Revenge and Rebirth

Nearly a year later, Harry sat next to Hermione in the waiting room at St. Mungo's ward for the treatment of mental diseases. Ron had committed himself, for which everyone was thankful, and Harry felt that the worst was past, that Ron's obsession had reached its zenith that day in the cavern. He was making steady progress, after all, and there were no signs of remission. Harry himself had spent some time in St. Mungo's after the last encounter with Voldemort. He shuddered a bit in spite of himself at the recollection: although there was no doubt that he had destroyed Voldemort's physical form, he still remembered the look on Voldemort's flickering face as his body died, and his last words.

"This is not the end, Potter. You haven't found them all. I... will.. rise.. again..."

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Draco turned on his heel and glanced back at himself in the mirror. Not a hair out of place, as usual. A harsh, jarring laugh shattered the silence that lay like dust on the cavern rocks, but the small chamber was far beneath the haunted lake, and not a fragment of sound reached the surface to make its way to Harry Potter's listening ears.

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Back at the Burrow, Harry tossed in his bed and finally sat up, resigned to the fact that he would get no more sleep that night. He glanced over to where Fred and George were slumbering peacefully in their beds. Neither so much as twitched, and Harry thought suddenly how good it was to have it all be over, at least for the moment.

All over. Well, for two of them it is, anyway. Harry's conscience prickled at the thought. He wouldn't have minded killing Malfoy himself, after all he'd done he certainly deserved it, but remembering the way he had walked unhesitatingly into the lake of Inferi after his mother still gave Harry's stomach a twist at odd moments. It made him think uneasily of parallels he didn't want to draw. There were people, he told himself firmly, that everyone relied on and trusted, who fought against the darkness and saved the world from its clutches. People like him, Harry Potter. Then there were people who were sheer evil, through and through, irredeemable sorts who existed only to keep up the interminable struggle, and one of those was Draco Malfoy. Or had been. Harry sighed and went downstairs, treading carefully on the steps so as not to wake the Weasleys.

Hermione was standing outside in the moonlight. She turned, smiling when she saw who it was.

"You too, huh?"

He shrugged.

"The moon's too bright. It wakes me up."

He didn't know if she believed his excuse or not, but she nodded, turning back to look out across the silver landscape.

"Harry?"

"Mmm."

"Do you think Ron will be all right?"

"Yeah." He turned to face her.

"Yeah, I do."

"He's got a lot to work through. I don't know..." Hermione sighed and rested her forehead on her hand for a moment.

Harry frowned but said nothing.

"Do you suppose Mrs. Weasley blames herself? I don't know--I thought she'd always been fine with not having much, you know? But she said the other day that she used to say things about money, sometimes in front of Ron, and she thought that might have helped start him thinking the way he did."

Harry turned a piece of wood over and over in his hands.

"I don't think any of us saw how much it got to him. Even you and I, 'Mione, we were--are--his closest friends, but I don't think he ever showed us all of it."

"I suppose not." Hermione looked down over the railing, then turned to face him.

"We did all we could, didn't we, Harry? In the cavern, I mean, with Malfoy and his mum."

Harry looked down but didn't answer immediately. When he looked up, his eyes were no more certain than hers.

"That's what I tell myself, 'Mione. It's what I have to believe."

"You did, anyway--as soon as you saw Ron meant it, you had your wand out. You would have saved her, wouldn't you, Harry? Even though she's a Malfoy?"

"Yes." Harry's eyes were less troubled for a moment.

"That I am sure of, if nothing else. I wouldn't have let her die, not like that, if I could have stopped it."

"But we didn't stop Draco. We just...let him go."

Harry's fingers tightened around the piece of wood, but weren't quite strong enough to snap it. His mouth tightened.

"He wouldn't have let us stop him. Would you, if it had been your mum?"

"God, Harry!"

"Well, at least he had her for a few years! I never got to know mine. And look at Ron--his dad and brother killed by Lucius Malfoy. I don't think it was right, what he did, and I'm sorry I was part of it, but there it is. I can't say I don't understand how he felt."

Hermione just looked at him, until he couldn't meet her eyes anymore and had to look down.

"Sorry, 'Mione. I know you feel pretty strongly about the whole thing."

"And you don't?" Hermione's voice was tense and a wisp of hair blew unnoticed across her eyes as she watched him. He made an exasperated noise.

"Look, I---well, of course I do! But it's done, isn't it? There's nothing anyone can do about it now."

She gave him a long look before turning away.

"No, I guess not. Good night, Harry."

"Night, Hermione."