The Last Time

Chapter 13

The cab pulled up in front of 4 Privet Drive a short time later.

"Wait here," said Harry to the driver.

"I've been waiting around all day," the man said. "Going to cost you, you know."

"I don't care," Harry said. "It'll be worth your while."

"Whatever you say, mate," said the cab driver, turning off the engine and taking out a book.

Harry and Hermione walked up the path to the door, which Harry unlocked with a flick of his wand.

"It's just the same," said Harry, turning on a light. "Nothing's changed."

Petunia Dursley had obviously been a fastidious housekeeper, Hermione thought. Though the décor was a bit on the tacky side for Hermione's taste, everything was immaculately polished, shined, and dusted. There were photos of Dudley everywhere - lining the mantelpiece, crowded on end tables, congregating on shelves. It felt strange to think of Dudley dead. Hermione had never met Dudley, but she felt as if she knew him from Harry's descriptions. Seeing his round, lumpy face peering out from the photographs gave her an uneasy feeling.

Harry walked slowly through the house, hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking around. What he was looking for, Hermione didn't know. She had no idea why they had even come here in the first place. When she'd asked Harry what they were doing here, he just mumbled incoherently and said nothing more.

He stopped by a door under the stairwell, resting his hand on the metal latch that held it closed. Suddenly he kicked the door, hard, leaving a large black shoe mark on the white wood trim.

"Damn them!" He kicked the door again, even harder than before, and then sank to the floor, drawing his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around his legs.

"Harry, what is it?" asked Hermione, sitting down beside him, which was awkward because of the knee-length black dress she was wearing; it was one of the few items of Muggle clothing she had brought with her to Hogwarts.

"This is it...." said Harry. "This cupboard."

Hermione didn't want to look, but something drew her hand to the metal latch; she lifted it and pushed the door open. The space under the stairs was small and musty, and a couple of tiny spiders skittered through the dust. It was empty except for a few cardboard boxes, and Hermione couldn't imagine anyone being shut up in there for any length of time. A thrill of disgust crept down her spine, and she slammed the door shut again, furious at the cruelty they'd imposed upon Harry.

"Why did they hate me so much?" Harry whispered. "What did I ever do to them?"

"Nothing, Harry," she answered, scooting across the hardwood floor closer to him. "You didn't do anything wrong. You can't help the way they were."

He didn't say anything, but rested his forehead on his knees.

"Let it go, Harry."

"I can't," he said, his voice muffled. "I can't forgive them."

"You don't have to forgive them, but you have to move on." She laid a hand on his shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting gesture.

"Hermione, you don't understand. The things they did to me...the way they spoke to me, it was like I wasn't even human."

When is it ever going to end?Hermione thought. When does Harry finally get to be happy? It's always something with him...if he's not being hunted by a madman, thrown into dangerous tournaments, or taunted by Malfoys, he's dreaming of his dead parents or his miserable childhood. When does it stop? When does he get to stop being Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and be just plain Harry?

"Let me help you, Harry," she said quietly, stroking his back. "You can make me understand."

"No," said Harry, raising his eyes to meet hers. "I can't ask you to do that."

"You're not asking, I'm offering," she said.

He shook his head. "Same difference. I can't let you do it. Before, you did it to save my life, but now...I'd just be selfish."

"No you wouldn't. I want to help you. I'm your friend, Harry, and I care about you. I want you to be happy - and if bringing this stuff up to the surface will help you, then I want to do it."

She turned to face him, and he didn't protest or push her away. She rested her palms on his face as she'd done before, and the strange yet oddly familiar heightening and dissipating of senses washed over her -

Then Harry grabbed her wrists and pushed her hands from his face.

"No," he said firmly. "I don't want you to see it."

Hermione sat back, folding her hands in her lap. How could she explain how much she wanted to help him? She could tell by looking at him that no matter what she said, he wasn't going to listen, but she felt she had to try.

"Why won't you let me help you, Harry?" she asked.

He sighed. "I just can't. If you knew what I..." He shook his head.

"If I knew what?" asked Hermione. She felt he was holding something back, but she hadn't the faintest idea what it could be. It's just the shock over the Dursleys, and finding his parents' graves, and coming back here, it's too much, she thought.

"Forget it, Hermione." He brushed one of her bushy curls back out of her face and gave her a half-hearted grin. "You are helping. Just by being here. Really."

"Harry, I really don't see how - "

"Come here." He leaned back against the cupboard door, stretching his legs out and patting the floor beside him. She slid over to him and leaned back as he put his arm around her.

"Just sit with me a while," he said. "That's all the help I need."

I don't see how this is helping him, she thought, but if he says it helps then I'm all for it.

It was so quiet in the house; the only sound was the tick-tock of the mantelpiece clock in the parlour. Her mind drifted lazily away from where they were, and she remembered the first time she'd met Harry on the Hogwarts Express.

He was so shy and quiet - I came in there blabbing about Neville's toad, and he was sitting there with Ron and Scabbers and those piles of candy, looking like he was in the middle of a wonderful dream and afraid to wake up. I'd never seen anyone like him - his shirtsleeves were flapping off his arms, there was a hole in the knee of his trousers, and his glasses were held together with tape. He looked so excited, and yet - it was like he was steeling himself for a huge disappointment - like he expected everything to vanish in a puff of smoke and it would be one of his cousin's cruel jokes. How could anyone be so horrible to him? How could they have treated him this way?

"Hel-lo, Hermione, are you listening?" said Harry.

"What?" She shook her head, trying to clear it.

"I was just wondering what that girl said. The girl from Smeltings. Did you talk to her?" Harry asked.

"Oh, right. I was just coming to tell you, when you found, er, your parents' graves," she said.

"So, what did she say?"

"Well, I was right," said Hermione. "She was Dudley's girlfriend. Her name is Veronica. She said that Dudley got a message that there was a family emergency and that he needed to come home straight away."

Harry frowned. "Did she say anything else?"

"No. Just that he didn't tell her anything else. He just got the message and left. And that it was an old fashioned looking letter - I'm guessing parchment."

"Hmm. I wonder if it was some form of Imperius," said Harry. "Voldemort could have sent it to get Dudley here straight away. I'll bet he sent one to Marge too. He didn't have to worry about the protection on this house anymore - that's why I got to stay at the Burrow this summer. So getting all of them here just made it easier for him."

Harry got to his feet and helped Hermione up. "Come on, let's go look in Dudley's room and see if the letter is there."

They went upstairs to Dudley's room, which was just as Harry had described it in the past - filled to the brim with everything a teenage boy could want. There was a computer (he had another that he took to school, Harry said), a PlayStation, a Nintendo, a huge stereo system, a video recorder, and a wide-screen television that took up almost a whole wall. The other walls were covered with posters of various models and movie stars in swimsuits. Hermione was very glad the posters were Muggle posters that did not move - moving women in swimsuits would have just heightened the creepiness factor that was already quite high, in her opinion.

"Er - " said Hermione. "D'you think we should be sneaking around in his room?"

"We're not sneaking, we're looking for clues," said Harry. "Look." He picked up a piece of parchment from the desk.

It was blank.

"This has to be it. Why else would Dudley have a piece of parchment?" said Hermione.

"It must be enchanted so that only the addressee can read it," said Harry, pocketing it. "Dumbledore can probably figure out how to make it visible." He glanced at his watch. "Speaking of which, we better go. It's getting late."

The cab took them back to the Leaky Cauldron, where they caught a quick bite to eat, as they hadn't had anything all day. From there, they travelled by Floo powder back to Hogsmeade, where Hagrid was waiting for them.

"There yeh are!" he said indignantly. "I was gettin' worried about yeh! Dumbledore didn't want yeh coming up to the castle by yerselves in the dark, so I've a carriage to take yeh back. Come on, then."

One of Hogwarts' horseless carriages was waiting for them at the entrance to Hogsmeade. Hermione climbed in and sank into a seat, realizing for the first time how tired she was, and fought to stay awake as the carriage lumbered back to the castle.

"Good, we're back," said Hermione, yawning and rubbing her eyes. "Oof!" she exclaimed, tripping on the carriage step and slamming into Hagrid.

"Watch it there, Hermione," said Hagrid, catching her arm. "Don' want yeh to break yer neck, now do we?"

"Sorry Hagrid, I'm just tired," she said, yawning again.

"I need to go talk to Professor Dumbledore and tell him about the message to Dudley," said Harry. "You don't have to come with me. Why don't you go on up to the tower - I bet Ron's, er, waiting up for you," he added, looking away.

"Okay," said Hermione. "Good night, Hagrid. Thanks for the ride."

"G'night, Hermione," said Hagrid.

Hermione stumbled sleepily back to Gryffindor Tower, where she had to poke the Fat Lady several times to get her to wake up for the password ("Glumbumble"). Ron was waiting up for her, sitting in a chair by the fire, but he'd fallen asleep. He was wearing his striped pyjamas and his burgundy nightrobe, his red hair was wild and tousled, and his Divination textbook (Unfogging the Future) was open on his lap. She smiled at the sight of him, and took off her cloak and threw it over a chair.

"Ron, hey, I'm back," she whispered, rubbing his arm lightly.

He stirred under her hand and blinked. "Hey - been wondering when you were getting back. How'd it go?" He put his Divination book aside and pulled her onto his lap.

"It went okay, I guess, as far as funerals go," said Hermione, snuggling against his chest. "He did okay, nothing weird happened, and we made it back in one piece. He's up in Dumbledore's office now."

"Good," said Ron, kissing her on the cheek. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," she said. "How was detention?"

"Ugh," Ron groaned. "I was stuck down in the hospital wing with Malfoy for two hours making Acne Potion out of bubotuber pus, for Madam Pomfrey," he answered. "Stuff stinks to high heaven. Malfoy's such a git, he ran his mouth the whole time about me, and you, and Harry, and..."

"I don't want to talk about Malfoy," said Hermione. "Oh! Actually, something did happen. Harry found his parents' graves. Right there in the same cemetery we were in."

"Oh, man..." said Ron. "How did he take that?"

"He was pretty mad that his aunt and uncle never told him. You could tell no one ever came to, you know, clean off the graves or leave flowers or anything," said Hermione. "It was sad. Then he wanted to go by his aunt and uncle's house, to just look around..." She remembered the cupboard and shivered. "Do you know how lucky we are?" she asked him.

"I feel pretty lucky right now," said Ron, grinning.

"No, not about that," she said, poking him in the ribs. "I mean, we're lucky to have our parents. We grew up knowing that they loved us. Harry didn't have that. Those awful relatives of his! I saw the cupboard where they kept him locked up. It made me sick, just thinking about it." She shivered again, and Ron pulled her closer.

"Then don't think about it," he said. "Harry doesn't have to put up with it anymore, he's got us, right?"

"Right," said Hermione. Suddenly she was very aware that she was sitting on Ron's lap, with one of his hands resting on her leg, just below the hem of her skirt, the other holding her close to him.

"I don't think I've ever seen you in a dress like this before," Ron said. "It's a lot different than your robes...very nice," he said.

"Well, I wouldn't have brought it, but my mother insisted that every woman, witch or not, needs to keep a little black dress in her closet," she said lightly, trying to take her mind off the interesting patterns Ron's fingers were tracing on the skin of her thigh.

"Smart woman, your mum," said Ron, bringing his face very close to hers.

"I'll tell her you said so," said Hermione, and kissed him.

He apparently hadn't shaved that day, and she enjoyed the slightly scratchy feel of his face against hers. His hand moved from her thigh up to the buttons in the front of her dress, and he slowly unfastened them, never breaking the kiss. Each time his fingers brushed her skin she shivered. When he had her dress open to the waist, she reached for him, undoing the buttons of his pyjama top and enjoying the feel of his smooth skin underneath.

Oh God, what's he doing with his hands! Mmm...that's nice...Ron Weasley, you are a devil, you know that? I can't believe we're doing this...we're sitting right here in the common room...anyone could walk in...

"Ron...we have to stop," she panted, not really wanting to stop.

"Mmm...why?" he asked, his voice muffled by her hair.

"Ooh...mmm...well..." What is he doing? "Ron...please..."

He sat up, rather reluctantly, and looked at her. "I know, it's really not the place, but - I couldn't help it." He kissed her one last time - which made Hermione want to say, "I've changed my mind - we don't have to stop!" - and then began fastening the buttons of her dress. He looked like a child who's been peeking at his Christmas presents and now has to put them back under the tree to wait for Christmas morning.

It made Hermione giggle. She was not a giggler, but he looked so adorable she couldn't help it.

Then Ron froze.

"Uh, hi there, Harry," he said awkwardly in the direction of the portrait-hole.

"Ron, Hermione," Harry said.

Hermione was very glad her back was to the portrait-hole. She hastily fastened the rest of her buttons as Ron put his pyjamas back in order, then scrambled off his lap. "How did it go with Professor Dumbledore?" she asked nervously.

"Fine," said Harry, not looking at them. His face was very red. "He thinks he knows how to, er, break the charm on the parchment - not that it's going to tell us something we don't already know...."

"Oh, good," she said. "Well, er, I think I'll go off to bed now - good night!" She dashed for the stairs. At the door to her room, she remembered that she'd left her cloak on a chair, and went back down to get it.

"What's wrong with you, Ron?" Harry's voice echoed up the stairs, stopping Hermione in her tracks halfway down.

She tiptoed to the edge of the stairs, peeking around the railing. Harry was standing very close to Ron, his fists clenched at his sides, eyes narrowed into furious slits. Ron had gone dead white, looking confused. Neither of them took any notice of her.

"What d'you mean, what's wrong with me?" asked Ron.

"Ripping her clothes off right here in the middle of the bloody common room where anyone could see!" snapped Harry. "Don't you have any sense of decency?"

What the devil is he talking about, 'ripping her clothes off'...the nerve of him! thought Hermione. Ron didn't have to rip my clothes off! He just unbuttoned my dress...and I was quite willing for him to do it!

"What?" sputtered Ron. "It's not like that, Harry!"

"I have eyes, Ron. I saw perfectly well what was going on. What if it had been someone else walking in here besides me? You want to embarrass her in front of the whole house?"

"Oh, come off it, Harry," said Ron. "Like you never saw anyone snogging in the common room before. Big deal."

No big deal! Excuse me? I don't strip for just anyone, Ron Weasley!

"It is a big deal! It's Hermione for God's sake! You ought to have a little more respect -"

Ron jumped out of his chair. "Don't tell me what I ought to do or not do when it comes to Hermione, Harry," he said hotly. "You haven't the slightest idea how I feel about her."

Harry looked away. "Maybe I don't," he said softly. "But still...she's my friend...and I don't like to see her embarrassed."

"Well, friend or not, some things just aren't your business," said Ron. "Not everything that goes on around here involves you."

Hermione couldn't stand it anymore. She stormed back into the common room, barely able to keep herself from scratching both their eyes out.

"How long have you been standing there, Hermione?" asked Ron.

"Plenty long enough!" she snapped. "I can't believe you two! Talking to each other like that! Talking about me like - like - " Anger bottled up in her throat, choking her words.

"Hermione, listen -" began Ron.

"Don't you 'Hermione' me, Ron Weasley," said Hermione. "'Like you've never seen anyone snogging in the common room before - it's no big deal'! It is a big deal, I'll have you know! You think I'd do that with just - anyone?"

She whirled around to Harry. "And you! Sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong! Do you think I'd be down here with Ron if I didn't want to be? I can take care of myself, thank you very much. If I didn't want him putting his hands on me, trust me - he wouldn't be! It's none of your business what we do or where we do it!"

"Oh, so it's none of my business if my two best friends want to shag right in the middle of the common room where anyone can see?" yelled Harry. "If it's none of my business, you ought to at least show some restraint and carry out your little activities in private!"

"We weren't shagging!" shouted Hermione. "Not that it's any of your concern!"

"If it's not my concern, then don't ask for my help next time you want to sneak off to the Charms classroom!" roared Harry.

"I didn't ask for your help - you offered!" said Ron angrily. "You were the one who insisted the two of us hook up in the first place, remember? You know that little speech about 'if you two like each other, you should go for it?'"

"Well, I didn't think you'd be carrying on like rabbits right under my nose," snapped Harry.

"Rabbits!" screeched Hermione - and slapped Harry so hard across the face that her arm went numb.

For one very long moment, she thought Harry was going to hit her back.

But he didn't. He gave her a very hard, cold look that made her feel as if she'd swallowed a cannonball. "Fine. Do whatever you want." He turned and stormed out of the portrait-hole.

Hermione stood there with her arms crossed, shaking with rage. Ron moved toward her, but she put up her hand to stop him.

"Don't," she said through gritted teeth. "I'm going to bed. Good night."

She went up to her room, climbed into her bed, pulled the heavy velvet drapes closed, cast a Silencing Charm on them, and let out a very, very loud scream.