Bear Me Safely Over

****************************

Bear Me Safely Over

Chapter One: The Introduction

***************************

Hermione was gasping for breath as she ran along side Harry towards the ominous looking building. She wished they could Apparate, but like Hogwarts, Apparation was limited for safety purposes. Besides, she wasn't sure she was in such a hurry to get there anyway. There was nothing overtly wrong with this new meeting place, but it gave off a sinister air, as if it knew that covert meetings were being held within its walls.

"Why do they always pick these kinds of places? Why don't they ever landscape? Or plant a nice row of Tulips in the front? Our meeting places always seem to scream 'clandestine meeting to save the wizarding world held here!'" Harry said, obviously trying to keep her mind off her aching muscles and burning lungs.

Hermione, who probably would have smiled if she hadn't felt like she was about to drop from exhaustion, scowled slightly when she realized that he wasn't even breathing hard. His stride was much longer than hers, but she knew that he was making an effort to go slower so she could keep up.

But then again, he should stay with her since it was his fault that they were late in the first place. She had waited rather impatiently while Harry had tried to comb his hair before they left, which was always a bit of minor catastrophe. At her very kindest, Hermione would describe Harry's hair as rumpled. Most days it was a disaster, and Harry seemed to have given up on it a long time ago. Tonight was different though, because Harry had decided that since he was meeting with the younger trainees tonight, he ought to try to look a bit more authoritative.

A few hours ago, he had disappeared for a while, returning shortly after with a dust-covered suit that had definitely seen better days. The proud glint in his eyes had prevented her from saying anything, and she bit her lip when he emerged from their bedroom fully dressed. Harry had obviously not worn the suit in ages. She could see bands of tanned skin peeking out from between his pants and his white running sock clad feet, which he had carelessly stuffed into scuffed loafers which were probably Weasley hand-me-downs.

She didn't have the heart to say anything about it then, and it was too late now. Hermione shook her head. There was no use dwelling on it. Harry had already reached the door, and was finishing up the code, an elaborate system of knocks and taps that Dumbledore had developed for the Order. The door swung open automatically and they followed the sound of voices to the sitting room at the end of the long, narrow foyer lit by a solitary dusty sconce. Entering the room, Hermione's eyes immediately fell on Remus, whose eyes, dark and shadowed with pain, were underlined by sickly, bruise-like shadows. He had never quite recovered from Sirius' death, and had been looking increasingly tired and withdrawn since. Even now, thinking about Sirius brought sharp pangs to her heart. She glanced over at Dumbledore, and acknowledged the small, but polite nod that he directed at her.

Hermione gave the new members a weak smile that she hoped didn't look strained. Each year, the number of new members shrank. Although she would never voice her opinion aloud, Voldemort was just becoming too powerful. If his powers kept growing, in a few years, even Dumbledore wouldn't be able to challenge him. Few people understood that Voldemort's true power was not the raw magic he could harness, but the growing mental hold he had over the people. Anyone that Voldemort couldn't cajole, he punished ruthlessly. Not many were willing to speak up against him anymore. And from the slightly disappointed look on Harry's face, she could tell that he knew it, too.

Hermione sat down on the sofa next to Remus, who offered her a tired, half-hearted smile. She watched silently as Harry moved to the center of the room to address the new members. She smiled slightly. She could tell that he was nervous, although she could have also told him that there was no reason to be. Even from across the room, she could see the hero worship in their eyes. These people weren't here because they believed in the "good and noble" cause, they were here because they believed in Harry. He was the sort of person who could give everyone hope.

Hermione settled in for a long night.

***

She started slightly when Remus lightly touched her arm to signal that the meeting was over. Flushing when she realized that he knew that she hadn't been listening, she offered Remus an apologetic smile. Instead of returning her smile, he patted her hand in his quiet, understanding way. Truthfully, she rarely listened to Harry give his speeches anymore; she had heard them all a million times.

As the members began filing out, Hermione stood, and felt the small pops in her back from sitting so long. Merlin, she felt old. Looking at all the new, eager faces made her feel worn. As she turned, she met Harry's eyes from across the room. He looked young and fresh, revitalized by the new group. Not for the first time, she felt a stab of envy. Where did he get all his energy? Almost simultaneously though, she felt a bit ashamed at her unkind thoughts, and if she was truthful to herself, a bit apprehensive. Envy was dangerous. Envy could easily turn to resentment. And where did resentment get anybody? It certainly hadn't done anything for Peter Pettigrew or Draco Malfoy.

She wrapped her arms around herself; thinking about those two made her shiver. Though they were on Voldemort's "winning" side, those names were synonymous with treachery.

"Cold?" Harry murmured in her ear, his hands rubbing her arms. Hermione jumped; she hadn't heard him approach. Ever since his Auror training, he moved around the house like a ghost. Sometimes he would purposely stomp around the house just to make noise, because he knew how much his silence unnerved her. She didn't contradict him.

Harry affectionately kissed the top of her head, then turned to take the chair that he had brought over and set next to Dumbledore. Now, it was just the four of them, and the real reason for the meeting could be broached.

"We have received reports detailing the whereabouts of the next Death Eater meeting," Dumbledore began. Hermione, sensing where this was going, spoke up. "What is Harry going to do there? It's not like he can stop the whole lot of Death Eaters by himself."

"The both of you," Dumbledore replied, looking meaningfully at Hermione, "are to attend this meeting." Hermione noticed that he didn't ask them; it was an order.

"There will be some spell work needed, and Hermione, you would need to see to that. Your objective," and here, Dumbledore paused, casting a troubled look at Harry, "is to kill Draco Malfoy."

***

Beside her, she felt Harry stiffen.

During their seventh year at Hogwarts, seemingly overnight, the animosity between the two of them had dissipated. No one really knew why, not even her, and neither of them was offering any explanations. As the weeks progressed, they started spending the time that used to be reserved for scuffles and heated arguments, studying in the library or flying around the quidditch pitch. Towards the end of the year, they had seemed inseparable, and surprisingly, Malfoy had decided to become an Auror with Harry. Despite their differences, they worked well together, and they probably would have been partners. Their friendship was as strong and their rivalry had been and both seemed strangely content.

Everything changed the day Draco disappeared. Harry had been frantic, Hermione remembered. He had dragged her to see Dumbledore to tell him that Draco was missing. But Dumbledore had been tight-lipped and unwilling to discuss it further with either one of them, and adamantly maintained that Draco had left willingly. Harry hadn't wanted to believe it at the time. Harry was someone who constantly seemed to defy the odds; he often fought destiny and won. But not always. Despite what everyone told him, he would never believe Draco was guilty. Harry was sure that Draco had been tricked into leaving or was perhaps under Imperius. Both Hermione and Dumbledore knew better. There were spells against such things. The walls of Hogwarts were a sanctuary that no one could leave unless it was truly his or her wish.

Hermione had been the only one willing to explain that to Harry.

If she could pinpoint one of the most tragic moments in her life, the moment that Harry understood the full extent of Draco's betrayal would be at the top. There was something in Harry that seemed to deflate; something that shriveled and folded in on itself. Despite being shy and rather introverted, Harry was born with the ingrained knowledge that people loved him. Even with his nightmarish upbringing with the Dursleys, Harry sensed that there was more than what he had been given; that he was important. His dead, sainted parents had left a mark of love on his psyche that gave him so much more than other people who had to be assured of their worth. And because of that, Harry had never been truly alone. Something had changed. He had put all of his faith in Draco, and watched him throw it away. Now, Harry really was alone.

Then Malfoy had turned up a few months later in the service of Voldemort, who, alive but weakened, was unable to harness the magic needed to perform even simple spells. Therefore, he had to link himself to someone who was strong enough for the both of them. That's where Draco came in. Voldemort had bonded himself to Draco so that he could use Draco's energy to draw the magic needed for spell casting.

Bonding was the worst kind of dark magic; it linked their very souls. There was nothing inherently wrong with bonding souls, after all, the spell had begun as a simple part of a marriage ceremony. But as with all spells, it was the intent that made it dark. Their lives were forever intertwined; if one died, they both would. To bond was to rob a person of their individuality. The souls were leashed together, and over time, they would bleed over, the two becoming indistinguishable.

If Hermione was a gambling sort of witch, she would bet that's what Dumbledore was counting on. They were going after Draco, the less guarded of the two. Harry was going because at one time, they had been friends, and would probably be able to get the closest to Draco, and she was meant to finish the mission if Harry should fail. Sometimes, Hermione secretly wondered if Dumbledore had a sadistic streak. Logically, she had to admit that eliminating Malfoy would be the wisest strategy. With both Draco and Voldemort down, the rest of the Death Eaters would scatter and eventually disband. Hopefully. There were a lot of possible holes in the plan. But no matter what Draco had done, he had still been Harry's friend. Harry, who grew up isolated and alone, held a stubborn belief in all of his friends until the very end. Harry still couldn't let Draco go. The heavy reigning silence was suddenly broken by the loud clatter of a chair hitting the floor as Harry stalked out of the room. A few seconds later, she heard the front door slam.

She wanted to go after him, but she had learned long ago to leave him alone. She had hoped something would change with their marriage, but two years later, Harry still pulled away from her during tough times, only to return weeks, months, or however long it took him to get over his new issue, acting as if nothing was ever amiss. She had given up trying to reach him and just waited for him to come back to her.

She didn't have a long wait this time. About fifteen minutes later, Harry came back in, hair tousled and cheeks pink, as he sheepishly muttered "Didn't bring my coat or wand."

Suppressing a smile, Dumbledore faced to them once again. His eyes turned grave as he steadily met Harry's gaze. "We picked you because we thought that your ties with Mr. Malfoy would be to your advantage. He paused. "But if you feel that you absolutely cannot take this mission, you are not obligated."

Hermione grasped Harry's cold hands in hers, rubbing gently over callouses made hard by years of throwing hexes. He took a deep breath and dropped his eyes to the small, pale hands encircling his. Whatever he saw, he seemed to find what he was looking for; He raised his eyes to meet the older man's blank expression. "I'll do it."

Dumbledore's sympathetic blue eyes sparked with no small amount of satisfaction, and Hermione thought, a bit of sadness. He swung his gaze to Hermione, silently asking her acquiesce, even though they both knew that she would go wherever Harry went. She nodded slightly anyway.

A few months ago, Hermione would have thought that the plan was brilliant, and would have volunteered herself to go on the assignment. But now, all she felt was a sick apprehension deep in her gut, a foreshadowing of things worse to come.

***

Draco hated windows. The dungeons at Hogwarts had very few, and those that they did have were small and unobtrusive, like the ones at Malfoy Manor.

In a silly sort of way, windows represented something good to him, something beyond what he was; possibilities, maybe. But they were vulnerable, wide open like the sky, and just as untouchable.

Whenever he thought of the sky, he thought of Harry Potter, who always looked so much more comfortable in mid-air than on the ground in his own skin. Harry Potter was untouchable, or so people thought. Perhaps that's why Potter had offered him his friendship seventh year. Draco Malfoy had never respected much of anything, and he certainly didn't respect Potters' fame. Draco alone understood that Harry Potter was touchable, if one didn't mind being burned. Sometimes Harry seemed like the sun: radiant, blinding, and at others times, he was the moon: merely reflecting back the good opinion of others.

But in here it didn't matter, and he hated thinking too much and over-analyzing. So that's why he didn't question the fact that he kept the window open, though the cold air made him shiver in the light robes and he had a natural aversion to windows in general, because it reminded him of Harry, just a little bit.

****************************

To be continued...

****************************