Walking Between Stones

Part 9 - A Trio Once More

Hermione eyes me over her perfunctory cup of tea, a healthy distance between us, just as in life. The idle chit-chat of strangers becomes our first conversation in years. I'm not ready for the harder questions, the accusations, just yet. Nor is she.

I notice a small, silver cross hanging from a delicate chain around her neck.

In the later years of my life, I have found that symbols of religion cause me to feel uncomfortable, and even angry. I'm not really sure why. Maybe because I feel the need to argue over the notion of an all powerful god controlling our lives, the same so-called god that has let me down in almost every aspect of my life since birth.

I just don't like the thought of people wasting so much time on something that, in the end, won't change a thing when they take that final breath. There is no heaven and there is no hell - there's just existing. Life is life. Death is death. If there was something beyond that, then they wouldn't call it your final moments. If there was a heaven, then why mourn over the deceased. Shouldn't they be happy that the person has moved on to a happier plain of existence?

'What's with the necklace?' I ask bluntly. Perhaps I could have phrased it better, but - there it is.

Hermione blinks in surprise, I'd obviously interrupted her in the midst of talking while my mind had been elsewhere. She sets down her cup and fingers the silver cross against her sternum.

'It's a cross, Harry.'

'I know what it is,' I reply evenly. 'What I meant was, why?'

She tilts her head, fingers still absently toying with the shiny object. 'It gives me comfort.'

'What does, exactly?'

'Why are you being like this?' She asks, a tiny crease between her brows.

I shrug and look away. 'Just curious as to how such a level-headed witch suddenly turns evangelist.'

Hermione picks up her cup once more and lightly blows on the steaming liquid. 'Maybe I like to think that my patient's lives do not rest solely in my hands. Harry, the things I've seen in the hospital... It truly makes a person believe in miracles.'

'What about when they die?'

'Then that is what is supposed to happen,' she answers matter-of-factly.

I laugh and shake my head in disbelief. 'Don't feed me that "it was destined to happen" shite, Hermione. I thought that you of all people would scoff at an ideology so similar to that of Divination.'

'I don't believe that a person is helpless to alter their future by the choices they make, but I do think that there are things in this life that there simply is no other explanation for.'

'Give me an example,' I demand, leaning forward, elbows resting on my knees and hands clasped together.

'Come wander around the emergency room for a couple of days and you will have more than enough examples to satisfy even your curiousity.'

'Maybe it's magic.'

'Maybe that's the same thing.'

'You're avoiding the question.'

'So are you.'

I sit back in my chair, assuming a defensive posture, my tea sitting untouched on the table. 'Ask away.'

'Alright.' She tucks one leg up and rests her chin on her knee, watching me closely. 'When did you find out?'

'Three months ago.'

She slowly raises her head in shock. 'Oh, Harry...I...I didn't know. I had thought you'd known for years.'

I shrug, avoiding her gaze as my fingers tap a restless beat on the scratched table top, causing little ripples to disturb the liquid smooth surface of my tea.

'I'm sorry.'

'What for?'

She puts her leg down and leans across the table towards me. 'For not being there for you.'

I laugh bitterly. 'That's my fault, not yours. Did you even know where I was?'

'No,' she answers truthfully. 'But I could've made something of an effort to locate you. I - we all - figured that you didn't want to be found.'

'I didn't.'

'Harry...' I look up and see my face reflected back in the glassy surface of her brown eyes. 'If Malfoy hadn't told me...'

I reach out and clasp her hand in mine, because that's what one is expected to do in situations like these. The dying comforting the healthy.

'How did he know where to find you?' I ask, retracting my hand and standing to fetch her some tissue.

'Thanks. Um, he knew where I worked from when he was in the hospital about a year ago.'

'Oh yeah? What was he in for?'

'Car accident.'

'Car accident? I'm surprised he wasn't taken to a muggle hospital for that.'

'He was.'

I raise my brows in surprise. 'You work in a muggle hospital? I didn't know.'

Hermione laughs and fiddles with the damp tissue balled in her fist. 'There's probably a lot you don't know, Harry. The wizarding world is...quite different from when you left.'

'You mean it can actually exist without me?'

She laughs again, a pleasant tinkly sound that reminds me of our days at Hogwarts.

'Yes, strangely enough, it can. People still ask about you once and awhile, wondering where you went, if you're still alive. But you'll be happy to know that you've now been relegated to the Quibbler and out of the respectable papers altogether.'

'I wouldn't really call the Daily Prophet a respectable source of news.'

'It is now. It was taken over and completely overhauled. I should've brought you a copy.'

'So you still keep up with the wizarding news, then?'

'Of course. I live in a little wizarding village in the southeast, near Kent.'

'Alone?'

Hermione smiles secretly at me over the rim of her teacup, eyes sparkling.

'Okay, who is he?' I smile.

'No one you know,' she replies.

'Muggle?'

'Yes.'

I nod and feel a little of our old camaraderie return.

'What about you, Harry? Anyone special in your life?' She waits a beat, then, 'I thought I saw something between you and Malfoy earlier.'

I run a hand through my hair with a tiny smile, admiring her perception. 'No, there's no one in my life. And yes, there is something between Draco and I. Not really sure what, but...it's there.'

'Waiting to be explored?'

I nod thoughtfully. 'Yeah, I think so.'

Hermione smiles. 'I'm so glad, Harry. I always thought you complimented eachother well.'

'We also bickered like no other couple in history,' I say wryly.

'Yes, I remember. Quite vividly.' She chuckles.

'I owe him my life,' I say, suddenly turning serious.

Hermione sobers, and it's her turn to clasp my hand in comfort. 'Thank God he was there.'

I quickly take my hand away. 'There is no god.'

She looks down at her empty hand, slowly curling her fingers back in over thin air. 'Does this have something to do with...your disease?'

'Not really.' I sigh, feeling guilty for ruining the moment. 'I think I've always felt this way. My life has made a skeptic out of me, I'm afraid. And if there is a god, then I don't particularly care to worship him for giving me a life that has been total crap.'

Hermione sits back in her chair and picks up her cup. The tea must be cold by now, but I think she just wants something to hold.

'Let's talk about something else,' I suggest, attempting a smile. 'It's been a heavy afternoon; what with talking about religion, suicide, and AIDS.'

Hermione's easy smile returns. 'You're right. What haven't we covered yet?'

'How about Ron?' I ask, having the sudden desire to know everything about him and his life, which for the first time doesn't include me. 'What's he doing now?'

Hermione's grin widens as she sets her cold tea down. 'He's married, can you believe it?'

'What?' I exclaim in amusement. 'To who?'

'A witch named Rose McKibben. She's quite pretty, and very sweet.'

I smile, happy for my old friend. 'Any kids yet?'

'Not yet, but she is currently pregnant with twins.'

'Twins? Poor Ron. I hope for his sake that they're not anything like Fred and George.'

'Me, too.' Hermione chuckles. 'But they're definitely going to carry on one Weasley tradition; Rose is Scottish and has very long, and very red, hair.'

I grin as I carry our dishes into the kitchen.

'You should call him.'

I turn around and lean back against the counter. 'Yeah, I should. Have you told him anything?'

Hermione shakes her head. 'No. I thought I would leave that up to you.'

'Thanks,' I say in mock appreciation.

'He should know, Harry.'

I walk back over to the table and slump into my chair. 'Yeah, I know.'

'You could call him now,' she suggests slyly.

I stare at her a moment. 'Hand me the phone.'

Hermione smirks and retrieves the phone from my counter as I try to gather my thoughts together - and just a little courage.

'What's the number?' I ask, staring down at the white number keys.

'Oh wait,' Hermione says abruptly. 'I forgot, he's probably at work right now.'

I almost sigh with relief as I replace the phone back in its cradle.

'We could go surprise him.'

I close my eyes briefly as I slowly take my hand from the phone. 'Does he work in the wizarding world?'

'Yes.'

I open my eyes and glance down at the hospital bracelet still snapped to my thin wrist.

'Fine. Let's go.'

Hermione grabs my hand as we approach the secret entrance to the Ministry of Magic, my feet beginning to drag as the old telephone box looms into view.

'It's okay, Harry. It's Saturday, not many people will be in.'

All I can do is swallow and nod as we step into the broken-down, red booth. Hermione keeps a hold of my hand as she dials in the required code (62442), then requests passes for the both of us.

I close my eyes as my heart drops along with the sudden downward descent of the magical lift.

Hermione and I enter the Atrium, and I am relieved to see that she is right; there are only a few mandatory workers going about their business and not paying any attention to the two new visitors.

Hermione finally releases my hand as she speaks to the man sitting at the front desk, asking if he could please send a Mr Ron Weasley down to see some old friends.

I give my head a little shake, allowing my dark fringe to settle over my forehead, thus obscuring my instantly recognizable scar. I look around the Atrium, remembering all the times I had come and gone from this place during the war. My days as an Auror seem so very long ago...

'Harry?'

I turn as Hermione grasps my forearm and leads my away from the desk, towards the centre of the large room. 'Are you alright?'

'Yeah,' I assure her with a shaky smile. 'I was just...remembering.'

'Good things or bad?'

'I don't think one comes without the other,' I reply dryly.

Hermione bites her bottom lip in hesitation. 'Were you...thinking about Andrew?' she asks tentatively.

'Don't,' I say sharply.

'I'm sorry,' she immediately apologizes, looking as if she would like to take a hold of my hand again.

I cross my arms over my chest and look around the Atrium with artificial interest. My eyes keep flicking back to the golden lifts at the far end, waiting for my once best friend to appear.

This was the last stop on my agenda before I left the wizarding world eight years ago. I remember traveling down those very lifts after giving in my resignation to Amelia Bones - the then head of the Magical Law Enforcement office - and returning my Ministry pass and official Auror robes. I remember people calling out friendly hello's as I passed, not knowing that they would soon be reading about my sudden disappearance in the papers in the weeks to follow.

I remember leaving notes to my friends, trying to explain myself and my decisions, knowing that they would never truly understand, and would most likely end up hating me.

I never left an explanation for Draco. I was angry at the time, and so jaded. We had officially broken up only three days before my departure and I always wondered if he was hurt by it. I think I secretly hoped he was for a time. Now I only hope that he understood, and that he was okay with it.

I wonder if we have grown enough to endeavour another attempt at something I had thought was not possible. Is the idea of "us" just a fruitless hope? A sad attempt at recapturing our youth and trying to hold onto a quickly disappearing yesterday? If we didn't work together then, who's to say we'll work now?

'Harry, there he is!'

I snap out of my swirling thoughts and look up. Ron has just stepped from one of the lifts, raising his hand in greeting and grinning. Hermione smiles back and waves with enthusiasm.

Ron suddenly stops dead, obviously catching sight of me by Hermione's side. I can see his mouth silently forming the word "Harry" from across the room.

Hermione grabs me by the arm and hauls me towards the stunned red-head.

'Harry...' Ron looks as though he can't quite believe I'm real.

'Hullo,' I say, smiling weakly.

Hermione rolls her eyes. 'Oh for heaven's sake, just hug already!'

I laugh a little, feeling awkward.

Ron smiles sheepishly and steps forward, arms held out questioningly.

That's all it takes and I've thrown myself into his embrace, holding on for dear life. We both laugh, and I feel as though I'll never stop. I open my eyes and Hermione is impatiently dashing tears from her cheeks. I hold out an arm and beckon to her. Soon the three of us are tangled together amidst tears and laughter. This is a reunion that has been a long time coming.

We must look ridiculous; standing there in the middle of the Ministry of Magic, laughing and crying like silly children, or like the completely mad adults that we are.

'Let's go for a walk,' Ron suggests, pulling back with a grin.

'Yeah, alright.' I smile back at him as the three of us walk towards the exit.

We travel in a blissful state of happiness all the way to Regent's Park, in the northwest of London. Chatting about trivial things, and leaving the important "where the bloody hell have you been?" questions until later.

The park is quite peaceful today, the overcast sky and damp weather keeping most visitors away. I can't believe it's almost November.

We happen upon a footbridge with a large pond on the right and a small waterfall on the left, and we silently agree to stop here. I hop up on the thick, wooden railing and sit with my hands braced on either side of me, watching the waterfall trickle and splash.

'Okay,' I start, before either of them can speak. 'I've been living in muggle London for eight years. I've been through three different jobs since leaving the wizarding world, none of which are worth mentioning. As I'm sure you're well aware, I did continue to work at the welfare centre for a year after leaving my job as an Auror, but decided that I needed to make a clean break of it, and quit. I've had a few relationships since, also none of which are worth mentioning. I am now unemployed and, quite frankly, my life has been...well, dreadful these past few years. And even more so in the past three months.'

Okay, this is it.

I turn to Ron and take a deep breath, vaguely aware that Hermione has put her hand over mine in silent empathy. This time it doesn't bother me.

'Ron, I'm HIV positive.'

'What?' he frowns, looking for all the world as though I've just turned his life upside down.

All I can do is nod, confirming his worst suspicions.

'How...?'

'I'm sure you don't want the details,' I reply, feeling so guilty and ashamed of what my past actions had been. Of admitting my stupidity and lack of judgment to my best friend. 'It was my fault. The guy I was with wasn't clean and we didn't use protection.'

'But surely you didn't know he was infected?' Hermione interjects worriedly.

'Of course not,' I snap. 'I'm not that reckless, nor that desperate.'

'But...what does this mean?' Ron's voice is barely a whisper. 'Are you...going to die?'

I feel so horrible in that moment, to have put that look of fear and misery on my friend's face. 'Eventually,' I admit quietly. 'My doctor told me that life expectancy for people living with HIV is an average of twelve to fifteen years from diagnosis.'

'And you found out, what? Three months ago?'

'Yes.'

Ron walks to the railing and rests his elbows on the surface. He covers his face with his hands and shakes his head as if to deny it all.

'Should I not have told you?' I finally ask, not able to take the silence any more.

He lifts his head, his eyes red-rimmed and wide. 'No, Harry. No, I...I would've wanted to know.'

I hop off the railing and pull Ron into my arms, trying, in my own way, to comfort him. I pretend not to notice the wetness on the side of my neck, seeping into my collar, or the hands clenched so tightly onto my shoulders.

'Thank you,' I whisper.

'For what?' he chokes.

'For not pulling away.'

He only squeezes tighter. 'Never.'

'I'm always afraid people won't want to touch me anymore...'

Hermione comes up behind me and lays her head on my back, her arms sliding around my waist.

I smile and close my eyes. This is one of those moments you remember for the rest of your life. One of those brief snapshots of contentment to later look back on with a fondness that permeates your senses. Every time I hear the gurgle of a water fall, or see a wooden footbridge - I'll remember.

We eventually split apart, and now the three of us sit atop the wooden railing in a line, watching the flowing water.

'So...twins, eh?' I say to Ron, attempting to erase the bleak ambience.

His face breaks out into a grin and he chuckles. 'Yeah. Can you believe my luck?'

'Do you know if they're girls or boys yet?'

'Nah, don't want to know,' Ron says. 'You have to come meet my wife, Rose, Harry. She's heard so much about you, I mean, besides the obvious.'

'I will,' I promise. 'I'd like to meet the woman who has taken on the job of being attached to you for life.'

Hermione laughs as Ron playfully swats me on the arm.

'I'll have you know, I only asked her out three times before she said yes.'

I laugh so hard I'm worried that I'm going to fall backwards into the pond.

'So what's Hermione's bloke like?' I ask after I've recovered.

'Bookish,' he replies instantly.

'Of course.' I wink at Hermione.

'He's a writer,' she explains, rolling her eyes at Ron.

'No handsome doctors at your hospital, then?' I tease.

'Why, are you looking?'

'Hmm...maybe.' I smile, considering. 'What hospital do you work at?'

'St Ann's General. It's in south Tottenham.'

'Well, I might have to drop by.'

'You can if you want.' She giggles. 'But I don't think Draco would be too happy.'

'No.' I chuckle. 'I don't believe he would.'

'What about Malfoy?' Ron asks in confusion.

'Er...' I look to Hermione.

'Oh no...not again.' Ron groans, putting his head in his hands.

I don't think I've laughed this much in years, since before I left the wizarding world anyway, which makes me wonder why I ever did. I know I can't leave it again, not after this. I want to go back. I'm ready to go back.

And tomorrow, I'll be ready for whatever happens between Draco and I.