The Interlude

Chapter 5: Down Below the Truth is Lying

It felt strange to be carrying on like normal when a new conflict was gathering just over the horizon, but as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys tended to remind each other at least three times a day, there was really nothing anyone could do at the moment, short of gathering up all the Muggle-borns in England and questioning them. That was why Harry found himself sitting next to Ron, Hermione, and Neville in the Hogwarts Great Hall five days later, listening to Headmistress McGonagall rattle off an over prepared speech about how they and the rest of the seventh years had proven themselves during their stay at Hogwarts and were now ready to take on the world.

As much as Harry wanted the leaving ceremony to feel every bit as important as it was supposed to, he couldn't help but think that it all seemed like a cheap sham. He, Ron, and Hermione had hardly attended their seventh year, and nearly a third of their class had chosen not to attend the leaving ceremony. While the Great Hall looked every bit as majestic as ever, Harry knew that just through the wide oak doors behind them, the Entrance Hall stood in shambles, just like the rest of Hogwarts. It should have been Dumbledore standing in front of them, a twinkle in his eyes as he told them they could change the world. Harry knew that leaving Hogwarts was supposed to change his life, but the real event that had changed everything had happened a week before, far below in a nameless dungeon that he probably couldn't have found again if he tried.

Three rows in front of them, Parvati and Lavender were sobbing dramatically into each other's shoulders. For their part, in general the Ravenclaws were looking wistful, the Hufflepuffs were sitting as close together as they could justify, and even a few Slytherins were looking a bit dewy, but as much as Harry knew he was going to miss Hogwarts, he couldn't bring himself to get emotional about it, and one glance at Ron and Hermione told him that they were feeling about the same. It felt almost surreal, to sit there on the site of the greatest battle in recent wizarding history and do something as normal as graduate from school. Harry wondered what he'd say if someone came up and asked them if they'd gotten their own places to live yet.

Harry looked up sharply when McGonagall said his name, but ducked almost immediately when every head in the hall swiveled to face him, like he was some sort of strange magnet for eyeballs. He tried not to blush while McGonagall said some nonsense about how he embodies the best qualities of Gryffindor House and Hogwarts as a whole, and that that the world owes its freedom to him. A moment later, someone stood and up and started clapping. Harry really wished they hadn't, because soon afterward everyone else, including Ron and Hermione joined in. Caught off guard, Harry looked up at the beaming faces around him and tried to look gratified, but he really wished he'd brought his invisibility cloak. Far later than Harry would have preferred, the applause faded away and everyone returned to their seats.

McGonagall finished her speech with a flourish and declared them graduated. As one, the former students pulled out their wands and sent a spray of multi colored sparks into the air, but even as Harry added his red and gold sparks to those already into the air he couldn't help but note sadly that however excited Ron looked, his wand remained resolutely in his pocket. Trying to mask his sympathy, which he knew that Ron would reject even if he knew that Harry was aware of his problems performing magic, Harry clamped his hand down on Ron's good shoulder. Ron smiled and followed suit, then pulled him into a lopsided hug, which Hermione soon joined, closely followed by Neville. Before long, the entire hall erupted into similar displays as people hugged, cried, and danced under the falling sparks.

Their old Professors lined up in the Entrance Hall to shake the students' hands and congratulate them as they filed out one last time, then they reached the steps leading outside and the seventh years dispersed, calling farewells and promises to keep in touch. A few started wandering around what was left of the grounds, probably waiting on the series of portkeys that had been set up while still more boarded the not so horseless carriages for Hogsmeade so they could Apparate or ride the Hogwarts Express once more for old time's sake. Harry, Ron, and Hermione's route was altogether different. Whether through the Healers' work, Hermione's machinations, Ron's determination, the curse wearing off on its own, or some combination of those, a few careful tests had revealed that limited magic could now be used on Ron without hurting him, allowing him to travel by Floo Powder. They had to wait for Professor McGonagall to escort them up to her office, so they chose to loiter around the steps to the Entrance Hall.

They didn't speak much except to say goodbye to the occasional classmate, until a squeaky voice said, "You fought him, Harry Potter, sir."

As one, Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned around to find Dobby beaming up at them. His attire remained as eclectic as ever, though he had finally acquired a jacket.

"I did," Harry replied.

"We fought them too," Dobby said, seeming to expand with pride, "in the Come and Go room."

"The Room of Requirement?" Harry asked, confused. "What happened there?"

"The bad wizards asked the room to show the wards on Hogwarts," Dobby explained. "It did. They were going to dismantle the wards and replace them. We stopped them."

"You and the other House Elves?" Harry asked.

Dobby nodded. "And then we helped the students escape."

"You did?" Harry replied. "I had no idea."

"We found them floo powder and secret passageways," Dobby said. "The good wizards tried to help, but they were so busy fighting the bad wizards that only a few could help the students."

"No one ever told me about that," Harry replied. "Thank you, Dobby."

Then Harry dropped to his knees in front of the elf. Dobby looked momentarily surprised and confused and made to kneel as well, but Harry stopped him with a look.

"You're a hero, Dobby," Harry said as Ron and Hermione kneeled as well. "It's time someone treated you like it."

Tears of pride filled Dobby's eyes and he seemed beyond words until he finally took a deep a breath said, "Dobby should be getting back to work. Much of Hogwarts still needs fixing."

And he disappeared without giving them a chance to reply.

"I've been trying to tell him the same thing since the battle," McGonagall said warmly as Harry, Ron, and Hermione got to their feet. "He never seems to believe me. Are you ready to go then?"

They nodded and followed her.

"It's a terrible thing to see you go," McGonagall said as she carefully wound her way through the Entrance Hall and up the stairs, which were still missing several large pieces. "I don't think Hogwarts has ever seen any students quite like you three."

"With all the trouble we caused, I imagine it'll be glad to never see the likes of us again," Hermione quipped.

"Well, some of that couldn't be helped," McGonagall admitted. "And the rest I suppose you had your reasons for, juvenile and foolhardy though they may have been."

"Still, I'll bet Fred and George are the only ones who have us beat on number of detentions served," Ron added.

"Yes, well, that might not have been the case if you'd just explained yourselves from time to time," McGonagall sighed, "and thought things through."

They held their silence until they'd reached the gargoyle protecting the Headmistress' office and McGonagall told it the password, "Tennyson."

"I meant those things I said in my speech, Potter," McGonagall said as they stepped onto the moving staircase.

"I...um...thanks?" Harry stammered. He supposed he ought to get used to people expressing their gratitude toward him, but it still made him awfully uncomfortable. After all, he couldn't really honestly say that he'd killed Voldemort for them.

Thankfully, she didn't pursue the subject and turned instead to Hermione to ask where she was going to work. Hermione turned a bit pink and admitted that she didn't know yet. It was astounding, really. Harry knew she'd gotten a rather late start at applying for jobs, what with everything they'd had to worry about at the time, but she still seemed to have managed to send an application to nearly every job she was qualified for, which was nearly every job in England and many throughout Europe. When they reached the Headmistress' office, McGonagall was still offering Hermione career advice.

When McGonagall finished reciting a short list of the merits of magical detective work some five minutes later, she ushered the three of them over to the fireplace, offered them a jar of floo powder, wished Ron a speedy recovery, the three of them the best of luck, and gave all of them a standing invitation to return whenever they desired. A few seconds later, Harry was deposited gracelessly on the rug in front of the fireplace in the Burrow.

Mrs. Weasley looked up from her knitting at the disturbance and smiled when she saw Harry.

"Back already, are you? How was the ceremony?"

"It was...well..." Harry stammered, picking himself up just in time to avoid Ron's foot as he stumbled out of the fireplace. Ron scowled at the thing as though it had purposefully tripped him up, but Harry couldn't suppress a jolt of admiration: on his worst day Ron could still use Floo Powder with much more grace than Harry.

"Trip go alright, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, glancing at Ron with some concern.

"Yes, Mum," Ron returned dully, turning to pull Hermione to her feet, for she'd just slid out of the fireplace and on to the rug behind him.

"I can't believe we'll never be going back there," Hermione sighed wistfully as she pulled out her wand to remove the soot from her and (more discretely) Ron's robes.

"Never is an awfully long time," Mrs. Weasley replied. "I daresay you'll find one reason or another to go back there eventually."

"I hope so," Hermione said.

"So, the ceremony," Mrs. Weasley pressed. "How was it?"

"It was..."

"...nice..."

"...strange..."

They grinned at each other. Apparently Ron and Hermione were unable to articulate a better response than Harry's original attempt, but between the three of them he thought they'd summed it up quite nicely.

"I'll ask you again when you've had time to think about it," Mrs. Weasley said kindly.

Ron and Hermione nodded gratefully and made for the stairs and Harry followed, a vague notion of finding Ginny forming in his head until Mrs. Weasley called him back.

"Is there any new information about the revolting Muggle-borns?" Harry asked hopefully, turning back to her.

"No, I'm afraid not," Mrs. Weasley replied. "Nothing for sure, anyway. Arthur and Percy have been at the Ministry all day, but no one's been able to find much of anything."

"Alright," Harry sighed. He hadn't really expected much. As far as he knew, the last time they'd learned anything new about the situation was when Ted Tonks turned himself in to the Ministry the day after the explosions.

"There's actually something else I wanted to talk to you about," Mrs. Weasley began, but Harry became distracted after that because Ron and Hermione appeared at the foot of the stairs wearing Muggle clothes. They waved a tentative goodbye and stepped out the back door. After two days of watching Hermione disappear off to Diagon Alley to do research, Ron had started complaining about being able to help find his own cure. Knowing that he was expressing his frustration at his inability to travel rather than any real desire to spend part of his day in a library or bookstore, Hermione had suggested that they go for a walk. They'd been taking long walks around Ottery St. Catchpole every day since then, but Harry had, perhaps a bit foolishly, thought that they'd stop when they found that Ron could use Floo Powder again, not that he begrudged them their walks at all.

A bit belatedly, Harry realized that Mrs. Weasley was still speaking to him, saying something about how "everyone had a talk this morning," "we really can't put it off much longer," "you really are the best person for it," and "sorry if it makes you uncomfortable." He dimly noted that she looked a bit uncomfortable herself, then his brain finally caught up just in time to hear her conclude, "...say a few words at Remus' funeral tomorrow."

Harry blinked, realized his mouth had dropped open, closed it, cleared his throat, and opened it again, this time with a word in mind.

"You want me to speak at Professor Lupin's funeral," he said, hoping he'd heard wrong.

"Only if you're willing, dear," Mrs. Weasley assured him.

Harry wasn't feeling very assured at all.

"Wouldn't it be better if someone else did it?" he stammered, going tongue tied at the thought alone. "Tonks or someone?"

"Well, we did want to wait for Tonks at first," Mrs. Weasley admitted. "But it's been almost two weeks now and we think that if she was going to announce herself she would have done it by now. Aside from her, you are the closest thing Remus had. I don't know if he ever told you this, but he thought of you as a nephew."

"I thought of him as an uncle," Harry said quietly.

"Will you do it, then?" Mrs. Weasley pressed.

"I guess," Harry sighed. "I mean, yeah, I'll do it."

"Great," Mrs. Weasley replied, beaming. "I'm sure you'll be wonderful."

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

"Are you coming?" Ron asked when he realized that Hermione had fallen behind.

"Well, yes," Hermione said slowly, in a tone that suggested she was teetering on the edge of a revelation. "I've just had another thought."

"Let's have it then," Ron offered, returning to her side. A moment after that he realized that they were standing in front of the Weasley's broom shed and Hermione was looking at it like she'd just had an epiphany. "You want to go flying?"

"I don't know about me," Hermione admitted. "But do you want to?"

"I...yeah!" Ron exclaimed, pulling open the door to the broom shed and pulling out his Cleansweep. "I hadn't even thought of that."

"Don't ever starting thinking in terms of what you can't do," Hermione admonished him as they made their way to the paddock, "or else you'll give up before you even try."

"Thanks," Ron said.

"I learned that from Ginny," Hermione said.

"I've got to start paying more attention to her," Ron replied.

"That you do," Hermione laughed.

They reached the edge of the paddock a few steps later and Ron was about to jump on his broom when he noticed a potential problem. For all the progress he'd made at getting the strength and feeling to return to his arm, it was still more numb than not and would only hinder him in the air.

"What about...um..." he trailed off, looking at Hermione and lifting his right arm up with his left then letting it drop to clarify his point.

Hermione looked momentarily abashed, but she brightened up a moment later. There was no mistaking that she'd come up with the solution.

"What if we use a charm to stick it to your shirt?" Hermione suggested.

"Alright," Ron shrugged, "but nothing permanent."

Ron grabbed his limp arm and held it up across his chest while Hermione performed the spell. When Ron let go of his arm it flopped forward like a dead thing, but his shirt clung doggedly on, preventing it from moving more than a few centimeters.

"Will that work?" Hermione asked apprehensively. "I could anchor it to your chest, but that sounds a bit extreme."

"It's great," Ron replied with a grin, picking up his broom again.

"Nothing too fancy, please," Hermione said patronizingly. "I don't much want to try catching you."

Ron gave her a lighthearted scowl and took to the air.

He hadn't realized just how much he missed flying until he was soaring from one end of the paddock to the other and back, feeling the wind ruffle his hair and lift his spirits. He might not be as talented as Harry, in fact, with only his left arm to control his broom, his flying probably looked downright shoddy, but that didn't keep him from enjoying every second of it. Nothing could take this away from him, not even You-know-who and his curses. Up here no one pitied him for his deadened arm or called him a hero for saving Harry, although he didn't actually mind that last bit very much. Up here it was just him and his Cleansweep, and as much air and speed as he could get.

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

Harry spent most of the day in a state of mild panic and extreme frustration. He couldn't say he enjoyed the thought of speaking in front of dozens of people, but running the DA had taught him not to be afraid of it. The real problem was that he had no idea what to say. He'd sat in Ron's room until he had the favorite moves of all the players on the Chudley Canon posters memorized, the front yard until the chickens decided they couldn't abide his presence any longer, and the garden until he started to consider asking the gnomes for advice, and all he had to show for it was a roll and a half of parchment covered in scratched out lines. No matter how long he racked his brains, nothing he came up with seemed to do Professor Lupin any justice at all. Many times he found himself wondering if he could just go back to Mrs. Weasley and ask her to find someone else to speak at Lupin's funeral.

At first, Harry tried to remember everything he could about the former Professor: when they first met on the train, every lesson he'd taught, all Harry had learned about his parents, the battle that brought his downfall, and their last conversation before his death, but before Harry realized what was happening he'd become trapped in those memories. Around and around they spun, snippets of conversations, greetings, farewells, details he couldn't tell were real or imagined. Harry was just beginning to wonder if writing this eulogy would drive him mad when something touched his knee and he looked up to find Hermione sitting opposite him in the wand-lit attic.

"What are you doing up here?" she asked carefully.

"I was just...um...trying to," Harry trailed off, gesturing weakly at his piece of parchment. "Why are you here?"

"I was looking for you," Hermione replied. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Is it about Ron?" Harry asked tensely.

"No," Hermione assured him

"There's something I wanted to ask you too," Harry blurted, the day's frustration finally getting the best of him. "Did you know Professor Lupin was going to die?"

"What?" Hermione stammered. "How could I have?"

"I don't mean when he died, I mean how he died," Harry replied. "You must have realized that Pettigrew's silver hand would be dangerous to him."

"I guess I suspected," Hermione admitted. "But there was no reason to-"

"There was every reason to tell us!" Harry exclaimed. "Information like that is important. We can't just bumble along and hope we end up on top."

"It's over now, what does it matter anymore?" Hermione pleaded.

"I could have helped him in that fight with Pettigrew and Greyback!" Harry yelled, jumping to his feet.

"You could have died!" Hermione replied, getting to her feet as well. "What good would that have done?"

"That fight didn't have to work out like it did," Harry hissed.

"Your responsibility was to finish Voldemort," Hermione said.

"So you decided that I didn't need to know anything else?" Harry demanded. "Voldemort wasn't the only person we met in that battle."

"That's not why I didn't tell you."

"Although I suppose we do well enough even if we don't have enough information," Harry continued. "We seem to have a knack for weaseling our way out of things."

"Harry, I didn't mean to..."

"I guess we just have to potter along."

"That's not fair," Hermione said desperately, obviously catching on to what he was doing, but Harry didn't care.

"Maybe I am a bit moody," Harry said, volume increasing with every syllable.

"Would it really have made it better to know that Lupin might die?"

"It would have helped to riddle out some of these things before hand," Harry added menacingly.

"He didn't die because of Pettigrew's hand; he died because he wanted to make sure you could get to Voldemort!" Hermione shouted.

"Oh, yes, there's the crux of it!" Harry yelled.

"Stop it! Don't joke about that!" Hermione cried, sinking back to the floor.

Harry paced back and forth across the attic, ducking hanging beams as he passed them and feeling his anger ebb away. Finally feeling a bit calmer, he turned back to Hermione and said, "He was my last link back to my parents. If I'd known he was going to die I would have asked him more about them. Now I'll never know."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione sobbed, tears coursing down her cheeks. "I should have told you."

"Yeah, you should have," Harry sighed. "I'll see you around.

And with that, he slipped out of the attic through the trap door.

When she was sure that Harry was gone, Hermione stood up and began retracing Harry's route back and forth through the attic, twisting her wand in her hands. She wasn't sure what she'd expected when she came up here. Harry had his own demons to deal with, he didn't need hers. But she couldn't go on the way she had been, trying to avoid parts of her memories for Ron's sake, not now that she had to for Harry as well. Dealing with the memories of that battle, the death, the fear, and the knowledge of what happened and almost happened in that little room when there was no magic to protect her, not even floor beneath her feet for reassurance; it wasn't something she knew how to do. This wasn't something Hermione wanted, but she could see no other option.

Steeling herself up, Hermione pointed her want at her temple and ran through those terrible memories one last time. Then, she took a deep breath and whispered, "Obliviate!"