Chapter Five.
In the end, Hedwig had taken four letters with her for delivery. Ron had argued that since she was already going to Professor McGonagall, then she could take with her a letter from him asking whether or not he could take Potions in the coming year. Hopefully, Harry had added a small note of his own in support. He didn’t really think that McGonagall would be swayed in any way by his opinion, but he knew that his token support would make Ron feel happier about the whole situation. They had spent the afternoon of Harry’s birthday in the library, writing and rewriting their letters, trying to make them as convincing as possible. When Ron was finally satisfied and Hermione had checked them over “ “Honestly Ron, if you had only studied more last year instead of worrying about Quidditch...” “ they had sent them off. Hedwig had been gone several days, and only returned on the morning of Harry’s trip to Gringott’s Bank.
Breakfast with the Weasley family was always chaotic, and Harry’s silence and picking at his pancakes went largely unnoticed in the din. Spending time with Ron and Hermione had helped push the spectre of Kreacher to the back of his mind, but Harry had never fully forgotten the house-elf’s presence in his godfather’s house. A small rift had formed between him and Lupin about it, albeit a polite one acted out in silence and avoidance. Harry often saw Lupin eyeing him sadly over the kitchen table at mealtimes, and wondered which of them felt more disappointed in the other. Ron had had no such scruples: “Barmy. Absolutely barmy,” he had said, shaking his head in disbelief. “How can he feel sorry for Kreacher? He should have given him what he wanted and stuck his head up on the wall.”
“Ron!” Hermione had been shocked.
“Oh come on, Hermione. Kreacher doesn’t deserve any sympathy,” Ron argued. “You want to treat them as if they’re the same as us? Sirius got sent to Azkaban for killing a wizard, why should Kreacher get any different? Or better yet,” Ron sniggered, “...send him to live with the werewolves. Let’s see how much sympathy they have for him then.” Hermione hadn’t spoken to either of them for the rest of the afternoon. Harry had felt guilty about it, but in his heart he couldn’t help but agree that Kreacher was irredeemable. Still, a small part of him had noted with some dismay how easily Ron had linked werewolves and house-elves as ‘the other’. Not that he ever treated Lupin with anything less than respect, but Harry remembered how, in the Shrieking Shack at the end of third year, Ron had recoiled in fear and disgust at the thought of Lupin being a werewolf. Of course, he had thought he was about to be killed at the time, so there was some excuse. Nevertheless, Harry’s traitorous brain also remembered Ron’s discomfort at Hagrid’s parentage, and his dismay that it had been leaked to the wizarding world at large. Harry didn’t blame Ron for any of this “ after all, Ron hadn’t let the ingrained prejudices of his world affect his feelings for Hagrid or Lupin “ he had no problem with the heritage of the people he knew. But, Harry realised, there was an ingrained sense of magical superiority that many people would have difficulty shaking off.
Harry knew that this was a bad thing, that it sowed the seeds of a continuing conflict that could only benefit Voldemort, whenever he decided to move. Knowing that and acting against it were two different things, however “ at least when it came to Kreacher. Loathing and contempt were the only two emotions Harry could summon up on behalf of the house-elf, and he waited for the day when he would be able to see him gone from Grimmauld Place for good.
It was this that he was thinking of over breakfast, staring stubbornly at his plate and deliberately avoiding his former teacher’s eye. It was a relief when Hedwig had arrived and flown tiredly to his shoulder. There were two letters bound to her leg “ neither for him, Harry noticed “ and, placing his owl on the table, he offered her his water goblet while undoing the letters. Hedwig drank greedily, and Mrs. Weasley gave her a long-suffering look. Harry couldn’t bear to think how his Aunt Petunia would react if animals had been fed on her table, and he could only imagine that Mrs. Weasley’s objections to the same practice had been worn down over the years, after living with the various pets of seven children.
The first envelope, addressed in purple ink by an unfamiliar hand, was addressed to Hermione, who opened it eagerly and began scanning it, only to gasp in surprise at the first few lines. Seeing that she didn’t look alarmed, and suspecting that it was a reply from Susan Bones, both Harry and Ron craned their necks to try and catch a glimpse of what was in the letter. Hermione glared at them, and whisked the letter into her lap.
“Letter from Susan?” Ron asked innocently. “Is she having a nice holiday, then?”
“You can ask her yourself in a few days,” said Hermione composedly. She turned to Lupin. “Why didn’t you tell us there’s going to be a new Minister for Magic? We are going to see the vote, aren’t we? Susan’s family is going,” she added unnecessarily.
“When did this happen?” said Harry loudly, leaving the second letter still half attached to Hedwig’s leg. The owl pecked softly at his hand and, not really paying attention, he continued to try and loosen the knot.
Lupin looked harassed. “It was decided a few days ago,” he said. “People are angry at Fudge for not doing enough to protect them from Voldemort.” The Weasley family cringed at the name. “Professor McGonagall told us when she was here that it had been decided Fudge would step down if a public meeting of the Wizengamot voted no confidence in him. They will, of course, Dumbledore’s seen to that, but they also need to elect a new Minister if they do.”
“It’ll be good to see that useless git gone,” said Fred.
“As long as they don’t elect another useless git in his place,” George warned.
“So much for not keeping things from me anymore,” said Harry angrily. He knew that Mrs. Weasley must also have been aware of Fudge’s imminent removal, but from his point of view Lupin had just added another betrayal, minor though it was.
“Really, Harry dear,” said Mrs. Weasley disapprovingly. “Your birthday lunch was hardly the time to bring it up. Besides, we didn’t know when it would happen...”
“Molly’s right,” interrupted Lupin. “The fact that it would happen wasn’t even public knowledge yet. Dumbledore wanted to keep it as quiet as possible and not release the date until the last possible moment. This way Voldemort gets less time to plan a disruption. There seemed no point in telling you what we didn’t know.”
“You knew Fudge was out,” Harry pointed out coldly.
“We all knew that though,” said Hermione suddenly, reasonably. “At least...” she said, looking around the table nervously “...any sensible person should have realised this was coming. After the past few months it was just a case of when. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.”
“I still would have liked to be told,” said Harry, trying to keep his temper. He didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t even considered Fudge’s position at the Ministry when half the table obviously had “ the twins had nodded at Hermione’s words “ but he didn’t want to give them the impression that he was happy at anything that kept him in the dark. He had had enough of that in the past year to last him a lifetime.
“Fair enough,” said Lupin casually, trying to smooth things over. “My apologies, Harry. I should have told you but truly, I was waiting until I had something to tell.”
“Okay,” said Harry, mollified but still angry. He did his best to be civil. “I’d appreciate that.” He stuffed down another bite of pancake, forcing it past the tightness in his throat. He could feel the rest of the table glancing at each other and it didn’t improve his temper. A new thought came to him. “How come Susan Bones knows before we do?” he demanded, glaring at Hermione. She opened her mouth to answer him but again Lupin interrupted smoothly, drawing Harry’s attention away from Hermione and back onto himself.
“Madame Bones is, I imagine, one of the leading choices to take over as Minister of Magic. No doubt she was informed of her candidacy before it was made public “ I imagine that the Daily Prophet will have a rather interesting story this morning. If she knew yesterday, and prepared her family, well... Susan’s her niece. If she and Hermione have been mulling this over for much of the summer...” Hermione blushed and stared hard at her plate, “... then no doubt Miss Bones passed on the news. Correct?”
“Yes, actually,” said Hermione. “So will we go and see the vote? It is public, after all.”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Weasley. “It might be dangerous, and you could always hear the result on the wireless...”
“I want to go,” said Harry instantly
“So do I,” said Ron and Hermione together. Ginny, Fred and George agreed loudly.
“I think that’s a very good idea,” said Lupin quietly. Mrs. Weasley’s head snapped towards him and she glared at him in horror, but he continued “We need to be seen to be able to still function as a society. Voldemort would want to see us fractured and cowering, so that’s what we’re not going to do. The more people are there, the more legitimate it will seem, not some hole-in-the-wall swearing-in that most people only hear about second-hand. Dumbledore and most of the Aurors will be there, it should be safe.” He looked at Mrs. Weasley in compassion. “Whether Ron and Ginny attend is of course up to you and Arthur. But if Harry and Hermione want to go then they will,” he said firmly. Harry felt a moment of pure gratitude to his former teacher, before the events of the past few days again tempered that emotion.
“You’re not keeping me away,” said Ron stubbornly.
“Nor me,” said Ginny. “Will you? Mum?”
Mrs. Weasley looked strongly tempted to refuse there and then. “I’ll talk about it with your father.”
“But Mum...”
“I said I’d speak with your father!” Mrs. Weasley snapped, “And I don’t want to hear another word about it!”
Harry and Hermione shot each other relieved looks, and quickly turned back to their plates. Harry was surprised to see Hedwig, whom he had forgotten about entirely, viciously ripping the rind from his bacon. She shot him an unhappy look, standing at an awkward angle because of the letter still attached to her leg. Grumbling under his breath at the knot, Harry worked it free. He thought he recognised the writing.
“Looks like Professor McGonagall...” he muttered under his breath.
“Ooh, is it?” said Hermione, reaching over to snatch it out of his hand. “About time!”
Harry wrenched it out of her grasp. “Get off! It’s not for you, it’s for Ron.” There was a garbled sound from the end of the table, where Ron had been angrily stuffing pancakes into his mouth. Hermione went back to her breakfast in disgust. “You already got a letter, remember?” Harry reminded her.
“Fine,” Hermione huffed. “I think I’ll just go upstairs and finish reading it then. Thank-you for breakfast, Mrs. Weasley,” she added politely, and left the kitchen. Harry stared after her in puzzlement. What could possibly be so important that she was so desperate to talk to McGonagall? His musings were interrupted by Ron snatching the letter from his hand, and ripping it open with enthusiasm. Harry, remembering their effort of a few days earlier, promptly forgot about Hermione.
“Come on, Ron! What does it say?”
Ron’s face had turned beet-red. Harry wasn’t sure if it was from anger or happiness or just the lack of air from trying to breathe through a mouth and cheeks packed with pancakes. Ron sputtered loudly, spraying the table. “Oh, that’s nice,” said Ginny in disgust, moving her chair away from him. Her brother breathed heavily, and his face was turning an even darker shade of red. Harry began to have a bad feeling about things...
“That bloody woman...” said Ron thickly, indistinctly, “That bloody woman won’t let me take Potions...” Harry winced in sympathy, but the twins weren’t nearly so sympathetic.
“But Ron,” said Fred bemusedly, “You don’t even like Potions.”
“More to the point,” said George, “You didn’t even pass Potions. Take it from someone who’s been there “ Hogwarts is a lot more pleasant when you don’t have classes with Snape.”
“He’s right, little bro,” agreed Fred. “Best year of our lives, sixth year was.”
“I don’t care!” Ron ground out. “I don’t care that I hate it. I need it!”
“I’m certainly not sorry,” commented Mrs. Weasley stubbornly. “I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be glad that one of my children had failed an OWL.”
“Count yourself lucky, Ron” said Fred. “Mum was never that soft with us.”
“Yeah, there are other careers,” added George.
“Careers that are less dangerous than being an Auror!” Mrs. Weasley snapped. “You get into enough trouble at school as it is “ not that I’m blaming you, Harry dear...” Ron shot him a furious glance.
“No, nothing’s ever his fault, is it? And yet he gets to take Potions! He gets exceptions made for him!” Ron’s voice was getting progressively louder and louder. “It’s not FAIR!” he bellowed, storming out of the kitchen and slamming the door behind him. Harry and Lupin both winced and carefully avoided looking at Mrs. Weasley. Ginny was staring fixedly at her plate, looking tearful.
“He’s been like that half the summer,” said Fred lightly. “Charming boy.”
“Must be hormones,” George agreed. “We were never that much trouble.” They both smiled angelically, and both Ginny and Mrs. Weasley gave watery snorts of half-hearted laughter.
“It’s partly my fault,” Harry admitted. “I do get special treatment sometimes. Besides, Ron would have more time to study if he wasn’t always around me. Things just kind of happen... I’m sorry,” he said miserably.
Mrs. Weasley snorted again. “I don’t hear Hermione making excuses for bad marks,” she said. “Ron is capable of studying harder but he just doesn’t choose to. It’s no-one’s fault but his own, although...” she looked at Harry kindly but firmly “...I do wish you would try not to encourage each other so much. I sometimes feel that the three of you go looking for trouble. You’re only children, for goodness sake! I know there are... extraordinary circumstances, but I don’t want my children in danger!” She turned to Ginny. “That goes for you too, young lady. You’re to keep out of trouble this year, do you understand? No trips to the Forbidden Forest or out of Hogwarts grounds no matter what.” She swung back to Harry. “I’m counting on you to make sure that you don’t-”
“Lead them into anything dangerous?” finished Harry dully.
“Yes,” Mrs. Weasley admitted bluntly. And despite Ginny’s protests, Harry felt he had no choice but to agree.
There was an awkward pause, and Lupin broke it by reminding Harry of their trip to Gringott’s that morning, and that Harry needed to bring with him the key to his vault. Mrs. Weasley was also going into Diagon Alley, to collect schoolbooks for Ron and Ginny. As Harry left the kitchen, he heard her asking Lupin about Hermione’s books, and offering to buy them at the same time as she got her children’s. Morosely, Harry remembered that Hermione’s parents could no longer do that for her. The implications made him veer away from his room and go look for her. He found her in the room she shared with Ginny, trying to coax Crookshanks out from under the bed. Privately, Harry doubted she would have much luck. The furry orange cat could be aggravatingly stubborn, and once he had made himself comfortable did not want to shift. Hermione, he knew, was just grateful that the cat had survived the attack on her house by virtue of being shut out in the garden.
“Stay there, then,” said Hermione grumpily, inching out from under the bed. She stared up at Harry from the floor. “Ron didn’t get Professor McGonagall to get him into Potions, then?” she asked.
“You heard?” said Harry.
“Hard not to. Don’t worry, he’ll get over it.”
“I hope so. It’s got to be hard for him, being left out. I know how that feels,” said Harry, remembering the previous summer.
Hermione snorted. “Yes, we should be feeling really sorry for him,” she said dryly. “Let me know when he’s got real problems, will you?”
“Right. Sorry,” said Harry. “Listen, Hermione, after you left Mrs. Weasley was wondering about getting you books, and...er...”
“Spit it out, Harry,” said Hermione briskly.
Harry swallowed and spoke very fast, carefully not looking at her. “The Weasley’s aren’t rich, and your parents... it’s just I’ve got more gold than I know what to do with, so if you need any, well... it’s yours if you want it.” He fixed on his shoelaces, and hoped that Hermione wouldn’t behave in the same way that Ron would if Harry offered him money. When he heard her laugh at him, Harry felt relieved and also a bit insulted.
Hermione noticed the scowl beginning to form on his face. “It’s really nice of you to offer, Harry, but I’m alright. Mum and Dad... it’s just, they had insurance for me if anything happened. I’m alright.”
“Muggle insurance is slow, though, isn’t it?” said Harry. “I mean, Uncle Vernon came home once complaining that someone had crashed into his company car “ other way round, more like “ and they didn’t pay up for ages.”
“That’s why they got life insurance from Gringott’s,” said Hermione quietly. “They signed a magical contract, and it activated when... well. I’m going with you and Lupin to Gringott’s today, to have the account signed over to me. It’s worth a lot of gold. Mum and Dad were dentists, you know,” she went on conversationally, “so they could pay for quite a big one. After Cedric died, they decided that if there was any chance of Voldemort targeting students and their families, then it was best to be prepared.”
Harry marvelled that Hermione and her parents had been thinking so clearly so far in advance. “Did you tell your parents everything, then?” he asked hesitantly. He remembered how the parents of Seamus and Dean, boys that he shared a dorm with in Gryffindor house, had reacted to the events of the past few years. Seamus’ mother had nearly pulled him out of Hogwarts (and away from Harry) because she was so worried. Dean had avoided that situation by simply not telling his parents anything about it. It was like Hermione to be scrupulously honest with her family about the dangers, Harry thought, but he couldn’t understand why the Grangers were so apparently willing to expose her to them.
“Yes,” said Hermione simply. “It wouldn’t have been fair to keep it from them. They actually considered taking me out of school and moving overseas after Cedric died.” She looked at Harry calmly, a speculative look in her eyes. “But it felt like running away and, in the end, they agreed with Dumbledore. Do you remember, Harry? About the choice between what’s easy and what’s right?” Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Hermione’s steady gaze was unnerving him. “They didn’t want me to stay at Hogwarts. They didn’t even want me to stay in Britain. But sometimes what you want to do isn’t always what you should do. Do you understand me, Harry?”
“I understand that you’ve been talking to Lupin,” said Harry bitterly.
“I think he might be right,” said Hermione thoughtfully. “He just doesn’t want to be right, and it’s not easy for him.”
“He’s not the only one it’s not easy for,” snapped Harry. “Look Hermione, I’m sorry but I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t even want to think about it. You’re not going to get me to agree with you, so you can bloody well stop trying.”
“Fine,” said Hermione coolly. “But you’re going to have to deal with it, whether you like it or not.”
Harry made for the door before he lost his temper. “I have to find my key.” Crookshanks hissed at him from under the bed as he left.
Diagon Alley was dreary and depressing. Notices from the Ministry of Magic advertising the upcoming Wizengamot meeting were plastered over the shops, and small groups of people were huddled about them, whispering uncomfortably to each other. Even the shops looked unwelcoming, doors firmly closed against the nearly deserted streets. The usual hustle and bustle of a busy summer day was absent, and grim faces were everywhere. The entire atmosphere was suffocating, Harry thought, and it irritated him. There was a kind of exaggerated silence that made him feel as if something horrible was about to spring. Even Mrs. Weasley seemed subdued, with a fistful of Ginny’s robe clamped in her hand as she walked, as if her daughter was a toddler about to wander off. Harry noted with a trace of bleak amusement that Lupin seemed to be having difficulty not doing the same thing to Hermione. Ron had point-blank refused to go anywhere with them, and his mother and sister had left him sulking back at Grimmauld Place.
As Mrs. Weasley and Ginny left them to go to Flourish and Blott’s, Harry became aware that the few people in the Alley were whispering and pointing as he went by. Instantly the suffocating feeling increased, and he had to fight the urge not to tug at the neck of his robes. They seemed to be tighter and it was harder to breathe. It was Lupin who reminded him that the attention wasn’t directed solely at him. His former teacher had dropped back beside Hermione and had put a supporting arm around her shoulders, clamping her to his side. Harry realised then that, given his connection to Hermione, the murder of the Grangers must have been front-page news. At least half the stares were directed towards her, in a mixture of pity and fear. One witch, out shopping with her small son, folded the child behind her at the sight of Hermione, hiding him behind her skirts. Both Harry and Lupin glared at her, and she cringed slightly away from them. Harry thought miserably that they must have made a fairly awe-inspiring trio for the customers of Diagon Alley that day “ the Boy Who Lived, a werewolf, and the girl who was popularly believed to be the latest target of the Dark Lord. He moved to flank Hermione on her other side, and one look at her chalk-white face told him that she was also horribly aware of the scrutiny.
It was a relief to reach Gringott’s Bank. Lupin shuffled them quickly through the doors “ the goblin ushers staring at them with, Harry felt, cleverly faked indifference. Lupin was looking at them worriedly. “Perhaps we should have flooed here directly,” he said. “I knew the atmosphere had changed, but I didn’t think it would be that bad.” He poked in his robes, coming out with a small bar of Honeydukes chocolate, and, snapping it in half, gave a piece to both Harry and Hermione. “Here. Eat.” Hermione made a small face at hers, but nibbled obediently.
“Harry! Hey, Harry!” a familiar voice rang out. Harry spun around to see Neville Longbottom hurrying towards him from across the bank’s enormous foyer. He skidded in to a halt in front of them, round face lit up momentarily, but Harry noted that he fell back into a sad, serious expression with the habit of long practice. “Oh, hello Hermione, Professor,” said Neville. He stood there for a moment looking awkwardly at them. Harry began to realise just how tired Hermione must be getting of awkward pauses. In the end it was Lupin who again broke the moment.
“I’m going to get hold of a goblin,” he said, strolling off towards the counter. “You three just amuse yourselves for a minute. And no wandering off.”
“We’ve been hearing that a lot lately,” said Harry dryly.
“You’re not the only one,” said Neville. “Gran only came in today to get shopping done before the Wizengamot. Wants a new hat. After that she’s not likely to let me out of the house again until September first.” He winced. “Sorry, Hermione. I didn’t mean to be...”
“It’s alright,” said Hermione, a trifle wearily. “I’ve been meaning to write to you to thank you for your letter a few weeks ago. It was nice.” Harry frowned to himself, feeling more than a little jealous. Of course Neville would know about what had happened to the Grangers “ the entire wizarding world was aware of it, after all “ but did he, Harry, have to be the absolute last to know? Hermione held out her half of the Honeydukes bar to Neville. “D’you want it? I’m sick to death of the stuff.”
Neville grimaced. “No, thanks. Uncle Algie and Gran have been forcing it down my throat all summer. If I never see chocolate again I’ll be happy.”
Hermione turned to Harry, who shook his head vehemently. “Just hide it behind that pot plant,” he said, indicating a fanged geranium nearby. “Neville and I will cover you.” The two boys blocked the view from the counter as Hermione disposed of the chocolate. One of the goblins behind the counter glared over at them, eyes glinting wickedly. They stared back innocently, and suspiciously he turned back to his ledger.
“Only goblins would have carnivorous plants on display,” said Neville in an undertone.
Harry smirked. “It’s not a very friendly look, is it? ‘Welcome, sir and madam. Now give us your money and get out’.” They sniggered together quietly until Hermione inched safely away from the geranium. Harry noted with actual amusement that both he and Neville shut up the moment she came near them. The last thing either of them wanted was to prompt a new campaign over the unappreciated role of goblins in wizarding society. Idly, Harry wondered what she would call that organisation.
“Have you heard anything about who the next Minister is likely to be, Neville?” said Hermione quietly.
“Only that Dumbledore would be given it in a second, if he wanted it,” said Neville. “Only problem is, he doesn’t seem to want it. Of the rest, it’s most likely to be Madame Bones, though I’ve heard a couple of other suggestions “ Fred and George gave me a pair of Extendable Ears in the hospital wing last year. Professor McGonagall’s name has actually come up a couple of times, and some of the senior Aurors. Some of the pure-blood families “ not mine, but others, like the Malfoy’s “ have actually been sticking up for Fudge-”
“They would, wouldn’t they,” Harry hissed. “He’s no use at all.”
“That’s probably the point,” muttered Hermione. “Though I can’t see why they wouldn’t choose someone who’d be a bit more pro-active “ for them, of course.”
“A few people have even been talking about Umbridge,” said Neville grimly.
“WHAT!” Both Harry and Hermione were horrified. Their screeches, quiet as they were, had been noticed by the other customers. Fingers were pointing their way again, and out of the corner of his eye Harry thought he saw a brief flash.
Lupin, talking with a goblin at the counter, shot them a repressive look, and he wasn’t the only one. From the other side of the room, an elderly woman wearing a stuffed vulture hat moved determinedly towards them.
“Don’t worry,” said Neville hastily. “It seems there’s not much chance of it. Dumbledore would never allow it, and no-one wants to move against him now.” He brightened slightly. “There’s even been a suggestion that Ron’s dad should get the job.”
“That’d be much better,” said Harry in relief. “He’d do a great job.” He had barely seen Mr. Weasley since his arrival at Grimmauld Place; the older wizard had been spending nearly every waking hour at the Ministry of Magic. If he was given a high position, perhaps it would even put Ron in a good enough mood to talk to him again.
“No he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do a good job at all,” said Hermione immediately. “Oh, come on Harry. I like Mr. Weasley as much as you do but he’s got no experience running anything bigger than an office with two people in it. Perhaps if he had the training... but he doesn’t, and we can’t afford to wait until he gets it.”
The stuffed vulture bore down upon them. Politely, Harry and Hermione made a few moments of polite conversation with Neville’s grandmother who, Harry noticed, was treating Neville with more pride than he had ever seen her exhibit before. They bore with it patiently until the Longbottom’s left, both wishing that they had had more time to speak with Neville without his grandmother’s censorship. Neville, too, was attending the Wizengamot vote, and Harry was surprising at how heartened he felt at the prospect of seeing him again so soon.
“Maybe we could write to Neville and ask if Mrs. Longbottom will speak to Mrs. Weasley about Ron and Ginny going as well,” said Hermione. Lupin was still at the counter, dealing with what looked like another, more superior goblin. She scowled to herself. “I really should have written back to him. He did send me the most helpful letter.”
“Good for him,” said Harry neutrally, wishing very much that he hadn’t promised Lupin not to question her about her decisions this summer, before deciding that he and Ron had already blundered into the subject anyway. “Why didn’t you write to one of us?” he asked, trying not to sound whiny and, he thought, not entirely succeeding. “I mean, I know I haven’t been the most pleasant person to be around this last year, and Ron, well, he can be so... but we would have tried.”
“Ron wouldn’t have understood,” said Hermione. “How could he? His family’s fine.” She bit her lip. “And you “ well, no offence Harry, but you’re as messed up as I am right now. I just couldn’t face dealing with your moods and your guilt as well as my own.” Seeing Harry cringe slightly, she went on. “It’s not your fault. It’s just the way it is. Susan and Neville “ they know what it’s like. And I can talk to them about it “ especially Susan “ without feeling like I’m making things worse for her.” She nudged him. “Look, if it bothers you that much, when we get back to Grimmauld Place I can throw some books at you. Would that make you feel better?”
“Probably not,” Harry admitted, laughing slightly. He could see Lupin and a very solid-looking goblin making their way towards them, and afraid that they would arrive before he could make Hermione understand what he wanted to say, blurted out “It’s good that you’ve found someone. Really. It’s just, Ron and me, well, we’re here too. If you want.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see Hermione nod. It was enough.