Chapter Nine
Harry had (just barely) been able to wheedle an advanced copy out of the paper before it ran. It was his only insurance, since he knew perfectly well that no amount of apology or explanation would put things right if he were taken out of context. He'd answered questions for the press before, and even gone through an excruciating formal interview when he'd first revealed his identity. It was different this time. The interviewer was a young rising star as the paper, and she'd been totally receptive to anything Harry had to say. He'd found himself saying much more than he intended, much more openly.
So, he had to make sure he could live with the result. His plan was to sabotage the printing tonight to keep it from getting out, if he was unhappy with it. They'd never agree to change it this late in the game, and they'd purposely given him the advance as late as they possibly could. The owl had arrived while he was working on the most difficult Potion he had ever brewed, and it had to sit there for nearly fifteen minutes until he arrived at a place in the process where he could take a break. He was already annoyed when he sat down and determined not to like what he read.
He settled down on his bed, and unconsciously held his breath for more than half the article.
A Hero in the Making
By Gertrude Garnet
The young man in front of me runs his hands through his hair with an endearing nervous energy, seeming not to realise that the already messy black locks are now sticking out every which way. He looks uncomfortable and restless, even though patrons of Three Broomsticks normally love its cheerful and warm atmosphere.
"Try to relax," I urge him. "I know I'm a reporter, but I don't bite. Promise."
He laughs, and seems to settle. "Sorry. You must be used to it, huh?"
Well, I am learning to be. He is no different from many people I've interviewed, with an anxiety that I will deliberately misquote or misrepresent him. I am the press, after all. But today of all days, I want things to be different. The two of us have come for the same thing. We're here to figure out the truth, even if it takes both of us.
"I can forget I work for the newspaper if you can," I tell him with a smile.
He relaxes even more, and with that heartbreaker of a smile on display, it's easy to understand the rumours of his popularity with the ladies. He has a reputation for being a charming and engaging boy. The more I talk to him, the more I think that it's a totally false conception. He's not a boy at all, despite his youth, and he's far too serious to be charming. With the weight of the world on his shoulders, how could he be anything less than a fully capable and mature wizard?
Well. Enough of my comments and interpretation. I am committed to giving the public exactly what it needs, exactly what this young man wants. From here on, I leave nothing out and add nothing superfluous. I asked the questions, he gave me the answers, and now I can present nothing more or less than the unedited words of Harry James Potter.
GG: You've spoken to the press before, and I have no wish to waste our time together with repetitious questions about your plans to stop Voldemort, or anything of that nature. I'm here to get to know you, as a person. Sound good to you?
HP: Sounds quite frightening, doesn't it? Who wants the Chosen One to be a real person?
GG: You make a good point, Mr. Potter.
HP: Oh, god, don't call me that. Just Harry.
GG: Thank you, Harry. Well, to answer your question: me. I'm very interested in finding out just who our chosen hero is. Let me start by asking you a really loaded question: are you sorry you returned to Britain?
HP: Whoa, that is loaded. Well, I'm going to choose to interpret that as a question of how badly I miss the other places I've lived. The answer is, not terribly. England is where I was born, and where my family and heritage is. The other places I've been only seemed like home because Sirius—my godfather—was always with me.
GG: You two seem exceptionally close. Would you say that your connection through your parents has brought that about?
HP: No, not really. Of course, that is what brought us together to begin with, but we stayed together because we love each other. Sirius has been raising me since I was eight years old. He gave up his entire life, several times over, just to stay with me. I want to say that I owe him for that, but we don't think of our relationship in terms of who owes what. He filled the need for a father in my life, and he's done an excellent job.
GG: Some would say that going on the run and never letting you stay in one place for too long is bad parenting. What do you say?
HP: Wow, you really aren't going to ask the typical questions, are you? Not that I'm complaining, I'm quite tired of the political crap. Anyway, the answer is, we did what we had to do to stay safe. In that respect, Sirius did a better job than anyone could have asked. Not only that, but I was always very happy to go to a new place, and I sometimes got to pick the spot. I absolutely love travelling to new places and experiencing new cultures and types of people. I love learning new languages and customs and eating things I've never tasted before. Every time we went somewhere new, I learned a new way of thinking and was exposed to different styles of education. So wouldn't you say that Sirius gave me a great deal more than any traditional parent ever has?
GG: I'm not here to make any judgements at all, I'm just here to let you talk. I will say that your passion speaks volumes. If I had any doubts about the love and loyalty in your home, I've lost them. Since we are on the topic of your home, would you be willing to answer some questions about the rumours that Remus Lupin has distanced himself from you and your cause?
HP: No, I wouldn't.
GG: Okay. Um, let's move on.
HP: Wait, I do want to say one thing about that. You promise this will be printed exactly the way I say it? Never mind, I know you have editors and all that rot. I'll just say it anyway. Whatever anyone might hear about Remus Lupin, I want them to remember that he is one of the best men I know and totally deserving of the support of the magical community. I have heard the rumours that we kicked him out or that he became uncomfortable living with us because he has lycanthropy, and I want it to be known that it isn't true. I will always consider him a member of my family, and I am insulted that anyone thinks Sirius and I are such bigots.
GG: Okay, thank you for clearing that up, Harry. I take it that you feel strongly about werewolf rights?
HP: Like I was hiding my opinions? I've been trying to get involved in some new legislation and I've been as loud as possible in my support of the changes that would allow werewolves to find work and homes among the rest of the wizarding population. There's not a lot that I would say Muggles do better than wizards, but the way they've improved the treatment of people with illnesses is one of them. I'm not trying to say anything nasty about wizards. I'm simply saying that we are very slow to adapt to change, and I'd like to see us speed up this process. Um, I'm sorry. I really went off on you, didn't I? I apologise.
GG: Don't be sorry, Harry. We're here to have an open dialogue, and I'm glad to see you opening up about your personal feelings.
HP: Oh. Well, what's next?
GG: I have a huge list of questions I could ask you, but . . .
HP: Did you just throw your notes away?
GG: I did. I'd much rather just let you talk. You seem to have a lot to say.
HP: I guess I do. It's funny, because I didn't think I had that much I wanted to say today. I'm not used to reporters just listening to me, or asking me questions about this kind of stuff.
GG: I hope it's a welcome change.
HP: Yeah, this is great. Normally, it's all, do you think you can defeat You-Know-Who? [Editor's comment: Despite Ms. Garnet's adamant insistence that no editing be done to Mr. Potter's words, we felt it was in the best interests of our readers not to use the name Mr. Potter used for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Ms. Garnet has reviewed this article and agrees that this has been our sole editorial change to the original text, though she wishes it to be made clear that she protests the change, as it speaks toward Mr. Potter's character that he uses this name.] Is your alliance to Dumbledore part of your political aspirations? Do you support such and such a candidate to replace Fudge? Do you plan to lead wizards in battle? There's so much that I obviously can't talk about if I want it to succeed, and I'm tired of begging off questions like that. Of course, now I'm worried you're going to start asking me about girlfriends or something.
GG: Well, since you bring it up, Harry, why don't you tell me about that. Any special women in your life?
HP: I know a lot of special women. No, really, I don't have a girlfriend right now. As I'm sure you can appreciate, I've had other things on my mind. Honestly, I don't know if anyone could put up with me for very long. I barely find the time to sleep, and my friends tell me I'm a very boring conversationalist. All I ever talk about is what I'm studying.
GG: You're quite a serious student, by all accounts.
HP: I am, in a lot of ways. It's not really about school, exactly. I'm not interested in how many NEWTS I get or what grade I get on a term exam. My real concern is that I learn the most I possibly can from every book I read and every professor I study under. From every person I meet, really. I'm a student of everything. Does that make sense? Even when I'm just trying to relax, I'm still learning. It's always been really important to me to take something new away from every thing and every person I encounter.
GG: Do you think that's just the way you are, or would you say there is a deeper reason for it?
HP: When I was younger, I thought I was going to be the greatest wizard of all time. I thought I was going to learn so much so quickly that I could laugh while I defeated enemies with one arm tied behind my back. Obviously, that wasn't very realistic, and I figured that out only too quickly. But even back then, I loved to learn. It's become so much a part of me that I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. I don't think I'll ever be considered the greatest wizard of all time, but if something I've learned helps someone or keeps something bad from happening, I'll know that I wasn't just wasting my time. I think I would be horrified if I got to the end of my life, and all the things I'd learned hadn't done any good. I want to make the world better. Really, what are any of us here for, if not that?
GG: That's a beautiful idea, Harry. But it sounds exhausting. I'll admit, I was never the top student in my class, but even a really bright student would have a hard time keeping up with you. How do you manage to achieve such results in the classroom while simultaneously shining on the Quidditch pitch?
HP: Because I love Quidditch! Probably as much as I love learning. I'm not much of a poet, and I think I'd have to be one to be able to describe what it's like. Playing, I mean, or even flying. The wind rushing past you, the thrill of adrenaline of the game while you revel in doing something you're good at, and that deeper knowledge that you're part of a team that is all experiencing the excitement with you . . . Um.
GG: Sounds like you're more of a poet than you thought. Do you think participating in Quidditch eases some of the stress in the rest of your life?
HP: Not with Ron Weasley as my team captain! Just joking, Ron is great. But Quidditch is hard work just as much as it's fun. Now I'm just rambling. I think it does relieve a lot of stress, yeah. Doing something purely physical and just letting go for a while is nice.
GG: One look at you and I can tell you're quite used to doing physical things. Does Ron ask everyone on the team to stay in such great shape?
HP: Um, no. Well, we all stay in decent shape, you can't do the things we do on brooms if you're not, but I tend to go a little overboard. Why not, right? Everybody needs a hobby.
GG: I've heard you're part of a group of students who meets regularly to practice dueling techniques. Do you think your physical strength is a factor in your achievements with that group?
HP: Definitely. Helps to be able to dodge, just in case. But that's only part of the story. There are so many different factors in a magical fight. I'm far from being the only one who can hold their own in the, um, club. Simple commitment and practice goes a long way, which is what Neville would tell you. He's our leader.
GG: Would that be Neville Longbottom?
HP: Yeah.
GG: Was this dueling club formed prior to your attendance at Hogwarts?
HP: Um, no. Actually, I started it. But I got too busy, and I wanted Neville to take over. He has a ton of knowledge and more dedication than the rest of us put together. He's a great guy.
GG: So, no hard feelings between the two of you, then?
HP: Merlin, you would bring that up. No, Neville and I are friends. Why wouldn't we be? We're both on the same side, for the same reasons. Like I said, Neville was who I wanted to keep our club going after I couldn't do it anymore. He's pretty amazing.
GG: I see I've touched a sore spot for you, Harry. Care to elaboratet?
HP: I just don't see the point in the public trying to decide between me and Neville. I don't think it makes a difference. Both of us are sixteen years old and too inexperienced to lead this fight. We're just two among many who think that what's going on in our world is wrong and needs to be stopped. We are part of something much greater than ourselves, something I hope would go on without either of us if we weren't here.
GG: Do you really feel that it's wrong to have a symbol of hope, even with the world continually growing darker?
HP: No, no, of course not. Hope and faith are really the only reasons to keep going. But put your hope in something meaningful, not in me. I'm only one person. We need to have faith, collectively, wizards I mean, that we are better than this. Faith that together we're going to make a better world. I can't do that for all of us. If people want to look up to me, that's fine, but . . . I would only want that if I can be a good example of what a fighter in this war looks like, not as some kind of hero who's going to save them. Because even if I wanted to, I can't do that. We're all going to save each other. That's what I believe. I'll do my part. I'm doing it right now. But you have a part, as well.
GG: I really appreciate you sharing that, Harry. That's an amazing thought, that we could all save each other. I really can't wait to share this with my readers.
HP: Yeah. I almost forgot that's what we were doing. I didn't feel like I was talking to a reporter at all. Are you sure you're from the paper?
GG: Yes, I really am. Believe it or not, Harry, I think the world ought to hear what you have to say. Not only that, but exactly as you said it. If we're going to put you up on a pedestal, I think we owe it to you.
HP: I didn't think of it that way. You're a really good listener, you know? I could get used to this. Hey, you get the exclusive interview when I lead England to win the Quidditch World Cup, okay?
GG: Oh, I'm going to remember that. I know how valuable your time is, and I can't thank you enough for allowing me this interview.
HP: Honestly, Ms. Garnet, it was no trouble at all. This was really not what I was expecting.
GG: So you learned something new. I guess you've met your real goal, then.
HP: She's funny, too. I still find it hard to believe that you're going to print this. People are actually going to know what I believe. I was beginning to think they never would.
GG: Have a little faith, Harry.
I mean it as a parting joke, but the extraordinary green eyes begin to fill with tears. I can see that the things he's been discussing with such conviction and passion are beginning to overwhelm him. We exchange a few more words, and I know that he is trying very hard to hold his emotions together. He's been let down too many times, and I can hardly express how amazing it feels to be the one with the opportunity to correct that.
He tries to thank me, but I don't need any thanks. The privilege was all mine.
Besides, he promised me an exclusive interview when he becomes a Quidditch star. Don't think I won't hold you to it, Harry Potter.
Harry clutched the copy in his hands so tightly that the pages began to wrinkle. He couldn't believe it. It was actually going to print, and they weren't going to edit out anything they didn't like. He'd liked Ms. Garnet from the moment she'd shaken his hand, simply because she didn't fawn over him. He only grew to like her more the further they got into the interview. It had never started to feel like an interview, more like a conversation between friends.
She hadn't asked him about Voldemort, or Dumbledore, or if thoughts of his dead parents were guiding him. Not one stupid question. She'd just let him talk. It was unbelievable. And as a result, this was the first time since he and Sirius had come out in public that he wasn't dreading opening up the morning paper.
He had to get Ms. Garnet something really nice. Maybe a potted plant.
Speaking of plants . . . he needed sleep, but he had to get back to brewing. This was too important to be anything less than perfect.
Breakfast. The Great Hall. The release of the morning paper.
It was only two or three minutes before the sleepy mumbles erupted into a steady buzz of conversation. Harry looked up at the staff table and he and Sirius beamed at each other with pride. Dumbledore seemed too careworn and distracted to share in their happiness, and Professor Snape was sneering at the paper with a disdain that was half-show and half-sincere.
Harry wanted to look down the table to where Hermione sat, but Jonny was there with his head practically laid on her shoulder, reading the article with her, so Harry turned away. Ron, sitting beside him, became very quiet, but Ginny was there to pound his shoulders and tell him what a great job he'd done.
"I didn't actually do anything," he answered.
She plopped down next to him and stole a piece of toast off his plate. "You're doing it right now," she said, crunching into it and speaking without concern for the fact that her mouth was full. "All the stuff that you were talking about in that interview."
"So, if I'm hearing you right, you're congratulating me for having opinions?"
Ginny scowled at him. "Get over yourself, Great One, I can tell how pleased you are."
"How can I be pleased? You've stolen my toast!"
"Your coffee, too," she smirked, picking up the cup and taking a leisurely sip.
"Hey, that's my coffee! And you called me Seamus' stupid name."
"Is she looking over here yet?" Ginny asked in a very quiet voice.
"What? Who?"
"Who?" Ginny mocked. "Hermione, of course. No, don't look right at her like that. You can't be obvious about it when you're trying to make someone jealous."
"I didn't know I was," he said in bewilderment.
She pushed his coffee into his hands. "You're hopeless, Harry, but it's all right, I'm on your side. You two were so perfect together, and Jonny Burgar's got his head up his own arse." She stood up again. "Don't worry, she was looking. But I meant it, Harry, congratulations. I think the interview is brilliant."
She sauntered away, and Harry turned to Ron to see that he looked just as confused as Harry felt.
"Girls, mate," Ron said with a helpless shrug. "But she's right, Hermione was looking. And the interview is . . . really good."
"It is, isn't it?" Harry said happily, catching the nods of encouragement coming from all around him.
He risked a glance at the Slytherin table, to see if the entire tables was matching their expression to Snape. He saw the four prefects all gathered around, making disgusted faces in Harry's direction and speaking what were obviously detrimental remarks. But in the midst of it, Draco stood up, slowly laid his copy of the paper down on the table (seeming not to care that it landed in his breakfast) and left the room without a word to anyone. Served the bastard right if it upset him, didn't it? He'd made his choices.
When Harry and Ron and Dean left the table, Luna was also leaving hers. She "accidentally" crossed paths with him just outside the door. Trading smirks, the other two boys left Harry with her.
"Daddy wanted me to tell you how much he enjoyed your last conversation," Luna said, seeming just as oblivious as ever. Harry knew for a fact she'd noticed what passed between his roommates, and she might even have mysteriously divined what it was he'd been talking to her father about. "He says he has some more information, if you can find the time to come over. He'd also like to get a quote from you on the conspiracy among Quidditch League coaches to overthrow the Muggle Prime Minister."
Harry worked very hard to keep a straight face. "I'd like to meet with him again soon, although I don't know enough about the Quidditch conspiracy to offer a reliable quote. Thanks, Luna."
"You're quite welcome, Harry."
"Say, Luna? Do you have a minute so I can ask you something?"
"Well, Harry, I do have a minute, but that seems like quite a long question."
"I meant did you have time to answer once I ask."
"You are certain that the answer will only take a minute?"
"Well, no. I was just hoping that you did have time to answer."
"I don't know. Perhaps you should ask the question, then I can decide if I have the time."
Harry was simultaneously exasperated and delighted. It was utterly impossible to be bored around this girl—or even slightly comfortable, either. It made for one wild shag, but he couldn't picture himself doing it again. He would really need to find a different way to word that, if he ever got the chance to tell Hermione.
"Okay. The question is, do you know of any powerful object associated with Ravenclaw House? I've heard it said that Helga Hufflepuff had a special cup, and I wondered if Rowena had something like that."
Luna frowned in thought. "I believe I have time to answer. I believe there is an object like that. It is lost now, but she had a diadem that granted wisdom to the one who wore it. My father actually knows quite a bit about it. He's been talking about trying to remake it."
"So the original version has been destroyed?"
"No, not destroyed. Just lost."
"When was it lost?"
"Oh, quite a long time ago, actually."
"I see. Thank you, Luna. That's very helpful."
"I'm glad, Harry. Will you be at the DL meeting on Wednesday?"
"I think I will. See you then. Have a nice day, Luna."
Harry walked away with a grin. He couldn't wait to ask Dumbledore if he knew anything about the diadem. They'd been trying and trying to think of an object that Voldemort might have used for a Horcrux, and Dumbledore had said he would ask Professor Flitwick the same question Harry had just asked Luna. They were getting close to identifying all the objects Voldemort had used. Then it would just be a matter of tracking them down. The diary, of course, was already destroyed, as was the ring (at what price?). Harry was starting to feel like they were actually getting somewhere.
He met Harry a full mile from the place they lived. No one could Apparate directly into their community without getting hurt, and the perimeter was so carefully guarded that for an unknown wizard to approach would probably also lead to violence. He would escort Harry in to ensure his safety.
Harry arrived in exactly the place they were supposed to meet, recognizing immediately the scrape in the bark of the large tree that had been left as a marker. He shuffled his feet and wondered if he oughtn't brave the perimeter guard. The volatile potion couldn't really wait.
Just as he decided to set out, footsteps sounded and he sighed with impatience. He waited.
Remus strode into the small clearing only moments later. Harry noted that he looked a little more ragged than usual, but he was so tired of hearing about his own decline in appearance that he decided not to bring it up.
"Where's Sirius?"
"At school."
"He didn't even wait around to say hello?"
"He didn't come, he had to give someone a detention."
Remus stopped and glared at Harry. "You are not old enough to Apparate."
Harry shrugged. "And when exactly do you suppose I'm going to get the letter from the Ministry of Magic telling me so? Fudge is too desperate for my favour to start giving me grief."
Remus continued to glare.
"What? If they insist on giving me special treatment, I'm going to take advantage of it. I'm perfectly capable of Apparation, and it just might save my life at some point."
Remus groused but couldn't really argue that point. He just liked to play the hard case because he thought Sirius treated Harry too much like an adult.
"It's good to see you," Harry ventured.
Remus finally broke and smiled at him. "You, too, Harry. Come on. Come and meet everyone."
Harry followed Remus, trying to remain cautious, but too hopeful to really feel it. He was careful to keep the cauldron level as he levitated it along with them. The little plume of smoke that rose from it trailed out behind them like a banner.
"They do know I'm coming, right?"
Remus' eyes were darting everywhere at once, but he nodded in answer. "I didn't tell them who you are, but they know someone is coming."
"Why didn't you tell them?"
"They don't trust anyone, especially not anyone who gets his photo in the paper. I will say that they're speaking more kindly about you since the interview came out yesterday. But they've a long way to go. You distance yourself from the establishment that let them down, but that doesn't mean they're sold on you yet."
"That's fair." But Harry said it with a sinking heart. He was putting in a lot of effort on behalf of werewolves. He was going to watch one of his allies on the Wizengamot present a proposal next week, and possibly even be invited to speak since he'd helped draft the proposal. "What about Tonks?"
"I haven't even been able to bring it up since that first time. They absolutely won't believe it's possible for me to have a girlfriend who is a normal witch. There are ten men, including me, and only six women, yet they are still reserving Franka for me. At least I haven't found her naked in my bed yet, which is what she was threatening to do."
"So, still not grasping the concept of integration with wizards?"
"No, not really. But the new people came to me, not Greyback, so it's a start. You have to understand that we are looking at hundreds of years of completely legal oppression, compared to a few months of open dialogue spearheaded by a sixteen-year-old and a witch with purple hair."
"And Dumbledore. And Madam Bones."
"Bones?"
"You know, woman I've been working with on all this new legislation? Only person I really like in the Ministry that's not an Auror?"
"She does seem like a good sort. But I can say that, because I've met enough kind wizards to know the difference. The rest of them really haven't. They do have a lot of respect for Dumbledore, for the most part. But what's he been able to do? He couldn't protect even me, and I've been connected to him most of my life."
Harry had almost completely stopped walking by now. It was impossible that Remus had missed it, but he continued to move, his eyes roaming the trees and obviously listening to things Harry wasn't. Not that Harry wasn't keeping a sharp eye out, himself. It was just a little weird to watch Remus do it.
"There's not really any point to me being here, is there? What I'm doing is basically worthless to them."
Remus finally stopped, turned to Harry, and stilled himself to meet his eyes. "Don't think like that. It might not seem like much, compared to what we're up against, but it's an act of good faith. You are doing something tangible to show them how much you're willing to involve yourself, and they're going to respect you for it. Up till now, it's only been words. Now you're here."
"Assuming my name doesn't get me turned away at the gate," Harry muttered, concentrating on keeping the cauldron of smoking potion steady.
And then they were at the proverbial gate. There actually was a fence around their community, made of logs set on end in the earth and shaved into points at the top, and there was indeed a gate in the middle, which was currently being guarded by two lean, sharp-looking men.
"I'm awfully glad to have those two. Shocked I didn't lose them to Greyback, honestly, but they've been invaluable keeping him out."
Harry noted the fresh look of the dirt around the fence and figured it was a recent addition because of the threat of Greyback's small band.
"Remus, you wait right there," the taller of the two guards called out. "We said we'd meet him, not choke down his amateur potions experiments."
"Don't be such a crotchety bastard, Neil," came the rejoinder. "I'm still alive, aren't I?"
"You don't mean this kid is where you've been getting the potion from?"
"That's exactly what I mean, Neil, so cram it."
Harry wasn't sure what to make of the exchange until Remus was standing in front of Neil and Neil broke out in a huge grin and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Glad you didn't get ambushed out there, boss."
The other guy was frowning. "Lupin."
"What is it, Yorick?"
"Is the kid who I think he is?"
Harry stepped forward and stuck out his free hand. "Probably. Pleased to meet you."
The man looked at his outstretched hand and then to Remus.
Remus just sighed. "He's already here, Yorick. Just let him in."
Neil stepped aside, pushing the gate open, which earned him quite the dirty look from Yorick, but Remus ushered Harry through without the slightest pause.
"Thank you, gentleman," he said with authority, then they were inside.
Harry looked around. It was a really nice place, truth be told. It looked homey, and comfortable, even if it was a little isolated and small. A half-circle of wooden cabins all faced the gate, very close at hand, and the entire enclosed area between the cabins and the fence was devoted to a huge garden plot. Harry could see several members of Remus' community at work back there, but Remus first led Harry to the furthest cabin on the right.
"This one is mine. Not just mine, of course, we all are sharing with at least one person. I share with Simon, the only child we have here."
Harry followed Remus and finally let his cauldron settle with a little thunk on the wooden plank floor just inside. The entire cabin consisted of a tiny living/dining/kitchen area, a bedroom, and a closet of a bathroom. A blond boy that was just barely into his teens, if even that, was sprawled in one of the two chairs in the room, a book open in his lap.
"Hey, Simon. That guy I told you about is here."
"Harry Potter," Harry said, putting out his hand but not expecting much after Yorick. "Nice to meet you."
Simon gave him a sullen look. "Yeah." He went back to his book.
Remus gave him a quick peek at the bedroom, which was as tidy and Spartan as Harry expected, then led him back out to the front room.
"That's it, I'm afraid. We're very simple here."
Harry smiled. "Didn't you start out pretty much sleeping on the ground?"
Remus smiled back. "I guess we have come a long way."
"Would you two shut up?" Simon snapped. "I'm trying to study."
Harry raised an eyebrow at the rude boy, but only got a look of barely suppressed rage in return. He shrugged and preceded Remus outside.
"Sorry about Simon. Actually, I'm sort of glad that he's following the lesson plan I made for him, but sorry about the attitude. He's had a rough couple of years and he hasn't really caught up with it yet."
"Since he's living with you, I'm assuming his parents don't want him around?"
Remus shook his head. "Worse than that. I only just got the full story out of him a few weeks ago, and it's made it a lot easier to have patience with him. For one thing, he was raised almost completely Muggle. I guess his father was a pureblood, but his mother was a Muggle and she wanted to stay near her family and friends, so his father decided to live as a Muggle with her, and Simon was raised that way. He's a wizard, and he was supposed to go to Hogwarts. Three days before his first term, his mother died in an accident, and it was decided that he would stay home with his father that year and begin school the next year. But that following summer, he was bitten and his father was killed trying to protect him. He didn't have anywhere to go, so he went to the man who'd bitten him."
"Greyback," Harry guessed.
"Of course. This was last summer, by the way. He hasn't been a werewolf even a full year yet."
"So he's, what, twelve?"
"Yes. Thirteen in about a month, I think. He's actually a good kid, but he misses his family terribly and he's very lost."
"At least he's got you," Harry said.
"I pride myself that I am somewhat better than Fenrir Greyback, but I am not about to claim I can do anything for Simon. Except give him a place to sleep, of course. No one else wanted to share a cabin with him. I was only too happy to do so, since it meant only one housemate instead of two."
"I'm guessing the other option was that bird Franka."
"I guessed the same thing. Hence, Simon. I shouldn't say that, the two of us get along well most of the time. I'm almost starting to think I make a difference."
Harry looked around. Four men and four women were tending and collecting from the garden, which seemed to range from vegetables to herbs to potions supplies. The cabins were neatly arranged and tidily constructed. Simon was in there studying a book the third-years at Hogwarts were reading.
"Three of the men and two of the women currently have jobs, which is helping support us. Can't live on carrots, obviously. Everyone tends to fear the day those jobs will end, but I've got them channeling that fear into all those anonymous letters to the editor that have been appearing recently. Seems to have sparked sympathy."
Making a difference, indeed. Harry knew from listening to Professor Snape that Greyback's group spent a lot of their time living like animals and hurting people for favours from Voldemort.
Harry took a further look at the little compound, and found himself troubled. There were deep scratches marring almost every bit of fence—on the inside. The tidy little cabins had strong, sturdy doors with heavy latches, and even still he could see where doors that had been beaten off the frame had been repaired. He should have come sooner. They needed this badly.
"Remus, that potion isn't exactly shelf-stable. You need to get them over here so they can meet me and we can get on with it."
Remus nodded and called everyone over, even telling Neil and Yorick to take minutes off. The two men dropped a heavy bar over the gate before they joined the others in the little cup formed by the fronts of the ring of cabins.
"Everyone, I'd like you to meet my friend Harry," Remus said when everyone was accounted for—even Simon, who stood with his arms crossed leaning against the doorjamb of his cabin. "As I was telling you before, he has brewed Wolfsbane potion for the entire community, and he's here to deliver the first treatment to us."
Harry indicated the cauldron that he'd brought outside, hoping he looked like a pleasant character. He'd even tucked his shirt in today.
No one looked exactly happy, but only one woman spoke up. She was a leggy woman with long hair and enough maturity in her face to indicate at least mid-thirties. She had to be Franka. Harry had no doubt.
"You are Harry Potter, then. What are you hoping to prove by this?"
Harry bowed a little in her direction. "Nothing. I did this because I've been talking to Remus and I was upset by the situation you are in. He said only two of you have had access to the potion before?"
Neil was nodding enthusiastically, so that was one. The other was a woman of distinctly Italian appearance, who looked sad.
"As I've come to find out," he said with a little chuckle, "this treatment is a pain in the neck to make. I can see why they charge so much for it. But it's ridiculous to me that the very people it's intended for can't afford it or don't know where to find it. I mean, if I was brilliant enough to invent something like this, I'd be passing out free samples on the street corners. I'm not, but I'm good enough at Potions work to make the stuff, and I do like a challenge. What else would I do with it but give it to the people who can use it?"
"You expect us to believe that you brewed this up for fun and then just felt bad about throwing it away?" Yorick asked in disbelief.
Harry shrugged, looking at Remus. Remus shrugged back.
"Yes, Harry, it is that weird. Sorry, folks, I should have mentioned that my friend Harry is just not very normal. He thinks things like Potions experiments are fun. He also spends a lot of time at the Ministry trying to get help for us. It's like I've been telling you all along: not all wizards are prejudiced. What you've got in front of you is one of the least prejudiced people I know."
Simon made a scoffing noise from back at the cabin.
Harry bristled at that. "You know, I didn't come here acting all self-righteous about being enlightened or anything. I came here because I actually care. If you don't want it, then don't take it. But don't you dare go on saying people just ignore your plight and do nothing to help you. If you won't take friendship from me because I'm just a wizard, then you deserve what your pride gets you."
He started to leave, and took the cauldron with him. Yorick tried to get in his face, but Remus made a weird snarling noise and the other man stepped back.
"Wait," the woman who looked Italian said in distress. "Please. At least leave some for Simon. He's only a boy, it's so hard for him."
"Oh, please, Addison," Simon moaned. "Don't try to do that mothering thing again." He gave Harry a defiant look to prove that he absolutely didn't need anything from Harry. But knowing his story gave Harry the ability to see the misery and loss behind the gesture. In fact, it wasn't hard to see it from Yorick or from anyone else in the group, either.
He stopped, letting the cauldron come to rest again. "But if you do want it, you should know that I don't want anything from you in return. I'm giving it to you because I care. That's all. If you don't want me here, I won't come back. You can send someone to pick up the next treatment."
"Why are you really doing this, Harry Potter?" murmured the woman with smoky eyes, the one he was certain was Franka.
Remus let out a sigh of exasperation. "Not everyone has hidden motives, Franka. Listen, I'm going to take Harry back, and when I return, we're going to take this. All of us."
Yorick sneered at him, and Simon declared that no one could make him do anything.
Remus growled low in his throat. "Have I led you wrong yet? Have you allowed me to take that place in your lives, or haven't you?"
No one answered.
"I do not give commands often. This is one of the few I will give you. Everyone will do this once. You can make your own decision after that."
And with that, he firmly led Harry outside the fence. He gave Harry a tired smile on the other side. "For some reason, speaking strongly and walking away seems to work. They don't get the chance to argue. Anyway, I'm glad you came. Thankful. Very thankful. I know that once they try this, they're going to see that it's better. This will make more progress with them then I've been able to all this time. They'll finally see that being a werewolf doesn't have to mean that you're not human."
Harry impulsively reached out and hugged Remus, who jerked back in surprise.
"Seems like you're forgetting a few things, yourself," Harry said. "Don't forget that you've got a family back in the real world."
Remus nodded slowly. "Come on, I'm taking you home."
"I got here without help, you know."
"They don't need to know that. Besides, I haven't seen Sirius in close to a month, and you're right about the family thing."
Remus only stayed for about ten minutes, but Sirius whistled Weird Sisters tunes for the rest of the day. He commented once that he wished Tonks would have known Remus was coming, but Harry kind of thought that only having ten minutes might be more heartbreaking than not seeing him at all.
Two nights after the full moon, Remus brought Dora to the community. After their experience as werewolves with a rational mind, his people suddenly seemed to relax. Remus felt that the abrupt shift in attitude was because they felt less ashamed of themselves and what they were. Whatever it was, Neil expressed an interest in meeting the girl that gave Remus the ability to hold Franka at arm's length. The rest of the community, especially Addison, seemed to agree. Addison was a mother to them all, and she was anxious to see Remus paired off with someone.
Dora pursed her lips at the tall fence, the same way she had when she saw the awful abrasions on Remus' face. Greyback's wolves had attacked but hadn't been able to get past the fence. Unfortunately, Neil and Yorick and Jeremy had thought it was a good idea to go out and chase them off, thinking that with their calmer minds, they'd have the advantage. Remus had been obliged to go out and help, and Jeremy was still recovering from his injuries.
They all met in front of the cabins again. Dora shook hands with each of them in turn, making a point to meet their eyes and repeat their names. Remus' arm never lost its grip on her waist. He hadn't seen her in so long, and she looked so good that it was driving him crazy. It was all he could do to restrain himself as far as putting an arm around her waist instead of shoving her into his cabin and . . . well . . . he really hoped he wasn't blushing as badly as he thought he was.
Simon hadn't come out to meet her. Remus wasn't about to let that stand, so after she'd made small talk with Addison and Neil for a few minutes (coolly ignoring Franka's jealous glares) Remus took her to his cabin.
"It's not much," he cautioned her.
"It's cute," she replied, brushing her hand over his arm and making him nearly howl with longing.
"Dora, I know I told you about Simon, but you should know. He's not doing well. I don't know why, but he hasn't spoken to anyone, not even me, since the full moon."
"I can handle teenagers with attitude," she replied. "I have years of experience."
"Of being the problem," he snorted.
Inside, Simon was lounging in a chair staring at the ceiling, not even pretending to have been absorbed in studying. He looked up when they came in. Remus could tell that he'd meant to give Dora a disgusted look and return to ignoring her, but he didn't. He just looked. Remus had to admit she was not the most normal of witches. She said she'd been undercover today, and she hadn't bothered to change out of her Muggle clothes with highly unnecessary zippers, and her hair was black with a thick orange stripe. He was certain she'd meant to shock his community into seeing her for who she was right away. But all he could think about was how closely the shirt fit her, even if it was hidden under a jacket, and how frustratingly long it would take to get her out of those thick boots.
And how brave she was. To come here, and just be herself. She was one of the most courageous people he knew, being the first Auror to declare her belief that Voldemort had returned, and having that complete inability to hide what she was thinking because she didn't care if anyone judged her for it. And frighteningly smart, when she wanted to be. Merlin, how he'd missed her.
"Simon, this is Dora. She's my . . ." He really didn't know how to describe her. Girlfriend was such a bland word, but they had never spoken any other commitment.
"His," Dora shrugged. "That works for me. But don't call me Dora, only he calls me Dora. My friends call me Tonks."
Simon glared at her.
Then she giggled. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Cloud?"
Instantly, Simon lit up with a sort of stunned joy. "Like Cloud? You really think so?"
After two days, that was what he had to say?
"You think he looks like a cloud?" Remus asked in confusion.
Simon and Dora both rolled their eyes toward him. "It's a character from a video game, darling," she answered. "You wouldn't understand. Cloud has got that spiky blond hair that hasn't been combed in months and he wears pants that are way too big for him, just like Simon does."
Simon reverted back to glaring at her, but Dora winked at him, and he ended up smiling.
Moments later, Dora and Simon were chatting like old friends and Remus just sat and watched them. He knew she was amazing, but sometimes she'd come out with something new and dazzle him yet again. Moody, unresponsive Simon was grinning and gesturing and looking like she was his long-lost best friend. Remus should have realised what was wrong. Raised as a Muggle, he was missing more than simply his parents, he was missing an entire lifestyle. And being able to keep his mind through his transformation two nights ago had probably just made him feel even more strongly that this life wasn't something he wanted or was suited for. Feeling safe as a werewolf, he'd probably started thinking it wouldn't be so hard to go back to his old life . . . except that there was no longer anything to go back to.
But maybe, Dora could give him a little bit back. She had started out as an Auror doing undercover work catching Muggle baiters, and she knew a lot of things about what Muggle teenagers were interested in. Maybe Simon rejected Addison because she tried too hard to replace his mother, but he could connect to Dora because she was an addition rather than a replacement.
Everyone was amazed by the way Simon responded to her. Neil declared that he was in love and was going to steal her away from Remus. Franka began to place herself next to Yorick all the time, and Yorick turned out to be Dora's biggest fan. Well, after Jeremy, because Dora had manipulated some medical supplies from work and healed him.
They didn't mind if Dora stayed the night, after that. Simon would go sleep in Jeremy and Addison's cabin, and no one complained so long as she took her turn patrolling the fence. Remus certainly didn't.
Harry lay down to sleep in the very wee hours of the morning. He would get about three hours of sleep before classes tomorrow, but he hardly cared. He was getting closer. He added Xeno Lovegood to the list of people to whom he owed a potted plant. The man was completely cracked, true, but he knew so much about the Hallows. After their last conversation, they both agreed that Grindelwald had actually used the Elder Wand at some point during his reign of terror.
Which meant something that Harry was almost afraid to know. But he couldn't shake it. What it meant was that Dumbledore knew of it. It had been seen in his lifetime. He had known the man who held was entirely possible that he knew where the thing was. Harry, laying quietly in bed, had a hard time catching his breath at the thought. He didn't know how to bring it up. How could he ask Dumbledore such a question?
The problem was, there was very little time to waste. Dumbledore didn't look good. He looked old. Harry was beginning to think it wasn't going to be long now before it became obvious to everyone else that the headmaster was failing. He wondered if Neville knew. Neville had to know, had to see it. But what had Dumbledore told him?
Harry rolled over and punched his pillow, frustrated. At this rate, he wouldn't get any sleep at all before his classes. He'd gotten pretty good at stilling the million things that clamored for attention in his mind, during the moments he was able to snatch a bit of sleep. But tonight, thoughts of death and of reaching his goal were spinning by him so that he almost reached up to touch them. His heart was beating too fast and his eyes were darting around the room looking for a distraction.
He gave up and did something he didn't want to do. He didn't want to do it because he was afraid it would become a habit only too quickly. He took a sleeping potion. It was a bad idea for many reasons, not least of which was because he had Potions first thing in the morning and he would really hate explaining that he was absent because he'd overslept. But he took it anyway. Because there was a reason people kept saying he looked exhausted and anxious. He was exhausted and anxious. He wasn't about to waste three hours more on it.
Which was why, when his mind was invaded, Harry couldn't wake up.
"You think I have forgotten you, Harry?"
The silken voice makes him stir. He knows, somehow, that this is a dream and that he should not allow this, but he cannot take control of his mind and rouse it. A figure appears in the darkness, as if walking down a tunnel.
"No, I didn't think so."
"I have been busy, you see. There are so many people who resist me, and I simply haven't had time for you yet. But never think I will not get to you. You are not safe, Harry. In your arrogance, you have begun to assume you are."
"No, I haven't."
"Do not lie to me, boy. I can see into your mind, and I see your arrogance, your belief that I cannot touch you."
He thinks about Kimberly Kearney, the fierce little warrior who always looked at him to see if she was doing it right, except the only look he remembered was the one she'd worn when she found out her father was dead. He doesn't count his personal safety as an assurance that he was untouchable, not at all. But he didn't tell Voldemort that. Voldemort wouldn't understand it, anyway.
"I can take you anytime you like, Voldemort," he says.
He throws up his mental blocks in a panic, using so much force and speed that it is obvious what he is doing. But behind those barriers, his mind is racing. He can't wake up like he wants to. He didn't want to get sucked into a conversation with Voldemort, he left his defenses open so that he could get into Voldemort's head! But he can't escape, and so he has to do something to protect himself, to protect Dumbledore, to protect their mission. It is easy, really. Voldemort still thinks he was a stupid, belligerent child. He can play that role.
"Take me?" Voldemort chuckles. "I hope you do not mean that you can best me. That would be foolish of you, and I do so hate foolish opponents."
"I can," he says. "I consider having a whole face my best advantage."
Voldemort sneers at that, seems to be coming up with a good counter, but then changes his mind.
"Then go ahead," he says, sweeping his arms out in invitation. "Come get me, Harry. I welcome the challenge."
That would be stupid. There is some trap here, some hideous mental trap. If he touches this Voldemort-in-the-dark-tunnel figure, he will never wake up. Or he will wake up with someone else in control. No matter the outcome, it will not be in his favour.
"I don't need to do it now. I'd rather do it in person," he says lightly. "So much more satisfying that way, don't you think? I haven't spent five years training myself to beat you just to deny myself the opportunity to hit you in your ugly face."
Voldemort snarls in outrage, but it seems obvious to him that he has the upper hand. "So, you are trying to become a great wizard, Harry? Borrowing on what your betters have done and thinking that your youthful body will be enough? You really are foolish. Why do you hide in Hogwarts, if you think you can best me? Why not come out and face me, Harry?"
"I'm not that dumb!" he protests. "Like I'm going to leave the protection of the castle when I don't know how to kill you yet? I'm staying here until I find the perfect way to kill you."
Voldemort throws his head back and laughs. "Impossible! How many times must I tell you? I cannot die! You stay in Hogwarts, Harry, do that. Comfort yourself with the idea that someday you will defeat me, if it helps. Meanwhile, I will destroy everything you love and make the world as I desire. No one can oppose me. Certainly not that addled old man and you, his pet."
He allows himself to become upset and tries to make himself seem red-faced with embarrassment and outrage. He's not sure he has a physical body for Voldemort to look at, but it hardly matters, with the dark wizard in his mind to get it directly from the source.
"Just you wait, snake-face! You'll get what's coming to you! You're evil!"
Voldemort laughs and beckons yet again for an attack. Instead, he adopts an attitude of retreating, spitting curses and meaningless rhetoric as he goes. Voldemort seems to give up on the idea of luring him forward, and begins to fade. He can feel his mind becoming more alert, somewhere in its conscious part, and the retreat becomes rapid.
"I'll get you if Dumbledore doesn't!" he shouts to the tiny figure. This is the last thing he is able to say.
"Harry, wake up, for the love of Morgana!"
Harry shrinks from the sensation of cold and cracks an eyelid. Neville is there, yanking his sheets away from him. He moans. His scar is throbbing with a pain he hasn't felt in a long time, but he clenches his hands into his pillow to keep himself from touching it. He doesn't want anyone to know.
All he can do now is trust that Professor Snape will give Voldemort the proper picture of Harry, as a coward and as an immature puppet of Dumbledore's. Without Snape's cooperation, that whole conversation will become too obviously an act. Speaking of which, he'd better get out of bed and to Snape's class on time, if he wanted any help from the man. He'd obviously missed his morning run, which meant he would have to take it tonight and disrupt his study routine.
He tried to get up to get his uniform, and fell on the floor instead. Surprised, he just lay there for a moment, feeling his cheek pressing into the carpet. He tried to convince himself he'd tripped, but he hadn't. He'd just . . . fallen over. How weird.
"Harry? Harry, mate, what's wrong?"
"Not sure," he answered. He didn't know which one of his roommates was doing the asking, which worried him. "I just fell down, I think. Move."
The person kneeling beside him turned out to be Ron, and he moved to allow Harry room to get up. He moved in to take Harry's arm and help him up, but Harry waved him away.
"That was weird," he commented, going to where his uniform was hung up. "I must have gotten out of bed too fast or something. I felt woozy for a second, then wham! I'm on the floor."
"Harry, maybe you—"
Ron didn't finish the thought, because when Harry bent over to pull up his trousers, he fell again. This time, he couldn't stop his fingers from massaging his aching scar as he lay there and tried to figure out what was going on. Why did he keep falling down?
"Are you sick?" Neville asked him.
Harry thought about that for a few seconds. "Yes," he said cautiously. "I think I must be. But I can't afford to miss class. I'll have to go see Pomfrey during lunch."
He found his feet again, but he decided to sit on the bed while he dressed. He saw his roommates exchanging worried looks, but he ignored them as much as he ignored his weirdly woozy head and the pain from his scar. This was the last thing he could deal with right now. There was too much to do to be laid up with some bug!
He held himself together all the way to the common room, where he fell again trying to get out of the portrait hole. At that point, his friends gave up on trying to speak to him, and simply grabbed hold of him and dragged him to the infirmary.
"Exhaustion," Madam Pomfrey declared with barely a glance at him. "Put him down on the bed there and let him sleep."
"Are you sure?" Ron inquired.
"Quite sure, Mr. Weasley. He will probably sleep the rest of the day and night. If he is better tomorrow, I will send someone to tell you. I would like him to be escorted back to his dormitory after I release him."
His roommates nodded gravely, and Harry scowled at them and their worried looks. Exhaustion, honestly. He couldn't be here because he was tired, it was ludicrous. He was, however, worried about getting up again, since he thought he had developed rather a pattern of falling down.
He did refuse any sleep aids, though. And he very carefully and deliberately reconstructed his mental blocks, and asked for a sheet of paper to send a note to Snape, then thought better of committing such things to paper and asked if Pomfrey would get his godfather. Sirius would want to know what had happened, and he'd make sure Professor Snape was told as well. Pomfrey wanted to refuse, but Harry became so agitated that she agreed.
By the time Sirius got there, Harry was drifting in and out of sleep again, despite his determination to keep it together until he talked to Sirius. Sirius squeezed his hand and told him very fondly and quietly that he was an idiot. Harry was beginning to suspect that he was, but he was too tired to deal with it at that point, so he simply made sure Sirius understood what was going on, and fell asleep with his hand still clutching at his godfather's.
Pomfrey didn't release him until midafternoon the next day. Harry didn't sleep, despite her dire predictions that he would be back here within a few days in he didn't. He spent the late morning and early afternoon feverishly completing the schoolwork he was currently missing out on. Then he pacified her by taking a short nap and bouncing out of bed with bright eyes and cheerful demeanor, and she agreed to let him go.
He was still tired, but two days off was more than he could afford. He had things to do, he'd missed Quidditch practice, and he needed to talk to Dumbledore about what had happened.
Harry took a circuitous route back to Gryffindor Tower, trying to avoid most of the students who were still finishing up the day's classes. He thought he would change clothes before delivering his homework to his teachers and going to see Dumbledore. He would need to get back to studying tonight, but after so much sleep, it shouldn't be a problem to stay up late.
Despite his hurry, he stopped when he heard something odd. Crying in a girls' bathroom wasn't that strange, but it was in this one. For a girl to be crying in this totally abandoned lavatory meant she was really alone and more than commonly upset. It would be a nice thing to do to check on her. Except . . . it didn't really sound like a girl.
Harry decided that it couldn't hurt to at least peek in the door and see if the girl needed help. He was so surprised by the sight that he didn't move.
Draco Malfoy was leaning over the sink, washing his face despite the fact that he was still crying a bit. His hands were shaking, and he stopped washing to look up at himself in the mirror. He took on a disgusted expression.
He looked like a wraith. He'd gone from pale to ashen at some point, and his bones had become more prominent, so that the dim light from the murky windows caused shadows to stretch over his face. Harry hadn't noticed it happening, but it must have taken months to make him look so skinny and haunted. His reddened eyes didn't help. Harry had known that Draco's life had taken a distinctly different turn this year, but he hadn't really paid that much attention. Draco had sort of ceased to be his problem.
"I don't want this," he said to the mirror. "I never wanted it like this."
He rolled up his sleeve and began scrubbing his arm in the water from the sink. He scrubbed ferociously, with all the strength in his skinny arms. The skin around the Dark Mark on his arm began to turn an angry red, and still he scrubbed.
"You said I would be powerful. You didn't say I had to kill children," he muttered as he scrubbed. "I won't. I won't do it. I can't. I don't even know how, I don't think it will work . . ."
He kept scrubbing, faster and faster, until he began to cry again, collapsing against the sink, and his sleeve fell over the mark on his arm—that was now, Harry saw, oozing blood in a couple of places.
"This is so stupid," he whispered. "Look at yourself. You're pathetic."
The pep talk didn't seem to help.
Harry must have breathed too loudly, or made the door squeak or something. He wasn't sure what noise he made, or even if Draco just suddenly felt the eyes on him. Draco spun around with a gasp and immediately straightened up, using all the poise he could muster while tear tracks were emblazoned on his face.
"Potter. What do you want?"
"Nothing. Thought you were a girl, thought I could help. I'll just leave you to it, shall I?"
Draco's mouth was working like he meant to say something, so Harry paused politely.
"Simpleton, we're-all-going-to-save-each-other, Potter. What are you doing in your pyjamas?"
"I just got out of the infirmary, if you must know. Sorry my appearance doesn't meet your standards."
"Nothing about you meets my standards, Potter," Draco declared with a slightly hysterical laugh. "Not your tatty nightclothes nor your empty rhetoric."
"Which rhetoric?"
"I'm not a hero," he said in a high, sing-song voice. "Let's all be heroes together. Like you don't think you're special."
"I don't think I'm special. I think I'm dedicated. Big difference. As for the rest of that interview, I don't remember a single piece of empty rhetoric. I was being honest. Especially about everyone having their part. It means that I value each individual person in this fight that much more."
"The sad thing is, I think I believe you," Draco said with a pitying look. "You are so terribly naïve, Potter."
"I'm sure I am. Look, Draco, I don't care if you disapprove of me. I never did. I don't live my life for anyone's approval, much less yours. I mean, look at the great decisions you've been making," he said with a brief gesture at his own forearm, causing a flash of panic in Draco's eyes. "I don't need it to know that I'm on the right side. Something I don't think you can say. But you made it pretty clear that you're not interested in what I think, so I'll let you be. Bye."
He took a page out of Remus' book, and left before Draco could argue. He could just see the whole thing escalating into a serious fight, and ending up right back in the infirmary. More likely Draco on that last bit, but then he'd have to go around feeling bad, and that would totally disrupt his studies.
"Harry!" Hermione called as soon as he got into the common room. She was sitting with some of the other girls at one of the tables, and she jumped up to meet him.
"Hey, Hermione."
She placed her hands on her hips. "Did you sneak out?"
"Madam Pomfrey said I could go."
"You don't look well enough to leave. You still look very tired and overstressed."
"Hermione," he chuckled, "if a stay in the infirmary could cure that, I'd be there every weekend."
She didn't appear to find it funny.
He glanced over and found Burgar with a couple of other seventh-year blokes, near the fire playing a game of some kind.
"Don't worry about Jonathan, Harry, he is sulking."
"Why?"
"Because he didn't want me to go see you yesterday and I did it anyway."
"You did?" he said, unable to help his smile. He ached to draw her into a hug, the way he would have a year ago. Just that much, give him just that much again.
"Of course I did, you ninny. Didn't I just say to you that you needed to take better care of yourself because I'd be so upset if something happened to you?"
He shrugged. "I remember. I'm just not very good at it, see."
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, that I remember." Then she took him by the hands and led him to sit down beside her on one of the most comfortable couches. A look from her had the other occupants scurrying. "I should have remembered that you need me to remind you when you're getting too wrapped up in something. I promise that I will try to keep a better eye on you from now on."
Harry frowned at her. "Don't you think Jonathan will be a little upset?"
Hermione shrugged. "I think we've broken up. He kissed me and it was awfully boring. I told him I didn't see our relationship moving forward."
Harry pouted. "You let him kiss you? I never got to kiss you."
"Well, if you're as bad as Jonathan is, you never will."
Harry grinned at that. "I wouldn't worry on that score." Then he caught himself and gave her an anxious look. "Are you still mad at me for the other girls?"
Hermione sighed, squeezed his hands, looked down at them. "I wasn't really mad at you, exactly. I just didn't think I was good enough for you. I mean, you told me you were happy with me, but I didn't think it was true. And I was afraid, too. I thought I couldn't handle it. All the things that you face, all the things that are still to come. How could I be big enough to stand up to them? I thought there was someone else out there who could handle it better than I could."
"And now?"
"Now I know that I can't let fear rule my life anymore," she said, looking up into his eyes. "Nobody is really big enough to stand up to this, but maybe I can handle just being your companion. I know there isn't anybody else who can do research for you like I can, at the very least," she said in a teasing tone.
"There is nobody like you at all," he said firmly. "Not for me."
Hermione smiled sadly. "Yes, well, now that I have seen how excruciatingly lonely you've been, I think I believe you." She welled up with tears. "Will you forgive me, Harry? I was so fearful and it made me so selfish."
"I'm not sure that I have anything to forgive you for," he said slowly. "You're allowed to make up your own mind about things. You can't make your decisions based on how it affects me."
"I can if I want to," she said in a lofty tone. "Besides, that's only one reason. I still think Voldemort is an evil old man and I can't wait to get back to work bringing him down."
Harry laughed at the gleam in her eyes when she said it, and brought his forehead to rest against hers. "Hermione, it's going to take days to catch you up on everything you've missed."