Never had she thought she would see anything quite like it. Although the cold was crawling up her legs and arms, the gloves not fully capable of shielding her fingers in the icy morning air, she was astounded. Like white pimples on a white face, green stems and leaves sticking out however, they kept guard of the hill. She was almost certain it had only remained a hill, not having fallen in, due to the magical roots of the magical tulips. For more than fifteen years they had bloomed invincible against all weather or decay.
With a disbelieving but sad chuckle, she let her eyes drift around, along fog’s floating veils. No breeze filled the air, but every few seconds, the still low standing sun shot a silvery golden ray between the gloomy clouds, blurred and hazy, but making the fog and snow glisten like a gathering of fairies. Feeling the cold even more after the last flicker of light, she brushed her arms and pushed the white scarf closer to her chin.
Very far away she heard a chime. It was so distant but so familiar it gave her more chills than the air and she knew she could only hear it because she was a witch. Not because the heap of snow and tulip covered rubble laid within the perimeters of the village or school’s grounds. It was only because she could see the castle. Suddenly, there was a crunching noise. Too startled to even turn, she pricked up her ears. Then, a soft plop. Another. Many more following. Some louder, some very quiet. Whispers filling the air. Curious, she turned around, confronted with a number of people, some of them clearly complaining about how cold it was, after friendly greets. Others were yawning as they walked along the path that had been snowed in. But most especially, despite not having seen many of them in years, she knew them all.
Why were they here? Why were all of them here? Today? Who had summoned them? She knew why she had come, but what was their reason? Why would the DA hold a reunion meeting, at six in the morning, on January ninth? Weary, she curled her lips. Something told her why they had come, as each of them had brought a candle.
“Morning,”, yawned Seamus, eyeing her sceptically. “Finally decided to come as well?”
“She doesn’t look like she decided anything,”, meant Cho.
“I have made a decision, yes,”, Hermione huffed, “But would any of you mind telling me what you’re doing here?”, that moment, a swishing sound and a loud thud behind her made her spin.
“Three guesses.”, chuckled Neville, climbing off his broom. “After all, you should know best.”
“You’ve come to pay tribute – ”, Hermione gargled, close to tears.
“Yeah.”, confirmed Ernie, his hair looking rather tattered, just as though he had only thrown over a cloak and Apparated here straight out of bed. “We, haven’t forgotten his birthday.”
“But you seem to have.”, continued Susan.
“Of course I haven’t!”, she protested. “But somebody must have forgotten to tell me about this! Have you come here every year?”
“Yes.”, someone whispered into her ear, making her jump. “Every single year.”, almost scared, she turned at the frill framed coffee coloured face.
“Parvati!”
“Hermione,”
“Nice hood – ”
“Thanks.”, the other woman hissed. “Yes. We didn’t consider our coins unnecessary. We all kept them. Not that we needed Luna’s reminding message for this here.”
“She’s right. We’re here because we want to.”, meant Hannah, panting heavily. “Sorry for the delay, everyone. Had to fix a toilet.”
“No worries,”, said Luna, having come out of nowhere. “You’re not last,”
“Good. The last I want you all to say about me is that I’m not taking the DA serious anymore.”
“Nobody would say that.”, all heads spun at the rush of fog that had come from nature’s real haze, landing in what had become a half circle without Hermione’s notice. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here, right?”, there were more plopping sounds, revealing more familiar faces.
“Oh good morning, Ron.”, Hermione grunted at him, flanked by George and Angelina. “You too? I had no idea you would be getting up that early, on a working day, for something like that,”
“And I had no idea, someone finally told you about that,”, he frowned, scratching his left eyebrow but then looked at George who had elbowed him. “Oh.”
What he had actually done it for, Hermione saw when the half circle opened at the path and the trio scurried over to take in their places up front by the hill. Both a candle in hand, greeting the others with smiles only, the couple strode alongside, towards the blooming memorial, but halted when they spotted her, standing alone, a little away from the line. She felt awkward now. Even Padma had come; her wheelchair covered in tons of colourful shawls; although she was now teaching in India. Regardless of anyone’s timezone, they all had come to reunite, if only for a few minutes each year, but in honesty, far away from the actual memorial day, and in quiet, honest gratitude for having survived.
In light of her knowledge it felt strange, but she was one of only a little number, possibly countable on one hand, that knew the one whose birthday they celebrated in humble peace, was still wandering among the living. Or was he?
There it was again, the spark of doubt Dumbledore had lit within her, years ago. The truth. That she, no matter how she turned the events, all her knowledge, the truth was, she had no proof Severus was alive. She had not seen him leave the shack on his own feet, walking. She had not heard his voice ever again, physically coming from his mouth, in any present moment after the battle. All she had received had been words from others in his name. And the scarf she wore – she had never seen Severus knit. What if Luna had made it? What if Jeanne, like Severus once, was capable of imitating any handwriting?
Of course the message hadn’t come from Dumbledore himself. He was dead. Unless his portrait was magical enough to cast letters onto paper. But him having been involved in that process made no sense. It was only a message. And yet, the message was, as it had ever been, ever since he had let go of her hand in Myrtle’s bathroom, that she should live, instead of clinging to someone who had always been meant to die for them all. It had been his choice. Just as it was the choice of everyone here, freezing their bums off, to come together and light a candle for him. In honour and respect.
With a deep breath, she stepped aside; squeezed herself between Neville and what looked like a piece of one of the shutters at the hill’s foot, even after all those years. If she thought about it, the hill was like a gem sitting on a ring now, and they all were the ring. With the exception of Harry and Ginny who had only taken a few more steps. About ten feet away from the tulips they had stopped then, and Harry magically lit his candle that he held before his chest. With a gentle look, gentler than any Hermione had seen, he wordlessly told his wife to light hers. A doleful but also thankful smile on her lips, she held her candle towards his until the flame jumped over. Then Luna left the circle, approaching them with her own candle.
It was then that Hermione noticed none of the candles looked the same. Different sizes and colours, some plain, some decorated. When Luna’s surprisingly white candle was lit, she raised her eerie voice, breathtakingly soft in the morning air, to a Gaelic song. A lament.
Dh’ iadh ceo nan stuc mu eudann Chuilinn,
Us sheinn ’bhean-shith a torman mulaid,
Gorm shuilean ciuin ’san Dun a sileadh,
O’n thriall thu uainn ’s nach till thu tuille.
In silence they all listened to her, bringing tears to everyone’s eyes, hot enough to not freeze to their cheeks. After the first verse, she walked away from the couple, carrying the flame to Hannah, who was the other end of the ring. At that point, her voice wasn’t alone anymore. Harry and Ginny and even some of the others who knew the lament, joined in.
Cha till, cha till, cha till seana-charaid,
An cogadh no sith cha till e tuille;
Le airgiod no ni cha till seana-charaid,
Cha till e gu brath gu la na cruinne.
Slowly pacing through the snow, she lit candle after candle with hers, all of them welcoming the warmth in their hands. Her voice unshattered by her graceful steps, she went along the circle, sure to look every single one of them in the eyes before she walked to the next.
Tha osag nam beann gu fann ag imeachd,
Gach sruthan ’s gach allt gu mall le bruthach;
Tha ealtainn nan speur feadh gheugan dubhach,
A’ caoidh gu ’n d’ fhalbh ’s nach till thu tuille.
Luna was closing in on the middle point of the line, but Hermione feared the moment she would reach its end. Not because she herself was, albeit standing in line, feeling so out of place. Worse was, that Parvati had been right. It had been her own fault. She hadn’t known of the tradition as she had been too focused on her own life, forgetting about the old friendships, assuming everyone else had too. How wrong she had been.
Cha till, cha till, cha till seana-charaid,
An cogadh no sith cha till e tuille;
Le airgiod no ni cha till seana-charaid,
Cha till e gu brath gu la na cruinne.
Now more of them joined into the obvious chorus, somewhat out of tune, but still enough in tune to retain the song’s woeful beauty. A bit like bagpipes. Even when she knelt down in front of Padma’s bent legs under the shawls, Luna’s voice didn’t quiver. Stretching out her arms over the other woman’s lap, she lit her candle as well and raised to walk on, not a single snowflake remaining on her shoe-covering light blue woollen dress under the lilac cloak.
Tha ’n fhairge fa-dheoigh lan broin ’us mulaid,
Tha ’m bata fo sheol, ach dhiult i siubhal;
Tha gairich nan tonn le fuaim neo-shubhach,
Ag radh gun d’ fhalbh ’s nach till thu tuille.
She wished to know what exactly Luna sang about, but at the same time it didn’t matter. What mattered was the camaraderie. Their unpretentious loyalty and that they all were equal, on this morning, under the occasionally glistening rays of the winter sun and the wafts of an angel’s dress, floating all around. Hermione too tried to quietly sing along the chorus, but failed after the first line.
Cha till, cha till, cha till seana-charaid,
An cogadh no sith cha till e tuille;
Le airgiod no ni cha till seana-charaid,
Cha till e gu brath gu la na cruinne.
Quiet again, she breathed purer than she ever had, just as if it hadn’t mattered that she couldn’t sing. As if it was forgiven. As if all was forgiven. All she had ever done that she or others had considered bad. With her coming closer, strangely, Luna’s voice didn’t become louder. It had, for some magical reason, been in the same volume all the time. That made Hermione suspect that she only moved her lips pretending, and in reality, sang in everyone’s heads.
Cha chluinnear do cheol ’san Dun mu fheasgar,
’S mac-talla nam mur le muirn ’ga fhreagairt;
Gach fleasgach ’us oigh gun cheol, gun bheadradh,
O’n thriall thu uainn ’s nach till thu tuille.
Then she was there. The wick of Neville’s candle caught fire, and Hermione caught her breath. Still singing, and she could really not tell if Luna was singing aloud, she came to halt in front of her. Hermione’s vision was already slightly blurred with the tears she desperately tried to hold back, all those minutes, and now, seeing that absent and yet so close smile on Luna’s pale face, her fair hair falling like Mother Mary’s veil, over both her shoulders and down her back. For some reason Hermione didn’t startle when Luna took her right hand and lifted it. Surprised she didn’t drop it, her fingers enclosed the candle. Then Luna took her other hand and brought it upwards to support it. Hermione could only gaze after her, when she went back to her position in the circle, singing the chorus a last time.
Cha till, cha till, cha till seana-charaid,
An cogadh no sith cha till e tuille;
Le airgiod no ni cha till seana-charaid,
Cha till e gu brath gu la na cruinne.
She may have regretted so many times that she hadn’t learned any form of Gaelic, but also she had to admit, the lament may not have had the effect on her, if she had indeed known the meaning of the words. As slow as Luna had walked, Harry and Ginny now approached the tulips. Together, they sat their candles down in the snow. When they straightened, Harry did something that surprised her more than anything she had seen this morning: after inhaling deeply, his fingers lightly crossed before his groin, he briefly retrieved his right hand to make the sign of the cross. Both hands back in their position, Ginny hooked her arm into his left and they stepped backwards to where they had stood before.
Now everyone else, like in a procession, went to line up their candles by the two, and returned to where they had stood, in silence. She had expected Padma to have difficulties, but her wheelchair rolled over on its own. Sideways, she leaned over the grip and manually stuck her candle into the snow, the chair dangerously tilting. But nobody seemed to care. Why, Hermione saw in the next second. It simply sank back and rolled to return her into the circle.
The little things it were, she considered. Such small details she had missed about the people she had once considered to be something like friends. And now she stood there, as one of them again, but not. Only belonging because they had accepted her defiance and forgiven her immediately. They all knew that each of them now lived their own lives, but it mattered not, for those few minutes every year, in which they returned here as equals.
The winding snake was about to reach her and then already, she found her feet following Neville’s, to set down the candle Luna had given her. Everyone back in position, they watched the candles, still silent. Pondering. Meditating. Some possibly speaking a prayer in minds, just like Harry must have. With a sigh of her own, but a smile regardless, Ginny raised her voice firmly.
“Happy New Year, everyone.”
Then she turned her head to share a brief kiss with her husband, while the circle scattered. They all wished each other the same, hugging, patting backs, shoulders or heads. The one or other brotherly or sisterly kiss was exchanged. Caught off-guard, Hermione wasn’t spared. Some threw a wave into the group before they Disapparated to where they had come from. The Patil twins’ hug was one of the longest, while, seeing it across Lee Jordan’s shoulder, Hermione didn’t miss the insecure reluctance in the one between Hannah and Draco. When Lee walked off to say goodbye to Alicia and Katie, Hannah was gone and Draco had slouched over to Harry and Ginny who hadn’t left their position. Ginny now did, more than obvious, her best to block Hermione’s view on them. Susan, who caught her on the way for a brief hug before she would leave as well, had added to it, and Hermione would find herself wrapped by Ginny’s firm arms of a passionate Quidditch player, completely out of a blue she hadn’t seen coming.
“Sorry.”, she moaned, figuring she had squeezed Hermione a little too much.
“No, you’re not.”, smiled Hermione sad but definite.
“If you say so,”
“I do say so.”
“Okay. I gotta go back to the kids. Or I’ll have a full riot uprising if breakfast isn’t ready.”
“Of course. We’re all slaves of the lives we chose, aren’t we?”
“Perhaps. But not everyone sees it as enslavement.”
Ginny dropped her a knowing smirk before she loosened herself from Hermione’s hands, turned, and was gone with no sound. Only then Hermione noticed that everyone else was gone too. Everyone but two. Still standing there with his hands folded, Harry stared at the candles. On his right was Ron, his left arm laid around his best friend. Something she had seen him do many times on the rare occasions they had been in the same place since the war. Something, Hermione had never seen him do with one of his actual brothers. Most especially not that: being taller, he didn’t though bother to nestle his head onto Harry’s. He had many brothers. But none of them were as real to him as Harry was. And Harry had no real ones. No, she thought, he had a real one. Not in blood. But in everything else. They had always held together, even when seemingly not.
Curling her lips once more, she studied them for a while. Trying to fight an army of emotions. Lastly she beat it down, by walking over to the two, coming to halt where Ginny had stood, arms slack. Again, she felt out of place. The only thing that was soothing to her was the flickering of the candles. Suddenly there was movement to her right. Harry had loosened his hands. Wondering what he would do with them, she watched every move from the corner of her eye, until she lost them out of sight. But it didn’t matter. She felt where at least one of his hands had gone. Pulling her close, she felt it on her left shoulder and knew that the other now laid on Ron’s. Closing her eyes on the comforting touch, there was nothing that felt more right to her in a long time, than to equally wrap her right arm around Harry’s back.
And her head sunk to the right, slid along his collarbone, until it was stopped by his chin. A chin that felt so familiar against her scalp, and yet, not at all.
~~#~~
Winter had gone as silent as it had come and as little snow London had seen, as little rain it had been this year. Even April hadn’t brought the city much water from above, but she nonetheless hadn’t stored the scarf for good. The mornings were still chilly enough she needed it for the short walk from the safe Apparition spot near the visitors’ entrance to the employees’ entrance. Ever since the attack on Harry in the cafeteria, traffic into the Ministry was under strict control again and entering possibilities were as limited as they had been during Voldemort’s reign: using the telephone box or flushing yourself in the toilet cubicles that didn’t even work with the unforgeable coins from back then. The doors would only open when being touched by a registered hand and the flush asked for a tap by the matching wand. Everyone coming through the telephone box was scanned explicitly.
Of course she knew that wouldn’t sort out any scoundrels that were already registered officials, but Kingsley had insisted on the method. At least the people under Arthur’s command didn’t need to raid the entirety of the Ministry every month anymore now, to detect things that didn’t belong. They were spotted and confiscated upon arrival.
However, Patricia Silvermore from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad had lost her job due to boasting how she had circumvented the system by Apparating in with the help of her family’s Houseelf. Now Hermione somehow regretted to have changed department, as her specific position in the Magical Law Enforcement didn’t allow her to limit her former office’s research on Anti-Apparition spells that would even lock out Elves. The only way so far was one of their masters forbidding them to enter. She was torn between her goals now, whether to fight more for the independence of what humans called creatures, or battle the still existing; and seemingly even rising; discrimination towards Muggle-Borns. She wanted both, but feared she would have to become Head of the department to stand a chance against bureaucracy.
At the present moment however, she didn’t even stand a chance against a door. Ignoring the occasional stares, whispers or shaken heads from the cubicles, she paced back and forth, the rolled up newspaper in hand and arms crossed. The elaborate clock on the wall told her she had done so for more than fifteen minutes now, panic slowly growing in the back of her throat. At one point she could have sworn to have seen a silvery blue scale-covered face with yellow eyes peek over one of the cubicle walls, but dismissed it when she didn’t see it again. One part of her was certain that he knew who had knocked and simply ignored it. It wouldn’t be the first time he had treated her that way. Another part though insisted that she might be getting to hear the worst upon entering.
Then suddenly the lock clicked and the door opened itself, revealing Harry sitting on the floor in front of his desk that was crammed with files, legs crossed and his fingers as well, resting on his lap. Breathing calmly, he had his eyes closed.
“Why don’t you come in?”, he said in almost a whisper, “Instead of digging a hole into the floor? You see, I don’t really want people to trip into my office because your shoes shovelled a trench.”
“Are you doing yoga or what?”, Hermione murmured with a frown.
“I cannot do yoghurt, now can I?”
The look he then gave her through his glasses couldn’t have been more annoyed and what she returned was nothing short of loathing, knowing her regular assumption had been right. He had indeed just not bothered; possibly waited to see how long it would take until she would give up and come back another time.
“I was meditating, if you care to know. Not that I think you really care,”
“Meditating.”
“It sometimes helps me to clear my mind, you see.”, the way he had said that made her doubt it was him and not Luna under Polyjuice Potion. “At least when there isn’t any roof nearby that I could climb on.”
“Funny.”, she snorted, walking in at last as she felt the curious stares from behind, and instantly, they were bereft of their view by the closing and locking of the door.
“Hm. Yes. I always thought, our senses of humour are very differing.”
The deep inhaling breath he then took downright disgusted her. How he again closed his eyes during it, letting it out slowly before he got up, not even needing to pat dust off his clothes. Forcing herself not to clear his mind in another way by slapping the newspaper roll onto his head, she watched him walk around the desk and sit down.
“Why did you have to clear your mind?”, her forceful grim words didn’t seem to touch him at all.
“Wouldn’t you want to?”, Harry frowned. “In light of such a mass of paperwork? Oh and no, my window isn’t showing the Atrium hall because it is broken. I just didn’t agree with the Magical Maintenance’s choice of today’s weather. Or would you like a roaring thunderstorm around tornadoes?”
Pouting, she stomped towards the desk and slammed the paper on the top most file directly in front of him. When it didn’t affect him either, not even causing him to wince, she shook her head, puffing like an ox.
“Yes?”
“How can you be so calm!”
“As I told you, I was meditating. At least up until the point where I feared for the tiles outside.”
“The tiles? You fear for the tiles? Tiles?”
“What else do you think I should fear for?”, not even the chuckle that left her had any impact and she slowly began to think he might actually be unaware of what had happened two days prior – how ever he had managed to. “Yes?”
“Yes? Well, read!”
“Read what.”
“Read what? That, Harry!”, she nodded down.
“You mean that corrupt piece of paper?”
“I mean the thumping fat headline on the massive front page, goodness!”
“And?”
“And? Harry!”
“Hermione!”, he sang back.
“Three hundred casualties!”
“And then?”, that left her poleaxed. “So what?”
“Three hundred people died at the opening ceremony of the Quidditch World Cup and you say `so what´?”
“Casualties. Not people. I didn’t read it yet, but it’s likely they included the mascots in that number. At least from what I heard. And it’s been quite a lot of mascots. So? What do you want?”, so he had heard about it.
“What I – ?”
“It’s not like I can bring any of them back to life,”, his indifference drove her as mad as it dazzled her. “Besides, it’s Quidditch,”
“It’s what?”
“Quidditch, Hermione? You know, that game,”
“Stop acting like you’re a complete psychopath!”, she shrieked.
“If I was a psychopath, I’d have strangled you by your own hair meanwhile.”, his languid frown remained. “It’s the four hundred and twenty-seventh World Cup. You really think that’s news? That something like this never happened before?”
“Harry!”
“I know my name by now, thank you very much.”
“And of course you know that’s not a grand catastrophe as you have grown up with knowledge of such, having been raised by wizards just like I have,”, Hermione groaned with actual disgust now.
“Are you meaning to say something?”, he mirrored both her tone and expression, but mockingly. “Look. Neither of us is working in the right department to – ”
“The right department? The right – just because you’re an Auror doesn’t mean you can gladly ignore what is happening to the rest of the world, away from your personal battlefield! This is serious!”
“He would actually find your upset rather amusing.”, his bored annoyance was back. “I, personally, find it distracting me from my job.”
“Your wife is there!”
“And she’s fine!”, Harry sang again.
“How can you say!”
“Because I just talked to her Patronus, no fifteen minutes ago! She asked me what I want for dinner! She came home with one of the press Portkeys yesterday.”
“Oh.”, all her tension got smacked off. “Is that why you wouldn’t let me in sooner? Because you talked to a horse of light?”
“Maybe?”
“Did you even really meditate?”, she added but was talked over.
“But mostly because I knew what you were about to unleash on me and forgive me, I’m not in the mood for being scolded for something I neither caused, nor can change.”, he said earnest now, still surprising her with his calm. “Ginevra is fine, as I said. You don’t need to worry about her. She’ll only be there to report, on match days. Besides, if she had been allowed to write the front page as well, you might not be as upset.”
“Might not be as upset? Hello? Three hundred! And it doesn’t matter if it was mascots or audience or players or anyone!”
“If you wish to complain to someone, I’m the wrong department’s Head. Levels five or seven are where you should have jumped out of the lift.”, how she hated it when he acted just like Severus would have, still, after so many years, and it didn’t matter that Arthur’s words of warning rang in her head.
“Not even those Peverell Sisters managed to kill as many former Death Eaters in all these years as how many died in this!”
“What an interesting comparison to try making it my business, really. And actually,”
“You honestly astound me. It’s not like you care at all.”
“All I care for regarding the matter, is safe and sound.”, he said imploringly but not begging.
“And actually?”
“Actually what?”
“You said `and actually´.”
“Well, actually, they have crossed that number quite some time ago.”
“Quite some time ago.”, was all she could breathe, feeling like she was the folder she had slammed the Prophet onto.
“About nine years ago, to be precise.”
“Come again?”
She wasn’t sure if she had heard that correctly. Well, she was, but it was momentarily too much. How many were they at by now? But more importantly, how many were there still to be captured? Some part of her tried to fight the thought that not all of those victims had actually been true allies of Voldemort.
“They’ve been slacking lately though.”
“Slacking? Rather, there aren’t too many former Death Eaters left who they could turn inside out, isn’t it?”
“Depends on the definition of Death Eater.”
“The definition?”, her shrillness was back.
“You seem to be hard of hearing today, seeing as you constantly repeat what I said,”
“What definition!”
“The distinction of ranks. Real Death Eaters, Blindworms or just, well, the – humble folk – that were simply doing it for the money. Snatchers and such. But no worries. They do still leave those to the Ministry. So you don’t lose your newly appointed job after half a year already.”
“How admirably considerate.”, grunted Hermione.
“And I will tell you nothing but what I told Hannah and Draco back then. Their average is one per week. A butcher kills more cows and pigs and those didn’t murder, torture or rape others.”
“I still think that comparison is rather poor. Also how can you remember what you told Hannah and Draco nine years ago.”
“I appreciate and acknowledge your disagreement. But don’t think that you can; now that we are working on the same floor; change my mind or approach. What I find however interesting is that you just questioned my ability to remember something I said myself. Do you really think so highly of your photographic memory that it makes you incapable of understanding how others can memorise things as well? If it interests you, learning how to memorise and recall even tiniest details is part of the Auror training program.”
“Let me guess, Neville didn’t – ”
“So naturally I remember what I told my friends, only minutes before I would get to interrogate a suspect, who almost everyone still believes to be a victim, by the way. Even more so, as it is what I would tell anyone who asks for why I can live gladly with brutal mass murder on criminals. Would I prefer a different approach? Of course. But the sad truth is that this way no taxes are wasted on feeding hundreds in a crammed prison. As much as it troubles you, but this is an opinion of mine you won’t be able to change.”
“Incredible.”
“Yes. Just as incredible as your assumption that Neville didn’t benefit from said program. He passed the test, if you, well, care to know that at least.”
“What I care to know is why he actually dropped out then. He doesn’t care about Draco enough.”
“Says who. But yes, he cares about his own parents.”, Harry said staid. “Yes, he offered to watch Draco. You were there. Though that is not the reason, no. The real reason were two that are actually related.”
“And they are?”
“He and Robards never saw eye to eye. Neville accepted to become an Auror to make his parents proud. He was ambitious. He wanted to achieve something. Robards feared he was too ambitious. So ambitious he would go as far as to overthrow him.”
“That’s pathetic.”
“Of course. But that was Robards’ concern regardless.”
“Why didn’t he think the same of you?”, Hermione lastly crossed her arms again.
“I was already someone.”, Harry noted, with an expression that asked her how she could not have thought of the obvious. “He knew that I didn’t need to prove myself worthy. He knew that if I had wanted, I could have told Kingsley to have him replaced by me, and Kingsley might have done so. As I didn’t, he accepted that I was no harm to his position. Neville on the other hand was a danger to him. Therefore he always loaded him with minor tasks that kept him busy enough, in his opinion. Utter rubbish of course, but that is one of the reasons.”
“And the other?”
“The other reason, which is the real reason, was that one day Neville visited his parents, like usual. He’d gotten caught in a duel and was limping. Also he had his left hand in bandages. When he told his parents proudly how he had in the end managed to overbear the main troublemaker, they both broke out in silent tears. They’d never done so. By his dad’s shaking, he understood that it wasn’t tears of joy. They seriously feared for his life. That was when Neville understood that he did nobody a favour with wanting to live up to his parents’ legacy. So he followed his actual dream, eventually.”
Hermione didn’t know what to say. So many things had happened in the past years to people she had considered friends, and still nobody had bothered telling her anything. Now she wondered if it had been any different if she had only asked the proper questions earlier.
“But I can understand that this is news to you. You’ve been living with one foot in the past, while a few toes would actually be enough to learn from former mistakes. You’re too focused on other things. I know that you still wonder why nobody told you about the DA’s annual reunion, although it isn’t a long one. Why nobody ever invited you to join our tradition. The truth is, we hoped for you to remember every aspect of that past you so desperately cling to. Luna promised us that you would come, one day, if you were ready. Whether she meant ready to face it or ready to open your eyes, she never said. Or if you would purposely come. Regardless, you were there, if though I know by what people would call coincidence.”
“You didn’t think it was coincidence?”
“No. Yes, the time of day is very precise, but you could have come there on that certain day. Every year. You could have found our candles and wondered. Asked. Still you didn’t. And I think, Luna was right. You just weren’t ready yet.”
“I don’t even know why I went there, this year.”, Hermione gargled, curling her lips then, trying hard to suppress tears.
“Because you wanted to find answers.”, Harry said softly.
“Is that so.”, she had to look around, at the plants, as she couldn’t bear his face.
“You wanted to know if you should consider Luna’s warning or risk all you have, for the mere chance of finding something you will never find that way.”, without being able to stop her eyes from doing so, they moved back at him with a gasp. “Luna is a true friend; I just want you to know. She never said anything. But she didn’t need to. It isn’t always easy to see through her mask, but I know her. Really well by now. And I know you, Hermione. We used to be best friends and no matter how stubborn you are most of the time, I’d really like to think we are still. Jeanne didn’t remind you on what Dumbledore once told me, for nothing. It was a warning. Whether following ghosts from the past is really worth the risk of getting killed as collateral damage in a conflict that isn’t yours. If it actually is worth so much to you that you would allow yourself turning your children into half orphans.”
“How do you know.”
“How do I know Luna was never at the official memorial celebration because she wanted to `go hiking with you´? As I said, I know Luna. She is a faithful friend. And it is rather curious that a British witch and Ministry employee just happens to stumble into a certain town on Crimea on a certain day. Once an Auror, always an Auror.”, Hermione’s tears were blown away with her huff. “Darya is no exception to this.”
“I should have known she would let you know.”
“Yes, you should have known.”
“Did she also tell you why I was there?”
“Even if she did, she wouldn’t have needed to. I know why the Sea of Azov attracts you so much. And I believe Ron told you often enough that I have my means to find out people’s intentions, by now. I personally have no problem with your quest to hunt ghosts. Just know that they are transparent.”, her disparaging chucked hiss didn’t impress him at all. “The question is, will you take Luna’s warning into account.”
“I too have my means.”, Hermione’s pout returned to her face.
“And I have no doubt you can handle. But things have changed down there. If you continue your journey this year, you will be walking straight into a war zone. Just saying. A war zone of people who don’t know who you are. A war zone that is not defended with wands and magical shields, but bombarded with grenades and guns will be pointed either direction. It is your choice. If you trust the coast to be safe, if you believe you can deflect a falling missile, then by all means go. If not, and regardless of how much of a show it has meanwhile become, you are most welcome to join the people at Hogwarts for peacefully celebrating survival. Also if you excuse me now, some out there aren’t like Voldemort.”
“Meaning?”
“Not everyone is waiting for me to be done with my paper work until they attack.”
Sighing out her frustration, she turned, arms slack, and was really glad he magically opened the door for her. She wouldn’t have been able to even push down the handle. When she crossed the threshold she could have sworn to have heard something like a pile of paper being dropped in a bin. Apparently Harry had disposed of the Daily Prophet she had left behind. But it didn’t matter. She could get a new copy any time. Already halfway through the large room, she heard the door fall shut. No lock was clicking this time however. Or she just hadn’t heard it over the sound of her shoes and the murmurs around. With a lively push she passed the double door and almost crashed into someone. Completely out of sorts she stared up at her husband.
“What are you doing here again!”, she yelped.
“George’s received another product from a young entrepreneur who wants us to sell it.”
“Oh.”
“I wanted to hear Dad’s opinion on it.”
“Is that so.”
“Yeah. And since nobody can tell how long that would take, I thought I’d be evil and visit my wife, and then my best friend. I guess, now I know why none of her co-workers know where she went. What were you doing in there? Again?”, Hermione needed a second to dismiss the snooty answer she had wanted to give him.
“I thought I’d visit my best friend. Seeing as we’re working practically next door. Say, can it be that there is something like a human snake?”
“Human snake? What?”, Ron chuckled as they walked together. “Oh! Steve you mean? Nah. He’s not a snake. Funny story, actually. But you shouldn’t ask until he tells you personally. Though he’s rarely in the office, so you might have missed a chance.”
~~#~~