Chapter Eighteen- A Christmas Appeal for Misfortunate Slytherins
The wind whipped at her cheeks, ragging her scarf from where she'd tugged it up over her nose and sending it flapping out behind her. Snow trickled to the ground, crunching underfoot, freezing on her eyelashes. Even so, the cold wasn't enough to douse the excitement growing inside of Hermione's heart as she made her way down the winding path to Hogsmeade; after not seeing them in months, she was finally going to see her boys.
Hermione ducked her head lower, shielding her pink, frost-bitten skin against the wind, and sped up. She had wrote Harry to tell them to meet her at lunchtime, Saturday, in one of the rooms above the Three Broomsticks pub. This matter of theirs was delicate and she did not want to risk prying eyes and listening ears. It would not do.
Slipping inside, the warmth of the pub swallowed her immediately, and she let out a soft sigh, pulling her frosty hat from her head and unravelling her scarf. The room was rowdy, groups of students and patrons alike crowded round small tables, shoved into booths, fires roaring, drinks sliding down the bar. Hermione ran a hand through her hair, casting her eyes over the scene. She noticed the staircase against the very back wall and began to weave her way through the sea of students, skirting back when someone's drink sloshed over her shoes, narrowly missing a man who'd clearly been drinking since breakfast as he swept Madam Rosmerta into his arms, dancing her around, their laughs swallowed by the din. She escaped upstairs, clutching her hat and scarf to her chest, all but running to Room 3. Hermione stole a breath and knocked.
When the door swung open, she felt the years slip away and she was an eleven year old girl again, swaying from side to side on the Hogwarts Express, asking two boys, one with a shock of red hair and explosion of freckles, the other a lightening scar, if they'd seen Neville's toad. Harry stood in front of her, no longer that scrawny boy from under the stairs. He'd grown out his hair, tucked it behind his ears, and a ragged beard clung to his chin. He wore the same glasses, framing his green eyes, and his grin was still that of a child's. Dressed in black slacks, a white shirt and grey waistcoat, his wand looped through his belt, scar faded but still visible, a crack of lightening across his forehead, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, looked grown up, different to how she remembered him last, more sure of who he was in this world.
Despite this, he still let out a little noise at the sight of her, drawing her into him, gasping her name into her hair. Hermione clung to him. Closing her eyes, she breathed him in, relishing in the fact that he still smelled like fresh air from a Quidditch practise and the smoke of the Gryffindor Common Room fire.
"I've missed you," he murmured, voice warm and low in her ear. "I've missed you so much."
"Oh, Harry," she breathed.
"How're you?" he asked, voice muffled in her hair. Hermione squeezed him tighter.
"Oh gosh, I'm fine! I'm fine," she replied, finally letting him go. "How are you?"
Harry grinned. "Good. Better now I've seen you."
"Blimey, and who am I? Great Aunt Muriel?"
Hermione peered over his shoulder. Her face split into a smile and she brushed past Harry, into the room, all but leaping into the open arms of Ron Weasley. He huffed a laugh and she squeezed her arms tighter around his neck. He was broader than she remembered, taller, firmer. His hair was still that shock of red, though it had darkened a little bit, his eyes were lighter, the colour of a sky in spring. Hermione leaned backwards, hands slipping to cup his cheeks and pressed a hard kiss to his forehead. "Ronald."
Ron rolled his eyes, arms draped loosely around her, but his grin and the way he flushed a deep red gave him away. "Honestly," he said, "You'd think we were still First Years not giving our homework in on time!"
Harry laughed, the carefree amusement remaining in his eyes long after the sound dissipated.
"As I remember," said Hermione, moving back to stand by the bed, bunching her scarf to her chest, "you not giving your homework in on time persisted right throughout school, not just First Year."
The three friends stood quietly for a moment. "Gosh, I've- missed you so much," she gasped. Hermione wanted to cry, just seeing them here, in the flesh, put to bed any worries she'd had. Those first weeks back at Hogwarts had been so difficult without having her boys beside her, and then everything with Draco- it was nice to be on familiar ground, even if they looked so much older than when she last saw them, they were still the same, still her boys.
Harry smiled lopsidedly at her. "We've missed you too."
"More than that," said Ron, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wore a flannel over a black shirt and jeans, wand poking out of his boot. He'd cut his hair, she noticed vaguely, it was still shaggy, just shorter, falling over his eyes and brushing his ears. "We've missed your organisation, your brain, your cooking, your help. Really, Mione, it was selfish of you to go back. We could've died on our own!"
Hermione laughed. "But you didn't. I'm so proud of you both, for everything you've done."
The boys shared a fond glance. Having closed the door behind her, Harry moved further into the room, gesturing at her, "Take your coat off. Feel free to make a mess, this is Ron's room."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Charming."
"I'm surprised it's this tidy," she said, grinning when he sent her a scowl.
"We only got here ten minutes before yourself. He hasn't had time to make a mess yet."
Hermione laid her scarf and hat over the chair in the corner of the room, slipping out of her coat too. She felt the warmth envelop her, fold her into the comfortable arms of familiarity. The room was cosy and small, deep red furnishings with a small double bed in the centre and an armchair in the corner next to a circular coffee table. Harry sat on the bed, patting the space next to him. "Come on then, we need a catch up."
They'd already ordered some drinks for the three of them and when there was a knock on the door, Ron all but ran to open it, ears tinging pink as Madam Rosmerta commented on how grown up he looked, handing him the tray and dazzling him with her smile. Harry made a comment before the door was properly shut, causing Ron to flip him the finger, collapsing into the armchair across from them and looking like he had done in their Sixth Year upon accidentally ingesting a love potion. The boys helped themselves to their Firewhiskies, whilst Hermione sipped at her Butterbeer and they laughed like nothing had changed, like they hadn't fought in a war, like they were still children.
"I'm afraid I don't have much to tell you," said Hermione, when Ron asked her what she'd been up to. "I'm sure Ginny keeps you updated enough."
Harry looked a bit guilty at that. He held the bottle between his knees, leaning forward and looking up at her. "She said you weren't eating, weren't sleeping, only really leaving your room to go to your lessons or the library."
She let out a long sigh. That wasn't entirely true. She used to go to the kitchens a lot too, something she knew Harry was aware of since he admitted to keeping an eye on her using the Map. They were details though, small details that made no difference; she had been slow on her recovery but she was recovering, that was what mattered.
Hermione pressed her lips into a line and looked between the two of them. She said, "I'm not going to lie and say that I was coping. I wasn't. But I know you weren't either. It's just the way it is."
"And now?" asked Harry evenly.
"I'm better." She offered him a small smile to prove it.
"So much changed in two months?" Ron's voice was high and sceptical.
Hermione looked at the floor, traced the patterns in the carpet. "A lot has changed." Swallowing, she shook her head and said, "But what about you? I haven't heard anything from you about your work. Aurors! I can't believe that after everything you still get a kick out of putting your lives in danger."
They denied it hastily, but Hermione noticed the way their eyes lit up and her heart sunk a little. What could they possibly find so thrilling about feeling the way they did? She used to think she had that same spark in her, that same desperation for something passionate and whirlwind, the need to feel her pule quicken and her life thrum in her hands. Now, Hermione wasn't sure. Having almost lost everything, she wouldn't dare risk tempting fate again. There was only so much luck to be dealt your way. There were only so many times you could bet your life and win it back. One day, the deck would have to be against you.
Something grew warm in her pocket and Hermione frowned, pulling out the slip of parchment. In her hands, against her skin, it could have been burning but it just tingled. She unfolded it and saw the words appear suddenly, almost as drawling as his voice:
I'm bored.
She huffed a laugh. Glancing at the boys, she noticed they were talking about some case they'd dealt with only last week. Hermione rooted in her coat pocket for a pen, scrawling her reply.
Can you seriously not entertain yourself for a few hours?
She tucked both the paper and the pen under her leg, smiling and nodding as though she was listening. It grew warm again quickly.
How long are you going to be? Not long, I hope. You might find I've wasted away and resorted to reading Hamlet.
Hermione replied: Dear lord. The horror! Try to survive the torment. I've seen enough death recently.
The paper was blank for a moment.
Haven't we all.
She felt her throat go dry at that and reached for her Butterbeer, taking another sip.
"Hermione?"
"Hmm?"
"I said is it true you're trying to save Malfoy?" Ron asked, blue eyes wide and searching. There was a faint grin curling his lips, as though he had asked her a joke and he was waiting on edge for her to deliver the punchline. "I couldn't believe it when Harry told me. Said you'd gone barmy. Well, barmier than you were."
Hermione swallowed, clutching her glass tightly. She glanced at Harry, and she could see the curiosity sparking in his own bright eyes. When it was clear she couldn't wheedle her way out of answering, she sighed, winced, then said, honestly because they deserved nothing less, "Yes."
Whatever fledgling amusement that had been blossoming on Ron's face died the moment the affirmation dropped from her lips. His eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Malfoy?" He repeated. "Slimy git from school? Watched his batshit aunt carve into your arm, that Malfoy?"
"I know it's hard for you to understand," began Hermione, absently pulling her sleeve down. Harry noticed. Ron immediately went pale. "But you haven't been at Hogwarts. You haven't seen what the war has done to him. It nearly broke him."
They both just stared at her. She wanted Ron to open his mouth, even if it was to shout at her and try exasperatedly to fill her with sense, because he was never quiet (he hadn't been quiet since the war and she knew it was because he couldn't stand the reminders the silence gave him) and it was unnerving her.
But it was Harry who broke the silence, asking quietly, "Nearly?"
She hesitated. "I think if you're still trying to survive despite it all then you can't possibly be broken. Broken suggests you have nothing left, and Malfoy-" she cut off sharply. "Malfoy has something left."
You're the only thing keeping me going, Granger.
Hermione didn't say what he had left. She didn't know for sure. All she knew was that were was something in his eyes when he looked at her, like a drowning man looking at the shore, that made her think there was life in him yet.
"He has something left," she repeated.
He has me.
She realised it quite suddenly. All the lengths she had been to, all the things she had done, every night she had wandered through the corridors after that first meeting, just in case he'd been there too and he had been, every time, every moment she'd spent at his hospital bed, every time she'd chased him through the castle, held him to her in some small way, whether it was his face, his hand, his soul. All of it had been to make sure he was okay. Even if he had nothing else in the world to live for, he had her.
The silence seemed to echo around the three of them, and Hermione was glad for it because she was worried that if she spoke, she would reveal something deeper, something she couldn't voice. She could only keep her eyes locked on theirs, imploring against any reservations she saw tempered there. Ron cracked the heaviness, as he usually did, letting out a long, half-amused breath and falling backwards onto the armchair. He shook his head in disbelief.
"You mean to tell me you and Malfoy are friends?"
Hermione just laughed a little, and Harry rolled his eyes, though he was grinning. Everything relaxed around them, falling back into place with their shoulders. She remembered Malfoy's disgust when she'd asked him the same question, and it was enough to bring a small smile to her face.
"Of sorts," she admitted.
Ron let out a short huff of amusement. He looked at Harry incredulously. "Never thought I'd see the day," he muttered.
"Oh, Ronald," Hermione said, and Harry bit back a grin at the familiar tone of her voice. "We're adults now! Of course things have changed."
Harry wrapped his arm around Hermione, and she melted into his side, laying her head against his.
"Changed, my arse," said Ron, watching his friends from his sprawled position with a lazy smile. "More like titled on its axis and bloody spun off balance!"
Hermione smiled a little at that but it disappeared quickly. Swallowing, she said, "I saw Dumbledore."
She felt Harry freeze. "They've put his portrait in the Headmas- mistress' Office. He spoke to me." She stayed where she was, with her head on Harry's shoulder, and chewed her lip because she didn't want to see their reactions to what she was about to say. "He showed me his memory from that night but it was- it was incomplete, taken from after he died. It must have slipped out of him. He told me that Draco Malfoy was redeemable then and he's redeemable now but a dead man, Dumbledore, his testimony wouldn't stand in court. Not after everything he's- not after that bitch Rita Skeeter. That was when I realised that there were two people there that night, on our side."
Hermione pulled away, reaching for his hands and gripping them tightly. "Harry." His jaw was clenched, eyes too serious for someone so young, but he'd mastered that grave expression a long time ago, from the moment he was marked to die. "I know what I'm asking of you. I know it's a lot. I know what you remember of him and-"
Mudblood Granger.
His voice had haunted her since Dumbledore had shown her the memory, the past tearing its way into the present, but then, louder, softer, she heard him again, You're the only thing keeping me going, Granger. I only believe in you.
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. "But he doesn't deserve to die. Draco Malfoy is a good man. He is my friend and I care about him very much."
There was a quiet in the room, a silence, where Hermione counted the seconds. She didn't want to look at either of them because she knew the weight of what she was asking, but she forced herself to stare into Harry's eyes, to trace the shadow each eyelash made against his cheek, hoping, praying, he was the same, his heart just as big, his desire to make the world a better place just as strong-
He nodded. Hermione didn't think she'd seen it right and she pulled away, squeezing his hands. "What?"
"Okay," said Harry. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ron sit up a bit straighter. He was so resolute; she searched his eyes for any doubt but there was none. "I'll help. I'll give you my memory. We'll find a way to save Malfoy."
Hermione flung herself at him, wrapping her arms so tightly around his neck he had to reach up and hold her elbows for any tighter would surely strangle him. "Oh thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, thank you. I don't expect you to be friends, I don't even expect you to talk to him-"
Harry laughed, detangling her from him, and pushing his glasses further up his nose. Hermione's cheeks were pink and she realised that she was crying slightly. Ron groaned, throwing back his head and said, "Honestly, Hermione. Why couldn't you have just stuck to the bloody Elves?"
AN: So I got really emotional writing this chapter. This is the first time, I think, I've ever written Harry and Ron as proper characters and honestly, I miss my boys. Let's just say I can't wait to write them and Draco together... it will be interesting, to say the least. Sorry for the late update!! Everything has been a bit hectic really but it's settling. Well, I have final exams soon so it that will be horrendous but I got into uni!!!! To do English Literature and Language! On the plus side though, I don't plan on giving up on this story anytime soon. I have planned it all out and it's looking to be about 45 chapters if I stick to that plan but some might be combined depending on how long they are. I promise to you that this story will be finished and it will end happily. You lot deserve as much. Thank you for all your support and lovely reviews, they truly do mean the world to me.