HARRY POTTER AND THE UNFORGIVEN
A Sixth Year Harry Potter Fanfiction
BY
Jayiin Mistaya
"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."
...never tickle a sleeping dragon
COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter. Those rights are held, exclusively, by JK Rowling, and any other entities, corporations, subsidiaries, or groups not named here possessing legal rights to the aforementioned books and/or trademark.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to everyone who has been reading, even if you haven't reviewed, and especially to those people who have me on author alert or favorites.
More information on Harry Potter and the Unforgiven can be found at my website, which is linked in my Author Profile.
Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:Thanks to Elusive Evan for making me continue to post this.
CHAPTER NINE
Decisions
"I can't."
Hermione had never hated saying anything more than she hated saying that to Professor Dumbledore. She stared down into her tea, and bit her lower lip, cursing herself for feeling like she was going to cryagain.
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips. "Miss Granger, am I to understand that after all your protests about being left out and having a right to be involved, you are refusing an offer to join the Order?"
Hermione sucked in a breath, and blinked away the tears. She gritted her teeth. "Yes, Professor. You understand correctly."
McGonagall fixed Hermione with a stern gaze, every bit the strict and disapproving professor. "No, Miss Granger, I do not understand at all. Perhaps you would care to explain?"
She took a deep breath, wishing she had something she could get up and do while she gathered her thoughts. But there wasn't really anything; she had run into the bathroom to change (she'd thrown clothes on over the bathing suit) and come out to find the Professors sitting at the room's single small table, having conjured an attractive little tea service.
"My mother has decided I am not going back to Hogwarts." She was having to force every word out.
"I see," McGonagall said, very stiff and correct. "And you intend to obey this edict?"
Hermione visibly winced, her mother's parting comments still stinging. She still could not bring herself to look up at them. My first chance to really help, to really be involved...and I can't.
She wanted to scream or cry or both.
"No, Professor. But by law, I can't do anything about it until I turn seventeen." Hermione sat motionless, and stared into her tea, wondering what Professor Trelawney would have seen in the bottom of her cup.
Professor Dumbledore sighed. "Miss Granger, for reasons we cannot yet discuss with you, we cannot extend the same offer to Mister Potter or Mister Weasley. You are, perhaps, the only person who can undertake this task – which, I believe is vital to the defeat of Lord Voldemort. Please reconsider very carefully what we are asking."
Hermione took a sip of tea to force the lump back down her throat, and decided to make sure she understood what they were asking her to do.
"You want me to pack up and go with Professor McGonagall to Bulgaria to help convince the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic to clandestinely help support the Order of the Phoenix, trading on my relationship with Victor Krum for a cover story. Without telling my parents where I'm going or what I'm doing and in blatant, illegal defiance of their wishes."
In other words, I'm useless except that a Quidditch star took me to a dance. And you want me to give up my family because of it.
"Yes, Miss Granger. That is what we wish you to do. Your experiences assisting Mr Potter and confronting the Dark Arts makes your understanding of the current situation far more comprehensive than most non-Auror members of the Order."
Hermione flushed with the praise, and found herself hating even more that she was going to have to refuse them.
"My family..."
She couldn't finish the statement. She forced another swallow of tea down her throat. Harry would jump at this...he has no reason not to. Ron would too, even if his family didn't want him to.
Hermione tried to speak again, but no words came out. She quickly took another swallow of tea.
At least Ron's family wants him around for more than just appearances.
Her stomach clenched. Harry and Ron accepted her, stood up for her. They were her friends, and even if her own family were to turn her out completely, she would never lack for a home or people to take her in. Molly and Arthur Weasley would take her in a quickly as they did Harry.
How can I look Harry or Ron in the eyes if I sit here and do nothing? I'm not wanted or needed here. They don't want me or even like me. I can do something real, something solid this time. Even if it is just provide a cover story.
And I will be a part of the Order of the Phoenix.
"Miss Granger," McGonagall began, "there are some things more important than family or even friends."
They'll never notice I'm gone.
"I'll do it." Hermione cut her off, looking up, brown eyes bright with determination.
Professor Dumbledore smiled and patted her hand. "Thank you, Hermione."
The girl blinked, surprised that Professor Dumbledore had called her by her first name.
The old wizard smiled. "Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix."
- 0 -
Hermione was able to pack most of what she needed into her backpack in less than ten minutes. Crookshanks was not only willing, but eager to jump into his carrier; he wasn't enjoying the family reunion any more than Hermione was.
"I'm ready, Professors."
"That was impressively efficient, even for you, Miss Granger," Dumbledore remarked with a smile. "However, I doubt you are able to fit all of your wizarding accoutrements in that single backpack?"
Hermione looked a bit embarrassed. "I'm afraid I don't know how we'll get my Hogwarts things...my parents locked them up in their room."
"Ahh." Dumbledore nodded. "I am sure we can find a way, Miss Granger, but for the moment, we must discuss the details of your trip. Though your association with Victor Krum is, in fact, important to what we wish to accomplish, it is not your 'cover story'."
"It's not?" Hermione tilted her head to one side, looking more than a little confused. "But..."
Dumbledore held up a hand. "I think it would be best, Miss Granger, were we to find a better locale to discuss the arrangements. There is no sense in risking discovery by your relatives."
With a wave of his wand, the conjured tea service was transfigured into a tall staff of white oak, which flew to Dumbledore's hand.
"Ladies, if you would?"
McGonagall and Hermione touched the staff, and felt the familiar jerk behind their navels as the Portkey activated and sent them whirling into Dumbledore's office.
Somehow – maybe it was traveling with Dumbledore – they all arrived on their feet.
"Please, sit." The Headmaster walked behind his desk and sat. "Sherbert lemon?"
"No, thanks..." Hermione muttered as she stared around the office. Unlike Harry, she had never found herself there. The large and circular room was beautifully antique, with portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses, many of them asleep. All around the room, there were various silver instruments buzzing and chiming away, occasionally emitting the odd puff or two of smoke.
Dumbledore chuckled as Hermione sat, her eyes drawn to the many shelves of old books of magic and history.
"Admiring my library, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore smiled. "I believe I can part with a few to keep you occupied on your trip to Bulgaria."
Hermione managed to blush, look abashed and eager all at the same time. "Thank you, Professor!"
"You are quite welcome, Miss Granger. Now, as to the details of that trip. There is no need for a cover story, because Professor McGonagall is escorting you on an academic study based on your excellent performance all five of your years at Hogwarts, breaking most of the established academic records."
Hermione, though having the grace to look somewhat embarrassed, beamed under the praise. And as excited as she was, she didn't fail to notice that McGonagall looked almost as excited as she was. "Academic study? Bulgarian culture and history? Or magical techniques native to the region?"
"Calmly, Miss Granger. You will be accompanying Professor McGonagall to the conference on advanced transfiguration theory and application the Bulgarian Ministry is hosting. The conference will last two weeks, but that will be more than enough time for you and Minerva to lay the groundwork for the Order's mission." Dumbledore slid an envelope across to her. "Your wizarding passport, your conference confirmation, and the information concerning the conference itself is here."
Hermione was having trouble speaking. Her eyes were wide, and she was gaping at the envelope as if she couldn't believe what was happening.
Transfiguration conference? With Professor McGonagall? Member of the Order of the Phoenix? Borrowing Dumbledore's books? But there was one thought that brought her back down to earth. I'm only sixteen. I'll only be able to watch and study, not actually practice magic.
The thought was sobering enough for her to come out of her shock. Shaking her head, she motioned for Professor Dumbledore to pause for a moment.
"What am I going to do about money? What are our lodgings? Who are our contacts? What kind of groundwork do we need to put in place? What kind of support does the Order need? How are we going to attend the conference at the same time we're laying this groundwork? And if I'm only a student, how am I going to be able to help? What about my parents? Once they realize I'm missing, they'll call the Muggle authorities! Oh! My wizarding things are still in their room! Once those are gone, they will really worry! And what does Victor have to do with any of this?" When Hermione paused for a breath, Dumbledore pushed a goblet of pumpkin juice (that hadn't been there a moment before) across the desk to her.
"Your parents will be told you are going on a Hogwarts-sponsored tripto a magical conference. They will not be told where. The Order shall provide you with expense money for food, the conference, and Order-related business. You and Minerva will at Durmstrang, as it is, of course, the location of the conference. As the guest list is extensive and international, it is the perfect arena for your mission. Mr Krum is one of the wizards assisting their new headmistress in planning and coordinating the event and is your primary contact."
Hermione put down the goblet, and opened her mouth. Before sound could come out, there was a soft pop and her Hogwarts trunk appeared with Dobby sitting atop it. The house elf leapt off the trunk and into a flying hug, nearly knocking Hermione and her chair over.
"Dobby is getting Harry Potter's Hermione's trunk because Professor Dumbledore said she would only be happy if a free elf did it! And Dobby is a free elf!"
Hermione laughed and hugged Dobby back."Professor Dumbledore is a very wise wizard."
Dumbledore smiled at Hermione. "As you can see, Miss Granger, many of your questions have already been answered. The rest will be answered later, once you and Minerva have had time to converse." He steepled his long fingers and looked at her. "I am afraid that this will likely be the last time I see you before the beginning of Hogwarts' next term. I will be, regrettably, out of contact for quite some time."
Hermione pursed her lips and nodded. "I'm sure Professor McGonagall and I can manage on our own. But...what do I tell the others?"
Professor Dumbledore's smile was an infinitely sad expression, devoid of the reassurance and comfort that usually came with what was supposed to be a positive expression.
"You may tell them whatever you wish, Hermione."
Her first reaction was to grin. Ron and Harry would be so excited to know that at least one of them was a member of the Order. Ron would be jealous she was going to Bulgaria...and for the first time she felt guilty about allowing him to feel that.
But I can tell him this is only for Order business.
Her face fell as she began to understand. Dumbledore was giving her a choice: if she told Harry and Ron, she might compromise what the Order was trying to do.
"But I can't, can I?" Her voice was a whisper.
Dumbledore slid parchment, quill and ink across his desk to her.
- 0 -
Ron Weasley was bored.
It was late evening. Dinner was over and the dishes done. Chores were finished, and to his surprise, he missed having summer homework – at least then he'd have something to do.
Instead, he was sitting in silence on the back porch with his sister, thinking. He kept replaying the battle in the Department of Mysteries over and over in his head, seeing what he – and everyone – could have done better.
We didn't have a plan. We almost never do. Without Harry, we'd all be dead. It was too damn close this time.
The thought chilled him. Other thoughts competed with it, thoughts he didn't want to be ready to acknowledge.
The next time we might not be so lucky. We really don't have all that much time, not to do the important things.
He had made a horrible mistake his fourth year, both because he hadn't been willing to think about something that seemed trivial – who to take to the Yule Ball – and why he wanted to take them. He had compounded that mistake by speaking before thinking and by possibly destroying his only chance to do something truly wonderful.
He'd had a year to think about it and come to some conclusions about himself, about what he wanted out of life that he had never expected.
I have to tell her how I feel. As soon as I can.
His resolve wavered in the face of his fear; it had every day since he'd woken up in Hogwarts' infirmary with Hermione in the bed next to him.
I don't have the words, not the right ones. I never do.
He'd already written her one letter. He'd tried to tell her, but no matter how he tried to say it, the words didn't convey how he felt. He'd ended up with a stilted letter full of half-completed thoughts.
At least I managed to tell her I missed her. He knew what he wanted to say, but not how to say it. Maybe the 'how' isn't as important as the 'what' this time.
He was about to stand up, to go write the letter he was afraid to write, when his mother bustled out the back door.
"Ron! Ginny! Letters for you from Hermione! They just got here!"
Smiling at the first bit of good news he'd had since finding out almost everyone had made it out of the Department of Mysteries, Ron eagerly took the letter from his mother's hand and tore open the envelope. Her letter was a perfect opportunity; he'd write her back and he'd tell her. Even if he couldn't find the right words.
He unfolded her letter, smiling at the straight lines and clean, precise handwriting. The letter smelled like her – like lavender and honey and ink.
Ginny looked bemused as she stood and took her letter up to her room – probably to get better light to read it by. He barely noticed as she left.
After Ron read Hermione's letter, he folded it back up and slid it into his pocket. He leaned back against one of the wooden posts holding the roof over the porch and stared into the fading sunlight. He didn't realize how long he'd been sitting there until Remus Lupin sat down next to him.
The former Defense professor had abandoned his usual tattered gray robes for long, loose slacks, t-shirt, boots and – despite summer's heat - a much-abused olive green cloth jacket.
"You know, I've always liked watching the night sky during the new moon. But I hardly expected to find you out here this late."
Ron forced a smile, and looked over at his former Professor. He shrugged. "Believe it or not, I'm thinking."
Remus chuckled quietly. "I've seen you play chess too often to believe you don't think, Ron. Though I doubt it's one of your favorite pastimes."
The redhead raked his hand through his hair. "Not really. But a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do, you know?"
Remus nodded, his face a silhouette in the waning light. "I know. What are you thinking about?"
Ron was silent for a long moment. "Heroes."
"Heroes?" Remus asked, somewhat surprised. His voice was soft, but intense. "That can be some deep thinking. Care to share?"
The youngest Weasley boy shrugged. "What makes a hero? People like Harry are heroes because they have to be. People like you are heroes because they chose to be. But what about the people we call heroes, like sports stars and media figures? What makes them heroes?"
"I wouldn't call myself a hero, Ron, though I will take the compliment in the spirit it was intended. I think those people are heroes because they represent something that we respect or covet. They give us a goal, a direction – a role model, I suppose."
Ron nodded. "That makes sense. Most of my life, I've wanted to be a hero. I've had a lot of heroes to look up to. I've wanted to be Quidditch Captain, to be Head Boy, to be a famous Auror. But heroes have to sacrifice something to be heroes, don't they? That's the burden of being a hero."
Lupin nodded, pulled his jacket around himself and looked at his former student.
In the dying sunlight, Ron's hair was glowing as if his head were capped with unruly fire, almost but not quite tamed – it seemed to somehow reflect his inner turmoil.
"This is a very strange line of thought, Ron. I have to admit, I never thought I would be having this discussion with you. Harry, yes, but not with you."
Ron smiled, the expression only slightly bitter. "That's because I'm not a hero. I've never wanted to pay the price. I still don't."
"Don't cut yourself short, Ron." Remus smiled back, uncertain how to reassure the boy.
"No." Ron spoke with more confidence than Remus had ever heard from him. "No, I'm not a hero. And I think I like it that way. People aren't heroes just because they sacrifice something. They're heroes because they have the ability to do something that other people don't. The sacrifice comes when they make the choice to do that thing. Every person has their own gifts, their own abilities, right?"
"Yes, I'd say so." Remus had fixed Ron with a very intense gaze, but Ron didn't seem to notice. Lupin had always seemed intense to him. He turned and looked at the werewolf. "That's why you're here, at my house, with the Order. You're very good at using magic to fight and to protect, and so you're doing it, right? Even if you were good at something else, or had another job or somewhere else to be, you'd still be here, doing this."
Lupin nodded again. "You're surprisingly perceptive, Ron."
"Eh," he shrugged, "it's a fluke. Just for tonight." He looked away again. "Most people choose to do something they're good at. Bill is good at everything except being happy. Charlie is good with animals, especially dragons. Percy is good at knowing things, at making the system work. Fred and George are good at creating things, especially laughter. Harry is good at magic and saving people, and Hermione is good at absorbing, comprehending and using vast amounts of information."
Remus pursed his lips. "Are you saying you don't know what your particular gift is?"
He shook his head. "No. I know what I'm good at, but it means I'll probably never be a hero. But there's no shame in that, and I think I'm beginning to understand that for every hero, there has to be people like me, or they'd never be able to handle being a hero."
"You don't sound as if this bothers you, Ron, but I'm not sure if you're selling yourself short or having a moment of supreme maturity."
"Probably both," Ron answered with a sigh as he stood up. "Thanks, Professor. Things make some sense now."
"I'm glad I could help, Ron. And it's Remus. You're not my student anymore."
Looking sheepish, Ron shook his head as he walked back inside. "Mum'd kill me if I called you Remus, and 'Mr Lupin' just doesn't sound right. Sorry, Professor."
Ron trudged upstairs to his room. If I'm not a hero, then what am I?
The answer seemed obvious. Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape weren't the only people to point it out to him, but they had been by far the most vocal. A sidekick. And what's wrong with that?
Nothing. Except Harry wouldn't stand for having a sidekick. He had enough trouble accepting that he was a hero, let alone that his best friend was going to call himself a sidekick.
But I'm not his partner. Harry doesn't need or want a partner, not for this. Even if he did, I'm not the right guy for the job. He shrugged mentally. Doesn't mean I'm not in this fight for the long haul or that I won't be right there beside him the whole way. Hermione and I aren't going to abandon him, even if he is a prat lately.
Hermione. Her again.
Ron sat down at his desk, and spread out the parchment.
Ron,
I hope things are going well for you this summer! I can't believe it's already been a week. My family is driving me insane...I wish you and Harry were here to keep me company!
I won't be trapped here long, though. In the next day or so, I'm finally going to get to go to Bulgaria and see Victor! He's doing a summer project at Durmstrang, so I'll probably be staying there. I know how you feel about Victor, Ron. I know how you feel about our relationship, and I don't agree with you on it. Because you are one of my best friends – really, one of my only real friends - I'm not going to lie to you about where I'm going this summer, even though it will upset you.
I am going to ask that you don't write me. I think until I can figure out things between Victor and I, angry letters from you are the last thing I need. Anything you write to me, I will send back, unopened. This summer is my time to have something for me, and I won't let your anger and jealousy ruin it, and hopefully it won't ruin our friendship. If there is something you absolutely have to tell me, send it through Ginny or Harry.
I'm not mad at you or trying to hurt you with this. I just think it's best not to antagonize each other over this right now.
Love from,
Hermione
At first, Ron had wanted to write her anyway. But what good would it do? She wasn't going to read anything he wrote...
I'm going to. I'm going to say how I feel. If she reads it, she reads it. If she doesn't, she doesn't. At least I've given it one last try, even though she's made it pretty clear she only thinks of me as a friend.
He pulled out parchment and ink and wrote his letter, and set it with the handful of envelopes Hedwig would be taking out in just a couple of hours. (The Order preferred Owl Post to come and go by night.)
Ron Weasley went to bed with a strange sense of calm.
Even if I had asked her first and without being a prat, she would have said no. I am not who she wants to be with. I have to accept that, and move on.
Forcefully, he shoved thoughts of Hermione, and Krum and things he couldn't undo out of his head as he climbed into bed. It was still early for him, but he was going to need his sleep.
I don't know what I'm going to do with my life, but I know what I can't do. That's a place to start.
End Chapter
Revised 12-25-07
