Scattered

Hermione closed her book carefully, slipping the torn piece of parchment she'd been using to mark her place between the pages. The sun was sinking below the horizon, out over the island, and she wanted to find Ron before dinner. She put the book back in the nightstand where she kept it between visits.

She had come to sit with George every day for the past week for at least a few minutes, or longer if no one else was there. Often another member of the family was, or another inhabitant of the castle. Padma spent almost every evening there. Ron had speculated about her attention to his sick brother but Hermione suspected it was the other twin she wanted to see, for Fred rarely left the Infirmary, only when someone convinced him to take a break for food or fresh air.

George was not well. According to Madame Pomfrey, he had been starved and beaten for months, enough to have killed him if his torturers hadn't repeatedly revived him with spells that did as much long-term damage as they gave short-term energy. His body was battered and there was irreversible spell damage; he would never be the wizard he once was. There was a chance, however, that he might recover some of his strength, enough to live out a somewhat normal life. On this, Molly pinned her hope, and on this, Fred his fervor. The rest of the family helped in any way they could. Penny had little free time to spare, with a newborn baby to care for, but every day she took the bassinet into the potions room and brewed restoratives. Ron and Charlie went out on the island with Hagrid, gathering the supplies she and Madame Pomfrey needed. Percy was his mother's shadow, ready to offer a shoulder whenever she needed one to cry on, and Bill was often found at his father's side, helping in any way he could. And everyone, including Hermione, came to visit, to be there for those fleeting moments when George woke up, so that he knew he wasn't alone again. He'd stopped panicking with each waking, which was progress, she thought; at first, he'd been terrified at his surroundings, terrified of where he'd been, each time anew.

It had been a panicky week for all of them, Hermione reflected. Although everyone had come home from the Ministry, some of them had come home damaged and hurt. For the first few days, Tonks' prognosis had not been good. Hermione didn't know if she truly believed in the power of love to the extent that it could heal a broken body, but Remus never left his wife's side, not once in the whole week, not even after she took a turn for the better and could be moved to the privacy of their rooms. Up in the castle's tower, now, Tonks improved every day.

Ginny had recovered almost at once, really, as soon as they'd gotten her back to the island, brushing aside their concerns. Minerva had theorized that Ginny had felt the spell that had killed Voldemort with the fraction of her magic that was his, but it hadn't done any permanent damage and Ginny insisted she felt fine. She spent all of her time with Fred, bolstering his spirits, and Hermione hadn't been able to get her to talk, not once alone, not since the battle, not the way she wanted to.

"Knut for your thoughts," Bill said quietly, slipping into the Infirmary and crossing the room to sit beside her.

She smiled. "Oh, just the usual. George was awake for a bit when I first got here."

"That's good," Bill said. "How was he?"

"Very alert," Hermione replied. "He said he was feeling better and he seemed a lot clearer than the last time we spoke." She hesitated. "He asked me about Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell... Angelina, Lee Jordan... all his friends from school. He asked if I knew where they were."

"Did you tell him?"

"I told him that we got word about Alicia, Angelina and Katie going to America," she replied. "He was glad to hear that. And I said I didn't know what had happened to Lee."

Bill sighed.

"He said that Fred had told him the same thing but that Fred was a worse liar than I was," Hermione continued with a rueful smile. She sighed as well. "I didn't tell him, but someone should. Deep down, he already knows Lee's gone. He just wants someone to tell him how."

"It's up to Fred," Bill replied. "You heard what he said last night, when we got the news out of London. He wants to wait."

Hermione nodded. "I know."

Bill sat forward, giving her shoulder a brotherly caress. "Okay, now I know something's wrong. Hermione Granger never gives up that easily, and Hermione Weasley's like a steel wall when she's got her mind made up. Plus, you weren't reading anything when I got here, and that's pretty unusual too. Want to talk?"

She shook her head but not in answer; rather, at the still-new experience of having a family all around her, a family that knew each other through and through and never hesitated to say what was on their minds or ask about anyone else's.

The truth was, she hardly knew what to think anymore. For almost eight years now, helping Harry to defeat Voldemort had been the driving force of her life, of Ron's life, certainly of Harry's. And Voldemort had been defeated; he was gone, burned to ashes even, never coming back. It was done. They'd accomplished the goal they'd set for themselves as children, the goal that had governed their youth and shaped their lives, made them into the people they were now. That alone, that sense of having lunged over the finish line, was strange enough to get used to.

But the worst part was... they'd won, and it wasn't enough.

Four days ago Charlie had gone forth from the island, Andy and Elphias Doge with him. They'd come back at nightfall with news about friends and colleagues, but also with the news that the wizarding world was in a state of celebration, jubilant at the revelation of Voldemort's death -- his death at Lucius Malfoy's hands. Malfoy claimed that the Dark Lord had gone too far, had gone mad and planned to destroy the entire world, and that he, the humble Minister and the head of the noble and pure House of Malfoy, had come forward to end the half-breed's evil reign.

"I once had hopes that Lord Voldemort would bring balance and prosperity to all people," Malfoy was quoted as saying in the Daily Prophet, "and I was proud to stand at his side in that endeavor. But when I realized my faith had been misplaced, and that I could not serve you while serving him, I knew I had to step forward and do what I could to protect wizardkind."

"Minister Malfoy Paves the Way to Our Glorious Future," the Prophet's headline had read. They'd held a parade in his honor in Hogsmeade, Charlie told them, and were planning one in Diagon Alley. In the Leaky Cauldron, wizards were raising toasts to him. He defeated the Dark Lord once and for all, they would cry out, he freed us from evil. To Lucius Malfoy!

Hermione sighed. She'd tried, at first, to dismiss the stories, to believe Ron when he said it would all blow over, that it was just Malfoy's propaganda, his money buying headlines, his threats buying praise. People would come around, he said, once they learned it had been Harry who killed Voldemort. Once they found out what a pig Malfoy was. Once they learned how cruel he could be. She'd hoped he was right, but as the days went by and Charlie ventured out again to hear more of the same exaltation. As they learned of the proclamations pouring in from wizards around the world, all praising Malfoy as their savoir, she felt that hope die.

She looked up and smiled, pushing away her dark thoughts, as Padma slipped quietly into the room.

The other girl smiled back and glanced at Bill shyly. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"No, of course not," Hermione reassured her. "Are you enjoying the Wainsgott, then?" she asked, gesturing at the book Padma held.

Padma nodded. "Very much so. There are some advanced charms in here that are fascinatingly complex. Thank you for recommending it to me."

Bill stood. "Padma, I was just going to ask Hermione to lend me a hand with something. You don't mind sitting with George for awhile?" She shook her head. "Thanks." He gave Hermione a look and she nodded and followed him.

They wandered through the halls and ended up in the common room. Hermione settled into a corner of the sofa, Bill opposite her. "I always wanted to get to know Padma better, at school," she said. "I used to wish she was my roommate, rather than her sister. I know that sounds awful, considering what poor Parvati's gone through. But back then, she was far more interested in boys and makeup and clothes than anything else, whereas Padma cared about her grades. I think we'd have been a better match than Parvati, Lavender and I were, at the time."

"You never joined in the boy-crazy fun?" Bill teased.

"The only boy who ever made me crazy was your brother," she replied with a smile.

Bill chuckled. "Well, that hasn't changed."

"True," she answered, and frowned. "Nothing changes, even the things that should change."

Bill gave her a sympathetic smile and shook his head. "If it's any comfort to you, we're all feeling this way."

She grimaced. "I know."

"The truth is, people are... sometimes not what you expect them to be," he said. "They aren't as brave, or as honest, or as willing to fight for what they believe in. They're more willing to accept a compromise than they are to risk everything for what they truly want."

"Not everyone's like that," Hermione replied, frustrated.

He agreed, "No, they're not."

She continued, "And I'm not just talking about us, about the Order, about the people here on the island. It's not just them. There are good people, good wizards and witches, all over the world. I know there are. There have to be." She met Bill's eyes. "That's why I don't understand why they're all willing to accept Lucius Malfoy's lies and his dictatorship. Did you read the article in the newspaper Charlie brought back yesterday?" she asked. "Did you read his 'Proclamation for the Future'? 'Separate but equal', he calls his plan. Segregation of half-bloods from purebloods. Tolerance for Muggle-borns, not that there are any left in Britain anymore. Tolerance! As if we're something... something to be looked down on, something dirty and low to be pitied and put to work. 'Filling their place in our society,' he says. Why doesn't he just call us slaves? That's what Muggles called it. Slavery. And they fought against it, and against segregation between the races. They fought those fights and won, but the wizarding world, nope, we're just accepting it with our biscuits and tea." Hermione felt tears of frustration spill from her eyes and wiped them away, feeling drained. "So am I wrong then?" she asked finally. "About people? Because I don't know how else to explain it."

Bill pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. "There's no simple explanation, Hermione," he told her kindly. "But you're not wrong, not entirely. People are good, most of them. And some are bad. But there's a lot more to it than that."

"I suppose," she agreed reluctantly, wiping at her eyes.

He tried to put into words what he'd been thinking about over the past week. "When we were in the Ministry," he told her, "Charlie and Andy and me, before we got to the dungeons, when we were going through the halls?" She nodded for him to continue. "We kept seeing all these Ministry workers go by, going about their day. It bothered me and I couldn't figure out why. Then I realized it bothered me simply that they were going about their day. That they'd given in, that they'd accepted tyranny. That it didn't seem to bother them any more. I was angry, at first," he said, "but then I thought about the people who turned George in, and I thought about the people who watched that boy die in the street, the one Parvati saw, and then it made sense."

She felt confused; thinking about what the Browns had done to George didn't help her any. If anything, it made her even more frustrated and angry.

Bill read the look on her face. "I'm not saying I'll ever forgive the Browns, because of what it did to my brother, or that those people in the street did the right thing by not intervening," he told her. "What I'm saying is, what they did made me understand what those workers in the Ministry were doing, and it's what the wizarding world is doing now." He smiled at her sadly, fondly. "It's not easy to fight, you know that, even though you've never considered any other course of action. It's frightening and it's risky, but it's always been the only choice, the only choice you or any of us could live with. But the world isn't black and white, Hermione, you know that as well. And for other people, other wizards, there are other choices. Ones they can stomach. Ones they can make and then still be able to look at themselves in the mirror."

"But why?" she asked. "Why can they stomach it? Why accept tyranny when you can choose to fight for freedom?"

Bill sighed. "The easy answer is, because it's easier. Mostly, really, I think it's because of fear."

"But I'm afraid, too," she told him. "All the time."

"I know," he told her. "But you're also brave, and that's the difference."

"Bravery is when we act in the presence of fear," Hermione whispered to herself. She looked up at Bill and smiled ruefully. "My mum and dad used to say that to me."

"Smart folks. But then, you had to come from somewhere exceptional."

She tossed a throw pillow at him, smiling. "Oh, stop it."

"Feel better?" Bill asked, ducking and grinning.

"Yes," she told him. "Thank you."

Bill stood and briefly laid his hand on her head as he passed. "Good," he said. "I'm going back to see George for a bit. Coming?"

She shook her head. "I was about to leave when you came by."

"See you at dinner, then."

Hermione lingered on the sofa for a moment, feeling tired, but with a sigh she rose and went down the corridor and up the stairs to Weasley Row.

Charlie's door was open and she could hear him teasing the newly-moved-in Joanna, affection clear in his tone. Charlie's little plan had worked just fine, for the most part; everyone had been too relieved to see the teams come back home safe, or too worried about the injured or about the next step, to use much energy being mad at them for eloping. Hermione had caught a fleeting expression on her mother-in-law's face, however, and warned Charlie not to be surprised if she tried to talk him into a fancier ceremony, later. No one objected to the marriage, of course, but Hermione knew from experience just how much seeing her children get married meant to Molly, and she'd already missed Percy's wedding. Hermione didn't envy Charlie the fight that was sure to come, sooner or later.

Fred's door was closed, but George's was open. Molly was airing the room out, she knew, and getting it ready for her still-ailing son. Poppy had agreed that there was no reason to keep him in the Infirmary when his own rooms would be closer at hand for his mother. Everyone knew Molly would be devoting all of her energy to his health from now on. Hermione thought it was a good idea all around and hoped that being surrounded by the activity of the castle, and his family, would bolster George's spirits.

She hesitated by Percy & Penny's door but continued on, eager to see her husband. In the week since his return from the Ministry, she'd found herself needing to see him every few hours, just to reassure herself that he was really there, that he was whole and unharmed, that he'd truly come back. Though they didn't talk about it, she knew he felt the same way, if only by the way he touched her at night, the way he held her in his arms after they'd made love, until morning. She smiled. Ron was, usually, a rambunctious sleeper and generally ended up sprawled out on his side of the bed, legs and arms akimbo. She'd gotten used to giving him his space, but this week, he'd kept her close, every night -- and she understood why.

As Hermione neared her own rooms, she saw that the door was open and she was glad to hear the sound of Harry's voice, as well as Ron's, as she entered. She paused and watched them for a moment, her two boys, sitting by the fireplace and looking for all the world like they had so many times in the Gryffindor common room. Sometimes, then, too, she would pause on the stairs, on her way down from the girls' dorm, and watch them, as she was now. Both so different: Ron with his wild temper and wild displays, his long, gangly body; and Harry, with his isolation and his hidden emotions, his way of slipping away, unnoticed. Oh, they were both just boys and they both had neglected their studies and spent too much time on Quidditch and mooning after silly girls or getting detentions, teasing her and Ginny, sharing jokes and trading stories. They were alike in that. But dissimilar underneath. For all his insecurities, Ron had grown up accepted, loved, belonging. Harry, for all they'd tried -- Hermione and Molly and Lupin and so many others -- still strayed on the edges, always one step away from gone. She frowned and shook her head, pushing away her thoughts.

"Something wrong, love?" Ron asked, seeing her at the door.

He half rose and she smiled reassuringly. "No, just lost in thought."

"Easy for you," he said, sliding over to make room for her next to him on the sofa, "you've got a lot of them to get lost in."

She nudged him in the ribs in response, tucking her feet up beneath her. Ron slid an arm around her shoulders.

"How's George?" Harry asked.

"He was awake for a few minutes while I was there," Hermione told him.

"Good."

She frowned, watching her friend. Harry wasn't an easy person to read, especially these days, but no matter how much more withdrawn he'd become, there were still some small things that leaked through... the way his eyes lost all expression when he looked at Ginny, for example, or the way he never spoke about Dumbledore anymore. How he looked when he watched Bill and Arthur together, or his face when someone, anyone hugged him. And, as Hermione saw him doing now, how he never looked her in the eye when he had something to say he knew she wouldn't like.

"Harry, what's going on?" she asked.

It was Ron who answered. "Nothing's going on, we're just hanging out. Waiting for you, really. Having a chat before dinner. I'm starved, though -- is it time to go down yet?"

She shot him an exasperated look. "Please."

"What?" he asked innocently.

"Ronald."

Ron blanched, recognizing her tone.

"Harry," she repeated, waiting.

"It's okay, Ron. I'm not keeping anything from you, Hermione, I was just going to wait to talk to you about it until tomorrow, alone," Harry told her.

She searched his eyes and nodded. "Alright. But we're here now. What's going on?"

Harry answered her simply. "I'm leaving the island at the end of the week."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I don't know why you'd think that would come as such a surprise, Harry. I knew you had to be planning something. I just wish you'd let me help you, but, that doesn't matter," she said, not wanting to get bogged down in her own feelings. "Let's hear it."

Harry looked somewhat relieved at her acceptance, but there was still something guarded in his expression. "I'm going to Hogsmeade."

She frowned. "Hogsmeade? Why there? Malfoy's going to be at the Ministry, or at Malfoy Manor. Or are you planning on luring him to Hogsmeade, then? That might work."

"Luring him... no," Harry said. "That's not it."

"I don't understand," Hermione said, confused. "Are you going to... wait," she said slowly, the wheels in her mind turning. "Wait. You're not... you're not talking about an attack, are you?"

Harry shook his head. "No. That's not... I can't defeat Malfoy by fighting him. I have to play the game he's playing instead, and win."

Hermione nodded slowly. "You're going to try to turn people against him," she said.

"I have to," he told her. "It isn't about killing some twisted monster this time." She flinched at the bareness of that statement, but Harry went on. "Malfoy's smarter than Voldemort was. He's more focused. He isn't blinded by power; he's had power all his life. I can't just run after him with my wand out. I've got to rally support. I've got to make the wizarding world see him for what he is. Then, I can bring him down."

"But how are you going to do that?" she asked. "Without putting yourself in danger?"

Ron coughed. "This is the part I don't really get either, mate," he said carefully. "Malfoy... he wants to kill you, or at least arrest you." He glanced at Hermione and looked away, but she knew that he hadn't told her everything about what had happened at the Ministry yet, not everything he felt or saw. "He almost did. We got out just in time, but if we'd stayed..."

"If I'm going to rally support, I'm going to have to be public," Harry said. "I'm going to have to speak publicly and make my presence known. I've got to give the wizarding world a choice between Malfoy's lies and the truth."

"He'll kill you," Hermione said, her voice shaking. "Harry, he'll at least try. I can't -- you can't do this."

Harry leaned forward earnestly. "Malfoy's not going to be able to do anything to me, not if I'm completely public," he insisted. "I'm going to go to Hogsmeade and I'm going to build the biggest house you've ever seen. I'm going to make all kinds of noises about helping to rebuild the wizarding world. And when they come to me and ask where I've been, and ask whether I support Minister Malfoy, I'm not going to answer. I'm not going to say no," he said with a grimace, "but I won't say yes either. And in private, it'll be another matter, of course, but because of that, he won't be able to touch a hair on my head, not without ruining the public's opinion of him."

Ron nodded, following Harry's train of thought, but Hermione frowned. "He could... Harry, he could spread lies about you. Like what happened before."

Harry sat back and shook his head slowly. "I let that happen, Hermione," he said. "I should have gone to the Daily Prophet. I should have spoken up. They're vultures, they go the way the wind blows. It's no secret that the wizarding world has been after information on me since the day my parents died, but I always refused to feed the vultures. I thought it was beneath me to step down to their level, I guess. But I could've promised the Prophet exclusive interviews and they would've denounced the Minister himself if I'd told them to." He looked determined. "I won't be so scrupulous this time. I'll talk, and I'll deal, and I'll play the game. I'll just insist on some of the rules. It'll take time, but I won't stop until Malfoy's been brought down."

Hermione stood, moving away from Ron and standing at the mantel, staring into the flames. She trailed her finger along the brick-edged shelf, scattered ashes flying in her wake. Outside the sun was setting, sending reddish-gold rays between the drapes, striping the carpet and the walls. Ron's hair was just out of one ray's reach, the sun dappling his freckled hand instead, where he'd left it on the back of the sofa. She turned and looked at her husband wordlessly. He nodded.

"Okay, Harry," she said in a strong voice. "We're going with you."

But Harry shook his head, decisively, and she knew he'd anticipated her response. "You can't."

"That's not for you to decide," she told him, trying to keep her voice even, trying to keep this from becoming the same kind of argument they'd had a week before, in the meeting room -- even if it felt as if he was trying to cut her out again.

"No, it's not," Harry agreed with her, though. "But just listen to me for a second, will you?" he asked her.

She hesitated and finally nodded.

"Hermione, you're still wanted for murder," he said, and she sighed. "No one knows what happened in that alley except for you and Theodore Nott, and he's never going to tell the truth. And even if he did, or even if he already has told Malfoy -- it won't matter, don't you see? Until Malfoy's out of power, you're going to be charged with his son's death. And I can't protect you from that and do what needs to be done at the same time."

"Harry..." she began, but she didn't know how to continue.

He stood and took her hands in his. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded," he said. "You aren't to blame for what happened. But you have to understand that it's bad enough we almost lost you then. I can't let you go back until it's not dangerous for you anymore. Until I've cleared your name." He looked at her sadly. "Yours and George's. And then there's Remus... Malfoy's declared all werewolves to be enemies of the Ministry. If he left here and was caught, they'd put him to death without a trial. one for crimes he didn't commit. Don't you see? These are the reasons I have to do this. For all of you, to give you back what you've lost. What we've lost."

"What about everyone else?" Ron asked quietly. "Charlie, Bill... the McFustys... the Diggorys and Kingsley and Seamus and all... McGonagall... they can leave, can't they? They can go back."

"They can if they want to," Harry said carefully. "And some of them might. I'm going to ask some people to try to make inroads in other wizarding communities, France, Spain... Bill still has connections in Egypt. But for some of them... anyone who's a half-blood, like me, might not want to live in the wizarding community as it is. And anyone who's a Muggle-born, like Colin, wouldn't be safe."

"And my parents can't leave," Ron said. "Their magic is tied to the island."

Harry nodded guiltily.

"They knew what they were doing when they performed the ritual, mate," Ron told him, seeing his friend's expression. "Don't kick yourself over that. And they're happy here. Mum said so, and Dad's happy where she is." He looked at Hermione.

She felt her heart beating painfully in her chest and said the words before she was no longer able to do so. "If I can't go with you, then Ron will."

"Absolutely not," Harry answered immediately. "I won't do that to you two."

"Harry --" she began, tears in her voice.

"I won't." He turned to his best friend. "Ron, I'm not going to let you choose between me and Hermione. That's not how this is going to go." He took a deep breath. "You already risked everything for me once, both of you. Don't ask me to sit back and let that happen again."

Ron put his head in his hands and for long, slow moments, said nothing. Finally he looked up and simply nodded. "Okay."

Hermione took a shaking breath. "Harry... Harry, I can't stand to think of you being there alone. Not again."

"I won't be," he said quietly.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I'm going with him," Ginny said from the doorway.

Hermione spun to face her. "What?"

"Wait a second, Gin..." Ron began.

"I said, I'm going," Ginny repeated, coming into the room and closing the door behind her. "I'm sorry. I came by and the door was open. I didn't want to interrupt -- but I thought I should, now." She crossed the room and sat down next to Ron, in Hermione's vacated seat on the sofa.

Hermione took a deep breath. Harry still held her hands in his; he looked at her, his eyes pleading for understanding. Finally, she smiled, shakily, squeezing his hand.

He pulled her into a hug. "I'll come back, 'Mione," he whispered reassuringly. "Whenever I can. You and Ron are all the family I've got. I won't stay away."

"Good," she said back.

"Have you talked to Mum and Dad about this?" Ron asked his sister incredulously.

"Yes," Harry answered for Ginny.

Hermione gave Harry a final kiss on the cheek and went to Ron's side, perching on the arm of the sofa. She slid her hand around his neck, her fingers stroking his soft, bristly hair.

"Are you going to get married?" Ron asked Harry abruptly.

"No, we're not," Ginny said firmly.

Harry looked sheepish and shrugged.

Ron glared at his best mate and then at his sister, but the fight went out of him. With a sigh, he shook his head in defeat. "Who would have thought it'd end up like this, you know?" he asked, glancing up at his wife. "I always imagined we'd just stand together and win, and that would be that. I never thought it would be like this."

She smiled down at him. "Who can predict which way the tides might turn?" she asked.

"Dumbledore said that," Harry said softly.

"He also said that we'd do what we had to, to persevere. And we will."