Disclaimers: Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.
***
Hermione was sat on the toilet for at least half an hour. She was so afraid to look at the little Muggle device in her hand that she was frozen in place, unable to move. The cubicle of the restroom of Leaky Cauldron was frightfully small, but it encapsulated her feelings of being trapped almost callously well. She felt enclosed on all sides, the world heaving in on her as she sat stock still, with her knickers round her ankles.
And it was no better outside.
"If that strip turns blue, I'll kick you in the stomach myself."
"You're so not helping, Sue," Hermione retorted angrily.
"You'll thank me for it later," Susan replied, tapping her foot impatiently on the stall door. "Come on. If we don't hurry up, people will think we're going down on each other in here."
"What?!"
"Don't sound so scandalised," Susan laughed. "I'll have you know I'm a very good shag, when I want to be. Before Blaise forced me down the aisle, I was fighting the wizards off. Witches, too, if you must know."
"Really?" asked Hermione. She'd always suspected that Sue was partial to a bit of witch-love. She tended to stand just a little too close when they shared communal showers after the gym or swimming club. This just confirmed it.
"Merlin, yes," said Sue, her tone dreamy. "Before Jenny made an honest witch out of Sally-Anne, me and Miss Perks used to have some very intimate girly nights in at our flat, if you know what I mean. Ah, I miss the good old days."
"Don't we all," Hermione moaned. "But it's the bad future days I'm more panicked about right now."
"I told you not to worry," Sue told her firmly through the door. "If it turns out that one of Ron's little swimmers has forced its way into your lady egg, I'll cut the fucking spawn out myself and make it look like an accident."
"Thank you?" Hermione quipped, uncertain if Sue was joking or not.
"What are best friends for?" Sue sniffed. "What's taking that thing so long, anyway? Are you sure you peed on it properly?"
"Quite sure," Hermione assured her. "Gave me a greater appreciation of just how difficult it is for boys when they have to go. I wonder if it's a natural thing, or if they have to be taught to aim the flow just right?"
"Who knows?" Sue laughed mirthlessly. "It's taking ages, though. Maybe it's defective, like your husband! Merlin ... I bet he could beat his best sex duration record before that strip turns a funny colour from your piss. What's the standard time for that premature ejaculating fuckwit, would you say?"
"It barely lasts five minutes these days ... and there's always more minutes than inches, if you get my point ... so I suppose I should be thankful for small miracles, really!"
Sue snorted bitterly at that. "Lucky you. I have to put up with Blaise ... and that bastard is a fucking athlete in the bedroom. Hung like a Thestral, too, worse luck. I tell you, when he sticks it up my arse ... as a treat ... I can barely walk for days afterwards."
"Sue! Please! I don't need to hear this!"
"But maybe you should have tried it! If you'd played Ron a little better, perhaps this minor mishap might not have happened."
Hermione scoffed. "I can just about not strangle myself, having to endure the two-and-a-half minutes of missionary, and two inches of Ron, I have to put up with every month. I am not encouraging more positions, definitely not offering more holes. For fuck's sake, Sue, you're supposed to be supporting me here!"
"I am," said Sue. "I'm just saying ... I never let Blaise finish in any part of me that might lead to babies. He's still a man ... he thinks it's kinkier that way. I think I'd rather slit my own throat than have his seed quicken in my womb, so I keep them as far apart as possible."
"That attitude will get you killed," said Hermione, warningly. "You can't put it off for long, if you have any idea of living beyond Thirty. You know the law."
Sue huffed outside the door. "Well, you don't seem exactly thrilled, yourself ... that you and Ron might have to start playing at being Mummy and Daddy soon. As if pretending to be a loving wife wasn't hard enough ..."
Hermione shuddered at the notion. I'm not pregnant, I'm not pregnant ... I cast the Contraceptive Charm quickly enough ...
"Anyway," Sue went on. "I thought your Bedding Rite was only carried out last week? Why the fuck did you sleep with him again before you had to?"
Hermione sucked in a breath, and swallowed hard at the memory. She reached into her handbag on instinct, to touch up the concealer over her black eye. Susan was three sheets to the wind from pre-drinks before they'd even met that night. She hadn't noticed so far ...
"It wasn't by choice."
Susan stopped her foot tapping at once. Hermione could hear the tone of her breathing change. It was rapid, angry now.
"Min ... did he ... did he hurt you again?"
Hermione gave a mirthless chuckle. "He isn't big enough to hurt me, Sue."
"But he did force you?" Susan asked, gently.
Hermione sighed. "You know he pretty much always forces me, if I haven't just given in first."
"Min ... open the door. Right now."
Hermione stood, reluctantly. She raised a shaking hand, and looked at the pregnancy test she was holding ... and took a happy, relieved breath. It was negative. She smiled broadly, then pulled her underwear and jeans up with a new sense of vibrancy running through her. Then she unlocked the door.
And screamed in terror ... for Ron was standing before her, holding Susan's severed head in his hand.
"Bitch! You think I've forced you before ... I'll make you wish I was that gentle again!"
Hermione screamed again and woke, kicking and screaming against the confines of her quilt, which were pinning her in. She was stupefied by sleep, still held by the potency of the bad dream. Her nightie was soaked in sweat, her mind so shaken that she couldn't get her bearings at first. She was lost, afraid, and shivering violently from the cold engulfing her.
Then there was a swirl of hot air nearby ... and Hermione was being scooped up into strong, protective arms ... arms that simply refused to let her be afraid anymore. They hugged her so tightly, so lovingly, she couldn't breathe for it. Waves of adoring energy were flowing into her, making her giddy with happiness ... and turning her rumbling fear into animalistic lust. She turned her head and bit wantonly into the flesh she found there, nibbled at a downy-haired nipple, grazed her teeth against the solid muscle of a chest so familiarly scented ...
Then Hermione snapped her head up in surprise.
"Harry!"
"It's alright ... ssshhh ... I'm here now, I'm here ... ssshhh, it's okay ... I've got you, you're safe now ... ssshhh ..."
Damned fucking Merlin it was alright!
Harry was naked to the waist, cradling Hermione in his surprisingly firm hold, as he whispered soothingly into her hair. Hermione played up being still in the throes of her anguish, nuzzling her head against the exposed skin of Harry's body. He was astonishingly solid, built far more powerfully than she had imagined. Hermione thrilled at that. For some reason, she'd imagined all Harry's new power to be in his magic alone, and didn't expect it to extend to his physicality, too. But how wrong she was! Harry was not athlete-muscle, but he was toned, defined ... and Hermione's lust threatened to overwhelm her as she tentatively explored it.
"I know you're feeling better," Harry teased down, sultrily. "You're a terrible actress."
Hermione sat up and blushed. "Harry ... you're so ... fit!"
Harry laughed at her. "No need to sound so surprised ..."
"Sorry," said Hermione, quickly. "I just didn't think ..."
"What ... that I took care of myself?" Harry quirked, lightly. "There's a causal link between physical health and magical potency, you know. I got into the habit in Germany. Dietmar was an Olympic-level demon on the gymnastic rings. Built like a brick shithouse, to boot. I'm too sinewy for all that, but I get my wiry arse as trim as I can. I cheat, obviously, through mediation and yoga rituals. But it works well enough."
"Fuck me, does it! And then some!" Hermione swooned. She traced a finger down Harry's chest, frowning in pity as she ran her nail around the outline of the scar left by the Locket Horcrux all those years ago. She had one herself, of course, but it wasn't anything like as pronounced. Harry flinched a little as Hermione touched the scar tissue. "Sorry. Does it still hurt?"
"No," Harry grinned. "It's just very ticklish!"
"Oh, really!" Hermione squealed, her eyes flashing brightly. "I had no idea! But now that I do ..."
And with that, she pounced on him, tickling Harry at every spot her fingertips could reach. Harry responded in kind, flipping Hermione onto her back and drawing giggly tears where he was so relentless in his playful attack. In a last attempt at victory, Hermione captured Harry's mouth passionately with her own ... then she reached down and grabbed at the drawstring of his pyjama bottoms. Harry pulled his head back, panting throatily ... and their gazes met for a breathless moment. The air turned dense with a thrumming, white-hot energy. It caused the petals of Hermione's flowers to wilt on the windowsill. Her breasts heaved with wanton desire ... she reached up to unbutton the neckline of her nightie ... then Harry snatched out, grabbing her hand to stop her progress.
"No ... I'm not doing this now ... not after something like this," he said, strongly but breathily.
Hermione's loins mewled in protest and she arched her back in her frustration, sending the moan racing up to her throat. She tried to reach lower again ... but Harry was determined. He eased her hand back up, firmly but gently.
"I said no," he repeated, lowly. "Now, tell me what happened? Why did you scream?"
Hermione huffed, slightly angry, and covered herself up moodily. Why would Harry come to her rescue like this, in the middle of the night, in her bed, if he wasn't going to see it through? He sensed the rise in her ire, and backed away, easing his grip on her.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry muttered, quietly. "I just don't want it like this. It feels wrong ... and you've had it wrong so much ... I wont do it till it's right, no matter how cross it makes you with me."
Hermione felt her heart bleed, and it took every ounce of her frustration with the flow. Her heart pulsed with such love for Harry in that moment ... she couldn't have articulated it no matter how hard she might have tried.
She scooted back over him, taking her rightful place back in his embrace, kissing him shyly by way of apology. "Oh, Harry ... is that what this is?"
Harry looked down and nodded, bothering the corner of the quilt with his fingers. "Yeah, it is. I want you so badly, Hermione ... you have to believe that. But I don't want any part of it to be bad ... for you ... when it happens. Not during, not after ... and not even before. I can't stand the thought of our love-making being powered by one of our darknesses ... so I wont allow it. I'm not going to sleep with you to make you forget your pain ... or to try and get over a nightmare about Ron. Because that's what this was, wasn't it?"
Hermione sighed. "It wasn't a real nightmare, not like the last one. But Ron was in it, yes. He's just on my mind, or my nerves, because of that bloody press conference, that's all."
Harry looked at her, dark rage stirring behind his eye. "I felt how much he frightens you, when you saw him. How long has it been like that?"
Hermione took a heavy breath. "Ever since my wedding night."
Harry snatched out at her, drawing her so close, so emotionally close, that their magic collided. Then, something really odd happened ...
... for every nuance of Harry's magic seemed to reach out for Hermione's.
They both felt it, looking at each other in utter astonishment. And both reflected a breathless shiver that passed through them. They were powerless against what was happening. Harry gave to it first, somehow Hermione felt that, as though the subconscious part of her mind, connected to her magic, felt Harry's submission. Hermione gave in as instantly as she could in response.
And then their magic actually touched ... it entwined, practically fusing them for a moment.
Hermione had forgotten how to breathe. Her heart was racing ridiculously fast, and every inch of her skin seemed to be fluttering. Her stomach was doing cartwheels and her knickers were so damp that there was a trickle of moisture running down her inner thigh. And she could feel something very firm and solid, quite different from Harry's solid body elsewhere, lodged against the side of her leg. Her eyes widened as she assessed the dimensions, only partially pressed into her thigh. And an astonished thought hit her.
She was going to need a bigger boat!
Harry was looking guilty and ashamed of himself, as though he'd broken his word to not cross one of Hermione's intimacy lines without permission. He tried to move away ... but Hermione snatched him straight back.
"Don't you even dare!" Hermione breathed, sternly. "We wont do anything, Harry ... but you can still hold me. You can let me feel that ... to give me something to look forward to!"
Harry glanced awkwardly at her. He seemed so scared, lost in a new world that was as frightening as it was exciting. He looked unspeakably young and achingly vulnerable. Hermione couldn't quite qualify his look with the new, powerful man she was falling so deeply, so badly, in love with. His body tensed, his eye fluttered with fear.
"If ... if that's what you want," Harry stuttered nervously, his voice strangely cracked. It was as if the connection of their magic had exposed all of Harry's fragilities in one go.
Hermione coaxed Harry close to her. "Come here ... I just want you to hold me. That's all I want."
"I can do that."
So he did, warm and tender, that astonishing firmness growing ever more pronounced as he pressed closer to the heat of her body. Hermione was half mindless at the embrace ... and beyond thrilled that she was able to arouse Harry to this level of potency. It stoked those long-forgotten aspects of her womanhood, made her feel ridiculously sexy and attractive, that she could drive Harry to bursting point without really doing very much at all. Her mind and loins flipped into excited cartwheels as she thought about just how much more there was to come ... excusing the pun! It was such a promising future now.
But besides the sexual aspect, Hermione was certain she'd never felt as close to Harry as she did just now, as though she'd somehow broken through his most delicate of boundaries without even knowing it. She was fiercely keen not to spook him, having got this close, this intimate. So she kept her promise to just hold him, smoothing his hair to keep her hands busy and just enjoying the sensation of him simply breathing in comfort on her shoulder.
Hermione was shyly astonished at the situation. She'd been abused, been raped, been exposed to the sexual deviancy expected of a senior Death Eater ... but Harry was the reticent one here, the one fearful in the face of her. It was so fundamentally backwards in Hermione's mind that she honestly struggled to process it. He was the one holding back, the one terrified of things going too far, or going so fast that he'd get them wrong and jeopardise this wonderful thing that they had started to build together. It was yet another fear that Hermione was crazily mindless to relieve him of.
She could only think of one thing to say that might make him feel better.
"Harry ... I love you."
Harry actually stopped breathing at her words for a full twelve seconds ... his body tense as if under an oppressive curse. And he was so close that Hermione could see his pulse hammering relentlessly in his neck, his throat full from dry shock. He just didn't know of any way to respond to Hermione's oddly-timed declaration. She watched him a moment, waiting for a response, then understanding immediately that he was utterly incapable of anything of the sort.
Because, as Hermione realised with a sob, Harry had never been told he was loved before.
She caught him before he broke down, dragging him into the most tender hug she could muster. Harry just fell deeper into her shoulder and cried. And cried. Hermione held him close and just let him weep, providing him with the warm, safe place he needed to do just that. She felt each heave of his chest, each wave of unbridled emotion, as if Harry had made them just for her. They weren't tears of sadness, but of overpowering joy ... the sort of joy that Harry didn't think he was owed, but for which Hermione couldn't imagine anyone more worthy.
And she hugged him with everything she had just to tell him so. Harry simply throbbed in her arms, responding physically where words had failed him. Hermione felt her essence melt into Harry's again, and she felt full up with this bliss. She wished she had more room for it. Harry need never return her declaration, for she knew unequivocally that he felt the same, even if he was unable to tell her.
But Harry Potter was nothing if not a master of his weaknesses.
"I love you, too."
Hermione was sent so light-headed at hearing the words that she almost fainted. For she had never heard any four words spoken together with more sincerity. And Harry was saying them to her ... and making it sound like he was blessed to be able to do so. What was Hermione supposed to say to that!?
So she began to cry, too, for she had forgotten what it was to hear that she was loved, herself. She was overwhelmed by the sensation, the immense joy it inspired, something she'd believed was long lost to the world. But here it was, flowing back and forth between Harry's heart and her own, warm and renewing, growing intensely with each cycle, and just the most insanely lovely thing in existence.
Hermione smiled through her tears. "Will you shag me now?"
Harry laughed and pulled her closer. "Hermione ... I'd last about twelve seconds! You deserve so much more!"
"But what a twelve seconds they'd be!" Hermione giggled, clutching so hard at Harry's chest she might have been trying to crush him. "Seriously, Harry ... you cant keep me waiting like this. I might explode!"
Harry chortled. "You can still do transfiguration, can't you? Be imaginative."
Hermione scoffed in response. "If I wanted a dildo, Harry, I'd knock on Ann's door. She has loads, apparently. I'm holding out for the real thing."
"Tonight's not the night," Harry told her gently. "It's not just your nightmare ... the palace has a weird air about it tonight ... I don't like it."
Just then, Sally popped into view. She looked curiously at Hermione, and Harry half-naked next to her. She covered her eyes.
"Ah, Lady Hermione, yous awake, good," said Sally. "Yous friend, Miss Susie, be waking. Lady Longbottom thought you should know. Master Harry ... put some clothes on!"
Hermione blushed, but Harry just shrugged at the elf. "Sally, can you take Hermione to the infirmary to see Susan? I'll just get dressed and join you there."
"Getting dressed be for the best, Master Harry," said Sally. "Your boobies be showing!"
Harry laughed. "I'm not ashamed of my baby A's, Sally. But, you're right. I'll make myself decent."
And with that, he stood up and Apparated away. Sally took her hand away from her eyes, and looked at Hermione with a scandalised expression.
"Lady Hermione!" she admonished, shrilly. "You naughty witch! It not be your wedding night, or anything!"
Hermione giggled. "I don't think I can wait that long, Sally. But nothing happened tonight, I promise."
"Didn't look like nothing ..."
"I'd just had a nightmare," Hermione tried to explain. "Harry was trying to make me feel better. He loves me, do you know?"
"World and his dog be knowing that, Lady Hermione," said Sally, off-handedly. "Yous must be the last to know."
"But isn't it wonderful?" said Hermione, dreamily.
"Lady Hermione make Master Harry smile," said Sally. "That not be wonder ... it be miracle. But Lady Hermione be needed downstairs. Up, now, and we go."
Hermione obeyed the command, rising from bed and grabbing her dressing gown, before Sally spirited them to the infirmary.
***
The scene inside was borderline chaos. Enola's mother, Arianwen, was trying to calm Susan, who was thrashing about in something of a panic. There were two other, older witches, who Hermione had never met, standing with their wands ready nearby, in case Sue got so bad she needed sedating. Enola was on the other side of the bed with Cassie, who was holding a potion vial in her hand.
"Get it out! Get it out of me!"
Susan was screeching in angry torment. Hermione was shocked at the vitriol of her tone. She caught Enola's eye, and Neville's wife coaxed her forward with a thankful look.
"Try and see if you can get through to her," Enola encouraged. "She's practically wild when the rest of us try."
Hermione hurried to Susan's bedside. "Sue! Sue! It's me! It's Hermione."
Susan stilled almost instantly as Hermione reached her, looking at her in utter disbelief.
"M-Min ... is that really you?" Susan stammered.
"Does it feel like me?" asked Hermione, darting in and giving Susan a bone-crunching bear hug, only matched in terms of intensity by the one she received in return.
"It is you! I'd know those perky tits anywhere!"
"For fucks sake, Sue!" Hermione laughed.
"Harry told me you were alive, but I didn't believe it!" Sue cried. Then she gasped out loud, as if suddenly remembering a juicy secret. "Oh, Min ... Harry Potter is alive! Do you know? Have you seen him? You must have, he said you were here ... wherever here is ..."
"I have seen him, but only really close up," Hermione quipped, smirking as she drew away.
Susan gaped at her shrewdly. "What exactly does that mean?"
"It means that she knows the texture of his tongue just as well as the contours of his forehead," said Enola, grinning.
Hermione blushed and glowered at her. "How do you know? Harry and I are always really discreet ..."
"Oh come on, Min," said Enola. "Do you really think that Harry goes anywhere in the house or grounds where he isn't monitored? We take it in turns watching the soft-core porn shows you two put on. Hot as fuck, by the way. Just saying. If you ever fancy a third wheel ...
"In any case, the house practically ignites when you two go for one of your walks ... seriously, Cassie sexually fainted the other day, just because she was too dense to run outside when you two vanished into Harry's secret copse ..."
Cassie blushed. "Guilty as charged. I didn't run very fast, to be honest. I get less action than Ennie, here ... and that's saying something. It was pretty much a freebie orgasm for me, and who can ever have too many of those!?"
Enola frowned at her. "Nev's just having some issues right now ... being a Daddy affects men like that sometimes ..."
Hermione cocked her head curiously at Enola, who looked away with a deep flush. Hermione shook the inference off for now, but she knew a good potion that might help with that ...
Speaking of potions, Cassie was tying to offer one to Susan. "This is just a Calming Draught. It will help, I promise."
Susan looked questioningly to Hermione for guidance. Hermione nodded at her to accept the potion, which she then took and downed. Then she turned back to Hermione.
"So ... Harry Potter is back from the grave ... and you've been to bed with him already? That's fast work, Min!"
"Harry and I aren't sleeping together," Hermione corrected.
"Yet," Enola quipped with a filthy wink. "But the wedding night cant be far off."
Susan's eyebrows nearly took off from her forehead. She threw another questioning look at Hermione. "Wedding night?"
Hermione shook her head with a cross sort of huff. "Mrs Longbottom, here, likes to exaggerate a little."
"I do not," Enola returned, mildly affronted. "But if you want to suggest a different explanation, for Harry disappearing off to his forge earlier with only enough metal in his pockets to make a small object like ... oh, I don't know ... a ring, perhaps? ... then I'm all ears."
Hermione's eyebrows joined Sue's on the ceiling. Enola just hooted out a laugh at her. Hermione couldn't right her racing mind at that. It was crazy, it was insane ... it was ... it was ... what was it? Hermione couldn't focus. The image was just too mind-blowing, but so wonderful at the same time. Her heart wanted to take flight. The thought of Harry, out in the middle of the grounds, forging a wedding ring for her, loving her with every chink of his hammer, promising her his love in the band he was making ... it swept all her breath away in one go.
Hermione tugged hard at the infernal piece of ugly copper that was on her finger already. It was so in the way! There had to be some method of removing it, even if it meant cutting her whole finger off! For if, in some insanely mental reality, Harry proposed, got down on one knee and offered her the ring he had so caringly made, then she would accept so readily, so joyously, that she would probably implode with the frustration at not being able to wear the piece of jewellery that announced it to the world. But the other ring would make that exact thing happen.
And she had never hated Ronald Weasley more acridly than she did right then. She was reasonably convinced that no wife had ever hated a despised husband quite as much she did hers right then.
But she was about to be given stiff competition.
For Sue was talking again, quite lucid under the influence of Cassie's powerful calming draught.
"So ... you're saying it's too late to stop it? I'm stuck with the damned thing? You cant get it out?"
"No. You're too far gone," said Arianwen, stepping forward to field the question.
Sue huffed and nodded. "I see."
"What's going on?" asked Hermione. "To late to stop what?"
"We've conducted extensive tests on your friend," Arianwen explained. "And it is quite certain ... she is with child."
Hermione gasped, knowing how hard the phrase must have been for her friend to hear. No wonder Sue was so incensed! She had lost all colour from her face, her drawn skin now looking the grey of day-old porridge.
"Oh ... Sue!"
"I don't want it, Min," she hissed. "But it's too late to stop, apparently. I have that fucker's spawn kicking me in the guts as we speak. Like father, like son, I suppose."
She laughed heartlessly.
"Sue ... I ... we can, when it comes out ... oh, Sue! ... I don't know what to say, I really don't!" Hermione stuttered desperately.
"We should be thankful," said Arianwen. "If it wasn't for the amniotic fluid from the womb, we may never have a forged a potion potent enough to heal your wounds."
"Yeah, I'm really grateful," Susan spat bitterly in reply. She stood, and tried to walk away. Arianwen moved to stop her, protesting that she needed rest, but Susan shrugged her off. "I'm as stiff as a board after all that sleep ... I just need to stretch my legs a minute ... pity I couldn't have kept them closed, eh ..."
Hermione saw what happened next in horrifying slow motion, but was unable to react fast enough to stop it. Susan limped to a nearby table, where a probe-wand was sat on a silver dish. In a quick movement, which defied her injuries, Susan pulled Cassie's wand from her waistband, and transfigured the probe into a deadly, serrated-blade knife ...
... a knife she began angrily driving in and out of her belly.
The place descended into anarchy. Blood spewed out like a furious fountain from Susan's vigorous stabbing. Hermione was frozen at the sight, held fast through shock and the assorted screams and cries issuing forth from everyone else. Cassie yelled, and tried to retrieve her wand, but that blade was very sharp. Enola pulled her friend back, then cried out for Susan to stop, as the other healers tried to move around behind her.
But Susan wouldn't stop. Her eyes were manic, her ugly determination to destroy the life growing inside her was her only imperative. She was looking woozy ... she had lost so much blood. It was everywhere ... some was even on Hermione. She tried fruitlessly to rub it off, but Sue just kept thrusting that huge blade deeper into her womb. Someone had to stop her before she killed herself, too ... there was an angry gush of wind nearby ... and ...
"Stupefy!"
Harry's spell knocked Sue clean off her feet and the knife fell to the floor with a clatter. He rushed forward and lifted her up, carrying her back to the bed. He cast healing spells so fast and so powerfully that they caused a breeze in the room. It made Hermione's hair stand on end. Enola joined him and soon their wands were almost like duelling chopsticks, doing all they could to repair the damage. After a few minutes, they stopped and drew breath.
Hermione edged forward, pressing close to Harry. "Is she ..."
"She'll live," Harry breathed, angrily. He sounded as if he'd just run a marathon to escape a horde of Dementors.
"But ... the baby ... the baby's ... dead," Enola whispered, heavily. "There's nothing we could have done ..."
Harry roared in frustration. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, pulling his back into her chest. Harry heaved in her arms, roiling in ... something ... Hermione couldn't pick apart his emotions just then.
"It isn't your fault, Harry," Enola cooed, soothingly. "You did your best ..."
"Don't talk to him in that tone!" Hermione thought jealously. It was her job to calm him, not Neville's wife! Hermione needed Enola to back off just now, and they shared a swift, uncharacteristically ugly glance that communicated all that in barely a second. Enola seemed rattled by wary surprise.
"Come on, Harry," said Hermione, turning him away from Enola. "Let's get out of here."
"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry breathed, slamming his eye shut in his anguish. "I tried ..."
"I know ... and you were brilliant," said Hermione. "As always. You saved Sue's life."
"But the baby's ..."
"She took it," said Hermione, gently. "She didn't want it, but she will have to deal with what she's done. You've given her the chance to do that ... whether she wants it or not."
Harry turned and pressed his forehead tight to Hermione's, speaking lowly so only she could hear him. "That might have been you ... with Ron, after that dream you just had ... if you had tried ... or Sue had tried for you ... and I wouldn't have been there to help ..."
Harry tailed off, couldn't finish the sentence. The images were just too distressing for him.
Hermione shuddered. "Have you been watching my dreams?"
"Don't hate me ... I just want to protect you," said Harry, lowly. "Ron can get to you in that way, I think. It's one of the spells we cant remove from you ... I felt him invade you tonight. That's why I came when I did. I was upstairs, waiting for when it happened."
Hermione's jaw fell open. Ron could invade her dreams? Even though he was so far away? Hermione felt dirty, violated ... she wanted to take the longest shower to wash the creeping sensation from her skin. But. at the same time, the idea that Harry was in her dreams too ... in ways that he wasn't already, of course ... was a source of insane comfort to her.
"Harry ... can you stop him?" Hermione asked, timidly. "Stop him doing that?"
"I'm trying," Harry whined, as though begging for forgiveness for failing her again. "But I can't seem to define the connection, let alone break it. At this point, I have more chance of exploiting it at this end than I have of keeping him out."
"Exploiting it? How?"
"By catching Ron when he enters your mind ... and doing unspeakable damage to his if I do."
Hermione coiled her arms possessively around Harry, in that way that only she was allowed to do. She felt an ugly sort of hope settle on her ... she dearly hoped that Enola - and all the other bitches in the room - were watching their embrace ... and that they knew who the boss witch was around this place now. No-one was to come as close to Harry as her anymore ... not a single one of them.
"Harry, if that's even possible, then do it," Hermione whispered to him. "Don't waste your time trying to keep him out ... if you can hurt him when he's in my mind, let's find a way to bring him to us. Let's bring him to our domain ... and beat the very Weasley out of him!"
***
Harry sat in front of his mother's headstone, trying to bring order to his fractured mind. He'd forgotten how long he'd been sat there this time, for he'd lost any concept of time, could no longer track the passage of seconds and minutes as they ticked by. All he could focus on was the scene from the infirmary ... the blood, the chaos ...
... and the screams of the baby he couldn't save.
They were haunting him, plaguing his mind, both waking and in sleep. At least, what little sleep he had managed in the past few days. He was listless, dazed, unable to snap himself out of this stupor.
Even his wand felt quiet. Usually, he was pointedly aware of his magical instrument. It thrummed gently at his side, then ignited when he had need of it. But now, it felt dormant.
As though it, too, were guilty of failing the murdered infant ... its powerful carved runes drowned silent by the blood of the lost innocence.
Even Hermione's soothing words had failed to soften the blow. She had tried so hard, bless her, to free him from his dark mood. To tell him that Susan didn't want the baby, that her hatred of Zabini was so great that she, herself, should have seen the extreme reaction coming. She told him, over and over, that it wasn't his fault, there was nothing more he could have done.
But she couldn't hear the screams ...
For Harry had tried something he never did in healing, something he had always been taught to avoid at all costs. He tried to pass his own magic to the child to try and preserve its life. It was more intimate than simply using spells or runic casting. It used his own life-force to try and save another. It failed, because the damage was too extreme ... but the brief connection he'd had to the little boy was so harrowing, Harry now felt emotionally damaged from the experience.
For the child had called out in potent fear, in anguish, in intense pain. Begged for help, to be allowed the chance to live, tugging hopelessly, frantically, at the life-cord Harry was dangling to him from his own, as he tried everything he knew to provide that chance. But he hadn't been good enough.
And when the child expired, Harry felt a little piece of himself die with it.
Or, at least, that was how it felt. Like having a hole in the heart. One no amount of cajoling from Hermione, or trying to see things from Sue's perspective, seemed to touch for comfort. Harry felt wounded, broken, and desperate for any kind of respite from this restless misery. Respite he had resorted to seeking from beyond the grave.
Just then, movement drew Harry's attention from his dark melancholia, and he reached for his wand on instinct.
"Don't shoot ... it's just me."
Hermione was trying to be light-hearted, but her heart wasn't really in it. Her tone betrayed that, or maybe Harry's bleak state of mind was radiating off him like a bad smell, infecting her, too.
Harry looked up as Hermione tentatively approached. "Hey."
"Hey," she repeated, sitting slowly at his side. She placed a tray on the ground between them. "I brought you some toast and pumpkin juice. Don't think I haven't noticed that you've not been eating."
"I'm not hungry."
"I don't care. Eat."
Harry flicked his eye up her, an expression half-amused, half-annoyed. But he thought he'd better force down a piece of toast, before he was properly told off.
"Thanks," Harry mumbled out through his second slice. Turns out he actually was hungry.
"You're very welcome," Hermione replied, breezily. Then she sighed with heavy sadness. "Still thinking about it?"
Harry breathed in, heavily. "Yeah."
Hermione nodded in recognition of their shared feelings. "Me too. But why have you come here?"
Hermione inclined her head around the mausoleum as she posed her query.
"Suppose I'm just looking to my mother for guidance," said Harry, his eye fixed on the headstone again. "For a way to deal with the loss of such an innocent life. But was it really so innocent, when it was made out of such hatred? From an act so forced and negative? That's not how I'd have liked to start life, I don't think. But I bet there are so many kids out there now who have. How have things come to this state, Hermione?"
"It's the world Tom Riddle wants to cultivate, Harry," said Hermione, gently. "One where fear and hate are the norm. One you and I are going to tear down and burn."
Harry's heart stirred at that. "How's Sue? I hear she came round this morning. Again."
"Oddly, she seems fine," said Hermione. "She doesn't have one ounce of remorse. It's chilling, I'm not going to lie. But she might still be in shock over everything. It will sink in one day."
"I've arranged for her to have a room in the North Wing, near the roundtower. It's quiet in that part of the palace. I think she might need that, while she comes to terms and tries to adjust to life around here. I've assigned Phebos, Rhian's other daughter, to look after her. She's a bit older than Sally ... she'll be better dealing with her fragility."
"Thanks, Harry. That's really kind of you."
Harry nodded, but continued to just stare at the headstone. He might as well have been looking through it. His gaze was distant, his mind unable to focus on any one point. He sighed again.
"This has really cut to you, hasn't it?" asked Hermione. She quested her hand towards his forearm. She seemed nervous again, as though not sure if she was still allowed to touch him when he was in this state. Harry wanted to assure her that she still had permission.
Her touch was the only thing that calmed him right now.
Harry reached out and took Hermione's hands, threading their fingers together, hoping to communicate the message that he didn't possess the vocabulary to convey. It was curious, he thought, how well their digits fit together like that as he looked at them. They might have been designed that way, really. It chinked a shaft of light through his dark cocoon.
"It's just ... I came back to make this place a haven, to preserve life," Harry tried to explain. "This was the first death here. I don't know ... I suppose it's just rocked me a little. The nature of it ... the poor victim. I'm supposed to prevent things like this. Maybe I'm a little in shock that I wasn't able to."
"Maybe you are," said Hermione, smoothing the back of Harry's palm with her thumb. "But you couldn't have prevented what happened. Sue was determined ... if she hadn't done it when she did, then it would have happened later. And at least you were able to save her life ... Enola, too."
Harry turned his head to look Hermione in the face. "You were jealous of her after it. Bitterly jealous."
He framed the words half-questioningly, as though genuinely astonished at them.
"How could you tell?" Hermione asked.
"Your mood swung like a pendulum," said Harry. "It was like a rancid spear passing through me. What makes you so jealous of Ennie?"
"Why wouldn't I be?" Hermione huffed. "Aside from the fact that she's goddess-level beautiful and sexy as fuck, she has this deep connection to you that I know very little about, nor share my own personal version of with you. I know you have your secrets, Harry, and that she's married to Neville ... but there's just this way that she looks at you, and the way you look back ... you clearly have an intimate past together ... and I don't like it. There, I said it ... I'm rabidly jealous of her. Are you happy?"
Harry closed his eye and sighed wearily. "No, of course I wouldn't be, when you're so obviously upset by this. Enola and I are beyond friends, I've explained that to you. You're just going to have to trust that while, yes, she's important to me, nobody in the whole damned world is more important to me than you. I don't know how else to say it."
"Will you ever explain to me why you're so close to her?"
"One day," Harry promised. "But my darkest issues are wrapped up in the story ... and it will be a hard one for me to tell. My wounds go deep, Hermione, far beyond the scars on my surface. Just know that, without Enola's help, I may never have taken the first steps to climb out of the well they created, and that she made personal sacrifices of her own as part of that assistance. We bonded deeply through them. But, seriously, she isn't a threat to you."
Hermione scoffed. "A woman that gorgeous will be a threat to anyone."
Harry chuckled. "There's probably just as much of a chance of her sleeping with you as there is with me!"
"I wouldn't be entirely against that idea," Hermione teased sultrily, making Harry break out in tickly goosebumps. "And she did offer ..."
Harry shivered deliciously. "It's tempting, but I'm not having a foursome. Going bareback with Neville has never made it to the list I send to Father Christmas!"
Hermione burst out laughing. It was the sweetest sound. It improved Harry's mood no end.
"At the risk of steering the conversation back towards the morbid," Hermione began, once she'd calmed down. "But I've been thinking ... I was wondering if you'd be prepared to do me quite a weird favour, seeing as I'm 'your moon, your stars and everything in between' ... or however it was that you put it the other day! Let's just call me the love of your life, shall we?"
"You can bribe me with that anytime you like," Harry grinned to her. "What do you need?"
"It's not so much a need ..." Hermione began, nervously. "But it's just that ... my parents, Harry ... I was never told what happened to them. Well, I know what happened ... but I never found out where their remains ended up. I'd like to find them ... maybe bring them here, if you'd allow it. Give them a proper burial, maybe? They wouldn't need much space ... just a little corner over by the orchard or something, where the sun comes up first thing every morning ... but if this is just for your family ..."
"Your parents are my family," said Harry, passionately. "Or maybe, when I'm quite sure you aren't going to realise the colossal mistake you're making in being with me, I will make them my family. Posthumous parents-in-law, if you will!"
Hermione gasped and simply stared at him, smiling. "Planning on making our arrangement permanent then, are you?"
"Hermione ... I'm a King. I need a Queen. And there's only one woman who I want in that role, if she's silly enough to consider me."
Hermione leaned in and hugged Harry tightly. "In that case, your Queen would like you to find the ones who murdered her parents, kill them if they aren't already dead, then find her parent's bones and bring them here so we can bury them properly. Please."
"Consider it done, my Lady," said Harry. "I think a plot next to Mum and Dad would be nice."
"Harry ... you don't have to do that," Hermione breathed, shyly. "This place is for your parents, you don't ..."
" ... which is why yours should be right next to them!" Harry insisted, cutting her off. "It's where they belong. A corner by the orchard! Don't be so silly. They'll sleep in the mausoleum with the rest of the family. Don't even try and argue ... my decision is final on this."
"Okay, Harry ... if you're sure."
"Completely sure. I'll have one of my elves prepare a plot right away."
"Thank you, Harry. I love you," Hermione sighed breathily, placing a kiss to as much of Harry's lips as his shawl would allow. "How will you even find them?"
"The round-ups had to have been organised, co-ordinated," said Harry. "Your parent's names must have been on a list somewhere. I assume they were deposited into one of the mass graves?"
Hermione paled, and nodded.
"There aren't that many of them," said Harry. "Each one must have been assigned an executioner, and someone to bury the bodies. Either way, I'll find the culprits ... and they'll take your parent's place in the dirt."
"If I ever forget to tell you, I really love your dark side," Hermione swooned. "Well, I love all your sides, actually. But your dark one might be my favourite. It's easily the hottest."
"Really?" Harry smirked. "Well, in that case, I'm feeling rather dark right now. Let's take a walk ... somewhere my parents wont see!"
Hermione giggled, then allowed Harry to lead her into the wilderness of the grounds, where he had every intention of leading her astray.