"Well, I guess we'd better leave immediately. The paperwork's all been drawn up with you listed as a witness for the prosecution, that'll all need to be revised." Harry was bustling now, looking for something to do with his hands. Hermione was confused by his reaction.
"Aren't you...well, honestly, aren't you angry?"
"It would depend, it seems, on whether you said that to make me angry, Hermione, because childish spite was never your game before."
"I didn't, but that also had never stopped you from jumping to conclusions about me in the past." She surprised herself with her composure. Hermione didn't remember a conversation with anyone lasting as long as this one in nearly two decades.
Harry sighed, his hand stilling on the table top, his coffee mug long since drained and forgotten under the tiny windowsill.
"Look, Hermione, I don't know you anymore. You don't know me. I was set here to collect you because of the parole hearing. Whatever testimony you wish to enter, however insane I may find it, is your business. Let's not pretend that we mean enough to one another to cause insult. I will ferry you to London, per my orders, and my part in this will be fulfilled. I can go back to my life, and to pretending that we never met. That IS what you want, isn't it, Hermione?"
Hermione stilled at his words, given pause at the frank honesty of his assessment. Was it what she wanted?
"Harry, I feel as if I must provide some clarity here. You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I wish to erase our friendship entirely."
Harry broke in, bitterly.
"Well, I can't imagine where I would have gotten THAT idea, what with the ignored letters and the magically-hidden living situation here in the middle of the godforsaken wilderness."
"Yes...I can see where you would have concluded that I wished to cut ties with you as much as everyone else. But it wasn't like that, Harry. I'd just found out that my parents could never go back to the way they had been. In essence, I killed them, Harry. I stole their lives and sent them on their way as new people. And yet, I was lauded as a hero in the War as much as you. 'For the greater good' they all said, trying to console me. But the truth was, and still is, that I performed the darkest of magic to, in effect, murder my own parents at the behest of a radical political group. I was a child, Harry, we were all children. Yet the Order sent us into the trenches with all the idealism and enthusiasm of every terrorist organization that ever was. When it was all over, I couldn't live with myself. I couldn't bear the reality of what I had done, and I couldn't bear you lot trying to ease my soul with your 'greater good' rhetoric. I had to go. I just had to."
Hermione hadn't planned on saying that much, and she inhaled deeply at the expended energy. Harry looked at her, searchingly, and then looked out the window.
"'Be kind to yourself' and all that, Hermione? Do you think you're the only one with demons, with nightmares, with fucking regrets? What makes you so special?"
"What makes me special, Harry, is that I didn't stay and kow tow to the new regime. I didn't offer up embellished testimony about the heroism of the dead, and I certainly didn't stay to crucify those who had fought against the new order. I wanted to start over, to live a life uninfluenced by political radicals and lovers of violence. And I cut ties because, despite all their promises of a new and free society, I knew that I had only one place in it: the token Muggleborn wife of the hero-son of the so-called Blood Traitors. I didn't want to marry Ron, Harry, I didn't want to be trotted out like a prize horse. I didn't know what I wanted, but it certainly wasn't that."
The campground had begun waking up around them. The noises of children laughing and generators firing up had begun to filter through the thin glass of the windows in the camper.
"Which is it, Hermione? Were you devastated by the loss of your parents or did you run away from the Weasley family?"
"I think it started out being that my family was gone forever, but over time, I came to realize that I had been using that grief as a crutch, an excuse. I HAD wanted to break ties with Ron, and with the Order in general, but it wasn't until after I had already run away that I knew it for sure. It felt right, Harry. However you felt, however Ron felt, leaving felt right for me." Her composure, so sure at first, had begun to crumble. "I'm sorry that I hurt you. I am. But you have to understand that I felt, for a long time, that it was this or that. I felt that it was either stay in Britain and be the trophy on Ron's arm, or leave and finally live without the stigma of my birth, of my sins, hanging over my head all the time. I stood tall for the first time in months, that day I got off the plane in Los Angeles. I felt liberated. Whatever the consequences have been of that decision to run, I am satisfied with the outcome."
Harry said nothing for a long time, fingering what looked like a scar on his left hand. Hermione saw that the words from the blood quill, forced on him by Umbridge so many years ago, were still there. Faded, but still on his hand. For the first time in a long time, Hermione wished she could simply reach out and take that hand.
"I suppose I can understand the guilt about your parents. I still feel that way about Sirius. They try to excuse it all away, but I know that truly, it was my own fault that he died. Hearing Ron, even Ginny, try to ease my guilt, it makes me almost sick. It's gotten to the point where we don't discuss it anymore. But Hermione, you had to know that Ron wasn't your only option in our world. I mean, maybe to Molly, but when has she EVER been completely in her right mind? Sending her children into battle like that, like a zealot, when she should have taken them and ran. I will never understand it, and Ginny flies into too much of a rage whenever I try to bring it up. The truth is, Hermione, you took some of our ability to heal with you when you left. You were the balm to our wounds. We just didn't ever imagine you having wounds of your own that we couldn't heal."
When had she started to cry? And tears were leaking from her eyes, silently dripping down her cheeks. Hermione did nothing to stop them from flowing, didn't rub at them in shame or anger at herself. It felt good to cry, here, with Harry, the brother she had always wanted. If it had taken seventeen years to come to this moment, Hermione felt none of them.
"I'm sorry, for my part. I'm sorry you felt that you couldn't stay and that when you left, you felt like you couldn't come back. I'm glad you've found peace here, Hermione. But don't shut us...me...out in order to achieve it. I've done nothing but wish the best for you all these years, even when you wouldn't owl me back. Forget the parole hearing, you can testify however you want if it's up to me, just, come back for a bit. Maybe people aren't as you're remembering them."
Hermione sniffed loudly.
"If I do go back, I guess I'm afraid that I won't be able to leave."
Harry left off worrying his scar, and grasped Hermione's hand in his. It eased something in her heart, like a door opening onto a sunny morning.
"Hermione, you do what you want. If these last years have proved nothing else, you're absolutely autonomous. Nobody can tell you what to do. Come back to Britain, take care of this hearing nonsense, and stay for a little while. If you hate it, I'll have a Portkey made up for you just for that, so you can bail whenever you need to. Just, give us a chance. It's been a long time, yeah?"
Hermione nodded, feeling braver with her hand in Harry's after so many years.
"Yeah, it sure has been."
"So, let's get you packed for a nice stay in London, and work on getting a trip home arranged, how does that sound?"
"It sounds good."
#
The packing, and the trip to the International Portkey office in Portland took up the remainder of the day. Ensconced in a small booth at a diner just outside of Portland, Harry once again grabbed Hermione's hand.
"So, d'you think you could tell me why you want to testify for Malfoy, then?"
Although she had known the questions were coming, she paused for a moment, to collect her thoughts. Stirring her drink, something tasty with ginger beer and mint, she thought of how to phrase herself.
"Well, it's actually got very little to do with Lucius Malfoy as a person, you know. I only met him a few times, really. I can't think why the Ministry would want me to testify against him in the first place, come to think of it. Any insight there, Harry?"
"I think it's because you're the last mystery, the disappearing act in the Golden Trio. Ron and I have both been trotted out for various cases over the years, including Snape's, though his was posthumous. Our names, though still worth something, are old hat by now. You, however, you haven't supported anyone since the War. I think their goal is two-fold: suss out your true loyalties, and exploit your name to serve their aims. You testifying for the other side will frustrate both of those aims, though, so be prepared for some public outcry. The Prophet is still pretty much in the Ministry's pocket, they'll definitely use that against you now that you're going off-leash."
Hermione gripped Harry's hand harder as a flash of fear struck at her gut.
"How did Lavender find me again, Harry?"
"Don't worry on that account. She's a rather accomplished Seer, though she's much better at finding lost things than she is at seeing the future. She searched for you every year for Ron's birthday, it's all he ever asks for anymore. They aren't together, if you're wondering that as well. He hasn't settled with anyone since you left, though has been quite the parade of hopefuls. You're sort of built up as this ideal in his mind. You'll want to watch out for that, if you see him. He'll demand it, though I can try to head him off if it bothers you that much."
Hermione could tell from his expression that he hoped it wouldn't, and she said little.
"I won't promise a tearful reunion with Ron, Harry, though I won't run from him if we're in the same room. It's been a long time for me, my feelings for him withered on the vine many years ago."
"Anyways, the Ministry wasn't really LOOKING for you until this case, and Lavender is good, but even she can't lie under Veritaserum."
"They...interrogated her?" Memories of cruel girlhood remarks were quickly replaced with concern, and Hermione wondered, not for the first time, what exactly she went home to when she traveled to Britain.
"Like I said, Wild West."
"So she only found me this year?"
Harry nodded.
"YOu've been very good at hiding from us, Hermione. YOu cover your tracks well, you don't use your real name, the whole nine yards. But Lavender has this innate ability. It almost seems...cumulative. The longer she looks for something, the more specific she can be when she does find it. When she told me that you were in Florence, she knew the name of the campground, even the make and model of your truck, your site number, everything. She's scary good."
"Hmm. Tell me more about Lucius Malfoy. Why is he up for parole at all, I would have though that he'd have been Kissed for sure."
Harry let go of Hermione's hand and leaned back in the booth, signaling to their waitress that he wanted another drink. She brought it over disinterestedly, forgetting to take his empty glass with her when she walked away.
"It's honestly been quite the public debate. There are those who want him Kissed, for sure. Every so often, the Ministry still raids the Malfoy estate for any trinket they'd have been stupid enough to leave lying around. However, they've got nothing on him. He's a model prisoner, his wife and son re-entered society with newfound charity towards the under-privileged. They've all three of them done everything they can to portray this aura of...contrition, maybe? It just doesn't seem right, and a lot of people can see that. That's why he hasn't been Kissed yet. So, the Ministry figures they can haul out a war hero, stir up some anti-Death-Eater hysteria, and end the whole matter before summer."
"How awful! What charges have they brought against him?"
"That's the other strange thing about it. He hasn't even been formally charged with anything. They initially brought him in during the chaos of the Reconstruction, that's what they're calling the take-over of the Ministry, and I think he just sort of got lost in the shuffle. He's been held without trial now for seventeen years."
"Well, that's obviously not right."
Harry chuckled.
"This isn't S.P.E.W., Hermione, and he isn't a cuddly house elf. He's still a very dangerous man."
"Yes, but without any due process. I'll need to read up on British Wizarding Law, of course, but from a human standpoint alone, that just isn't okay."
Her eyes had gone distant as she planned a visit to Diagon Alley to scrounge up some research material. Perhaps she could convince Draco Malfoy to lend her the Malfoy library.
"Hermione! Earth to Hermione!"
"Oh, yes, terribly sorry. I got a bit distracted there."
"Look, you aren't needed to save Malfoy. I'm not even sure the Ministry would let him go even if they WERE caught for the due process thing. It may be a case of them doing the right thing in spite of their own incompetence. Lucius Malfoy isn't a nice person, Hermione. He's done a lot of very nasty things for a very long time."
"But it's not fair, is it? And I'm all about what's fair. Perhaps if they'd only give him a trial, they could convict him properly. Only, no, that wouldn't work, because it would mean admitting that they forgot to have one for nearly two decades, yeah?"
"At this point, I'm not sure why they're holding a parole hearing at all, if for no other reason than the appearance of justice being served. It's been enough time that people would wonder about a parole hearing, but not long enough that they'd forget why he's in Azkaban in the first place."
"Answer me this, Harry: Is the current regime better than the old one?"
Harry hesitated in answering, looking around the diner as if for some spy, waiting to catch him on a single insubordinate word.
"Honestly, Hermione, I don't think so. I got into the MLE to make a change, to save lives. But yet I find myself being hauled out for every Ministry gala, every charity event, every ribbon cutting. I could have asked for the whole bloody government, and I honestly think they would have given it to me. This Lucius thing, it's so far from the top of the list of grievances, but it is indicative of what's going on."
Hermione could only sip her drink, and ponder on her next move. This felt right, plotting again, commiserating over the offenses of the regime. It was familiar territory, and suddenly Hermione was very, very scared. For the first time all day, she wondered how long she could hide again if she were simply to Disapparate somewhere very far, far away.
"I will testify for Malfoy, because that's right, but that's it. I won't play instrument in your little coup. I can see now that that's where this conversation has been heading, and I want to make one thing very clear: I am nobody's tool. I want no part in overthrowing another government. I lost both my parents in the last one, and I fear what I would lose in the next one."
Harry drained his drink, something that smelled strongly of whiskey, and rubbed at his jaw.
"I won't discuss it anymore, since it upsets you. But just so you know, it's all me at this point. There is no Order of the Phoenix this time, because they've become the thing they fought to abolish. It's just me, sitting at my desk watching the abuse of power grow more blatant, and the jail cells fill with suspects instead of offenders. I'm worried, Hermione, and this hearing thing couldn't have come at a better time. I just needed to tell someone what was going on that isn't already a part of it, and that's been done. So finish your drink, and we'll use the Portkey to get back to London tonight, and we won't talk about this any more. Good enough?"
Hermione noticed that her hands were shaking, but she nodded just the same.
"Good enough, Harry. Good enough."