Chapter Twenty Three
Mist curled on the ground, but he recognized the street. One of the cleanest parts of the city. He'd walked this street every day for a year. He realized he was laying on the ground, picked himself up, found out with no sense of concern that he was completely naked. Why shouldn't he be? It was safe here. He looked up and smiled. There was the house, and the door was open. He could walk right in, and be home.
He didn't know how he knew, but he knew that if he went in, he would never have to leave. It had torn his heart out to leave home, but this time he could stay. Forever. It was so safe and comfortable in there. He stepped forward eagerly.
He stopped, frowning. There was someone standing in front of the house. Had they always been there?
"Hello," he said cautiously.
"Welcome, Harry Potter. You were expected."
He frowned, retreating a step with suspicion. Every time he tried to look at the figure's face, it . . . shifted, somehow. He couldn't get a clear look, even when he stared directly forward. Male, female . . . human? He couldn't get his mind to focus in for an answer.
"It doesn't matter," the voices reassured him. Voices. It had more than one. "You are very impressive, by the way. Many times when someone arrives, it is not ready to see what truly waits for them here. It would see and hear a person of its own imagining—it creates an usher that comforts it. But you are mature enough to see the truth that stands before you."
"I can't see anything about you," he said shortly.
"You are not meant to. That is why you are remarkable, for being able to accept this."
"Why did you bring me to Brazil?"
"You have not been brought anywhere, Harry Potter. Your own mind has created this place. As much as you have matured, as wise as you have become, even you are not ready to see the truth of the place between places."
"I'm imagining this? I thought I was dead."
"Not yet, Harry Potter. Your blood ties you to the man who has slain you. He is kept alive by what runs through your veins, and therefore you are also kept alive. You don't have to be, of course. That is why you are here. Your souls are no longer tied, Harry Potter, and the blood connexion can easily be severed."
Harry's eyes were drawn again to the house. His favourite home, the one he'd most longed to return to. He could convince himself that he smelled empanadas cooking inside.
"I can go there?"
"It is possible," the voices allowed. "But you must consider what it means."
Harry stumbled forward, eager to escape inside and shut the door and simply be home. The presence barred his way. He didn't know how he was returned to same place on the sidewalk, for he felt nothing. He was simply there again.
"You have not yet considered!" the voices scolded. "Do you know what you leave behind?"
Harry thought, and suddenly he could remember. Hermione. Sirius. Teddy. Everyone. He felt ashamed that he had not remembered until now.
"Has the Horcrux that was in me been destroyed?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And the snake?"
"Destroyed," the voices sighed.
He smirked. "You liked that ugly thing, didn't you?"
"Harry Potter, you are not afraid, are you?" The voices almost sounded suspicious.
"Of you? Of this place? No."
"Most impressive," they said grudgingly. "Giving you the owl was not such a mistake, after all. Now, consider."
"What am I meant to consider? My family's grief? They will miss me, but they'll get past it."
The presence radiated displeasure. "So selfish, Harry Potter. Consider also: the enemy of your people has not been defeated. Will the sight of your body rally them to the fight, do you think? Or will they give up?"
It was a question of how many of them believed that thrice-damned prophecy, of course. Harry looked longingly at the white house, the open door that invited him to come in. He'd been happy there, before. He could be happy again.
"There is the girl to consider. The Hermione Granger. You gave her The Power that once belonged here. Can she wield it?"
"I think she can."
"For how long, Harry Potter?" the voices asked slyly.
He had no answer.
"Can your Sirius Black cope with his grief when he has no family left? Will he travel here at his own hand? He will not find you in the after place, not if he chooses that course. Will your Remus Lupin be mad with grief? Will his son bear the brunt of all this? Do you have the answers, Harry Potter? Can you answer these questions?"
"No," he said softly. It was a denial of all they implied.
"So selfish," they crooned.
"There's only more blood and more pain waiting for me back there!" he shouted. "More proof that I'm not strong enough for The Power, for any power! I will hurt them!"
"You know this for certain? Or you only fear it because you are a selfish fool? Perhaps the owl was a grave mistake. It was not the right gift for you. It can be taken back, you know. All the knowledge you have gained can be taken."
"Don't," he panted. The presence was forcing his hand, and he didn't like it. What he really didn't like was how right the voices were, how much they spoke his worst fears. What would become of them all? Was it only selfishness? "I deserve to go inside," he whispered, looking at the door again. "I've done enough to deserve it."
"You have," the voices agreed. "Go inside, if you feel it is your right. Go, Harry Potter. We shall not stop you again."
"I want to die," he whispered. "I don't know how to be alive anymore."
The voices had gone. Only the presence remained.
"What, no more advice? No more snide remarks?"
Only the presence. Only one witness to his decision. No one would know he had even made the choice, only the presence.
"So much left to do," he sighed, thinking of Riddle. He wasn't defeated. It still wasn't over. It was close, but not there yet. And there was Hermione to consider, and Sirius, and Remus and Tonks and Teddy, and there was Draco, yet, who he'd promised to support after all this was over, and a wand to be steward over, and an old man's faith to uphold. He didn't want it, anymore. He'd said goodbye. It was done.
But it wasn't. Not really. Not all the way.
He'd promised Dumbledore, and he'd promised Sirius, and he'd made so many promises that he was too tired to keep, but he had his honour and the mist was in his eyes and the ground was coming closer again so that he couldn't see the door, the door to the house where home was . . .
"No!"
But it was true. He was back. He was still alive. Fuck Riddle for his superstitious crap and needing his blood to create a body! Fuck Riddle altogether!
He saw the wand, the Elder Wand, in the hand of his grinning girlfriend. He was so, so proud of her, for the way she looked their enemy in the eye and laughed at his hubris. He was going to end this now. He surged up off the ground, snatched the wand, remembering to keep his centre of gravity low as he spun around.
"Stupefy!"
The spell deflected harmlessly off into the wall. Riddle, shrieking with fury, raised his wand to cast a spell of his own, and the duel began in earnest. There were cries of shock and fear and fury, but Harry ignored it all. He had the Elder Wand, and Riddle was just a man, only a man at last.
"I killed you!" Riddle was shouting at him. "I saw it happen!"
"Maybe you need glasses," Harry sneered.
The force of Riddle's spells was sending Harry backward, further down the hall away from the others. He was still feeling weak and strange after his time in the other place, and he needed a moment to wrap his head around the fact that he was alive. He was going to lose this duel if he tried to do it here, on these terms.
Harry broke and ran. He hoped Riddle would keep up.
Ernie and Parvati were down, seriously in need of medical attention. Minerva was limping badly and Melissa was on the verge of collapse. Grawp had been chased back into the Forest by some of the Death Eaters, Hagrid hot on their heels, and no one had seen the lot of them since. Terry Boot was dead, and his body had been pulled away to be laid beside Neil's until something could be done for them. Only three Death Eaters were left standing. They were moments from winning this fight.
Then Charlie Weasley's dolphin Patronus flashed before Bill and spoke urgently.
"They broke through our defenses in the Hog's Head. They're getting into the school. We need everyone inside as soon as possible."
Two of the three remaining Death Eaters ran for it, escaping toward Hogsmeade. Remus brought the last one to the ground by the simple expedient of levitating a rock and clunking him on the head with it. He was frozen and bound.
"The regular Ministry Aurors are beginning to arrive," Bill said. "Let's leave this to them and get inside."
They nodded. They were all sweating, battered, some bloody. They were exhausted. But there was more to do. Remus looked to his friends. Jeremy was sitting on the ground, holding Addison against him. They were looking at Neil. He went to stand beside them. He put a hand to the shoulder of each.
"It isn't time for that yet. We have work to do," he said gently.
They flinched away from him.
"Neil would tell you the same thing. Come, we've almost made it. Just a little more."
They nodded, but didn't seem to have the strength to get up. Remus squeezed his hands on their shoulders.
"Thank you. For standing by me. It's cost too much, I know, but thank you for being here."
They stood up, Jeremy gripping Remus' hand for a moment, and Addison leaning her head on his arm for a moment. Then the doors were flung open, and Arthur Weasley rushed forward to throw his arms around his son.
"I think we're going to win this thing!" he shouted. "It was very dicey for a moment. Did you know Harry Potter is an Animagus? Voldemort came striding in carrying this owl and saying he'd killed Harry, then Harry just popped into being and jumped up and started duelling him. Dear boy was faking it!"
"Is it over?" Remus gasped.
"Not yet," Arthur said, his face becoming more grim. "The two of them sort of ran off, shooting spells. There's still quite a battle going on inside."
"Then let's get to it!" Minerva snapped.
"I am not so tired yet," Fleur said demurely. She was the only one of them who could still look good after this, but even she was obviously lying.
Still, they trooped inside and joined the fray. Again. Remus reflected that it must be near dawn, by now. All the students who weren't fighting must have gotten home by now. He wondered if Dora had been able to go to sleep, or if she and Simon were pacing the house, waiting for him to return . . .
There was a wand at the back of his neck. He froze. He couldn't believe he was so exhausted and so distracted that he'd allowed that to happen.
"You are a friend of Potter's?" a silky female voice whispered in his ear.
"Yes," he murmured.
"Do you know where he is?"
"No," he said, hoping it was the right answer.
"Then you must deliver a message to him when you see him. It is from my husband, Antonin Dolohov."
Remus was no stranger to pain. Not at all. And yet even he had never felt this much pain before. It was so much that he could not even scream. Instead, he blacked out, and knew no more.
Harry ran through the castle, trying not to run so fast that his enemy couldn't find him again, but anxious to stay ahead of him until he figured out a plan. If he could come up with a quick distraction, the power of the wand should be able to overcome him . . . but it would have to be an amazing distraction . . .
He saw the body in the hall and tried not to look. It wasn't the only one in the school now. But the smoking blood that lay thickly on the floor of the corridor gave him pause, the lumpy, nauseating mess that was the body of Nagini the snake. He slowed down, saw Severus Snape.
"Oh, no," he whispered. He stopped, looked down, felt guilt beginning to swallow him up. "You killed the snake? What have you done? How dare you die, you bastard? I was trying to get you out of this! "
He heard footsteps. He ran on, choking on the guilt. He should have done this sooner. It turned out that he'd never had to die, and there was never any reason to put this off, and now even Professor Snape was dead because of him. Did everyone die because of him?
He didn't know that Hermione was following him. Nor did he know that Neville and Veronica had only just finished rounding up the students, and that Ron, Michael, and Hannah were following them now down to the entrance of the school to join in the last battle. He ran right into the five students as he was trying to maintain his lead over Riddle.
"Harry!" Neville shouted. "Harry, are you all right?"
"Riddle," he panted. "Hide."
It was too late. Riddle came sweeping around the corner, saw them all, and bellowed.
"Are you a coward, Harry? You still refuse to fight me?"
"Get behind me," Harry snapped.
They didn't look like they were going to obey him, but Harry's mind was otherwise occupied. Riddle's wand was pointing at them, and he was so focused on what he was about to do that Harry was able to see it, like it was hanging in the air between them. Ice. He was going to freeze these people and shatter the ice and cast little frozen pieces of them all around Harry so Harry could die in horror. There wasn't a Warming charm strong enough to stop it all. Harry only saw it as it was being executed, as the spell that made the ice bloom was already shooting toward them. He didn't have a defense. Not one.
But these five students had saved the school. Over and over again, while Harry was hiding. They deserved his best effort. Harry had no magic to stop this. But he had to try.
Panicked, he threw out his hand. The frozen spear of spell was rushing up at them, howling as it came with the unearthly shriek of a blizzard wind, and Harry just held up his hand as though telling it to stop would make it so. And the sheer, raw panic of his need, speaking as it did through the Elder Wand, did something. Maybe it was how close he'd been to death, or maybe he was the only wizard on earth who remembered what it felt like to do accidental magic. All he knew was that the spell struck his hand and was absorbed into it. He gasped at the sensation of cold.
Riddle saw what he was doing, and even though it should have been amazing, it made him angry. Harry shouldn't be able to thwart him so easily. With a cruel grin, he kept his wand up, kept sending the spell. Harry kept his hand out, moaning at the cold, but it built and built and got more painful, and he didn't realize that he'd begun to scream.
"Mmmmmmmmm— aaaaahhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhAAAAAAHHHH!"
It burned, it was burning, it was horrible, it hurt in a way he'd never experienced and he was screaming with the burning pain as it sunk into his hand and disappeared. He didn't waver once, his entire mind focused on keeping these five from the grotesque death Riddle had imagined for them. But it hurt until he couldn't think anymore.
"Stupefy!" Veronica cried out, and the red light shot crisply from her wand.
Riddle deflected it, but he had to cut off the massive power he was putting into the freezing spell. Harry fell to his knees, gasping. Ron and Michael were there, lifting him back up, but Harry shoved them away.
"Go!" he said hoarsely. "Get out of here, let me take him! I can do this! I can't be worried about all of you!"
Veronica went down with an awful cry as Riddle loosed a hex that snapped the tendons in her ankles.
"I'll stay with Harry," Neville growled. "Get her out of here." The two boys grabbed her up and took her off. Hannah looked uncertain, but Harry had begun duelling Riddle again and couldn't spare a thought for her. "Hannah," Neville said gently, cupping her face in his hands. She'd been a dear friend to him the past two years. "You can't face this man. Go."
With a nod, she did.
Neville joined Harry, and they sent spell upon spell at Riddle, but he knocked them all aside with vicious laughter.
"Have you nothing else?" he crowed. "Only those pure and wholesome little spells? Don't you know how to fight?"
They were leaping out of the way of Killing Curses. They had no shields to stop that spell, and Harry spun and ducked and leapt away from them, feeling a churning in his belly, knowing that Neville didn't have his reflexes, that any moment now—
"Sectumsempra!"
Riddle let loose a yelp of pain, and a little spot of blood blossomed on the leg of his pants. He turned around with a snarl of fury, but Hermione held her ground, her wand pointed at his scabbing face, her lips pursed together with fierce determination.
"Expelli—"
"Avad—"
"Incarcerous!" Harry screamed, and the spell bloomed from his wand so strongly that they had to turn their eyes away from the flare of light.
Ropes appeared and ensnared Riddle, sending him crashing to the floor and sending his Killing Curse well wide of Hermione. He twisted in the ropes and turned his wand to Harry. Another Killing Curse rocketed through the air, but Harry rolled forward and came up several feet closer to his enemy.
"Are you going to kill me, Harry?" Riddle asked in a laugh.
"No," Harry growled. "I took your immortality, Riddle, because you don't deserve it. And now you're going to go on trial, and go to Azkaban, and get fed three meals a day in a tiny cell, just like any other criminal. Just like them, Riddle. And you know why I'm doing it this way? Because I think that prophecy is bullshit, and I think I'd have left you alone if you'd done the same for me. I want you to suffer, because I just plain don't like you."
He screamed, tore at the ropes. "Avada Kedavra!"
It was only too easy to duck. Harry, Hermione, and Neville all surrounded the fallen enemy. All three of them shouted it at the same moment.
"Stupefy!"
The force of it made the floor beneath Riddle groan as his body was shoved downward.
"Expelliarmus!" Hermione said briskly, completing her spell and neatly snatching the wand.
"Petrificus Totalus. Incarcerous. Again, that is. Just in case. Oh, and Confundus, you arsehole. Confundus again. Hope you wake up convinced you're a rubber duck." Harry said all this in a half-amused mutter. He cast a spell to blind Riddle, so he'd wake up in the dark. "Think he'd bleed to death if I hamstring him?" he asked.
"Unfortunately," Neville muttered.
"I don't think it would be that unfortunate," came another voice. All three of them spun around with their wands out, and were all equally surprised to see Draco Malfoy. He was dabbing at a split lip with back of his hand.
"That's . . . a lot of blood," Neville ventured.
Draco looked at his hand. "Not bad, really. I ran into Kimberly and Colin while they were keeping some of my old friends from joining the battle. I was forced to lend my assistance. To Kimberly and Colin, that is. I always thought Crabbe and Goyle were idiots."
"I meant on your clothes," Neville said, dumbfounded that Draco had joined the two Gryffindors against his own ex-roommates.
Draco looked down at his bloodstained shirt, and for a moment his face was wild. Then he straightened his posture and smoothed his face. "Yes, I suppose it is."
"Is it yours?"
"In a way," Draco replied, sounding a little unhinged. "We did share it, after all."
Harry was beginning to understand, and he held up his hand to keep Neville from saying anything more. His right hand. His left, he cradled to his side, because it was purple and heavy and throbbing.
Riddle was beginning to stir. Harry kicked him in the side. "Stupefy."
He was limp again.
"You actually defeated him," Draco murmured.
"What are you doing here, Draco? Why did you come?"
"I . . . I guess I made a decision. And I had to make sure you lived, or it would have been pointless, wouldn't it?"
"There's one message you don't have to deliver," Harry said, sending a cracked smile to Hermione. But his face was crumbling. "Draco . . . the blood . . . your father . . .?"
Draco dropped bonelessly to sit on the floor. He didn't speak.
"Just one more thing that's my responsibility," Harry whispered. "Just one more horrible thing that came about because of me."
"Don't say that, Harry," Hermione said, reaching for him.
"Why do people keep dying?" Harry shouted. "Everything I touch, I destroy! Everything! I ruined what was between us, too, Hermione, with the way I've been breaking into your mind—and I know I'll only do it over and over again, because it's so easy! I didn't want to be here! I wanted to move on, to go to the other place! They said I could go, but they kept reminding me of all the things that were still here and making me feel guilty. I think I exist to feel guilty! Look at all the people who died tonight! For me! They don't know what I've done, do they? The Unforgiveables, the way I sneak into people's minds . . . I use Dark spells, just because I can, and I'll only use them again."
Hermione put her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off. "I can't do this. Oh, god," he groaned. "Interviews, reporters, just . . . just everyone. Wanting to know how it happened, wanting five minutes with the hero. I'm not a hero. I'm going just as Dark as he did, and I don't . . . I wanted to leave while I was still sane, but I stayed to finish this, and now I can't . . . I just . . . I'm going crazy, Hermione. I saw the angel of death or something, but it was in Brazil. And now I'm alive again, and I hate it." He was panting for breath, sick and dizzy and unable to force his thoughts into cohesion. "I'm going to destroy everything if I stay. I can't stay. I can't. I have to go. Before anyone sees me here and tries to stop me. I have to . . . I'm alive, I have to deal with it. Somehow. I have to start over. I can't be me. Not now. I have to go away. I have to cope, but I have to start over to do that."
None of this made enough sense, but Harry wasn't sure he could make sense to himself anymore. All that relief he'd felt at his death had been stripped from him. The idea of trying to rebuild after the mess he'd made, all while standing in front of a camera and being hailed as a hero . . . it made him sick. With a groan, he cast a Muffliato spell around himself and Hermione.
"The Elder Wand is mine," he said distinctly. "I retain ownership of it." He pressed it into her hand. "I want you to take it and hide it. Somewhere I will never, ever find it. After you hide it, go to Sirius and make him erase your memory of doing so, so that nobody can find it. Not ever, you hear me? I can't know where it is. The things I could do with it . . . I can't know."
"Harry . . ."
"Take it, before I don't know how to give it up anymore," he whispered. He dropped his forehead against hers, squeezing his eyes shut. "I love you, Hermione. Forever. But . . . but don't wait for me. I don't know where I'm going or if I'll be back. I love you. Just go on without me."
She still held his other wand, the nice and normal one he'd gotten at Ollivander's. Harry took that one, and left the Elder Wand. He broke the silencing spell, and then he ran.
They watched him go, confused and stunned. Hermione began to sob, and Neville put his arms around her, staring with burning eyes at Harry's fleeing back.
"He's just— going?" Draco choked out.
Riddle moaned, and Draco turned to him with fear. The other two didn't seem to notice, too confused by Harry's retreat. Riddle's eyes opened, and the two of them locked their gazes. Riddle had broken free of some of the spells laid on him, while they were watching Harry's mental disintegration. He still had ropes around him, but he was beginning to work on those. He stared at Draco.
"You are one of mine," Riddle rasped. "You, Draco Malfoy. You bear my mark. You promised me your service, just as your father did. You are bound to me, my servant. Give me your wand, now."
"My wand?" Draco asked in a small voice.
"Did you think you could ever be free of me? I am your master, by the Mark you bear. You cannot run from your master, Draco. I will be gracious to you, because your father is such a trusted servant. I will not punish you. But you must give me your wand."
Draco stood up. He snorted indelicately. "You're full of shit, you know that? I don't have a master. Your little tattoo was a mistake, and nothing more."
"So you say, but where is the new one you have pledged your loyalty to?"
"I didn't pledge anything to anyone. But I did start thinking that an argument's merits are better decided without killing children. You're a creep, Riddle, but you're a creep who's tied up on the floor. It's over. Give it up."
Riddle snarled and grabbed at Draco's legs. "Your wand!"
Neville let go of Hermione and walked over to the altercation. He stared down at Riddle. Then, quite calmly, he lifted his foot and slammed it into the torn-up face. He wasn't stupid. He was aware that driving his heel with all his might into a man's nose could kill him. But he'd spent half his life believing he was supposed to kill this man. And it seemed obvious that the man deserved it. He would never stop. Not even now. He was too powerful to leave to chance or even to the Wizengamot. There was only one way to end this.
So he brought his foot down, and then again, and then a third time, and he felt bones crunching. He finally took a step back, his face dispassionate.
"There," he said finally. "Now it's over."
The Battle of Hogwarts had ended in one moment. All at once, the Death Eaters had cried out, grabbed their arms, and suddenly stopped fighting. Hermione, Draco, and Neville had brought Riddle's body into the Great Hall as soon as Hermione had finished repairing a few of the broken bones in his face and created several gashes on the body so that it would look like he'd died from bleeding out. It wasn't very heroic to have stamped in someone's face, and none of them thought the world could handle the truth of what had happened in that corridor.
Once the body had been placed where his followers could see it, they'd all surrendered. The ones who were left, anyway. Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange were dead, as were a number of people of lesser importance who were dead nonetheless. They'd lost a few Aurors, too, including the venerable Moody. He'd just been too old to fight for so long, and he'd fallen because he was tired and making mistakes.
None of that was important to Sirius right now. He grabbed Hermione almost before she had moved away from the body.
"Where's Harry?"
She sighed, closing her eyes.
"Is he dead?"
"No, he isn't," she whispered. "Sirius, listen to me. Harry is safe, but he is not here. I will answer your questions, I promise. But I have something to take care of first. I will be back here in half an hour. When I return, I want you to erase all of my memories from now until I come back. Can you do that?"
"What?"
"Can you do it?"
"Yes, but why?"
"I won't explain, Sirius. Harry asked me to do this. I'll be back. Then we'll talk."
Hermione walked away. Sirius watched her go, thinking that it looked like she was floating on a breeze. Nothing seemed to affect her, now. She was gliding. Like a ghost.
Hermione followed a path she knew, outside the school, down to the lake. The sky was gray and tinged with the pink of dawn. It had lasted all night. She felt a bone-deep weariness, and she knew her mind needed to shut down for a while. She almost wept, not at remembering what had happened in the hall, but simply at knowing she still had to face Sirius and explain to him before she could sleep.
She arrived at the lake, shivering from the cold air, her clothes feeling damp and sticky. Frost coated each blade of grass with a delicate winter dressing. It was beautiful. But she didn't see any of it. She simply got on her knees beside a tree with an overhanging branch. She touched her wand to the water and tried to stay awake while she waited.
"I'm so tired," she murmured.
Then she saw a flash in the water. A head broke the surface, an arm shot up and grasped the low branch. A curious, green-tinged face stared at her.
"Are you Reed?"
"I am."
"I am Hermione Granger. Has Harry spoken of me?"
Reed blinked solemnly. "Yes." His voice had a sibilant quality. "His love."
"Yes. I must ask you for something, Reed. On Harry's behalf."
"Harry is capable of coming here to ask his own favours," Reed frowned.
Hermione hung her head. She didn't have the strength to argue. "Reed, Harry has to go away for a little while."
"Is the war lost?"
"No, it is finished. Harry won. But sir . . . he is broken. He had to go away."
"He should have come to us," Reed frowned. "We would have let him stay with us."
"I think he wants to go away from anything magical," Hermione said softly. "But most especially this magical object." She held out the wand on her palms. "Do you know what this is?"
"It's a wand," he said, affronted. "I am a merman, I am not stupid!"
"No, I didn't mean to imply that. I meant, do you know of this wand?"
"How could I?"
"Forgive me," she said, blinking heavily. "I'm not thinking straight. This wand is very dangerous, especially for Harry. He asked me to hide it from him. He craves this wand, and he knows he shouldn't have it. That's why I brought it to you, Reed. I know that the merpeople have no desire for wands. Harry has spoken about you to me often. I know that you are chosen among your people to carry a lot of secrets. Reed . . . is Harry important enough to you for this? Would you carry another secret, for his sake?"
Reed was somber. He stared at the wand in her hands for a long time. "Harry is one of my people, now. We share everything with him. This is for his sake?"
"I could think of no one better to hold this. I feared it wouldn't be enough to simply hide it—it could be found. I wanted it hidden by someone who understands how important secrets are. From what I know, through Harry, I know you are that person."
Reed squinted at her. "You call me a person?"
"Shouldn't I?" she said in confusion.
"Your kind usually call me a fish."
She scowled. "Small-minded jerks might, but I wouldn't."
Reed smiled for a moment. Then he bowed his head. "Yes, Lady Granger. I will hold your secret." He took the wand from her hand. "We have an accord. You will not see me again."
"You and Harry," she sighed.
He shook his head. "You think too much like a human. It does not matter if he is away for a long time, or even if you do not see him again. He is still a part of you. Your mind is different because you have shared it with his. You ought to rejoice in having known him."
She was beginning to see the appeal that the merpeople had for Harry, the reason he'd gone to them at Dumbledore's funeral, but she was too tired to internalize what he was saying. "I'm sorry to give you such a burden."
"I have many, lady. Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
It was a struggle to get up again, once Reed had gone. But she did get up, and she went back to the castle, and she found Sirius again. He was pacing at the door of the castle. He looked up when he saw her, brightening for a moment.
"Finally," he sighed. "I have to go, have to get to the hospital to be there with Tonks, it's Remus, he's badly injured—"
"Fine. But my memory first."
She submitted to his wand without complaint. It was a mark of how much he trusted her, her and Harry, that he stole the memory without question. When it was over, she stood in front of him with her eyes glazed. She was too tired to recover without help.
"Hermione, Remus has been wounded, and I have to go to the hospital to be with Tonks. Will you come with me, and tell me where Harry is?"
She fell forward against him. Startled, he was afraid he'd done something wrong when he'd Obliviated her, and almost panicked. He caught her, held her up, and realized she was crying on him.
"Hermione? What's happened?"
"He's gone, Sirius. He said he couldn't cope. It was all so jumbled. He said he was losing his mind, and he couldn't deal with being alive. He had so much guilt, and he kept saying he was going Dark. He just . . . ran away. He said he might never come back."
Sirius brushed his hand through her hair.
"You shouldn't come with me. You need to go rest. Go back to my house, okay? Just rest for a while. We'll talk later."
Sirius was certain that Harry had retreated for the day, to stay away while they were cleaning up, dealing with the aftermath. He knew Harry would have a hard time seeing the injured, the dead. He'd feel like it was his fault. But he didn't yet think that Harry would really stay away. He thought Harry would be back at Grimmauld Place by nightfall. So he made Remus and Tonks his priority, and went to St. Mungo's to sit with his cousin while Remus was being treated.
Tonks had Teddy asleep in a sling over her chest, with Simon dozing fitfully at her side. Tonks explained the situation in a broken, tiny voice. Remus had lain there for over two hours before he'd been brought to the hospital. They still didn't know if he'd live. It seemed someone had blasted apart his legs. It was horrific. The three of them huddled together and waited.
They waited for a long time.
Hermione returned to Grimmauld Place, where Jeremy, Addison, and Draco had already retreated. Draco was afraid to face his mother, so he didn't want to go back to the Tonks house. The four of them were waiting, too.
Three weeks later . . .
Hermione had, rather miraculously, found the time to study today. She was grateful for the escape back into some kind of comfortable reality, since the amount of time she spent studying had decreased significantly over the past several weeks since the battle. There had been too many other things to do—many of them revolving around the aftermath of what they'd termed "The Battle of Hogwarts." This was inaccurate, to Hermione. She'd quite vocally expressed her opinion that they ought to at least call it the Battle for Hogwarts, if they couldn't come up with any more creative way to pay tribute to the residents of Hogsmeade and to Tonks and Simon, who'd had to fight off the Death Eaters who followed the students to Grimmauld Place while everyone was distracted with Harry's "death." Everything in the last weeks had something to do with the battle, and the time had passed in limping steps punctuated by bouts of wild grief.
Today, Hermione had something resembling a reprieve. She had taken up Dora's idea of putting Teddy in a sling, and she was sitting at the kitchen table with books spread over it and Teddy snuggled up asleep against her chest. She had volunteered to care for Teddy today as much as possible. Dora had been coming back to the house periodically to feed the baby, but her presence had been required at several Death Eater trials this morning, and she was going to St. Mungo's immediately afterward to see Remus.
Hermione, not needed as a witness in these particular trials (though she'd seen her fair share of them over the past weeks), was doing her studying in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place because she had a plate of food to give to Draco when he returned from the trials, and she planned to sit here and make sure he ate it.
He had stunned everyone in magical Britain, including her, on the night of the battle and every day since. He had treated an enormous number of students, and had joined forces with Kimberly and Colin to fight off a round dozen upper-level students who'd chosen Riddle's side. He had willingly submitted himself to the Wizengamot and undergone the very first of the Death Eater trials, simply as a show of good faith. He'd combined his sardonic humour and graceful posture with a shocking attitude of humility, submitting to Veritaserum and enduring his memories being viewed by the entire magical community. Then he'd attended almost every single Death Eater trial that followed, taking the witness seat against any person he had personal experience with.
Hermione was the only one who could see that the whole thing was killing him slowly. He showed up to every trial just a little thinner and a little more pale and ill-looking. No one else seemed to notice, too dazzled by his confidence in his own penitence and his self-effacing smile and the strange glamour of his tragic story.
Sirius came into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, carrying the newspaper. Hermione had already been working on her Charms studies for two hours, so she got up and insisted on making it for him. He sat down and let her. She'd been volunteering to do everything around here, whenever she wasn't getting her mind picked at by the Ministry.
"I could hold Teddy," he offered.
Hermione had filled the kettle with her wand, but she set it down on the stove to heat. She turned with a soft smile.
"He's okay where he is."
Sirius had a small smile in reply, his eyes fixed on Teddy's sleeping face cuddled against her shoulder. His godson's fuzzy brown hair was a soft turquoise at the edges, when you squinted. It meant that he was comfortable, and with someone he liked. Sirius left well enough alone, and he picked up one of her Charms texts rather than his newspaper while she got the tea from the cupboard. He was tired of being caught up in what was happening in the rest of the world—which was why he'd released Neville from the duties of Secret-Keeper to Grimmauld Place, and taken them up himself. There was no need to hide this location anymore, except the peace of mind of its inhabitants. It was so celebratory out there. The occupants of Number Twelve were feeling anything but celebratory.
"You didn't have to go to the trials today?" Sirius asked.
"No. You, either?"
"They're already going into overkill with the evidence, they don't need me."
"I'm not about to complain about Ministry going overboard when it comes to these trials."
Sirius had a bitter grin for that. The Wizengamot, eager to soothe public opinion, had brutally eradicated Dark influence from its own people, and borne down hard on the perpetrators of the war. The Carrows had gotten it especially bad, since their crimes were against children. They were never getting out of Azkaban. And Rabastan Lestrange, the only member of his family to survive the final battle, had been given the death penalty last week and had been executed yesterday. No one was particularly sorry to see it.
"At least one good thing has come out of their zealousness in collecting evidence," Hermione mused.
"What's that?"
"That statement issued about Professor Snape."
Some of the key witnesses in these trials were children, and the Ministry had been quick to discover that many memories of the school year had been tampered with. Some students had multiple mental tangles to unravel, and it had taken two weeks with a full-time staff to sort out what had happened. They had found over twenty instances in which Snape had intervened in discipline, taking the student out of the Carrow's hands, and had modified their memory to make them believe they had been punished when he had in reality done nothing but save them. There were even a few cases discovered in which Snape had treated their injuries and erased it from their minds. He had done a shoddy job of the memory modifications so that they could be discovered later, no doubt, in case he survived the war and needed to prove his allegiances. But most people didn't know how skilled he was in mental arts, and it was assumed he had done his best to cover his tracks, and he was being hailed as a darkly tragic hero.
And he deserved it, in Hermione's opinion. She had a slightly skewed opinion of the man, since it was he who had found her when she'd been raped, and whose single snide comment about it had been a deciding factor in Krum's being banned from the country. But after learning the truth about Dumbledore's death that last day before the battle and Harry's disappearance, she had finally understood what a repulsive set of choices he'd had to make She thought he deserved better than a press statement after his death.
"Did you see the article today about Draco?" Sirius asked, gesturing at the paper.
"Is it another one of those sickening things about him being so polite and humble?"
"No," Sirius said, feeling a bit grim. "It's about how much he's been keeping from us. You'd think he'd maybe talk to the people he lives with or something."
Hermione, cautiously keeping Teddy steady, reached out for the paper. "He got the estate? I didn't even know he'd been disputing the will!"
"As far as I can tell, he wasn't. But his father left everything to his distant cousin, who was also killed in the battle, and Draco was the only logical heir. It's only taken this long because the people at the Minsitry were arguing about whether or not he could have it."
"Like it's any of their business," Hermione snorted.
"Mmm."
They read quietly, drinking tea and listening to the smacking sounds Teddy made when he slept. Hermione changed his nappy once, and then the two of them retired to the study for further literary pursuits. They'd done quite a bit of that, lately. It was too difficult to talk about Harry, they were heartily sick of talking about the war, but the two of them were bound together by the missing young man and so felt the need of one another's company sometimes.
"Tonks went to the hospital, didn't she?" Sirius asked after quite a while.
"Yes."
"So shouldn't Draco have been back here long since?"
"Likely got bullied into another press interview," Hermione murmured.
"He'd have weasled his way out of it, by now," Sirius said with a frown.
Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and she unconsciously put an arm around Teddy. "You're not worried he's in trouble, are you? He's already been pardoned!"
"I was a little more concerned with the Death Eaters that haven't been arrested yet. I think I'd better go to the Ministry and see if he's still there."
Hermione nodded, her eyes wide. She hadn't even thought . . . no wonder he looked like he hadn't been getting any sleep! She had been reserving her anxiety for the news about Remus when Dora got back—it had been the full moon two nights ago, and the Healers would have a verdict about just how badly it had set back his progress—but now she felt her anxiety include Draco. If someone had taken him to get revenge, he could already be dead by now.
The fireplace whooshed, and then there he was, with Dora's hand tucked into his elbow. She wore a look of complete exhaustion, while he was unreadable.
"Merlin, I was about to go look for you!" Sirius snapped at Draco, but then he took Dora's arm and guided her to a seat. "Are you alright?" he asked gently.
She shook her head. She was on the verge of crying, but hadn't succumbed yet. Hermione turned to Draco.
"Will you untie this sling?"
He made short work of it, and then Hermione could give Dora's son to her. She took him with a soft cry and held him tight. Hermione thought she could use a moment with just Sirius, since she seemed more comfortable showing weakness in front of him than anyone else. She tugged Draco to the kitchen. She almost felt guilty for leaving Sirius alone to comfort Dora—it wasn't as though the last three weeks were any less horrible for him. But he'd been strong enough to hold together so far.
"Sit down," she commanded Draco. Once he was seated, she took out the plate she'd made for him—it was simple stuff, cheese and crackers and fruit, but it was something he could pick at and not notice how much he was eating. "So . . . congratulations, I suppose. I saw the article that said you'd been granted the Malfoy estate."
He winced away from the words. "I didn't ask for it," he muttered.
"Are you and your mother going to move back into your house?" she asked, thinking that if it were her house, she'd burn it to the ground.
"My mother's business is her own. We're not on speaking terms, as you know."
"So you won't let her go back . . ."
"Oh, I'm giving her the house, all right. It's me that won't live there. I'm going to find my own place. Immediately."
Hermione knew that it would be a very bad thing for Draco to be by himself right now, but she tried to pick her words carefully. "Christmas is next week. You can't be alone for the holiday, you have to stay here at least until the new year."
Draco grimaced at her. "Because everyone enjoys my company so much?"
"Because we care about you," she said firmly.
He scoffed at that. "Since when were we such great friends?" he asked bitterly. "I might have chosen your side of the war, but I'm not exactly going round protesting for Muggleborn civil rights. I've been horrible to you for years. Don't think we're all cosy now just because we both live here—I'm only here because the idea of living with my mother, who hates me, makes me want to dash my head against a wall." He stood up from the table.
"You didn't even touch your food," she protested. "You might not think anyone cares about you, but I have managed to notice that you've hardly eaten in weeks!"
"What are you doing, following me around the house?"
"You might not have noticed, but I've been preparing most of the meals around here, and it's hard to slip your untouched plate past the cook!" she retorted.
"Leave me alone, Hermione. I deal with enough bullshit out there, I'd like to have one place in the world where nobody bothers me!"
"Fine," she snapped, but she grabbed the capped bottle she'd placed on the counter and thrust it at him. "But you have to at least take this."
With a frown, he uncapped it and sniffed. "Is this a sleeping potion? Did you brew this? I knew someone had been mucking about in my lab!"
"I know you aren't sleeping, either," she said.
He shot her a glare. "You only know that because I'm not the only one coming downstairs in the middle of the night."
Hermione should have known she'd only get into a fight with him, but she was tired of it and she was genuinely concerned for him. She just stopped, turning away a little, and deciding that a little honesty and vulnerability might help. Draco was probably feeling a little ganged up on. And she really wished there was someone who would understand her nocturnal wanderings.
"I can't help it," she said quietly. "I keep thinking he'll try to sneak in while we're all asleep and surprise us in the morning."
The old Draco would have sneered at that and told her she was stupid. But he was even more wrung out than she was, so he just shook his head. "You remember what he was like, that night. I don't think he's coming back."
Yes, she had held a faint hope that Harry would pop back up after a day or two and say he'd just needed some time to think. But she knew better. She'd been there to see the unfocused eyes, the way he'd stammered incoherently—and her Harry had always been so articulate, so focused, that it had frightened her and she'd let him run. She knew, deep down, that if he did return, it would not be soon. And that realisation crashed down and overwhelmed her, every time she thought about it, so she turned away from Draco and left the kitchen, with her last words being, "Please take that and get some sleep so I have one less thing to worry about."
She went back to the study and found Sirius holding Dora while she cried. It seemed that any hope of a full recovery that Remus had was destroyed by his transformation during the full moon. His legs had been growing back after the curse that had blasted them to pieces, but the violent nature of his transformation had ruined their usefulness to him. He was due to be released in two days, but he'd be coming home in a wheelchair. He was so depressed by it that he'd barely responded to Dora's presence at the hospital.
Hermione experienced an intensely guilty moment in which she was glad that Harry had not returned. If he knew that Lydia Dolohov had done this, he'd realise that he had been the cause, and it would heap even more guilt on his overburdened conscience. (Hermione's flash of gratefulness that fretted her so much was, in fact, entirely false in reality, because Harry had heard about what had happened to Remus before he'd managed to make it out of the country. This burden, too, lay heavy on him.)
Hermione fetched a cup of tea for Dora from the kitchen, and took over the job of soothing her for a few minutes so that Sirius could have a few moments for his own grief. He gladly took it, and went into the sparring room down the hall to try to work it out of his system. She was firm in her belief that Remus would have a better recovery than expected, and also that the couple was strong enough to get through it, no matter what.
"Besides," she said, putting her hand out to Teddy and being rewarded by his little hand grabbing hold of her, "this little one will need you. Both of you. As soon as Remus is well enough, he ought to spend some time alone with Teddy."
Dora closed her eyes, weary. "He'll probably refuse to do it."
"Make him do it," Hermione urged her. "Teddy is his son, and they need each other."
"I need him," she whispered, trying not to break down again.
"Don't forget how many people you have to support you," Hermione said, putting her arm around the woman who was still too young for all of this. "We're all here, and we all love you, and we want to help however we can."
"Thank you," Dora said, but it sounded too tired to be entirely sincere.
Hermione left her alone so she could feed Teddy and draw strength from caring for her son. She started making dinner, and soon Jeremy and Addison came home and helped. The two of them had lost a great deal, but they had seemed to cope better than the rest of the household. They had shown signs of retreating into grief, when it looked like losing Neil would be the last straw, but Hermione had discovered a miracle in that situation. Sirius had been caught up in searching for Harry, then in convincing the Ministry to give up its search for Harry, and he'd been grieving and angry and attending the majority of the trials. Dora had been busy, Draco had been busy, and Hermione was afraid Simon would shatter into pieces if pushed. So she'd been trying to care for them all, cooking and washing and shopping and all the normal things, but it was too much for just one person. She'd admitted to Addison that she needed help. Addison and Jeremy had jumped in to do what they could, and somehow the chores of the house (or perhaps just the feeling that they were doing something for the people they still had left to care for) had allowed them to pull themselves through their pain.
The three of them got a meal on the table, which was, as usual, only picked at. Simon didn't come down at all, and neither did Draco. Hermione was rather hoping it was because Draco had drunk her potion and would be asleep until tomorrow morning, but she knew someone ought to look in on Simon. Dora was too shattered by the news about Remus, she judged, so she made up a plate of pot roast and fresh bread, and brought it up to his room. She knocked, and he opened the door with his wand, not even bothering to get up.
"Hello," she said quietly, coming into the room and taking in the piles of clothes and dim lighting. He was sitting at his window, staring out at the dismal sky. He'd been doing a great deal of that.
"What?" he grunted.
"I brought you something to eat," she said.
He finally turned around. "You did?"
She handed him the plate, and let her hand linger on his shoulder for a moment. "We didn't want to force you to come down, but I knew you'd be hungry. Simon . . . You really need to come out of this room."
He glared at her. "If you're even thinking about trying to analyze my emotional state or something . . ."
"No, nothing like that. I'm thinking more about Dora."
Simon's face was shuttered. "It was bad news?"
He'd been going to the hospital with her to visit Remus every day, but he had simply not come out of his room to volunteer this time. He hadn't wanted to be there when the Healers told them the verdict.
Hermione explained it to him, and suddenly he was out of his chair and forcing her from the room with anger twisting his face.
"Just go away!" he shouted, and slammed the door in her face.
She wasn't really surprised, and she recovered with dignity. She turned to go back downstairs, but she heard a moan from the bathroom, and she frowned. She knocked on the door.
"Are you okay?"
"Merlin, Hermione, I thought I said I wanted to be left alone."
It was Draco. That settled it, in her mind. She took out her wand and unlocked the door and went in without an invitation. She found him kneeling over the toilet, looking even more wretched than he had downstairs.
"Are you sick?"
"What would it take to make you go away?" he moaned.
She took in a few of the things on the countertop. "Have you been wearing makeup?"
He was too miserable to even glare at her. "I can't show up in court looking quite this much like death warmed over. Tragic and pale is okay, haggard is not."
He looked worse than haggard. Without the makeup, she could tell just how little sleep he'd been getting, and just how starkly the bones in his face were standing out. It was worse than he'd looked last spring. Not only that, but his skin was dry and off-colour. He was really ill, she realised. He was kneeling here in the bathroom with his lank hair hanging over his sweaty face, and he was too weak to stand up and chase her out.
"How long have you been feeling sick?" she asked him sternly.
"About three weeks," he whispered.
Hermione finally caught sight of what was in the toilet. It was blood. "What is going on, Draco Malfoy?"
He pushed himself away from the mess and leaned his back against the wall. "I've been throwing up several times every day since the battle. It's only been blood the last couple of days."
"Why?" she said, aghast.
He shrugged. "The Healer who tied me to a chair to examine me today says it was likely brought on by my mental state, but I've made myself ill enough that I can't stop it without medical help. Apparently I've developed at least one ulcer. Also strained some muscles in my abdomen, which bloody hurts, I can tell you."
"What did they give you to help?"
"Nothing. I ran off as soon as I could get free. I didn't ask for an exam. Somebody grabbed me when I escorted Dora to the hospital."
"That's where you were today?"
"I didn't think she ought to go by herself."
"Draco, you can't just refuse to be treated. You're really sick!"
"I know," he muttered, and he closed his eyes, resting his head on the wall.
"You need to let this Healer help you."
"I know."
"It's bad enough that you refuse to eat and sleep—"
"I know, I know, I know, I know," he growled.
"You have to let somebody help you!"
"Since when do I deserve help?"
"What? Don't be ridiculous, of course you do."
"Go away. Please. Just go away."
Hermione finally figured out that scolding him wasn't going to work. She slowly lowered herself to the floor to sit beside him. She was quiet for a moment. She took a deep breath and tried to choose her words carefully.
"This can't go on," she said at last. "You'll be in the hospital as a patient soon enough, and I don't know when I'd find time to catch up on schoolwork if I had to visit you and Remus all the time."
"How is it not getting into your head that you have every reason to hate me?"
"Probably just the way it doesn't seem to sink into your thick skull that I don't care. You can't sit here and feel sorry for yourself, thinking you're alone. You're not. We made this house into a safe place for family, and you wouldn't be here if you didn't fit into that. You're not some project of Harry's, Draco. You live here."
Draco didn't seem to know how to respond to that. He just reached out and flushed the toilet. Hermione gasped and grabbed hold of his arm.
"What have you done to yourself?" she demanded, drawing up the sleeve.
He looked down at his arm, and his eyes slid away to the shower. "I was just . . . washing up." The skin on his left arm was rubbed so raw that it had caused the bloodstain she'd seen on his sleeve. It was obvious that he'd done it before—much of the skin around the Dark Mark was scabbed or pink. "It's taking a long time to clean," he whispered.
She got up and dug into the bathroom cabinet for some gauze and tape, and silently wrapped up his arm. Then she sat beside him on the floor for several minutes, content with sitting in silence simply to prove that even in this, he didn't have to be alone. It was uncomfortable for him, obviously. He fidgeted and wouldn't look at her. But he was, at least, out of arguments. For now.
After a while, he stood up.
"I've had more sentimentality than I can take, Granger. If you insist on being in the same room as me, we could at least be studying or something."
She grinned and followed him downstairs.
Things remained quiet and desperate in the house until Remus came home two days later. Due to the situation, they'd made the parlour into a bedroom for the Lupins, but being on the upper floor did not make it any harder for the residents of Grimmauld Place to hear Dora shouting and cursing and to notice that Remus never said anything at all. He didn't want to hold Teddy. He hardly ever came out of the bedroom. Not even for Sirius, who pleaded with him for the sake of a nearly thirty-year friendship. Sirius and Simon spent a lot of time that week in the sparring room and treating the rest of the house to silence almost as much as Remus did. Jeremy and Addison were trying to pretend nothing was wrong, but it was so obvious as to be painful.
It was only Hermione, always Hermione, who was there with a quick embrace or a few minutes of light-hearted chatter or simply her presence. She started staying in Simon's room while he ate the food she brought him, not saying anything, just watching the stormy skies with him. She continued to read the newspaper with Sirius, filling in the gap that her boyfriend had left behind as best she could. She took care of Teddy whenever Dora showed signs of the strain becoming too much. And it was Hermione who unceremoniously marched into the Lupin's room and pushed Teddy into Remus' lap on Christmas Eve.
"I can't—" he protested, but it was too late to do anything but take the baby or let him fall to the floor. "Hermione, what are you . . .?"
"That's your son," she said gently. "Don't you remember what we talked about, when he was born?" She wasn't angry. She was smiling softly. "Or maybe you don't, I'd spiked your tea pretty heavily."
He shook his head in despair, but he was drawing his son in close, pressing his face into Teddy almost in spite of himself.
"I told you that your love was the only thing that was going to matter to him. That he had to be able to come to you, no matter what."
Teddy's hair was turning turquoise as he patted his chubby hands over Remus' agonized face. He was happy.
"Dora went to the store," Hermione said casually. "She'll be out for a bit, and I have a couple of things to do. I'll be upstairs, just yell if you need anything." She hurried out of the room before Remus could give Teddy back. Draco's depression, she could sort of handle. He still had enough spirit to fight with her. Remus was another matter, sunk so deeply into despair that she didn't think she was capable of helping.
And yet . . . Remus was holding Teddy when they sat down at the table the next day for Christmas dinner. Everyone had pitched in to decorate the dining room or cook the meal, taking Hermione's authoritative directions with a quiet acquiesence that made her want to scream. It was one of the most depressing holiday meals on record. Outside, the world was celebrating freedom. Inside the house, they were in full retreat, unable to relate to the giddy newspaper headlines and crowds of holiday shoppers. Hermione was a light in a dark place, humming a carol as she basted the turkey and laughing when she fixed a red bow in Sirius' ponytail. But when they sat down at the table, it was hard to pretend they were enjoying the meal.
It was Sirius who broke the silence and destroyed the fragile barriers they'd constructed around themselves to protect them from one another. He did it because he saw Hermione wilting, and he didn't think it was fair to ruin her hard work. Not when she missed Harry as badly as he did, and kept smiling in spite of it.
"I think we all need to talk."
They all just looked at him.
"We've been acting as though it's helping, to say nothing. But really, we all know that none of us is all right. So let's just get it off our chest. It might help. Honestly, nothing else seems to, so we've got to try."
They shrugged. It was a shrug that said, "you first."
Sirius didn't speak right away, but he looked at them all in turn. Then he dropped his head into his hands. "I feel like I'm on the brink of screaming madness. I really do. I can't stop worrying about Harry, or worrying about all of us. I am actually driving myself mad. I can't handle this anymore."
Remus was the next to speak. He stared down at Teddy, who was cradled in hands that were laced with old scars. "I haven't made it a secret that I think Dora should leave me. I haven't been this close to suicide since I was thirteen."
Sirius shuddered, the only one of them who knew what that meant.
"I'm feeling extremely frustrated," Tonks said. "Especially with my husband, who doesn't seem to believe that I still love him. I'm also dealing with a baby who wakes up every few hours and I never get enough sleep. I'm ready to run away. I would have, if I didn't love my husband and my son so much."
It was Draco's turn, and he only spoke because Hermione was glaring at him. "I had a Healer tell me that I was going to die if I didn't seek help for the chronic nausea I've had for the last three weeks. I am really, really tired of throwing up, although not as tired as I am of talking to the Wizengamot. Having the Dark Mark on your arm sucks, in case anyone wondered. Oh, plus I let my father fucking bleed to death in front of me. And wound up spending Christmas with his worst enemies, which somehow makes me happier than spending it with my mother. To sum it all up, I'm feeling rather bitter." Surprised that he'd said so much, he scowled down at his plate.
"I just feel sad," Addison said softly. "We've lost so much. I miss our friends. Neil especially, but Yorick and George and everyone else, too. I know I should feel happy that I'm still here, but it's hard."
Jeremy simply grunted in agreement.
Simon, like Sirius, hid his face. It was the only way he could speak at all, after the silence he'd maintained for so long. But he knew that if he didn't talk now, he never would, and that frightened him so much that he forced the words out. "I feel like shit," he muttered. "I feel so guilty. Because Neil would be alive and Remus wouldn't be hurt if I hadn't—" He broke off, and left his face in his hands.
Hermione slowly stood up. She looked down at them all with a face that was soft with compassion and caring. They were transfixed by her. She was almost glowing.
"I feel . . . proud," she said. "We are still here, and we are still trying. We haven't given up yet. And we haven't pushed each other so far away that we can't help each other. We're still here to share dinner, talking and trying to work things out no matter how wrong they are. I am proud of us."
They stared at her, and no one knew what to say. It was easy to say what was wrong, so much harder to admit that something might be right. Then an owl scratched at the window, and for a moment, they all caught their breath. But it was a tiny gray owl, and the breath was released with (yet more) disappointment. Hermione opened the window, let the owl in. She fed it a scrap of turkey while she took the parchment on its leg. They expected it to be the Ministry, requesting their presence at yet another meeting of some kind. But her face was disbelieving and her lips were trembling.
"It's for you," she said to Sirius. "It's from Harry."
Sirius snatched it from her. He scanned it for a moment, then saw them all tense and waiting. He didn't want to share it, not yet, but they needed it as much as he did. He began to read aloud.
"Sirius— I don't remember how to just make conversation, and I don't want you to know where I am or what I'm doing, so I'll come straight to the point. I'm very sorry for leaving, but I didn't have a choice. I don't feel safe around people right now. I'm really unstable. I don't know how long it will take me to be right again. I hope I will be okay, someday. But I can't promise I'll be back. All I can really say is that I still love you. Please tell the family that I wish them Happy Christmas, if it's possible. I'm picturing you all in the study around a tree pulling Christmas crackers, and it's the only reason I can even focus enough to write this. I love you all. I'm sure that Hermione's there, so make sure she knows I mean her, as well. Harry. P.S. Make sure Draco gets this."
With a frown, Sirius handed over the second page that had been rolled up with the first. Draco let loose a hysterical little laugh, and slumped in his chair.
"It's the stupid letter. It's the letter of reference he promised me for working for him. Stupid bloody git actually followed through, much good it does." He paused, his face going white and his breathing shallow.
"Some food might help, cousin," Tonks said gently. "You've hardly eaten in a month, and we've got this lovely meal here that you've hardly touched."
"I can't," he muttered past his measured breaths.
"You can try," she urged. "You'd hurt Hermione's feelings if you didn't."
Hermione just smiled when he looked at her, though tears were standing in her eyes. With a scowl, Draco took up a dinner roll and chewed a tiny bite, grimacing all the while. Sirius ignored the interchange, his hands gripping the letter like a lifeline. It was a very tenuous connection to his godson, but it was there.
"I guess that means we have to get through this," Simon suddenly spoke up. "I mean, if Harry's trying to cope with insanity all by himself, we'd just look like idiots if we couldn't cope with it all together, right?"
His face was open for the first time in a month. Remus was beside him, and he turned to the man with pleading, hoping for some word of affirmation. Remus didn't have any words that would feel at all sincere, so he just put his hand on Simon's shoulder and squeezed. They'd have to find a way. For one another's sake, if nothing else.
"We can do this," Tonks said softly. "We really can."
"You think so?" Draco sneered. Half the roll was gone, and he was eyeing it with distaste. "I suppose I haven't a choice, really, I've all this money I have to do something with."
"I'm going to get my job back, I think," Sirius said slowly. "Harry would want me to."
"Finally," Hermione huffed. "I thought it would never be safe to leave you lot alone."
"Are you going somewhere?" Addison spoke up.
"I have to go get my parents back."
Everyone was struck by guilt, at that. They'd forgotten about the Grangers, for the most part. Hermione was family, to them, and they had forgotten she had a real one as well as one that had been forged in fire. She had been their constant support, with her smiles and comforting hands and never putting pressure on them. And all this time, she must have been missing her parents terribly.
"How do you do it? Stay strong for all of us like this?" Sirius asked in bewilderment. "I remember you being so shy and lost when I started teaching. And now it feels like we never could have made it this far without you."
"This is the girl I became when Harry loved me," she said simply. "And I can't stop being that just because he's away. He said he was going to love me forever, after all."
The sky over the quiet German forest was studded with stars, clear, with a velvety rich darkness. Snow sparkled on the ground and trees, reflected the far-off light in tiny diamonds. It was cold and silent. Above it, an owl was soaring its way through the black sky, its great wings cutting swatches from the landscape of stars. One wing was mangled, with feathers torn from it, forcing the bird to over-reach for each movement. What it carried in its talons was different from what most owls carried. It was not a field mouse nor small pet, not prey at all, nor even was it a letter carried between wizards. It was a wand.
The great bird banked, and flapped its wings strongly to come to roost on the lowest-hanging tree branch it could, curling its talons in disgust at the icy coldness under its feet. It shivered its wings, the whole body shuddered. It stretched dementedly, the feathers sucking themselves in through the skin and revealing a layer of thick winter clothing that formed itself around the shape of a man who sat huddled on the branch. He put down his legs, stretching his frame, and dropped silently from the tree into the layer of snow. His feet crunched on the icy blanket. He looked around. He moved in a slow circle, the wand now held in his hand, checking to be certain that no one was nearby. He cradled his left hand close to his side, revealing pain or weakness there.
Then, without warning, he struck out. Light flashed from his wand and lit up the forest. The trees fell with groaning and cracking as their trunks were torn to pieces. Heat radiated outward from the man, melting the snow around him. Tree trunks exploded, throwing sprays of wood chips into the air. Things caught fire. The man was screaming in rage and pain. The ground around him rippled with concussions. His wordless screams echoed into the frozen air, lingering even after the man broke into heartbreaking sobs and fell to his knees in the midst of the mud-caked debris he'd made of the forest.
"It's not my fault," he was saying. "It isn't my fault. I didn't force anyone to do anything. It wasn't for me. I wasn't chosen. I just wanted to help. It's not my fault!" he screamed. "Please . . ." He fell over, curled up onto his side, wept. "Please forgive me. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt. I didn't want anyone to die. I didn't kill him. I didn't murder. I'm not a murderer. I'm not. I won't be. Not ever."
As he spoke, he was getting up again, at least as far as his knees. His right hand reached out and scooped up a few broken pieces of the tree branches. He kept his left hand cradled against his side. The fingers were purple and dead, and his hand oozed with open sores. Red streaks laced up his wrist and into his arm. He was sweating in the freezing air, his cheeks flushed and his eyes far too bright.
"I didn't want anything to get hurt," he whispered. He took his wand up again. The pieces of one of the trees flew back toward the ragged stump they'd come from. Splinters and ragged chunks of tree began to flow through the air, moving back to their places, knitting back together. The forest seemed to grow back up around him. And he knelt down and replaced a tiny sapling with his good hand, pushing the frozen mud back over it.
"Happy Christmas, Harry," he murmured. "They're probably having dinner now . . . and wondering about me. Maybe they got my letter. I can't remember if I sent it . . ."
He finally began to shiver, seeming to notice the cold night air for the first time. The heat of his fever was cycling down, now, and he would be in danger of freezing soon. He held out his wand over the sapling to be sure it was planted and repaired. He wanted to put the snow back to rights, but he couldn't. The ground was still a muddy ruin.
"They'll be worried about me. They'll be so upset. God, Harry, they deserve better than this. They deserve more from you."
He looked around the forest. It was mangled, but it was put back together. He had done this before. The first few times, he'd just left the destruction. But the past few days, when the rage had gone, he had wanted to fix it. He had to know that he could.
"Get up, Harry," he said decisively. "You're not going to die out here. You're going to fix this."
So he got up. He walked all night, with Warming charms on his feet. He rented a hotel room, fell into bed, and slept the whole day. He forced himself awake that night, having to crawl into consciousness through layers of distortion brought on by his fever. He knew where the magical community was in Berlin, and he went to its seediest strasse—the Knockturn Alley of Berlin. He got the name he wanted by virtue of looking and acting desperate, then he bought two bottles of firewhiskey. As Boxing Day drew to a close, Harry knocked on the door of a man whose looked like someone had tied him to the bumper of a car and dragged him face-down for miles.
"I have heard that you are a Healer," he said in cautious German. It had been a long time since he'd used the language.
"Used to be," the man grunted, and tried to close the door.
Harry stuck one of the bottles of firewhiskey into the doorjamb. The man squinted at it with murky green eyes.
"Rochester's Gold," he said with a sly smile. "Who told you?"
"Doesn't matter."
Harry pushed his way inside. There was a table, covered in old dishes, with a cat sitting on it. He shoved the dishes aside, making the cat yowl and hiss at him and run from the room. He pushed a stack of old newspapers to the floor so he could sit in a chair at the table. He thunked the bottle of Rochester's down, and pulled a second one from inside his coat. He'd drunk a quarter of it already, and he took a long pull on it now as he drew out his left hand and displayed it to the old man.
"What do you think?"
The man didn't even blink. He prodded the dead hand with the tip of his wand. Harry groaned and drank deeply from his bottle.
"I cannot fix it, not entirely."
"That would be a miracle. I don't recall asking if you were a saint. Can you stop the blood poisoning?"
"Yes. You must be aware up front that if I cut it off, the damage here—" he traced around the wrist "—is too bad to grow the hand back. Are you prepared for that?"
Harry dangled the neck of his bottle from his fingers and grinned without humour.
The old man shrugged, his ravaged face crinkling. "One hundred Galleons. I will take deutsch marks or euros if that's all you have."
Harry reached into his pocket and withdrew a bag of coins. "I have Galleons. Just do it."
The old man prodded further, muttering to himself. Harry's fever began to spike again, and his feelings of disassociation rose. He was in a shitty magical suburb of Germany, getting drunk off expensive firewhiskey and waiting for a man who didn't know his name to cut off his hand. He could have been giving speeches at the Ministry if he'd stayed home. But he couldn't have stayed, not with the way he was now. He would probably lose his shit again soon and blow up another piece of forest—assuming he didn't just go into a screaming fit here in the guy's house and blow that up instead. But the whiskey was helping, it seemed. The fever was bad, but he was feeling too mellow to blow anything up right now.
So the young man rested his head on the back of a chair and drank, the old man prodded with his wand and muttered, and far away across the frozen night, a girl cried at a scarred kitchen table because it was the middle of the night and no one could see her tears.
A/N: VERY IMPORTANT!
First of all, thank you for coming on this journey with me. You've been incredible. I couldn't have asked for more supportive readers. Special thanks go out to madbrad and alix33 for a lot of critical input recently— I really appreciate it. The rest of you were wonderful, too! I get goosebumps every time I open my inbox and have email alerts!
With that said, I have this to say about this series. The story of the war with Voldemort is over. If you don't want or need anything more, you can stop here. There are no more battles or bad guys. But if you, like me, have fallen in love with these characters, and you can't bear to part with them here at this low point in their lives—keep reading. I couldn't leave them here, either. They have a life after war, and I wrote it. It's an epilogue, of sorts, although it's a bloody long one with multiple parts. All the questions you still have should be answered by this section. I hope you'll join me for the end of the journey, the part that feels like going home.
At the time of writing this note and posting this chapter, I have not finished the epilogue section, and I plan to have the whole thing complete before I put it up. Should only be a week or two, so stay tuned. You may be harbouring doubts, and I would understand if you were. But I promise: It is not like the DH epilogue. I wouldn't do that to you. If you won't be joining me, you should still put me on author alert— I have a few works-in-progress that I may decide to complete!