The Last Time

Chapter 21

For most of Hogwarts, the following day meant a Hogsmeade visit, but for Hermione, Harry, and Lisa Turpin, it meant the next round of Auror Trials. This time, instead of a duel, they had a written test.

A very long written test.

They spent four hours in Professor McGonagall's office, scratching away at questions like "Describe, with examples, the ethics of using Veritaserum on non-compliant subjects," "List and discuss reasons why Unforgivable Curses are the most highly punished by wizarding law," and "In your opinion, what is the difference between a being and a beast, and how should that distinction be applied in regards to law enforcement?" There were questions on the history and organization of the Ministry of Magic and the justification of measures to keep the wizarding world hidden from the Muggle world, in addition to hypothetical ethical scenarios and logic puzzles.

Many of the questions were the type that didn't have one obvious right or wrong answer; Hermione supposed they were designed to uncover certain psychological traits or faults. She hated those type questions, preferring those where she could be certain she had the right answer, buttressing her argument neatly with facts and statistics. When she finished the test, she put it in an envelope, sealed it, and handed to Professor McGonagall, who would send it off to the Ministry of Magic with the others. Hermione felt she hadn't done a very good job, and almost wished the second round had been another duel.

Lisa Turpin had already finished her test (Hermione was amazed how fast the Ravenclaw could write), and Harry was still working, so Hermione waited for him alone in the corridor. It was at least another twenty minutes before Harry emerged from McGonagall's office, looking relieved.

"Glad that's over," he said, as they walked back to the common room.

He had a smudge of dark blue ink on his cheek; Hermione almost reached up to wipe it off but stuck her hands in her pockets instead.

"Do you want to go down to the village?" he asked, as they reached the portrait hole.

"Sure...let's get our cloaks."

The common room was almost deserted; everyone had gone to Hogsmeade except for the first- and second-years, a few of whom were sitting around playing Exploding Snap. Hermione headed for the staircase, but stopped when something caught her eye. A chubby cheeked girl with soft blonde curls was sitting alone at a table in the corner, with what looked like a Transfiguration assignment spread out in front of her. She was writing very slowly, her progress impeded by the tears that were welling up in her big blue eyes. Hermione recognized her as one of the first-years, but couldn't remember her name.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked the girl.

The girl looked up in surprise at Hermione's voice, and her blue eyes got even wider when she saw that Harry was standing right behind Hermione. "I - er - T-Trans - T-T-Transfiguration - P-P-Professor M-M-McGonagall - " she said haltingly, and then burst into tears. Her face went the bright red of a tomato and she dropped her head to the table in shame.

Hermione sat down beside the girl and looked at Harry. "You can go on to Hogsmeade if you want, Harry," she whispered, patting the girl's back consolingly.

He shook his head and sat down on the other side of the girl.

After a bit, the girl sat up and rubbed her eyes, looking incredibly embarrassed. "I can't b-believe - I cried - in front of - Harry - P-P-Potter and Hermione G-G-Granger," she hiccupped, looking at the table. She was obviously star-stuck that Harry Potter had sat down beside her, which Hermione found rather sweet and incredibly funny, even as she felt sorry for her obvious difficulty with her Transfiguration assignment.

Over the top of the girl's head, Hermione saw Harry bite back a grin that was half amusement, half horror.

"Girls cry in front of him all the time," said Hermione, avoiding Harry's eye.

"They do?" asked the girl.

"Yeah, he's used to it," said Hermione. Harry reached behind the girl and poked Hermione warningly in the arm, but she ignored him.

"What's your name?" asked Harry, which caused the girl to go red again.

"Claire. Claire M-M-Murphy," she sniffed.

Hermione looked over the assignment on the table. It didn't look very difficult - turning water into different colours of ink, standard first-year curriculum - but Claire was having a terrible time with it. From the looks of her essay and the murky liquid in the glasses in front of her, she didn't understand the theory at all.

"Well, Claire, let me show you how it's done." Harry took out his wand and pointed it at one of the glasses of water on the table. He mispronounced the incantation slightly, and instead of turning into black ink, the water boiled and evaporated. The steam fogged his glasses and he took them off to wipe them on his robes.

Claire giggled.

"Oops," said Harry, putting his glasses back on and staring at the water glass in mock confusion. He looked at Hermione. "What did I do wrong?"

Hermione affected an exasperated tone. "Honestly, Harry, how did you get this far without learning how to do this? Here, let me show you...." She launched into a patient explanation of the theory behind transfiguring water into ink; Harry played dumb and asked a lot of questions, ones that Claire seemed too shy to ask, and slowly a look of comprehension began to dawn on Claire's face.

"Oh, wait! I think I get it now!" she exclaimed, after watching Harry go through three more glasses of water before finally producing a quantity of bright green ink. She waved her wand, said the spell clearly, and the glass was suddenly filled with orange ink. Her face lit up in a huge smile.

For the next little while, Claire and Harry turned the ink to various colours - royal blue, pale pink, dark green, sparkling silver, chocolate brown, brilliant scarlet - and occasionally Harry would deliberately bungle the transfiguration, so that Claire would have the opportunity to figure out what he did wrong and correct him. While they did that, Hermione checked over Claire's essay, suggesting things she might want to include and things to leave out.

Hermione watched Harry as she wrote on Claire's essay. He had such an easygoing manner with the younger girl, much different than the awkward embarrassment that he'd displayed in the past when younger students gawked at him. She remembered how Colin Creevey used to follow him around the school with his camera, and how mortified Harry had been then. But he took Claire's star-struck gaze in stride, patiently helping her with her work.

"Thanks," said Claire, packing her books and papers away as Harry took care of the glasses of rainbow ink. Her stutter had disappeared along with the tears, and she looked much happier than she did when they first saw her. Then the smile disappeared. "But I ruined your trip to Hogsmeade! Didn't you want to go with everyone else?"

"Don't worry about it," said Hermione. "It wasn't a problem. Besides, Harry needed the practice himself."

Claire's blue eyes were perfectly round and serious. "I know he was just playing dumb so I wouldn't feel bad," she said. "But that's okay. It was a nice thing to do. A lot of people would make fun of me for being so slow. You weren't like that." Then she looked as if an idea had hit her. "Wait! I'll be right back!" She grabbed her bag and sprinted up the stairs.

"Where's she off to?" asked Harry, returning to the table.

Before Hermione could answer, Claire had returned with a large box in her hands.

"My mum sent me these yesterday," Claire explained, handing it to Hermione with a shy smile (she couldn't look at Harry without blushing, Hermione noticed). "Since you helped me...."

Hermione and Harry peered inside the box, which was full of homemade biscuits and thick slices of crumbly cake.

"Mmm...." said Harry, "this looks good."

"We can't take this, Claire," said Hermione. "Your mum sent this for you!"

"S'okay," said Claire. "She sends me a box at least every other week. I can't eat all this myself. I'll be fatter than Father Christmas if I do."

Harry excused himself for a bit, and returned with a large jug of pumpkin juice from the kitchens, at which point he, Hermione, and Claire dug into the box of goodies with great relish.

"Much better than going to Hogsmeade," said Harry, licking crumbs from his fingers after eating half a dozen chocolate biscuits and two slices of cake with thick white icing. "Tell your mum these were wonderful."

Claire blushed again for about the eightieth time that afternoon. Hermione caught Harry's eye, and she had to fight the urge to laugh.

*****

Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy were only missing for the weekend; by Monday, they had returned to Hogwarts. Snape was even more vindictive than usual, blasting the Gryffindors and Slytherins alike with insults as to their general intelligence, potion-making ability, and the distinct possibility that most of them would get dismal marks on their Potions N.E.W.T.s. Malfoy, however, seemed rather out of sorts, and his taunts and jeers lacked their usual acid sting.

Hermione felt as if each day went faster than the day before; the next few weeks flew by so fast she hardly noticed them. Professor Tenby's Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons were getting extremely difficult, as they were leaning to seamlessly integrate magical and physical means of defence. It was gruelling, exhausting work, and more often than not, students would skip lunch after her class to take a quick nap before their afternoon classes.

Healing Arts became quite interesting with the addition of practical experience in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey. Hermione found that helping her fellow students gave her a welcome distraction from the tangled mess of her personal life, and often did more than the required two hours per week. At first, she did simple things like dispensing Pepperup Potion to students with colds and healing minor cuts and scrapes, but soon Madam Pomfrey let her tackle slightly more difficult cases. After the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw Quidditch match, she attended to the broken arm of a Hufflepuff Beater (under Pomfrey's supervision), and later that week she took care of a Slytherin fourth year that got badly burned by one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts.

Hermione didn't know if Professor Dumbledore had told Madam Pomfrey about Master Raymond and the development of her strange healing ability, and she was hesitant to mention it. She never attempted to use her ability in the hospital wing, instead sticking to the wand- and potion-based healing methods learned in class. When Ron or Harry had needed her help, it had felt natural; but it was intensely personal, somehow, and it didn't feel right to use it on someone she barely knew.

Caring for people, healing their wounds and making them feel better, gave her a sense of peace and purpose that she hadn't had before. It made her think about her future after Hogwarts. Did she really want to be an Auror, spending her life tracking down the Forces of Evil and facing down danger every day? Or would she rather spend her time healing and comforting, helping people put themselves back together again?

Both ideas appealed to her immensely. In either capacity, she would be doing something useful and productive. Hopefully, her work in the hospital wing and the Auror Trials would give her enough taste for each job to help her make a decision.

Truth be known, she didn't really want to make a decision. She didn't want to leave Hogwarts.

Not yet, anyway.

*****

While Hermione was occupied with her extra duties in the hospital wing, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were gearing up for their match against Slytherin in mid-March. Harry and Ron seemed to have diffused their open hostility to indifferent tolerance in order to get through the rigorous training schedule that Harry had set up in the weeks prior to the match. The way the points stood at the moment, if Gryffindor beat Slytherin by at least 80 points they were virtually guaranteed the Quidditch Cup. (Though Slytherin still had Hufflepuff yet to play, Hufflepuff had not had a good season and was so far behind there was likely no chance of them overtaking Slytherin.)

The day of the match was sunny but cool and very windy. As this was Ron's last Gryffindor match, the entire Weasley clan, (except for Charlie, who had a batch of Romanian Longhorn eggs about to hatch, and trusted them to no one else), turned up to see him play. The sight of seven flame-haired Weasleys in the Gryffindor stands was quite impressive. Fred and George had even closed Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for the day in honour of Ron's last game.

Hermione was very uneasy about sitting with the Weasleys, remembering Mrs. Weasley's coldness to her in reaction to the infamous Rita Skeeter articles. Apparently, Ron hadn't told his mother or any of the rest of the family about their fight, since Mrs. Weasley greeted Hermione with a very affectionate hug.

"Arthur tells me that you and Harry are going through the Auror Trials," Mrs. Weasley said as they sat in the stands. "How is that going?"

"It's fine, so far," Hermione answered, not wanting to get too far into that discussion with Ron's mother. She caught a glance of Mr. Weasley, who was frowning slightly.

Kevin Entwhistle from Ravenclaw was calling the game again today. Professor Flitwick was seated behind him on his usual brown box, wand in hand, ready to poke Entwhistle in the head if he got out of hand. Professor Flitwick seemed to keep a little tighter rein on Entwhistle than Professor McGonagall had done back when Lee Jordan was commentator. Then again, Hermione doubted if it had actually been possible to keep a tight rein on Lee Jordan at all.

"Kind of sad, you know," said Ginny, as Ron and Harry flew out with the rest of the team, keeping a fair distance from each other. "Last time they'll play together, and they're not even speaking." She kept her voice low so that her family couldn't hear.

Hermione nodded. "I know." No use dwelling on it now though. All she could do was keep her fingers crossed and hope for the best, in the words of Ron's beloved Cannons. She had the Omnioculars that Harry had purchased for her at the Quidditch World Cup; she took them out of her pocket and held them to her eyes.

Harry circled high above the pitch and waved briefly in their direction before turning his attention to Malfoy. The Slytherin Seeker seemed to have recovered from his mysterious absence of a few weeks before and now sneered malevolently in Harry's direction. Ron flew up the pitch and back again, made a few laps of the hoops, and settled into position. He looked anxious but excited as he waved to his family.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to today's game - Gryffindor versus Slytherin!" Entwhistle announced, and Madam Hooch came out onto the field with her broomstick under one arm and the crate with the balls in the other. As Entwhistle called out the players' names and positions, Harry and Malfoy flew down to Madam Hooch, dismounted their brooms, and shook hands briefly at her request. They mounted their brooms again and shot into the air, hovering over the Chasers and Beaters below.

Madam Hooch let out the Bludgers, which shot violently from the crate, and the tiny Snitch, which whizzed about Harry's and Malfoy's heads before zooming out of sight. Then she tossed the Quaffle into the air.

A Slytherin Chaser snatched the Quaffle, and the game erupted quickly into the most vicious Quidditch match Hermione had ever seen. Ron defended the hoops with his usual fierce determination; after several attempts by the Slytherin Chasers to score, it was apparent that they were going to have no more success scoring against him than Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw had this year.

Slytherin's Keeper, Malcolm Baddock, was just as determined as Ron, however, and the Gryffindor Chasers found themselves blocked at every single opportunity. Natalie McDonald was an excellent flier, but even she could not get past Baddock to score, and she took her frustration out by yelling at the Slytherin Keeper. Hermione, of course, was too far away to hear what was said, but her Omnioculars gave her a good look at the fourth year's face and she could tell that it was a most unladylike stream of swear words.

It soon became obvious that this game was going to come down to who could catch the Snitch first. Both teams' Beaters aimed the Bludgers at the Seekers with astounding viciousness. Harry and Malfoy dodged the Bludgers easily, staying above the chaos below with almost ballet-like grace. They had played each other so many times and knew each other's movements so well that neither fell for the bluffs or diversions of the other.

"I don't think our matches ever lasted this long," said George Weasley, who was sitting in front of Hermione and Ginny with Fred and Angelina. "They've been playing for a good two hours now."

"My first year, the Gryffindor-Slytherin match lasted five hours," said Bill, who was seated on Hermione's other side, sporting his usual long ponytail and fang earring. "Harry's dad was here then, playing Chaser. Don't think I ever told Harry about that."

"Five hours!" exclaimed Hermione. "You've got to be kidding!"

She looked through her Omnioculars again. Ron was still zealously guarding the hoops, but he was beginning to look tired. The late afternoon sun was getting lower on the horizon, and it was at such an angle that he had to squint to see clearly. The wind picked up even more than before, and the players began to have trouble staying on course. Harry and Malfoy, especially, since they often flew higher than the rest of the players while on the lookout for the Snitch.

"Malfoy calls time-out for Slytherin!" yelled Entwhistle, who was going hoarse from two straight hours of commentary.

Both teams drifted to the ground at opposite ends of the pitch. The Gryffindor team erupted into a huge argument, the main participants being Natalie, Ron, and Harry. They shouted at each other in turn as Dennis Creevey tried to separate them and the three other team members stood there dumbfounded.

"What are they doing?" said Mrs. Weasley. "Yelling at each other like that! I've never seen Ron and Harry act that way before!"

Oh, if you only knew, thought Hermione, looking at Ginny, who shrugged guiltily and leaned over to whisper to her mother.

Hermione made an exasperated tutting noise and turned her Omnioculars to see what the Slytherins were up to. In contrast to the Gryffindors' bickering, the Slytherins stood quietly in a huddle and listened to Draco Malfoy attentively. Unlike Harry, who looked as if he were ready to explode, Malfoy stood calmly before his team, his Nimbus 3000 held lightly in one hand, the other gesturing elegantly through the air, with a small smirk on his pale face.

Ginny had Ron's Omnioculars from the Cup, and she too was looking at the Slytherins. She elbowed Hermione in the ribs. "I don't like the looks of Malfoy," she said; again low enough so that her mother couldn't hear. "He's up to something. Look at him - he's too calm."

Hermione agreed, looking again at the Gryffindor team. Dennis Creevey had finally managed to break up the argument (Hermione privately thought that he should be Captain next year; he wasn't the greatest player on the team, but he had a certain way of handling people) and the team seemed to be focused again on the game.

Finally Madam Hooch ended the time out, and the game resumed. The Slytherin team became a multitude of green blurs as they zipped around the pitch with apparently no pretence of strategy or logic. Only their Keeper and Seeker seemed to be doing their jobs; the Chasers and Beaters flew around randomly.

"What kind of play is that?" said Fred, making a face of disgust.

"Doesn't look like much," said Angelina. "What's the point of this?"

A great shout rose up from the stands - the Snitch had been spotted near the middle of the pitch - and Harry and Malfoy both dove for it at the same moment.

"Come on Harry! Knock him out of the way!" yelled Bill. He, Percy, and Mr. Weasley were on their feet shouting and cheering Harry.

Malfoy and Harry were racing neck and neck for the Snitch - then Malfoy inexplicably looked away from the golden ball for a moment, making some sort of gesture to his teammates -

"What the hell is Malfoy doing?" shouted Fred.

"NO!" screamed Ginny, leaping to her feet. "RON!"

A Slytherin Beater lobbed a Bludger directly at Ron, and Ron didn't see it coming.

He wouldn't be able to get out of the way.

The Bludger slammed into Ron's stomach, catching him totally by surprise. For a moment, he held onto his broom with a stunned expression, then his eyes rolled back in his head and his face went slack; he let go of his broom, falling backward. His body slammed violently against the metal hoop behind him and plummeted downward as his broom floated higher and higher into the sky.

Hermione couldn't move...

Ron was falling fifty feet straight down, and she couldn't do anything...

He was going to...

She couldn't look...

Then another red-robed figure - it's Harry, how did he get over there so fast - swooped down and caught Ron - but not in enough time to keep both of them from crashing to the ground in a tangle of scarlet and gold and broken broomstick, finally tumbling to a stop in the sandy scoring area.

Mrs. Weasley fainted - Percy and Mr. Weasley caught her before she hit the stands.

Entwhistle shouted that Malfoy had caught the Snitch, giving Slytherin the win, but Hermione barely noticed as shoved her way down out of the stands - difficult because everyone was screaming and shouting and standing on tiptoe to see what was happening - and ran out onto the pitch, with Ginny, Bill, Fred and George right behind her.

Ron was lying face up, just feet from the hoops.

He wasn't moving.

Harry was kneeling at Ron's side; Hermione dropped to her knees beside him, dimly aware of the crowd that was beginning to surround them.

"Dammit...he's not breathing...." she heard Harry say, and she saw a trickle of blood come from the corner of Ron's mouth.

He's probably bleeding internally, she thought, and began ripping Ron's robes open. She heard Professor McGonagall, and someone else - probably Professor Snape - trying to talk to her, asking what she was doing, but she ignored them; so did Harry, who was trying to breathe air into Ron's lungs.

Hermione put her hands flat on Ron's stomach, just above his navel, where the Bludger had hit, closed her eyes, and concentrated with all her might. She had to stop herself from recoiling when she discovered just how badly Ron had been hurt. In her mind she could see everything, every damaged organ, every broken rib - there was so much blood - she worked frantically, channelling the healing energy from her fingers as fast as she could. She could feel his chest rising and falling under her fingers, but she knew he wasn't doing it on his own; it was Harry breathing for him.

Somehow, as she was healing him, she was taking on some of his pain. If this was only some, she couldn't imagine what he felt like before she got there; it was so overwhelming she felt as if she were drowning. Her thoughts became sharp, brief fragments, cataloguing his injuries, back injury...ruptured spleen...punctured lung...forcing the healing energy where it was needed most.

Hang on just a little longer Ron...I'm working as fast as I can...you're going to make it.

This was harder than anything she'd ever done before; harder than her journey into Harry's mind, harder than being hit with the Lassus and Adflictius Curses, harder than anything she'd thought possible. Something was wrong, though; as fast and as hard as she was working, she felt she wasn't doing anything; she'd fix one problem only to have another appear in its place.

Hermione reached out with her mind as she worked, to see if Ron could hear her.

Nothing.

She couldn't feel his mind at all...not a whisper of a thought or glimmer of consciousness, and she began to panic.

Ron...stay with me.

She pushed the energy harder; her head spun with the effort, and she felt sick, but still didn't stop.

Fight back, damn you!

The energy was running out. She'd pushed as far as she could, but there wasn't much left. Dizziness, nausea, and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her; she tried to fight it, to ignore it, but it grew worse. As if from very far away, she heard Harry, calling Ron's name and sobbing; Ginny screaming; Professor McGonagall exclaiming "Oh my goodness!"; she felt strong hands, so much like Ron's (Bill's? Fred's? George's? Mr. Weasley's?) on her shoulders, trying to pull her away from Ron; but she couldn't let go, wouldn't let go, she had to keep going....

And then she collapsed.