The Bermuda Trap

When Ron and Ginny arrived that evening, they brought bad news along with the good.

"What d'you mean I'm required to be there?" I snarled, slamming a frying pan down on the stove, upsetting the sauteing green onions. I turned to stare at Ron, and saw from the look on his face that he too could not decipher the Ministry's subpoena to appear at the Remembrance Ceremonies on the following day.

His face red from the heat of the stove, he cast his eyes down as he mumbled out an answer.

"Well, you know, it has been six years since anyone other than the Order has seen you. Maybe it'd be good, for you to get out." I stared, open mouthed, before clenching my jaw involuntarily, angry because he was right. Ron stood up straight very hastily, pulling down on his shirt nervously. "Of course, there's no reason for them to require you to be there, they could have just asked. Nicely," he covered, his eyes avoiding mine. "All I'm saying is that - maybe... you should consider going. All you'll have to do is sit there for half an hour and then you can be on your merry way. I'll take you, and sit with you, if you like."

I licked my dry lips, contemplating his words. Over the past six years, I'd avoided these kinds of public events entirely. It wasn't specifically to keep James tucked away from the public eye (although that had been a major factor initially); rather, it was to save myself the aggravation of dealing with hoards of people who would inevitably try their best to thank me once again for Harry's efforts. The thing is, they were thanking me for what Harry did, not for what I did.

What Harry did for the world was easily comparable to what Guttenberg's printing press did for literature. Or Haydn's contribution to Sonata form. Even what Michelangelo bequeathed to future generations of painters. They're not thanking me for sitting behind a desk in the Department of God-knows-what shovelling reports into piles and occasionally taking on one that Bill allotted me. And they shouldn't thank me. The effort I put in to the war against Voldemort was mirrored by hundreds of others. Harry's . . . now Harry's effort was astounding, spectacular, magnificently self-sacrificial . . . yet nothing more than he would ever have considered to have been his job. In fact, it would have been less that what he considered to be his job.

And that was what it was all about, wasn't it? It was all about Harry, and Harry's commitment to rid the world of Voldemort. It was not about me, nor my actions during the past few years. The point of tomorrow, for me at least, was to remember Harry. How could I not go?

"You can take me," I said finally. "But you've got to sit with your department. You know that."

"This is a special occasion," Ron answered, brushing off my comment. "So, I'll collect you and James at what . . . nine thirty? The show starts at ten, I'll borrow a car from the Auror Unit, settle you lot in your front row seats and that's it! A few photos, some handshakes, a drink or two after the speech, mingle with the crowd . . ."

I chased him out of the kitchen with a temporary but nasty hex. Still glowering, I placed my hands on my hips and stared at the wall, trying to burn a hole in it.

A few minutes later, Ginny sauntered into the kitchen from the sitting room where she had been playing with James, yawning as she stretched her arms up over her shoulders. She gazed at me for a few moments before speaking.

"What has that idiot brother of mine been saying?" she broke in as I was prodding the roast with a very cautious wand. When I didn't answer, she pulled herself up on the counter and continued. "It's about tomorrow, isn't it. Talk to me, Hermione." I violently stirred something that was boiling over and flicked my wand to send the plates over to the table. Ginny threw her hands up. "Oh, for Christ's sake Hermione! He just wants to see you somewhere other than here or at Mum and Dad's. He's only thinking about what's best for you. And for James." She sighed, leaning her head against the cupboard.

There was a moment's silence.

"It's been hard," I managed to squeak, cleaning up carrot peels.

"It's also been six years," answered Ginny, setting silverware and glasses on the table with a deft wand movement.

I looked her in the eyes for the first time since she'd entered the room, resigning myself to the fact that I'd be going. "Everyone's going to treat me like I'm glass."

She was licking icing from a spoon. "Mhm. And in a way you are."

"They'll tell James how brave his Dad was, how much he looks like him," I said, ignoring her previous comment.

Ginny nodded. "Yup."

"And Ron . . ." I said simply, letting the statement hang.

She rolled her head from one shoulder to the next. "What about him?"

"About his little power trip on photos and drinks and mingling and -" I started, only to be cut off by Ginny's held up hand. "What?" I snapped, starting to become very annoyed with the youngest Weasley.

"He's right. You can't just go to this thing and expect to get away without a few sympathetic officials, simpering requests for you to sign their nightgowns by middle-aged witches, and dozens of eligible bachelors trying to chat you up." Ginny slid off the counter and leaned against the door jamb. "These things are all expected. You know that - you've seen them before. But you were with Harry then. The one difference is that he's gone. To them, it's one giant publicity stunt. To you, it's a tribute to the memory of your husband."

I stood there, stunned, looking like a goldfish who had suddenly discovered a whole world outside his bowl.

"You need to remind them why they're taking the day off."

When you try your best but you don't succeed

When you get what you want but not what you need

"You need to give them a reason to remember."

When you feel so tired but you can't sleep

Stuck in reverse

"You need a speech, Hermione."

"If there is any way we can assist you through this difficult time. . .

"We regret to inform you . . . missing in action . . . presumed dead . . ."

Speech, my arse, I thought as we sat around the supper table.

She was right, though. So was Ron. And I had already known exactly what to expect, but still I gave into my persistent anger and used it as a shield to hide behind, an excuse to ignore the truth. A sorry, pathetic excuse because I knew what was there, knew exactly what was expected of me should I go to the Remembrance Ceremonies. Ron was just the messenger - how does that saying go?

At least they didn't send a ruddy owl. They sent Ron instead. Not to compare him to a tacky note, and he was only trying to help. But Ginny's kick in the arse was much more effective, especially when she took on that Mrs. Weasley tone, abruptly bringing me back to my senses. I realized, or rather acknowledged what I had already known deep down, that I had to go tomorrow. I had to take James. I had to say a few words. I had to help the people to remember, and help myself to move on.

As I passed the potatoes and carrots to Ginny, who was seated to my right, I caught James smiling at Ron. James, who would be thrilled to see anyone on a more regular basis, was ecstatic to see Ron and Ginny. I'd told her everything about Ian, Draco, my parents, James and his questions, Harry's room upstairs . . . well, everything. I'd talked for so long that I burnt the garlic bread.

"So, Hermione," began Ron tentatively, as though he was asking a girl out for the first time. "What about tomorrow? Any new thoughts on the ceremony?"

"What's tomorrow?" asked James, his voice thick as he chewed a mouth of half-masticated food.

"Jamie, don't talk with your mouth full, and don't chew with it open," I answered sharply, stabbing a piece of lettuce rather violently. Turning to Ron, I answered his question. "We're going. Don't ask, don't push, don't judge - we're just going. See you at nine thirty?"

Ron's gaping mouth shut abruptly, and he collected himself enough to answer. "Sure - sure thing. Nine thirty."

I looked at him expectantly, waiting for more information on the following morning. He had busied himself with his plate, his eyes avoiding mine. Sighing, I broke the silence. "Where are we sitting?"

"Oh, you and James are up front, with Mum and Dad and a few other family members from the Order. Right behind the Minister, I think," he said easily, scratching his right temple. "Me and Gin, we're back with the Auror division - I'll see if I can get special clearance to sit by you. There should be around 800 people there, plus all kinds of photographers, journalists, and the entire thing will be broadcast over the Wizarding Wireless Network. Ginny said you'd like to say a few words?" Ron paused to swallow his food and take a large gulp of butterbeer.

"Mhm. Not long, a minute or two at most."

He started waving his fork in the air, a crouton perched precariously on the tip. "Okay, well that will probably happen just after the Minister's speech. Load of tosh, it'll be, but we suck up to the politicians regardless. So, after Lochland gives his speech, you go and say a few words, followed by a minute's silence, then the band plays something sad and mournful, and it's all done. No one actually cares about this, Hermione. It's only been six years, but they've managed to forget already."

I smiled grimly over my wine glass. "That's what I'm going for. They're not going to forget Voldemort, they're not going to forget Harry, and they're definitely not going to forget to remember."

Ginny shot a sidelong glance at me, tilting her head towards James.

I explained the situation very clearly. "Jamie, tomorrow you and I are going to a Remembrance Ceremony. Mum's got to give a little speech, very short mind, and after a few hours we'll get to go home." I shifted to the front of my chair. "Now, I want you to stick with me the whole time. We'll have our picture taken a few times, and some ladies and gentlemen" at this Ron snorted "might like to talk to you and I. Okay?"

James nodded, his eyes big and brown, his shirt stained with juice from lunch.

"Great," said Ron, surveying the scene while rubbing his hands together. "What's for dessert?"

Ginny kicked him under the table as I sent a death glare. "Ice cream, if you'd care to pick it up from Tesco's," I answered, clearing plates off. "You know where to go. And there's five pounds on the dresser in the hall."

"Tonight was great, Hermione," said Ron softly, standing on the step. "We should have George over next time."

I nodded as a warm wind wrapped its way around the house, rustling the hollyhocks, sending waves of scent from the flowering vine all around us.

"Speaking of that," he began, scuffing his shoe on the concrete. "George wanted you to come down, but you can speak to him tomorrow. He's looking for a new manager, and he thinks you might be the perfect candidate."

"Really?" I replied, raising my eyebrows. "That's lovely of him. I'll find him tomorrow, just as soon as the Ceremonies are over and I'm done being mauled by reporters."

Ron kicked a pebble off to the left. "Yeah, well, they're going to expect a reveal-all interview from you. You might as well call a press conference. But, like I said, tonight was great. Ginny really enjoyed herself - she's been on the rocks with Dean for a bit. Hopefully it'll straighten itself out soon; he's a really good guy. Well," he paused, wrinkling his nose. "He's good for her, anyway."

I smiled, reaching one hand out to tousle his hair. "You're cute when you worry about her," I said lightly, leaning against the door jamb, my arms crossed. "She doesn't know how lucky she is."

Ron shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at me, shaking his hair out of his eyes. "I worry about you too. About you and, and Malfoy," he spat, kicking a particularly large pebble with considerable force. "Ginny said I should ask you about that."

I swallowed hard, but I already knew what to say. "I won't give you any crap, mostly 'cause you won't believe it," I said carefully, examining my bare feet. "But I will tell you everything. We were friends, we kissed, and we're still friends. It was the first time since . . . well, in a long time, anyway. I haven't seen him since yesterday, and I don't intend on seeing him unless on a strictly friend-only basis." At this I glanced up at my best friend, whose features were uncharacteristically blank. "He's not for me, Ron. Harry was, and I've gotten past him. Now, I'm going to find someone new, someone to be a father to James. He needs someone. I need someone."

Before I knew it, Ron's arms were around me tightly. I hugged him back, smiling into his shoulder.

"You don't know how relieved I am that you said that," he whispered. "I was afraid I'd have to go to his wedding or something - not exactly my idea of a good time."

I hugged him tighter.