron looked up towards the top of the stairs, "No it feels nice out here" his hand gingerly reached for her own, "How about we go up and give it a look.
She looked at their hands and then back to him, No—No no, absolutely not—I forbid it—
He kept his eyes on hers, as though he was trying to see if she was ok with what he had done. In typical Ron fashion, he couldn't read her face. He held on, and smiled "Come on, just five minutes?"
If this had happened before, she was sure her heart would have skipped a beat. If this had happened before, her feet wouldn't have dragged themselves up the stairs, but would have flown up to the top with him. If this had happened before, she would have blushed crimson. She wouldn't have noticed his hands were sweaty because hers were just as sweaty. She wouldn't have felt rocks in her stomach. It would have been butterflies.
Because last time—before—she had already decided she had forgiven him for Lavender. She had let tears fall on his shirt at Dumbledore's funeral. Last time she was in love with Him. Or, at the very least, she wanted to be.
This time she was trying to find an escape.
"I never knew about this tower, did you?" he asked when they reached the top. Hermione dropped his hand and walked towards the side, leaning over and looking up. "No," she lied, "I thought it was another classroom or something."
Ron tucked his hands in his pockets and looked up at the stars as well, then looking at Hermione. His gaze was similar to how it had been at Breakfast last week, and she wondered just how many times he gave her that look and she hadn't noticed.
"Hermione, I—I wanted to ask you something," Ron started.
The rocks in her stomach had grown into boulders, and she would have done anything for them to have come crushing down on her. They'd put her out of this misery.
"Hmm," Hermione asked, still gazing at the heavens, as though the orientation of Mars could prove her deliverance.
"I wanted to know if—I don't know, If you'd like to go out this weekend? Maybe a picnic by the lake or—"
"No," she said automatically, turning away from Mars and watched as Ron's head seemed to turn to see the pattern of the floor beneath them.
"No—I mean," Hermione walked over to him. Would it be so bad to tell him about Fred? She thought. Of Course he would—if Ron was going against his timeline—if he was asking her out—that meant that he was still interested in her and find out about her betrayal and his brother's—he can't know.
He was looking at her, waiting to hear that explanation. Lie Hermione. Lie.
"Ron, I don't know you anymore," she said, walking hesitantly towards him. "We haven't talked in months—"
"We talk almost every day," Ron pushed back. She could see his eyebrows twisted and his ears glowed red in the moonlight. "Everyday Hermione—I come down to breakfast, we say good morning. I ask if anyone we know has died you say yes or no and pass me the eggs—"
She shook her head and gave a rueful smile. "We share words everyday," Hermione said, "You're a stranger to me, just as much as I am to you."
"You're not a stranger," Ron quipped, stepping towards her and taking her hand. "Hermione—You're one of my best friends—you—"
"You hurt me Ron," Hermione said firmly, shaking her hand lose. Ron's hand flinched as she moved away. "You hurt me with Lavender. When it started, when it ended—You broke my heart."
The tower had grown quite. If it wasn't for the sound of blood pounding in her ears, she would have wondered if any of this was real. If it wasn't just another dream and the ghost of Hermione's past would come to toss her off the tower so to keep Ron alive for when a sensible Hermione resurfaced.
To her horror, Ron took a step closer to her. He moved as though he was going to hold her hands but hesitated a moment, before completing the moment. She felt the quaffle settling on her stomach and the uncomfortable sincerity in his eyes. "I never wanted to break your heart—I didn't mean to," he muttered, " I think at first I just wanted to make you jealous that someone was interested in me and then I was down a rabbit hole I couldn't escape."
He dropped one of her hands and took his free one tuck a stray curl behind her ear. No, don't do that—only Fred does that—I don't want you to—
"You've made me cry on an annual basis Ronald," she said evenly. "At some point, every year you've reduced me to tears—I can't do that. I used to come up with excuses for you," she could feel her hands shaking, just like her voice, "But I can't anymore."
"What If I promised," Ron started, his hand holding hers tightly, "What if—if I changed."
"I can't do another broken heart Ron, not for you" she said, letting go of his hand and looking away, looking at the distance. Trying to move her feet that had become cement. "And you shouldn't want to take a risk on me. You just got out of a relationship, you're confused—you don't know what you want—"
"Dammit it Hermione I do," Ron said firmly, his hand gripping her own now. "The way I feel for you, its nothing like how I felt for Lavender. I like you—I think I—"
"Don't." Hermione broke away, This is all a dream. This is all a very bad, bad dream.
"Can you give me a second chance" Ron asked," I mean, I think we've liked each other on and off again for the last six years. Are you really going to let that go just because of Lavender?"
I love your brother. I love Fred.
I love Fred.
"Let's be friends again," Hermione said, "We were friends before, that's where a lot of those feelings came from, Let's be friends again and maybe—" she took his hand this time, although everything within her seemed to shout against it. He looked down at their hands, and then at her face—"And Maybe?" he asked as though waiting for some magic words that could solve his inner distress.
"Let's be friends. And maybe—someday I can learn to trust you again," Hermione said hoping that her crossed fingers could serve as a signal to the universe that she was in desperate, dyer, emergency need of help.
Ron gave a nod squeezed her hand, " I think we could do that," he said at first as they headed down the stairs. Then he stopped suddenly, and turned to her, "No, I know we can do that. Just you wait—"
She stopped mid stepped and Ron, still holding her hand yanked himself back, "What is it?"
"What if I end up not feeling the same way about you?" Hermione asked tentatively. It was a brave question in its own way. Ron would never strike her, but she still felt nervous letting the words out of her.
"Then I am the fool who threw away his best shot at happiness," Ron said candidly, looking straight at her face, the moonlight casting his blue eyes into a silvery, almost deathly glaze.
What if I end up falling in love with your brother? She wanted to ask, What if I told you I was already with your brother?
Then, Hermione was certain, at that moment Ron wouldn't be as charming as he was right now.
((*))
When Hermione woke the next morning, she wished it was all a bad dream. That Ron hadn't been so vulnerable in asking her to give him a second chance. As she lay in her bed, she wondered if she could convince Lavender to give Ron a second chance. It was so much more convenient for her when the two of them where together.
All of her resolve to keep the knowledge of her and Fred from Ron seemed to crumbling. She had an out card—it just came at the cost of Ron leaving them before before they even started. She didn't have the foggiest idea how she was going to tell all of this to Fred; as much as they would both deny it, the brothers were cut from the same cloth and Fred would be livid when Hermione told him Ron had tried to ask her out. He'd probably insist that they snog around the Burrow over the summer so Ron could walk in and witness it and threaten to duel him. Her luck it'd be right before the Wedding, Victorie would get a hex to the face and they'd all be dead due to the joint wrath of Fleur and Molly.
This isn't supposed to happen. This isn't supposed to happen—she mentally chanted her holy mantra, turning on her side and pulling the blanket over her head. This isn't supposed to happen at all—
If she didn't tell either, she wondered if it would all go away. Maybe if she told just George he could find Ron a Veela cousin at the wedding for Ron—she'd act scandalized and he could go on to being the idiot who missed his shot. Fred wouldn't know the wiser and Molly wouldn't kill her sons.
Two months. You just have to keep you and Fred low key for two months…
A snap like a gunshot rung in the dormitory. There was a high pitched "YIP", that made Hermione jump up from her bed to see Parvati with her wand extended, pointing it from her bed at a trembling Dobby who had a silver tray with a blue teapot and cup.
"It's alright Parvati," Hermione said, looking at her roommate stare down the elf before she tucked back into her sheets, pulling the curtains to block out the morning sun as Lavender had when Dobby first arrived.
"Good Morning Miss," Dobby said pleasantly, placing the tea tray on her bed. " I wanted to wait till I saw you at breakfast but Professor Dumbledore asked to have this delivered straight away."
Hermione took the little scroll from the elf, "You shouldn't have, but thank you Dobby," she sighed a breath of relief.
"Not a problem Miss. I'll see you down stairs, I have a letter to deliver to Harry Potter as well,"
"To Harr—" but the words seemed to die in her voice. She looked at the date and the feeling of relief seemed to flee with the morning dew.
She looked at the letter and opened it quickly, her hand shaking violently as she did so.
Dear Miss Granger,
I was hoping to speak with you over lunch this afternoon to discuss a few last minute suggestions for your Summer Holiday. Please inform the gargoyles you share my taste of muggle candies, particularly Lemon Drops.
Yours faithfully,
Albus Dumbledore
She read the message a few more times before what it meant sunk in. The last time she had met with Dumbledore he had told her about the will, what he had left the three of them, she told him how he would need to work with Snape and Phineas Nigellus to guide them when they were on the run.
She didn't realize she was telling him how to say goodbye. Not then in that moment.
A few last minute suggestions for your Summer Holiday—those words seemed to press down on her like the boulders of last night.
Dumbledore's death was only a few hours away.
((*))
"Professor," Hermione called as she knocked the door. "Professor Dumbledore, are you here?" she asked, opening the door and gingerly looking behind it.
The office was empty. A hum of gadgets and trinkets played their steady melody on the counter tops. She could see the Pensive Basin just outside of it's cabinet and a few crystal vials glowing near by.
She walked closer, to the Basin, gingerly looking at the desk as though she half expected to see the chair magically filled by the Headmaster. But he wasn't in the chair or the office as she reached the basin.
When the battle was over, when they had all woken up in that first afternoon of peace, Harry had taken her up to the Pensive and showed her Snape's Memories. Ron hadn't come then, he was with his family. She wanted to go with him, be with the Weasleys as they grieved Fred, but Harry needed someone else to know. Someone else to see what he had seen. Someone to know what Snape had done,
It was an unpleasant memory, falling through time, through space, fingering your way through other people's memories. Witnessing the missed opportunities, the choices made and futures created at the cost of lost wasn't sure if everyone's memories were like Snapes, but she felt as though everything was bleak. As though there was very little light, until he met Lily—and when he lost her it got darker and dimmer than she thought it was possible.
Dumbledore's catalog of memories were in the crystal turnstile, his familiar slanted hand writing on papers that organized them. She wasn't sure if it was by subject, or year the hundreds of vials were organized by. But she saw something that caught her eye—
Her name, slanted with a date from last fall scribbled shortly their after. She looked closer and saw that there were a few more, with vials carrying Harry's name and interspersed between the dates. And he saved all the memories of these meetings? What would happen to them now? Surely—Surely he wasn't going to entrust them to Snape—
"I see you, like a moth to the flame have found the pensive?" a calm, almost cheerful Dumbledore said from behind her.
Hermione turned, surprised written on her face. "Professor, I—" she stopped for a moment, "You weren't here and I—I thought there was something glowing and I came over to see."
"It's not a sin to be curious Miss Granger," Dumbledore said with a smile this time, "In fact, it is the sign of intellect that tends to mistaken as a vice more than the virture it is."
"Yes," Hermione said nodding, but looking at the vials and then Dumbledore, "Professor, are those memories—are they of our meetings?"
"They are," Dumbledore said, his turn to look at the turnstile of memories, "You see Miss Granger, when you make it to how old as I am, you find that memories can sometimes be best served from a different perspective. Especially in different circumstances." He sized up the vials and gave a bitter sweet smile, "I think I have gained all I can from these memories for now—these are for you now."
"For me?" she asked, looking at them all again, "All of these?"
"No—just the ones with your name on them. And Harry's of course," Dumbledore said, waving his non-dead hand as 8 or so vials leaped from their container and placed themselves ever so softly back on the desk, next to a stack of books.
Hermione recognized the books almost instantly. The worn, black leather. The silver lettering long lost you could only tell the title as it had been embossed. "Professor, those are the Horcrux Books."
"They are," Dumbeldore said simply, "Miss Granger—the time has come I'm afraid. Harry will be coming later this afternoon and we are going to attempt to get the locket."
"Professor—" She wanted to tell him it was a fake. But he had been insistent he not know anything explicit about the Horcruxes. Dumbledore was going to his death thinking it meant he was getting Harry a step closer to defeating Voldemort.
"I know you told me that youre able to get these books after I die—but I figured It be better you get them while I'm living. You were lucky last time. I'm afraid the Minister would be very anxious to know why you were summoning books on Dark Magic," Dumbledore nodded to the stack.
"Thank you," Hermione said taking the books and memories and placing them in her extendable bag.
Dumbledore sat in his chair behind the desk. "I also hoped to trouble you for a moment, have a cup of tea?"
Hermione sat down in the seat across from him and two china cups appeared while an aged tea pot with lilac painted flowers zoomed in from the study. She smiled, "Knew I'd say yes?" she asked.
"I knew you would be kind to an old man," Dumbledore smiled, "Especially as he has called you to say goodbye."
She looked down at the ground, "Professor—are you sure—"
"Of a great many things, no," Dumbledore interrupted, "But I am sure that I am ready, and more importantly, that you are as well."
"That makes one of us," Hermione shrugged, "Professor, what if I mess it up? What if I go off the path and something terrible happens?"
"Then something terrible happens," Dumbledore said simply. "But you will be able to make it back on the path. I know you Miss Granger, and you will do what ever it takes to see Harry defeat Lord Voldemort."
"So go ahead through caution to the wind and get it all done in three months?" Hermione asked, " If you want, don't go tonight and I'll go pick up the missing horcruxes now—I'll—"
"No Miss Granger," Dumbledore said with a knowing smile. "Harry isn't ready yet. He needs to be—in order for what needs to be done. I do advise you stick as close to the timeline as you can, for his sake."
Hermione looked at her cup of tea. Typically, she used to get a sense of comfort from a cup of tea. When she stayed at Granny Granger, she used to get a cup before she went to bed and it seemed to make everything right. She took a sip and the only thing that seemed to spread throughout her was a warm sense of uncomfortably that had been left from Ron.
"Professor—I have something silly to ask—"
"In my near 70 years of education I can tell you I have heard my fair share of silly questions and very few, if any, where silly questions," Dumbledore laughed, lifting his cup of tea. "But please, do try."
"You know about Fred and I, I've told you as much—"
"Yes. You have," Dumbledore said with a smile that seemed to add a sparkle to his eyes, "Remus reports he is quite smitten with you. What could be silly about that?"
"I—" she hadn't told Dumbeldore that Fred would die. No, he isn't going to die—she hadn't told him that there was a chance Fred could die.
She wasn't sure what she was trying to ask. Ron wants to date me, but I haven't told him I'm seeing his brother—how do you think that will effect the Horcrux hunt? Or better yet, There's a chance Fred can die—I don't want him to die. I won't be able to make it if he dies—how can I keep him from that?
"How do you say goodbye?" Hermione asked, "that seems like a really silly question—" her voice broke and she shook her head, " I mean, that's what we're doing right now, aren't we?"
Dumbledore leaned in his chair, and turned over to see Fawkes coming through the window; cooing at the sight of Dumbledore and Hermione.
"We don't," Dumbledore said, "Because when we say goodbye, it has a sense of finality. Something you don't return to."
"But Headmaster, this is the final time—"
Dumbledore smiled yet again and gave her a mischievous look over his half rimmed glasses, "Oh Miss Granger, The ones who love us never truly leave us. You must know that by now."
She looked down at her shoes. This wasn't what she wanted to hear. She didn't want to hear pleasant sound bites she could write down in a card and leave when she disappeared in the August night.
"I suppose," Hermione said. Finality. That's what stuck out to her. Dumbledore was talking about finality and that's what Fred's death would mean if she failed. No do-overs. Not again. Just his last laugh etched on his face and failure carved into hers.
She felt a warm hand touch hers and give it the softest of squeezes. "It's best to say goodbye the same way you'd say hello," Dumbledore answered softly, "a warm embrace and a touch that lingers once your path no longer does."
She gripped on to his hand with both of hers, and she could feel tears start to prick at the back of her eyes. It shouldn't be this way. She could stop it. She could save him, she could save Dumbledore and maybe that would save Fred.
"It is a far better thing I do than I have ever done before," Dumbledore said gently, again squeezing her hands, "It is a far better rest that I go to than I have ever know before."
((*))
The bell to the shop tinkled as the last group of patrons left for the day. Fred waved his wand and the sign flipped over to "Closed" as laughter erupted from the back room.
It was late. The Brothers had been testing with late hours, seeing if that would help intice customers to come to the alley. He and George had tried talking a few of the other shops—Flourish and Blotts, Quality Quidditch Supply, a few more—into staying open and doing an event on the Alley, draw comfort and strength in numbers. But the other shops were having a hard enough time getting their employees to stay till the end of their present working hours. A few extra galleons wasn't enough to tempt them.
"What are you lot going on about?" Fred asked as he walked into the backroom. George and Lee were shaking with laughter as Fleur sat triumphant in the chair as though a queen on her throne.
"Our dearest sister-to-be just gave us her best Celestina Warbeck impersonation," George said, looking from Fleur to Fred, with tears brimming in his eyes."Or better yet, mum's impersonation of Celestina."
Lee wiped his eyes and turned to Fred, "Honestly, it's spot on."
Fleur gave a mock bow as the two applauded over her.
"You brave brave woman," Fred grinned patting Fleur's shoulder.
"No Fred, your brother is the brave one," Fleur said rolling her eyes, " Or he will need to be if he doesn't come back soon."
"Let me guess, brother dearest asked you to a late night dinner and dropped you off with his favourites while he fill in for Mad Eye," George said laughing.
"Oh, so it's Monsieur Mad Eye's fault," Fleur scowled, folding her arms with a glare that resembled Mrs Weasley more than Fred would ever admit. "He told me we could take a flight up and down the coast—there's enough fog off of Dover no one would see, but no Monsieur Mad Eye sends a patronus"
Fred felt bad for throwing Mad Eye under the Knight Bus. It was only half true. In Mad Eye's defense, Bill was on call for help tonight and when an owl had come from Dumbledore that evening asking for extra help to the school, Bill had no choice.
Fleur had helped in the shop for the past few hours. George and Lee had entertained her with a few of their new Dream Witch Line. After forty five minutes of pouring over the boxes for Gabrielle, she was growing irritated, something Fred accounted to growing anxiety. She had looked at the door three or four times since Fred came into the room.
"Don't worry Fleur, He'll be back soon and you can give him the hell he has to pay," Fred said, "Just make sure George and Lee get to see it when you do—"
There was a sudden crash from the front room and all four of them jumped to their feet, wands extended. Fred turned to George first, "Come on Georgie, probably just some delinquent who wants his hands removed for him. Lee?"
"We'll be right behind you," he said evenly. " Right Fleur?"
She nodded. Fred gripped his wand as they pressed forward into the main room.
The shop was eerie in the dark. But what was more eerier was the silvery weasel glowing on the counter. Fred had seen that weasel before and it hadn't been a good thing on that occasion.
That time, it was to tell them Ginny and Ron had been injured. That lead him to Hermione confused about what year it was—
"Come to the school at once" his father's voice said, standing on its hind legs, "Bill's been attacked."
Fred seemed to freeze on the spot, but he could hear Fleur take in a sharp breath. He turned around and the color was drained from her face. If possible her eyes seemed to have gone vacant and she looked as great and as terrible as the Veelas from the Quidditch World Cup.
"Come to the school at once. Bill's been attacked."
AN: I feel as though I crammed a whole lot in that chapter!
I loved writing this chapter because it was a lot of relationships; especially between Hermione and those who are important to her-Harry (and Ginny), Ron and Dumbledore. I know this story is a lot of Time Travel-But this is something our girl is going to be struggling with, something i hope was reflected in this chapter. If we're being honest, this is probably one of my favourite chapters i've written in a while just because of the relationships and the sense of responsibility and duty Hermione feels towards them.
Next Chapter is the last chapter at Hogwarts (Halla-freaking-lujah). And we're going to start seeing more evidence of Hermione putting away the scholar and putting on the warrior persona. And there will be baggage that comes with that, be sure. Meanwhile, Fred is going to be grappling with what Dumbledore's death means for him, the shop, and of course Hermione.
Thank you all for being wonderful sunshines in my life. You make my writing beam with sunlit rays.
Until next time, KH.