Chapter Four

Payment

For the first time in her five years as a lawyer Hermione took time off of work. Everyday and every night would see her in her study pouring over the book. She integrated spells for more power, she did everything to taking a match to the bloody thing, but it didn't even singe it. She didn't expect it to. Malfoy did say that it was immune to all elements, but she had to try.

Everyone had come to check on her, each one more concerned than the last. Harry, all of the Weasley's, Neville, Luna, Dean and Seamus. Surely they thought she was losing her mind. Perhaps she was, but they couldn't understand why. They had no idea. The promise she made to Malfoy was not like any other promise. It was a promise that excelled all others.

He was dead and it was her fault. She should have found him, sent him an owl sooner, but it was too late. He was gone.

There wasn't to be a funeral. There wasn't a body; no one to give him a service. There was just a lot of his blood. She only knew that because she had read the paper. As hard as it was she had to know that it wasn't some sick joke. She had to know that it was true. The words made it as real as it could be.

Hermione, however, was far too logical to believe it was her fault for too long. She felt a slight reprieve in blaming Malfoy. He refused security, he walked out of her office. Did he fight back? Had he known what was happening? Of course he did.

"It has to be you. You have to do this."

"Only you can help me."

"Why can't anyone follow in his footsteps?"

"I trust you."

The last words he said to her was that he trusted her. Beyond all reasoning (she had many), she couldn't let him down. She would forgive him and do him the honor of his last noble request.

Again and again she worked, only leaving for necessity things like food and the bathroom. She slept on the floor of the study passing days as though they meant nothing.

Nine days had gone by when she woke with a pillow beneath her head and a blanket covering her feet to her shoulders. Her body ached (as it always had as of late), creaking as she sat up on the couch. That was odd, the floor had become her bed recently.

She saw that her dragon-hide gloves were gone from her hands, her wand placed on her desk with the box, all of her normal books stacked in order on her bookshelves.

A tiny vial filled with a purple potion waited on the floor under her with a note in Harry's spacey and jerky handwriting.

Take this for the pain, then come to my house.

She smiled at his kindness and downed the vial in one gulp. She had pinched her nose against the taste but she cringed anyhow. It tasted like rotten vegetables.

She wondered if Harry set up a trap for her. A trap was probably the wrong word to use. A distraction, yes, that was it. A distraction from the book. The trap would be if they tried to uncover her reaction about Malfoy's death. She'd believe that. They had been unusually patient about it.

Hermione showered, gathering her manageable hair into a high ponytail, and went downstairs to Floo. She hated to do it, the ashes always smeared into her damp mane, but it was far preferable than disapparating when she could be straight into his house. Whatever it was that he wanted she wanted it over with.

From her fireplace to his, she landed smoothly into his lounge. She shook the dust off her clothes and hair, feeling a few specks staining her hair. It didn't matter, she decided. She wasn't going out and so who would care? Harry had seen her in worse states.

Every piece of furniture there was fairly new. It was a little sad, he would have to make new memories, none of them - not the couch, the bookcase, or the books sprawled about the glass coffee table had any significance. The only objects that held any meaning were the pictures on the wall. There were more of her than anyone else. She sighed softly as she observed it. It hadn't changed, after all those years...

"Hermione," he said in acknowledgement. He stood in front of the door to the kitchen, his hands deep in his jean pockets in an uncomfortable manner. He looked carefully her over as if she would break down again.

"I'm okay," she assured, smiling at him.

"Are you?"

"You want an explanation." It wasn't a question. "I'm not going to talk about it. All I'll say is that Malfoy turned out to be a good man. He tried to make up for the mistakes he had made. It's a shame." Her voice broke on the last word.

Harry crossed the room in three strides taking her into his arms. He stroked her hair and back, kissed her cheek. She held onto him with all of her strength, as if she would crumble if she let go. Who could have said? She may have done just that, but the scent of him that always calmed her provided her with no comfort, she could hardly breathe.

"It'll be okay. It will. I don't understand, but I'm here."

She knew that. Harry had never once left her, but he was right, he didn't understand, and he was wrong, nothing would ever be okay again. He had no idea, no one did. Hermione's story was a mystery.

His arm lowered, curling around her waist, his face concealing in her hair. She heard the inhaling of his breath. He was smelling her.

"Harry," she groaned, pulling away.

He released her, immediately stepping back. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"I think I should go."

"Please stay..."

She kept her eyes to the floor, to her gray and white sneakers. "Are you sure it's such a good idea?"

"Tell me why you're upset over someone we hated for all of our school days. Make me understand this."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"After all the crazy things I told you? You never doubted me - not really. Even if you thought it was illogical, you went with me anyhow. There's nothing that you can't tell me."

"I need to go back, the book -"

"Forget the bloody book," he yelled.

Steadily she looked up into his vivid green eyes. "I can't tell you, but lets say I owe something to him."

"What could you owe to Malfoy?!"

My life."A lot."

He stared about the room as if looking for something to throw.

"Harry, trust me, please."

He paused shortly, testing his frustration and how important it could be, before he nodded. "Okay, fine. After all we've been through I reckon I should trust you. You've never let me down before."

Blurredly she walked to the fireplace stepping with her hand in the bowl of powder as he spoke once more.

"Nothing has changed."

"You could be happier."

"Has your answer changed?"

Sighing, she threw the Floo powder into the grate. A puff of smoke and then a large emerald fire burst, crackling lively. "No."

"Then I'll continue waiting."

She vanished in the blaze the tears burning on her cheeks. She wished him better for an uncountable time.

***

When Hermione arrived home she didn't go upstairs to her room. She didn't work on the book. She laid on her couch, her arm a pillow beneath her head.

She shook with a chill. The May air crept through the crack in her window, the one George caused when he threw Teddy's small toy bludger. He had yet to fix it, so did she. Even with magical powers, even if they could fix it in a second, some things were left behind. She had been too busy with her career to worry about it.

She reached to the back of the couch but remembered little Victoire had used it as a cape, pretending to fly about the house. It was all thanks to Ron's Muggle movies influencing her, but aside, Fleur had taken it folding it neatly in Hermione's cupboard.

The party where all that had taken place two fortnights ago seemed to belong in another age. She was blissfully unaware that everything in her life would turn upside down. Nothing would be the same. All because of some ruddy book. All because of Malfoy.

For years she worked hard. She pushed pass the lies, she made a good life for herself. She had her friends, her career, everything she could want. If anyone knew the truths about her, she would lose it all. Her life would end, her reputation ruined. She wouldn't let that happen. she worked too hard for too long to let anyone crumble her.

Anyone but Malfoy... If anyone could do it, he could, and he was. She wondered if she deserved it. Of course she did.

Hermione rolled off the couch, no longer chilled, but quite warm. She could feel the heat in her cheeks at her silent omission, one that she avoided for so much of her life. she went through the kitchen, out to the garden. Breathing deeply she calmed herself. she had to, her act was falling. She had to pull herself together, or everything would be lost.

It was then, as she glanced up, that she saw the shadow of a bird against the starry sky. Closer it came until the brown barnyard owl perched himself on her arm. she recognized Harry's messenger, Adis, gripping his talons gently into her arm.

Once she took the scroll from his beak he took off with a thankful hoot. Apparently, he didn't want a reply.

The note read:

"Shacklebolt wants to see us and Ron. Already sent him notice. Tomorrow at eight.

I'm sorry."

She tried counting every golden speck above her. She thought it was too bad she couldn't be up there with the stars. Was Malfoy? He had to be. He gave his life, his final choice, to save everyone else. That was why she owed him the favor he asked, that and all the times he gave her in the past, whether or not he'd tainted them.