Chapter 2
Harry Potter lived in Switzerland. It wasn’t a widely known fact, only his closest friends and a few colleagues knew his address. After the fall of Voldermort he’d become somewhat of a recluse. He had, however, made a fortune on a book detailing how the Order of the Phoenix had worked to bring down the dark lord. His book, unlike those of the infamous fraud Gilderoy Lockhart, did not focus solely on his actions against Voldermort. He made it clear that the dark lord never would have been defeated if it weren’t for a strong resistance. He’d
dedicated the book to all of the people who’d died fighting Voldermort, past and present.
Harry’s house was in the foothills of the Alps, about forty miles outside of
Zurich. When she apparated on his doorstep, Harry was surprised, to say the
least. “Hermione!” he said, hugging her tightly, “What are you doing here?”
She returned his hug. “I came to see you, silly. I have the week off. I’m not
intruding, am I?”
“No, come inside,” he pulled on her arm. “You’re staying the whole week?”
“If I don’t wear out my welcome before then.” As always, when walking into
Harry’s house she was amazed by the beautiful view. There was a wall of windows
parallel to the entrance. She sighed quietly, “It’s so magnificent here.”
“Yeah,” he smiled wistfully. “And it’s completely isolated.”
Hermione let the comment drop. She’d told Harry many times that he needed to
experience life, not stay in his house like a hermit. But every time she brought
up the argument he said, someday. She didn’t tell him that sometimes someday
didn’t come. He knew it well enough. “So is my usual room occupied, or can I
sleep in there?”
“I would make the queen herself change rooms if you said the word.” They
walked together to Hermione’s room to drop off her bags.
“So,” Hermione asked while they were sitting on a sofa enjoying the view,
“Have you written any other manuscripts?”
He was silent for a moment, “It’ll be five years to the day tomorrow. Five
years since I murdered Voldermort.”
Hermione moved to sit closer to him, putting her arm around his shoulder, she
said, “You didn’t murder him.”
“He’s dead, I killed him. That’s murder.”
“No, it’s not. You had no malicious intent. You were defending yourself,
saving the world. I’m not going to say you didn’t kill him, you know as well as
I do that you did. But it wasn’t murder. He was the murderer.”
He leaned against her chest. “And I’m the killer.”
“If you’re a killer,” she whispered, “Then, so am I.”
Neither of them said anything for a long time. Then, as the sun set, Harry
said, “I do have an idea for another book.”
Hermione didn’t stop looking at the sun as it fell below the mountains. “What
is it?”
“The rise of Voldermort. He’s tried to kill me so many times, maybe I should
write a book about it instead of the side notes in Fall of the Dark
Lord.” He looked up at her face. “What do you think?”
She looked at him. “It sounds like a best seller. What will you call it?” she
smiled. “The Rise of the Dark Lord?”
“Well, it does have that ominous ring to it.” He laughed a little. “Who’d
have thought that Voldermort, of all people, would be the reason for my
success?”
“It does make sense.” She scooted in her seat a little. “Maybe you could make
it a series. He gave you enough material.”
“A series?” Harry sat up, leaving the comfort of Hermione’s arm. “An
autobiographical series?”
“Think about it. Every year, for seven years, and when you were a baby, he
attacked you. Write it out a year at a time, revolving around your time at
Hogwarts. Tell it as a story, not history.” They sat for hours, talking about
the pros and cons of writing it in seven books. Before they even started
reminiscing about their school days, Hermione yawned. “I’m beat,” she said. “Can
we talk about this later?”
“I’m tired too.” They walked to their rooms, “’Night, Mione,” he said.
“Goodnight.”
The Weasley’s had a memorial for Ron a week after the battle. Professor
Dumbledore let them use the Great Hall. Everyone in their year, except for most
of the Slytherins, attended. Hermione was asked to speak. “Ron was one of my
best friends,” she began. “This past week has been so hard for me. I never
realized how much we all depended on him. He was one of the best people I ever
met.
“Though he was only seventeen, Ron accomplished much more than many others of
his age. When he was eleven years old, he helped save the world because of his
love of chess. He was willing to do anything to help a friend in need,
even if it involved swallowing vile tasting potions.” There were a few laughs.
“Ron loved life. He knew to live it to its fullest, even if it sometimes meant
breaking to rules. He didn’t leave the world untouched. I’m sure everyone in
this room can remember at least one of his hilarious antics.” Nods from the
audience. “Ron wouldn’t want us to cry too much over his passing. Of course, I
know he’d love the attention of a few tears, but we need to celebrate his life.
He was one of a kind.”
It was a short speech, but if she said anything else, Hermione was bound to
burst into tears. And it didn’t look good for a speaker telling people not to
mourn someone to cry, sob really, in front of them.
When Hermione woke up the sun was already out. She walked downstairs, looking
for Harry. He was outside, looking at the mountains. “Five years today,” he said
when she opened the sliding glass door to the porch.
She was standing behind him, looking at his mop of black hair. “I miss him so
much,” she said quietly.
“Voldermort?”
Her lips moved, forming a half smile, “You know who.”
Harry turned around, “Ginny’s coming over today. She usually does.” He walked
past her, back into the house. “C’mon, let me make you some breakfast.”
Hermione followed him, “Since when can you cook?”
“Alright, let my cook make us some breakfast,” he smiled.
She shook her head, “Harry Potter with a staff, who would have thought?”
He shoved her in the shoulder, laughing a little. “I’m rich, hero-man, I
need a staff, how else would I remember to get dressed every
morning?”
Hermione raised an eyebrow, “I’m not even going to touch that one.”
A few hours later, Ginny apparated in. They spent their time together
ignoring the date and catching up with each other.
Ginny helped her brothers in their joke shop. She’d even developed a few of
the products they were now selling.
Neither Ginny nor Harry knew what Hermione’s real job was, and though it hurt
to lie to her friends, she couldn’t tell them. “And how are things at the
Ministry going?” Ginny asked.
“Same old, same old. When I took the job, I never realized how much paper
work was involved.” She shook her head, “I’m on vacation, let’s not talk about
work.”
Ginny stayed for two days. In that time, she and Harry spent a lot of time
alone together. After she left, Hermione asked, “You love her, don’t you?”
He looked at her for a long moment. “How did you know?” He finally said.
“You’re my best friend, how could I not know?” She shrugged, “And, it’s a
girl thing.”
“I think I’ve loved her for a while now. I just don’t know how to tell her,”
he sat, slouching on the sofa. “Someday I’ll get the courage.”
“Harry, I’ve told you this so many times. Someday doesn’t always come.” She
sat down and closed her eyes, remembering Ron’s final moments. “Ron told me he
loved me right before he died.” She opened her eyes and looked at Harry. “If we
hadn’t been waiting for someday, we would have been together, in love, before
the battle.”
“You never told me.”
“I don’t know why. But don’t let it come down to that with Ginny. Tell her.
Go now, and tell her.”
“What if she doesn’t want me?” He sounded desperate.
“At least you’ll know.” She stood up. “Please tell her.”
“And just leave you here?”
“I have other things I can do, Harry.” She walked to the stairs.
“Bye, Mione,” Harry said, and apparated away. Hermione smiled. Once her bag
was packed she apparated into the alley next to her building.
She got inside and looked at the clock. It was a little after ten PM. There
was a note from Alissa on the table in the kitchen. She said she was out of town
until Friday. It was Wednesday. Hermione went into her room and opened the
Informant. There were no messages. She put it back in her bag, lay down, and
went to sleep.
“Miss Granger?” The man approached her as she was sitting outside at a café
in Diagon Alley. He sat down without being invited. His robes were very
professional looking. “My name is Richard Whitlaw. I’d like to offer you a job.”
He told her that he worked in association with the Ministry of Magic, mostly
monitoring the Muggle world. His people made sure that magic stayed a secret all
over the world.
If she took the offered position, she would be able to travel all over the
globe protecting magic. Another of the organizations responsibilities was to
make sure that no one like Voldermort came into power again. Upon hearing that,
she agreed. Anything to stop another Voldermort.
There was a crash somewhere in the flat. It was three AM and Alissa wasn’t
home. Hermione got out of bed and went to investigate. The front door was
closed, but she could hear footsteps in Alissa’s room. Wand drawn, she walked
in. Draco Malfoy was searching through Alissa’s things obviously looking for
information. “She took her computer with her, Malfoy,” Hermione said, pointing
her wand at the floor. “There’s no pertinent information in her paper
files.”
Malfoy stood up and scowled. “And how would you know that,
Granger?”
“Because I went through everything four days ago. I take it the fire was your
work?” He nodded. “Nicely done, but everything wasn’t destroyed.”
“You sure are a fount of knowledge. And I am perfectly aware that everything
wasn’t destroyed.” He walked to the door. When he got there they were standing
face to face. He was about four inches taller than her.
She looked up and met his eyes. “Why should I let you through?”
“I eat girls like you for breakfast.” He pushed her aside, but she hit the
door. “Move, Granger.”
“Stay out of my way, Malfoy. This is my mission. So crawl back to
whatever gutter you came from, and tell your employer that you couldn’t complete this assignment.” She stepped back to let him through.
He smiled and didn’t move. “Didn’t you know,” his smirk got bigger, “We’re
working for the same people.” He walked out of the flat before Hermione could
respond. Hermione shook her head, trying to convince herself that he was lying.
It couldn’t be the truth. Draco Malfoy would never work for the good guys. And
if his words weren’t a sick joke, then Hermione was working for the bad
guys.
She needed answers. She just didn’t know where to begin
looking.