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FIC: Inevitable 69/80: Promises As Yet Unbroken (AB/HP)
Inevitable Sixty-Nine: Promises As Yet Unbroken
by Mhalachai
Disclaimer: Laurell K. Hamilton owns all things Anita Blake. J.K. Rowling owns all things Harry Potter. Only the story is my own.
Note: This is it, folks, the last domino has been set in place. It's all downhill from here.
Words: 7, 487
Previous parts here.
~~~~~~~
Harry stumbled down to breakfast very early on Tuesday morning . Outside, the skies had ripped open and torrents of rain poured down upon the school and surrounding countryside. The ceiling in the Great Hall showed the roiling clouds and lightening outside, thunder punctuating the flashes. Harry stared up while he ate his toast, wearily fascinated by the violence.
Maybe we can throw the Horcruxes into a lightening storm, he thought. Anything would be more productive than staring at that stupid parchment, wondering when we'll hear from the twins.
With a sigh, Harry turned his attention to his eggs. Even the concept of a full breakfast wasn't enough to cheer him up. At least I don't have any classes today, and it wasn't raining last night for Astronomy. Small favours and all that.
Noise in the sparsely populated Hall was at a minimum, most hushed by the storm. When several voices lifted in surprise, Harry glanced up in alarm.
A huge owl winged its way through the air, heading right toward Harry. Hastily, Harry cleared a place on the table for the owl to land. The bird touched down on the table with unexpected grace and lightness, glaring haughtily down at Harry.
"Are you an international post owl?" Harry asked the bird. It was very similar to the owl that had brought the letter from St. Louis. The owl gave Harry a look and clicked its beak impatiently as it held out its small letter.
"Right," Harry muttered. He took the letter with one hand. With the other hand, he held up a strip of bacon. "Are you going to wait out the storm?"
The owl crunched the bacon in its beak, then launched itself off the table. Harry watched as the owl headed out into the storm. He hoped it would be safe, and what could possibly be in the letter that made it so important for the bird to come all this way.
Let's find out. Harry ripped open the envelope and pulled out the soggy letter. The ink hadn't run in the rain. A ball-point pen? Who would be writing to me with a ball-point pen?
The letter was from Anita.
Harry traced the curves of the letters in her name, confused. Why had she sent him a letter? Was something wrong in St. Louis? He checked the date on the top of the page. Anita had written this letter on Sunday, two days previous.
Hi Harry.
Are you doing okay? You probably are, you always seem to come out okay. I guess that's just how we start letters, like one of those things. No one ever really wants to know if you're not okay, they get all weird when you say you're not.
I guess I'm sort of rambling. I do that a lot in letters. I'm not very good at writing things down, there's always something I'll forget. It's strange to tell someone something and not be able to see their face.
I'm not really sure what I hope to accomplish with this letter. There's a lot of shit happening right now, and I'm not sure I can talk about it in here, because I really don't trust giving mail to a bird. You should get a post office box or something so I can send mail the normal way.
Harry stopped reading and took a bracing sip of tea. Anita was right; she did ramble. He glanced back at the writing. What didn't she want to put in the mail?
This morning, Micah and Jason and Nathaniel and I visited Tammy Reynolds. She had someone she wanted me to meet, someone from your world. John Cassidy, he's in charge of the Aurors in the States. I don't know what to make of him. He's a bit of an odd character, but he reminds me more of Dolph Storr (who's in charge of RPIT, remember him?) than anyone else. At first I thought Cassidy reminded me of Dumbledore, but he's more straightforward that your headmaster. He said he didn't know why Dumbledore went into teaching. He also said that his department was under review to see why they missed a magical arms dealer, Nigel Spencer, living in St. Louis for so many years. As usual, the bureaucracy comes in months too late.
Cassidy told me something weird, that your government hasn't accepted offers of help from the Americans to fight Voldemort. What's with that?
(As an aside, can Voldemort fly? The only other person... okay, vampire, who I know that uses the French word for death in her name, Belle Morte, really lives up to her name, according to Jean-Claude. She really is Beautiful Death.)
But Cassidy said that he couldn't go through normal channels any more to get information around. Is there a way I can get secured information to you? I can't bring myself to think that strapping a letter onto a bird and then tossing it across the Atlantic is in any way secure. Let me know. Soon.
Tammy says hi. Tannis is teething and is pretty cranky. When did you start being magical? I'm wondering if the kid might soon start levitating or other weird crap. I suppose it'd be cool. Or else terrifying. When I started raising the dead when I was thirteen, it wasn't exactly cool.
It's funny how much difference time can make. When I was a kid, raising the dead was scary and amazing. Now, it's just business.
Which, by the way, is good. I was thinking, when you come to visit us over Christmas, you can come with me on zombie raisings if you want. Maybe you can use it as some extra-curricular magical school credit?
Harry tried, and failed, to imagine asking McGonagall for credit after helping Anita raise someone from the dead.
You are still coming for Christmas, right? Nathaniel is really holding onto that these days. We've decided to redecorate the house, painting and all that. Nathaniel suggested about half an hour ago that maybe we could knock out the wall between the kitchen and living room and dining room, make it one huge open space. At first I said no, but it makes sense, you know? Totally change things.
Nathaniel is doing okay, he says. He and I had some problems over the last week, but I think we worked things out last night. Problems, hell, it was like the end of the fucking world, and as usual with him, I didn't handle it as well as I could have. I've known him since he was eighteen and I still don't understand him at all most days.
I'd be lying if I thought that we really were fine. He's great at pretending he's fine, even if he's dying inside, because he won't want to worry me. But some things you can't pretend around.
I guess I'm pretending I'm fine, too. As stupid as it sounds, I don't think that it's hit me yet, what almost happened with Olaf. I almost lost Nathaniel. I almost died. If I would have died, Jean-Claude and Richard and Damian would have died too.
It's not making sense in my head. I can write that out and it doesn't mean anything. It has to mean something bad, but I don't know if I ever want to figure out what.
I never thought I'd live a long time, not with my life. A few years ago, I realized that my life is like passive suicide and it didn't bother me then, but it's different now. There are so many people depending on me and it's just a lot to have to handle. Not all the time, but sometimes. I can't ever tell them that, it's not that they're a burden or anything. I...
I don't know what I want. Stupid, isn't it? I have everything I didn't know I wanted, and it's almost too much to deal with.
Oh, hell. Don't tell anyone I said that. In fact, forget you read that. I really shouldn't mail this letter. Nathaniel is going to be fine, he really wants to see you, so you come to visit over Christmas. Jason misses you too, and Damian. We all miss you.
I just realized I hadn't thanked you for your phone calls. Talking to you yesterday morning (I mean on Saturday, not the day before you get this) really helped. Next time, can you try and call when it's night here? Damian would probably love to talk to you. Call any time, and you can even call collect so you don't have to hang up so soon.
You may notice that I haven't said anything about that dream thing you were talking about in that call. I'm actually never going to think about it again, and neither are you. Also: Don't do it again. It's really weird to think someone's spying on my day.
"It's not like I'm doing it on purpose," Harry said, rather indignant. "You try blocking it."
Just stay safe and don't do anything stupid. All the advice I can give is to watch your back and don't take on the world by yourself. You're not the only person in the world who can fight the bad guys.
Burn this letter. If I'm stupid enough to actually mail this thing, then you can't let anyone else see it.
Stay safe.
--Anita
P.S. Stephen (who says hi) just came over and was talking about Paul and Suzanne's wedding at Christmas. You remember them, right? The newly infected werewolf and his fiancee who were involved in that mess with Be- maybe I shouldn't write her name in case anyone else reads this. But the wedding is going to be three days before Christmas, and I'm told you're invited. Yet another reason to fly over for the holidays.
Harry grinned. A Christmas wedding sounded really cool. It also sounded sort of familiar, but he couldn't figure out why. Maybe Paul and Suzanne had mentioned it while Harry was in St. Louis.
He grabbed an apple and bit into it before he looked back at the letter. Harry remembered talking to Tammy Reynolds about John Cassidy. She had said that Cassidy was a war hero, who had been important in the fight against Grindelwald. Why had that man gone to talk to Anita? What could he have given her? And why hadn't he sent it over himself?
Harry wished he was surprised that the Ministry of Magic was refusing foreign help against Voldemort. Scrimgeour probably thought that they could solve things all on their own.
Even the Sorting Hat knows we need to work together, it's been singing that for bloody years, Harry thought. Why can't the Ministry see that?
Harry wondered if he should tell Dumbledore what Anita had written about Cassidy, and the information Anita wanted to send over. Anita didn't like Dumbledore... but Harry didn't know anything about sending secured messages from someone who wasn't magical. Right now, Dumbledore was probably the only one who Harry could trust.
Besides, Harry really needed to talk to Dumbledore about all kinds of things, including how Dumbledore had walked down to talk to Scrimgeour the previous day, and about the Horcruxes, and about the possibility that a Slytherin was trying to kill the headmaster.
Harry stood up. It was still very early, but Madam Pomfrey would be in the infirmary, and she could probably tell him where Dumbledore was.
It wasn't a great plan, but it was something, and anything was better than sitting in the Great Hall, echoing with the rumbles of the outside thunder. Feeling very old and tired, Harry dragged himself out of the Hall, stepping around the rambunctious first years at the end of the Gryffindor table who were throwing toast at each other. A slice of bread flew toward Harry, and with his Seeker's reflexes, he reached out and grabbed it before it hit him in the head.
The first years froze, eyes on Harry, as if they had just poked a dragon. Harry sighed as he tossed the bread back onto the table, and turned away. "Bloody kids," he muttered to himself as he continued on. He and Ron and Hermione hadn't been that bad when they were in first year, were they? Harry was pretty sure he'd never actually thrown toast at anyone.
Maybe the next time he fought against Voldemort, he could throw enchanted toast at the dark wizard. Voldemort would never see it coming.
I need more sleep, Harry thought in mild disgust as he climbed the stairs.
He fingered the paper in his pocket. Anita's letter certainly had been surprising. Now that he had a chance to think about it, his mind went back to the part where she had talked about how Nathaniel wasn't okay, and how she wasn't okay either. How could any of them be okay? Harry had managed to push the memory of that room out of his head, had somehow managed to ignore the way Nathaniel's body had been ripped apart, how blood had covered every visible surface.
Suddenly queasy, Harry stopped against the banister. Nathaniel had the right idea, to totally change the room where it happened. Painting wasn't enough. But would anything be enough?
I wish I could help them, Harry thought, meaning the renovations only in part. He felt so useless, half a world away. I can't fix anything over there, and I can't solve any problem over here.
Maybe Anita didn't want his help. Harry had told her, when he spoke to her on the phone, that Nathaniel might need to talk to a friend. Maybe that was what Anita was doing, telling Harry what was bothering her because she needed to talk to a friend.
Does that mean we're friends?
When Harry was growing up, he didn't have any friends. Everyone was too afraid of Dudley to be nice to Harry. Hagrid had been Harry's very first friend. Ron had been next, then Hermione. Ginny and Luna were friends now, too, in addition to being girls that Harry liked. Harry also supposed he could add Neville to that list of friends.
Six friends wasn't too bad, for a boy who had spent the first half of his life without any.
Then... this summer. Harry hadn't spend much time thinking about it, but he had gained so many friends from his time in St. Louis. Nathaniel and Jason, and Anita. He didn't know how he would ever be able to work out the family relationship with Damian, neither of them had any experience to draw on. Maybe they could be friends too.
And who else? The twins? Richard? Jamil? Jean-Claude? Can I think of them as friends? After a moment's thought, Harry took Jean-Claude off the list. He wasn't sure the vampire Master had any friends, besides Anita and Asher. But he left the rest of the mental list as it was.
Harry had horrible luck with family, but maybe he would have more luck with his new friends.
~~~~
"Nice flowers."
Tonks eyed Harry over her Daily Prophet. "I hear I have you to thank for that."
"Me? It wasn't my idea at all," Harry protested. "Reece heard you were feeling poorly and wanted to do something to make you feel better."
Tonks tossed the paper onto the chair beside her bed. "Don't tell me that it was his idea to give me lupins."
"It was." Harry grinned at her. "You're feeling better?"
"Tonnes. Madam Pomfrey said I can go back to work after breakfast. No more of this lazing about."
Harry leaned against the end of her hospital bed. Tonks had her normal colour back, bright purple hair over a heart-shaped face. She was even dressed in her Auror's robes, ready to go.
"But you're really feeling better?" Harry pressed.
Tonks nodded. "There aren't any side effects from the poison." Her smile faded slightly. "Thanks to you."
"And Ginny," Harry said quickly. "She had the bezoar, which saved your life. I only ran quickly."
"Not 'only'," Tonks retorted. "Carrying someone like that is right hard work."
Harry shrugged, wishing that Tonks would drop this. "All those Quidditch muscles coming in handy."
"Uh huh." Tonks looked at him for a long moment. "I'll talk to Ginny when I see her. How is she doing with everything?"
"She's fine," Harry said slowly. "Why?"
"You know, the poisoning and this whole mess. Adding to that the Christmas wedding, which we were talking about over the summer, and--"
"Wait, what wedding?" Harry interrupted.
Tonks's eyebrows went up. "Bill and Fleur's wedding? I thought you knew about it, Hermione said she'd told you. Ginny and Fleur don't get along at all, and when I talked to Ginny this summer, she was having a hard time figuring out how she wasn't going to kill Fleur before Bill marries her."
Harry's heart sank. "Bill and Fleur are getting married at Christmas? Are you sure?"
"Of course I am. Why?" Tonks frowned at him. "Harry, are you all right?"
"No, I'm not!" Harry exclaimed, as his stomach churned.. He'd told everyone in St. Louis he would visit them over Christmas, Damian and Nathaniel and Anita were expecting him. Suzanne and Paul had invited him to their wedding. He had to go to America, but he couldn't miss a Weasley wedding, could he? "When are Bill and Fleur getting married?"
"The day before Christmas," Tonks said. "What is wrong with you?"
Harry pulled off his glasses and rubbed his face with his hands. "Is there any way I can be in two places at once?"
"We can splinch you, send half of you to the wedding and half somewhere else," Tonks said. "What are you talking about?"
Harry dropped his hands. "I forgot about the wedding."
"And you made other plans for Christmas?" Tonks guessed. "Well, you've got two months and a bit to find a solution."
"Stop being so bloody cheerful about this," Harry grumbled.
Tonks laughed. "It's not the end of the world! You'll find a way."
Harry snapped his fingers. "Maybe a Time Turner!"
"Oy, Harry, the Ministry's not going to give you a Time Turner to make it to a wedding." Tonks frowned. "In fact, the Minister might not be too inclined to give you much of anything."
"Was the Minster in to see you yesterday?" Harry asked. "He tracked me down at Hagrid's, but he didn't come here just to see me, right?"
"Nah, he wanted to see me." Tonks grimaced, changing her hair to pitch black in her annoyance. "Wanted to know why I was laid up. He acts like he's still in charge of the Aurors, not the Ministry."
"What did he want to know?"
"Why I was poisoned, what it was, if I had any idea of who it was. We're lucky that the poison didn't kick in until after I was out of the hall. Having an Auror poisoned is very different from having the Headmaster poisoned."
"I wasn't going to call it lucky," Harry said. "Not a lot of luck in any of this."
Tonks shrugged, her hair changing to n indigo blue and growing long, falling over her shoulders. "My mum had a saying, that the only luck you're ever guaranteed is bad luck."
"Sound cheerful."
"She was born a Black, Harry, there wasn't much cheer for her growing up."
Whatever annoyed comment Harry was about to make about the Black household stopped in his throat when Madam Pomfrey came bustling out of her back office. She didn't look too happy to see Harry there.
"Am I ready to go?" Tonks asked, almost bouncing on the mattress. "I can go, right? I feel great."
Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Yes, Miss Tonks, you are free to leave, but I want you to come back here immediately if you feel light-headed."
Tonks fairly saluted as she hopped off the bed, catching her foot on the dangling sheet and almost careening into a cabinet. "Right!" Giving Harry one last smile, she sped out of the infirmary.
Madam Pomfrey rounded on Harry. "I suppose I know why you are here."
Harry tried his best to look innocent. "If it's not too much trouble?"
"Wait here."
Harry tried his best to be patient as Madam Pomfrey disappeared into her office. He really needed to see Dumbledore, there was no way around it. He had so much to tell him, about Hermione's idea that one of the missing Horcruxes was Rowena Ravenclaw's wand, and that they suspected a Slytherin of attempting to kill Dumbledore.
More than that, he needed Dumbledore to tell him it was going to be okay. It was stupid and childish, but Harry found himself needing reassurance. He had to be strong for everyone else, and he was terrified of failing them.
"Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey said, dragging Harry out of his unhappy thoughts. He bolted across the room. "Only a few minutes," she said quietly once he was in earshot.
"How is he?" Harry asked just as softly.
Madam Pomfrey met his gaze steadily. "Be quick."
What scared Harry the most was that she hadn't even tried to reassure him.
~~~
The hidden room gleamed with candlelight, holding back the dark of the outside storm. Lightening flashes through the large window did nothing to calm Harry's stomach. "Um, sir?"
The figure on the bed looked at the door. "Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice steady but quiet. "Please, come in."
Harry shuffled over to the edge of the bed. He tried not to let his surprise show, no matter how much it was choking him. He'd known Dumbledore was old, but lying here, the man looked beyond ancient. "How are you?"
Dumbledore smiled. "We both know how I am. How are you?"
"Me? Oh, I'm good. Sort of. I mean, I'm not bad, I'm not hurt or anything and my scar isn't hurting and everyone is okay--" He stuttered to a halt when Dumbledore lifted his hand. "Sorry."
"No, Harry, it is all right." Dumbledore focused his blue eyes on Harry's face. "What did Minister Scrimgeour want with you?"
Harry glanced at his hands. "He..." Screw it, Dumbledore wouldn't want me hiding anything from him, like I hate anyone hiding things from me! "He said he'd give me what I wanted." Harry looked up, not sure what he'd see in Dumbledore's face. "That I could be an Auror, even without potions, fight Voldemort from inside the Ministry, be on Scrimgeour's side." Harry found it impossible to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "I told him to shove it."
A spark of his customary humour came back to Dumbledore's face. "That would explain the bee in Rufus's bonnet."
"He was also poking around about how Tonks was poisoned," Harry added. "What did he say to you? How were you out there while you were so badly hurt? Was it someone with Polyjuice?"
"No, that was I." Dumbledore smoothed a blue-veined hand down the blanket. "There are potions, charms to make oneself appear in better health. Unfortunately, they tend to be a strain on an already strained body."
The thunder rumbled outside as Harry's heartbeat sped up. "But... you're going to be all right. Right?" You have to be!
"Madam Pomfrey informs me I will make a full recovery," Dumbledore reassured Harry. "In time."
Time was the one thing they didn't have. "I think one of the Slytherins is trying to kill you," Harry blurted out. "Kreacher said someone gave him a mug that I think was used to poison you, I mean Tonks, and it would make sense because only the Slytherins knew Snape was away--"
"Harry." Dumbledore fixed him with a quelling stare. "I am about to ask you for a promise."
"What?"
"Look no further into the matter of the attempted poisoning."
Harry took a step back. "What? But sir--"
"Harry, promise me."
Harry almost fell back on the force of habit to do as Dumbledore asked. Then a fragment of a conversation he'd had with Ginny and Luna popped into his mind. "I can't do that."
"Harry--"
"What if your poisoner was the one who set Reece loose on the last full moon?" Harry demanded. "There is no way I can let that go! Reece is just a child! Hell, this school is full of children who can't defend themselves, and the poisoner seems to have no qualms about letting innocent kids get hurt in his attempt to kill you!"
Distantly, Harry was aware that the door had opened, that Madam Pomfrey was trying to shush him, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Dumbledore was inexplicably trying to stop him from helping.
"Harry, the person who has done all these things is now under supervision. No more attempts will take place," Dumbledore said.
Dumbledore's words hit Harry like a blow to the gut. "You know who it was," he breathed. "Who was it?"
"You do not need to know."
"Yes, I do!" Harry shouted. Reece had almost eaten Snape, Tonks had almost died, so many things had almost happened, and now Dumbledore wasn't going to do anything to his attempted assassin. "Please!"
"No."
Harry shrugged off Madam Pomfrey's restraining hand. "You can't do this!" he pleaded. "I have to do something!"
"And I have asked something of you. I have asked you to trust me."
Harry strode over to the window and glared out at the storm. Could he do what Dumbledore was asking? Just assume that the assassin was under watch, and not exact any retribution for what had happened to Reece or Tonks?
Can I even trust Dumbledore anymore? Harry asked himself. I... His shoulders slumped. If I can't trust Dumbledore, I can't trust anyone.
Maybe that's the point.
"Can you guarantee that no one else will get hurt?" Harry asked, turning back to the bed.
"I can, as much as I can guarantee anything," Dumbledore said. His voice was rapidly getting weaker.
"Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said. "This interview is over."
Harry let out his breath, and hoped that he wasn't making the biggest mistake of his life. "I do as you ask, sir."
"Good." Dumbledore eased back onto his pillows. Deep lines were etched in his face, from pain or exhaustion. "Harry..."
"Look, everything else is under control," Harry quickly said. "You can trust me on that."
Dumbledore looked at him for a long moment. "I do."
Harry let Madam Pomfrey push him out of the room. He couldn't bear to say good-bye.
~
"Harry!"
Harry whirled on his heel, his soaked robe spattering water all over the hall. "What?"
Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke, the Gryffindor Quidditch beaters, hurried down the corridor. "We need to talk to you."
"Why?" Harry was soaking wet after a horrid run across the grounds to hand in his Care of Magical Creatures essay before lunch, and he was tired, hungry, and cold.
"It's about Quidditch."
Harry blinked and resisted the urge to turn the two of them into hot water bottles. "What?"
Sloper and Kirke exchanged looks. "We think you should pay more attention in practices," Kirke said.
Harry felt his face go blank. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, really," Sloper said. "You've been distracted too much over the last little while. We're never going to beat Slytherin if you and the Weasleys aren't in the game!"
Harry took a step toward Sloper. The other boy was about Ron's height, and Harry had to look up, but still the boy paled. "You want me to pay attention to the game," Harry repeated.
Images ran through his head: Tonks's pale face as she asked him to tell her parents she was sorry, Cedric Diggory's shade asking Harry to take his body back to his parents, the images of his mother and father in the Mirror of Erised, Voldemort's horrid face as he tortured Harry in the Ministry hallway.
Harry stepped closer to Sloper, too close. "It's a game," he said, enunciating clearly. "If you have any problems with my captainship of the team, you take it to McGonagall, but until then, get the fuck out of my face!"
Sloper stumbled back, breathing hard. He opened his mouth to say something, but Kirke grabbed his arm and pulled him way. As they reached the far end of the hall, Harry Kirke say, "It's not worth it."
Harry stared down the corridor after the Beaters. Why can't they understand? he fumed. If Voldemort wins, there won't be any more Quidditch, or school, or any of it! How can they expect me to have my mind on Quidditch when Voldemort's got the Horcruxes and can't be killed?
Giving the wall an unsatisfying kick, Harry stalked off, his robe flapping wetly against his legs. Everything about this day was horrible... except for Anita's letter, which he still had no idea how to answer, and--
He froze mid-step. Was that crying?
It didn't sound like a cat's cry. Who would be crying in the hallways during lunch? Probably a first-year student, Harry thought, all dreams of a hot lunch evaporating as he went to investigate the origin of the sound.
The door to a storage room down the corridor was half open. Harry squared his shoulders. He hated dealing with crying girls; he didn't know how to reassure anyone on a good day, especially when someone was sobbing.
"Hello?" he said, giving the wood a rap with his knuckles. "Is anybody in there?" He pushed the door open. "I... Hermione!"
Hermione lifted her head from her knees, eyes red with crying. She rubbed at her cheek with her hand as Harry rushed into the room, dropping to his knees.
"What's wrong?" he demanded. "Are you hurt? Did someone try to hurt you? Do--"
"Harry, stop," she said weakly. "I'm fine." To emphasize her point, she sniffled.
"You're not fine! You're crying in a closet! You never cry!" Harry sat back on his heels, digging in his pocket. He pulled out a soaked handkerchief and held it out to her.
She looked at the wet cloth. "I'll be okay." She pushed her hair back from her face and took a few deep breaths. "How are you?"
"Hermione!"
"All right!" She met Harry's eyes for a moment, then dropped her eyes to study the dusty floor. "I... You're going to think it's silly."
Probably, Harry thought, then mentally kicked himself. If Hermione had been reduced to tears like this, it wasn't silly. He wasn't helping. "I'm not going to think it's silly."
She gave him a weak smile. "I talked to Professor McGonagall this morning. She wanted to tell me that I failed the last Transfiguration assignment."
Hermione spoke so quietly that Harry thought he had misunderstood her. "You what? You never fail anything!"
"I know that!" Hermione burst out. "Don't you think I don't know that?"
"I know you know!" Harry bit his lower lip. "Wasn't it a mistake? Maybe you did the wrong assignment, or read the wrong chapter..."
His voice trailed off as Hermione shook her head. "I failed it, that's all."
"But why?"
Hermione shook her head again. "I was working on the Horcruxes and I didn't have time for the assignment."
Harry's heart sank. "Hermione--"
"No, don't say it!" she said sharply. "Don't say the Horcruxes aren't important! We have to stop Voldemort! What do you think he'll do to people like me if he wins? People like my parents? That's so much more important than a ridiculous essay!"
Harry held his hands out. "What did you tell McGonagall about the assignment?"
Hermione slumped against the wall, resting her head against her hand. Harry finally noticed that she had dark circles under her eyes, and her skin was paler than usual. "I told her my mind was elsewhere, and if I messed up badly this year, I could always take the NEWTs next year."
Harry ogled at her. "Are you sure McGonagall doesn't think you're possessed?"
"That's not funny!"
"I'm not trying to be funny!" Harry gestured wildly, hitting his hand against a shelf. "There's three contestant things in my life since I was eleven: Voldemort keeps trying to kill me, Dumbledore's crazy, and you have this love affair with school!"
Hermione tried to glare at him, but the corner of her mouth upturned slightly. "You shouldn't joke about that."
"I know," Harry said gravely. "The Headmaster being an utter loony is not laughing matter."
Hermione giggled before she could stop herself. "Stop it!"
"Nope. If I can't find at least the tiniest bit of humour in the fact that people have been trying to kill me since I was a baby, I may as well get a room next to Lockhart at St. Mungo's."
"We'd come visit you on alternating weekends," Hermione offered.
"Thanks."
Hermione shifted against the wall. "It's just..." She looked at Harry out of the corner of her eye. "You're not going to try and tell me to pay more attention to my work?"
"What? Hell no." Then, realizing that may have sounded wrong, he added, "We're trying to protect everyone from Voldemort, not just me."
"That's not what we're doing," Hermione said, a strange darkness in her eyes.
"What do you mean? Of course it's what we're doing."
"No, Harry." Hermione got up on her knees, facing Harry. "We're not trying to find a way to save everyone, we're trying to find a way to kill Voldemort."
"It's the same--"
"It's not the same thing!" Hermione exclaimed. "You don't believe that anymore than I do! And the worst part is that I think it's something we have to do! We have to do this!"
"I know," Harry mumbled. "I just wish..." He wished for a lot of things to be different, but that wasn't going to change anything. "I wish none of this was happening."
Hermione shimmied forward until her knees were against Harry's, and leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. "Me too."
Not really thinking, Harry hugged Hermione, feeling her hug him back, and wondering what it might have been like to have a sister like her. I guess I do, he thought. We're like family, and nothing will change that, no matter what Voldemort throws at us.
"Harry, why are you so wet?" Hermione asked after a minute.
"Oops." Harry let her go. "Sorry, I had to drop off my essay at Hagrid's hut."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "And on such a lovely day, too."
Harry grinned at her. "You should have seen Ron, he fell into a mud puddle. Covered in dirt from head to foot. He went to shower off before lunch."
"Hrm." Hermione pressed her lips together. Harry recognized all the signs of a Hermione lecture, and he was glad that at least she was back to normal.
"Come on, maybe we can still get some food," Harry said quickly, holding out a hand. Somehow, they both stood up in the tiny closet.
Just then, outside the open closet door, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil walked by. They both noticed Harry and Hermione at the same time. Lavender opened her mouth, but Parvati grabbed her arm and pulled her along.
Harry sighed. "Well, Hermione, shall we come out of the closet at last?"
Muggle enough to recognize the reference, Hermione laughed. "You know what they're going to be saying," she said when she sobered up.
"Yes, that they found us in some romantic love tryst, unbeknownst to Ron," Harry said. "Is there anything those two won't gossip about?"
"You and Luna and Ginny," Hermione said promptly, ducking out of the room. "Ginny threatened them with drastic consequences if they did, and they seemed to believe her."
"Huh?" Harry hurried after Hermione. "What would they be saying about us?"
Hermione sighed. "Harry, you're always around Luna and Ginny, and you're Harry Potter. Please don't tell me you're this daft."
"I'm not daft!" Harry objected. "But what's so interesting about the three of us? We're just..." That line of thought was dangerous, so he changed track. "I still spend all kind of time around you and Ron, and no one's been saying we're part of some kinky threesome."
"That's because they're used to us," Hermione said practically.
"Wait." Harry caught Hermione's arm and turned her around. "What the hell should I do?"
Hermione looked up at him, removing his hand from her sleeve. "Since when have you worried about gossip?"
"I don't. But this is..."
"Then don't listen to this."
Harry eyed her. "You're not going to give me some lecture about being stupid?"
"No." Hermione set off again. "I'm not Ron, for goodness sake. I'm perfectly aware what Ginny and Luna can do to you if you mess things up."
Harry almost tripped over his own feet. "Thanks, Hermione, I had no idea how much you cared."
"You're welcome," she said archly. "Now hurry, or else you'll miss lunch."
Harry watched her head bob down the hallway for a minute, before he ran to catch up. "Hey, Hermione, how much do you know about sending secret letters across the Atlantic ocean?"
~~~
"So, are you going?"
Harry frowned down at the textbook in his lap. "Am I going where?"
Ginny shook her head. "Going. To the Halloween party?"
"I guess." Harry vaguely remembered McGonagall mentioning something over dinner to do with Halloween, but he'd been too busy not falling asleep in his pudding. "When is it?" He punctuated his question with a sneeze.
Ginny handed him a handkerchief. "Close to Halloween?"
"Hmm." After a minute Harry looked up. "When's the full moon?"
"The week before," Ginny said, sounding rather exasperated with Harry. "What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
Ginny raised her eyebrow.
"Well, not nothing." He sighed and dumped his book into the low table in the Gryffindor common room. "It's just been a really fucked up day, and I've got all this bloody homework and Hermione doesn't know any way to sent a Trans-Atlantic letter without guaranteeing it won't be intercepted by the Ministry." He let his head thump back against he couch.
Ginny closed her potions book. "Why not another one of those far-distance calls?" she asked.
"Long-distance," Harry corrected absently. "Although everyone here calls them trunk calls. But no, I can't."
"And I'm sure there's a reason for that, not just you complicating your life?"
Harry glared at Ginny. "Do all girlfriends normally act like this?"
Ginny poked her shoe against Harry's shin. "Since when do any of us do 'normal'?" she demanded.
Good point. "I can't leave the school with Dumbledore... well, like he is now. I'll find another way." He paused. “What else were we talking about?"
"Halloween. Are you going to the dance?"
"Dance?" Harry wracked his brain. "What dance?"
"McGonagall said it'd be a great chance to work on inter-House interaction," Ginny said. "A costume party, like a Muggle Halloween party."
"That doesn't sound like McGonagall." Harry glanced around the mostly deserted common room.
"No, it sounds like Dumbledore." Ginny giggled. "McGonagall did look sort of pinched when she said it."
"Trust Dumbledore to come up with a great way to distract everyone from the task at hand," Harry muttered.
"I don't know about that," Ginny said, going back to her book. "I think everyone might enjoy it."
"Because they'd enjoy getting killed by Voldemort so much more!"
"What is wrong with you?" Ginny demanded. "What's wrong with wanting to have one fun night?"
Harry pulled off his glasses and dropped them on top of his discarded book. "I don't like Halloween, okay? The Wizarding may think of it as a some great holiday, but..." He concentrated very hard on his fingernails. "It's the day my mum and dad died, and maybe I've been thinking a lot about them recently."
A warm hand settled on Harry's back as Ginny joined him on the sofa. She smelled warm and alive and safe. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Harry said, a little too forcefully. "Don't ever be sorry." He took her hand and rubbed circles on her palm with his thumb. "With all this work we've been doing on the Horcruxes, and the prophecy... Sometimes I think it'd be almost funny if it was inevitable that I'll die on Halloween like my parents."
"Stop thinking like that," Ginny whispered in his ear. Her breath tickled his cheek. "You're not going to die."
Harry desperately wished he could believe her. He didn't want to die, but something about seeing Dumbledore that morning, so wiped out and so frail, had shaken Harry badly.
If that's what happens to a great wizard like Dumbledore, how the hell am I going to make it out of this alive?
"Harry?"
"Yeah."
Ginny snuggled closer to Harry. "The Halloween party might take your mind off things a bit," she offered.
"You think so?" he said, unable to keep from smiling at her. She was really persistent. "It might be fun."
"I think so." Her eyes were wide as she watched him. "I take it you're not going with anyone?"
"No, I'm not." Suddenly, Harry felt awkward. Was he supposed to ask her to the dance? Was that what she meant? She wanted him to ask her? Why wouldn't she ask him, if she wanted to go? Girls were so confusing.
"Would, um, would you like to go with us?" Ginny asked.
"Sure!" Harry said, relieved. "Wait, who's 'us'?"
"Luna and me." Ginny tried to pull back, but Harry held onto her hand. "If you're okay with that."
"I'm more than okay with that," Harry blurted out. "But I wasn't sure you... is it like a date for you two?"
Ginny went pink under her freckles. "It's not a date," she said in a rush. "Not like that. I talked to her after dinner in the library, about a bunch of stuff. We sort of agreed that it would be neat to go to the party together. Not together-together, but at the same time. Maybe with similar costumes."
Harry had to rein in his imagination. "I'd like to go with the both of you," he said. "As long as you're both fine with it."
"We're fine!" Ginny twisted her hand free to slap him on the leg. "She likes boys too. She told me herself."
"Boys?" Harry echoed, feeling an odd twinge in his gut at the plural. "Who?"
Ginny groaned. "You really are thick sometimes!"
"You don't have to go rubbing it in!"
The burgeoning argument was interrupted as the portrait opened up, and Hermione and Ron tumbled in.
"Oh!" Hermione squeaked when she saw Harry and Ginny on the sofa. "What are you two doing down here?" She smoothed down her rumpled hair with her hands, while Ron tried to straighten his robes.
"We're not the ones breaking curfew," Ginny said pointedly.
"Right," Ron said, careful not to look at Harry or his sister. "Night, then." He pulled Hermione toward the stairs to the dorms.
"What was that all about?" Harry asked after they had vanished.
Ginny let out a long-suffering sigh. "I'm not sure. But let's talk loudly so I don't have to listen to my brother making out on the steps!"
Harry started laughing. When he caught Ginny's eye, the corners of her mouth turned up and she started laughing as well.
"That wasn't even funny," Harry gasped after a minute, collapsing back on the sofa.
"No, it wasn't." Ginny curled up along his side, her body a warm weight against him. "Halloween?"
"Is at the end of the month."
"The party's on Friday, actually. Halloween's the next day."
"Why?"
"I have no idea."
"Hrm." Harry stared at the fire, the warmth from the room and Ginny's body seeping into his bones. He never wanted to move again. "So you and me and Luna?"
"Yes."
"It's not usual."
"No, it's not."
"I'm not complaining."
Ginny rested her cheek against Harry's neck. "Neither am I."
"But why are you okay with this?"
Ginny took a long time in answering. "Because it's Luna. I don't know why it's like this, but it is."
"Another mystery in our lives." Harry tentatively touched Ginny's ear. When she didn't object, Harry stroked her hair, marveling at how silky the red strand were under his fingers. "I like this mystery."
"Me too," Ginny murmured. "She's coming with us to Hogsmeade next weekend, too."
"Sounds like fun."
"I hope so." Ginny propped herself up on an elbow, leaning over Harry. She was close enough to kiss. "We need all the fun we can get."
Something dark lurked in her eyes, and Harry wished he knew how to take away her pain. "It'll be okay," he whispered. "I promise."
"You can't promise that," Ginny said.
"Yes, I can," Harry said, then he lifted his head and kissed her.
It had to be okay. Harry refused to imagine a world where it would be any other way.
by Mhalachai
Disclaimer: Laurell K. Hamilton owns all things Anita Blake. J.K. Rowling owns all things Harry Potter. Only the story is my own.
Note: This is it, folks, the last domino has been set in place. It's all downhill from here.
Words: 7, 487
Previous parts here.
Harry stumbled down to breakfast very early on Tuesday morning . Outside, the skies had ripped open and torrents of rain poured down upon the school and surrounding countryside. The ceiling in the Great Hall showed the roiling clouds and lightening outside, thunder punctuating the flashes. Harry stared up while he ate his toast, wearily fascinated by the violence.
Maybe we can throw the Horcruxes into a lightening storm, he thought. Anything would be more productive than staring at that stupid parchment, wondering when we'll hear from the twins.
With a sigh, Harry turned his attention to his eggs. Even the concept of a full breakfast wasn't enough to cheer him up. At least I don't have any classes today, and it wasn't raining last night for Astronomy. Small favours and all that.
Noise in the sparsely populated Hall was at a minimum, most hushed by the storm. When several voices lifted in surprise, Harry glanced up in alarm.
A huge owl winged its way through the air, heading right toward Harry. Hastily, Harry cleared a place on the table for the owl to land. The bird touched down on the table with unexpected grace and lightness, glaring haughtily down at Harry.
"Are you an international post owl?" Harry asked the bird. It was very similar to the owl that had brought the letter from St. Louis. The owl gave Harry a look and clicked its beak impatiently as it held out its small letter.
"Right," Harry muttered. He took the letter with one hand. With the other hand, he held up a strip of bacon. "Are you going to wait out the storm?"
The owl crunched the bacon in its beak, then launched itself off the table. Harry watched as the owl headed out into the storm. He hoped it would be safe, and what could possibly be in the letter that made it so important for the bird to come all this way.
Let's find out. Harry ripped open the envelope and pulled out the soggy letter. The ink hadn't run in the rain. A ball-point pen? Who would be writing to me with a ball-point pen?
The letter was from Anita.
Harry traced the curves of the letters in her name, confused. Why had she sent him a letter? Was something wrong in St. Louis? He checked the date on the top of the page. Anita had written this letter on Sunday, two days previous.
Hi Harry.
Are you doing okay? You probably are, you always seem to come out okay. I guess that's just how we start letters, like one of those things. No one ever really wants to know if you're not okay, they get all weird when you say you're not.
I guess I'm sort of rambling. I do that a lot in letters. I'm not very good at writing things down, there's always something I'll forget. It's strange to tell someone something and not be able to see their face.
I'm not really sure what I hope to accomplish with this letter. There's a lot of shit happening right now, and I'm not sure I can talk about it in here, because I really don't trust giving mail to a bird. You should get a post office box or something so I can send mail the normal way.
Harry stopped reading and took a bracing sip of tea. Anita was right; she did ramble. He glanced back at the writing. What didn't she want to put in the mail?
This morning, Micah and Jason and Nathaniel and I visited Tammy Reynolds. She had someone she wanted me to meet, someone from your world. John Cassidy, he's in charge of the Aurors in the States. I don't know what to make of him. He's a bit of an odd character, but he reminds me more of Dolph Storr (who's in charge of RPIT, remember him?) than anyone else. At first I thought Cassidy reminded me of Dumbledore, but he's more straightforward that your headmaster. He said he didn't know why Dumbledore went into teaching. He also said that his department was under review to see why they missed a magical arms dealer, Nigel Spencer, living in St. Louis for so many years. As usual, the bureaucracy comes in months too late.
Cassidy told me something weird, that your government hasn't accepted offers of help from the Americans to fight Voldemort. What's with that?
(As an aside, can Voldemort fly? The only other person... okay, vampire, who I know that uses the French word for death in her name, Belle Morte, really lives up to her name, according to Jean-Claude. She really is Beautiful Death.)
But Cassidy said that he couldn't go through normal channels any more to get information around. Is there a way I can get secured information to you? I can't bring myself to think that strapping a letter onto a bird and then tossing it across the Atlantic is in any way secure. Let me know. Soon.
Tammy says hi. Tannis is teething and is pretty cranky. When did you start being magical? I'm wondering if the kid might soon start levitating or other weird crap. I suppose it'd be cool. Or else terrifying. When I started raising the dead when I was thirteen, it wasn't exactly cool.
It's funny how much difference time can make. When I was a kid, raising the dead was scary and amazing. Now, it's just business.
Which, by the way, is good. I was thinking, when you come to visit us over Christmas, you can come with me on zombie raisings if you want. Maybe you can use it as some extra-curricular magical school credit?
Harry tried, and failed, to imagine asking McGonagall for credit after helping Anita raise someone from the dead.
You are still coming for Christmas, right? Nathaniel is really holding onto that these days. We've decided to redecorate the house, painting and all that. Nathaniel suggested about half an hour ago that maybe we could knock out the wall between the kitchen and living room and dining room, make it one huge open space. At first I said no, but it makes sense, you know? Totally change things.
Nathaniel is doing okay, he says. He and I had some problems over the last week, but I think we worked things out last night. Problems, hell, it was like the end of the fucking world, and as usual with him, I didn't handle it as well as I could have. I've known him since he was eighteen and I still don't understand him at all most days.
I'd be lying if I thought that we really were fine. He's great at pretending he's fine, even if he's dying inside, because he won't want to worry me. But some things you can't pretend around.
I guess I'm pretending I'm fine, too. As stupid as it sounds, I don't think that it's hit me yet, what almost happened with Olaf. I almost lost Nathaniel. I almost died. If I would have died, Jean-Claude and Richard and Damian would have died too.
It's not making sense in my head. I can write that out and it doesn't mean anything. It has to mean something bad, but I don't know if I ever want to figure out what.
I never thought I'd live a long time, not with my life. A few years ago, I realized that my life is like passive suicide and it didn't bother me then, but it's different now. There are so many people depending on me and it's just a lot to have to handle. Not all the time, but sometimes. I can't ever tell them that, it's not that they're a burden or anything. I...
I don't know what I want. Stupid, isn't it? I have everything I didn't know I wanted, and it's almost too much to deal with.
Oh, hell. Don't tell anyone I said that. In fact, forget you read that. I really shouldn't mail this letter. Nathaniel is going to be fine, he really wants to see you, so you come to visit over Christmas. Jason misses you too, and Damian. We all miss you.
I just realized I hadn't thanked you for your phone calls. Talking to you yesterday morning (I mean on Saturday, not the day before you get this) really helped. Next time, can you try and call when it's night here? Damian would probably love to talk to you. Call any time, and you can even call collect so you don't have to hang up so soon.
You may notice that I haven't said anything about that dream thing you were talking about in that call. I'm actually never going to think about it again, and neither are you. Also: Don't do it again. It's really weird to think someone's spying on my day.
"It's not like I'm doing it on purpose," Harry said, rather indignant. "You try blocking it."
Just stay safe and don't do anything stupid. All the advice I can give is to watch your back and don't take on the world by yourself. You're not the only person in the world who can fight the bad guys.
Burn this letter. If I'm stupid enough to actually mail this thing, then you can't let anyone else see it.
Stay safe.
--Anita
P.S. Stephen (who says hi) just came over and was talking about Paul and Suzanne's wedding at Christmas. You remember them, right? The newly infected werewolf and his fiancee who were involved in that mess with Be- maybe I shouldn't write her name in case anyone else reads this. But the wedding is going to be three days before Christmas, and I'm told you're invited. Yet another reason to fly over for the holidays.
Harry grinned. A Christmas wedding sounded really cool. It also sounded sort of familiar, but he couldn't figure out why. Maybe Paul and Suzanne had mentioned it while Harry was in St. Louis.
He grabbed an apple and bit into it before he looked back at the letter. Harry remembered talking to Tammy Reynolds about John Cassidy. She had said that Cassidy was a war hero, who had been important in the fight against Grindelwald. Why had that man gone to talk to Anita? What could he have given her? And why hadn't he sent it over himself?
Harry wished he was surprised that the Ministry of Magic was refusing foreign help against Voldemort. Scrimgeour probably thought that they could solve things all on their own.
Even the Sorting Hat knows we need to work together, it's been singing that for bloody years, Harry thought. Why can't the Ministry see that?
Harry wondered if he should tell Dumbledore what Anita had written about Cassidy, and the information Anita wanted to send over. Anita didn't like Dumbledore... but Harry didn't know anything about sending secured messages from someone who wasn't magical. Right now, Dumbledore was probably the only one who Harry could trust.
Besides, Harry really needed to talk to Dumbledore about all kinds of things, including how Dumbledore had walked down to talk to Scrimgeour the previous day, and about the Horcruxes, and about the possibility that a Slytherin was trying to kill the headmaster.
Harry stood up. It was still very early, but Madam Pomfrey would be in the infirmary, and she could probably tell him where Dumbledore was.
It wasn't a great plan, but it was something, and anything was better than sitting in the Great Hall, echoing with the rumbles of the outside thunder. Feeling very old and tired, Harry dragged himself out of the Hall, stepping around the rambunctious first years at the end of the Gryffindor table who were throwing toast at each other. A slice of bread flew toward Harry, and with his Seeker's reflexes, he reached out and grabbed it before it hit him in the head.
The first years froze, eyes on Harry, as if they had just poked a dragon. Harry sighed as he tossed the bread back onto the table, and turned away. "Bloody kids," he muttered to himself as he continued on. He and Ron and Hermione hadn't been that bad when they were in first year, were they? Harry was pretty sure he'd never actually thrown toast at anyone.
Maybe the next time he fought against Voldemort, he could throw enchanted toast at the dark wizard. Voldemort would never see it coming.
I need more sleep, Harry thought in mild disgust as he climbed the stairs.
He fingered the paper in his pocket. Anita's letter certainly had been surprising. Now that he had a chance to think about it, his mind went back to the part where she had talked about how Nathaniel wasn't okay, and how she wasn't okay either. How could any of them be okay? Harry had managed to push the memory of that room out of his head, had somehow managed to ignore the way Nathaniel's body had been ripped apart, how blood had covered every visible surface.
Suddenly queasy, Harry stopped against the banister. Nathaniel had the right idea, to totally change the room where it happened. Painting wasn't enough. But would anything be enough?
I wish I could help them, Harry thought, meaning the renovations only in part. He felt so useless, half a world away. I can't fix anything over there, and I can't solve any problem over here.
Maybe Anita didn't want his help. Harry had told her, when he spoke to her on the phone, that Nathaniel might need to talk to a friend. Maybe that was what Anita was doing, telling Harry what was bothering her because she needed to talk to a friend.
Does that mean we're friends?
When Harry was growing up, he didn't have any friends. Everyone was too afraid of Dudley to be nice to Harry. Hagrid had been Harry's very first friend. Ron had been next, then Hermione. Ginny and Luna were friends now, too, in addition to being girls that Harry liked. Harry also supposed he could add Neville to that list of friends.
Six friends wasn't too bad, for a boy who had spent the first half of his life without any.
Then... this summer. Harry hadn't spend much time thinking about it, but he had gained so many friends from his time in St. Louis. Nathaniel and Jason, and Anita. He didn't know how he would ever be able to work out the family relationship with Damian, neither of them had any experience to draw on. Maybe they could be friends too.
And who else? The twins? Richard? Jamil? Jean-Claude? Can I think of them as friends? After a moment's thought, Harry took Jean-Claude off the list. He wasn't sure the vampire Master had any friends, besides Anita and Asher. But he left the rest of the mental list as it was.
Harry had horrible luck with family, but maybe he would have more luck with his new friends.
"Nice flowers."
Tonks eyed Harry over her Daily Prophet. "I hear I have you to thank for that."
"Me? It wasn't my idea at all," Harry protested. "Reece heard you were feeling poorly and wanted to do something to make you feel better."
Tonks tossed the paper onto the chair beside her bed. "Don't tell me that it was his idea to give me lupins."
"It was." Harry grinned at her. "You're feeling better?"
"Tonnes. Madam Pomfrey said I can go back to work after breakfast. No more of this lazing about."
Harry leaned against the end of her hospital bed. Tonks had her normal colour back, bright purple hair over a heart-shaped face. She was even dressed in her Auror's robes, ready to go.
"But you're really feeling better?" Harry pressed.
Tonks nodded. "There aren't any side effects from the poison." Her smile faded slightly. "Thanks to you."
"And Ginny," Harry said quickly. "She had the bezoar, which saved your life. I only ran quickly."
"Not 'only'," Tonks retorted. "Carrying someone like that is right hard work."
Harry shrugged, wishing that Tonks would drop this. "All those Quidditch muscles coming in handy."
"Uh huh." Tonks looked at him for a long moment. "I'll talk to Ginny when I see her. How is she doing with everything?"
"She's fine," Harry said slowly. "Why?"
"You know, the poisoning and this whole mess. Adding to that the Christmas wedding, which we were talking about over the summer, and--"
"Wait, what wedding?" Harry interrupted.
Tonks's eyebrows went up. "Bill and Fleur's wedding? I thought you knew about it, Hermione said she'd told you. Ginny and Fleur don't get along at all, and when I talked to Ginny this summer, she was having a hard time figuring out how she wasn't going to kill Fleur before Bill marries her."
Harry's heart sank. "Bill and Fleur are getting married at Christmas? Are you sure?"
"Of course I am. Why?" Tonks frowned at him. "Harry, are you all right?"
"No, I'm not!" Harry exclaimed, as his stomach churned.. He'd told everyone in St. Louis he would visit them over Christmas, Damian and Nathaniel and Anita were expecting him. Suzanne and Paul had invited him to their wedding. He had to go to America, but he couldn't miss a Weasley wedding, could he? "When are Bill and Fleur getting married?"
"The day before Christmas," Tonks said. "What is wrong with you?"
Harry pulled off his glasses and rubbed his face with his hands. "Is there any way I can be in two places at once?"
"We can splinch you, send half of you to the wedding and half somewhere else," Tonks said. "What are you talking about?"
Harry dropped his hands. "I forgot about the wedding."
"And you made other plans for Christmas?" Tonks guessed. "Well, you've got two months and a bit to find a solution."
"Stop being so bloody cheerful about this," Harry grumbled.
Tonks laughed. "It's not the end of the world! You'll find a way."
Harry snapped his fingers. "Maybe a Time Turner!"
"Oy, Harry, the Ministry's not going to give you a Time Turner to make it to a wedding." Tonks frowned. "In fact, the Minister might not be too inclined to give you much of anything."
"Was the Minster in to see you yesterday?" Harry asked. "He tracked me down at Hagrid's, but he didn't come here just to see me, right?"
"Nah, he wanted to see me." Tonks grimaced, changing her hair to pitch black in her annoyance. "Wanted to know why I was laid up. He acts like he's still in charge of the Aurors, not the Ministry."
"What did he want to know?"
"Why I was poisoned, what it was, if I had any idea of who it was. We're lucky that the poison didn't kick in until after I was out of the hall. Having an Auror poisoned is very different from having the Headmaster poisoned."
"I wasn't going to call it lucky," Harry said. "Not a lot of luck in any of this."
Tonks shrugged, her hair changing to n indigo blue and growing long, falling over her shoulders. "My mum had a saying, that the only luck you're ever guaranteed is bad luck."
"Sound cheerful."
"She was born a Black, Harry, there wasn't much cheer for her growing up."
Whatever annoyed comment Harry was about to make about the Black household stopped in his throat when Madam Pomfrey came bustling out of her back office. She didn't look too happy to see Harry there.
"Am I ready to go?" Tonks asked, almost bouncing on the mattress. "I can go, right? I feel great."
Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Yes, Miss Tonks, you are free to leave, but I want you to come back here immediately if you feel light-headed."
Tonks fairly saluted as she hopped off the bed, catching her foot on the dangling sheet and almost careening into a cabinet. "Right!" Giving Harry one last smile, she sped out of the infirmary.
Madam Pomfrey rounded on Harry. "I suppose I know why you are here."
Harry tried his best to look innocent. "If it's not too much trouble?"
"Wait here."
Harry tried his best to be patient as Madam Pomfrey disappeared into her office. He really needed to see Dumbledore, there was no way around it. He had so much to tell him, about Hermione's idea that one of the missing Horcruxes was Rowena Ravenclaw's wand, and that they suspected a Slytherin of attempting to kill Dumbledore.
More than that, he needed Dumbledore to tell him it was going to be okay. It was stupid and childish, but Harry found himself needing reassurance. He had to be strong for everyone else, and he was terrified of failing them.
"Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey said, dragging Harry out of his unhappy thoughts. He bolted across the room. "Only a few minutes," she said quietly once he was in earshot.
"How is he?" Harry asked just as softly.
Madam Pomfrey met his gaze steadily. "Be quick."
What scared Harry the most was that she hadn't even tried to reassure him.
The hidden room gleamed with candlelight, holding back the dark of the outside storm. Lightening flashes through the large window did nothing to calm Harry's stomach. "Um, sir?"
The figure on the bed looked at the door. "Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice steady but quiet. "Please, come in."
Harry shuffled over to the edge of the bed. He tried not to let his surprise show, no matter how much it was choking him. He'd known Dumbledore was old, but lying here, the man looked beyond ancient. "How are you?"
Dumbledore smiled. "We both know how I am. How are you?"
"Me? Oh, I'm good. Sort of. I mean, I'm not bad, I'm not hurt or anything and my scar isn't hurting and everyone is okay--" He stuttered to a halt when Dumbledore lifted his hand. "Sorry."
"No, Harry, it is all right." Dumbledore focused his blue eyes on Harry's face. "What did Minister Scrimgeour want with you?"
Harry glanced at his hands. "He..." Screw it, Dumbledore wouldn't want me hiding anything from him, like I hate anyone hiding things from me! "He said he'd give me what I wanted." Harry looked up, not sure what he'd see in Dumbledore's face. "That I could be an Auror, even without potions, fight Voldemort from inside the Ministry, be on Scrimgeour's side." Harry found it impossible to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "I told him to shove it."
A spark of his customary humour came back to Dumbledore's face. "That would explain the bee in Rufus's bonnet."
"He was also poking around about how Tonks was poisoned," Harry added. "What did he say to you? How were you out there while you were so badly hurt? Was it someone with Polyjuice?"
"No, that was I." Dumbledore smoothed a blue-veined hand down the blanket. "There are potions, charms to make oneself appear in better health. Unfortunately, they tend to be a strain on an already strained body."
The thunder rumbled outside as Harry's heartbeat sped up. "But... you're going to be all right. Right?" You have to be!
"Madam Pomfrey informs me I will make a full recovery," Dumbledore reassured Harry. "In time."
Time was the one thing they didn't have. "I think one of the Slytherins is trying to kill you," Harry blurted out. "Kreacher said someone gave him a mug that I think was used to poison you, I mean Tonks, and it would make sense because only the Slytherins knew Snape was away--"
"Harry." Dumbledore fixed him with a quelling stare. "I am about to ask you for a promise."
"What?"
"Look no further into the matter of the attempted poisoning."
Harry took a step back. "What? But sir--"
"Harry, promise me."
Harry almost fell back on the force of habit to do as Dumbledore asked. Then a fragment of a conversation he'd had with Ginny and Luna popped into his mind. "I can't do that."
"Harry--"
"What if your poisoner was the one who set Reece loose on the last full moon?" Harry demanded. "There is no way I can let that go! Reece is just a child! Hell, this school is full of children who can't defend themselves, and the poisoner seems to have no qualms about letting innocent kids get hurt in his attempt to kill you!"
Distantly, Harry was aware that the door had opened, that Madam Pomfrey was trying to shush him, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Dumbledore was inexplicably trying to stop him from helping.
"Harry, the person who has done all these things is now under supervision. No more attempts will take place," Dumbledore said.
Dumbledore's words hit Harry like a blow to the gut. "You know who it was," he breathed. "Who was it?"
"You do not need to know."
"Yes, I do!" Harry shouted. Reece had almost eaten Snape, Tonks had almost died, so many things had almost happened, and now Dumbledore wasn't going to do anything to his attempted assassin. "Please!"
"No."
Harry shrugged off Madam Pomfrey's restraining hand. "You can't do this!" he pleaded. "I have to do something!"
"And I have asked something of you. I have asked you to trust me."
Harry strode over to the window and glared out at the storm. Could he do what Dumbledore was asking? Just assume that the assassin was under watch, and not exact any retribution for what had happened to Reece or Tonks?
Can I even trust Dumbledore anymore? Harry asked himself. I... His shoulders slumped. If I can't trust Dumbledore, I can't trust anyone.
Maybe that's the point.
"Can you guarantee that no one else will get hurt?" Harry asked, turning back to the bed.
"I can, as much as I can guarantee anything," Dumbledore said. His voice was rapidly getting weaker.
"Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said. "This interview is over."
Harry let out his breath, and hoped that he wasn't making the biggest mistake of his life. "I do as you ask, sir."
"Good." Dumbledore eased back onto his pillows. Deep lines were etched in his face, from pain or exhaustion. "Harry..."
"Look, everything else is under control," Harry quickly said. "You can trust me on that."
Dumbledore looked at him for a long moment. "I do."
Harry let Madam Pomfrey push him out of the room. He couldn't bear to say good-bye.
"Harry!"
Harry whirled on his heel, his soaked robe spattering water all over the hall. "What?"
Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke, the Gryffindor Quidditch beaters, hurried down the corridor. "We need to talk to you."
"Why?" Harry was soaking wet after a horrid run across the grounds to hand in his Care of Magical Creatures essay before lunch, and he was tired, hungry, and cold.
"It's about Quidditch."
Harry blinked and resisted the urge to turn the two of them into hot water bottles. "What?"
Sloper and Kirke exchanged looks. "We think you should pay more attention in practices," Kirke said.
Harry felt his face go blank. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, really," Sloper said. "You've been distracted too much over the last little while. We're never going to beat Slytherin if you and the Weasleys aren't in the game!"
Harry took a step toward Sloper. The other boy was about Ron's height, and Harry had to look up, but still the boy paled. "You want me to pay attention to the game," Harry repeated.
Images ran through his head: Tonks's pale face as she asked him to tell her parents she was sorry, Cedric Diggory's shade asking Harry to take his body back to his parents, the images of his mother and father in the Mirror of Erised, Voldemort's horrid face as he tortured Harry in the Ministry hallway.
Harry stepped closer to Sloper, too close. "It's a game," he said, enunciating clearly. "If you have any problems with my captainship of the team, you take it to McGonagall, but until then, get the fuck out of my face!"
Sloper stumbled back, breathing hard. He opened his mouth to say something, but Kirke grabbed his arm and pulled him way. As they reached the far end of the hall, Harry Kirke say, "It's not worth it."
Harry stared down the corridor after the Beaters. Why can't they understand? he fumed. If Voldemort wins, there won't be any more Quidditch, or school, or any of it! How can they expect me to have my mind on Quidditch when Voldemort's got the Horcruxes and can't be killed?
Giving the wall an unsatisfying kick, Harry stalked off, his robe flapping wetly against his legs. Everything about this day was horrible... except for Anita's letter, which he still had no idea how to answer, and--
He froze mid-step. Was that crying?
It didn't sound like a cat's cry. Who would be crying in the hallways during lunch? Probably a first-year student, Harry thought, all dreams of a hot lunch evaporating as he went to investigate the origin of the sound.
The door to a storage room down the corridor was half open. Harry squared his shoulders. He hated dealing with crying girls; he didn't know how to reassure anyone on a good day, especially when someone was sobbing.
"Hello?" he said, giving the wood a rap with his knuckles. "Is anybody in there?" He pushed the door open. "I... Hermione!"
Hermione lifted her head from her knees, eyes red with crying. She rubbed at her cheek with her hand as Harry rushed into the room, dropping to his knees.
"What's wrong?" he demanded. "Are you hurt? Did someone try to hurt you? Do--"
"Harry, stop," she said weakly. "I'm fine." To emphasize her point, she sniffled.
"You're not fine! You're crying in a closet! You never cry!" Harry sat back on his heels, digging in his pocket. He pulled out a soaked handkerchief and held it out to her.
She looked at the wet cloth. "I'll be okay." She pushed her hair back from her face and took a few deep breaths. "How are you?"
"Hermione!"
"All right!" She met Harry's eyes for a moment, then dropped her eyes to study the dusty floor. "I... You're going to think it's silly."
Probably, Harry thought, then mentally kicked himself. If Hermione had been reduced to tears like this, it wasn't silly. He wasn't helping. "I'm not going to think it's silly."
She gave him a weak smile. "I talked to Professor McGonagall this morning. She wanted to tell me that I failed the last Transfiguration assignment."
Hermione spoke so quietly that Harry thought he had misunderstood her. "You what? You never fail anything!"
"I know that!" Hermione burst out. "Don't you think I don't know that?"
"I know you know!" Harry bit his lower lip. "Wasn't it a mistake? Maybe you did the wrong assignment, or read the wrong chapter..."
His voice trailed off as Hermione shook her head. "I failed it, that's all."
"But why?"
Hermione shook her head again. "I was working on the Horcruxes and I didn't have time for the assignment."
Harry's heart sank. "Hermione--"
"No, don't say it!" she said sharply. "Don't say the Horcruxes aren't important! We have to stop Voldemort! What do you think he'll do to people like me if he wins? People like my parents? That's so much more important than a ridiculous essay!"
Harry held his hands out. "What did you tell McGonagall about the assignment?"
Hermione slumped against the wall, resting her head against her hand. Harry finally noticed that she had dark circles under her eyes, and her skin was paler than usual. "I told her my mind was elsewhere, and if I messed up badly this year, I could always take the NEWTs next year."
Harry ogled at her. "Are you sure McGonagall doesn't think you're possessed?"
"That's not funny!"
"I'm not trying to be funny!" Harry gestured wildly, hitting his hand against a shelf. "There's three contestant things in my life since I was eleven: Voldemort keeps trying to kill me, Dumbledore's crazy, and you have this love affair with school!"
Hermione tried to glare at him, but the corner of her mouth upturned slightly. "You shouldn't joke about that."
"I know," Harry said gravely. "The Headmaster being an utter loony is not laughing matter."
Hermione giggled before she could stop herself. "Stop it!"
"Nope. If I can't find at least the tiniest bit of humour in the fact that people have been trying to kill me since I was a baby, I may as well get a room next to Lockhart at St. Mungo's."
"We'd come visit you on alternating weekends," Hermione offered.
"Thanks."
Hermione shifted against the wall. "It's just..." She looked at Harry out of the corner of her eye. "You're not going to try and tell me to pay more attention to my work?"
"What? Hell no." Then, realizing that may have sounded wrong, he added, "We're trying to protect everyone from Voldemort, not just me."
"That's not what we're doing," Hermione said, a strange darkness in her eyes.
"What do you mean? Of course it's what we're doing."
"No, Harry." Hermione got up on her knees, facing Harry. "We're not trying to find a way to save everyone, we're trying to find a way to kill Voldemort."
"It's the same--"
"It's not the same thing!" Hermione exclaimed. "You don't believe that anymore than I do! And the worst part is that I think it's something we have to do! We have to do this!"
"I know," Harry mumbled. "I just wish..." He wished for a lot of things to be different, but that wasn't going to change anything. "I wish none of this was happening."
Hermione shimmied forward until her knees were against Harry's, and leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. "Me too."
Not really thinking, Harry hugged Hermione, feeling her hug him back, and wondering what it might have been like to have a sister like her. I guess I do, he thought. We're like family, and nothing will change that, no matter what Voldemort throws at us.
"Harry, why are you so wet?" Hermione asked after a minute.
"Oops." Harry let her go. "Sorry, I had to drop off my essay at Hagrid's hut."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "And on such a lovely day, too."
Harry grinned at her. "You should have seen Ron, he fell into a mud puddle. Covered in dirt from head to foot. He went to shower off before lunch."
"Hrm." Hermione pressed her lips together. Harry recognized all the signs of a Hermione lecture, and he was glad that at least she was back to normal.
"Come on, maybe we can still get some food," Harry said quickly, holding out a hand. Somehow, they both stood up in the tiny closet.
Just then, outside the open closet door, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil walked by. They both noticed Harry and Hermione at the same time. Lavender opened her mouth, but Parvati grabbed her arm and pulled her along.
Harry sighed. "Well, Hermione, shall we come out of the closet at last?"
Muggle enough to recognize the reference, Hermione laughed. "You know what they're going to be saying," she said when she sobered up.
"Yes, that they found us in some romantic love tryst, unbeknownst to Ron," Harry said. "Is there anything those two won't gossip about?"
"You and Luna and Ginny," Hermione said promptly, ducking out of the room. "Ginny threatened them with drastic consequences if they did, and they seemed to believe her."
"Huh?" Harry hurried after Hermione. "What would they be saying about us?"
Hermione sighed. "Harry, you're always around Luna and Ginny, and you're Harry Potter. Please don't tell me you're this daft."
"I'm not daft!" Harry objected. "But what's so interesting about the three of us? We're just..." That line of thought was dangerous, so he changed track. "I still spend all kind of time around you and Ron, and no one's been saying we're part of some kinky threesome."
"That's because they're used to us," Hermione said practically.
"Wait." Harry caught Hermione's arm and turned her around. "What the hell should I do?"
Hermione looked up at him, removing his hand from her sleeve. "Since when have you worried about gossip?"
"I don't. But this is..."
"Then don't listen to this."
Harry eyed her. "You're not going to give me some lecture about being stupid?"
"No." Hermione set off again. "I'm not Ron, for goodness sake. I'm perfectly aware what Ginny and Luna can do to you if you mess things up."
Harry almost tripped over his own feet. "Thanks, Hermione, I had no idea how much you cared."
"You're welcome," she said archly. "Now hurry, or else you'll miss lunch."
Harry watched her head bob down the hallway for a minute, before he ran to catch up. "Hey, Hermione, how much do you know about sending secret letters across the Atlantic ocean?"
"So, are you going?"
Harry frowned down at the textbook in his lap. "Am I going where?"
Ginny shook her head. "Going. To the Halloween party?"
"I guess." Harry vaguely remembered McGonagall mentioning something over dinner to do with Halloween, but he'd been too busy not falling asleep in his pudding. "When is it?" He punctuated his question with a sneeze.
Ginny handed him a handkerchief. "Close to Halloween?"
"Hmm." After a minute Harry looked up. "When's the full moon?"
"The week before," Ginny said, sounding rather exasperated with Harry. "What is wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
Ginny raised her eyebrow.
"Well, not nothing." He sighed and dumped his book into the low table in the Gryffindor common room. "It's just been a really fucked up day, and I've got all this bloody homework and Hermione doesn't know any way to sent a Trans-Atlantic letter without guaranteeing it won't be intercepted by the Ministry." He let his head thump back against he couch.
Ginny closed her potions book. "Why not another one of those far-distance calls?" she asked.
"Long-distance," Harry corrected absently. "Although everyone here calls them trunk calls. But no, I can't."
"And I'm sure there's a reason for that, not just you complicating your life?"
Harry glared at Ginny. "Do all girlfriends normally act like this?"
Ginny poked her shoe against Harry's shin. "Since when do any of us do 'normal'?" she demanded.
Good point. "I can't leave the school with Dumbledore... well, like he is now. I'll find another way." He paused. “What else were we talking about?"
"Halloween. Are you going to the dance?"
"Dance?" Harry wracked his brain. "What dance?"
"McGonagall said it'd be a great chance to work on inter-House interaction," Ginny said. "A costume party, like a Muggle Halloween party."
"That doesn't sound like McGonagall." Harry glanced around the mostly deserted common room.
"No, it sounds like Dumbledore." Ginny giggled. "McGonagall did look sort of pinched when she said it."
"Trust Dumbledore to come up with a great way to distract everyone from the task at hand," Harry muttered.
"I don't know about that," Ginny said, going back to her book. "I think everyone might enjoy it."
"Because they'd enjoy getting killed by Voldemort so much more!"
"What is wrong with you?" Ginny demanded. "What's wrong with wanting to have one fun night?"
Harry pulled off his glasses and dropped them on top of his discarded book. "I don't like Halloween, okay? The Wizarding may think of it as a some great holiday, but..." He concentrated very hard on his fingernails. "It's the day my mum and dad died, and maybe I've been thinking a lot about them recently."
A warm hand settled on Harry's back as Ginny joined him on the sofa. She smelled warm and alive and safe. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Harry said, a little too forcefully. "Don't ever be sorry." He took her hand and rubbed circles on her palm with his thumb. "With all this work we've been doing on the Horcruxes, and the prophecy... Sometimes I think it'd be almost funny if it was inevitable that I'll die on Halloween like my parents."
"Stop thinking like that," Ginny whispered in his ear. Her breath tickled his cheek. "You're not going to die."
Harry desperately wished he could believe her. He didn't want to die, but something about seeing Dumbledore that morning, so wiped out and so frail, had shaken Harry badly.
If that's what happens to a great wizard like Dumbledore, how the hell am I going to make it out of this alive?
"Harry?"
"Yeah."
Ginny snuggled closer to Harry. "The Halloween party might take your mind off things a bit," she offered.
"You think so?" he said, unable to keep from smiling at her. She was really persistent. "It might be fun."
"I think so." Her eyes were wide as she watched him. "I take it you're not going with anyone?"
"No, I'm not." Suddenly, Harry felt awkward. Was he supposed to ask her to the dance? Was that what she meant? She wanted him to ask her? Why wouldn't she ask him, if she wanted to go? Girls were so confusing.
"Would, um, would you like to go with us?" Ginny asked.
"Sure!" Harry said, relieved. "Wait, who's 'us'?"
"Luna and me." Ginny tried to pull back, but Harry held onto her hand. "If you're okay with that."
"I'm more than okay with that," Harry blurted out. "But I wasn't sure you... is it like a date for you two?"
Ginny went pink under her freckles. "It's not a date," she said in a rush. "Not like that. I talked to her after dinner in the library, about a bunch of stuff. We sort of agreed that it would be neat to go to the party together. Not together-together, but at the same time. Maybe with similar costumes."
Harry had to rein in his imagination. "I'd like to go with the both of you," he said. "As long as you're both fine with it."
"We're fine!" Ginny twisted her hand free to slap him on the leg. "She likes boys too. She told me herself."
"Boys?" Harry echoed, feeling an odd twinge in his gut at the plural. "Who?"
Ginny groaned. "You really are thick sometimes!"
"You don't have to go rubbing it in!"
The burgeoning argument was interrupted as the portrait opened up, and Hermione and Ron tumbled in.
"Oh!" Hermione squeaked when she saw Harry and Ginny on the sofa. "What are you two doing down here?" She smoothed down her rumpled hair with her hands, while Ron tried to straighten his robes.
"We're not the ones breaking curfew," Ginny said pointedly.
"Right," Ron said, careful not to look at Harry or his sister. "Night, then." He pulled Hermione toward the stairs to the dorms.
"What was that all about?" Harry asked after they had vanished.
Ginny let out a long-suffering sigh. "I'm not sure. But let's talk loudly so I don't have to listen to my brother making out on the steps!"
Harry started laughing. When he caught Ginny's eye, the corners of her mouth turned up and she started laughing as well.
"That wasn't even funny," Harry gasped after a minute, collapsing back on the sofa.
"No, it wasn't." Ginny curled up along his side, her body a warm weight against him. "Halloween?"
"Is at the end of the month."
"The party's on Friday, actually. Halloween's the next day."
"Why?"
"I have no idea."
"Hrm." Harry stared at the fire, the warmth from the room and Ginny's body seeping into his bones. He never wanted to move again. "So you and me and Luna?"
"Yes."
"It's not usual."
"No, it's not."
"I'm not complaining."
Ginny rested her cheek against Harry's neck. "Neither am I."
"But why are you okay with this?"
Ginny took a long time in answering. "Because it's Luna. I don't know why it's like this, but it is."
"Another mystery in our lives." Harry tentatively touched Ginny's ear. When she didn't object, Harry stroked her hair, marveling at how silky the red strand were under his fingers. "I like this mystery."
"Me too," Ginny murmured. "She's coming with us to Hogsmeade next weekend, too."
"Sounds like fun."
"I hope so." Ginny propped herself up on an elbow, leaning over Harry. She was close enough to kiss. "We need all the fun we can get."
Something dark lurked in her eyes, and Harry wished he knew how to take away her pain. "It'll be okay," he whispered. "I promise."
"You can't promise that," Ginny said.
"Yes, I can," Harry said, then he lifted his head and kissed her.
It had to be okay. Harry refused to imagine a world where it would be any other way.
to be continued...
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