The Silver Swan

Chapter 9

I never did have my talk with Cho. What would have been the point? Instead, she and I, who always before had been able to speak about anything and everything made an implicit pact of silence. Oddly enough, this seemed to bring us closer than we had been in years. What we couldn't put into words was sublimated into other channels, attention and affection on her part and protectiveness on mine.

She went out of her way to spend time with me, to walk to class with me, to sit with me at meals. Marietta and the sycophants were a fading memory. If these small daily acts of kindness did not send me into the transports of joy that they would have when I was twelve years old, they still meant a great deal. Even more precious was the fact that once again she needed me.

And need me she did. On the surface, all was as before. For those who cared to notice, however, it was glaringly obvious that Cho was once again gone late into the evening on many nights when there was no Quidditch practice - and often seemed absent in spirit even when she was in our midst. The House, as before, attributed this to True Love. I had no such pleasant illusions, but worked hard to help her keep up appearances. Once again, I found myself organising her homework - on those occasions when it did not seem easier to just go ahead and do it for her. If nothing else, Hermione pointed out, grasping for a silver lining, I was certainly getting a head start on preparing for NEWTs.

More subtly, I gradually assumed in the House and in the Line the place that should have been hers. In all but name, that autumn, I became eldest of Astraï. To the youngers, Cho was almost a mythical figure, as always beautiful and more adored than ever now that she had acquired an aura of tragedy and danger, but increasingly distant and unapproachable. The youngest, I realised, were afraid of her. They learned to come to me instead with their practical troubles, their petty jealousies, and their small daily fears; I found for my part that sorting these out provided me with a surprising degree of satisfaction.

*

* *

In my own way, though, I too was withdrawing from the life of the House. More and more my evenings, after the youngers were settled, were spent in the library with Hermione. We were generally joined by Susan, and once, when an Arithmancy project provided an unimpeachable pretext, by Millicent. We spoke little, and only of schoolwork, but took comfort in each other's company - or, perhaps more truly, Hermione and I grew to cherish Susan's quiet and reassuring presence.

It was as we were leaving the library on one of those evenings late in September that Hermione issued a surprising invitation.

"It was my birthday last Thursday. I'm seventeen now, you know."

I did know. It meant that she was of age, in the wizarding world at least, the first of us to reach that landmark. Clearly, though, this announcement had a more immediate purpose.

"I have special permission from Professor McGonagall to have a dinner in the village this coming Saturday to celebrate it. I've invited Harry and Neville, and I was hoping you two could come."

Susan smiled, but shook her head.

"Sorry, I'd love to but I have a previous engagement."

The twinkle in her eye as she said this left us with little doubt about what she had in mind ... and with whom. Hermione turned to me.

"Padma, please?"

She strove to keep her tone light, but there was a note of entreaty, almost of pleading in her request. It was brought home to me as never before that Hermione Granger had very few friends.

"Of course I'll come. Thank you."

Her relief was palpable.

"Will it just be the four of us then?"

I regretted the question as soon as I asked it. Hermione looked troubled once again.

"I suppose I should invite Lavender and your sister. It's just ... we've never really seemed to have anything in common."

That wasn't what I had been asking, and she knew it. I waited for her to answer the real question, trying my best to convey in my silence a sense of support and understanding. Finally, she looked up at me.

"Ginny ... I can't talk to her anymore, and when Harry is with her I can't talk to him either ...in any case I can't very well invite her without Cho ... Padma, why does Cho hate me? I've never done anything to her and she's never liked me! Surely she can't still be jealous about Harry. Not now."

I sighed.

"Actually, Harry was never the real problem. In the beginning, it was me."

"You?"

"Arithmancy. I worked with you and not with her. And then she's never forgiven you for what you did to Marietta."

"What I did!"

"Hermione, don't ... please don't be angry. I'm only trying to explain."

"I'm sorry ... I didn't mean ... it's not your fault, obviously ..."

She paused, clearly looking for a delicate way to frame her next question

"Padma, are you still all right?"

"With Cho, you mean?"

"Cho ... Ginny ... they're different this year, at least Ginny is. It isn't just that they aren't hiding their relationship any more. Some days I don't think Ginny even notices the rest of us, it's like she has no room for anyone else."

"She has Cho Chang to love and Tom Riddle to hate ... she could do worse. I know what you mean, though; she frightens me too. Cho isn't like that, not yet, not with me at least. She still cares for me in her own peculiar way, I'm sure of it."

I paused, thinking about what I had said, and finally decided that it wasn't just wishful thinking. I also realised something else.

"I thought she might not, now that she and Ginny ... after what happened this summer, but in some ways she hasn't changed. I think she's afraid of losing me, of losing what we've had for so long now."

An image came to me unbidden of Cho, after losing the match to Gryffindor the year before, throwing down her broom with tears of anger. In the end, it came down to that with her. In love as in Quidditch, Cho Chang did not like to lose.

*

* *

I made my way to the private dining room on the upper floor of the Three Broomsticks with equal measures of curiosity and dread. I fully expected an awkward and uncomfortable evening but, in addition to my loyalty to Hermione, I had to admit that finally getting to spend time with the Boy Who Lived in a setting free both of murder and romantic disaster was an opportunity not to be missed. As it happened, I was wrong on both counts. The dinner went very well, and Harry was the least interesting person there.

I wrong him in writing this, of course. To begin with, let me state for the record that Harry Potter was charming - and not just because he was clearly on his best behaviour. I finally began to grasp, however dimly, what it was that Cho had seen in him all those years. It helped that he was as curious about me as I was about him, obviously trying to figure out what my place was in this gathering, why Hermione had insisted on my presence, whether I really was different from my sister - about whom he clearly felt much as Hermione did, the more fools they.

For my part, I found myself fascinated as the evening went on, by his relationship with Hermione. They were clearly more than friends, but there was no hint of romance. Finally, the obvious dawned on me. These two lonesome and isolated only children had long since adopted each other as siblings. I wondered if they knew. I suspect that he, at least, did; it explained why he was trying so hard.

And try he did, with considerable success, to make the party come off well. He saw to it that Hermione was and remained the centre of attention by making a brief and humorous speech about how he had first met her and then having each of us do the same. My own story, I fear, was by far the least entertaining, involving as it did neither toads nor mountain trolls, but I got a cheap laugh by sharing my initial incredulity that anyone not a child of the Eagle would even attempt Arithmancy, let alone excel at it. We ended with a toast, a bottle of wine having mysteriously appeared on the table despite the fact that, strictly speaking, Hermione was the only one of us of an age to partake.

By the time we finished, Hermione was blushing a bright Gryffindor crimson, but was clearly very happy. As well she might have been. For the space of an evening, this girl who, I had come to realise, felt her usual solitude acutely, was surrounded by the attentions of a brother, a friend, and a not-so-secret admirer.

The latter, of course, was Neville Longbottom, and this too Harry seemed to understand and encourage. Exactly how Hermione felt, I wasn't sure - she had certainly never discussed it with me - but from what I could see, Neville's cause was far from hopeless. Emboldened by this, and perhaps by two very small glasses of wine, Neville was the unexpected but unquestioned star of the evening. First at Harry's urging and then at Hermione's, he told us stories about his childhood, about growing up in the heart of the English wizarding world among what he, like Susan, referred to as the 'old families' - a world that only he among the four of us knew at first hand. In the beginning, his tales were all self-deprecating, but Hermione's gentle chiding put him onto other topics.

He told us of his fearsome grandmother, of a host of aunts, uncles and cousins each more eccentric than the next. He knew, it turned out, a remarkable number of surprising facts about our schoolmates. I learned to my amazement that Lavender Brown came from a branch of a wizarding clan beside whose colossal wealth the much-touted Malfoy fortune paled into insignificance, that Blaise Zabini was first cousin to the King of the Gypsies, and that Pansy Parkinson, when she was ten years old, had once been persuaded by Millicent Bulstrode to kiss a frog.

Over the last of the wine, Neville told us the story of Dumbledore's brother and the goat.

As our laughter subsided, we heard music from the public room downstairs. Harry smiled with the air of one whose plans are coming along nicely and prodded Neville with an elbow.

"It's Friday night. There'll be dancing."

It was Neville's turn to blush, but he clearly understood Harry's meaning. Considerably amused, I turned to look at Hermione, in whose face I found a remarkable mixture of pleasure and dread. It wasn't hard to guess why, but this too, it turned out, had been anticipated. Neville took a deep breath.

"Hermione ... could we ... I mean, would you like to ... it's all right, you know, Ginny's been giving me lessons ... she said to tell you it was your birthday present from her."

In the end, Harry very nearly pushed the two of them off down the stairs. After they were gone, he and I shared an oddly intimate moment of quiet mirth. I found it surprisingly easy to be gracious.

"Harry, that was lovely. Thank you ... for her."

That brought him back to earth. He gave me an apologetic look.

"Do you mind if we don't? I'm still not much of one for dancing, I'm afraid."

"Don't worry, neither am I. I think we should probably leave the two of them alone for a while anyway."

He grinned again.

"You would not believe how hard we had to work to get him to do that."

"I think I can guess."

We sat quietly and comfortably for a time drinking coffee - somehow, having coffee after dinner felt even more grown up than the wine had - but it was obvious that Harry was working up his courage to ask me a question. It wasn't hard to guess what it would be.

"Padma, do you mind if I ask you something ... it's really none of my business, I know."

"Go ahead, I don't mind."

"Ginny and Cho ... is it true ... are they really ...?"

I was very careful not to smile.

"Yes, Harry. It's true. They really are."

"Oh ... well that's good, I guess."

"Yes it is."

We could have left it at that, but now it was I who pursued the topic. Somehow, it had become important to me that Harry not only accept, but understand.

"They've chosen each other. I ... I was there when it happened. None of us can change it. It is a good thing, Harry. It really is."

Harry nodded. I though he looked, if anything, vaguely relieved. And then he neatly turned the tables on me.

"Cho talks about you all the time, you know. You mean a lot to her."

I found myself momentarily incapable of speech, and when I did reply it was only to finish giving myself away altogether.

"Thank you for telling me that. She ... she means a lot to me too."

Harry smiled and nodded in silent understanding, and I couldn't help but think once again of Hermione's jibe of long ago: '...the two of you might be great friends, you have so much in common, after all ...'. Even so, it was time to change the subject.

*

* *

As it happened, I was spared the trouble of finding a new topic of conversation. As Harry and I sat there, each of us in our own way contemplating the mysteries of Cho Chang, the music from downstairs stopped abruptly, to be replaced by crashes and screams. Suddenly, I felt an unnatural chill and, glancing up at Harry, I was startled to see that he had gone deathly pale. Out of nowhere, incongruous and dreadful memories assailed me - terror and shame before our attack on Malfoy Manor, despair from the times I thought I was losing Cho, half-remembered fears from childhood, those damned dogs ...

Overwhelmed by all of this, it took me a moment to realise that Harry had grasped my shoulder, was shaking me back to my senses. He was still a ghastly shade of grey, but his wand was in his hand and his jaw was clenched in determination.

"Dementors ... Follow me!"

With that, he headed down the stairs at a breakneck pace. Following Harry Potter into battle was not something I had ever hoped to do again, but the prospect of being left alone was even more frightening.

I followed.

By the time we reached the main room, all that remained were spilled drinks, overturned furniture, and a few remaining patrons cowering in corners. Of Neville, Hermione, or their presumed attackers, there was no sign.

"We have to find them. Come on!"

And so off we dashed into the unlit nighttime streets of Hogsmeade.

Finding Dementors in the dark, it turns out, is not at all difficult. All you have to do is to head in whichever direction seems most frightening at the moment, and you can't miss them. Before I had the time to consider the depth of my folly - not even in the brightly lit Room of Requirement had I ever managed to summon a Patronus - we were there. Neville and Hermione were trapped in a dead-end alley by two of the erstwhile guards of Azkaban. Beside me, Harry hesitated. Anything he did would only drive them towards our friends. And then occurred the one thing that we least expected. From the shadow at the end of the alley leapt a huge silver lion, a Patronus for the ages, and the Dementors were put to flight.

Neville Longbottom had saved the day.

And then he saved it again.

"Harry! Across the street!!"

We whirled round, but before either of us could do anything a red bolt from Neville's wand shot past us, and a tall bald man with long whiskers fell into the street, stunned. Harry ran towards him with Neville pounding along behind. It was time for me, I decided, to go and see to Hermione.

In the end, it didn't matter; the stunned wizard was not left to the boys' tender mercies. Even as I turned to go back into the alley, I saw a second form come out of the shadows and grasp him by the arm. We heard the crack of Apparation and the two of them were gone.

The lessons of Malfoy Manor had been well learned. On seeing their enemies' retreat, Harry and Neville took nothing for granted. It was Neville who turned to me.

"Get her back to the Three Broomsticks. Use their fire to contact the school."

As he said this, Harry was busy casting illumination spells that, by the time he was done, had brought the light of day to much of the village. He and Neville moved off to search for any remaining danger. Once again, I turned back to find Hermione. This time, I met her coming out of the alley on her own. She was badly shaken, but anger rather than fear was uppermost in her.

"They would have taken out everyone there to get at us, Padma. They just don't care."

There didn't seem to be anything to say to that. Instead, I tried to focus on practicalities.

"We have to get back."

Once I got her moving, she came along willingly. Back at the Three Broomsticks we found the predictable uproar. Now that the danger was past, the citizens of Hogsmeade were stirring themselves to heroic defence. We were taken in and made much of while help was summoned from school. It is a measure of Hermione's befuddled state that only then did she realise that the other two weren't with us. She suddenly turned to me with renewed panic.

"Harry ... Neville ... where?!"

"It's all right, Hermione, they're searching the village, making sure no one else is out there."

She nodded and subsided back into herself. I had seen her do this before, and it wasn't good. I had to keep her talking.

"Hermione! What happened at the beginning? How did you two get away?"

That brought her back. A look akin to wonder settled onto her features.

"Neville ... Padma, he was amazing. I've never seen anyone other than Harry move that fast. He had us out the back door before I even knew what was happening. But then they trapped us. I tried to summon a Patronus ... I couldn't ... I couldn't even say the words ... and then Neville ... the lion ... God in Heaven, Padma, the lion!"

It was not an oath frequently heard in the streets and taverns of Hogsmeade. Under the circumstances, it seemed altogether appropriate.

*

* *

Harry and Neville returned just in time to greet Professors Flitwick and McGonagall stepping through the fire. It says a good deal about Hermione's state of mind just then that she ignored the two teachers altogether, running instead to Neville and delivering a kiss that curled my toes at fifteen paces. When she finally let go of him, he was in a state rather like that of the bald-headed wizard as he had tumbled out of the shadows, but I was left with the distinct impression that, were the silver lion ever to reappear, it would be half again as large and three times as bright.

Our Heads of House, meanwhile, had to make do as best they could with Harry and myself. Unsurprisingly, both descended on him, seeking explanations. He told them what little we knew. Flitwick looked grimmer than I had ever seen him, but not particularly surprised, as if he had expected something like this to happen. Professor McGonagall, on the other hand, was visibly distraught.

"This is my fault, I should never have allowed it. How could I ..."

It was Flitwick who answered.

"No, Minerva, we can't shelter them forever. Dumbledore is right. This is reality. We can only prepare them for it. From the looks of things, young Longbottom was more than up to the challenge. You should be proud, Minerva, not sorry."

It is possible that I just imagined his sidelong glance at me as he said that, as if wishing he could be saying the same of me.

Professor McGonagall reluctantly agreed. In any case, it was time to take us all home. Home, as it turned out, was directly to Dumbledore's office, a fascinating place I had never seen and wish I could have visited under more relaxed circumstances. Finally, Hermione and Neville were able to tell their tale. It was as we expected. The attack had been well targeted and almost certainly premeditated. Hermione was definite.

"They were coming for us, Headmaster. They knew we would be there. They didn't care about the others. It was us they wanted."

Dumbledore nodded.

"They know who you are. It won't be just Harry they're after now. Did you recognise the wizards?"

Finally a question I could answer. I only had a glimpse, but it was a face I wasn't likely ever to forget.

"The second one was a woman. It was Narcissa Malfoy."

Harry nodded.

"The wizard was Macnair, the executioner."

He gave a little laugh then, and it was an ugly, bitter sound.

"They kept him in Azkaban for, what, a week? Guess he didn't change his ways after all..."

The Death Eaters arrested at the Ministry in June, we knew, had been released and were officially 'awaiting trial,' but the truth was that, now that the Dementors had revolted, the Ministry had no way of keeping them confined.

Dumbledore took in this information unsurprised, and then looked at each of us in turn.

"All of you have shown exceptional courage and resourcefulness tonight. You did exactly right. Now, I must ask of you a very difficult thing. It would be best if you did not mention this episode to others."

Hermione and I nodded, followed reluctantly by Neville. Harry held the headmaster's gaze with his own, and didn't move a muscle. In the end, it was Dumbledore who looked down.