Chapter 11Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextHarry woke up several times after that. Sometimes he would forget where he was or what he had spoken with her previously and other times he would be quiet and still, but Hermione made sure that she would always be there when he woke up.
Eventually, Madam Pomfrey took pity on her. "He's settled down enough for me to give him some of the heavier potions. Dreamless sleep will do him good and he'll likely be out for quite some time. Take the time to rest, Miss Granger. I assure you he will still be here when you get back."
Hermione relented and made her way to the Great Hall to grab something to eat. It was already very late, but surprisingly the hall was full. It seemed like no one could sleep after the events of the third task.
She ignored the stares and whispers directed her way and filled her plate. Throughout her meal, she kept her ears focused on the conversations happening around her.
It seemed that there were two different stories going around. Some people who had been close to the chaos of that evening insisted that Mad Eye Moody had been an imposter Death Eater and that an insidious plot of sorts had been directed towards Harry Potter who was now grievously injured and on the verge of death.
Others dismissed the idea of a Death Eater working at Hogwarts as 'preposterous' and seemed more eager to gossip about how Harry Potter had gone mad and attacked a professor with no provocation.
As for the news of Voldemort's return… the very mention of it was met with nervous laughter and a hasty change of topic. Not even the worst gossip mongers were willing to touch that issue.
After this night, Hermione knew that everything would change whether people were willing to believe in Voldemort's return or not. She had to be prepared for those changes. She had to know who were her allies, who were her enemies, and who were the people in between who had potential to hurt Harry even if they had yet to do anything? At the Slytherin's table, Draco Malfoy sat and laughed with his goons, no different from usual. She supposed that he had yet to receive the news of his father's death. Once he did, that laughter would be replaced with hatred.
Hermione didn't fear a bratty, incompetent child, but she did fear the unknown. She feared what a revenge obsessed boy with little logic, but the tools and connections to cause damage could inflict if left unwatched.
Silently, she added the blonde haired slytherin to her mental list of potential threats and people to be wary of.
When Hermione was about to leave, McGonagall stopped her and said, "Miss Granger, the headmaster has asked that you meet him in his office in fifteen minutes."
Hermione replied that she would be there and exited the hall.
On her way out, she bumped into the last person she had expected to meet.
Ron.
After months of not talking, things were awkward between them with neither knowing what to say.
"Harry," Ron finally opened his mouth. "How is he?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "As well as can be expected from someone who's just faced off Voldemort."
"Bloody hell!" he blanched. "So the rumours are true? Mad Eye was a Death Eater? You-Know-Who is back? I thought Fred was just pulling my leg!"
"It's true," Hermione said coldly. "Now, if you'll excuse me—"
"Wait!" Ron said, looking ashamed. "I—I know you said he's okay, but how is he really? There are rumours going around that he's—that he's dying. I know we're not really friends anymore and you don't have to tell me the truth, but I still care."
Hermione sighed, her heart softening at the worried expression on his face. "He's not dying, Ron. He's exhausted and suffering from an experience straight from hell. And for the record, you don't need to beg me for the details. You can go visit him yourself when he's awake."
If possible, his face grew even whiter. "I don't think Harry would like that. We haven't talked since the Yule Ball and… it's almost summer break now."
Summer break. Hermione gasped, feeling as if a cold bucket of water had been dumped over her head. She had been so worried about Harry in the now that she hadn't even considered the future yet.
"W-why are you looking at me like that?" Ron asked, backing against the wall as Hermione stalked towards him with a grim expression.
"The Dursleys. Tell me everything you know about them," she said in her no-nonsense voice.
So he told her. About the time he had tried to call Harry on the telephone and Vernon Dursley had screamed that he wanted nothing to do with 'you freaks!"
About second year when Harry had stopped responding to letters and Ron and the twins had gone to pick him up only to find him trapped in a small bedroom with bars on his windows and all of his belongings locked away. About how Harry had been so happy to eat a full meal at the Burrow, how they had been starving him.
Hermione couldn't stop shaking. "Why did I never know about this?" She wanted to scream. She knew it was bad for Harry at home, but not this bad. "Why did no one tell me?"
"Well, you never asked." She turned her murderous eyes on Ron and he hastily backpedaled. "And Harry didn't seem to want anyone to know. Can't blame him, can you? Having a muggle family like that is enough to drive anyone bonkers."
Hermione had heard enough. Without another word, she marched to the headmaster's office, not even caring that she was ten minutes early.
She reached the gargoyle and shrieked, "Acid Pops! Cockroach Cluster! Fizzing Whizbee! Lemon Drop! Sherbet Lemon! Toffee Eclairs!" She stamped her foot in frustration. "Ooh! Work, one of you!"
It seemed one of the passwords was indeed correct because the entrance opened. Hermione wasn't even half way up the stairs when the shouting reached her ears.
"You had no right! This is a gross dereliction of duty!" A stern, female voice was berating someone.
"I had every right! I am the Minister of Magic! I don't see the problem here: Crouch was a criminal and already sentenced to Azkaban. I merely quickened the process!" Fudge shouted.
Hermione paused on the stairs, apprehensive of what the bumbling minister had done. Surely, he hadn't—
"By bringing a dementor onto the school grounds, breaking into a locked room, and forcing the Dementor's Kiss on the only witness we had." There was a deep sigh from Dumbledore. "Do you know what this means, Cornelius? Do you understand the gravity of this mistake?"
"Don't lecture me like a school boy, Dumbledore. You and that Potter boy expected me to fall for that ridiculous story, about You-Know-Who being back! Crouch was clearly senile—you would have used him for your agenda and convinced the Wizarding World with this—this farce!"
The venom with which Fudge uttered 'that Potter boy,' made Hermione's blood boil. It was clear that Fudge would be actively trying to denounce Harry's claims.
Another name added to the list.
"Need I remind you, Minister, that you do not have the authority to carry out any sentence without a majority vote from the Wizengamot. Crouch was sentenced to Azkaban—not the Kiss. By taking this into your own hands, you have denied the rest of the Wizengamot the chance to judge Crouch's story. You have erased a witness because you did not approve of the words they said. As head of the DMLE, I will tell you now that your actions can be used as grounds for stepping down."
"Well—I never! Was that a threat, Amelia?" Fudge blubbered. "You have no involvement in this matter. You weren't even supposed to be here today!"
"Then I shall have to thank my niece for inviting me to spectate the third task. And the Potter boy for making such a spectacle that I had to intervene. Otherwise, you would have broken your duty as Minister and I would have been none the wiser."
"That is enough. We shall speak of this at a later time." Dumbledore sounded tired. "For now, I have a student outside waiting to talk to me. Come in, Miss Granger."
Hermione froze at the top of the stairs and couldn't help blushing in embarrassment when the door to the office swung open to reveal all three adults scrutinizing her.
Fudge barreled past her while Amelia Bones gave her a small nod before leaving.
Hermione stepped into the office and faced Dumbledore. "Sir, about Barty Crouch Jr. Is he really—"
"Yes." Dumbledore sounded weary and exhausted; the wrinkles around his eyes seemed more prominent than ever before. "He is a soulless husk now and of no use to anybody."
She stayed silent, but internally berated the Minister for being such a short sighted coward.
"Let us not dwell on what we cannot change, Miss Granger. I called you today to entrust a task to you." He took a letter from the desk and placed it in her hands. "It is of the utmost importance that this letter reaches Sirius Black."
"Pardon?" Hermione had not been expecting that at all.
"All of my letters to Sirius have been returned unopened. It seems that not even Fawkes can locate him which makes me suspect that he has taken extra… defensive measures. My hopes are that you are still able to contact him."
"Well—I can ask Harry and let him try," Hermione murmured, never one to disappoint the headmaster yet still cautious about exposing the details of the Fidelius to outsiders.
"You have my gratitude, Miss Granger." When she still didn't leave, he looked at her curiously through his half-moon spectacles and asked: "Was there anything else?"
"Yes, actually." Hermione straightened her posture. "I was wondering what the plans were for Harry's summer. He's not going back to the Dursleys, is he?"
"Why ever would he not? Surely you can see why now, of all times, it is crucial for Harry to return to his aunt's home and under his mother's protection." He sounded genuinely surprised with her question.
"But Voldemort used Harry's blood. Harry even told me that he could touch him now. Wouldn't staying at the Dursleys be useless at this point?"
Dumbledore grew grave. "On the contrary, it is necessary. His mother's protection still applies to all of the Death Eaters that Voldemort may send after Harry. Voldemort is unlikely to attack alone and if he does, I assure you, I would be ready for him."
"But, Sir!" Hermione exclaimed, bewildered. "Surely, if the only use is to ward off against Death Eaters, that can be accomplished elsewhere! There has to be a better alternative for Harry— a healthier environment."
When Dumbledore didn't react to her to her mention of a healthier environment or question what she was talking about, Hermione felt her blood go cold.
"Sir, h-have you known this whole time? About what Harry has had to go through in that horrible place? And you still think that's the best place for Harry to go?"
Dumbledore sighed softly and looked at her with sorrowful eyes.
"When I left Harry on his aunt and uncle's doorstep, I knew I was condemning him to ten dark and difficult years. Why did it have to be so then and why must it remain so now, you ask? My answer is that my priority has always been to keep Harry alive. It is not the ideal solution, no. But it is the best one we have."
Hermione looked down at the floor, struggling to put her thoughts together. She had no idea what to think, let alone what to say back. Everything about the headmaster's posture, his facial expressions, and even the somber tone of his voice told her that he genuinely believed what he was saying.
But how could he? How could he think Harry living in a home where he was starved, where he was seen as a freak, where his guardians were the type to put bars on his window—as if he was an animal that needed to be locked up!—was the best solution? Hermione didn't understand and quite frankly, she didn't want to try.
Her world view was collapsing around her. She had always respected Dumbledore, revered him even. Part of it had to do with the respect for authority that had been instilled in her since childhood; teachers were the only ones who had ever paid her any attention as a child, they were the only ones who had cared when she was ostracized and she had never really forgotten that part of her life. Another part of her simply admired the headmaster for the legend that he was. Albus Dumbledore, the man who had defeated Grindelwald, the man who was one of the most powerful wizards alive—who wouldn't look up to that?
Even when Harry had confided in her this year and told her his suspicions that perhaps… Dumbledore could have done more to help him or keep him from participating in the tasks, Hermione had been dubious. In her mind, if there was a way to help Harry, Dumbledore would surely have taken it; since he hadn't, there had to be a reasonable explanation for why he didn't act.
Being wrong was always a bitter pill to swallow, especially for Hermione, but it was nothing compared to the crushing disappointment she felt.
"While we are on the subject of painful necessities, Miss Granger, I might as well inform you of another. I will have to ask you to not contact Harry this summer, no matter how much you may be tempted to try. His mail will without a doubt be monitored by spies from both the Ministry and Voldemort's forces and it would be a liability we should avoid at all costs."
Hermione was never one to swear, but at that moment she had a torrent of curses dying to escape her mouth. Not contact Harry? Harry who she had left on the hospital bed, wracked by nightmares and tormented with demons of his ordeal. Harry who looked like he would fall apart at any moment. Harry who no doubt was drowning in pain and guilt and fear—Dumbledore wanted her to leave him alone? All by himself with those terrible Dursleys who would rub salt on his wounds and make him feel even worse?
Dumbledore looked at her sternly, as if expecting her to argue. "You might not like it, but this is for Harry's safety. Do you understand, Miss Granger?"
She was silent for a long time before she nodded. "I understand."
Hermione turned around and exited the headmaster's office.
I understand that you are no longer worthy of my unconditional trust.
With a heavy heart, she mentally added Dumbledore to her list.
As she stepped off the stairs, Hermione felt a tiny vibration next to her ear and startled when she saw a beetle fly out of the lower strands of her hair and on to the gargoyle. It had little circles around its eyes, almost like glasses—
Hermione froze. No—it couldn't—but it made so much sense—it had to be her! All the agonizing of the past few months as she searched for a way someone could have eavesdropped on so many private conversations finally came together.
One minute later, Hermione was walking back to the dorms with a secret, little smile on her face and a knocked out Animagus in her hands.
Dobby had visited Harry in the Hospital Wing earlier, but had broken down into such loud sobs that Hermione had given him a handful of menial tasks to do in order to keep him busy and hopefully somewhat calm, promising that she would speak to him later that night and tell him everything.
When she arrived at her dorms, she found them empty. Parvati, Lavender and the others were still in the Great Hall but she could have sworn that she had told Dobby to meet her at this time—
There was a loud sniff from the direction of her bed. She walked over and yanked open the curtains to find Dobby curled up in a fetal position at the edge of her bed, with big, fat tears rolling down his nose.
He peered up at her through his bulbous, weeping eyes and asked, "Mistress Hermy, is Master Harry Potter going to be alright? Dobby has finished all of his tasks, but he has heard the most terrible of things being said in this castle."
"Oh, Dobby." Hermione reached out and gave the bony elf a careful hug. "Didn't I tell you earlier that Harry was all right? When you saw him, he was just tired. Sleeping. Not dead. I wouldn't lie to you about that."
"Dobby knows this, but—but Dobby had to be sure. Master Harry looked so weak, Dobby was afraid that—" Here the elf growled and a vicious glint entered his eyes. "Dobby will make sure that Dark Wizard pays for what he has done."
"All right, let's not get ahead of ourselves." Hermione was worried that Dobby—lovely, crazy elf that he was—actually would do something. "When Harry gets better, we can think of a plan together. Until then, don't go off trying to break Voldemort's bones or something."
Dobby's ears wilted and he muttered to himself. "Dobby would be very sneaky. Voldy Moldy would never see him coming."
After a lengthy lecture including the ever-so-subtle guilt trip of "Harry wouldn't want to see you hurt!" the elf finally agreed to postpone his revenge.
"Did you give Sirius my message?"
Dobby confirmed that he had. Hermione had sent a message early on as one of Dobby's tasks, telling Sirius that he could not under any circumstances come to Hogwarts. She couldn't take the chance that Sirius would get worried while waiting to hear of the results for the third task and come to find Harry himself.
Not when people from the Ministry were swarming the castle.
Not when after tonight, Harry would need his godfather more than ever.
When Dobby apparated Hermione to Grimmauld Place, she wasn't surprised to see Sirius pacing back and forth across the room anxiously.
She was surprised that as soon as Sirius turned to her and asked urgently, "Is Harry all right?" she promptly burst into tears.
Sirius looked at her sobbing form, aghast, and awkwardly came forward to pat her back. "There, there. It can't be all that bad, can it?"
"Oh, Sirius! It's horrible!" Hermione cried, so relieved to be in the presence of somebody who would understand what she had gone through these past few hours. Someone who cared about Harry as much as she did and wouldn't offer her half hearted pleasantries.
"Voldemort's back! Harry won that stupid task but the Triwizard Cup was a portkey and Harry—Harry killed Wormtail and Lucius Malfoy and Mad Eye Moody was a bloody Death Eater this whole time and now Harry is lying on a hospital bed ridden with guilt and trauma and I want to help him—I need to fix this insanity somehow but I don't know how."
"Breathe Hermione. Breathe and then wait until I sit down before you tell me that again. I think I might be going mad."
Sirius did not take the news well. He swore and raged and kicked a few things around while Kreacher appeared and screeched at him to stop destroying furniture. In between his fits of fury, he would mutter, "I need to see Harry!" and Hermione would need to explain again why that was a bad idea. When he had calmed down, he simply collapsed onto the sofa and moaned into his hands: "What the bloody hell are we going to do?"
By now Hermione had regained her senses as well. "You can start by reading this letter from Dumbledore. Looks like he's figured out you're under the Fidelius."
Sirius' expression grew pensive as he read the letter. "He wants me to offer up Grimmauld Place as the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix." At Hermione's questioning glance, he explained, "The Order was a resistance group against Voldemort—I was part of it in the last war. Now that he's back again, it makes sense to revive it."
"You're not going to say yes, are you?" Hermione asked, furrowing her eyebrows.
"Why not? It would be nice to be of use for once instead of sitting here and gathering dust."
"Don't you find it strange? When you needed a place to live, Dumbledore recommended you go to a cave and survive off rats. Now that he needs a place for this organization, he suddenly remembers you again. I'm sure there are plenty of other Order members that could give up their homes and he could fortify it just as well. Why you?"
Sirius rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "All valid points—it is a bit strange and I won't lie and say I don't hold a grudge against the old man. Still, I'm dying to know how Dumbledore got on your bad side."
Hermione flushed. Had her newfound paranoia been that obvious?
"Before I go into that, what do you know about Harry and how he's been living with the Dursleys?"
"I gathered that they were an unpleasant lot from the way Harry jumped at the prospect of living with me when I was still a fugitive and didn't even technically have a home."
"Unpleasant is too kind." She struggled to keep her voice even. "Did you know that they treated him like an animal? That they put bars on his windows and locked him in a room? That they starved him?"
Sirius looked like he had been hit with a bludger.
"No. No, they can't be that bad. Otherwise, Dumbledore wouldn't have let Harry grow up with them—"
"Dumbledore knew," Hermione whispered. "I asked him if Harry could stay somewhere else this summer—I don't think he can go back there in his current state of mind—and he said that there was no other choice. That he knew he was 'condemning Harry to ten dark and difficult years' when he dropped him at the Dursleys, but did it anyway. To keep him safe."
"Bollocks!" Sirius's face was turning purple with rage. "There were so many other choices. So many people who could have taken him in, so many who could have protected him and loved him. And he was given to those muggles all because of that blood protection nonsense? Lily would never have wanted that! She would hate it—"
His voice broke. "She would hate me for letting this happen. Lily and James both. For failing their son."
"Stop it!" Hermione cut in sharply. "Didn't you tell us that the first thing you did when you arrived at Godric's Hollow was to look for Harry? To make sure he was safe? You gave Harry to Hagrid, trusting in Dumbledore and trusting that you would be back soon. It wasn't your fault that things ended up the way they did. You haven't failed anyone, Sirius."
He covered his face with his hands, trembling all over.
"You still have a chance," she said, more softly now. "To make things right. To give him a real family."
"I just want him to be happy. That's all," Sirius said. "Why is the world making it so bloody hard?"
"That's it!"
"What is?" He lowered his hands, confused.
"I didn't understand at the time why I was so furious at Dumbledore. Logically, I should be agreeing with him. After all, he seems to genuinely want to keep Harry alive.
"But that's the thing: he only wants to keep Harry alive. And you and I, we want Harry alive and happy. Free." Hermione thought about it carefully. "They sound similar on the surface, but there's such a world of difference."
"That's because one of those concepts is treating him like a chess piece while the other is treating him like a human being," Sirius said grimly. "I think you're right, Hermione. The Order and Dumbledore can wait. My first priority is Harry."
"That's something we can both agree on." She smiled and began to outline her plan.
When Hermione returned to Harry's side the next morning, he was still fast asleep. Having nothing else to do, she pulled out her notebook and decided that she might as well put her list on to paper.
Potential Threats that May Cause Harry Harm
1. Voldemort and his followers
a) Level of Harm: Silencing, Maiming, and Killing Harry
b) Dealing with the Threat: Convince the Wizarding World he's back so they can deal with him more efficiently instead of relying on a child to save the day. Keep practicing defensive and offensive spells. Remember that Death Eaters deserve no mercy.
2. The Dursleys
a) Level of Harm: Damaging Harry's mental and physical health
b) Dealing with the Threat: Until Harry can be safely taken away from there, follow Plan A with Sirius. Don't leave Harry alone: exchange phone numbers and addresses. Find a way to commute there, expensive cab fares be damned.
3. Cornelius Fudge and the Ministry
a) Level of Harm: Legally capable of limiting Harry's rights. Depending on Fudge's ability to sway the Ministry to his side, could sway the Wizarding World to view Harry as a liar. Harmful to both Harry's mental health and plan to prepare the Wizarding World for Voldemort (see 1.b).
b) Dealing with the Threat: Capitalize on the divide in the Ministry shown by Amelia Bones. Assist the side that believes in Harry and lower Fudge's influence. Utilize Rita Skeeter.
4. Draco Malfoy
a) Level of Harm: Holds personal grudge against Harry for his father's death. Weak, but unpredictable and volatile depending on the help he receives from Death Eaters. Dangerous due to near and frequent contact within school walls. Is already inside Hogwarts Defenses: could potentially serve as a mole or point of entry for other Death Eaters.
b) Dealing with the Threat: Watch him for any suspicious movements. Keep note of places he frequents and times he disappears. If suspicious action confirmed, alert trustworthy authorities. Remember that Death Eaters In Training deserve no mercy (see 1.b).
5. Albus Dumbledore
a) Level of Harm: Unconfirmed if due to misguided or manipulative intentions. Responsible for child negligence (see 2.a). Holds many secrets. Has shown a pattern of keeping Harry ignorant through ten years of no contact and encouraging me to do the same this summer. If the pattern continues, results may be disastrous.
b) Dealing with the Threat: Do not trust him to keep Harry's happiness in life a priority: Plan A with Sirius will be carried out without his knowledge and Plan B will be carried out if he protests. Demand clear, precise answers; if denied, do not be content to stay in the dark and search for them yourself.
"What are you writing?"
Hermione jumped, startled out of her thoughts, and found Harry wide awake and giving her an amused smile.
"Harry! You should have told me you were awake!" She couldn't help but scold him.
"And break your concentration? I may be taking potions for my mental health, but I haven't gone mad yet." At her huffing that it was too early to make jokes like that, he chuckled. "Besides, I like watching you."
Hermione brushed a strand of her hair back self consciously, not knowing how to respond to that revelation and hastily blurted out: "I was making a list."
"About?"
"People who could hurt you. It's always smart planning to know your potential enemies in advance."
"What? It hasn't even been a full day!" He looked at her in astonishment and then began laughing for real this time.
"I don't see what's so funny here," she sniffed haughtily, but was secretly glad that he was feeling well enough today to joke around.
"Nothing," he wiped tears from his eyes and gave her a lopsided smile. "I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you as my friend. What would I ever do without you, Hermione Granger?"
The question made her pause.
Harry had changed this year, always going out of his way to thank her for little things that he wouldn't have batted an eye at before or spouting off lines like: "You mean the world to me, Hermione" or "You will never be second best in my life. Not now, not ever." She really didn't know what to do with him when he looked at her with those large, sincere eyes; it was almost too much for a girl to handle.
And at the same time, she wondered if he knew what he meant to her.
What would she have done without Harry Potter in her life?
She didn't want to consider it even for a second.
Did he know how much her life had irrevocably changed that Halloween night? She had come to Hogwarts with so many hopes and dreams and it had almost all gone down the drain in the swirl of depression and helplessness she felt when she realized nothing would ever change for her. And then an eleven year old boy—with little skill and a heart too big for his own good—had barged into the girl's washroom to save a girl he barely knew from a troll.
Harry had proved her wrong. Did he know how much she treasured that moment when they had become friends? How proud she was to stand next to him, through thick and thin?
Silently, she reached out and took his hand in both of hers. Holding on tightly.
People looked at him and saw someone from their stories and legends, the Boy-Who-Lived, or whatever image they wanted to push on him. When she looked at him, she saw a boy struggling under the weight of the expectations and danger that came with his name. She saw a lonely boy who understood what it felt like to be ostracized and was as desperate for a place to belong as she was. Despite the rough hand he had been dealt with in life, she saw that he had a strong will and a compassionate heart.
Throughout the years, she couldn't help but be impressed with his bravery, his loyalty, and his selflessness. Oh, he had plenty of admirable feats: he had faced Voldemort's wraith in first year, battled a basilisk in the second, and dementors in the third. But it was the other moments that had imprinted in Hermione's heart.
The little things.
Harry standing up for Neville and going after the remembrall. Harry visiting her when she was petrified and holding her hand, talking to her in a soft voice. Harry being sneaky and tricking Lucius Malfoy into freeing Dobby, later proudly telling her that he considered the elf a friend. Harry telling her to hold on tightly as they flew on Buckbeak and Hermione forgetting her distaste for flying, overcome with how safe, how carefree she felt in that moment with his arms around her.
Harry caressing her hair and mumbling into her neck, "You're safe. You're safe" after she had been rescued from the lake. Harry in front of the fireplace that day, confronting her faults—that she was often stubborn and self righteous—and admitting his own—that he was reckless and hotheaded, but being adamant that they would find their way together anyway. Always.
He had looked so shocked in first year, when she had told him: "Harry - you're a great wizard, you know."
"I'm not as good as you," he had replied, looking so unsure of himself and Hermione's heart had melted.
"Me! Books! And cleverness! There are more important things — friendship and bravery and—"
"And love."
"What was that?" He looked at her curiously.
"I'm lucky to be your friend too, Harry." Hermione smiled. "Don't you ever forget that."
Chater 12
No matter how much Harry protested that he was fine, Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let him leave the Hospital Wing.
"I've been here for a day already!" Harry groaned. "I drank all the potions, I'm not hallucinating anymore, and even the nightmares aren't so bad. Isn't that enough?"
"No, Mister Potter. It is not enough." The stern matron put her hands on her hips and glared down at him. "My job is to make sure that you are completely healthy and 'not so bad' won't cut it. Your simple reflexes still show the after effects of being under the Cruciatus for a long duration of time. And Miss Granger tells me that you're still not able to keep down all of your food without feeling nauseous."
"Of course she did," Harry sighed and looked at the empty seat that Hermione had been occupying for most of the day.
Pomfrey's expression softened. "Don't blame her. That girl is going to give herself grey hair from worrying over you as much as she does. She wants the best for you."
"I know," Harry said, feeling guilty.
He knew all too well the lengths Hermione went to for his sake. The hours directly after the third task was still fuzzy for him: all he remembered was a cycle of nightmares, waking up to a hospital bed and a disorienting reality that forced him to confront what he had done. He remembered the eerie contrast of the white curtains surrounding the bed and the visions of red assaulting his mind. He remembered how the silence of the infirmary had amplified the screams ringing in his ears and he remembered—
Hermione. Hermione who had shown up in the graveyard even if it had just been a figment of his imagination, stretching her hand out towards him in the darkness of that night. Hermione who had comforted him when he felt like he was going insane, who had tried to rationalize the madness of the third task in her firm, steady voice and brought peace to the chaos of 'what have I done, what do I do now' swirling through his mind.
He had gone to sleep and woken up to her sitting exactly where he had left her: beside his bed, scribbling on a notebook, and doing what she did best—planning. Not a day had passed and she was already noting down his—their—enemies and thinking of ways to defeat them.
He shouldn't have been surprised. This was the girl who had stood by him through thick and thin, even when everyone else had abandoned him. This was Hermione. No, he was just… relieved. Consoled by the fact that his entire world could turn upside down, Voldemort could return, he could become a murderer of Death Eaters overnight and she would still be there. Waiting to fight by his side.
Hermione returned from the kitchens five minutes later, carrying a tray of food that looked much more appetizing than the bland meals given in the Hospital Wing.
"I just don't like lying here, feeling useless," Harry told her after they had finished breakfast. "Voldemort's back—I should be doing something."
She huffed. "You've hardly had a break this whole year, working yourself to the bones. You can do something after you've rested. One day of rest will hardly kill you."
"No, but boredom might," he muttered.
"No danger of that—I expect that you'll be swarmed with visitors soon enough." At Harry's confusion, she smirked. "I haven't told you of the rumors flying around yet, have I?"
Hermione was right, as usual. A slew of visitors came that day to check how he was doing. Some like Molly Weasley, who cried and engulfed him in a hug as soon as she saw him, were expected.
Others like Cedric Diggory… were not.
"Congratulations on winning," Cedric blurted out after Hermione had left them alone. He winced visibly and gestured to the bag of winnings on the bedside table. "Winning that… not the other stuff."
It was rare to see the perfect Hufflepuff boy look so awkward and uncomfortable.
"Yes, congratulations to me," Harry said dryly. "Only had to fight off a Dark Lord and his minions to earn it. Ten out of ten, would do again."
Cedric exhaled loudly. "That was a bad start. I came to let you know I believe you. About Voldemort coming back. About everything."
"Some of my friends don't. My father—he thinks you're lying for attention. Says that winning wasn't good enough for you so you made it all up. I asked them if they would have said the same thing if it was me who had gotten to the Cup first."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I think I've always known," he said hesitantly, "that you were never a liar. When your name was called from the Goblet, you looked like the ground had been pulled from underneath your feet. I was… bitter then. I wanted to believe what they said you were. It was a competition for me—a game I wanted to win. But it was never like that for you, was it? You didn't think twice before telling me about the dragons. You walked around the castle with this serious, heavy air around you—like you were preparing for war—and I thought secretly it was a bit silly. 'There goes that Potter kid acting like he's carrying the world on his shoulders.'"
"But the joke was on me." He smiled sardonically. "I don't know how a fourth year student trained to be better skilled than three seventh years, but if you hadn't, it would have been one of the other Champions taking that Cup. It could have been me facing You-Know-Who."
The irony wasn't lost on Harry. He had trained so hard this year, preparing for the worst. Perhaps if he had abandoned the Tournament preparations altogether, he would have been last and someone else could have taken the Cup. A small, resentful part of Harry wished that someone else could have suffered in his place. Why did it always have to be him? Why was it that no matter what he did, he could never win?
"So you're here to thank me," Harry said dully.
"No," Cedric said, his gaze serious. "I'm here to say that I won't ignore the signs right in front of me again—especially if those signs are telling me that you're right and Voldemort's back. I won't stay silent as my friends and family label you as a liar. Not like last time. "
Cedric's visit had been a surprise, Harry mused after he had left, but not an entirely unwelcome one.
Neville was another surprise. Not that he came to visit Harry—no, they had begun speaking much more after the Yule Ball and became closer. What was surprising was that he walked in with bloodshot eyes, not bothering with a hello, and simply said:
"I'm glad you cut off his arm."
Harry was caught off guard with the pure hatred in Neville's voice, but then the memory he had seen in the pensieve hit him. Hermione turned white, probably remembering the trial he had told her about, of Bartemius Crouch Jr being sentenced for the torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom…
"You know what he did, don't you? Barty Crouch." He scrutinized their expressions. "The others—they think he's just a random Death Eater imposter. But I grew up memorizing the names and faces of the people who tortured my parents from old newspaper clippings—I saw his face when they were carrying him out of the fields and I knew."
"After you fainted, he wouldn't stop screaming and wailing. He kept saying, 'Give me back my arm! Give me back my mark!' It's not like me crying, 'give me back my parents!" ever did anything; I'm glad he felt a taste of that helplessness." Neville looked at them with searching, desperate eyes. "Where is he now? Do you know?"
Hermione spoke hesitantly, "Neville, the Minister already subjected him to the Dementor's Kiss. He's gone."
"Gone? Just like that?" He seemed to deflate before their eyes, appearing lost. "He gets off like that while my parents will spend the rest of their lives at St Mungos. He was at Hogwarts this whole time, probably laughing when he taught classes on the cruciatus! I bet my parents would have seen through him—they were renowned aurors, you know. I'm their son. I should have known."
"No one knew. Not Dumbledore. Not the Ministry. He fooled everyone!" Hermione was getting agitated. "You couldn't have known, Neville."
"Harry knew, didn't he?" Neville turned to Harry. "He saw through Crouch. My grandmother sent me a letter this morning telling me that she wants to thank you for being brave and doing the right thing. For making him suffer. She always wanted someone smart and brave like my father, but she got me instead."
"Your grandmother wouldn't want you to be like me either," Harry said quietly. "It wasn't bravery that made me hurt him. It was hatred."
"You think I don't hate too? There's just nothing I can do with it." Nevillle said bitterly.
Harry groaned out loud. He didn't know if what he was about to say was good advice, but he knew the pain of being orphaned, the all consuming loathing when he realized exactly what had been taken from him. He knew that horrible feeling of being helpless all too well.
"Then learn—turn the skills you do have into something useful or gain new ones. Tell your grandmother to prepare too. We're going to need all the help we can get now that Voldemort's back."
"I t-thought that was just a rumour."
"Not only is he back, he's depleted his death eaters," Harry said. "And where do you think he'll go to fill up his ranks?"
It was strange to see Flitwick walk into the Hospital Wing without his customary smile and spring in his step.
"Do you have any idea how relieved I am that you're alive?" the half goblin said, his eyes glistening. "I keep asking myself: if you hadn't come that day to ask about the Fidelius, would I have still turned a blind eye? Would I have watched unflinchingly as you walked into that maze and shook my head had you died?"
"But I didn't die," Harry said, confused. "You made sure of that with your help."
"If I had known you were bait for You-Know-Who of all people, I wouldn't have waited so long to break the rules to help you! Merlin, I would have taken you out of that tournament myself!"
"Was that even possible?" Hermione asked.
"Don't underestimate the convoluted means goblins have devised to cheat Wizarding contracts, Miss Granger." Flitwick humphed. "It would have likely been a nasty deal, but it would beat fighting a Dark Lord! I didn't—I just never thought it would turn out like this. Harry, did you have any idea at all about You Know Who's involvement in this? Did Dumbledore?"
"I had nightmares. Terrible ones that left my scar aching," Harry recalled the tale Voldemort had told in the graveyard. "Looking back, they weren't nightmares at all. They were visions showing what Voldemort was doing. I saw him discussing a plan with his Death Eaters, discussing Hogwarts. I saw him kill a muggle: Frank Bryce was his name."
"That can't be." Flitwick shook his head, as if willing away the truth of Harry's words. "It's impossible unless—that can't be."
"What can't be?" Hermione's voice was steely. Harry had never heard her speak to a professor that way before. "If it concerns Harry, he deserves to know."
"You'll have to forgive me if I don't inform you right away. Something of this caliber must be researched heavily before confirming." The half goblin asked Harry again, this time more urgently: "But did you tell Dumbledore of this? About the scar? The dreams? Your connection with the Dark Lord?"
"I did. He said it was a product of the killing curse and that there wasn't much to go on since no one had survived it before." Harry frowned. "As for the dreams, he confirmed that Voldemort seemed to be up to something and told me to be careful."
"T-told you to be careful?" Flitwick looked devastated. "Product of the killing curse indeed!"
"I don't understand. I've told you of my mistrust towards Dumbledore before, but it didn't bother you then."
"I respect Albus Dumbledore, Harry." Flitwick sighed. "He took me into his inner circle despite my heritage and hired me at Hogwarts when others would have shrunk away in disgust. He had been nothing but an exemplary wizard to my knowledge when you confronted me with your suspicions. But… doubts have grown since then."
He took out a letter from his robes and handed it to Harry. "What I'm about to say next concerns your vaults and your parents' will. If you would like to be alone for that—"
"Hermione stays," Harry interrupted, reaching out and grabbing her hand.
"Well." Flitwick looked at their grasped hands and cleared his throat. "You once said that since wizarding society forced you to participate in a tournament only for adults, you should have been allowed the status and benefits of an adult to go with it. The good news is that we goblins are a reasonable lot: the moment you fought in the first task as an adult, you were given adult status in their eyes and all the rights along with it. For example, you are no longer restricted to your student trust account and have full control over the Potter Vault and all Potter Estates."
Harry's head spun with the possibilities of this revelation. The Potter Vault—would he finally be able to hold some of his mother and father's belongings in his hands? Have tangible proof of the people they had been? The Potter Estates—would he finally have a home?
"The bad news is," Flitwick jolted Harry out of his thoughts. "That your vaults, your investments, and your estates have been left to gather dust. Usually, you would have a legal guardian to manage your accounts and keep everything in order until you're old enough to do it yourself, but… well, let us just say your guardian took the 'hands off' approach to another level. Oh, there was no interference of the sort, but it has been… quite forgotten. Even if you do wish to visit the Potter Manor, it will likely be in a state of disarray."
Forgotten. Just like he had been all those years at the Dursleys. Forgotten.
"And then, there is the matter of your parents' will. Mind you, I have no authority to read into the details of your account nor the will. I only know general information by making use of my connections and asking a limited number of 'yes or no' questions. The first question I asked was if your muggle relatives were on the list of people you were supposed to go to according to the will. The answer," he sighed, ''was a no."
"What?" Harry said. "Then why was I put there? Who—"
"Dumbledore," Hermione said quietly. "He was the legal guardian, wasn't he?"
"Correct," Flitwick said, appraising her curiously.
Hermione looked down at the ground. "There's something I haven't told you yet, Harry. I went to ask Dumbledore yesterday if we could find a better place for you to stay during the summer. I know I might have been overstepping my bounds again, but I was worried sick at the thought of you with those horrible relatives—especially after everything you'd been through—"
"Hermione—" Harry placed a hand on her shoulders, "—I'm not angry."
"You aren't?"
"Why would I be? This is the first time anyone's cared enough to try and stop me from going back to that hell hole. The first time anyone's even considered an alternative." He squeezed her shoulder gratefully. "Thank you."
Her expression turned crestfallen. "Well, I didn't manage to do much for you in the end. I was turned down. The headmaster seemed to think that the Dursleys were the only option for you. I asked him how he could say that considering how terribly you're treated there. And—he didn't even ask what I meant by that—he just launched into a speech about how he knew that when he left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep, he knew he was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years. But that, due to your mother's blood protection, it was the best place for you to be safe."
"Safe? Safe?" Harry couldn't help but laugh. Flitwick and Hermione looked at him with concern but once he started, he couldn't stop. I was safe all right, he thought hysterically. Safe in that dark, small cupboard. So safe that no one would know whether I lived or died.
"If he sent me there to be safe," Harry said in a raspy voice once he could finally stop laughing, "then why did he never check for himself? Not once in ten years! He just—just resigned himself to the fact that I would be miserable there, as if there was nothing else to be done?"
Harry felt cold all over. He remembered the terrible pain of a child who had reached out for his aunt's hand only to be knocked backward to the ground as she yanked her hand away. He remembered primary school and coming home with grades better than Dudley, Uncle Vernon locking him in the darkness of the cupboard, and the emptiness in his stomach as he listened to the sounds of a boisterous dinner. His classmates snickering at his baggy, washed out clothes. Shoves and rough handling that were so frequent he should have grown used to them—not dreaded the pain they would bring, the overwhelming loneliness that always wanted to swallow him whole—he remembered it all. It was a dull sort of pain that never truly went away.
"Couldn't he at least have tried?" Harry asked, a lump in his throat. "Did my happiness mean so little? Or was it me—was I just not worth the extra effort in the end?"
What a waste! Aunt Petunia grumbled as four year old Harry ducked his head and quietly finished his meal.
You know what you are, boy? Uncle Vernon squinted at eight year old Harry. Useless. Unwanted. We didn't want you here. And neither did that miserable sod who dropped you on our doorstep.
"Oh, no—Harry, you mustn't think that!" Hermione sounded close to tears as she grabbed his hand, "I knew I shouldn't have told you! You're still not fully recovered—breathe, Harry. Listen to me."
"You deserved more than the pitiful amount of care shown to you. You deserved to be cherished and loved. To be happy." She took a deep breath. "I've tried my hardest to understand Dumbledore's actions and in a way, perhaps he was doing what he thought was right. Perhaps, the Dursleys really were the best option for you. But when he decided to put you in that household, he acquired the responsibility to look after your well being. The negligence to do so speaks of his failure as a guardian, not your worthiness.
"I can't think of a soul more deserving of happiness than you. Do you understand?"
He nodded numbly.
"I am sorry to have been the bearer of this distressing news." Flitwick sounded tired. "More sorry than I can say."
"No," Harry found his voice. "Thank you for telling me. Both of you."
It hurt. Despite his resentment and suspicions against the headmaster, there was still a small part of Harry that had yearned for his approval. Dumbledore was eccentric and strange at times, but he had seen Harry. Seemed to understand him even, read his deepest thoughts. Harry remembered waking up in the hospital bed after fighting Quirrell for the stone and feeling such enormous relief at the sight of the headmaster—a weight lifting from his chest. He had instinctively thought of Dumbledore as someone larger than life, someone who could keep them safe, someone he could rely on.
But it seemed Dumbledore, too, was only human. Someone who could cause pain.
"I deserve to know the truth," Harry said. "No more lies."
He was no longer that little boy in the cupboard.
He refused to be left in the dark.
After Flitwick left, Harry was silent and moody for the rest of the evening. He couldn't bring himself to smile or talk or do anything, really. He just felt… empty. The letter containing the will sat unopened on his bedside table, taunting him. He was scared of opening it only to find more lies, more secrets, more hurtful truths.
Hermione did her best to offer support, but even she couldn't erase his past.
When the Weasley twins dropped by, dragging Ron along with them, Harry was jolted out of his brooding. They came armed with a basket of their strange inventions and treats that Harry didn't have the heart to tell them Hermione had already smuggled for him from the kitchens.
Once the twins had finished tussling Harry's hair jokingly and making over dramatic exclamations about his rumoured comatose state, Ron spoke up from the side.
"Hey there, Harry," he said.
"Hi Ron," Harry replied, feeling strange.
Before this year he had never felt uncomfortable in Ron's presence, but now a heavy blanket of silence and awkwardness lay between them.
"How—" Ron shuffled his feet. "How are you?"
Terrible, Harry wanted to say. I've just fought Voldemort and his merry band of Death Eaters. I've found out that a man I had once respected sent me to my childhood prison. My head is bloody aching. And this is the first time you've spoken to me in almost six months after I told you to choose between apologizing and remaining my friend.
"Fine," Harry said instead. "You?"
"Oh. That's good to hear." Ron looked relieved at his response. "Nothing much going on with me, really. Just the usual."
Taking Harry's silence as an indication to continue, Ron started to talk about how the past few weeks had been, the grueling year end exams, something Seamus and Dean had been up to, his excitement at Quidditch returning to Hogwarts next year... the words seemed to meld together as Harry began to zone out.
Ron was an ordinary boy, talking about ordinary school things, and at one point in his life Harry would have soaked in the normalcy his presence offered. But the Harry of the moment could not bring himself to care about what was being said. He felt like he and Ron were standing on opposite sides, with an ocean of differences separating them.
Ron, too, seemed to run out of things to say and began to fidget before muttering that he had forgotten about meeting someone and made a hasty exit.
Fred and George raised their eyebrows at each other and shrugged, taking over Ron's role as conversation starter. Harry truly was not in the mood for talking, but the twins had the ability to inject laughter into any room they stepped into. After entertaining Harry and Hermione with silly anecdotes and lighthearted gossip, the twins grew serious.
"You really gave us a scare there, Harry," Fred said. "When you fainted, we didn't know what to think. Thought you were a goner."
"Take care of yourself, yeah?" George frowned. "I can't imagine fighting You-Know-Who was easy."
"It wasn't a walk in the park, that's for sure." He shrugged, not ready to go into the details of that night. "But most of my injuries have already healed."
"What about you two?" He changed the subject, noticing the heavy bags under their eyes. "Rough night?"
"It wasn't like we could sleep after everything that happened!" Fred said.
"But Bagman running away with our money definitely didn't help either," George muttered.
"He did what?" Hermione exclaimed.
After a little urging, she managed to wrangle the story out of them. With every word they spoke, their shoulders seemed to droop and their voices lost their previous energy.
"I know what you're going to say," George sighed. "It was stupid of us to bet all of our savings. Foolish."
"But when you're desperate, you don't really think clearly." Fred shrugged. "Next year will be our last year at Hogwarts. It was either settle for one of those Ministry jobs Mum's been nagging us about or bet on our last hope for setting up our own joke shop. And now that plan's dead in a ditch."
Harry looked thoughtfully at the bag of winnings at his bedside table. "It doesn't have to be."
Fred's gaze followed Harry's line of sight and he stiffened. "Harry, you can't—"
"Can't what?" Harry grabbed the bag and turned to Hermione, asking if she could take out a quill and some parchment to write on.
"Can't just give us your winnings!" George had caught on too.
"I'm not giving anything," Harry snorted. "I'm investing."
An idea had slowly been growing at the back of his head while he casually played with the silly inventions the twins had brought and listened to their story. Silly was the key word. Everybody seemed to perceive them as a couple of jokesters, but now that Harry had learned the value of twisting a simple spell, he could easily see their pranking through a mean spirited lens instead. Perhaps, people would always consider what they did as harmless fun or look down on the pranks.
But being looked down on wasn't necessarily bad, Harry considered carefully. Being underestimated was what had saved his life at the graveyard after all.
He started writing down terms on the parchment. Money wasn't really important to him, but having the right to point the directions of their inventions and use them exclusively was.
"If you decide to take the winnings, you decide to enter into a partnership with me. I would be a shareholder, I suppose. You would still be running the whole business, but I'd be entitled to chime in here and there for things I'd like to see you try."
Hermione was looking at him with a contemplative expression, as if surprised by this turn of events.
Identical, slow smiles spread across the twins' faces. "What do you have in mind, Harry?"
Harry smiled back. "If you're allowed to go crazy with your inventions, just how nasty can you make them?
The sun had just set but Hermione's eyes were already drooping.
"Hermione," Harry said exasperatedly. "Will you please get some rest? I bet you didn't get any sleep last night either. It's not like I'll disappear once you come back."
"I am perfectly fine where I am, thank you very much," Hermione said sternly, but the yawn that escaped her a second later said otherwise.
"At the very least, come lie down," Harry said, sitting up from the bed. "You've been sitting on that chair all day."
She half heartedly protested, but Harry just rolled his eyes and pulled her along.
Once they were lying side by side on the small hospital bed with the blanket pulled up to their chins, Harry whispered: "Hermione?"
Hermione turned on her side and faced him. "Yes?"
"Did you feel that same thing earlier? When Ron was here?" Harry frowned. "I know it's been a long time since we've spoken, but I didn't expect to feel so... alienated from him. I didn't even know what to say."
She looked thoughtful. "You two are on different wavelengths now, emotionally and regarding what you consider important. You grew apart, Harry. That's all it is."
"Is that normal?" He asked. "Was it like this with you too?"
"When I stopped talking with Ron?" Hermione sighed. "You have to understand that me and Ron were never the best of friends. He insulted me or ignored me or belittled my opinions and I would snipe at him and insult him right back and it was just a vicious cycle. Honestly, the only thing we had in common was you. I doubt we would have ever become friends otherwise."
Harry was taken aback for a moment, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized Hermione was right.
"What about us?" A sudden thought hit him. "We won't ever grow apart like that, will we?"
"You and me?" Hermione laughed, bringing her face closer to his. "You think you could get rid of me that easily? I'm here to stay for the long run."
Harry reached down and grasped her hand tightly. "Good."
That night, there were no nightmares.
The whole time he had been recuperating, Harry waited for Dumbledore and his inevitable interrogation. Surprisingly, the headmaster seemed to be busy with other affairs and did not visit him until the very last day of his stay in the Hospital Wing.
Perhaps this visit would have gone unnoticed had Harry not woken up early that morning, thirsty for water, and found the headmaster sitting in the chair besides his bed with one hand rubbing the creases on his forehead and his eyes closed.
"Professor?" Harry called out, uncertain if this was still a dream. Dumbledore had always been an elderly respected figure, but Harry would never have classified him as old. Yet, as he looked at the man who seemed to have aged another decade overnight, noticed the wrinkles on his face and the sunken bags under his eyes, Harry was once again struck by the thought that Dumbledore was…human after all. The usual aura of power and authority that surrounded the headmaster had vanished and left behind a brittle old man.
Dumbledore opened his eyes at the sound of his voice and the sharp glint in his gaze along with the imposing pressure it brought—as if those eyes could see through all the lies of the world, all the hidden grievances in Harry's heart—made Harry wonder if he had imagined what he had just seen.
"Good morning, Harry." Dumbledore gave him a slight smile as he reached out and handed him a glass of water, ignoring how Harry tensed up in response. "I did not wish to disturb your rest these past few days, but Madam Pomfrey tells me that you have made a full recovery. I am glad to hear it."
Are you? Harry thought.
At his silence, Dumbledore's smile slowly faded and he sighed. "I know this will be painful, but I need to know what happened after you touched the portkey in the maze. Can you tell me, Harry?"
Harry had long seen this question coming. He told the headmaster of the homunculus form of Voldemort that he had mistaken as a baby, Wormtail tying him up, the torture he had endured, the strange phenomenon where his and Voldemort's wands had connected, seeing his parents…
"And then?" Dumbledore prompted quietly when Harry suddenly stopped speaking.
Harry's throat felt dry. "And then while the ghosts fought Voldemort, I used the Accio charm to get the portkey and found myself lying on the ground outside the maze. You already know the rest."
The headmaster seemed to accept this as he nodded and proceeded to explain to Harry what exactly had happened with Voldemort and Harry's wands ("Priori Incantatem," Harry whispered and felt a shiver go through him at the notion that he held such a powerful connection to the Dark Lord….that he mirrored him) and the significance of what Voldemort had done with the blood protection Lily Potter had left behind.
Surprisingly, Dumbledore did not ask about what he had done to Barty Crouch and Harry did not mention it.
After Dumbledore finished explaining, it was his turn to fall silent. Harry looked down at the white bed sheet and tried not to fidget or show his discomfort. Surely, he hadn't realized that Harry was hiding something?
Then the headmaster spoke, his voice low and mournful:
"Your words after the third task have haunted me. I have had many regrets throughout my years and now I have another to add. You should never have had to experience what you did that night. But as much as I regret the pain you have been subject to, I cannot help but be overcome with pride.
"You have shown bravery beyond anything I could have expected of you, Harry. You have shown bravery equal to those who died fighting Voldemort at the height of his powers. You have shouldered a grown wizard's burden and found yourself equal to it — and you have now given us all we have a right to expect."
Once upon a time, these words would have brought indescribable joy to Harry, pride at receiving Dumbledore's high praise and relief that he had done the right thing. But now, the Harry who sat motionless on the hospital bed felt like someone had carved out his insides and left behind a hollow shell of a person. He was not the brave, honorable boy Dumbledore said he was. He was nothing and he felt nothing.
Regrets? Harry wanted to ask. Do you regret leaving me behind at the Dursleys and never checking to see how I was doing, if I was suffering? Do you regret using me as bait in this tournament even though I begged you to believe me?
Would you say those same words if you knew what I did that night? If you knew how I slaughtered those Death Eaters and watched them die with satisfaction in my heart? If you knew what I've become?
Harry didn't want to know.
He had a feeling he knew what the answer would be.
Dumbledore sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder in what was probably meant to be a comforting gesture, and then finally got up and walked out of the Hospital Wing.
Harry remained motionless and silent long after he had left.
The rest of the days at Hogwarts passed by in a blur. Even once he was released from the Hospital Wing, Harry and Hermione kept to themselves and spent more time in the Room of Requirement or taking walks outside rather than subjecting themselves to the whispers and stares of the student population. By the time of the year end feast, Harry was in control of himself enough to sit emotionlessly through Dumbledore's speech of Voldemort's return and not react to the half hostile, half curious looks directed his way.
Before he knew it, he was on the train and on his way back to the Dursleys.
Hermione had been acting strange all day; she urgently pulled him into one of the compartments and shut the door with a loud bam.
"Harry, I have something to tell you." She wrung her hands nervously. "When I went to ask Dumbledore if you could go somewhere else this summer and he gave that whole speech about keeping you safe, he added another condition. I'm not supposed to contact you either."
"What?" Harry's stomach sank. "Why not?"
"Apparently, it's too much of a security risk to exchange owls when both the Ministry and Voldemort's people will be keeping an eye on surveillance. Frankly, I don't buy it." Hermione lifted her chin. "Besides, there are other ways to keep in contact."
"What's this for?" Harry asked as she passed him a parchment and quill.
"Your address and your phone number. I'll be needing them." Hermione said in her no-nonsense voice. "I can't believe we've never thought to use muggle methods of communication before, but better late than never. I can always just taxi over if I need to or find something to do in your area so my parents drop me off."
"As for calling…" She handed him another paper. "That's my address and number. There's bound to be a telephone booth near your area that you can use if the Dursleys don't let you use theirs. And in the case of emergency, you can call a taxi too. Just ask Dobby to go to Gringotts with your key and convert a bag of galleons to pounds, and you're set."
Harry was dumbfounded. "You seem to have been planning this for a while."
"I'm not leaving you alone this summer, Harry." Her eyes blazed with determination. "No matter what."
As Harry got on to the platform and spotted the Dursleys, he felt his heart grow heavy.
"I guess that's it then," he said, attempting to smile but not quite succeeding. "Goodbye."
"Bye, Harry!" said Hermione, and she did something she had never done before, and kissed him on the cheek.
Harry froze for a second, unable to process the feel of her soft lips against his cheek and her scent surrounding him.
She stepped back and turned away to go, but before he knew it, he was pulling her back and into his arms.
"I'll miss you." His voice was muffled by her hair. "I never did tell you, did I? Thank you for everything, Hermione."
"You really are silly sometimes." She laughed, leaning into him. "Thank you for giving me one of my Harry Hugs."
When they finally separated, Harry approached the Dursleys who had been watching the display of public affection with more than a little horror.
"Who was that girl?" Aunt Petunia asked, her nose scrunched up in distaste.
"My best friend." Harry smirked. "Don't worry, you'll be seeing her around more often."
The car came to a stop in front of #4 Privet Drive. The house loomed in front of Harry, as perfect and immaculate as ever. As Harry stepped out of the car, he thought he could hear voices taunting him: You don't belong here. Why have you come back? You don't belong.
Harry ignored the stifling sensation in his chest and focused on taking deep, steady breaths like Hermione had taught him.
Aunt Petunia's shriek broke him out of his panicking. "What's that mutt doing on our doorstep?"
Harry moved in front of her and stared down at the doorstep, feeling like his heart was about to burst with all the different emotions swirling inside of him.
"Padfoot?" He bent down and whispered, barely daring to hope.
The black dog—Sirius, it was him, wasn't it? He wasn't dreaming?—barked and nudged a letter into his lap.
Harry opened it with shaking hands and began to read out loud.
"As the godfather of Harry James Potter, it has come to my attention that my godson has been treated abysmally ill by his so called guardians Petunia and Vernon Dursley. In consideration of the years my godson has spent with these guardians, I have refrained from appearing personally and showing just why I have become infamous among the muggle police as a wanted criminal. From now on, this dog will be my eyes and ears in this place. You treat him or my godson ill and I will know. Signed, Sirius Black."
Behind him, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were shouting and yelling, but Harry couldn't bring himself to pay them any attention. He wrapped his arms around Sirius' frame and closed his eyes, unable to help the smile growing at the corners of his mouth.
For the first time in his life, he thought: So this is what it feels like. Coming home.
Chapter 13
Chapter 13: ExtrasNotes:This is a special, little thank you gift for everyone who showed so much love to Awakening. And an alternate ending to maybe give you all some closure.
P.S Thank you to Arishatistic for letting me show your progress sketches for the story. I know you think they're hideous, but I love them all.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextPlop. Her head landed on his shoulder and he could feel her breath on his neck. "Hermione?" No response. Harry smiled warmly but his smile disappeared once he considered just how tired she must have been to fall asleep without warning. Have I ever thanked her? Have I ever told her what she means to me? He racked his brain but couldn't find a satisfactory moment where he had expressed to her just how important she was to him. I'll tell her when she wakes up, he promised himself. In…in the morning. I'll tell her: thank you. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax.
They were side by side, in that moment. Together. Just like always.
-Awakening Chapter 1
Note: This was the first image drawn for Awakening in October 2019...it was just meant to accompany a short drabble that I wrote on a whim. When it turned into a full fledged story, Arishatisic redrew it to the image that was included in chapter one and that you can see below.
And before Harry knew it, he was leading Hermione onto the floor, praying that he wouldn't miss a step and desperately hoping she wouldn't notice his sweaty palms. He could do this. All he had to do was pretend they were in the Room of Requirement, practicing like usual, just her and him. The more he concentrated on Hermione—on the way she felt in his arms, the flowery scent when he pulled her close, the delighted little smile she sent his way whenever he twirled her around—the more he forgot about the audience and started to truly enjoy himself.
-Awakening Chapter 4
Yule Ball Alternative Proposal:
Hermione Takes the Lead
Hermione was tired of waiting.
It had been a week since the Yule Ball had been announced and Harry had yet to say anything about asking her to the ball. Oh, she was well aware that he had more important things to worry about. After all, she was the one with him nearly every second of the day as they practiced and researched and did everything they could to prepare for the second task. She was ecstatic that Harry had become so focused and driven towards his goals this year, but for once in her life she wished he would think of something else.
He...he hadn't forgotten to ask her, had he? Hermione shut the book she had been reading and groaned so loudly Madam Pince looked her way with a stern glare.
Of course. Of course that was it. This was Harry. She remembered the way he had awkwardly stumbled into her arms when she had first taught him how to dance in the kitchens. The way he had blushed furiously when she had brought their faces closer together. He wasn't used to dealing with girls in that kind of setting.
As Hermione learned more and more about his upbringing, she was coming to realize that it had left him rather emotionally and socially stunted.
"Hermy-own." A voice interrupted her musings. It was Viktor Krum and to Hermione's surprise, he had come to ask her to the ball.
She gave him a small smile and turned him down as politely as she could, saying that she was waiting for someone else to ask her.
It was in the middle of that sentence that she froze. Waiting? Why on earth was she waiting? She was Hermione Jane Granger! Whatever she wanted, she would work her hardest to go after it... not sit around and mope.
She mumbled an apology to Krum and hastened out of the library only to see Harry exiting the Common Room once she arrived by the Fat Lady's portrait.
"Harry!" she seized his sleeve, panting.
"What's wrong?" Harry frowned. "Did you run all the way here? I was just about to go meet you at the library—"
Hermione sighed and said something she would otherwise have not said in a million years: "Never mind the library. I have something to ask you."
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, looking at him with determined eyes: "Harry James Potter, will you go to the ball with me?"
Harry looked flabbergasted. "W-what? Aren't we going together already?" He put a hand to his chest. "Bloody hell, you scared me for a second there. Using my full name and everything!"
Hermione closed her eyes. "You do know the boy is supposed to ask the girl, don't you, Harry?"
"I suppose," Harry looked a little chagrined but then smiled down at her. "But I have you, Hermione. I'm glad sometimes that you're the one to take charge."
"Well, someone around here has to!" Hermione huffed, but she was smiling too.
As they entered the Common Room while holding hands, Hermione could have sworn she heard the Fat Lady exclaim: "Finally!"
"What do you say about going for another round?"
"Already?" She sounded surprised. "I thought you might like to sit down. You know, you don't have to push yourself for my sake."
"Hermione, I asked you to come with me so we could have fun together, not so you could stand guard as I sulk in the shadows somewhere." Now he was really laughing.
"Besides, if I don't make use of my newfound skills this evening, all that practice will have been for nothing!"
So they went to join their fellow students on the floor for another dance. And another. And another...
-Awakening Chapter 4
Chapter 4.5
"Will you be all right, Sirius? Is the food from the kitchens enough to last more than a few days this time?" Harry's eyebrows furrowed in worry.
"The tent Dobby bought from Diagon Alley does look quite cozy, but it's getting so cold outside, maybe we should have chosen a more sturdy one." Hermione looked at the recently set up tent with a less than impressed stare, shaking her head in thought.
"You two have been nagging for half an hour now," Sirius rolled his eyes, wondering when they would stop. "I'm fine and I'll be fine even when you're gone. Harry, you've had poor Dobby fill the cave with what must be Hogwart's entire pantry! Hermione, you spent four hours going through magical catalogues—I highly doubt that there is a better tent in existence. I know you're worried about me living here, but it's only temporary and you've done your best to make this cave fit for a king. Repeat after me: you've done enough. "
The two teenagers stared at Sirius blankly.
"If only I could learn the Fidelius faster," Harry's shoulders slumped and his face was downcast.
"If only I could understand the parameters of the charm better. This book from the library is a great resource, but it's so limited in information..." Hermione grumbled and turned the pages of the charms book that she had smuggled off of school grounds.
"Stop!" Sirius yelled with a hint of panic in his voice, raising both of his hands as if he could ward off their words. "You're kids, you can't spend all your time worrying like this. When you're not stressing over the second task, you're here worrying over me. Take a breather, relax a little, have some fun, go on a date—"
"A... date?" Harry cocked his head sideways in confusion.
"A date?" Hermione raised her eyebrow doubtfully.
Merlin, these kids were hopeless.
"Yes!" Sirius clapped his hands enthusiastically, latching on to the idea with fervor. "Isn't today one of your Hogsmeade weekend trips? You should be spending it having fun together."
"I have fun here with you," Harry said so sincerely that Sirius had to pause for a second to get his expression under control. As if his godson's simple, straightforward words hadn't just squeezed his heart painfully and yet also filled his chest with a warm happiness that he had seldom felt in the past twelve years.
"You don't know happy it makes me to hear that, Harry," he said softly. "But I want more for you than this. I wish you and Hermione could be carefree like other kids your age instead of being saddled with so many burdens. There's not much I can do to help you with the task, so let me have this at least. Let me see you two relax. When's the last time you took a break?"
Harry looked at the ground and was silent.
"You don't remember." Sirius said for him and then turned to the bushy haired girl who was biting her lip in thought. "Hermione?"
"There hasn't been any time to spare—"
"There's always time to spare," he said firmly. "Now I'm going to tell you what's going to happen next. You two are going to leave me behind to enjoy the luxury of this ridiculously expensive tent in peace and go down to Hogsmeade. You are going to forget about the Tournament, about the Fidelius, about everything. And just have fun."
"But—"
"No buts." He fumbled around in the pockets of his newly bought coat and brought out a bag full of galleons and sickles. "My mission is for you to spend this entire bag within the afternoon."
When Harry hesitated to take it, he added: "Bring me back some souvenirs. It's been too long since I visited, I miss the sweets at Honeydukes..."
Harry took the bag. "Don't worry! We'll bring back loads of things for you. What else do you want?"
Sirius rattled off a list of trivial items, rummaging through the dusty corners of his school day memories to make the list as long as possible.
Harry nodded seriously as if he was trying to memorize everything, but Hermione just raised her eyebrow at him.
Damn. He thought. That girl really was too smart for her own good.
"Anyway," he coughed awkwardly and pushed both teenagers to the entrance of the cave. "Off you go."
"We'll visit again soon, Sirius!" said Harry.
"Very soon," said Hermione. "So take care of yourself."
"Yes, yes." Sirius waved and watched them go, a satisfied smile emerging on his face.
He watched them make their way down the mountain. Hermione smirked and said something that he couldn't quite make out, but it must have been witty because his godson laughed out loud and stared at the girl with undisguised mirth in his eyes. At one point, they paused on their path as Hermione carefully tightened Harry's wayward falling scarf around his neck. Once she let go, Sirius didn't miss how Harry reached out and laced his fingers with Hermione's, squeezing her hand tightly. Their unoccupied hands had on matching red gloves, but the hands involved in the hand holding were noticeably bare.
These kids... Sirius shook his head in amusement.
A cold gale of wind blew past him, reminding Sirius that he was still standing at the entrance of the cave and should probably be retreating to the warmth of the tent.
But he stayed where he was, unable to take his eyes off the figures of his godson and his best friend as they grew smaller and smaller with distance.
"Harry is a good boy," he said to the wind. "Loyal and brave like you, James. Kind and caring, but fiercely protective of those he loves like you, Lily. But funnily enough, he reminds me of myself the most: he's so eager for love. I wish I could have had a chance to see him grow up, wish I could do more to protect him, but I can barely even protect myself right now. Will you forgive me?"
The wind grew quiet, a soft whisper in his ears.
"My only consolation is that, at the very least, he hasn't been alone. At least he has her." Sirius thought of the girl who had turned back time with Harry to save him. "I think you would like her very much."
"Thank you," Hermione said with a gleam of triumph in her eyes and a large grin on her face. "For the challenge."
"I'll beat you next time," Harry promised.
If possible, she smiled even wider. "I look forward to it."
And as Harry lay on the ground—tired, sweaty, and his muscles aching from the practice—he couldn't help but laugh, feeling happier and more alive than he had in a long time.
-Awakening Chapter 8
When Wormtail untied him at last and gave him back his wand, Harry's head spun and his vision grew blurry as he collapsed to the ground. He closed his eyes in pain and when he opened them again, he thought that he could see Hermione reaching out to him from the blur of darkness, desperately shoving past the throng of Death Eaters in search of him.
...
Harry raised his own hand feebly in return
-Awakening Chapter 9
"What about us?" A sudden thought hit him. "We won't ever grow apart like that, will we?"
"You and me?" Hermione laughed, bringing her face closer to his. "You think you could get rid of me that easily? I'm here to stay for the long run."
Harry reached down and grasped her hand tightly. "Good."
That night, there were no nightmares.
-Awakening Chapter 12
Alternate Ending to Fourth Year
"I'm not leaving you alone this summer, Harry." Her eyes blazed with determination. "No matter what."
Hermione's words kept repeating in Harry's mind throughout the rest of the train ride.
No matter what.
When was the last time someone had made a declaration like that about him? He couldn't remember... when it came to his life, it was always filled with empty platitudes or worse—indifference. Which adult at Hogwarts didn't know that Harry Potter was a skinny, malnourished little boy when he had first come to to the school? Surely, someone had to have taken note that he always filled out during the school year and yet came back from each summer looking as impoverished as ever. During second year, the twins had told their parents of the bars on his window, but nothing had been done about it. During third year, no one had asked what on earth had prompted a thirteen year old boy to blow up his aunt and run away from home...Fudge had gone as far as to dismiss it as youthful joke. During the summer of fourth year, he had been on the brink of starvation and relied on the birthday cakes from Ron and Hermione to satisfy his hunger.
At this point, Harry had accepted that he would return to his childhood prison every summer and no one would ever say anything about it. For those months, being completely separated from the magical world was a foregone conclusion and the loneliness that plagued him was inevitable. It wasn't a big deal. He could always endure—he was good at doing that.
But here was Hermione now, telling him that he didn't have to.
She wasn't going to leave him alone.
Why am I so surprised? He asked himself suddenly, looking at the bushy haired girl who sat in front of him. She never has.
Not after his name came out of the goblet of fire, not even when he was writhing in pain on the graveyard floor. Somehow, she always found her way to his side.
No matter what.
Harry covered his face briefly, trying to control his facial expressions and hoped that Hermione didn't notice the strange shift in his mood.
No matter what.
But try as he might to calm down, the turbulent waves in his chest refused to settle down, and his heart raced for reasons he couldn't understand—was too afraid to understand.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
No matter what. No matter what. No matter what.
Harry was both relieved and distressed when the train finally reached the station. As soon as he got on to the platform and spotted the Dursleys, the distress won out and he felt his heart grow heavy.
"I guess that's it then," he said, attempting to smile but not quite succeeding. "Goodbye."
"Bye, Harry!" said Hermione, and she did something she had never done before, and kissed him on the cheek.
Harry froze for a second, unable to process the feel of her soft lips against his cheek and her scent surrounding him. Hermione was always a very physical person around him and he was no stranger to her tight hugs, but there was something different this time. Something sweet and tender about the way she had tiptoed slightly and held down his shoulder before leaning up to give him a small kiss on the cheek. Something that made his heart pound and an unstoppable blush sweep across his face.
The station was suddenly too hot, and time couldn't stand still long enough for Harry's mind to unfreeze and process what had just happened. What should he say? Should he kiss her cheek back? Should he tell her—
But in the time he took to make up his mind, Hermione had already stepped back and turned away to go.
And before he knew it, he was pulling her back and cradling her face with his hands.
"Harry?"
He kissed her.
It was clumsy and slightly awkward at first. Harry had never kissed anyone before and knew little about how it was supposed to go. His eyes fluttered to a close and he focused on the sensation of his lips lightly moving over hers. All he knew was that her lips were soft and warm. All he knew was the steady beating of his heart, echoing in his ears. All he knew was Hermione's hands suddenly winding around his neck and bringing his body flush against hers and—his hands shook before they wrapped around her back just as firmly—she was kissing him back.
"What on earth is that boy doing?" A high pitched voice rang out and Harry was faintly reminded that they were still on the platform and he had no idea how long he had been standing there with Hermione in his arms. He couldn't really bring himself to care.
Unfortunately, the voice seemed to have brought Hermione back to her senses for she was the first to break the kiss.
"Harry?" she asked again, but this time there was a breathless quality to her voice and her cheeks were tinged with pink.
"I—I—" Harry stuttered. What was he supposed to say? How could he translate all of the emotions inside of him at that moment into actual words?
"I'll miss you," was what he ended up whispering.
"Oh, is that all?" Hermione grinned at him, her eyes shining.
"And..." Harry touched his lips a little sheepishly. "I reallyshould have done that a long time ago."
She laughed loudly and reached up to kiss him again. Only this time, not even the repeated shrieks of Petunia Dursley ("In public, Vernon! No common decency whatsoever—well, I never!") could get her to let him go.