Her heart was pounding wildly against her larynx as she left the Healer behind at the counter and jumped out through the glass wall, landing unnoticed in the bustling street. A quick glance over her shoulder at the dummy to see whether anyone followed her and she rushed through the warm rain, ignoring a car that honked as she crossed the wet and slippery street running. On the other side, she hurried into a narrow alley, behind a number of wheelie bins and Disapparated.
As if the rain had taken over the entire country in spite of the warm temperatures, her shoes splashed water on the street and the path behind the kissing gate that opened on a quick flick of her wand. Other than in London, she was alone in the graveyard, passing rows and rows of stones, square, rectangular, round, crosses or simple slabs on low rims of stone. Behind the church, laid her target and she was so focused to reach it, she didn’t even notice she had been followed, until she found the graves abandoned.
“Harry?”, she asked and looked to her sides.
But he wasn’t there. All that was there was graves. The smallest only, even after more than four years, a shining white stone without a pit, bearing words in memorial:
Here rests, carved in stone, the memory of
Luna Lily Potter
A little soul that decided to stay in the light and gather more of it until the world is ready to receive it from her
And no hole beneath this stone to hold what has not arrived yet
As the holes in our hearts are big enough to bury a mountain range and turn it within, to the third
Free under the stars yet serving forever as a reminder to the blind among the seeing
Whilst the winds’ whispers brush through our tears
We await you to fill them instead, but never succeed to replace
In Love Beyond
“’E is not ’ere.”, confirmed the voice of a woman, deep and hollow and Hermione spun on her heels in panic, her wand held out towards the three white figures that approached her, trapped her, encircled her.
“Who are you!”, she moaned, the hooded and masked forcing her to step back, steadily, but with gentle steps as though they were floating across the wet ground. “Goodness – you are real?”
“Well of course we are real.”, said Jeanne. “As real as your fear of us, now zat you see us standing before you.”
“You are – women – ”, Hermione aspirated, not believing that Harry had actually said the truth, in all those years.
“I believe, your friend ’as said zat.”, only when she had met with the gravestone of Lily and James, the three would stop walking and she watched the water pearl off their long white cloaks, magic keeping them from wetness and her eyes wandered back up to their plain white masks. “So unless eet ees your wish to join zeh dead yet, I recommend you go looking for dear ’Arry somewhere else.”
“Where – where is he – ”
“Oh I don’t know,”, chuckled Jeanne, but Hermione doubted her honesty.
“Don’t lie to me. I know that you know where he is. You always know where he is.”
“’E ees where one will only find ’im eef ’e ees willing to be found, precious ’Ermione.”
“Precious?”, she murmured, her brows narrowing. “There’s only one who called me – ”
“And ’e ees not ’ere, as I ’ope you see. Instead, we are, to tell you what ’e would ’ave. Eet was good zinking, expecting ’Arry to ’ave sought shelter wiz zeh dead, but ’e ees een a slightly different place, dear.”
“And where? Hey!”, they had simply made themselves invisible – almost; their silhouettes were left in the rain.
“’Eestory does not fully repeat eetself, ’Ermione. Nor will I repeat myself. Good luck.”, she could hear Jeanne laugh childishly and they were gone, with the rain falling down straight.
“Fine, then not.”, huffed Hermione and Disapparated again, once she had composed.
Like she had expected, it was raining at the outskirts of the other village as well and so she only faced a lonely hill of white tulips that hadn’t stopped blooming or changed at all in the years since Harry had conjured them there. Not this time, she thought. She had been stupid enough in the past to run from one place to another on the search for his father, but maybe Harry was less rigorous at concealing his hiding place.
Spinning her wand quickly, a light bulb formed in front of her and she made it zoom towards her chest, where it melted with her wet clothes and floated inside her. The warmth that emitted from it was quite soothing, though the immediate knowledge shocked her.
“What?”, she snarled quietly at him though he was far away. “You’re kidding, right?”
But she knew he wasn’t. What he would be doing there though, was a mystery to her. He hadn’t been there ever since they had left for the Ministry to get Slytherin’s locket. However, if already those so-called Peverell Sisters contacted her, there wasn’t all too much oddity that could surprise her anymore, and if it would be finding him down in the kitchen, preparing a bowl of chocolate cream – which she had to admit to herself, she would never figure how to make it taste like Severus’ had. Not even with Molly’s help it had. It had tasted wonderful, but not nearly the same.
Trees in a small park surrounded her now and she left it through the door in the fence, stepping out onto the square that faced numbers eleven and thirteen, being the only person outside. Composing herself again, she halted between the houses, closed her eyes and thought thoroughly of number twelve. Rumbling. Without the residents’ notice, the houses sprang alive and revealed another building that was growing between them and she took the stairs up to the door that had appeared. To her slight frustration, it was locked, and to her bigger frustration, none of the standard spells worked. Not even a single of those she recalled having tried on Severus’ office door.
“You really are kidding me, Harry.”, Hermione moaned at the wood. “What is the use of securing an abandoned house – apart from – right, you don’t want to be found. But guess, I found you.”
Some more invented, logical spells later, she was close to actually give up and looked around nervously, whether anyone was watching her. But then she remembered that the stairs were already behind the Fidelius Charm. Though then, like a lightning bolt, it struck her.
“Password?”, she mumbled. “Don’t be silly, no way he has locked it with – ”, but on the other hand, that would be quite secure. “Um – ”, though what could be a pass- “Ginevra? No – too easy – er – Peverell perhaps? Oh god’s sake, what am I doing – here – the – the dead – death – I – I open at the close?”, clicking and clattering. “You are such an idiot, Harry.”, she frowned and pushed down the handle.
On the other side of the door was only darkness when she closed it behind. A drab dusty corridor ahead. But there were wet footprints on the carpet, of obviously naked feet. She gave her wand a lighting flick and, squinting, her eyes followed them to the stairs that led to the lower floor, which hosted the kitchen. Though before she could take a single step herself, the dust rose in a whirlwind and her tongue glued itself to her palate. Nevertheless a scream managed to press itself out when the corpselike figure glided up from the carpet, dark hollow eyes penetrating hers and voices of long gone days hammered on her brain, reawakening memories of pain, of fear and despair and the white hands reached out with black hair being swept behind his shoulders while Walburga Black yelled words she had heard so many times, but drowned in the horror that poured down on her. She felt her wand slip from her grip and barely saw it fly through the shadow that swallowed her and her wand’s light.
“Hermione?”, a calm, familiar voice reached her ears and there was some smell she could hardly believe to be there once she managed to match it. “What the – ”, daring to open her eyes again, she saw him standing there, towering her even from distance, purely white from the neck down to his bare feet and her wand in hand.
“Filthy scum, defiling – ”
“I’m gonna defile every single painting in this ruddy house if you don’t shut THE FUCK up!”, Harry raged and flicked his empty hand at the painting, which burst into flames, taking over the curtains as well when Mrs Black fled upstairs, screaming much like Hermione had done. “Are you okay?”, he asked when she tried to heave herself up from the floor.
“Yes. I’m fine.”, she could speak again. “Severus? Honestly? You’re a little macabre, aren’t you?”
“So was Mad-Eye.”, sighed Harry and turned for the stairs to the lower floor.
“Where are you – ”
“I’ve got something on the stove. Don’t want the entire house to burn down.”, another flick and the flames vanished, leaving the curtains and painting as if nothing had happened, though a little sooty and Hermione could spot a hole that was still there, burnt into the canvas where Severus had stabbed his wand into Walburga’s eye a number of times.
“Stove? Don’t tell me – ”
“Last thing I’ve eaten was yesterday’s breakfast.”, he said when she entered the kitchen after him where he dedicated to a smaller pot already, cutting some herbs in.
“You’re cooking a – vegetable stew?”
“Good nose. You know, even though I think I drained about a hundred goblets of water, I’m as dehydrated as if I’d taken a three days walk in the Sahara without provisions.”
“You can cook?”, she closed up and peeked into the pot, noticing in the corner of her eye that he had stuck her wand behind his ear.
“Honestly, Hermione, where have you been for the last four years? You really think, Ginevra chars all alone? Course I can cook. And besides, we learned it in school, didn’t we?”
“Er – ”, slightly confused, she eyed him as he added some broccoli, unsure whether she should retrieve her wand.
“It’s pretty much the same as Potion Making.”
“I actually meant, why you add – ”
“If I added it earlier – ”
“I meant, why at all – ”
“You’d be surprised. Besides, it’s my stew and I cut in whatever I want.”, he said curtly. “However, I think I made fairly enough for three people. There’s no one else coming, is there?”
“Not that I – know – ”, she aspirated. “Um – mind giving me back – ”
“Here.”, he leisurely pulled her wand from behind his right ear and handed it over.
“Thanks. Wait – did you disarm me wandless?”
“You’ve really been sleeping, have you?”, Harry chuckled and reduced the fire with a lazy flick of his left hand again.
“Perhaps. When have you mastered it?”
“Quite a while ago.
“What else can you do without a wand? I mean, apart from playing with fire – ”
“Brushing my teeth?”
“Harry,”
“You don’t want to know.”, he sighed. “But if you’re really interested, use your imagination. Imagination is the only limit. Though I wouldn’t advise you to jump off a house without knowing you’re really able to cushion the fall,”
“Funny.”, she huffed. “So you’ve practically repaired your wand for nothing?”
“I thought you’d say something like this.”
“Er – why?”, Hermione frowned.
“You see, I sometimes ask myself the same. Sometimes you just figure that there are so many things that have become useless – but on the other hand, they wouldn’t have become useless if they hadn’t been. Because, if they hadn’t been, I wouldn’t be able to do anything of that better. Get that?”
“I – think so – yes – some things you simply need to develop – ”
“Yes. But I also had to learn brutally that although I managed to repair my first wand successfully, Voldemort’s abuse must have had some influence on the Elder Wand. Mine just doesn’t work as good as it did before you so carefully cracked it. Nor do Olivander’s latest productions. Luna also refuses to use her new wand. The torture must have – ”
“Harry! It’s not my fault, it rebounded! How should I have known I was about to attack a living Horcrux!”
“Actually, thinking about it now, it surprises me you hadn’t figured that by then. But sure. You hadn’t felt what I had when I stepped up to Bagshot’s wandering corpse. Yet it is your fault. Casting such a powerful curse with another’s wand does never work well, regardless of the target.”
“Harry, you know I’m not a Wandmaker.”, she pleaded. “I had no idea it would do that. Especially not since I was – well,”
“Practically trying to kill the piece of a soul of which a piece was also hidden in the wand’s owner.”
“Yes! And besides,”
“Stop moaning. I know you just reacted in panic. I thought we had settled that when you confessed to me what happened? Didn’t I – ”
“And besides,”, Hermione grunted, dismissing the flicking up memory of two arguing men in the Grand Tower almost a decade ago, “Since when don’t you like meat in your soup?”
“It’s a stew.”
“Harry,”
“Who said I don’t like it?”
“Well, when we were still going to school, you used to love Molly’s mixed stew and were quite averse to touching it unless there was at least little meat in. What I see in here is pretty much the same, just completely without beef.”
“You think?”
“I mean – ”, she attempted to take the ladle for a checking stir, but all she did was gasping when he grabbed her wrist quicker than a fly.
“Don’t – stir.”, Harry snarled.
“Okay? Oh calm down!”, she moaned at the look he gave her. “It’s just a soup, not a potion!”
“It is a stew. And it’s ready. You can stir when it’s on your dish. I don’t want the broccoli smashed.”, he let go of her wrist, gave the pot and two cupboards a wave and she watched the – stew – settle down on a drip mat on the dining table along with an additional soup bowl, spoon and napkin and the fire died. “Enjoy.”, Harry said grim and walked to the table.
“Are you alright, Harry?”, his attitude worried her enormously.
“I’m fine,”
He had said it casually as if he really was, but when she sat down too, he had already filled their bowls and started eating quite furiously. She could understand that Draco’s lousy attempt to flee from responsibility upset him; still that could not justify his behaviour. Not for her.
“How did you figure out the spells Mad-Eye had put up?”, Hermione asked after a while in silence.
“Oh that was easy. I hardly think he’d done that to scare – well, Severus; rather to give everyone else the impression.”
“Why?”, she choked.
“It’s hot, you know; that’s the nature of a freshly cooked stew.”, Harry eyed her, which made her slightly as angry as he had been not even a minute ago.
“Shut up, yes?”
“You asked me why.”
“Stop being childish. I didn’t mean the soup.”
“Stew. Nor did I. And I mean, those spells were easy. Dark Magic though, and yes, as an Auror Mad-Eye must have come across them, but I found them scribbled into an outdated defence book in Regulus’ room.”, Hermione choked again. “I said, it’s – ”
“Harry!”, she gargled.
“Okay, okay. I get it, you’re not really as dumb as you behave. But guess who scribbled.”
“Oh guess why I choked.”, she snapped back. “Guess why I’m missing those books. I hardly reckon they returned to the library on their own, just to end up in Regulus Black’s room the other day. He stole them from me!”
“Library?”
“Back in our fifth year,”, Hermione explained, “He caught me in the library at night, working on defence books for the DA before I even came to you with the idea. But instead of throwing me out, he went for a number of outdated books that had been used during his and his mother’s school time. Now that you say it – oh goodness – ”, it dawned on her, “He might just have left the row as an excuse for retrieving his own old books from a pouch he had! Um – I’m afraid, I got to tell you something I swore not to – ”
“He’s also played his Potions book into my hands, yes. Figured that ages ago.”, Hermione couldn’t help but stare. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not stupid. I don’t know the specifics, but I knew long before I found those books upstairs. Really, it doesn’t matter to me what you swore or not or how bad you feel about keeping or not keeping secrets. I don’t care. Not anymore.”, he took some spoons full of his; Hermione had to confess that it was as delicious as if Severus had cooked it; stew, and carried on. “I’ll find out anyway. No matter how much you shield your mind, I’ll find out every single bit that’s in there.”
“Harry – ”
“I didn’t say it’d hurt you or that I’ll make you tell me. I’m long above that. I’ve been an Auror for quite a time, and believe me, I know my ways now. I already know things about him I don’t think even you know.”
“Which would be?”
“Really, Hermione,”, he smiled sheepishly and ate on, “You’d be – the last – I’d tell.”
“That’s unfair!”
“That’s life, I guess. By the way, if the other books were his too, he didn’t steal them. He prevented you from stealing them. Remember? Muriel’s tiara? And your stew’s getting cold.”
“And you still have that horrible – nightshirt – from St Mungo’s on.”, Hermione murmured and dug into her own serving of sou- stew again.
“How many times have I been in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts? I never got something like a loyalty bonus.”
“A – Harry,”
“So what’s wrong with a welcoming gift from St Mungo’s? Besides, it’s very comfortable.”
“I have no doubt.”, she frowned to her bowl.
“It doesn’t diminish from staring at it,”
“Harry!”
“But alright, if you don’t like it, you could pass it to me.”
Too upset by his childish, cold sarcasm, she decided it was better to obey and eat. He meanwhile helped himself to another serving and she went back in time, when Kreacher had cooked for them. Harry was right. Even though it had been war, the world had been whole. Now, since he and Ginny had moved to Godric’s Hollow, their friendship seemed so far away, breaking apart – she recognised the man before her, by his glasses – his eyes – the scar just visible through the slightly greasing bundles of thick black hair over his forehead – she recognised the face through the thick full beard, the hands – but not who had spoken to her. Well, she did, but it was not Harry. Not the Harry she remembered from their school days. And the longer she studied his movements, the more she saw him.
She saw the way he held his spoon, how his other hand laid on the table in a slack fist – how his lips moved when he swallowed – the absent blinking of his shining black lashes with his gaze at some supposedly grand space that fitted in a single square inch on the kitchen table – the way he bit the vegetables – she knew all that, recognised it so well, but not to be Harry. His face looked more like his grandfather’s and his eyes were clearly Lily’s, but the hands, the slim fingers only a hint shorter, it was all Severus, younger, though as shattered. There was nothing left of the glow she would remember from the boy who had been eager to find the Philosopher’s Stone before the wrong people would. Voldemort’s soul had left him, and had left behind a shell so full of grief, crumpled over the past few years.
Tiredness owned him; if only now that he ate quiet and deeply in thoughts or generally, she didn’t dare to consider. Any second of it was too much. But there was, she could see it in the depths of his green eyes, a flame that kept him burning alive, that drove him on. It might be Ginny or his son James – or anything, but it was the same tiny flame she had sometimes gotten to spot in his father’s dark tunnels. Yet the boy was gone. He had grown to be a man of will, though also bitterness, and the second was what troubled her most, she guessed, but right then her gaze was drawn by something briefly glistening at his neck when he straightened slightly.
“What exactly are those necklaces?”
“Hmm?”, Harry raised his head, back in the physical world, and for a tinsel-thick second she had though seen that the boy hadn’t fully left, actually.
“The necklaces – Ginny had handed back to you – I didn’t really pay attention to them while she sat there wearing them and when – ”, finished, he put the spoon aside and reached down the neckline. “Not that pouch Harry,”, she snorted at his blank face and he pulled another. “Oh goodness – you really are obsessed,”
“What.”, he said his, indifferent expression staring straight at her.
“I mean, honestly? Not everyone knows yet that Grindelwald solely abused the sign,”
“And I don’t give a damn. If someone complains, I will explain it to them. It’s like with that cross that’s turned upside down, you know? Everyone thinks it stands for the devil, because people forgot that it was only Peter’s wish not to be crucified like Jesus – so he asked the Romans to flip the cross – or they found it funny, whatever. Or the Pentagram! It has so many positive meanings – but then some nutters used it in their dark rituals and suddenly everyone thinks bad about it!”
“Second – where have you got that from anyway?”, Hermione narrowed her eyebrows. “That looks just like – ”
“It was a present.”
“Present?”
“For my twentieth birthday.”
“No, I’ve seen all the presents you received.”, she snapped after a pause for remembering, yet composed.
“Surprise; she gave it to me away from your nosy nose.”, Harry said bored and slipped the pendant and Mokeskin Pouch back in.
“She?”
“Luna.”
“So that is – oh my god!”, Hermione’s mouth fell open. “That belonged to her Dad! She had – no right – ”
“Well, I don’t think she cares whether you believe she had the right to pass it on to me or not,”
“Goodness, she’s just – ”, Hermione shook her head.
“Luna.”
“What?”, her head jerked back up.
“She’s Luna. You’d better accept at last that she’s got a mind of her own.”
“And the third?”, for a moment Harry only eyed her silently, then he pulled the second chain and she gasped.
“Telling from your reaction, I believe, you are familiar with those as well?”
“Yes – ”, she gargled. “They – they were his – how did you – ”
“His? Forgive me, but I think he only retained them for me. Or don’t you know whose wedding rings they are?”
“I do – ”, Hermione breathed.
“Good. I received them from – a friend.”, he said before she could ask again.
“A friend?”, she frowned, although glad he had spared her the trouble of having to repeat her pleading.
“That is enough for you to know.”, he said curtly, raised and gave the dishes and empty pot a wave, whereupon they glided over to the sink which filled itself with hot water and foam and a brush began cleaning the things on its own.
“Where are you going?”
“Kreacher arrived with the mail.”
“Er – I didn’t hear him – ”
“Because he Apparated into Regulus’ room.”
“How do you – ”
“I am his Master, if you forgot. You excuse me, that might take a while.”
“A while? You know what’s in that mail?”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked him to get it, would I?”, the stare he gave her nearly froze her blood.
“Um – o-okay – I’ll – I’ll be in the bathroom, if you don’t mind.”
“No. Join me in the hall, if you’re done – or leave – whatever.”
~~#~~
Years later and she still detested that bathroom. But lying in the tub had been a wonderful exchange to the shower at The Burrow and her warm, freshly washed lion mane framed her face in all its cosiness, shielding her ears like the door had, from the sad tune of the piano that came from the salon. She had no idea when Harry had learned to enchant musical instruments, but given her newest acknowledgements, it didn’t surprise her much.
Wrapped in a warming dressing gown she wore over a long-sleeved T-shirt and leggings, her feet carried her towards the source of the music, sticking in plush slippers.
“That’s Mozart, isn’t it? Lacrimosa?”, she said when entering the room.
“Yes.”, Harry confirmed. “Easy if you have a lot to think about and don’t want to miss chords because of that.”, her eyes nearly fell out and to the floor – the piano wasn’t playing on its own. “But I like that one better.”
Hermione wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing that he had his back turned on her or the worst. He had undone his plait; the now even more wavy and naturally messed hair already fell down to the middle of his back. She reckoned, that if he hadn’t cut it since the end of the war, Severus’ hair would have reached the same length. However, she had to indeed ignore the bit of bare skin shown by the open gap of that horrible piece of near-clothing he still wore. Or rather the worry about it.
So she decided to direct her thoughts back onto the music instead. Yet even though it was the Moonlight Sonata, similarly slow as Mozart’s Requiem, Harry played it with such passion and not getting a single note wrong that it brought tears to her eyes. It had taken her many years to be able to play by heart. No matter what she tried, it was simply different from learning to recite a text or an entire book even.
However on top of that, he played on, beyond the most familiar beginning, even the part of it she had never managed to play with the help of sheets and his fingers flew across the keys in a manner she had only seen Severus’ fingers do so far, let alone that she had never played such a long song either, despite having started to play at the age of six. Dignified, she listened.
The grandfather clock against one of the walls told her that he had already been playing twelve minutes straight and from records she knew the piece to be fifteen minutes long. Three minutes of more insanity later, he finished the last chord, took his hands off the piano and spun on the stool.
“That – wow.”, was all she could gargle from beneath her tears.
“S’ppose so.”, Harry chuckled.
“When have you – learned to play – ”, he only shrugged.
“Some time after the war. I decided I should give it a try.”
“Have you taken lessons?”
“You refused to give Draco lessons; therefore I didn’t dare to ask, even though he said that you’d be more likely teaching me than him. So I asked him whether I could use the piano we found in the Mirror Manor for learning and he said I could as often as I liked. Did that until we’d rebuilt the house and had enough again to afford a piano myself. You see, I didn’t dare to transport this piece here – or even duplicate it so I had one at home as well. I also didn’t want to punish it much while still trying to learn how to play. But anyway, you definitely need to teach me how to read music.”
“You – can’t?”, Hermione aspirated.
“Nope,”, Harry smirked as if it wasn’t such an unusual thing to play as good as that within less than half the learning time of a very good pianist and without being able to read music at all.
“And I had no idea you own a piano yourself,”
“Well, I just said that, didn’t I? It’s two. That one’s already been mine long before we hid here,”
“Harry, the last time I’ve been to your house was two years ago!”, she moaned, ignoring his add. “The only time we get to see each other is coincidentally in the cafeteria or for things like Easter and birthdays! You’ve even reduced Christmas to a few hours with us!”
“And you were surprised when you realised that I don’t need a wand myself to disarm you. Hermione, I don’t know how you thought I’d cope with everything I’ve seen, but I haven’t been hanging around in Godric’s Hollow’s graveyard like a – ”
“What makes you think – ”
“Oh maybe the fact that the first place you went looking for me was – ”
“How do you – ”
“How I know? Let me think – ”, he sang, frowning sarcastic in a way that reminded her so much of his father that it drove her to the edge of disgust.
“They used the time I’ve been by the ruins of the Shrieking Shack – ”
“Perhaps?”
“Stop looking at me like that, alright?”
“Life is shorter than you might be willing to believe.”, he reduced his frown and also lost half of his tone to earnest. “And you know that I’ve experienced that more than probably anyone else we know – but one man, as you might guess too. And therefore I try to make the best of my time. Apart from work, which is necessary not only for nourishing my small family, I try to spend it with them. That doesn’t automatically mean that I take James to funfairs. He’s too young for that anyway. So we sit together and read or cook together or I practise on the piano while they listen or whatever. There are plenty of ways to spend quality time with your family. And if I should ever go stir-crazy, they know I’ll be in here and practise spells or experiment with other stuff. Ginevra knows that if I don’t return after twenty-four hours or she gets a notice from Kreacher, she is allowed to check and shoo me back to the Ministry.”
“And if something goes wrong?”, she especially thought of Luna’s mother now.
“It won’t.”, he said curtly.
“What makes you so sure – ”
“As I said, James isn’t old enough yet and you know how old our second child is. We don’t even know yet what’s it going to be.”
“Harry – if you’re trying to say that – ”
“It might be some gruesome, elusive or even inexplicable logic for you, but for me it is comprehensible, yes.”
“So you say, as long as James is under eleven, you’re immortal, but when he turns eleven you stop experimenting? That’s indeed some elusive logic,”, Hermione crossed her arms.
“I didn’t say I’m immortal. I said, I won’t die yet. Hermione, if I started thinking like that, I could as much do what Draco did. Fortunately he understood that he has a personal responsibility now. And believe it or not, expect him to marry Astoria.”
“What?”
“He realised that there is only one thing he needs to decide. It is whether he wants his child to be born into a whole family or a lightly connected. He might tear himself from his mother and aunt, but the latter should actually understand and support him. She also tore herself from her family to grant her daughter a better childhood, moreover, life even.”
“And Hannah?”
“Ginevra said, Neville brought her away. He’s been secretly loving her for years. He will take care of her and once she’s over it all, he will do his best to make her notice his feelings for her, if she doesn’t earlier. And honestly, Hannah deserves a stable relationship. Draco’s far from stable.”
“And you know it will come like that because – ?”
“Because I opened my inner eye and glued it to a crystal ball!”, Harry sang again. “Damn it, Hermione!”, he added snarling. “Yes, I know that because I dared to open my eyes!”
“But if you already opened them that widely, you should use them to realise that you are not at all thinking of giving your children a future with you.”, Hermione countered equally rough then.
“How often do I have to tell you – ”
“Well of course! The logic, yes! And what a logic it is!”, if he knew to sing, she did too.
“Hermione, you didn’t listen to me. You didn’t listen at all. I learned from the Dementors. If you give in to your fears, you’ll be their victim. Devote to what keeps you alive and happy and you have a good chance to live slightly longer. And if not, you die having done something you liked to do. It doesn’t matter how exactly you die. What matters is the cause and if you like it enough to be proudly dying for it. If our day comes, it comes. And just because Luna’s mother died from one of her experiments, it doesn’t mean I will. Besides, I bet she was happy before she could realise that she screwed up.”
“Harry – ”
“Luna herself said that stories don’t necessarily have to repeat. I agree with that, yes. Some stories do in ways, and others don’t at all. I learned to live with and learn from that. Some stories do repeat themselves, but that doesn’t automatically mean it’s bad through and through. There is a term called self-similarity. Dunno if you ever came across it, but it exists and it exists in everything. In plants, in rivers, in the veins of our bodies – and it does in time. That’s a fact and if you know how to use it positively, you already won one round of the game. I don’t fear death and my children will grow up with that knowledge. If I should die, they will know why and that I loved them until the very end. Oh and just by the way, I don’t think there’s any law in the world that says I’m obliged to live up to your expectations,”
“My exp– I give up, Harry.”, Hermione said, indeed deflated by how much they were alike. “I used to argue with a person that had a similar opinion. I lost every single time and I’m tired of losing such fights. I give up before I lose again.”
“If it helps you that you don’t die from frustration,”, he said emotionless now and turned for continuing playing.
“Please – ”, she recognised the song immediately.
“Please what.”, Harry stopped.
“Please don’t play that – ”, Hermione whimpered.
“Why not. It’s a song dedicated to my mother. Your mother’s still alive. So why should you bother more than me.”
“Harry – ”
“I didn’t force you to stay. If you can’t bear it, you may leave any moment you wish to.”
“Harry – please don’t lock yourself in again – ”
“You may be like a sister for me,”, he spun another time, “But if any, it should be Ginevra to worry. She doesn’t. And I’m fine, Hermione. I don’t lock myself in.”
“You do! With ridiculous passwords and frightening spells and – ”
“This ridiculous password allowed me to end the war and if you can’t vanquish an enchantment you have witnessed before – ”
“What should I have said? That I’m not Voldemort? Should I have said that? And how?”, she cried, “With my tongue glued up?”
“You’re the famous Hermione Granger.”, Harry said as sinister as the room around them and his eyes mirrored his tone. “Oh pardon, Weasley. Anyway, use some wood and make a fire, if you can’t think of a spell to repel – ”
“If you think it is entertaining to make fun of panic reactions I had at the age of twelve – ”
“Did you hear me laugh? Or see me smile? This is my house, Hermione. I inherited it from Sirius. And if I feel the need to go here and play a song that had been composed for my mother, then I do it, no matter what it does to you. As I said, I never forced you to stay here.”
“I don’t recognise you anymore – ”, Hermione breathed, lightly shaking her head in tears. “I don’t know who it is that’s sitting there in front of me, but it’s not Harry Potter.”
“Then let me tell you that much, Hermione. People do indeed change according to what they experience in their lives. I used to know a girl that had school books for breakfast, lunch and dinner, worshipped teachers like gods and regarded school rules as her bible. Then she experienced something bad in shape of an oversized pink toad and she burned her bible, questioned authorities and even snuck into the temple of law.”
“Harry – ”
“And did that again, little more than a year later; after having erased herself from her parents’ memories; became an outlaw, took on the shape of her archenemy, broke into a bank full of Goblins and Death Eaters, set a Dragon free in the middle of London – ”
“Harry that’s – ”
“That’s what? Long ago? But it was your change! It was your way to deal with the troubles in our world; in the life you stumbled in quite voluntarily, step by step and at last, ever since a Basilisk was petrifying our colleagues – and yourself, if I have to remind you. You’re right. There’s no sense in arguing. You should have known years ago, latest when you started to complain about my approach to the Peverell Sisters. We have a different way of thinking. But while I accept yours and am grateful for your attempts to help me wherever you can, you do everything to fight mine, without even trying to listen when I mean to explain it to you so you might be able to accept it. You don’t even want to accept my opinion, Hermione. That’s your problem. You won’t give up. No matter what you just said. You’ll never give up until everyone agrees with you that your way is the only. But it isn’t.”
“I never said that my way, as you call it, – ”
“You didn’t, that’s right. Worse, you act like it and spare everyone the luxury to know it before they mentally die from the desperate try to only make you leave them alone for a while.”
“What?”
“As I said, you are like a sister to me.”, his voice began to plead. “But you have to admit that even you sometimes have the need for being completely by yourself, in your own world of thoughts, not having to defend it against someone who doesn’t agree with them. I know you only mean well for me, but I don’t want any company right now. Don’t be angry with me, please, but I ask you to leave. Please leave this house before something happens, neither of us can control. Though if you’re in such need of my company, there is enough space in this room you can use quietly. I’m just tired of arguing; like you, I hope. So either stay and bear listening to the music I want to play, or go.”
For some more seconds, he only looked straight into her eyes. Then he took a last turn and continued playing. Forced to see it as his final word on any matter for the time being, she dropped her arms and shuffled over to one of the old, moth eaten couches, where she had left her beaded bag before she had gone to the bathroom. Drained, she sat down, pulled the bag open, reached deep in and got out an old book that was written in runes. She could have sworn that Harry had thrown her reflection in the window a split-second glance across the black grand piano, but decided to act as though she hadn’t noticed, opened the book at where the last story started and began reading it for what seemed to be the five-hundredth time, hoping she would finally understand why they both were so keen on their family’s brutal tale.
“Oh and Harry,”, she said quietly and hollow when the brothers met Death at the river, “Just please don’t forget that Dumbledore used to be your mentor, long ago.”, he huffed grim, but didn’t stop playing. “The one and only you looked up to. I know he made mistakes, but – ”
“Are you trying to say that – ”
“I’m trying to say that I’m sick of Phineas’ voice whimpering pleas at me that you stop pestering the old man’s portrait.”
“Well, you know the solution then.”
“Which is?”, she frowned, blinking, when he halted his playing.
“Hang him back onto the wall upstairs.”
“Tz.”
“Not that I would like you to, seeing as he is – whimpering – ”
“Harry – what I meant to say is – ”
“Is what. That I should name my next child after him? What if it’s just girls from now on?”
“No – I – ”
“Look.”, he huffed at one of the windows. “Personally, if I was you, I’d pay attention to the nature of Phineas’ whimpering. Because it has been a long time since I spoke to Dumbledore’s portrait. To be honest, I think it was even before James was born.”
“What?”, Hermione gasped.
“I think, Ginevra was in her seventh week or so.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Now she didn’t know what he was driving at, but if he wasn’t the reason for the painted Albus Dumbledore’s misery annoying one of his predecessors, then she knew whom she desperately needed to corner. And if it meant that she would have to sneak into Hogwarts when most were asleep, assuringly hang off all portraits and lock them into the Room of Requirement so he couldn’t escape… unless… there was a way for him to sneak out via Ariana’s and somehow manage to leave the castle, which, considering thoroughly, would actually be impossible due to the laws according to which Hogwarts paintings were supposed to work.
“How did you do it?”
“How did I do what?”, he replied so low she barely caught it, even though he stopped playing once more.
“You had his portrait painted.”
“I commissioned a painter.”
“Funny.”
“Indeed. I had to bribe that guy with a touching story so he would lower the galactic cost he simply set because it had been me to have asked. Yet I still don’t think he believed me. He may have done it out of pity, lastly. So?”
“So?”
“What is your point?”
“My – uh – I meant, I did my research on moving paintings,”
“What a surprise.”, Harry huffed, his back still on her.
“Yes. And usually a painter can merely enchant the person portrayed with minor characteristics. The rest has to be taught to them.”
“Which lead to your pondering over why Dumbledore’s portrait appears to have quite some knowledge.”
“Why, yes! And I dug deeper.”
“Portraits of Hogwarts Headmasters and Headmistresses are painted during their lifetime and kept locked away, so they could be taught by the portrayed at any desired time. At least that is what Minerva told me.”
“Yes. But the portrait you commissioned – ”
“Does show minor characteristics, doesn’t it?”
“True. I however, wonder if you taught him – or if you also did the research I did.”
The ticking of the grandfather clock stretched the suspense to the moon and back. However, the second she gasped, believing he would answer, he actually did not. Though it might even have been her who had caused him to desist. Very likely, if she was honest.
“Fine, then not. I know however that meanwhile it has been discovered that you can seal the portrait with a special varnish to make it even more lifelike, and that it can be magically enhanced to carry all the memories of said person. The magic, as I understand, isn’t exactly on the lighter side and the varnish would require being mixed with some DNA.”, still Harry said nothing. “So I wondered, you know.”
“As I said, the painter had set the price way too high because he hoped for profit.”
“So you did!”, Hermione gasped again.
“If you say so,”, he said emotionless, his look clearly directed outside, but she could swear his eyes weren’t looking at the window.
“Is that why he actually avoided me? All that year long? And whenever I visited Hogwarts after?”
“If you are clever enough to find out the details of a contract I made, I’m sure you can also unravel that. If not, I’m certain my wife can give you a hint or two.”, Hermione’s breath got stuck upon that.
“What has she told you?”
“Is there something she should have told me?”
“How did you get his DNA?”
“Tz.”
In hindsight, she had to hold back a laugh on the ambiguity. But there was no way Harry knew – or was there?
“I didn’t become an Auror because Kingsley was impressed by my disarming spell, you must know.”
“Of course not.”, she huffed.
“I’m an investigator. I investigate things.”
“And how much did you turn his old office upside down, after you found he’d cleared it completely?”
“Oh the scandal! And yes, I did turn over the mattress. But because I was expecting a hidden note somewhere. No, Hermione, there hadn’t been any. He was very thorough. Eventually Ginevra had given me a very useful hint. I found a hair stuck in some chipped wood on a bookshelf door in the Headmaster Office.”
She wasn’t sure what she should think of that, but it could have been the truth, after all. Still she wondered why Harry had indeed been so keen on having the portrait as lifelike as possible.
“Took me only about seven weeks to find it. But only because she spared me the detail which shelf it was. Several days in seven long weeks of Dumbledore asking me what I was looking for. Telling him that I looked for the key to his remorse, let him drop it. I merely regret that I hadn’t said that earlier. Though then he went about how my mother could have possibly agreed to `this´. I never asked him what he meant; don’t think I ever will. Besides, have you found your wisdom yet?”
“My wisdom?”
“The wisdom you hoped to gain from your question? Or the wisdom that your own brain should possess, as to why his portrait keeps avoiding you, like a pregnant cat avoids being touched?”
Hermione said nothing. Of course she could – picture – why. Yet his example, however random it may have been, gave her more thought. Yes, technically, Severus had broken up with her. That though was still not the satisfying answer to why he avoided her as a portrait and in person. Why did he actually fear seeing her again, ever since he had decided to start a `new life´?
“Speaking of which, Harry,”, she carried on when he continued playing, “I’m pregnant too. Seventh week. I thought you’d like to know.”
~~#~~