The Last Time

Chapter 31

The other Gryffindors in the common room were staring, but at a glare from Harry, they hastily went back to their books and conversations.

In a few quick steps, Harry and Hermione were at the dormitory door, which was locked.

"Ron, please open the door," said Hermione.

No answer.

"Come on, Ron," Hermione pleaded. "Let us in."

"Ron, open the bloody damn door!" said Harry. "If you don't, I will."

Still no answer.

Harry set to work taking the charms off the door. "I don't know why we bother locking the damn doors," he muttered, "as we all know each other's Locking Charms anyway...."

"When a door's locked, it means stay out," grunted Ron when they opened the door. His trunk was open on the bed, and he was summoning things from the closet and cramming them in the trunk haphazardly.

"Tough," said Harry. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Ron said, waving his wand at the Chudley Cannons posters on the wall by his bed.

"It looks like you're packing," said Hermione, as the posters flew off the wall, rolled themselves up, and dropped into his trunk.

"Ten points to Gryffindor!" said Ron sarcastically. "Brilliant observation, Hermione."

Harry looked shocked. "Why?"

"If I wanted you to know, I'd tell you," Ron said, waving his wand at a stack of books on the table.

"Will you stop this already and tell us what's wrong?" said Hermione.

"No. Get out of my way."

"It's obvious that something's wrong with you, Ron - you broke up with Natalie, you sent Malfoy to the hospital wing in a drunken stupor, now you come in here packing like you're going to leave - please, please talk to us, tell us what it is, we're your friends, we can help - "

"The only way you can help me is to get out of my way," he said gruffly, slamming his trunk shut.

"Stop it!" Hermione yelled, stamping her foot. She snatched his wand out of his hand. "Stop being so hard-headed and tell us what's going on! I can't stand it!"

"You can't stand it?" bellowed Ron, his face darkening with rage. The words burst out of his mouth as if he'd been damming them up behind a rapidly crumbling wall that just couldn't hold them back anymore. "You want to know what I can't stand? People with their stupid fake sympathy, feeling sorry for poor Ron Weasley."

Hermione stepped back, shocked by the fury and pent-up misery in his voice.

Ron's voice shot into a high, mocking falsetto. "Oh, poor Ron. He's handling this so well, don't you think? He's so brave, isn't he? I feel so sorry for him, this must be so awful...he had such a promising Quidditch career, don't you know? And now look at him, poor thing. So unfortunate."

"Who cares what people say?" said Hermione.

"I care," snapped Ron. "Every time I turn a bloody corner, there's someone whispering and staring and I'm sick of it."

"Just ignore them."

Ron slammed his fist on the arm of his wheelchair. "I've been ignoring them since I got back here, and I've had enough!"

"Who said it, Ron? Who was it?" said Harry.

"Why, Harry, so you can go off and drown them in the lake? I don't need you fighting my battles for me," Ron said bitterly.

Harry took a step back, looking as if he'd been slapped. "Well...fine then...I won't," he said hoarsely. "I've got enough on my mind as it is without worrying about who's hurting your feelings. I won't bother."

"Harry!" yelped Hermione, stunned at the venom behind his words.

"It's the truth!" Harry said fiercely. "Voldemort's back, in case you've forgotten!"

"I know! I was there too, in case you've forgotten!"

"And you've got yourself in a whole world of trouble for it!"

"Which gives you the perfect excuse to play the noble hero, doesn't it?" spat Hermione, furious and bewildered at the sudden ugliness of the situation. "You've been skulking about by yourself ever since then like some godforsaken martyr!"

Harry's eyes narrowed until only a thin bit of green was visible. "And you've been running about like you're my mum, bossing me around about studying and sleeping and keeping my appointments with the shrink, when I just want you to leave me alone!"

"Well, someone's got to keep up with you, because you're doing a lousy job of keeping up with yourself!"

"I can take care of myself just fine without your harping and nagging on every single thing I do!" Harry shouted.

"Sure you can, if you call falling asleep in class and drooling over your homework 'taking care of yourself.'"

"And you're both getting on my last bloody nerve!" barked Ron, glaring at them. "All you've done is dance around me and each other since the moment I got back, and it's annoying as hell. For two people who are supposedly 'together,' you sure act like you can't stand each other."

"We're not together," said Harry quickly, looking at Hermione as if daring her to contradict him.

She felt as if she'd swallowed a very large piece of ice. "No, we're not."

"Don't break up on my account," said Ron.

"We're not," said Harry and Hermione in unison.

There was a very uncomfortable silence.

Ron coughed nervously. "D'you mind giving me my wand, Hermione? I've got a lot of packing to do." He held out his hand, waiting.

Hermione slapped Ron's wand into his palm. "Fine. Ron, I wish you'd talk to me, but you won't and I can't make you, so go on and run away. It won't change anything. Your problems will still be there, wherever you run to. You just won't have anyone to help you sort them out."

She whirled around to look at Harry. Tears were burning the corners of her eyes but she would not cry, she was sick of crying and she would not do it anymore, especially not in front of Ron and Harry. "As for you - I - I don't have anything to say to you."

Harry just stood there, looking sullen, and Hermione was seized by a desperate urge to slap him, knock him in the head, or say something horrible - anything to get him to react, to yell at her, hit her, or react in any way besides stare. It was unnerving.

Ron had an elbow propped on the arm of his chair, resting his forehead in his hand, not looking at either of them. His silence was even more unnerving than Harry's; the old Ron - the Ron she knew - would have been ranting and raving still.

The silence was thick and oppressive, and finally Hermione couldn't stand it anymore. She backed up to the door, watching both of them as she went, looking for the slightest sign that either of them actually cared that she was walking out.

There was nothing.

She would have gone to the ends of the earth and back to help either of them, but it was obvious that they didn't need or want her help anymore.

Hermione grasped the doorknob with numb fingers. "Neither of you seem to value our friendship enough to fight for it," she said shakily, in a voice that sounded very strange to her, "and I'm tired of being the only one fighting."

Neither of them said a word as she left.

*****

The remaining few weeks of the school year flew by with astonishing swiftness. Hermione buried herself in her books and studies, ignoring the little voice inside her that nagged her to go and make things up with Harry and Ron. She wasn't talking to either of them, they weren't talking to her, and as far as she could tell, they weren't talking to each other, either.

The moment she'd walked out of the boys' dorm, she had decided that if they wanted to save their friendship, it was up to them. And as neither one of them had seen fit to approach her....

Only one good thing came from their argument: Ron had apparently changed his mind about leaving school prematurely. Whatever had caused him to want to leave in the first place, she never found out, but at least he had changed his mind.

The dreaded N.E.W.T.s finally arrived, with much gnashing of teeth and wailing from the seventh years throughout the castle. House rivalries were put aside in favour of mass cramming sessions in the library, for which Hermione was glad as it gave her an excuse to keep as far away from Harry and Ron as possible. They were doing the same to each other, she noticed.

Hermione went into auto-pilot, mindlessly regurgitating facts about almost every curse, charm, hex, potion, plant, goblin rebellion, rune, and everything else she'd learned in her seven years of magical education like an extremely efficient machine, filling roll after roll of parchment with her tiny, neat script. Flitwick's Charms exam was merciless; Hermione had a headache and a numb wand arm by the time she finished. Potions had the hardest practical exam; Snape had them prepare a dozen of the most complicated potions they'd studied from memory. To everyone's great surprise, Neville managed not to blow up a single cauldron during the session, which seemed to annoy Snape greatly.

Almost as difficult was the practical part of Professor Tenby's DADA exam, which was the last thing on Friday. Tenby had devised a series of dummies similar to the one she'd used on the very first day of class, each with different strengths and weaknesses, and students had to use their entire arsenal of defences to get past them. It was similar to Professor Lupin's obstacle course from third year, but much, much harder.

Now there was a whole week until exam results came out.

Then there would be the Leaving Feast and it would be all over.

This is not exactly how I pictured the end of my Hogwarts career, Hermione thought glumly, as she began packing her schoolbooks and some of her clothes into her trunk.

Beyond the immediate future, she didn't really have a plan. She would go Fred and Angelina's wedding the following evening, return to Hogwarts until the Leaving Feast, then spend a few days at home with her parents before going to London for the final round of Auror Trials. She almost didn't want to do it anymore, but she had invested so much time and effort in it already that it made no sense to stop now.

Besides, I don't quit.

Oh really? So what was that bit with you walking out on Harry and Ron about?

It was about me being sick of begging them to let me help them and getting repeatedly rejected for my trouble. They don't need me..

Aren't you the least bit worried about them? Aren't you worried about Harry not sleeping and worrying about Voldemort? Aren't you worried about Ron's moodiness and his vendetta against Malfoy? Don't you care?

OF COURSE I CARE. The question is, do they? Hermione angrily slammed a stack of old test papers and newspaper clippings into her trunk.

Why don't you go ask them?

Ron's off at the wedding rehearsal...and Harry...I don't know where Harry is.

Go look for him.

No.

GO.

Unable to ignore the voice of her conscience any longer, she abandoned her packing and set out to look for Harry. She checked the dormitory first, but just as she was about to knock, a series of breathless gasps that could only have been made by Lavender and Seamus told her that Harry was definitely not there, and she hurried away, ears burning.

Dean, Neville, and Parvati were in the common room with Colin, who had taken a stack of wizarding photographs of the seventh years and was handing them out as going-away tokens.

"Hi, Hermione!" said Colin cheerfully, waving a bundle of photos at her. "Come see, I'm sure I've got some great ones of you and Harry and Ron, just give me a sec...." He flipped through the stack of photos. A small vertical line formed between his brows about halfway through, getting deeper as he reached the end of the stack. He put the pile of photos aside, frowning, and reached for another stack, muttering. "I know there were some in here somewhere...."

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't, Colin. There won't be any. We've kind of, er - fought a lot this year."

"Sorry," he said genuinely, thumbing slowly through the pictures. "Here's a good one of Harry and Ron, though - d'you want it?"

She took the picture and put it carefully in the pocket of her robes without looking at it. "Thanks, Colin, really. Er, have any of you seen Harry?"

Dean and Parvati shook their heads.

"No," said Neville. "Did you check out by the Quidditch pitch?"

"I didn't think of it, Neville. Thanks." What she didn't say was that she didn't think of it because as far as she knew, Harry hadn't been up in the air since Ron's accident. But it was worth a look.

She left the tower, and went down through the castle and out the massive front doors. The sun had not quite set yet, and the sky was still tinged with deep orange and pink streaks over the distant Quidditch pitch.

Halfway down the wide stone steps, she heard the sound of someone crying. A girl, from what Hermione could tell. Who was it?

Was she in trouble?

The sound seemed to be coming from the garden area near the greenhouses. Deciding to abandon her search for Harry for the moment, Hermione took out her wand and followed the sound carefully, trying not to make too much noise on the gravel path.

Then she heard a voice - two voices, to be exact. One, a girl's voice, strangely familiar, but Hermione couldn't put a face with it at the moment, and another -

Harry's voice.

What in Merlin's name is Harry doing out here in the rose garden with a crying girl?

Several uncharitable thoughts flashed through her mind, but she pushed them away, and walked very carefully and quietly to the edge of the high hedges around the garden, taking care not to crunch the gravel under her feet.

The girl was crying again, harder and much louder this time, and Harry was talking very quietly to her. Hermione couldn't quite make out what he was saying, and she moved closer, until she could just barely peek around the hedge to see what was going on.

She clapped her free hand over her mouth to keep from yelping out loud when she realized who was sitting on the garden bench with Harry.

What is he doing out here with her?

It was Claire Murphy, the sweet little first year girl they had helped with her Transfiguration homework.

But she had changed so much Hermione barely recognized her.

When Hermione had met Claire, back in February, she had been a rather pretty, chubby cheeked girl with bright blue eyes and thick, soft blonde curls. The girl sitting beside Harry now had lost most of her chubbiness - in fact, her cheekbones jutted out harshly under her pale skin, and her hair was flat and limp. Her eyes were still big and round, but filled with utter misery and wretchedness.

What had happened to her?

Claire leaned forward and put her head in her hands, and her whole body shook with the force of her sobs. Harry patted her very awkwardly on the back, looking thoroughly miserable.

"Who will you be living with?" Harry asked her.

Hermione just barely made out Claire's response through the tears. "My grandparents. M-m-my sister is there n-n-now."

Harry frowned. "Are they...wizards?"

She nodded, and Harry's frown lessened somewhat. "I'm really sorry, Claire...there wasn't anything I could do."

Claire sat up furiously and swiped at her eyes with her sleeve. "He killed my parents! And my baby b-b-brother! He didn't even get to be born...he didn't do anything wrong..."

Who killed her parents? When?

Harry looked down at his shoes. "No, they didn't do anything wrong. They just happened to show up at the same place I did at a very bad time."

Claire blinked and sniffled.

"I would say I know how you feel, but I don't," Harry said. "I don't remember my parents, except in my dreams, and in pictures, but you...you had the chance to know and love your parents, and that's got to make you miss them all the more. But you've got your grandparents, and your sister. Don't forget that. Your sister - well, she's going to need you, you know."

She burst into a fresh wave of miserable tears. Harry looked bewildered as to what to do next - and Hermione could also see the slow-burning fury simmering in his eyes, the kind of fury that she only saw when Harry talked about his parents' death.

A sickening thought formed in Hermione's brain, and she felt her insides turn to ice.

No, that's too much of a coincidence. It can't possibly be....

But she had to know. Hermione turned and ran back to the castle - Claire's howling drowned out the sound of her feet on the gravel - and dashed back to Gryffindor Tower and up to her room, oblivious to the stares of her House-mates. She wrenched her trunk open and dug out the old tests and newspaper clippings she'd packed just a short time ago. Whatever possessed her to keep this particular clipping, she didn't know - but she stared in horror at the words that jumped off the page accusingly:

... two of the fourteen were Mary and Seamus Murphy, who were arriving at St. Mungo's for the birth of their third child...

The clipping fluttered to the floor as Hermione sat down hard on the bed.

Poor Claire...those were her parents....

It had been bad enough when she was thinking about what had happened to her, and to Harry. The hostages' deaths had upset her greatly, but in an abstract kind of way. She didn't know them, didn't know anything about them, but to be able to see the impact it had on someone else, someone totally innocent and uninvolved brought everything into a much sharper and more personal focus.

How long had Harry known that those were the parents of a fellow Gryffindor? Of course he would feel totally responsible, even though it wasn't his fault, something he wouldn't believe no matter how many times she repeated it.

Hermione's problems now seemed small and petty in comparison.