Those Wrong, Yet it's Right, Things

Chapter 17

Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.

~J.R.R. Tolkien

Three Years Later....

"Harry, I can't believe you're doing this again." Harry Potter rolled over in his bed, trying to drown out his friend's words. It wasn't even eight in the morning yet.

"Harry Potter, are you listening to me?" The shrill tone, demanding attention, almost made Harry laugh.

"Yes, Hermione, I hear you." Harry finally surrendered to his friend's will and rolled over before forcing himself out of bed. "Morning, Ron," he directed to the sleepy redhead seated on the chair in his room.

"Morning, mate. Don't worry, she woke me up too."

"The both of you! Honestly! You can't spend your whole lives drinking firewhiskey and throwing bottle caps at my cat all day. You need to get out of Grimmauld Place." Hermione was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed in front of her chest, perfectly awake since she rolled out of bed at five that morning.

Harry pulled on a robe and settled himself at the end of his bed, readying himself for another "Hermione Episode."

"It's about time you both got jobs. Harry, you can't live on your inheritance forever, and Ron, you can't live off of Harry forever."

"Hey! Harry just lets me live here, I buy the food...and the firewhiskey," Ron put in unabashed.

"With whose money?"

Ron flinched. Hermione Granger was doing that annoying tapping with her foot thing again. "Ginny's."

"Your sister works hard at her job and you just use her money to indulge your laziness? You're pathetic, Ronald Weasley." Harry tried to hold back a laugh. He loved it when Hermione gave them the 'It's Time to Grow Up' speech.

He quickly stifled a chuckle and slouched a bit more as Hermione rounded on him.

"I'm serious this time, Harry. And what's this I hear about you going back to the Malfoy Manor this morning?"

Not missing a beat, Ron shockingly asked, "And you didn't invite me, mate?"

"Harry," Hermione quieted her reprimanding tone and placed herself on the bed next to him, "you can't keep doing this. The war's over, Harry; it's been three years. For once you're allowed a normal life. I thought you'd be jumping at the opportunity, but all you and him,"--she shot a glance at Ron--"have been doing is sitting around here talking about the good ol' days."

"You should try it sometime, 'Mione," Ron put in. "You could use a little relaxation."

Making a space in her lips where she released a frustrated breath to push some stray hair out of her face, Hermione stiffly replied, "I'm fine, thanks. Listen, I can give you both jobs at the bookstore. All these new updated history books are pouring in and I could use more hands. I'll pay you both."

"Done," Ron said. Hermione smiled triumphantly. "Sorry, mate, but it has gotten awfully boring around here lately," Ron said apologetically towards Harry.

Harry smiled. "I'll pass, Hermione."

"Harry...."

"I know you mean the best." Harry stood and started towards the bathroom. "If you don't mind, I have to get ready."

"Harry, why are you going back there?" she asked. "Not even the Minister's been able to get in the Malfoy Manor. Lucius Malfoy must've placed dozens of dark wards on there before the attack on Hogwarts. It's no use, Harry."

"Yeah. If there's anyone in there, it's obvious they want to be left alone," Ron said.

"Dumbledore's coming with me this morning. We're going to try to break through them again. Last time we nearly did it." Harry leaned against the doorframe, still trying to shake the sleep from his eyes.

"Nearly isn't enough. Listen, after the war Malfoy and whoever was left took off. They're probably living on his family fortune basking in the fact that you're dead."

"He thinks he killed you, mate! Sodding Malfoy thinks he bloody killed you!" Ron laughed at this, slapping his hand on his thigh. "He doesn't know that the prophecy meant only Voldemort could kill you! Besides old age and you know, other diseases," Ron added.

"Point being," Hermione quickly put in before Ron got carried away, "the Malfoy Manor's abandoned. I don't what you're looking for."

"Yeah, mate, let's bring you back from the dead, eh?" Ron was referring to alerting the wizarding world that their hero wasn't lost. Years ago they'd reported Harry had died, even had a funeral, in order to stop any further attacks. Three years and the world still didn't know Harry had simply been lounging around in Grimmauld Place with his best friend.

When Harry didn't say anything, Hermione decided to venture on a topic they'd all tried to forget. "She's not going to be there, Harry."

Harry picked himself up off the doorframe and entered the bathroom, setting his hands on the edge of the sink and letting it support him.

"Malfoy probably killed her years ago, Harry, for what she done," Ron added.

He felt Hermione's hand on his shoulder and shrugged it off. "I know you don't want to believe it, Harry, but she's gone. There's nothing you can do."

"I'm not giving up until I get inside that manor, Hermione." Retreating, she headed to the door, Ron standing slowly from his chair and stumbling after her.

"What are we going to tell the papers?" she asked quietly.

"Tell them whatever you like, just leave me out of it. I'm not ready to rise from the dead yet." He slammed the bathroom door, unanswered questions lingering in the air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He'd finally made a point to come visit her again.

"I heard you're not eating," he said, closing the door behind him.

"Long time no see," she responded.

"I've been busy." He carried a plate over to her. Pansy could see the steam rising off the top and felt her mouth water. Quickly, she swallowed thickly and looked away.

"I'm glad to see you're just as stubborn as always," he said with a slight chuckle. "But I'm not going to let you starve yourself. I'll force-feed you if I have to, and we both know that wouldn't be pretty."

When he was close enough, Pansy spit on the food and crossed her arms in front of her, the chains rubbing against her bare arms.

Draco laughed. "Three years and you still won't let me take you from this room." He set the plate down in the corner, just near enough for her to reach it.

"I'd rather stay in here than end up in your bed."

"Every king needs his queen, Pansy." Draco glanced down at her, a disgraced look lingering in his eyes. She knew what he saw. The ratty hair, chopped short from a knife fight with Goyle two years ago, when she'd actually cared enough to fight back. The torn clothes, one hole big enough for her arm to fit through. He saw the person no one would have ever expected Pansy Parkinson to be. But truth be told, the person sitting before him was not that girl.

"You are no king," she said simply a moment later.

Angry now, he replied as he always did, "By the time I rise to power you will be mine."

"I've said it before and I'll tell your ego it again: je ne serai jamais à toi." I will never be yours.

Crouching again, his expensive, Italian shoes mocking her, reminding her of a person she was so long ago, he simply smirked. "And I'll say it again, love. Oui, tu seras."

She merely spit in his face, despite the dryness in her mouth. Draco laughed again. "For someone so sophisticated you've certainly become an animal."

"Better an animal than a monster."

He clucked his tongue. "I'm allowing your parents to see you today. They'll be bringing the cane. Perhaps they can change your mind."

"Jamais." Never.

"We'll see." Standing, he headed towards the door before turning back to her. "Your precious Potter is gone. What are you waiting for?"

She brought her dead, cold blue eyes to meet his, her dirty hair falling into her face. "Death."