The Heiress

"What is that man doing?"

I squinted hard. "Falling on his arse, it looks like."

Hermione giggled a little as we watched a thickset Muggle scrape himself off the ground. We'd Apparated just in time to see his feet going flying up over his head, and he'd hit the ground rather hard, though his bum seemed to absorb a lot of the blow. When he'd gotten himself to rights and looked around and saw us, he put his head down and walked away as quickly as he could manage.

And that wasn't easy to do. The sun had gone down and it was freezing out, and all the rain that had fallen over the past week had hardened into a slick coating on the ground. Hermione and I had Stick-Sure potion on the bottom of our shoes to keep us from slipping, but even we moved carefully toward the little Muggle inn. The same bloke that had been standing outside when I'd come the first time was out there again, standing ramrod straight outside the door. His eyes flicked my way and I grinned.

"Hope your socks are warm at least, mate."

Two seconds later, it was the frozen bloke who was smiling while a balding Muggle went about "sorrying" Hermione and me back into the cold.

"So very sorry. Full for dinner, you know. Our apologies, but overnight guests do take priority. If you'd like to come back round to see if anyone has canceled their reservation, we'd be more than happy to accommodate. Deepest regrets. Thank you for visiting the Gainsver -"

"- Git." I hunched in my robes as a blast of frigid air sliced right through me. "Right. So now what?"

"W-we could go somewhere else." Hermione's teeth were chattering. "There must b-be other restaurants here ... it is Knightsbridge, after all."

That was true. There were plenty of other places to eat, most of them so over-the-top with lights and shiny things that they made Madame Puddifoot's look like the Cannons' changing room right after a game. Ginny once said it was by design - "Muggles want places with atmosphere." I thought it probably wasn't as complicated as all that; they just wanted a distraction from the grot they were eating and the prices they had to pay for them.

But we were out there, and I was getting hungry. I hadn't been lying to Harry about what I did and didn't have in my kitchen. It was quite heavy on the "didn't," really.

"Right, well, I guess we'd better get -"

"- Wait! Wait!"

A young, blond-haired bloke was rushing toward us, his arms spread wide. He looked so frantic that even the frozen git at the door unthawed just enough to let his jaw drop a little. I wasn't even sure he was talking to us, but then I recognised him as the same bloke who'd been puttering around me while I'd been talking to the person at the front desk.

"There seems to have been a mistake," he huffed when he got to us. "I was just looking over the ledger for dinner. Stephen wasn't quite correct in what he told you. Mr. Tintin apparently wishes to have his meal served in his rooms, so we do have space in the dining room, after all."

"Oh! Well that's very ..."

"Convenient," I muttered, giving him the once-over. His cheeks were red, but I didn't think the cold had anything to do with it. That wasn't what drew my attention, though. There was a familiar bulge at the side of his trousers, and his hand seemed to float over to that side, his fingers scrabbling like someone trying hard not to scratch an itch. I slid my hand into my cloak pocket, slipping my fingers through a strategically placed slit in the material. My wand flexed under my fingers, and I kept a loose hold there.

Hermione was still talking, and the bloke was grinning at his shoes. After a second, I relaxed a little, but I still kept my hand, wand-ready. The stupid, mushy smile on his face told me all I needed to know about why he'd gone after us. If I weren't so cold, I might've laughed - or shoved him face-first into the wet muck at the side of the street. That might've helped to get some of the red out of his cheeks. Hermione wasn't helping, either, fluttering her eyelashes at him the way she was.

"Are you still interested in dining? We'd be pleased to have you."

"Oh, absolutely. It was very kind of you to check again."

"The dining room opens at six. You're welcome to wait until the sitting room until then."

Hermione shook her head and threaded her arm through mine. "We were actually going to take a walk through the garden. It is still open, isn't it?"

"Er ... well, yes." Now he looked a little uncomfortable. He was staring at our linked arms, and I think it might've just dawned on the spotty little prat that Hermione and I probably weren't brother and sister.

"But it's for guests ... though, I suppose, since you'll be our guests for dinner, it'll be all right."

Hermione beamed, and the bloke's face went so gooey again that I half expected it to start melting down his neck.

"Do be careful walking. It is a bit slippery, I'm afraid."

"We will. Thank you again ...?"

She trailed off so that he could fill that part in for her. He just gawked, probably not able to remember it himself, right then. When she put a hand on his shoulder, I thought the poor sot was going to wet himself.

"E-Ethan," he breathed, just managing to keep upright. "It's my pleasure."

"Are you barking?" I hissed when she pulled me to where the garden met up with the rest of the grounds. "As cold as it is out here, you'd rather walk around a bunch of dead leaves than have a rest in front of a warm fire?"

"Ron, in case you have forgotten, we can do something about that."

She checked over her shoulder and then got out her wand, touching it to my cloak, and then hers. The warmth spread all through me, though it didn't quite get to my ears.

"Much better, isn't it? But if you wanted to go inside and sit down, we can."

"Doesn't matter. It'll give me more a chance to work up an appetite, I suppose."

We walked by a crumbling stone pillar and found ourselves in a walled stretch of wet ground. All around us were low bushes with purple or red berries hanging down. A few of the bushes were flowering, though the flowers looked rather frail and small. Vines crawled along the wall, ending in knotted twists right at the corners.

Everything else - the ground, the wall itself, and even the sky - looked soggy and colourless, but in a way, the blandness made the greens and reds stand out all the more. I remembered sloshing through the same garden the afternoon I'd found Hermione, but I felt as if I were in a totally different place. Then again, when I'd gone to look for her that time, I hadn't exactly been interested in sightseeing.

"I should have thought to do a Warming Charm before we left your flat. Thank goodness for Ethan."

"What does he have to do with anything?"

"He put the thought in my head." She pulled her arm from mine and gestured for me to follow her over a relatively dry bit of ground. "I'm sure you realise he's a wizard."

I stopped near a bush that had red flowers on the underside of the branches, hiding from the frost, it looked like.

"You saw it, too? The outline of his wand against his thigh?"

I wondered why he'd had such a clumsy-looking wand loop, bulging out that way. In training, we were taught how to best conceal our wands, but even non-Aurors tended to have less obvious holsters than that bloke had.

"No, though it was rather obvious in other ways." She shrugged. "He was able to run out to us without slipping once - he didn't even lose his balance. He either Stick-Sured his boots as we had, or more likely had a de-icing charm on it. I think I saw a bit of blue colour at his heels, which would have been the charm activating to melt the ice as he walked. Also, I could feel heat radiating from his jacket, but his nose was bright red with cold. I put my hand on his shoulder just to confirm that his cloak was warm. The one thing that does trouble me is that either Stephen didn't want us there or Ethan outright lied. The Gainsvert doesn't serve dinner in a guest's room. Breakfast, lunch and afternoon tea, yes, but not dinner. Maybe it was just an honest mistake. I just hope that Mr. Tintin wasn't Obliviated."

A sharp pain shot straight up to my head and I clenched my jaw to keep it from spreading.

"We're getting out of here right now. We might've just walked into a bloody trap -"

"Ron, really. It's no trap. It's all perfectly innocent, believe me. And he isn't the only wizard there."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I've spent quite a bit of time at the Gainsvert, even before you visited me there. It's ..." She stopped and then sighed. "It's where the Ministry kept me during the trial."

She walked a little ahead to inspect a bush, drawing her cloak tighter around herself, leaving me to think that one over. I'd known she'd been in a Muggle place somewhere, but I thought the Ministry would've put her someplace bigger, somewhere in central London, close to where they could keep a close eye on her.

Also, from bits and pieces I'd picked up here and there, I didn't think the Ministry had wanted Hermione to be comfortable. Safe, yes, but not comfortable. The Gainsvert - from what I'd seen of it - seemed like the type of place you could sink into and stay for yonks and not get tired of it. I wondered how the Wizengamot had even heard of the place.

"A Muggle woman and her wizard husband started the inn," she said when I'd caught up to her. "It's run as a Muggle establishment, and I believe much of the staff is made up of Muggles. Members of the family who work there, however, are mainly wizards and witches. I believe Minister Scrimgeour is connected to the family by marriage."

Well that answered that question. It didn't surprise me, either, that Scrimgeour would take any opportunity to throw a bit of business to people he knew. I thought about my first visit there and how the woman acted when I'd mentioned Hermione's name. One of their distinguished guests, she'd called her.

"There was an old woman who was at the desk when I came the first time. Is she a -"

"No. She's the Muggle widow of the wizard who opened the Gainsvert. I believe that Ethan is her grandson."

Hermione straightened. She had a small white flower in her hand, and she brought it up to her nose. "I thought I recognised him when we walked in, but I wasn't sure. He's grown a great deal since I've seen him last."

"Eh? Well, maybe that wasn't his wand that I noticed, after all."

She rapped me on the wrist, and I winced. The cold made it sting more than it would have otherwise.

"I meant that he was a child the last time I saw him. He'd just started Hogwarts - sorted into Hufflepuff, I believe. A very sweet boy. We often had tea together, and I helped him with his Arithmancy assignments."

"So I suppose his tongue was hanging out the way it was because of his fond memories of you guiding him through the New Theory of Numerology?"

"Oh, really, Ron. He probably doesn't even remember me that well. It was just a schoolboy crush anyway. Besides, I'm quite a bit older now."

"Some blokes like an older woman."

"You would know about that, I suppose. How is Madam Rosmerta getting on?"

Right. I suppose I walked right into that one. She smirked and tugged me over to a set of feathery stalks that ended in pinkish flowers, and then pointed out a fat jug-shaped shrub that had purple leaves on the bottom.

"They have to be using magic for all of this," I said, fingering one of the leaves on the purple plant. "How else would flowers be able to survive in this sort of weather? That was the best part of winter for me, besides Christmas - being at home and not having to worry about degnoming the front yard."

"There isn't any magic. This is a winter garden; these plants and flowers flourish in the cold. They die in the spring - replaced by familiar things, like roses and violets and daffodils."

I grunted. "No joy for whoever has to take care of all this."

"That's just it. No one has to do anything." She walked a little ahead of me, turning her head from side to side. "Though they're beautiful and many of them smell heavenly, much of these plants are considered weeds in the Muggle world. They can exist in this weather and they ensure that the soil has the proper nutrients for the plants everyone wants to see in the season that people want to see them. I'm sure many of the inn's guests don't bother to come here when the weather is nasty. In fact - I know they don't. They didn't when I was first here. I would come out and walk ... and walk ... and not see anyone for hours."

"You came out here alone? Without guards and that -"

"Of course I wasn't alone. It just felt that way - I didn't see anyone. Though I'm sure I was being followed. Watched." She gave me a look and kept walking. "I used to walk around and think about things ... life, for example. I thought about the war and all that had been gained and lost ... I thought about the trial." Another quick look at me. "I imagined what my life would be like once it was over ..."

I couldn't tell if by "it," she meant the trial or the two of us. I suddenly had an image in my head of Hermione - then - small and slow in a dark cloak, bushy hair blowing in the cold wind, walking along rows and rows of flowers and bushes that no one ever noticed and didn't know the names of, even if they were standing right in front of them.

"Ron, may I ask you something?"

She was on the other side of me, sitting down on what looked like a cushion of prickly cones. I looked closer and saw that it was a small bench set on top of a creeping evergreen. The bench was so weatherworn that it almost looked like it was part of the plant. Hermione cleared a few of the cones and I sat down.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to." She made an odd, nervous circle in the air with her hands. "It's a rather personal question. I'm very curious, however, and we're getting on so well - at the moment - I thought I might take the chance ..."

I interrupted her before she could go off nattering in another direction. "But I don't have to answer?"

"Not if the question makes you uncomfortable."

I thought that over. Anything outside of the weather and what we were going to be eating later had the potential to make me uncomfortable.

"Well ... do I get to ask you something, too?"

"I - I suppose. It would only be fair."

"It would be, at that."

We sat there, staring at our knees. I was starting to sweat under my collar, but after what seemed like years, I made a decision.

"No."

"No?"

I turned to look at her. "No. I ... don't want to answer any questions or ask any. I just want dinner and fresh air and quiet - that's all."

"Oh." Her voice was firmer than I expected it to be. "I see."

But I didn't think she did. I supposed she thought I was a coward, incapable of answering whatever it was she wanted to know, not wanting to go back and relive whatever moment I'd need to slip back into in order to answer her properly. But that wasn't it. It was me. There were so many things I wanted to know and dozens of questions I wanted to ask her - picking just one would be nearly impossible. And anyway, no matter which one I chose, I knew it would be the wrong one.

That seemed to put a stop to the conversation for the moment. We sat stiffly, looking out toward the garden's far wall. I tried not to breathe too deeply - the air was so icy that taking in a mouthful or two felt like swallowing broken glass. My mind was blank for a few seconds before I started wondering how she'd gotten on before the Warming Charm.

Her cloak was thinner than mine, though hers at least had a hood, and underneath it, she was wearing a dress that wasn't exactly standard winter wear. It plunged and clung in interesting places - front and back. Ethan's head might've gone straight off if he'd caught a glimpse. I'd had some problems keeping my eyes where they'd belonged myself, earlier in the flat, when she whizzed around, fixing her hair and checking in different mirrors to see how she looked. If she'd just asked me, we would've been out of the flat a half-hour earlier.

I studied her out of the corner of my eye, watching her watch nothing at all, and I was reminded of how things had been between us all week. And then I caught a movement - a shift of eyes, a soft sigh, a look down - that made me want to explain myself to her. I wanted to tell her that I just didn't want any rows, that besides it being cold, it was a nice night otherwise, we had a good chance of actually having a good time, and I wanted to keep it that way. A fist in my stomach clenched and squeezed hard, choking off the words, and I was so busy trying not to gag that I almost didn't hear the rustling sound coming from directly in front of us.

"What was that?"

"What was what? I didn't hear anything -"

The noise came again, and I was able to find it this time. A bush right off the little footpath trembled and then went still. My wand was out before it stopped shaking, and I grabbed Hermione's arm and moved her behind me. I could feel her heart going like mad, even through the material of her cloak.

The bush rattled again, and I saw something flickering at the very bottom. I aimed pointed my wand straight toward the light -

And stopped. Whatever had been in there vanished as soon as the words started forming on my lips. I lowered my wand just a little, and glanced at Hermione over my shoulder.

"Maybe it was just the wind. It's starting to pick up, you know."

I shook my head. "The wind doesn't make things look like a torch had been stuck under it."

"It's getting dark and there aren't any out here. The light from the streetlamps play odd tricks. Maybe we should get back to the inn. I -"

Her breath hitched and her fingers dug into my arm.

"That noise again ..."

Her voice was just a little wisp of breath in my ear. Without moving my head, I focused my attention on the left-hand side. It took a second, but I heard it, too. Near the vine-covered far wall, a bush was twitching madly, but almost as if whatever was there sensed that it had been found out, it stopped when I turned my body in that direction. I didn't see any sort of light at the edge, but I thought I could make out the outline of something else. An ear, maybe, or -

"Show yourself! We're armed!"

I didn't have time to get my breath or swear or do anything except watch Hermione charge straight toward a bush in the opposite direction, her wand raised. The trembling started up again, and then something darted out, coming straight toward me. I ran to meet it and nearly fell over the thing.

A golden-furred kitten froze in its tracks, and looked looking up at me with wide, green eyes. It was small and rather pitiful-looking; it had probably been quite a while since it had been fed and one ear was notched and bent. I jumped when it moved a little closer, mewling, and out of nowhere, a strident voice startled me and the bloody cat.

"Revertio!"

There was a flash of blue light, and the thing sped off as quickly as if it had been on a Cleansweep 3000 headed for the moon. Hermione sighed a little and put up her wand.

"Not an Animagus, apparently. Poor thing. I think it's made its home here and we disturbed it."

I squinted in the direction where I'd last seen the kitten. The wind died down at that moment and everything was quiet again. Hermione touched my sleeve, and I snatched my arm away.

"What the hell do you think you were doing just running about like that?"

"It was just a cat. If it hadn't been, Revertio would have let us know."

"And if it hadn't been, you would've been flat on your back and not seen it coming. You were supposed to stay behind me!"

"I had my wand out. I'd hoped that whoever or whatever it was, it would go away, knowing that I had a weapon." Impatience tramped across her eyes as she added, "And you weren't looking in the right direction. Sound bounces off the walls here, you know. It might have snuck up on you without your realising it."

"I can take care of myself -"

"I'm not disputing that, so you can stop puffing your chest out. I simply wanted to forestall any danger. If someone had hexed you, then -"

"- Then you would have had time to get away and get help!" I wanted to shake her, bloody infuriating woman. "Don't you understand? Harry's been on my wick about making sure we stay together all the time. Those noises could've been a diversion set up by someone to separate us."

"A diversion? Ronald, that was a cat." She reached up and put her hands on the side of my face. "A diversion would be more along these lines."

Just as I was wondering if she was going to twist my head off, she pulled me down by my ears and brought her mouth up to mine.

It wasn't a proper kiss, with fumbling tongues and spit and little noises, and all of that. Her lips were warm, but hard, and it had the forced passion of a person determined to prove a point. I was disoriented enough to not respond. I just stood there praying that she didn't rip my ears off.

Without warning and without a sound, she let me go, stepped back and held out her hand. Clasped in her fist were two wands - hers and another one that looked very familiar.

For a second, I thought the lack of light was playing tricks on my eyes, but a quick pat confirmed that I was missing my wand.

"How the hell did you -"

"Language, Ronald," She stuck it down the front of my shirt and walked off. "I think I've proven my point. Shall we go into dinner now?"

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me how you did that."

She didn't stop walking.

"I'm serious. I'm not moving until you - Hermione?" I saw her walk past the pillar at the entrance, and then into darkness. "Bloody fucking hell -"

I went after her, swearing with every step. Light dashed around, playing stupid games, hiding in the dark. I lit my wand, which just saved me from crashing into a wall. I called out for her again and listened. I heard faint sounds that might've been a voice directly behind me. I stopped a moment to get my bearings.

In the distance, I thought I heard Hermione's voice, but it seemed to be coming from behind me. I nearly turned round, but remembered what Hermione had said about the walls deflecting sound, and I kept on straight ahead. Soon, I spotted the pillar and was going through the entryway. The second I stepped into the open air, I heard what sounded like whispering.

I walked toward the inn and the noises got louder and more defined. The closer I came, the clearer they got, and I could tell soon enough that it wasn't whispering at all - it was more like muffled sobs. I started walking faster, breaking into a run when I saw a huddled figure right at the spot where the path curved away from the main building.

"Hermione!"

I pointed my wand and the light washed over her face. She was sagging against a tree, her face streaked with wet. By the glow of my wand, her skin appeared a too-pale white with a dash of shadow, and my first thought was that the same prat that had cut her had come back for another go. I searched all over for where she might be hurt, my entire focus on getting her somewhere safe.

Then I saw her hand. She was holding something out to me, but it wasn't my wand this time. I looked at the small metal square for a few seconds before I recognised that it was her mobile fellytone. I was confused at first, but another look at her trembling lips, and I knew. I knew who was on that fellytone and I knew what I was about to hear.

"Hello?"

My voice wavered and I could feel the burn of tears behind my eyelids. I listened for a minute, and felt the cold wind smack into my damp cheeks.

"Right. Where?" I nodded slowly. "We will."

I was still holding the fellytone long after it had clicked off, hardly registering the weight of it in my hand. I looked over at Hermione, who was still being supported by the tree. When she caught me looking at her, she made a great effort to stand up completely and look me in the face.

"He wouldn't tell me everything. I knew there was more, but he just wouldn't ..." Her voice broke. "Harry woudn't tell me what happened ..."

"Marie Whetwistle died an hour before Harry could get there with the Healer." The words scraped the back of my throat like a nail across brick. "Now one of her older sisters is in the hospital, picking up where Marie left off, sick and shaky, and ... . There's been another note to Whetwistle, too. It's ..."

I took a deep, shaky breath, but not a bit of air seemed to reach my lungs. "Harry wants us at his flat, now. He says we all need to talk and figure out what to do."

Hermione fell against me with a burst of crying, and I drew her close. The wash of cold truth froze me in my place, and I thought about the kitten living in the winter garden, half-starved and lonely and afraid. If someone didn't find it and care for it, it wouldn't live to see the spring, just like those plants it was living under. No one would find it, because Hermione was right - no one cared about those flowers. They and that cat had to fend for themselves. It wasn't fair. Not a bloody bit of it was fair.

Harry's voice echoed in my ear, and I started to shake. In the time it had taken Hermione and me to get our kit on and get out to this place, a little girl had struggled for her life - and lost.

Blindly, I fumbled for my wand and murmured to Hermione to hold on tight. And I grabbed onto her just as hard, trying in some small way to prepare the both of us for whatever was coming next.