A Long Way from Home

Chapter V

August 21, 2003

Harry Potter slammed the front door of Ron Weasley’s house. Ron’s owl had assured him that Andie was out shopping, they’d be able to talk alone.

“Harry?” a familiar and comforting voice called from the kitchen.

“You won’t bloody believe this!” Harry strode into the kitchen, Hermione’s letter clutched in his hands.

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked, as Harry turned into the doorway and stopped, holding the parchment outstretched towards his friend.

Giving him a curious look, Ron took the parchment and read it slowly. His eyes grew large as he reread it twice. “Is this… this is from Malfoy. It has to be.”

“Yes, that traitor! He feeds us information all through the war, and at the end, when we finally need him to testify, he disappears. He cost us months in those cases! And let’s not even mention Dumbledore.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember. You can’t get ballistic over this Harry. You don’t even know it’s from him for sure.”

“Oh, who else could it be? ‘Your choice of companions,’ you can almost hear him say it in that whiny little voice of his.”

“That may be, but you’re overlooking one important fact.”

“Oh, and what’s that?” Harry asked, fuming.

“It’s not your letter. Does Hermione know you have that?”

Harry shook his head, but it did nothing to waylay the anger burning in his stomach. “I left while she was in the shower. She won’t miss it.”

“HARRY POTTER!” A very unwelcome voice was coming from the living room. Harry groaned and followed Ron out of the kitchen. Hermione’s head was floating in the fireplace and Harry could tell, even with the flames, that she was furious.

“How dare you, Harry! I know you have my letter.”

“So what if I do? What’s Malfoy doing writing to you anyhow?”

“That’s none of your business and you know it. If I wanted to tell you about it, I would have. You give me that parchment right now.”

“No,” Harry answered stupidly. He stuck the parchment into the pocket of his jeans, crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Hermione defiantly.

Instantly, her head disappeared and they heard a loud pop! Within seconds, Hermione was striding into the living room; her own furious glare matching Harry’s.

“What is wrong with you, Harry Potter? I can’t imagine what is making you be so rude.”

“It’s this letter, Hermione. Don’t you remember what he did, what he promised to do?”

“Of course, I remember. But that has no bearing on this situation right now.”

“Why are you getting letters from him?”

Hermione sighed and looked down at the floor for a moment before lifting her head. “Because he doesn’t have anyone to talk to where he is and he writes me letters from time to time.”

“Why you?” he relaxed his stance somewhat, letting his arms fall to his side.

Hermione sat down on the couch and ran a hand through her hair. “Does it really matter, Harry? It’s just Order business.”

“What Order business? Draco Malfoy has nothing to do with the Order.”

“But of course he does, Harry. He’s a member, and a protected member at that, just like we are.”

Harry and Ron both sat down, staring at her. She must have taken this for an urge to continue, because she plunged right in.

“He’s a sworn member of the Order. He took an oath just like we did, right before seventh year. He fed us information all year, including, might I remind you, that which led to the demise of the people responsible for killing my father, and your brother, Ron. He paid a steep price for all that and has been in hiding ever since.”

“So what’s this got to do with you?” Ron asked, speaking for the first time since Hermione had arrived.

“Well, he had to be moved around quite a lot. McGonagall asked if he could stay at my cottage for a few nights while they arranged a new place for him. I had one of the safest locations in Britain, it just made sense.”

“You had that man if your house?!” Harry cried, feeling horrified.

“Well, yes. If it helps, I really didn’t want him there and it was a miserable couple of days.”

“No, that doesn’t help at all!” Ron cried incredulously.

“How could you possibly let him there, Hermione? He could have betrayed your location,” Harry stated.

“No, he could not have. There were protections in place against that and he didn’t even know where he was.”

“I don’t believe this,” Ron answered, tugging his fingers through his red hair. Harry had been repeating this same motion for several minutes and his own hair was standing out wildly in all directions.

“Well, it’s long past, isn’t it? We’re not friends or anything, but he occasionally sends those letters and I occasionally reply. You should both know how lonely it is when you’re all by yourself all the time.”

Harry refused to answer her, instead choosing to stare at his hands. She didn’t offer any further explanation, but stood up and crossed the room. She kneeled down in front of Harry.

“You can’t be mad over this, Harry. It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“Why couldn’t you tell me?” Harry asked quietly, meeting her steady gaze.

“I couldn’t. You know how it works; that sort of information isn’t just passed around.”

Harry just shrugged and went back to looking at his hands. He heard her stand up and walk from the room. There was another pop! and they knew she was gone.

“Blimey, Harry. I can’t believe-“

“I know. I just don’t get it. She’s just using that “classified information” nonsense as a scapegoat. She just didn’t want to tell me about it.”

Ron shifted uncomfortably next to him, causing Harry to look at him.

“What?” Harry asked.

“This whole situation makes me so uneasy, Harry,” Ron said quietly. “She could have been hurt any number of ways. So what if he fed us information during the war? It was all just to stay alive, wasn’t it? Didn’t he just pick the side he thought most likely to win?”

Harry shrugged and let out a sharp breath before standing up. “I need to go talk to her.”

“I suppose one of us had better and I’m glad it’s not me.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Ron walked with Harry to the apparition point in the front hallway and looked at him sadly before he disappeared.

In a blink, Harry found himself standing in the middle of the living room at the cottage. He heard the shower running and what was undoubtedly crying in the hall bath. Feeling completely powerless to do or say anything, Harry sat down on the couch to wait.

Hermione emerged from the bathroom after 30 minutes or so. Her hair was dripping wet and her eyes were red. She looked at him blankly before turning quickly and heading into her bedroom, slamming the door shut. Harry sighed and stood from the couch to go knock on her door.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“You don’t have a choice, Hermione. We need to talk about this.” He placed his hand on the doorknob, but was only rewarded with a sharp pain in his fingertips. Furiously, he banged his fist against the door. “I’m coming in there!”

True to his word, he wandlessly crashed the door open and stood, framed in the doorway, staring down at her. “I don’t think you understand, Hermione. This is not a ‘no-big-deal’ situation!”

“It is, Harry. Malfoy is by no means a dear friend of mine, but he is someone with an ear to the ground. Occasionally, he sends letters with updates and such. I’m his contact, Harry, that’s really it. I send most of his letters onto McGonagall.”

“Most of?”

“Yes, Harry, most of. Sometimes, his letters are just personal. Why can’t you understand this? He’s not a bad person.”

“He’s an arse and a traitor. He’s dangerous!”

“He is not! You weren’t here, Harry, you don’t know what it was like. When he stayed here, he was hiding out, and he was broken. He wasn’t the same spoiled little kid from Hogwarts. That person doesn’t exist anymore.” Hermione was curled in on herself, refusing to look at him. For his part, his jaw was clenched and he kept his fingers curled into the palms of his hands.

“That may be, but it’s not right for you to be corresponding with him.”

“Don’t you dare issue such judgments with me, Harry! You’re not my father, you don’t control my life. You left me, Harry. You went away and left me here, without a single letter. You left me here to pick up the pieces of my life after you took me through hell. I won’t sit here and listen to you judge me and tell me how to live my life!”

Her words fell like heavy bricks. He blinked several times and saw that she seemed stunned by her own outburst. “Is that how you feel, Hermione? That I deserted you?”

She didn’t respond, but merely let her head drop into her hands. She was crying again and his resolve cracked with each shudder of her shoulders. He stood watching her for a moment before settling himself next to her on the bed and pulling her against him. She instantly wrapped her arms around his neck, crying on his shoulder.

“No, I don’t think that. I’m sorry, I really am.”

He didn’t respond, but instead just held her, willing that to be enough. They were silent awhile before he squeezed her against him gently. “I’m sorry too. You’re an adult witch and I’ve known that you’re capable of taking care of yourself as long as I’ve known you. You just, well, it just scared me, ok? I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

She sniffled in response and settled herself deeper into his embrace. With this movement, the mood shifted wildly and he found that he was moving his hands up to frame her face. She watched him intently, her eyes still damp with unshed tears. With the pad of his thumb, he wiped away one that slipped slowly down her face before leaning forward to press his lips against her cheek.

She stiffened and pulled away from him. “We mustn’t do this,” she said quietly, before disentangling herself from his embrace and leaving him alone to figure out what in the bloody hell he had been thinking.

October 13th, 2003

Time passed quickly in the little cottage. They packed boxes, organized books and research materials and finally moved to the house in Hogsmeade. Harry gave Hermione the largest bedroom, which had its own bath, and she also took a large, bright room at the back of the house to use as her study. Harry took a smaller bedroom and used its formal sitting room as his office. During the day, Hermione alternated her time between working on her research and working in the large garden in the back. October rolled around and with it, preparations for Halloween at Hogwarts. They spent most evenings with Ron and Andie, making plans for the upcoming Feast and activities. Professor McGonagall had allowed extras this year, as Halloween fell on a Friday.

Their life together was pleasant. They worked together, cooked together, watched Muggle movies and even danced to some of the records that Hermione had from her father. They worked hardest to studiously ignore anything that didn’t fall into a neat little package of friendship.

Harry, for one, loathed almost every minute of it. He found himself completely caught up with her and over the oddest things. She frequently chewed her lip as she worked and he could tell when she had stumbled across something that worked well with her theories: she would crinkle her eyebrows together and stop taking notes all together.

He memorized the tiniest details about her; he knew how she liked her tea in the morning. He worked to make her laugh and to make her smile. He tried to force himself to forget what it had been like to hold her as he had done. They limited any physical contact to the occasional touch on the arm and on a good day, he got a strictly platonic hug. He had no way of knowing what was going through her head and was terribly afraid to ask her.

“Harry!” A delighted cry pulled him out of his thoughts. He heard rapid footfalls on the stairs and Hermione bounded into the kitchen, barely slowing as she threw her arms around him and kissed him soundly on the cheek. “I’ve done it! Everything just fell right into place.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve found it, I’ve found the allele!” she crowed, throwing her head back and laughing. “I’ve got exactly what I need. There is a witch, Doctor Tyler, who has studied both magical and muggle medicine. She’s specialized in magical diseases, but also in muggle genetics and she wants to publish my findings.”

“She knows you’ve found it already?” Harry asked, trying to latch onto at least part of what she was saying.

“No, not as such. She’s aware of what I’m working on and has already offered to publish my reports once my work is complete. She has a fantastic medical journal.”

“Hermione, that’s amazing,” Harry said, hugging her once more.

“Isn’t it? Here, come with me and I’ll show you!” She grabbed his hand and began pulling him up the stairs to her study.

Her study was impeccably organized. There were large whiteboards on the wall, covered in her neat handwriting. She pointed to the board closest to her desk; it was covered in complex diagrams that made his head spin.

“The answer should have been obvious to me, but there it is. Magical proteins only exist because of these genes that code for them. Those genes are coded for by a certain type of allele, which is only present in Muggles, but they can last generations. So, you see, we can’t survive without Muggles. It’s over-simplified to say it that way, but there it is.”

Harry looked at her board, astonished. “This is mind-boggling, Hermione. This could change all of the magical theories about superiority and purity of blood. What else does it mean?”

“The implications are nearly endless, actually. But to begin with, it partially explains why some witches and wizards are more powerful than others. If these genes have been recently introduced to a bloodline, data shows that for a period of probably seven or eight generations, you’re going to have some very strong magic.”

“And if it’s been too long since these genes were prevalent, then you have families with weakening power?” Harry ventured.

“Absolutely. It explains why squibs happen as well. And on a more personal level, it explains why you’re as powerful as you are, and why Voldemort was as powerful as he was. And even Dumbledore had Muggle grandparents.” Hermione said, rambling slightly. She was gesticulating wildly, pointing at various notes on her boards.

“What about you? Your parents are Muggles.”

“Right, and by my reckoning, my children will be far more powerful than I am. They’ll have a very potent combination of magical and Muggle genes.”

Harry’s head was spinning as he took all of her information in. He knew that the ramifications of all her hard work would hit many in the wizarding world very hard. It shattered the beliefs of a lot of people.

“I can’t believe you did all this, Hermione,” Harry said quietly. “This is just… unbelievable. What’ll you do now?”

“Publish this, of course. I want to study it further, see what the boundaries are, and what sort of medical value could be gained from this. Think about it – what if Muggles hold the cure to some of the worst magical diseases of our time?”

“We should celebrate,” Harry replied. He had forgotten his own uneasiness with Hermione over the past few weeks and was simply bursting with pride for his best friend’s accomplishment.

She beamed at him. “That would be wonderful. Can you be ready in twenty minutes?”

“Of course I can; I’m a guy.”

She laughed. “Right you are. Meet me downstairs in twenty then.”

He showered and changed into nicer clothes than he had spent the day in, lounging around. Much to his surprise, Hermione was waiting for him in the living room, dressed in black pants and a red top. She grinned as he walked in and stood up, walking over to him. He took her cloak from the peg by the door and held it out to her. Arm in arm, they headed out to Hogsmeade and the Three Broomsticks.

They settled into a booth at the back of the pub and placed orders for stew and butterbeer.

“I can’t believe we’ve been here over a month and haven’t stopped in to eat yet,” Hermione said as she leaned against the booth and sipped her butterbeer.

“No kidding. I guess we’ve been too busy.”

“I think that after I publish this paper, I’m going to take a bit of a break. I’ve been focused on it for so long, I deserve it.”

“Well, I’ll drink to that,” Harry replied, tipping his butterbeer towards her.

She clinked her own drink to his and laughed before swigging it down. “Mmm, wonderful.”

Harry realized his was grinning stupidly at her, but she didn’t seem to care as she smiled rather goofily at him.

“I feel a bit punchy,” she admitted. “This has been my whole life for so long and now it feels as if this enormous burden has been lifted. Harry, I can’t even begin to imagine what this all could mean.”

“You’re going to change everything, Hermione.”

“Do you think it’ll be well received?”

“Of course not. This is the wizarding world, after all; but it doesn’t matter, it’s very important information. Can you imagine what would happen if people didn’t know about this? If your theories are tested and proved to be right, you’ll change the course of history. With information like this, people can’t be scared into thinking that pure blood is so important.”

Her eyes were wide. “You make it sound so huge, Harry.”

“But it is huge! You’ve talked about the scientific and medical possibilities, but what about society in general? Voldemort wouldn’t have gained the power and control he did if he hadn’t played so well on the prejudice against Muggles and Muggleborns.”

Hermione blushed slightly and shook her head. “I never meant for all that,” she admitted. “I wanted this for medical reasons. I’ve learned some amazing things and I have new ideas about the very foundations of magic, but I guess I just never intended…”

Harry reached across the table and laced his fingers through hers. “It doesn’t matter your intention, you’ve done a great thing, Hermione, for all of us.”

She bowed her head and he felt her hand squeeze his as she stared at their hands. Further conversation was prevented as Rosmerta delivered their bowls of stew and chatted with them for a few moments.

“Has Ron asked you about costumes for the Haunted House?” Hermione asked after they’d eaten in silence for several long minutes.

“Yes, he asked if I would play some sort of crazy surgeon. I don’t know where he got this whole idea in the first place, but I was even more surprised to hear that Professor McGonagall approved of the whole thing.”

“I can’t believe she’s allowing the guising especially. Although I think it’ll be fun to see what costumes and tricks the kids come up with,” Hermione said thoughtfully.

“What about the older kids? I can’t imagine anyone above third year doing it.”

“Well, that’s what the Haunted House is for. And I think Professor What’s-His-Name wants to do a séance.”

“The Divination teacher? Is that a joke? Won’t the ghosts be offended by that?” Harry asked.

“I doubt it. It probably won’t even work,” Hermione said, obviously disgusted by the very idea of success at such an activity.

“What caused Ron to come up with all this?”

Hermione just shrugged. “I think he wanted a reason to dress up.”

“What are you going as?”

“A mummy. He wants me to do this whole bit where I rise out a sarcophagus and start stumbling around groaning at everyone.”

Harry laughed and shook his head. “Are you going to make your hair stick out from the bandages? I think that’d really add to the affect.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed again as he pictured a mummy-Hermione with that brown, bushy hair sticking out every which way. This mental image proved to be too much to handle and he began to laugh harder, clutching his stomach.

“Oh, ha ha, Potter. Just keep it up.”

“Or you’ll do what?” he finally managed.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something. I’m the brains in this friendship anyhow.”

Harry rolled his eyes mockingly at his best friend and took a spoonful of stew into his mouth. “So what are you plans this week? Now that your research is wrapping up.”

Hermione sighed and smiled. “Those are such lovely words,” she said, laughing. “But I’d hardly say this is close to being wrapped up. I suppose I’ll try and get that paper at least sketched out. It shouldn’t be too bad, maybe ten days’ worth."

“Ten days! Hermione, that’s insane!”

She shrugged. “I feel like I need to get it out while it’s fresh.”

“Don’t these papers usually take months, even years?” Harry asked, looking highly nonplussed.

“Usually. But I think I can handle it,” she replied defensively.

Harry knew it wasn’t a good idea to press this further and merely sighed, letting his shoulders sag. “If anyone can do it, it’s you,” he said quietly.

Hermione winked at him and tore off a chunk of bread from the loaf they were sharing. She began talking excitedly about the Quidditch game they would be attending that coming weekend. Harry became fairly certain the world must be ending if Hermione was looking forward to a match.

***

November 14th, 2003

Hero of Voldemort’s War Publishes Findings; Shockwaves Felt throughout Wizarding Britain

By Ebenezer Wilkes

Hermione Granger, one of the great Trio that was responsible for the defeat of Lord Voldemort, will be publishing her controversial findings on the genetics of magical persons. Ms. Granger has recently returned from a self-imposed exile from the wizarding world. Her research was primarily completed during this absence. It is rumored that her work theorizes how magic is actually the chemical reaction of two types of genes. Magical Healers have come out as greatly opposed to this reasoning, as they say there is no physical manifestation of magic in one’s body. It is also rumored that Granger’s work suggests that it is necessary to our future that interaction and intermarriage be encouraged. There is great outrage even beyond the medical community- CONT., c14

Sighing, Hermione pushed the Daily Prophet away from her. The research hadn’t even been published, but as usual, the whole damn wizarding world was up in arms about something they had absolutely no understanding of. She had even received a handful of nasty letters about her work, one which rather rudely stated:

This is just another way for your type to feel superior, Ms. Granger. Your side won the war and Muggleborns are being granted the same freedoms as everyone else. You are single-handedly destroying our way of life! We can’t be too harsh with you, however, because you’re simply too naïve to understand what pride and honor are.

Harry had made a big show of lighting the letter on fire in mid-air, without even using his wand. She knew, however, that he was actually quite worried about her safety. She had angered many without so much as a published word being available; there was no telling what would happen when the full report was public. They had received summons to meet with the Minister of Magic later this afternoon. Harry had at first tried to convince her to let him go alone, but she was bound and determined to defend her work.

“Hermione?” She heard Harry calling out to her as he walked down the stairs to the living room. He entered as he was fastening his robes properly. “Are you ready?”

She stood from the couch, smoothing out her own gray robes. “I suppose.”

“Alright, to go over it one more time, we’re sitting in on a department head’s meeting. The Minister’s advisors will discuss several issues and will want to go over some of my reports. Following this, they’ll want to talk to you about your paper.”

“Will you be there through all of it?” she asked, feeling a bit nervous.

“Absolutely,” he responded, crossing over to her and giving her a hug. “I’m always here for you during times like this.”

She hugged him tightly and nodded. “Let’s go then.”

He held out his arm to her and together they apparated to the Ministry of Magic. They went through the motions of gaining entry and were quickly in the Atrium, going through the security checkpoint. They entered the lift and went to Level One, where Harry clutched Hermione’s elbow as he led her through a plush seating area. There was a dividing wall fifteen or so feet from the lifts and in front of this stood the receptionist’s desk. A small, round witch with a large red beehive and round, thick-framed glasses on a beaded chain was seated there and looked at them disdainfully as they crossed over to her,

“May I help you?” she sniveled.

“Yes, please, my name is Harry Potter and this is Hermione Granger, we’re here to meet with the Minister.”

“Did you have an appointment?” she replied, flipping through a large appointment book.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The Minister is currently off the floor, but he will be returning shortly. If you’ll please have a seat over there, I’ll announce you when he’s ready.”

They took chairs opposite the desk and sat silently, waiting. Before long, the lift doors opened and an entourage of people exited onto the level. Minister Scrimgeour was at the head of the group, followed by his department heads and several assistants. They were all talking rapidly:

“Sir, there’s been four deaths reported in Birmingham. Two Muggles and two witches, Muggle police cannot identify the cause of death-”

“In addition, a child has gone missing down near Kent. He vanished in thin air, sir-”

“And sir, down in Wales, a duel broke out between a local wizard and a man that is a suspected Death Eater, three bystanders were injured. They’ve been brought to St. Mungo’s for treatment-”

“Enough! This will continue in my office,” the Minister said sternly. “Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, if you’ll please follow me.” He waved at them and quickly, Harry and Hermione joined the group heading into the Minister’s Office. They all took seats around a large conference table that had been set up especially for this meeting.

“Now, that we’re all here, I’d like to begin,” said Scrimgeour, standing as he motioned for everyone to sit. “I realize that it seems odd, Mr. Potter, to invite Ms. Granger to our meeting today, but I feel that it is of utmost importance that she understand all that is happening in our world. If you please, Mr. Potter, would you share with us your report?”

Hermione saw Harry squirm out of the corner of her eye; she reached over and squeezed his arm gently, urging him to go forward.

“Minister, it is my belief that Dark activity has experienced a spike in behavior over the past six months. Prior to my arrival in England, I observed troubling activities in the States, and there was no shortage of cooperation between American and British wizards. In addition to the instances that were mentioned by this group out in the lobby, there have been nine other instances of Dark activity in Great Britain. That averages approximately two instances a month, the level at the beginning of the last war against Voldemort.”

“What do you feel is the cause of this activity, Harry?” asked some unfamiliar wizard. Hermione didn’t have the mental faculties to identify him; she was still reeling from what Harry had said.

“There is an unknown wizard gathering supporters, on both sides of the Atlantic. At this point in time, we do not know of his identity or his motives.”

“Do you think these attacks will continue?” asked a blonde witch wearing emerald green robes.

Harry looked down at his hands a moment before meeting the witch’s steady gaze. “I do.”

A rash of angry murmurings spread across the table and it took the Minister three attempts to quiet everyone down. “Now, listen. We will not make the same mistakes we have in the past. Shacklebot, I want you to ready the Aurors. Using Mr. Potter’s reports, you need to locate any cells of this person’s supporters. I want to know who it is as soon as possible. The rest of you need to follow the plans outlined in a memorandum that I will be sending out this afternoon. We need to be united and we need to strike early.” He paused and looked at the group of people surrounding him. He turned his stern eyes to face Hermione, who involuntarily shuddered. Despite her role in helping Harry to defeat Voldemort, she had avoided nearly every opportunity to have an audience with the Minister.

“Ms. Granger,” he said, with a commanding tone is his voice. “You will remember well how divided many people were in the last war. I think you can agree that it would be disastrous for everything to fall apart after such a short period of peace, yes?”

Hermione nodded.

“Then you can understand why I must ask that you delay publishing your paper, Ms. Granger.”

She supposed that she should have suspected this, but for some reason, she had not thought of the possibility at all. “With all due respect sir, that’s just not possible. This is an important theory and it’s necessary that the medical community is aware of it.”

The Minister frowned at her. “Is it true, Ms. Granger, that your paper states that it would be impossible for magickind to survive if it weren’t for Muggles?”

“Yes,” Hermione answered simply, without a trace of apology in her voice.

“Do you really believe that?” His hard gaze bore into her, but she held her ground, staring directly back at him.

“Absolutely, and sir, if you had read the paper, I have no doubt that you would agree.”

The Minister scoffed. “I highly doubt that, but my feelings are not important. What is important, however, is that I do my part to maintain peace. Your paper will do nothing but stir up trouble and further divide us. Do you have any idea how much of an insult this would be to old wizarding families?”

“As well it should be,” Hermione replied tartly. “They’ve been acting just short of incestuous for millennia. The consequences of such actions must be known.” She knew she sounded flippant, but her heart was beating quite rapidly. Truth be told, she honestly hadn’t realized her paper was going to cause such a stir. Harry’s reaction and words about changing wizardkind had seemed over the top at the time, but now she wasn’t so sure he’d been far off base.

“Ms. Granger, I find you foolish and naïve. It is clear that you have no understanding of how our world works.”

Harry stood abruptly, his chair sliding back, and glared hard at the Minister of Magic. “That’s completely untrue, Scrimgeour, and you know it.”

“Mr. Potter, you are in no better position than your friend. You have been absent for five years and it is impossible for you to understand the delicate balance that we have achieved.”

“I don’t care about your balance; you cannot hide the truth from people. This is exactly what happened before!” Hermione cried accusingly.

“Ms. Granger, you mistake me for someone that values your opinion. I request that you delay the publishing of your paper so that I may work to prevent any further fracture of our society. If you choose to disregard this, you should not be surprised when we do not endorse your research. This meeting is over.”

Harry leaned across the table and stared menacingly at Scrimgeour. “We have acted without your support before, Minister. I assure you it’s not nearly as necessary as you seem to believe.” He helped Hermione from the chair and once again clutching her elbow, led her from the room without once turning to look back. They walked down the aisle of desks and into the lift, which took them speedily to level eight. From there, they left the Ministry of Magic and hastily apparated home.

Once back in their living room, Harry pulled Hermione into his arms and held her tightly. She allowed herself to lean against him, feeling slightly shaken up from all she heard. Her mind was spinning, trying to process what the Minister had said and how she had responded. She kept coming back to what Harry had first said: he expected that there would be further attacks.

“Harry?” she said softly.

“Yes?”

“Is it true, do you think it’s getting bad again?”

Harry pulled back to look at her closely and she vaguely wondered what look she wore on her face. “Yes, Hermione, I think it could get bad again. Please, don’t worry about it. I’ll never let anything happen to you or Ron.”

She looked up into his eyes and nodded her head, almost imperceptibly. As she let Harry hold her, she steeled her resolve, understanding that very soon, they would have to take up arms again.

She shuddered involuntarily as a horrible thought came into her head. “Harry?” she asked quietly.

“What is it, Hermione?” he replied gently, cupping her chin in his hand.

“Is this… do these attacks have something to do with-“

“Malfoy?”

Hermione nodded, almost imperceptibly.

Harry was looking at her carefully, hesitating to answer. “I have evidence that he may have been involved in some of them,” he finally replied.

She felt nauseas at his words and moved backwards to take a seat on the couch. She held her head in her hands and moaned softly, “Harry, what if this is somehow my fault? He knew what my-“

“Hermione, please stop. I don’t think this had anything to do with you.” He took her hands away from her face. “We both know that we can’t work with all this self-doubt and self-blame. It’s never worked in the past.”

She took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “You’re right, of course,” she said as she leaned forward and hugged him. “Have you told Ron yet?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m going to owl him now.”

They waited around the house for Ron’s response. She made a couple of sandwiches for a late lunch and Harry lounged on the couch, reading some book or another. Hermione had sent her finished paper off two weeks ago and, true to her word, she had been relaxing. She indulged herself with a long afternoon nap and was awakened by the doorbell ringing downstairs.

By the time she had smoothed her clothes and hair and made her way downstairs, Ron was standing in the living room with Harry. They seemed to be waiting for her, because as soon as she walked into the room, Ron took a seat and Harry sat opposite him, leaving her to take a chair in the middle. She was oddly struck by being with Ron and Harry to discuss the encroaching darkness once again.

“So what do we know so far?” Ron started, looking between Hermione and Harry.

“Well, there have been 12 attacks in the past six months: various attacks, typical to the style of the Death Eaters at the beginning of the last war. There have been no Muggle targets to date and as far as we can tell, there have been no reports in the Muggle press about them. Everything is being kept fairly well under wraps, even for wizards.”

“What’s the Ministry’s plan?” Ron asked.

“I’m not really privy to that at this time. They are searching for any information on who’s orchestrating the attacks. As soon as new information is found, I’ll know.”

“Harry?” Ron interrupted, suddenly struck by something Harry had said.

“Yes?”

“Why are you gathering these reports? Are you working for the Ministry?”

This comment made Harry uncomfortable; Hermione watched as he shifted in his seat. “Actually, no. I’m doing a sort of freelance thing for them. I watch for dark activity and report it back. When I was in the States, I used to do round-ups of British Dark wizards trying to recruit. Seems to be the same group working here.”

This answer satisfied Ron, who just nodded. “What’s our plan then?”

“Well, I’m going to look independently of the Ministry, see if I can’t find out who’s doing this. We’ll work from there.”

Ron nodded again and stood up. “Unless there’s anything else, I need to get home to Andie; she wasn’t feeling well today.”

Harry shook his head and Hermione stood to hug Ron goodbye. “We’ll be in touch if we hear anything else,” Harry said, shaking Ron’s hand.

“Tell Andie that I hope she feels better and to call me if she needs anything,” Hermione added, kissing Ron’s cheek.

“I will. See you over the weekend for dinner.”

Hermione closed the door behind Ron and followed Harry into the kitchen. He went to the stove and turned the front burner on before slamming the kettle down onto the grate. Hermione jumped and walked over to take Harry’s hand away from the stove. He looked down at her, his green eyes filled with anger.

“It was only five years this time.”

“I know.”

***

December 5th, 2003

Peeking around the broom-closet door, Ron turned his head from side to side, checking for students, other professors or a pesky ghost. The coast was clear and he stepped into the light of the hallway, pulling Andie along with him. She was snickering wildly behind her hand and he quickly pulled her toward him, crushing his lips against her. She kissed him for a moment before stepping back and moving down the hallway. She wiggled her fingers at him and turned a corner, instantly out of sight.

Ron chuckled to himself and sighed happily before heading off to his final class of the afternoon. McGonagall had agreed to a test run for the mandatory Muggle Studies class and for this first term, Ron had all of the fifth years as his final class on Fridays. Third and fourth years had the option still, as did sixth and seventh. The fifth years were a small class and this final Friday group was composed of both Gryffindors and Slytherins. There was only one week left in the term and Ron thought that the trial had been a great success. The fifth years were old enough to ask a wide variety of questions about the Muggle world, but not so old that they had formed truly concrete opinions on it.

He whistled lightly as he walked, enjoying the Christmas decorations that had gone up around the castle. His second year of teaching had been just as much fun as the first: Halloween had been a huge success and only a week or so ago, he had a fantastic lesson with his Friday class about the psychological differences between Muggles and wizards. Christmas would be arriving in no time and he had scheduled the last unit of the term to be about the religion and ancient rituals surrounding this time of year and the Muggle interpretations of these rites. He hoped that the last lesson had been a catalyst for his students and they could move into the final unit with great ease.

All of his students were seated when he arrived in his classroom, but they were far from quiet. There were several copies of the Daily Prophet floating around and whatever the front page story was seemed to be causing quite a stir.

He sent a loud whistle out of the tip of his wand, quickly grabbing the attention of his pupils.

“Everyone, please take your seats. You can put everything away; we’re just going to talk today.” He waited patiently as they all shifted around, rustling papers and stuffing things into knapsacks. “Alright, then, in review, we’ve studied Muggles this year much differently than you have in the past.

“As you’ll recall, you spent third year discussing Muggle technology and inventions and last year, we covered Muggle society and history. This term, we’ve been covering the more psychological issues that Muggles face. We’ve studied the differences in how Muggles and wizards think; we’ve studied the differences in how they live. For these last few weeks, we will be talking about Muggle religions and spirituality. Christmas is a very important time of year to many religions, so we will study this thoroughly. You cannot have any real understanding of Muggles unless you truly understand how it is that they think. Spirituality is a huge part of that.”

Ron paused, rather pleased by his little speech. He was quite excited to begin this lesson and felt that his students should be equally thrilled. He noticed, however, that they were barely paying attention. Several had pulled Daily Prophets out again and others were leaning over shoulders to read. There was also a great deal of whispering going on. Ron frowned and let a loud bang issue from his wand.

“Oy!” he called it, causing several students to jump. “What’s the meaning of all this chattering? Yael, what are you reading?” He motioned for the brown-haired Gryffindor to hand over her newspaper. He looked at the head article and sighed inwardly; there were more outcries against Hermione’s research along with a full editorial describing her paper in full. The paper had only been published yesterday.

“Professor?” A young blonde boy named Desmond Previtt was waving his hand in the air.

“Yes, Desmond?”

“You know Ms. Granger quite well, don’t you?” he asked.

“Yes, Hermione Granger is a very good friend of mine,” Ron answered, feeling somewhat skeptical about this line of questioning.

“Then do you think her theory is right?” Desmond replied.

Ron hesitated and shifted so that he was sitting on the edge of his desk. “It has some very strong supporting evidence,” he finally answered, trying to keep his face noncommittal.

“But do you agree with it?” Desmond pressed.

Ron had always had a very open and honest classroom. He tried his best to answer questions truthfully and sensed that there was no way of getting out of this. He also remembered too easily what it was like to be lied to by teachers. “I do,” he answered. “I think that Ms. Granger’s paper makes some very convincing statements and I personally belief that her theory makes sense. I also think that her theory could do a world of good if studied further by our Healers. There are several afflictions and maladies that we simply can’t cure.

“What do you think about it?” he asked his students, speaking now to all of them instead of just Desmond.

A female Slytherin that looked very much like Pansy Parkinson raised her hand. “Yes, Hildie?”

“I think it’s a load of rubbish,” she stated. “Muggle blood is in no way superior to pure wizarding blood. In fact,” she began quietly, “I would say it’s the complete opposite.”

This shocked Ron, as well as the other students. It had been a long time since he’d heard anyone say something like that. It was common during the war, but nowadays it was simply taboo to suggest something like that. He knew that in many households, there was still some prejudice against Muggles and Muggleborns, but it wasn’t often spoken about. The words caused a fresh outbreak of chatter, some of it quite angry. Ron asked for silence and they quickly quieted down once again. He looked directly at the offending student and spoke evenly, “I think, Hildie, that that is a very inappropriate comment to make in this classroom,” he said, once he’d regained his speech.

“I’m sorry, Professor, I didn’t mean it to be,” the blond girl said, bowing her head slightly.

“There was too much of that sentiment in this world and it’s what got us into so much trouble during the Voldemort war. That belief is deeply rooted in the fact that too many of us know approximately nothing about Muggles. In truth, we fear them. They are far more advanced both technologically and in how they perceive the world around them. We understand that we can use magic, but we really don’t know why.” Ron paused, sensing that he was getting drastically off-topic from that day’s lessons.

“But, sir, isn’t this paper just creating more of that same sentiment?” asked one of the Gryffindors.

“I don’t believe so,” Ron replied candidly. “I think it goes to further our understanding of just how important diversity is. It shows that there’s a closer link to Muggles and wizards than we’ve known before.”

“My father thinks she’s out to make pureblood families look bad. He says this is all just punishment for everything that happened because of Voldemort,” said one of the Slytherin students sitting in the front row.

“Everyone is entitled to their opinions,” Ron answered neutrally. “In this case, however, I believe Ms. Granger’s aim is simply to further our understanding of nature.”

“Even if it’s incorrect?” asked another of the Slytherin students. Ron sighed inwardly again. He still generally disliked most Slytherins.

“It’s a theory. Nothing has been proven incorrect or otherwise. Now, as for further speculation on whether or not this paper is accurate, or whether or not it’s meant to offend people, I’m ending that now. However,” Ron paused, recognizing that if his experience at Hogwarts had taught him anything at all, it was to never waste a good lesson. “We’re not going to drop this subject. We’ve studied extensively how it is that Muggles think- how they deduct information about the things going on around them. To that end, we’re going to have an exercise. We’re going to be using the scientific method to discuss Ms. Granger’s theory.” The students all groaned. Half of third year Muggle Studies had involved using the Muggles’ so-called ‘Scientific Theory’ to understand about Muggle science. Ron suspected that several of his students were beginning to regret that they had even brought the whole thing up. Nevertheless, he had a lesson to teach.

He stood from his desk and walked to the chalkboard behind him. With a simple flick of his wand, it was wiped clean of all markings. He let the wand hover in mid-air as he began to speak, outlining what had been in Hermione’s paper for the students. The wand drew out some of the diagrams from the research paper and Ron talked about the Muggle science of genetics. No doubt about it, this lesson was so far off his original plan. The students, however, didn’t seem to mind. Ron knew that this whole thing had been a hot topic of discussion since yesterday, but as far as he’d heard, none of the other professors had addressed it.

They continued to ask questions and much of the original animosity towards the article faded. Soon enough, the lesson was over and Ron was dismissing the students, telling them he wanted a foot-long parchment about their discussion that day. That assignment had been an original part of his lesson plan.

December 9th, 2003

The weekly staff meeting was ending and the other Professors were filtering out of the lounge when Professor McGonagall waved him over.

“Mr. Weasley?” “Yes, Professor?” Ron asked quietly, coming to stand across the table from the headmistress.

“We need to have a talk in my office after lunch today. I expect to see you at one o’clock.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ron said and moved to exit the staff lounge; Andie was waiting for him.

“Is something wrong?” she asked quietly, as they began walking towards the Transfiguration hallway.

“Not sure,” Ron replied. “She just said she wanted to meet during my free period.”

This seemed to concern Andie somewhat and they walked in silence towards her classroom. He dropped her at her doorway, kissed her gently on the cheek and made his way to his own classroom on the first floor.

His morning went by quickly and before he knew it he was heading up to the Headmistress’s Office. He had been up here a handful of times and knew it hadn’t changed much. He uttered the password (“Glumbumble”) and followed the circular staircase up to the office door. He knocked twice before the door opened to admit him.

The silver instruments were still in the office, as were all the portraits. Dumbledore’s portrait now sat directly behind the desk and Ron noticed that he was absent this morning.

“Mr. Weasley, please have a seat,” said Professor McGonagall.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Do you know why I’ve called you here?” Ron shuddered involuntarily; he always figured that one shouldn’t have to hear that phrase after becoming an adult.

“No, ma’am.”

“I have received a number of owls about your class last week. Over half of which were howlers,” she said slowly, indicating a scorch mark on her desk. “Why don’t you tell me what your lesson was about?”

“Well, if you remember, that was the day that the most recent article in the Daily Prophet about Hermione’s paper appeared, and the students had several questions about it.” Ron was looking directly at Professor McGonagall as he talked.

“How did you handle those questions?”

“I turned it into a lesson. We used a Muggle method of solving problems to work through her theory.”

“And how did this lesson end up?”

“It didn’t get very far, because it took the students awhile to understand how to use the method, but it was a fun and informative lesson.”

“Mr. Weasley, there are several parents that disagree with you. The Governors of the school have issued an edict that we not discuss this matter in any of the lessons. Teachers reported as discussing this ‘unverified and insulting theory’ will be suspended.”

“And you agreed to this, Professor McGonagall?”

“I wasn’t really given the choice, Ronald,” she replied, irritated.

“You’re allowing it anyhow. Professor Dumbledore would have never-“

“Professor Dumbledore would have done what he thought best for his students!” McGonagall exclaimed. “I’m only doing what I think best. Don’t you understand how hard we’ve worked to achieve what we have in the past few years? You must.”

“Of course I understand. My actions weren’t without sacrifices or consequences, but I don’t find myself parroting the Minister of Magic. Dumbledore wouldn’t have allowed this, no matter what you say. He believed that first and foremost, this was a place of learning. I was being a teacher, Professor McGonagall.”

“That is your opinion, Ronald. I assure you that you do not know how Dumbledore would have handled this situation anymore than I do. But it is not your job to tell me how to run this school. You will do as I say, or you will suffer the consequences. Do you have anything else to add?”

Ron glared at her, wondering if he should say anything further. McGonagall seemed to accept his silence as agreement and stood to dismiss him. “Actually, Professor, I do have something else to add,” he said, stopping her. “Hermione Granger was one of your favorite pupils. You are her mentor. Do you really think her work so trivial that it shouldn’t be discussed in a classroom?”

Professor McGonagall sighed. In that single instant, she changed from Ron’s boss to the woman that had helped prepare him and his friends prepare for battle against Voldemort. “Ron, I personally believe that Hermione’s work could be the most important thing to happen in magical science and medicine in hundreds of years. But I am not the sole voice of authority here. Don’t you remember what happened to Dumbledore in your fifth year?

“You should know just as well as anyone what we’ve worked for. Many of the old ideas and traditions, which were indirectly responsible for what happened in the last war, have been systematically dismantled. Hermione’s work is vital to that effort, but it may be too much too soon. There are a lot of good pureblood families, many of whom have members that sit on the Board for this school, and her work is viewed as a slap to the face.

“I must be pragmatic and vigilant for my students. It is my job to make sure they receive the best education possible, but sometimes, the Board of Governors imposes their will and I have to do what they wish.”

Ron nodded slowly. “But they’re hiding the truth and I just can’t condone that. Isn’t the truth more important than a bunch of feelings? Especially when it comes to learning?”

McGonagall’s eyes twinkled briefly and Ron was reminded of Dumbledore. “I believe you know what my personal answer to that question is, but I also believe that not everyone has the same power of insight that you do, Mr. Weasley. Now, I have a busy afternoon ahead of me, so if there isn’t anything else, you may go.”

Ron pushed his chair back, not really caring about the scraping noises. He was still furious at the Headmistress, but he could hear Hermione’s voice in his head admonishing him to keep control of his temper. As he had no scheduled classes on Tuesday afternoon, he stepped silently from the office and let his feet carry him out of the school and down to the gates. From there, he apparated home and settled at the desk in his office to send an owl to Harry. He informed him of the conversation with McGonagall and sent Pig away with the missive. After the owl had cleared the window, Ron leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Taking several deep breathes, he allowed himself to settle down and let his thoughts wander over his conversation with McGonagall. A particular choice of words that she had used had been bothering him since he’d left the school. Not everyone has the same power of insight that you do, Mr. Weasley; her words echoed in his mind, dredging up memories he had worked long and hard to suppress.

“Truth. This is the burden that you have chosen, Mr. Weasley. It will grant you the insight required to see your quest through to the end, but you must understand the cost. Are you willing to accept this?”

“Yes,” Ron answered simply, not trusting his own voice much beyond that.

“ Please step forward and prove yourself worthy to know the absolute.” The voice issuing from Remus’s mouth was decidedly not the voice of his trusted mentor. Ron took a deep breath and pointed his wand at the stone basin.

He was instantly surrounded by warmth and light. There was a warm hand in each of his and he slowly recognized Hermione on his right side and Harry and his left. They were holding hands as well and he was struck by the perfection of their perfect, equilateral triangle. He grinned at Hermione who smiled sweetly at him. He grinned at Harry who merely winked. He watched as they looked at each other and flinched when he saw a spark between him that had not been there before. In an instant, they had both dropped his hands and were moving closer to each other, grasping at one another. In another moment, they had grabbed onto each other’s free hands and were completely closed to him. Only Hermione turned her head to look at him, but long gone was the glint of love that he had seen there for so long.

He fell to his knees, onto the floor, curling into the fetal position. It was not what was between them that was tearing him apart, but it was the betrayal of their friendship. They would never do this to him, there was no way that Harry and Hermione could treat him this way. He thought of how she had smiled at him and felt hot tears flow freely down his cheeks. Something was wrong, something was missing-

“RON!” A loud scream echoed off the walls somewhere behind him. He blindly ran towards the screams, answering with his own terrified yells and wiping furiously at his tear-streaked face, trying to clear away his anger and focus his energy. He had barely registered that wherever he was, it was not the same place it had just been when he turned a corner and found Ginny standing alone in a dark chamber. She was in the dead center of the room and the only light was coming from overhead, in a green beam focused directly on her.

“Ginny?!” Ron shouted. He ran towards his sister but as soon as he was within arm’s reach, a force snatched his body and flung him backwards. He hit the wall hard and crumpled to the floor. In a flash, his sister was hovering over him. The light around her had turned red and her red hair was blowing wildly around her head, each tendril looking like a long, crimson snake. Her eyes were the same red and her lips were as black as night. She grinned evilly at him and drew her wand, aiming it right between his eyes.

He opened his mouth to shout and something in his sister flinched. For a second, her eyes were their normal, bright brown. “NO!” he screamed, reaching out through the light-turned-flame, grabbing her arms. He shook her violently, and just as suddenly, everything was dark again.

He awakened slowly as a silvery light seeped into the room. A door creaked and there was the sound of feet and robes shuffling across the floor. Ron lifted his head slowly and nearly screamed when he came face to face with a snake. He threw himself back against the hard stone and tried to keep from screaming, for when he drew back, it was not a snake at all, but what had once been a human face.

“Ronald,” the face hissed.

“I know who you are,” Ron replied, his voice shaky.

“You think you do, but I assure you that I am not he.”

“Then who are you?”

“I am far older than he, older than time you might say. Voldemort is merely a pet, as were those that came before him. His time is ending in this world and I am ready for a new…friend.”

“So what do you want with me?” Ron asked, trying to keep from vomiting out of sheer terror.

“You are well-known to the Chosen One, the last in a long line of sons meant to guard the world against my followers. You would be a great ally in this battle to come.”

“I’d rather die than betray Harry.”

“Is that so? Even after how he’s betrayed you, betrayed your family.”

“How do you mean? Harry hasn’t betrayed my family,” Ron said, feeling more confused than afraid now. Obviously, this Big Bad Evil guy had the wrong person.

“He hurt your sister and now look what she has become. She has been the most helpful person over the past several weeks. And let us not forget, Ronald, that your friend has taken the woman you love.”

Ron worked to give this man’s voice out of his head, unwilling to listen to what he had to say. He could hear the voices of his best friends, urging him to clear his mind, to forget the anger that was beginning to bubble to the surface. His hands tightened into fists and he clenched his fingernails into the palms of his hands. They were pushing him to fight, telling him to think this through.

“You’re lying,” Ron spat out. He turned his head upward and looked into the face that had been speaking such ill words against the people most important to him. “That’s not who they are – what I saw, those weren’t my friends, that wasn’t my sister.”

The ashen, dead-looking face faltered slightly before the eyes went wide and turned blacker than anything Ron had ever seen. He felt himself momentarily focusing on those eyes, feeling entranced-

A roar issued forth from the deadly mask and the robed figure exploded into a thousand black flames. Ron screamed as the flames engulfed him and his world went black.

---

Thanks to my beta reader, Neil! Also, thanks to all those who reviewed Chapter IV. Thanks for reading and please leave a review if you so desire - I really appreciate your comments and thoughts!