Chapter Thirteen
Hermione wasn’t to go back to her parents’ home. Upon leaving St. Mungo’s, the Grangers were advised to stay well clear of the magical world, and possibly to move out of the country. Their daughter was a dangerous connection to have, especially when Death Eaters were under the impression that she was Harry’s romantic interest.
After two days of waiting around in St. Mungo’s, watching Ron pace and frown, Harry found out Hermione would be coming home to stay at Grimmauld place with him and the Weasleys. She was healing at a remarkably fast rate, even for a witch. Still, Mrs. Weasley promised to care for her as if she was one of her own children. This, of course, went without saying.
Back at Grimmauld Place, the atmosphere was beyond sedate. Ron spent a lot of time at her bedside, causing Ginny to be quite disgruntled. She was constantly being kicked out of her own room, either directly or by her gag reflex. More than once, Harry caught them kissing, which was still awkward for him. Usually, though, Ron could be seen holding her hand, changing her dressings, helping her to a drink, and otherwise being an adept caregiver.
The way Ron was treating Hermione reminded Harry of the way Mr. Weasley tended to his wife. They were alike in many ways. A curious feeling that lay buried somewhere in a dark corner of his mind began to make itself known. Harry wondered if he would ever care for someone the way Ron cared for Hermione.
While Harry would have liked to spend time with Hermione, he ended up spending more and more time with Ginny. They practiced seeking in the attic most afternoons. They occasionally paused to dig through some of the property of the House of Black. The two managed to locate several items of questionable interest, including toes cut from house elves (Hermione would have been beside herself), scrolls in an ancient script, and pixie blood (what in the world was that for?). Harry also found a box containing items that instantly awakened his curiosity, but decided to save a look-over for later.
Harry was not at all surprised that he was having fun with her. He even began to regret that he hadn’t noticed her when he was caught up with Cho Chang. Of course, now she was with Dean. “She could do better,” he'd often thought.
Soon - too soon even - it was the day reserved for packing. The next day they would be traveling to King’s Cross, and onward to their studies, rumors, and beloved headmaster. Hermione’s recovery had gained speed with her few days of rest, and found she could do most activities well enough. Ron, however, agreed to help her with tasks she wasn’t yet capable of. She was thrilled to learn she would be able to start term on schedule. She assured everyone that she didn’t want to miss out on the action, but they all knew she simply would faint if she had to miss a class.
The returning Hogwarts students ran about the old, creaky house collecting their strewn belongings. With four of them, the stairs sounded as if they were wheezing, and the floor boards seemed to have whooping cough. Mrs. Weasley kept shouting for them to calm down; that there was plenty of day left to get ready. Meanwhile, she bustled about, washing their robes, and helping where she could.
Ron graciously offered to pack Hermione’s trunk for her, but Ginny refused to let him near her trunk. “There are things that are personal to girls, thank you!” she snapped.
Ron, of course, had no idea what Hermione could have that he couldn’t see.
As Ron and Ginny had their trunks to pack, Hermione offered to help Harry collect his items. He wasn’t known for his organization skills. She was also hoping to have a word with him without the others around.
“It’s a good thing these trunks are expandable, Harry, or you’d be in a predicament,” stated Hermione as she gently folded a shirt and placed it on top of a growing pile.
“Well, I didn’t really have much before I started Hogwarts, so I guess I just keep everything that’s given to me. Memories, and all,” he smiled lopsidedly.
“Careful, one might think you’re a romantic,” she said with a raised eyebrow.
“Fat chance!” he laughed.
Mrs. Weasley flew in and dropped a letter on his bed. "Just arrived for you, Harry," she said as she just as quickly escaped the room.
A look of comprehension hit Hermione’s face. Predictably, she squealed. “Oh, Harry, is it what I think it is?”
Harry smirked, tapping his palm with the envelope. “Well, that depends on what you think it is.”
“Don’t play. Are those your O.W.L. scores, finally?” She looked as if she was going to start jumping on her knees, then and there.
“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Let’s find out, shall we?”
“Yes!” she said loudly, annoyed. “Just open it!”
Harry laughed and slipped his finger under the flap, ever-so-slowly tearing it. It was great fun taunting Hermione, the Queen of All That is Scholastic. She sent him a scathing gaze in return. Becoming curious himself, he decided to go ahead and open it.
ATTN: Harry Potter
Subject: O.W.L. scores
Dear Mr. Potter:
Your test results have been processed. The theory portions of your exams were rated by your instructor. The practical portions were judged by the appointed judges. The final result was computed by an unbiased source, to ensure scoring integrity.
Please peruse your results. Your instructors at Hogwarts have previously been notified of your scores, and have scheduled your classes accordingly.
Good luck with all your future endeavors.
Sincerely,
Ordinary Wizard Level
Reviewing Committee
“Hermione, be quiet! I haven’t even gotten to the marks yet,” Harry laughed.
She kept as calm as she was capable while Harry’s eyes darted over the second page. He appeared to be contemplating. There were a couple of iffy subjects for him last spring, and he needed an ‘O’ in Potions in order to pursue becoming an Auror.
“Well?” she said when she could contain herself no longer.
He grinned. “Thank god for unbiased - er - computers. No, wait . . . Oh, no matter. I got an ‘O’ in Potions!"
“How is that possible?”
“The unbiased person took my practical to mean more than my theory. I would have to know the theory in order to do great on the practical, right?”
“Right,” she paused, and a new spark of laughter lit her features. “Oooo, Snape will be so angry!”
He scoffed. “Yeah.”
“Well, the rest?” she pushed, as if she were dealing with a thick version of Harry.
“Oh, well, I got an ‘E’ in Astronomy-“
“As if anyone scored well during THAT test-“
“And a ‘D’ in History of Magic. Same for Divination. Hm, no loss there,” he paused for a little more dramatic effect. “And on the rest . . . all ‘O’s’!”
“O my goodness, Harry!” she buried him in a hug the best she could. “That’s so wonderful!”
“Thanks!” he beamed.
On they went with the packing. Mrs. Weasley breezed through the room, dropping off Harry’s robes, and rushed off to give Ginny and Ron the rest of them.
Ginny also stopped in looking hassled. “Hermione, how in the world did you manage to strew your books throughout the house? It’s been a right pain finding them all!”
Harry and Hermione grinned. “Sorry Mum,” said Hermione, “I’ll make sure to make my bed as well.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Missy,” she replied, still seriously, and at the same time, buying into the joke. “You can owe me one for packing your trunk.”
After she left, Harry said, “She’s been collecting many I.O.U.s lately.”
“Be afraid,” said Hermione. She winced as she bent at an awkward angle. Her sore flared up, and a grimace of pain crossed her face. She recovered quickly, but Harry was sure it was only a brave face she was putting on.
“Are you ok?” he asked, moving to help.
“Yes, yes. I’m fine,” she pushed him away.
After a short pause, Harry ventured to ask her a question. “Er . . . Hermione?”
“Mm?”
“For . . . Diagon Alley . . . Do you, I mean, are you . . . angry at me? That I didn’t protect you?” his face was the picture of regret.
“What? Of course not! You tried to block me, I just was sticking out a bit, I guess,” she said humorously.
A welcome breath of relief entered his lungs. The subject reminded Hermione about something. “Are you and Ron going to talk soon?”
His head hung slightly lower. “No . . . not yet. Lately - ever since I came here, really - Ron’s been “ er - a lot more emotional.”
Tactfully, Hermione asked, “Has he mentioned the Department of Mysteries to you?”
“Yeah, once, when we were sloshed.”
She raised her eyebrows. “When you two drank?”
Harry smiled in answer.
She pursed her lips for a moment, then continued. “They attacked his mind - those brains - his every weakness. They said terrible things to him. It was very hard for him to forget. He believed them, and felt guilty for it. Don’t you see? His reaction to what happened in Diagon Alley stems more from that than any anger toward you.” She sighed. “When he recovered a bit, I came to stay. To help him through everything. One night, I was up late, reading. He rushed in and blurted out that he fancies me, and thought we should be together.”
“So now you’re a couple?”
She blushed. “I guess when his defenses came down, he found it easier to tell me how he felt.”
“Okay,” said Harry. Suddenly, this conversation had become really uncomfortable. He desperately wanted to change the subject. “I’m glad you can ride to Hogwarts on time. The train ride would be weird if Luna were to take your place.”
He knew that would rile her up. “That girl, who believes in utter nonsense? You would have her take my place?”
He grinned at her, and she laughed back. “I don’t need to say I would die if I missed the first classes. I wonder who the Defense against the Dark Arts teacher is going to be.”
Harry wondered, privately, if the reason why Snape was never given the post had something to do with what Harry saw in the pensieve.
They continued to talk about things that would happen over the next year. Soon, his mind wandered, and he began to wonder what was being said in the many meetings that had occurred while he was at Grimmauld Place. What had Voldemort been up to? Harry suddenly realized - for the second time - that no one was telling him what Voldemort was up to.
Ron wandered in. He looked determined to do something. He looked Harry in the eye. “I’m sorry. I was out of order. I’m glad you were there with Hermione.”
“It’s all right, mate,” said Harry with a smile.
Tears were forming in Hermione’s eyes.
“Why are you crying?” asked Ron.
“You boys! Why do you . . . Oh nevermind!” she said, wiping her eyes.
“Question,” said Ron.
“Answer,” said Harry.
“How does it feel to own your own house?”
“Huh?” asked Harry, snapping out of his thoughts.
“This place,” he gestured around him. “It’s yours.”
“What are you talking about?” demanded Hermione.
“I happened upon the drawing room and heard a conversation between Mum and Remus. They were talking about Lupin being the guardian of the estate until you graduated. Wicked, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. It’s creepy, though. Still, I suppose we’ve had some happy times here. Remember Christmas?” Harry reminisced.
Hermione interrupted. “Suits that old hag just fine, losing the house to a half-blood.”
Her comment had a bitter edge, and Ron and Harry felt a bit sad for her. It had to feel horrible being ostracized from the day she learned about the magical world. She didn’t totally fit in with wizards or Muggles. The two worlds seemed to be moving closer together every day, though.
“Well, Ron,” said Harry, “you’d better get your trunk packed, or we’ll have to leave you behind this year.”
“And miss Potions?” he scoffed. “Not for thirty chocolate frogs!” he said sarcastically.