Shadow Walks |h.p/h.g|

ch. 7

He poured a cup of tea, and absently added milk and sugar without paying much attention to the quantities. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in the tense silence. He didn't bother with any food; he knew he wouldn't be able to eat anything today anyway.

"So, was it you?" Ron asked, and Harry blinked at the odd question.

"Was what me?" he asked, lifting the cup to his lips to take a careful sip of his tea. Ron didn't say anything, didn't even look at him, but instead held up the paper. There was a new headline, obviously added very late, since what had originally been the front page had been shrunk and shoved to the bottom of the page. Harry's eyebrows soared and he struggled to keep a bland look on his face.

"What makes you think I had anything to do with that?" he asked. Ron looked at him then, a piercing, knowing look that made Harry distinctly uncomfortable.

"How could it be anybody but you?" he asked rhetorically. "Look at the photo." Harry looked, bending forward to peer at it carefully.

"Sweet Merlin!" He breathed, barely audibly, setting his tea down so quickly that it sloshed over the sides of the cup. He hissed when some of the scalding liquid hit his hand, and blinked down at the headline again. Victory Square Statue Destroyed in Midnight Attack; MLE Has No Suspects.

The accompanying picture was of the remains of the statue, the sparkling fountain sullied and clogged with dust and debris. The pedestal of the names of the honored dead was intact, still in place above the filthy water, but the statue atop it...

The figures of Harry and Ron were gone, magically obliterated, handily relocated to litter the fountain and the once pristine garden.

But the figure of Hermione stood, alone, in the center of the pedestal, clutching her wand, book tucked forgotten under her arm, absolutely unscathed.

"Then it was you," Ron said, unnecessarily.

"I had a bad day," Harry replied, in a lame attempt to justify what had happened.

I can't even hurt an inanimate representation of her. I'm trapped, trapped just like she - he stopped suddenly, wondering what had brought on the idea that she was trapped. She's not trapped anywhere, Potter, he told himself sternly, in his best Malfoy impersonation. She's... and then the thought of Malfoy brought back the former Slytherin's tirade in the halls of the Ministry.

Malfoy has always had more mouth than sense, he thought. Keen on the concept of irritating, infuriating, and hurting Harry Potter, he had always had the tendency to reveal more than he should. He knows something, Harry thought, feeling suddenly more certain than ever. Tonks had arrived and stopped me; she told him to leave, but he had to say one more thing, that whole spiel about her eyes....why?

He chugged the rest of his tea, gasping a little as the heat poured down his throat, and set the cup on the counter with a decisive clunk.

"I've got to go," he said, dismissing the thought of Malfoy-esque conspiracies. There were other things required of him today, perhaps by no one but himself, but wasn't he his harshest master, after all?

"Listen, Harry..." Ron's voice was tentative, hesitant, and on any other day, Harry would have felt sorry for him.

"I can't talk about it today, Ron," Harry said, and the words came out more brusquely than he meant them. "Maybe - maybe tomorrow..." Ron looked crestfallen, but nodded, trying to blink away the obvious emotion in his eyes. "I'm sorry," Harry tried again. "I know you didn't - you didn't mean - " The muscles in his throat grew tense and painful. He lifted both hands heavenward in a gesture of supreme exasperation, and sighed. "I can't talk about it today. Tell Luna I'll see her tomorrow."