Restitution

"Restitution"

by Paracelsus

Chapter 16: Burning Day

No restful sleep in the last forty hours. A desperate battle for survival won, for himself, his friends, his world. The release of tension upon being told that his best friend would live. You'd think after all that, Harry mused, I'd be able to get some sleep.

Hello! Welcome to my planet. Here on my planet, I don't get breaks like that.

Harry lay in darkness and stared up at the ceiling. Part of him dreaded falling asleep - the last time he'd slept, he'd been overwhelmed by voices of the dead, all crying for his attention. He had no reason to think they'd given up... they were simply biding their time. Waiting for him to sleep again, so they could invade his dreams...

Of course, this wouldn't be the first time he'd had to worry about someone invading his dreams, would it?

But this was different from his experiences with Lord Voldemort. Neither privacy wards nor Occlumency would keep these invaders at bay. Either Harry would have to learn to deal with them, or else...

"Nana?" he whispered into the darkness. "Nana, can you hear me?" No response. He didn't know why he expected one... but he couldn't shake the memory of something the Headmaster (and Margaret) had said. "I trust Nana."

"Nana, with all that's happened... and I did help Papa in the end... but now I just need to sleep." Harry felt ridiculous, but continued whispering to the empty room. "Do you think... can you get them to leave me be tonight?" He waited, but still received no response. Oh well. Just one more thing to worry about. Add it to the list...

He was manifesting powers no human had ever shown... and there seemed to be a very real chance of his becoming a phoenix. Maybe in a hundred years... maybe tomorrow.

There were the remaining Death Eaters still in New Zealand. At least one hidden in the Ministry of Magic... and Malfoy had said something about a partner. And Harry had to assume that, though they might not be armed with large pounamu crystals, they could still have wands set with pounamu chips.

And there was the question of the pounamu mine itself. Its existence was now known; if he could find it, so could others. That anyone could have access to so much raw power was troublesome.

But Harry's thoughts kept returning to the thing that haunted him most - the thing he'd feared for so many years. One of my friends nearly died tonight. Again.

How many times had he relived the scenes? Hermione petrified in the hospital wing, victim of Slytherin's basilisk. The fight in the Department of Mysteries, where Ron was injured by the brains and Hermione nearly killed by Dolohov's curse. The multiple attacks during their sixth year by every vile creature Voldemort could send. The Battle of Hogsmeade, where Hermione and Ron once again stood by his side... and Ron nearly died.

Never again, he'd vowed. He'd become an Auror against his will - he couldn't believe he'd once thought it would be cool to be an Auror - but it had given him the excuse he'd needed to try to keep his friends out of the fight, keep them at arms' length, keep them safe. And he'd done it no matter the cost... even, in his final confrontation with Voldemort, to the extent of deceiving them and risking their alienation.

In retrospect, that had to rank as one of the most idiotic mistakes he'd ever made. Harry had learned the hard way how much he needed his friends... they were as essential to him as oxygen. He'd nearly lost them by pushing them away - and tonight he'd nearly lost one by keeping her close.

Why was that the only choice he seemed to have!?

But it's not your choice to make, Harry, chided the voice in the back of his mind... the voice that sounded so much like Hermione. And Harry knew the voice was right. His friends understood the risks... and chose to accept them. Because, he decided, they must recognize that they were a permanent part of his life. He needed them - and apparently, to his amazement, they needed him.

It's almost like we're bound together... like a Fidelius Charm, Harry reasoned. Except that they aren't my Secret Keepers. They keep other things for me, more important things. Like Ron... always faithful, watching my back. The truest mate I could ever have. Ron keeps my trust.

Ginny... always so sure I can do whatever needs doing. Fred and George taught her there's always a way, if you've got enough nerve... and she taught me the same. Chin up and head high, she helps me move forward. Ginny keeps my hope.

And Hermione... know-it-all, bossy, argumentative - and the core of my life. God, where would I be without Hermione? Her wisdom, her support, her patience and care of me...no man could ask more, and she gives more without being asked. Hermione keeps... she keeps my...

The thought went unfinished. Harry rose from the bed and began to pace. He wanted to sleep, but he couldn't sleep, but he knew he should sleep, but... the thoughts went around and around in his head. Trying to get his mind off the treadmill on which it was trapped, Harry took stock of other things... like his physical condition.

Which was, in a word, awful. His joints were throbbing, while every muscle screamed its fatigue. Well, considering what we've just been through, small wonder my body's complaining. That, he added guiltily, and the fact that I need to take my potion. How long's it been...? I can't remember, I'm too tired...

He picked up his belt pouch from the table and opened it. Rummaging through it, he brought out a vial of Blood Replenishing Potion. He uncorked it and brought it to his lips.

It was empty.

I must have taken it after all... didn't I? Must have. Um, I'd better get more in the morning, though. I promised Opaleyes I'd deal with this... assuming it's not me turning into a phoenix after all.

Too much to think about, too much to worry about. Harry tried to clear his head of all extraneous thought... to empty his mind, as Snape had once tried to teach him to do. But images from earlier in the day continued to grip him - and foremost among them was the image of Hermione in the grotto, pinned under a huge boulder. There'd been no time for him to think then, as he had so many times before, Don't let her be dead... But it was true nonetheless.

On a sudden impulse, Harry donned the night robe which the Headmaster had Transfigured for him. He slipped his glasses on and quietly left his room. It took only a moment for him to get his bearings in the darkened corridor... then he headed for the Infirmary. He paused for a moment at the doors, listening... then as quietly as he could, he went in.

He had to see her for himself. He didn't want to talk to Madam Maxwell or Dr. Pohuhu, he didn't want to disturb anyone, but he wouldn't be able to sleep until he'd seen for himself that Hermione was all right.

All the Infirmary beds were empty, except for one near the corner of the room, screened by curtains. Harry thought about casting a Lumos spell, but decided not to risk it... he contented himself with the faint candlelight from the wall sconces. He walked very softly to the corner bed and drew aside the curtain. Hermione lay there asleep, her color in the candlelight no longer chalky, her breathing normal, her hair its usual bushy mess.

Relief flooded through him, an unacknowledged ache receding in his chest... like a vise around his heart loosening. She's all right. She'll live. And hard on the heels of that thought came the realization: Now I can live, too.

If Hermione hadn't survived... Harry felt sure he wouldn't have outlived her very long, phoenix or not. Probably just long enough to execute Malfoy, he reflected grimly, and was surprised by the intensity of the feeling. Yet he knew now: if Hermione died, Harry would probably live only long enough to deal with any unfinished business.

The thought should have been unsettling. Instead, he found it comforting - and strangely exhilarating. He didn't know if he could explain it to Hermione, or to anyone... he couldn't explain it to himself. Harry couldn't help wondering whether Hermione could explain it to him. She probably could.

Right. I should sleep now, he told himself. And Hermione needed her sleep, too. He'd talk to her in the morning.

He tilted his head to one side as he took a last look at her face. He didn't move or speak, he simply looked for a minute at the face that was as familiar as his own. Yesterday he could have sworn he knew every contour, every line of that face... yet now it was as though he was seeing it for the first time, through new eyes.

And so you are, he reminded himself. New eyes see new patterns. Feeling suddenly daring and whimsical, he reached out a gentle hand - taking pains not wake her - took a strand of her hair that was lying askew and eased it back into place.

Her eyes snapped open. "Gotcha," she said.

Harry froze with his hand still on her hair. "You're supposed to be asleep," he reproved.

"So are you." Hermione smiled drowsily at him. "You didn't wake me, if that's what's fretting you. I was already awake... I heard you come in."

"Did you now." She closed her eyes again and Harry grew concerned. "How are you feeling?"

She considered the question, eyes still closed. "A little... sore," she told him slowly. "Feeling the need to rest, that's all." She opened her eyes and looked at him with her own concern. "It's nothing serious," she assured him. "I really am fine. Please don't worry."

"I'll try." More to the point, he didn't want her to worry. He gave up any idea of discussing weighty matters, like phoenixes, and tried for a lighter tone. "Now see, if you will insist on standing at my side, you're going to have to expect the occasional hospital visit. And hospital food only makes it worse, let me tell you."

"Ah. Experience speaks. Well, I'd still rather be at your side than back home knitting booties." Hermione pursed her lips, struck by a thought. "And while we're on the subject, when did you ever try to prevent me from coming with you?"

"Did I? I don't recall -"

"You said you'd never succeeded, but you did try. I distinctly remember your saying that."

"You could at least pretend you don't have a photographic memory." Harry sighed and shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Fifth year," he admitted. "The thestrals."

She nodded as her suspicions were confirmed. "I thought so. When you suggested I wait with others and try to attract more thestrals... while you and Ron flew ahead to the Ministry. Honestly, Harry, I can't believe you thought that I'd - that we'd fall for that. It was so transparent." She waited another moment, then prompted, "Any other times?"

He rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Sixth year," he mumbled. "Fighting the heliopaths."

Hermione looked puzzled. "But I did help fight the heliopaths. We all did..." Her eyes grew wide and she pointed an accusing finger at Harry. "You mean... when you sent me to fetch Luna... you knew the heliopaths were already there? You knew? And you sent me away?!"

He squirmed like a truant schoolboy. "Erm... it seemed like a good idea at the time?" She glared at him, Level Two, and he hastened to add, "It didn't work, did it? You and Luna did return in time to fight, didn't you? And I'm curious," he added, anxious to change the subject, "how you managed to find Luna so quickly."

She permitted herself a small, smug smile. "Work it out for yourself. You have all the clues." Her smile faded. "I can't believe you... you sent me away..."

"Hold on." Harry stepped next to the bed and held up a hand. "First of all, that was five years ago. There really ought to be a statute of limitations for anything that happened while we were at Hogwarts. Agreed?"

"I'll think about it."

"Second," continued Harry, "you were right there at the Battle of Hogsmeade in our seventh year. That was the biggest battle we've ever fought, and nobody tried to send you away from that."

"True..." Hermione was beginning to allow herself to be placated.

"And third and most important," Harry said, leaning closer and meeting her eyes, "I've learned my lesson... and I've given my promise. Side by side, just like tonight." He saw her smile of contentment, and relaxed into a smile in return. "I mean it," he added. "You'll have to send me from your side from now on."

"And that," replied Hermione softly, "will never happen."

Harry leaned still closer and butted his forehead against Hermione's, in the gesture that had become their own. Their eyes were mere inches apart as he murmured, "Promise."

"I promise," she whispered, locking gazes with him.

He chuckled and pivoted his head slightly against hers, so that their noses touched. He pressed his nose against hers in a Maori hongi and held it there for a long moment.

And then... he wasn't quite sure how it came about, he certainly hadn't intended it, but... their heads were tilting and their eyes were closing and their noses were sliding past each other and their lips were pressing together. Tentatively at first, their lips barely brushing, and then more boldly. It felt perfectly natural, the culmination of all that had gone before, and he let the event take its course as he deepened the kiss.

The kiss... with Hermione.

Was he out of his mind?!

Startled, he broke off the kiss, berating himself for his loss of control - what was he thinking, was he out of his mind? - and desperately hoping to salvage their friendship before he threw it away for good! Harry had to apologize, try to explain how he'd reacted without thinking, his body acting on its own for a moment... And he needed to do it at once, before her feelings were hurt, or worse, before she went ballistic...

But as he pulled back, Hermione's expression wasn't at all what he'd expected. She didn't look hurt or offended. Wide-eyed and round-mouthed, she looked like a child meeting Father Christmas for the first time: a little awed, a little hopeful... and a little scared.

He'd frightened Hermione too many times in his life - the thought that he might have done something to frighten her tonight was intolerable. He held his hand out, palm towards her in token of peace, while he tried to find the right words... to explain, to ask forgiveness...

And she took his hand in her own. She kissed his palm and pressed it to her cheek, and there could be no more thought of apologies.

Her cheek was warm under his hand. Her brown eyes glistened as they searched his face... for what? Harry tried to smile reassuringly, but it came across as a nervous smile. He was nervous - he could feel his heart hammering away - as the importance of this one instant of time became clear to him. I'm loved, he thought, remembering his epiphany in the garden. I can love back.

Say it aloud, you git.

"I..." His voice was hoarse in a mouth gone suddenly dry. Harry cleared his throat and tried again. "Hermione, I..."

Of course she knew what he was thinking... she usually did. Her smile warmed his very soul. "I love you too," she whispered helpfully.

He couldn't repress a chuckle. "Thank you," he replied, and bent over her to plant a second kiss on her lips.

There'd been other kisses before this, to be sure, with other women... starting with Cho in his fifth year. None had prepared him for kissing Hermione. It was more than the physical pleasure of the kiss - though there was that and to spare. It was the fact that, for the first time in his life, he was sharing a kiss with someone enormously important to him - to whom he would willingly give all his life, and who returned the gift fully. It was wonderful, intoxicating. It was like drinking from a goblet of wine that satisfied without satiating - a goblet that was always full and never ran dry.

He paused for just a moment, only long enough to take a breath and move his head a bit, and then he was kissing her again more fervently than before. And she was kissing him back, matching his passion with equal passion. It would have taken an extraordinary event to distract Harry at that moment.

When she took his hand, still pressed against her cheek, and moved it to her breast, that did the trick.

Harry's eyes went wide as he lifted his head. He tried to remove his hand, but she pressed it more firmly to her breast. Hermione still looked a little scared, but there was now determination mixed in as well. Scared that he might say no - and determined to not take no for an answer.

Which wasn't to say Harry didn't try. "You... you've just been healed," he stammered. "You need to recover... we shouldn't... I mean, so soon... I mean, you're still in a hospital bed...!"

"I feel fine. Margaret said I only needed sleep. And you must admit this will help me relax and sleep." Hermione gave a small demure smile, but her eyes were alight with amusement. "Anything else?"

Well, yes, there was something else, rather a major hurdle from his point of view... and his traitorous mouth was spilling the details before his brain had a chance to stop it. "I, uh, don't know... that is, I've never..." Harry stuttered to a halt and bit his tongue to keep from saying more. He was certain his face was glowing in the darkness, he was blushing so furiously.

Hermione put her other hand behind his neck, pulling him down, as she rose slightly from the bed to meet him. She kissed him again, tenderly but thoroughly. "When in doubt," she quoted, "follow instinct."

*

After spending seven years sharing a dormitory at Hogwarts, Ron had heard too many of Harry's night screams to not awaken instantly at the sound of one. It took him only a moment to remember that he wasn't at Hogwarts, but Whare Wananga - then he was out of bed and out the door, throwing on a robe and looking left and right.

The door next to his opened and Ginny stuck out her head. "Was that... Harry?"

Another scream of pain echoed down the corridor. "Yep," said Ron, and took off at a run, Ginny hot on his heels. They could hear Hermione now, shouting for help.

"The Infirmary!" Ron called over his shoulder to Ginny. Together they burst through the double doors and stopped short... at the sight of Harry, his unclothed body totally engulfed in flame, kneeling on the floor and crying out in pain. Beside the curtains around her bed Hermione stood, holding a scorched quilt over herself with one hand while she pointed her wand at Harry with the other.

"I can't extinguish it!" she shouted desperately. "And the Flame Freezing Charm doesn't work, either!"

Dr. Pohuhu came running into the room, followed by Madam Maxwell. "We heard shouting. What..." began Margaret, and fell silent as she took in the situation. She looked around quickly and headed for Hermione. Ron noticed for the first time that Hermione was burned on the parts of her body he could see.

The flames around Harry were growing hotter and brighter. He was rolling on the floor now, pounding himself with his fists, trying to put out the fire to no avail. Ron grabbed a blanket from a nearby bed. He held it spread in front of him, partially shielding him from the heat, as he cautiously walked towards Harry. "Hold on, Harry," he called. "I'm going to try to smother..."

At his words the flames suddenly flared, as though they understood Ron and were defending themselves. Ron was forced to step back from the increased heat. Then as Harry cried out again, he steeled himself and took a step forward.

The flames flared even more, becoming painfully bright to look at, as Harry braced himself on his hands and knees. He bent his head back and gave a great cry to the heavens as the flames swirled around his body. They twisted upwards to form a pillar of fire... a pillar that condensed into a ball, then into an animate shape...

With a choking cough Harry fell forward onto the floor, the enveloping flames now spent. Over his head the fire had coalesced into a small bird with red and gold plumage. It flew in a small circle over Harry for a moment, then landed on the floor next to him and gave a high-pitched musical trill.

It was obviously a phoenix... but it wasn't Fawkes, Ron was certain of that. And something about its size and high voice suggested that it was a young phoenix...

It gazed serenely at Harry, who after a moment raised his head to regard it wearily. "What...?" he began, then fell silent as if listening. He tilted his head and stared intently at the bird. It looked for all the world as if Harry and the phoenix were... communicating. Talking somehow without saying a word... or possibly communicating on a level beyond words.

After a minute had passed, Ron could keep quiet no longer. "Harry," he said, slowly lowering the blanket, "what's happening? Aren't you turning into... I mean, are you all right?"

"I'm fine... now," replied Harry, not taking his eyes off the phoenix.

"Then... who is this?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the phoenix, as if relaying the question. "This is a phoenix with no name as yet," he answered after a moment. "As to who this is... this is Fawkes's son."

Ginny gave a low whistle. "He has a son?"

Harry shook his head. "Not quite. She had a son. Fawkes is dead... and Fawkes was female."

Ron blinked. "Fawkes... dead?" he asked hollowly.

"Female?" echoed Ginny in the same tone.

"Yes and yes," said Harry. He looked over to Hermione, who was being treated by Margaret for her burns. "Hermione was almost right. A phoenix on the point of death does transmit its spirit... but that spirit doesn't change another creature into a new phoenix. It becomes a phoenix on its own."

"Oh," mumbled Hermione, trying not to be distracted by the sight of her burned tissues sloughing under Margaret's healing hands. "Oh... well, that does make sense, I suppose. I mean, what other creature can match a phoenix for Light powers? Unicorns, possibly, but..."

"Well anyway, the phoenix's spirit doesn't become a real phoenix overnight," Harry went on rapidly and without inflection, trying to get through the explanation with as little embarrassment as possible. "It has to be protected until it's ready. It has to find..." He faltered, unable to think of the right words.

"A nurturing environment?" Ginny asked. Harry nodded. "You mean, a sort of nest?" she continued.

"Something like that," Harry said. His face was reddening. He'd returned his gaze to the young phoenix, who was watching Harry with curiosity.

"So then," said Ron, trying to put it all together in terms he could understand, "Fawkes knew she was about to die, so she laid an egg... in you."

"In a magical and highly metaphorical manner of speaking," admitted Harry, who could not now look at any of them, "um... yes."

"Uh huh."

The young phoenix raised its head and sang a rapid arpeggio. It gave one last look at Harry, who nodded and said, "Dumbledore." Then with a bampf! and a burst of flame, it disappeared from the room.

With the focus of the immediate crisis gone, Ron began to be aware of certain details of his surroundings. The most obvious was Harry, who was now sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chin - and his back to Ron and Ginny. Now that the flames were gone, his lack of clothing was rather apparent.

A quick glance showed that Hermione - or at least the portion of her body that wasn't covered by the quilt - was likewise bare. Ron had to assume that the rest of her body matched.

"Well," announced Margaret loudly, leaving Hermione and marching to the Infirmary doors, "now that we know all's well, visiting hours are over. My patient needs," and she couldn't suppress a smile, "bed rest. C'mon, you lot, off with you."

Ron didn't move. He looked back from Hermione - who was blushing and looking at Harry - to Harry - who was blushing and not looking at anyone. Ron could feel something bubbling inside him, a complex brew of emotions, none of which he could identify. He only knew that, any moment now and despite his best efforts, he was going to confront them both, demand to know what the bloody hell was going on here...

"Now, Ronald," ordered Ginny, taking his upper arm in a firm grip. Her no-nonsense tone would have done Mrs. Weasley proud.

Somehow Ron found himself in the corridor outside the Infirmary doors. Margaret and Madam Maxwell were walking away, returning to their rooms. Ginny still had her grip on his arm. Harry... was still in the Infirmary.

"He's still... they're..." Ron gestured at the doors. "She and him...?"

"Evidently." Ginny smiled at her brother's sudden loss of articulation. "À la bonne heure."

Ron gaped at her. "You mean you approve?"

Ginny returned a level gaze. "You mean you don't?"

"Yes! I mean no! I mean..." Confusion was writ large on Ron's face. He looked back at the Infirmary doors, wondering whether he should go back in there... and what he'd say...

He felt a tug on his arm. "Let's go to bed, brother mine," said Ginny gently. "You can talk to Harry in the morning."

Dazedly, Ron let himself be led away. Together he and Ginny walked back to their rooms in silence. Ron's mind was trying to deal with the thought of Harry and Hermione actually... He shied away from completing the sentence.

He knew, in his head, that he had no claim of that sort on Hermione. They'd had their time together, and it had been fun - mostly - but it was over. Had been over for a good while. If Hermione wanted to get together with some bloke, he was the last person to raise objections. So, at least, he'd always told himself.

But this wasn't 'some bloke', he realized angrily - this was Harry, dammit! Ron's best friend!

Also Hermione's best friend. Who was also Ron's best friend... and whom Ron wouldn't hurt for all the Galleons in Gringotts.

His flash of anger died, his confusion returning. Would they all still be best friends now? He didn't know... but he was afraid that the wonderworking Trio could easily become a Duo with a sidekick. Nothing would be the same anymore. He didn't know... he only knew that he, Ron, could lose the two best people in his life... watch them become too busy with one another to spare a thought for him. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

They'd reached the doors to their rooms. Ron nodded wordlessly to Ginny and opened his door... only to be stopped by a touch on his arm. "If it couldn't be me," Ginny told him, meaning every word, "I'm glad it's her."

He considered her words for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod. "Yeah... I see what you mean." He cocked his head at his sister. "You've thought a lot about this, haven't you?"

"For a few weeks," she smiled. "Since Harry's death... when Hermione and I talked. I've had more time than you to prepare myself."

"'Prepare'? Ginny... you couldn't've known they'd get together like this. That is... weren't you trying to get with Harry...?" Ron fell silent at Ginny's quelling look. She was still smiling, but it had cooled considerably.

She waited a moment before replying. "Ron... remember those Daily Prophet articles? Remember how much he hated being pressured into a date?" He nodded mutely. She raised one eyebrow and concluded, "What made you think he was the only one?"

Without another word Ginny went to her room and closed the door behind her... leaving Ron standing in the corridor, the shards of many shattered preconceptions lying around his feet.

*

Harry sat on the floor of the Infirmary and rested his chin on his knees. The floor was cold and hard, but that discomfort was nothing compared to the embarrassment of the last few minutes. A fiasco, he mourned. My whole life, every attempt at romance has been a fiasco. Why did I think it would be any different with Hermione? I should just give up trying...

He heard motion behind him, then beside him. Hermione sat on the floor next to him... though she sat with her legs folded beneath her, rather than drawn up. She'd wrapped the burnt quilt around her shoulders, but left it open in front. The candlelight glowed soft and warm on her skin as she regarded him for a few seconds.

"Well, Mr. Potter," she finally told him, "when you promise a night I'll never forget, you certainly deliver."

He wasn't able to laugh at her attempt at humor... but he felt his tension melt away, as she'd intended. "I did my best. I was sure I heard something about flaming passion," he returned dryly.

Hermione gave a low chuckle and rested her head on his shoulder. He slipped his arm around her, felt her lift half the quilt to cover both of them. He was trying not to stare, but he couldn't help looking at her out of the corner of his eye. He thought he'd never seen anything so beautiful. "How long?" he asked simply.

"How long, what? How long have I loved you? Or how long have I known I loved you?" Hermione smiled in reminiscence. "I don't suppose you'd believe I've always known and I was waiting for you to figure it out, would you?"

"Of you, I'd believe it."

"Why, thank you. But no... I've known for years that we had a special relationship. I've known that since our third year - but I didn't know I deeply, truly loved you until... until you died last month. I wanted to die, too - it was like being torn apart."

Harry blinked, recalling his thoughts from earlier in the evening. Eerily similar thoughts... "What was special about third year?

"That Quidditch match, when you fell off your broom... and I couldn't do a thing to save you. I think that's when I first realized that, no matter what I did, you could still die... It just shattered me, Harry. I knew then that I could never let anything happen to you... for my own sake." Her smile was a touch self-conscious, a touch nervous.

"But... correct me if I'm wrong, but that was the year we had the huge fight about my Firebolt, wasn't it?"

"And the next year, when you and Ron were having the huge fight, with whom did I spend my time?"

"Oh. Um. Yeah. I guess I was pretty clueless." He waited for the inevitable smirk... sure enough, there it was. "I admit it, all right? I was clueless. But give me credit, I did figure it out in the end." The corner of his eye was no longer good enough. Harry was looking at her full-on, and enjoying the view.

"Er, Harry? Do you suppose we can get up off the floor now? It's cold." Hermione grinned as he automatically put his arms around her to keep her warm. "We should find an unburnt bed - I'm sure it would be much warmer. We still have to relax me so I can fall asleep. Doctor's orders, you know."

*

It was a slow, languorous awakening for Hermione the next morning. She smiled lazily, stretched and turned her head. She wasn't surprised to not see Harry in the bed with her - the Infirmary beds weren't really big enough for two people, at least not for sleepers - but she was pleasantly surprised to see a vase of roses on the nightstand beside her bed. That had been the water jug when I went to sleep, I do believe. I always knew helping Harry with his Transfiguration assignments would pay off.

The Infirmary door opened and Margaret entered, followed by Ginny carrying a change of clothing. "Good morning," Margaret greeted her. "How are we feeling today?"

"We're fine, thank you. At least I rested very well," Hermione said gravely.

"Mm hmmm. Well, I'd like to give you a last check-over before releasing you." Margaret was wearing a stethoscope, though Hermione suspected she no longer needed it to examine patients. She probably wore it for its symbolic value.

The doctor proceeded to lay her hands on Hermione's body, starting with her head, one on either temple. She left them there a moment while she 'listened,' then moved them in turn to Hermione's shoulders, chest, stomach, and hips. "I will never get used to this," Margaret said at last. "I could've run a full-body CAT scan on you and not done so good an exam."

"Nice for your patients," suggested Hermione.

"And for you. As far as I can sense, Hermione, you're completely healed. Fractures rejoined, organs restored, new connective tissue in place... you can leave any time." She gave Hermione a grin and Ginny a wink. "Go get 'em, girl," she added, and left.

Ginny sat on the bed as Hermione obligingly moved her feet. They didn't speak at first, but merely looked at one another solemnly. Hermione was the first to grin, a broad happy grin complete with enthusiastic nod. Ginny reached out in delight and took her hands, matching her grin for grin. "Details," she demanded. "Give me all the details. Leave out nothing."

*

Harry, for his part, showed up at the whare whakairo for breakfast with a certain foreboding. He was quite sure that their arrival last night in a ball of fire had been the subject of endless discussion by the staff and students of Te Whare Wananga. He was rather hoping that the events in the Infirmary were still confidential - but he wouldn't have put money on it.

As it turned out, the whare whakairo was mostly deserted. A couple of students were at one table... and Charlie and Margaret were together at another. Ron was sitting alone, drinking coffee and making inroads into a plate of sausage and scrambled eggs. He waved at Harry to join him. "Morning," he said shortly as Harry took a seat.

"Morning," said Harry, a bit worried by Ron's behaviour.

"Sleep all right?"

Now Harry was really worried. "Ron..."

"I didn't." Ron drained his coffee cup. "I spent a lot of the night thinking. Thinking about what's going on between you and Hermione."

Harry's instinctive response would once have been to deny that anything was going on between him and Hermione. But he wouldn't have fooled anyone this morning... not even himself. And certainly not Ron, by the sound of things.

"Last night was the first... Ron, before last night there was nothing going on between Hermione and me. Honest. We would have told you..."

"I know that. I'm not stupid. Anyway, I'd've seen something." Ron scowled as he poured himself more coffee.

Harry rubbed his chin pensively. "I know why you're upset, Ron..."

"I'm not upset!" Ron slammed the coffeepot onto the table with enough force to make the cutlery jump.

"... For the same reason I was upset when Hermione was with you, starting in our seventh year," finished Harry doggedly.

Ron looked at him suspiciously. "You told me you were happy we got together."

"I was happy... but I was also upset. I was, well, I was a little jealous... and I was afraid of being a fifth wheel."

"A what?" Ron began, then seemed to figure out the idiom. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "Yeah, something like that." He took a deep pull from his cup and added, "I don't want to talk about it right now."

"I was just being stupid," Harry persisted. "I was happy for you, too... You were my friends. And that didn't change..."

"Harry," Ron said heavily, "I haven't decided yet whether I'm gonna be happy or upset by this. I have to think it through. Until then, I don't want to talk about it. Okay?"

Harry nodded mutely. At least Ron wasn't shouting or in a temper, or showing any of the danger signs a younger Ron would have shown. His friend had grown... if he needed time to think, Harry would happily give it to him. He rather wished he'd had time to think, but it had happened so fast...

He was saved from having to find another topic of conversation by the arrival of Ginny and Hermione in the dining hall. Ginny reached the table first. "Morning, Ron... good morning, Harry. Say, Harry, if you're not busy later, I thought we could go out together and try to scry for a special wand. How about it? Oh, wait, I forgot. You don't meet the requirements anymore..."

"Ginnyyyyy..."

"Oh well, at least your acne's cleared up."

Harry glowered at her. She grinned cheekily at him, sat down, and began buttering toast.

By this time, Hermione had reached the table. Harry wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to greet her - every detail of his life would probably change, after last night - but she took the decision out of his hands. "Good morning," was all she said as she seated herself next to him. No dramatic hugs or kisses, but she smiled and laid her hand atop his. Her caress sent a thrill through his whole body, and his answering smile was worth hours of dialogue.

"Oi! Enough, you two. It's way too early for that," said Ron. He was trying to look as though he was making a jest, but Harry could sense the edge beneath his words.

Hermione glared at him disdainfully. "Get used to it." She poured herself a glass of juice and sipped it, watching Ron all the while. Clearly, unlike Harry, she wasn't about to accept any guff this morning.

"It was a lot to accept last night," Ginny said, more serious now. "Everything... you, the phoenix..." She sighed. "I'm going to miss Fawkes."

"I reckon he felt... she felt that her tasks were finished," said Harry. "That 'epochal' thing in your letter from Scamander, Hermione. With Voldemort defeated, maybe she felt her work here was done."

"Possibly," said Hermione thoughtfully. "But she should've known that she couldn't just die without anyone grieving. Didn't she realize how much she'd be missed?"

Harry swallowed painfully. "It's... it's not something we usually think about," he said hesitantly. Hermione looked at him sharply, and he added with a reassuring smile, "Until it's brought to our attention, that is."

"Oh good." Her eyes searched his face for a moment longer, then she gave a satisfied nod and took some toast. "Don't forget it."

"Did Little Bird say why Fawkes chose you for the nest, Harry?" asked Ron. He wore the bland expression that reminded Harry that Fred and George were, after all, Ron's brothers.

"I don't think I was chosen, exactly," said Harry. "But when Fawkes decided to die, and her spirit went out, it tried to find a suitable... host, I guess is the word. I reckon I was closest."

"And the fact that you already had so many phoenix-like qualities," commented Hermione absently, still intent on her toast, "your fight for the Light, your caring and willingness to sacrifice, the burdens you've borne... that of course had nothing to do with it."

Harry cast about for a suitable change of subject. "What happened to Malfoy?" he asked.

Ron turned grim. "He never woke up. Otimi took him away last night after he talked with me... asking about the men we captured, how we found the mine, the whole story. I kept the details down to a bare minimum... thought it was safest that way."

Ginny looked at him quizzically. "Is there a problem, Ron?"

"Isn't it obvious? Otimi's our mole." Ron leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Malfoy kidnapped Margaret because she could find the greenstone source. But who knew Margaret was sensitive to greenstone? We were the only ones there when she found the tiki thingy. Us four - and Otimi."

"The Headmaster knew, too," noted Ginny. "And Margaret and Nana, of course... and Charlie found out. But none of us told anyone else - anyone at all, much less Malfoy."

"And Otimi wouldn't tell anyone, either," Ron pressed. "We were worried that the mole might be someone in the Ministry that Otimi works with and talks to, but Otimi's not the talkative sort, is he? And this isn't the kind of information that would just slip out accidentally. No, the mole has to be Otimi."

There was silence around the table as they digested Ron's words. His argument was disturbingly plausible. Ginny looked troubled; Hermione's brows were knitted in concentration.

"No," she responded after a moment. "Otimi can't be the mole... he's met me. He's met you and Ginny. He knows us."

"If he's a Death Eater, just knowing us wouldn't stop him from talking to Malfoy..." Ron began.

"But Malfoy was surprised to see us, there in the mine," Hermione argued. "Malfoy didn't know we were in New Zealand - and that's surely information the mole would have passed on, if he'd known. Otimi's the one person in the Ministry who's met all four of us... so he's the one person we can be sure isn't the mole."

"But he's also the one person in the Ministry who knew that Margaret can sense greenstone!" Ron argued back. "So he has to be the mole!"

"Wait, hold on," intervened Harry. "There was something he said... give me a moment..." He closed his eyes and tried to recall the scene. The others kept quiet as he searched his memory. "We were talking," Harry said slowly. "Otimi, Te Matorohanga and I were talking about Margaret's magic. And Otimi said... he said he shouldn't have been surprised that Margaret could detect the true greenstone tiki, because she'd detected greenstone at the Ministry - 'when we first met her.'"

"'We'?" echoed Ginny. "She met with others besides Otimi? Who?"

"Easy enough to find out," Harry said, and glanced over at Margaret and Charlie. "I have my own suspicions... but proving them will be a challenge, particularly with Malfoy still unconscious." His eyes came back to his friends... flicking to Ron, to Ginny, to Hermione... "After our night in the mine, you've all probably lost your taste for adventure..."

Hermione made a rude noise. "It was never about the adventure... it was about helping you. And you need our help for this, don't you? Mine and Ginny's in particular." She smiled as he blinked at her in surprise... and didn't even wait for him to ask his question. "Because I know how you think, Harry, that's how."