FIC for reallycorking (1/2)
For: reallycorking
From: aniwde
Title: A Rare and Wondrous Gift (1/2)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Once upon a time, no Christmas was complete without a healthy dose of Victorian melodrama to bring a tear to the eye before granting the obligatory happy ending. Apparently I needed to write one for you.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warnings: Good grief, where to start? Angst and major character deaths. Epilogue compliant and canon pairings, but also Ginny/Dean Thomas, Hermione/OFC and of course Harry/Ron. Implied infidelity. Cross-gen, sort of. Time travel. Alternate Universe. Blow jobs and frotting. Bit of everything, probably, if you squint.
Author's Note: You said you liked angst. I do hope that's true. Merry Christmas!
A Rare and Wondrous Gift (1/2)
~o0o~
For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts.
T. S. Eliot (Four Quartets) “The Dry Salvages” Number 5
~o0o~
He tentatively prised open an eyelid and then immediately slammed it shut again as the bright morning sunlight bludgeoned into his aching head. He swallowed thickly. There was an odd taste in his mouth. Even worse than the usual bottom-of-an-owl's-cage-hangover-mouth-taste that he had grown rather intimately familiar with during the course of his Auror training.
He needed a drink. A wave of nausea washed over him at that thought, but he willed it away. Water was good. He was hot. Too hot. He was sweaty, itchy, and rather squashed as someone was draped over him and... His mental ramblings screeched to a halt. He was in bed with someone. Definitely smelling of sex. He slowly turned his head and peered blearily at the person next to him.
"Oh, fuck, no," he whispered as he saw the tousled head of his best friend lying next to him, snoring softly into the pillow.
He fought down his rising panic and began to ease himself out of Ron's grip. Ron muttered incoherently and flailed weakly as though reaching for him, but Harry edged determinedly out of the bed, foraged about in his discarded clothing until he found his wand, then hit Ron with a sleeping charm. He couldn't risk him waking up. Not until he'd had time to think.
He gathered up his clothes, then sat down on the edge of the ratty camp bed where he was supposed to have spent the night. He stared blankly at the Chudley Cannons poster, ignoring the cheerfully waving Quidditch players smiling knowingly at him from their broomsticks.
They'd gone out last night to celebrate the end of Auror training, eventually ending up at Seamus Finnegan's flat. He'd had some ancient-looking bottles of Firewhisky that he'd got from... Harry frowned. He couldn't remember if Seamus had actually told them where he'd got them. Probably fell off the back of a flying carpet, knowing Seamus. They'd had a few drinks, and then... Harry vaguely remembered falling out of the Floo and throwing up all over Molly's hearthrug.
"Oh, God," he mumbled, scrubbing his hands over his face. He'd better make sure that was cleaned up before Arthur and Molly returned from their weekend away.
He pushed himself to his feet, grabbed his clothes, then made his way gingerly to the bathroom. He found a headache potion in the bathroom cabinet and swallowed it with a sigh of relief.
As he stood in the shower, listlessly rubbing a bar of soap over his chest and trying desperately not the dwell on whose dried come he was scrubbing from his skin, he was very aware that, thus far, he'd completely avoided thinking about the metaphorical elephant in the room. That he'd apparently had sex with Ron, despite his determination not to do anything of the sort, and he felt like pounding his head against the wall.
This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to become an Auror, get married, have children and live happily ever after. Live a normal life. That's what he'd always wanted, right? And Ron had agreed, whenever they'd talked about the future over a bottle of Firewhisky, late at night. That Ron would marry Hermione and he would marry Ginny, and they'd all be one big happy family and live next door to each other and raise their kids together and always, always have each other's backs. And if his breath caught in his throat as their eyes met, or he grew suddenly hot if their hands brushed, fingers lingering a little longer than they should, well, it didn't mean anything. Right?
"I am so fucked."
Harry thrust his head under the water pouring from the shower rose and resisted the urge to scream out his frustration. He couldn't think and he needed to think clearly about his, like never before, because what he should do, and what he actually wanted to do, were two very different things. He felt as though he were at a crossroads and he desperately needed to talk to someone. Someone he could trust to tell him the plain, unvarnished truth and give him honest, objective advice, regardless of their own feelings on the matter.
"Of course," he muttered softly. And he knew exactly who that person was.
~o0o~
Hermione Granger-Weasley, Controller of the Department of Mysteries, carefully added her signature to the scroll she had just finished proofreading, tapped it with her wand, then gave a weary sigh as it rolled itself up with a loud snap and vanished. She leant back in her chair, rolling her shoulders to try to ease the stiffness in her neck and back, then glanced up at the clock, wincing as she saw how late it was. Not that it mattered, really. There was no one waiting for her at home, after all. Hadn't been for ten years, now.
She sighed again as she rubbed her hands over her face. There was a perfunctory tap at her office door and Hermione looked up and smiled as her assistant, Katherine Miller, quietly closed the door before making her way over to Hermione's desk.
"Don't you think it's time you went home, Controller?"
"Is that an order, Unspeakable?"
The tall, elegantly dressed woman smiled fondly down at her as she shook her head and said, "Simply a request, dear. It's getting late and you know that we promised to look after your grandchildren tomorrow. If you don't get at least five or six hours of uninterrupted sleep you'll find the day utterly unbearable."
"You're right, of course," Hermione agreed reluctantly. She dearly loved her children, their spouses and, of course, her beautiful grandchildren. But the noise, mess and disruption to her routine occasioned by Christmas and its attendant celebrations and obligations did not leave her in the best of moods. Why she had offered to baby-sit so that Rosie and her husband, and Hugo and his wife could go Christmas shopping without their children, she didn't know. Latent streak of masochism, possibly. That or early onset dementia, Hermione mused.
"You head off," Hermione said, pushing herself slowly to her feet. "I'll be home soon. I just want to check on something."
"All right. I'll warm up some of that soup I made the other day for supper. Oh, and I picked up a loaf from that new bakery at lunchtime, so we can have some ham sandwiches with it, if you like."
"Perfect. What would I do without you, Katie?"
"Starve to death, probably," Katherine said tartly. Her expression softened, however, when Hermione slipped an arm around her waist and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.
"I know I take you for granted, my dear," Hermione said softly. "But I truly do not know what I would do without you."
"Luckily for you, you'll never have to find out. Because goodness knows, you need someone to take care of you," Katherine said. "Speaking of which, if you're not home in half an hour I will hunt you down, you know that, don't you?"
"Yes, dear," Hermione said with a mock-sigh of long suffering which had both women giggling for a moment before Katherine shook her head, dropped a kiss on Hermione's cheek and left the office, closing the door softly behind her.
Hermione reached up and touched her cheek, and found herself smiling. Even though she had been teasing, there had been more than a grain of truth to her words. Hermione really did not know what she would do without her.
She had been drawn to Katherine the moment they had first met. There had been something, some spark that had seemed to fly between them, and which had left them both rather bemused and somewhat embarrassed, as their initial meeting had been a job interview. Needless to say, Hermione had offered Katherine the position on the spot.
A few months later an errant piece of enchanted mistletoe had led to their first kiss, and twelve months after that, Katherine had found a nice, reliable tenant for her flat and moved in with Hermione. Which had led to a few tense moments with her family, most of whom insisted on clinging to the fiction that they were simply two middle-aged witches living together for the companionship. Both women found the situation rather amusing, and made it a point to show their affection for each other in some small way during each family gathering.
Hermione stepped over to a large painting that hung on the wall in the far corner of her office. She tapped her wand in an apparently random pattern on its frame as she muttered under her breath, and a moment later the painting began to blur, the rather boring landscape becoming a window into the office of the Minister for Magic.
He wasn't sitting at his desk, and with a gesture from her the view began to pan slowly around the entire office. Hermione stopped it with a sharp motion of her hand as she spotted him sitting in one of the leather armchairs arranged in front of the large fireplace at the far end of his office. He was nursing a glass of what was almost certainly Firewhisky as he stared blankly into the flames. There was a decanter, half-empty by the looks of it, sitting on the coffee table in front of him, and Hermione sighed as she spotted it. The decanter was refilled every morning, she knew.
"Oh, Harry," she said softly. He looked older than his fifty-eight years, drawn and tired, an air of weariness about him as though he'd carried the weight of the world on his shoulders for far, far too long.
"I'm going to fix this, Harry. I'm going to give you another chance," she whispered as her hand caressed the image of her oldest friend. "I'm going to give him back to you."
~o0o~
"Ginny, are you home?"
"Hermione! What -"
"May I come through?"
"Um, yes, of course," Ginny said, moving quickly away from the fireplace.
A moment later Hermione stepped through the Floo, absently casting the spells to clean away any stray smuts from her robes. Her sister-in-law stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, her smile a little too bright, signs of the strain she laboured under clear in the tension around her eyes; to the trained observer, at least, and the head of the Unspeakables could definitely lay claim to that attribute.
"Harry isn't here," Ginny blurted out, her gaze darting between Hermione and the fireplace, clearly wishing Hermione would take the hint and leave.
"Yes, I know," Hermione said. "I came to see you."
Ginny's eyes widened. "Me? Why would you..." Her voice trailed off. She took a deep breath, and Hermione could see her visibly pull herself together. "Of course. Um, would you like some tea, Hermione?"
"That would be lovely, thank you."
It was with a palpable air of relief that Ginny fled to the kitchen, and Hermione allowed herself to mourn the loss of their easy friendship, just for a moment, before she took a deep, fortifying breath and followed her.
Ginny was just closing the back door as Hermione stepped into the kitchen, and she heard the distinct sound of Disapparation from the garden as Ginny turned to face her. There was a hunted, panic-stricken look on her face.
Hermione sighed. "You didn't have to ask him to leave, you know."
Ginny's face paled as she stared at Hermione. After a moment, though, she seemed to find some pool of inner strength because she took a deep breath, raised her chin to look Hermione defiantly in the eye and said, "I've done nothing to be ashamed of."
"I know."
"Do you?" Ginny snapped. "And how exactly would you know? Are you having me followed? Are there monitoring charms on me, or the house? Are you spying on me?" She stomped over to Hermione and jabbed a finger into her chest as though to drive home her point. "You are, aren't you!"
"You are the wife of the Minister for Magic, Madam Potter. Of course you're being monitored. It's for your own protection," Hermione said, her voice cold. Ginny was far too defensive to be completely innocent. She would have to make a point of going over the surveillance logs to ensure that no embarrassing facts remained to possibly one day come to light. She would not tolerate any hint of scandal within her extended family.
Ginny's face crumpled, and Hermione could see the hurt in her eyes at her tone. She felt rather cruel, manipulating her sister-in-law in that way, but she needed the truth. She reached out, but Ginny stepped away, wrapping her arms around herself defensively.
"I haven't done...we're just friends," Ginny mumbled. "But for Merlin's sake I need something, Hermione. Harry hates me and -"
"Oh, Ginny, no. No, he doesn't," Hermione said, stepping deliberately closer to Ginny and pulling her into a hug. Ginny tensed for a moment, then exhaled loudly as she slumped against Hermione.
"He does, Hermione. Everyone knows. He's never forgiven me and it's not fair. It's not fair because it wasn't my fault. I didn't know. How could I have known? And you never blamed me and he was my brother, after all, and I've tried so hard and I don't think I can take this much longer..."
"Shh, it's okay," Hermione said in a soothing voice. She eased Ginny down onto one of the chairs, then opened the kitchen cupboard where she knew Ginny kept the cooking brandy and poured her a large glass. She pressed the glass into Ginny's hand and watched as she sipped, holding the glass in front of her face as though she could hide behind it.
"I know that you've been seeing a lot of Dean Thomas," Hermione said softly. "And -"
"We're just friends. He's teaching me to paint," Ginny interrupted wearily. "I need something to do, Hermione. My career was playing Quidditch, and I'm far too old for that. And the children don't need me any more. They're busy with their own families. Harry barely speaks to me and...and I was never who he wanted, anyway. Not really. I know that." She paused, glancing quickly at Hermione and then back at her glass of brandy. "But Dean wants me. Me, Hermione, not my brother. But I've done nothing improper. I take my marriage vows seriously, even if Harry never did. I never forget that he is still my husband and that we have a wonderful family and that I should count my blessings..." Her voice broke, and Hermione reached out and patted her hand.
"Things are pretty dire if you have to remind yourself to count your blessings, aren't they? But suppose, just for a moment, that you weren't married to Harry. What would you do, Ginny? If you were free, and Dean asked you to marry him, what would you do?"
Ginny's expression spoke volumes, and her anguish was clear in her voice as she said, "Why are you doing this? Why are you asking me these things? You know that can never happen." Her hand shook as she carefully placed her drink on the table in front of her. "Dean told me that Muggles can end their marriages. It's called divorce, he said. He...he wants me to leave and live in the Muggle world with him, but I can't. My children would never speak to me again. The disgrace..." She shook her head as her voice died away.
Hermione picked up the glass of brandy and pressed it into Ginny's hands once more. "Sip it slowly," she said softly. She watched as Ginny took a sip of brandy, then said, "This isn't idle curiosity on my part, Ginny. I'm asking because I need to be absolutely certain of your feelings. The children have their own families, as you say. They'll miss their father, and the little ones will miss their granddad, but they'll move on with their lives fairly quickly. It was you that I was most concerned about. Obviously, I had the surveillance reports, but I needed to talk to you myself. To make sure."
Hermione was mostly speaking to herself by that point. She looked up quickly at the gasp of horror from Ginny.
"You're talking like... What's wrong? Is something wrong with Harry?"
"He's fine," Hermione said soothingly as her wand slid gently from her arm holster into her hand. A moment later Ginny slumped in her seat, the heavy, lead crystal glass shattering as it hit the floor. "But I can't allow you to remember any of this, I'm afraid."
~o0o~
Hermione truly loved her family, she really did, and thus felt a twinge of guilt at the profound relief she felt as she saw the last of them off, closing and locking the Floo as the green flames died away. Christmas Day spent with her children and grandchildren, while far from relaxing, was still the only way she could possibly imagine celebrating Christmas. It was the only truly enduring tradition they had. Early on in their married life, she and Ron had decided that Christmas Day would be spent at home with their children, and Boxing Day would be spent at the Burrow with their extended family. And that hadn't changed in almost forty years.
"Sickle for them," Katherine said, passing Hermione a mug of cocoa once she had her attention.
"Just wool-gathering."
"Still worrying about Harry?"
Hermione shook her head. "I don't need to, not any more."
"Ah. So you've decided, then?"
"Yes. And yes."
"So when will you do it?"
"New Year's Eve, I think. It seems appropriate."
Katherine nodded slowly. "It does. And of course, it's the one night of the year when you can absolutely guarantee that no one will be looking for him." She hesitated, then continued, "Are you sure you're doing the right thing?"
"Definitely. It really is for the best, you know. A chance to start again. I feel as though I owe it to him. To all of them, actually."
"You owe them nothing," Katherine said sharply. "They made their own decisions and you have nothing to reproach yourself about."
"Dear Katie, so fierce in my defence," Hermione said with a wry grin. "But in this case your faith is misplaced. I really do owe them this." She settled back in her armchair and took a sip from the mug of cocoa she held cradled in her hands.
"I've never told you this, and I'm not particularly proud of it, but unless you understand what I did, Katie, you really can't grasp why this is so important to me. After the Battle of Hogwarts, and after we'd tied up various loose ends, I decided to return to Hogwarts to complete my education, and Molly Weasley insisted that Ginny do the same. Ron and Harry, though, joined the Aurors, as you know. We - Ginny and I - had very little contact with the boys during our last year of school. Their training was very intense, and we were studying for our N.E.W.T.s so, well, the odd letter and even more infrequent visit were all we managed, really. Ginny had picked up on Harry's waning interest and had begun seeing Dean Thomas again. Still fairly casually at that point, but the potential for more had been there, particular on his side. And Harry and Ron, well, it was obvious to me that they were growing closer while I was very much out of sight, out of mind, it seemed. I hadn't expected that. I could see them slipping away from me, Katie, and I had no idea what to do about it."
Hermione sipped at her cocoa as she gathered her thoughts, then continued, "And then suddenly, out of the blue, Harry turned up at Hogwarts and told me that he was taking me out to lunch, and that he needed to talk to me about something important. No Ginny, no Ron. Just Harry, nervous, shifty, not meeting my eyes, and I knew. As we walked into Hogsmeade, I knew what he was going to say."
Hermione slowly shook her head, her gaze unfocussed as she stared into the past.
"I had a clear choice. I could have stepped back, given Harry the moral support he needed to pursue a life with Ron, and been the friend they both thought I was. Ginny would have been happy with Dean, and I..." She looked up suddenly, and smiled at Katherine. "Ron loved me, and he adored the children, but I was always aware that I was second best. Meeting you was a revelation, Katie. Had I not been so stupidly self-centred all those years ago, perhaps we would have..." Hermione sighed. "Anyway, as I said, Harry came to me, as his best friend, and asked for my honest advice. And instead of giving it, I manipulated him into doing exactly what I wanted him to do."
"Rubbish," Katherine said dismissively. "You were a child, for pity's sake, and children are notoriously self-centred creatures. Besides, I know you, Hermione, and I'm certain that you thought you were doing the right thing for all concerned at the time."
Hermione waved a hand in an impatient gesture, and said, "I don't doubt that I told myself I was, but it really wasn't that straightforward. I probably knew Harry better than he knew himself, and he trusted me completely; still does, come to that. And I utterly betrayed that trust." She paused, then continued, "I can't completely regret what I did, though. If things had gone differently we wouldn't have the children, obviously, and I think that we would all deem them worth the price. But I feel as though I paid very little compared to the others, and that I need to make amends; balance the books, somehow."
"You have nothing to make amends for, in my opinion. Harry chose to follow your advice and Ron and Ginny went along with it." Katherine said. "But if you feel you need to do this, then you have my full support, of course. I'm just a little concerned that losing Harry will hit you harder than you think it will."
"I'll be fine, honestly. I know I'm a little tired and overwrought at the moment, but you really don't need to concern yourself about me. After all, I'm no longer alone, am I?" She reached out and clasped Katherine's hand, lifting it to her lips to drop a gentle kiss on Katherine's knuckles. "Ginny is the one who'll need support and sympathy, I believe."
"I rather doubt that," Katherine said waspishly. "She seems to have had no trouble attracting the attentions of Mr. Thomas once again, so I don't think she'll languish alone for long."
"That's rather unfair," Hermione pointed out gently. "You know how things are between her and Harry."
"I've never really understood that," Katherine said. "If anything, his wife probably saved his life that night, so why on earth..." Katherine shook her head as her voice died away. She didn't need to ask the question; it was rhetorical, anyway. The Unspeakables had very thorough reports on what had happened on that New Year's Eve, ten years ago, and they had both studied them closely.
Ginny had been asked to host the Ministry New Year's Eve Ball that particular year, and had apparently been determined that Harry would attend, come what may. Harry was then Chief Auror, and technically always on duty and liable to be called in to work at a moment's notice. Ginny had spoken to Ron and asked him, as a favour to her, to keep everyone away from Harry unless it was a matter of life or death. As Harry's second-in-command, Ron was used to running the department in Harry's absence, and he cheerfully agreed. So when a tip off from a supposedly reliable source arrived, giving the whereabouts of an aspiring Dark Lord that they'd been tracking for several months, Ron hadn't hesitated. He'd assembled a team without contacting Harry, and they'd walked straight into an ambush.
The alarm for urgent backup automatically notified the Chief Auror, and Harry had Apparated into a storm of spell fire with his backup team, all still wearing full dress regalia. It was the most elegant rescue team in the history of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and it would have been an amusing tale to tell had the outcome not been so tragic. Ron and his team hadn't stood a chance. Harry had had to be Stunned before they could prise Ron's body from his arms.
The Unspeakables had monitored Harry closely for quite some time following Ron's death. There were several reports in the file that questioned his mental state, but even Kingsley Shacklebolt, the then Minister for Magic, had felt unable to order him take some time off. Harry simply ignored any such orders, anyway, so it would have been a complete waste of time. And when that aspiring Dark Lord, and those of his followers who had escaped after the ambush, turned up several weeks after Ron's funeral in very small, very dead pieces, the general consensus of opinion among those whose business it was to know these things, was that Harry was responsible.
Hermione had added her own reports to this file over the years, obviously. Noting that Harry blamed himself for the loss of the entire team, and in particular for the loss of his second-in-command. And that he also blamed his wife, believing that if he had known about the tip off, and had led the team, they would somehow have survived. Hermione had thought it far more likely that Harry would have died, too. She had noted that perhaps he would have preferred that outcome.
"Harry really doesn't blame Ginny, you know," Hermione finally said. "He just can't deal with the grief and she was a convenient target. Now it's just a habit. They'll all be much happier once this is done."
~o0o~
"Minister, the Head of the Unspeakables is here to see you."
"Show her in, Humphrey."
Harry rose from his seat and walked around to stand in front of his desk.
"Madam Controller."
"Minister," she replied with a nod, nothing but the slight curve of her lips and the twinkle in her eye betraying her amusement at their show of formality.
Harry turned his attention back to his personal assistant, who had placed a tray of coffee and sandwiches on the small table by the fire and was now hovering near the door, awaiting Harry's orders. "Go home, Humphrey. It's late and I'm sure you'd like to get home in time to tuck your children into bed."
Humphrey inclined his head in acknowledgement, wished them both a goodnight in a soft murmur, then quietly slipped out of the office, closing the door behind him.
Hermione had already made herself comfortable in one of the large, leather armchairs set in front of the fire, which was burning merrily. She shot Harry a grin as she poured the coffee.
"Sit. Eat. You didn't have lunch and you must be starving."
Harry frowned. "How did you..." His voice trailed off and he gave a soft, huffing laugh. "I thought I'd got rid of all your surveillance charms. How long's this one been in place?"
"That's for me to know and you to find out," Hermione said with a grin. "And I only use it for emergencies, national security issues, that sort of thing."
"Since when are my eating habits a matter of national security?"
"When I say they are," Hermione said as she pushed a cup of coffee towards Harry. "However, in this case I simply asked Humphrey if you'd eaten. Nothing sinister, I promise you."
Harry accepted the cup of coffee gratefully, took a gulp then gave a satisfied sigh. He picked up one of the rather delicious looking sandwiches and took a large bite. As he chewed his stomach gurgled loudly and Hermione chuckled. Harry rolled his eyes, but finished the sandwich in two bites and ate another three in rapid succession.
Thus fortified, Harry took another gulp of his coffee then said, "So how are things in the Twilight Zone?"
Hermione shot him a look of fond exasperation. "Fine, thank you. And I do hope you don't refer to my department in that frivolous way where anyone else can hear you, Harry."
"Of course not," Harry blithely assured her, although he wasn't in the least bit certain that that was actually the case.
"Because it does rather undermine the seriousness of the work we do," Hermione continued, "to have the Minister refer to us in such a flippant way."
"I hate to be the one to tell you this, Hermione, but the Twilight Zone is one of the more respectful terms I've heard used to describe your department."
"Yes, yes, I know," Hermione said, a long-suffering look on her face. "We get absolutely no respect."
"You get exactly what you want," Harry said. "While people are poking fun they're underestimating you. It's amazing what you can get away with when nobody takes you seriously."
Hermione suddenly grinned and said, "Yes, well, let's keep that snippet of information to ourselves, shall we?"
Harry chuckled softly. Then he rose to his feet and asked, "Sherry? Or I've got a rather nice merlot you might like to try?"
"Just a small sherry, thank you," Hermione replied, and Harry could feel the weight of her disapproving gaze as he poured himself a Firewhisky. A small Firewhisky. He could always have more once Hermione went home. He poured her sherry, picked up the glasses and carried them back to their seats.
Once he'd sat down again, he took a gulp of his drink then said, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening, Hermione?"
Hermione sipped her sherry, looking rather thoughtful. After a moment she said, "I want to tell you a story, and give you a present."
Harry frowned. "You already gave me a Christmas present. And I'm really not in the mood for stories. Not today. And neither should you be."
Hermione sighed. "It's been ten years, Harry. I've moved on. We've all accepted that Ron's gone and moved on with our lives. Except you."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
Harry simply shook his head at the softly spoken question. What could he say? That he couldn't let go of the pain because that was all he had? That he'd made the biggest mistake of his life when he hadn't taken her husband away from her?
As though echoing his thoughts, Hermione said, "Do you ever wonder what would have happened if things had been different? If you and Ron had -"
"Of course I bloody well have," Harry snapped wearily. "But it doesn't do to dwell on dreams, someone once told me."
Hermione nodded slowly. "But what if you could go back? Do it all over again, but this time... This time do what's right for both of you. Follow your heart instead of your head."
A look of despair and a deep, desperate longing crossed Harry's face. An unguarded expression that flickered there for a moment before his eyes shuttered and his face once again assumed his customary bland expression. He shook his head.
"No. There's no way to go back and rewrite the past. And even if there were, I couldn't do it. I'd be erasing our children, grandchildren... No. No matter how enticing it sounds, I couldn't..." His voice died away and he sighed.
"That would be a problem, certainly," Hermione said, "if you were attempting to use something like a Time Turner. You'd be in danger of causing all manner of paradoxes, as you can imagine. But what if I told you that there was another way to travel back to the past?"
"Like what?"
"As you know, Katie is the Custodian of the Time Room, and recently she came across a rather interesting artefact. It appears that this artefact can send you back in time without any danger of you causing a paradox. It does this by sending your consciousness back, rather than your physical body, and it avoids the risk of paradox by causing a branch in time. Basically, you would start a new timeline, leaving this current one intact. So say, for example, you travelled back oh, about forty years, and began a different life to the one you've led, it would change nothing in this timeline. We would all go on. Your children and grandchildren would still exist."
Harry took a gulp of his whisky and said, "As comforting as it would be to know that some other version of myself actually made the choice I wish I'd had the balls to make, what would be the point, Hermione? I would still be here, living a life that -"
"No, you wouldn't," Hermione interrupted. "You don't understand. Your consciousness returns to a key point in your past and causes a branch in the timeline. Everything you are in here," she tapped her head, "travels back in time, and there is no way back. You are gone. Your existence in this timeline therefore has to end."
Harry blinked rapidly for a moment. "What?"
"Of course, it is a bit of a gamble,' Hermione continued. "The evidence is a little sketchy. Katie's research leads her to believe that the artefact does in fact work as she believes it to, and I must agree with her, having reviewed her research. But I can't offer you a cast-iron guarantee, Harry."
"Just...just hold on a minute, Hermione. What are you -"
"I'm not asking you to make a decision right at this moment," Hermione interrupted again. "But hypothetically speaking, if this method of time travel proved to be effective, and you could go back and live your life differently without changing anything in this timeline, would you do it?"
~o0o~
It was bitterly cold in the cemetery. The sky was clear, with only the occasional heavy cloud to scud across the full moon, plunging the world momentarily into an inky blackness that only seemed to accentuate the harshness of the moonlight as it once again flooded across the gravestones and monuments, making them glitter and glow with an unearthly light.
Hermione pulled her heavy, fur-lined cloak more tightly around herself as she moved quickly and silently through the cemetery. She knew he would be here. He was always here. Every New Year's Eve. Not that anyone else was aware of that fact. Well, no one apart from herself, of course, and she had only discovered the fact by following him.
As she drew closer she could hear Harry's voice, and she slowed her pace, deliberately silencing her footsteps so as to remain undetected.
"... of course, he's a fucking idiot, mate, but what can you do? He's not you, after all, so I'm making do with second best. None of them'll ever be as good as you, Ron." A heavy sigh. Silence for a long moment. "It's not fucking fair. You should be running that department, keeping the bastards in line for me. Hermione's pretty slick. She's got spies everywhere and keeps me one step ahead of them, but it's only a matter of time. I'm too liberal. Making too many changes. Huh. Making too many enemies, more like."
Hermione crept closer. She felt a vague twinge of guilt at eavesdropping, but quelled it quickly. This was necessary. She needed to be sure.
She could see Ron's grave, now. She couldn't see Harry, of course. He'd be sitting underneath his invisibility cloak, as always.
"Anyway, enough about me and my problems. Hermione's well. Ruling the Department of Mysteries with an iron fist, and enjoying every minute of it. She's still with Katie, and the kids are still acting like they're room mates or something." Harry chuckled softly. "Funny, that. But you know what? You'd be happy for her, mate, 'cause Katie's good for her. Hermione said it suited her better. That if she couldn't have you, well, she'd have Katie. Not second best, just different, you know?" He paused again, as though listening to something, then said, "It's what you'd want, right? For her to move on. Be happy."
Harry fell silent again. Well, not silent. Hermione cocked her head and listened carefully. He seemed to be humming, a tune she couldn't quite recognise. After a minute or two he began speaking again.
"The kids are fine. Hugo's missus is up the duff again. She hasn't said anything, but I saw her at the Burrow on Boxing Day and it was obvious; that tiny extra spark in her aura. That'll be grandkid number three, mate." Harry fell silent for a long moment, then said, "Fuck it. It's not fucking fair. You should be here to see them for yourself. You should be here to..." He exhaled heavily. "You should be here with me. I miss you so fucking much, Ron. Not a day goes by when I don't miss you and it's killing me, mate. All I've got are memories and regrets. So many bloody regrets."
It occurred to Hermione that Harry was somewhat less sober than usual this year. His rambling speech seemed rather more maudlin than she was accustomed to hearing and... Her eyes widened as Harry suddenly became visible, his cloak pooling to the floor around him as he reached out and placed his hand on Ron's gravestone.
"Ten years. Ten fucking years today, mate and it's my fault. I should have been there, with you, watching your back. Always had your back. Always. And you had mine. Was the way it should be. But I wasn't there and you..."
Hermione could see Harry clearly in the frozen moonlight. His eyes glittered wetly, and he swallowed hard before scrubbing his arm roughly across his face.
"You're supposed to be here. When you came back and saved my arse from drowning, you promised. Never leave me again, you said. You fucking promised me, you bastard. You fucking promised."
And then Harry seemed to slowly fold in on himself, crumpling in a heap against Ron's gravestone with an ugly, guttural cry. And she knew she was making the right decision. It would be tonight.
She slowly moved forward, then crouched down next to Harry and pulled him into her arms.
"Come on, Harry. I'm taking you home."
~o0o~
Ginny pushed open the front door, saying, "I just need to grab a few things. Won't be long."
She noticed that Dean was peering around warily so added, "Harry won't be here. Every New Year's Eve since...since Ron died, he goes off on his own. Never tells me where. Then he goes straight to the Ministry. He won't be home until tonight."
"Oh, okay," Dean said, still looking somewhat edgy.
Ginny shook her head fondly at him then ran quickly up the stairs to the bedroom. She'd spent New Year's Eve with the family at James' house, where Dean had collected her this morning. They were going to an art show which she was rather looking forward to. Particularly as, for the first time, one of her own paintings would be on display. She had invited the children along, and was a little nervous about their reaction. They hadn't seen any of her paintings and... Ginny frowned, her train of thought stuttering to a halt. The bedroom door was closed, but she distinctly remembered leaving it open when she'd left the house yesterday afternoon.
She turned the handle and eased the door open. The curtains were drawn so the bedroom was in darkness, but enough light seeped around the edges of the curtains for her to see that someone was in the bed. Harry, presumably, which was odd in itself. He never came home on New Year's Eve. And even more rarely did he sleep in their marriage bed.
"Harry?"
Something wasn't right. Apart from the oddity of finding him there, Harry was a very light sleeper. He should have woken the moment she opened the door. Ginny moved closer to the bed, and as her eyes adjusted to the gloom she could see that it was indeed her husband in their bed.
"Harry?" Ginny said again as she reached out to place a hand on his arm. "Oh, God, Harry."
Her screams brought Dean running up the stairs and into the bedroom only moments later.
Continue to Part 2
From: aniwde
Title: A Rare and Wondrous Gift (1/2)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Once upon a time, no Christmas was complete without a healthy dose of Victorian melodrama to bring a tear to the eye before granting the obligatory happy ending. Apparently I needed to write one for you.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warnings: Good grief, where to start? Angst and major character deaths. Epilogue compliant and canon pairings, but also Ginny/Dean Thomas, Hermione/OFC and of course Harry/Ron. Implied infidelity. Cross-gen, sort of. Time travel. Alternate Universe. Blow jobs and frotting. Bit of everything, probably, if you squint.
Author's Note: You said you liked angst. I do hope that's true. Merry Christmas!
A Rare and Wondrous Gift (1/2)
~o0o~
For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts.
T. S. Eliot (Four Quartets) “The Dry Salvages” Number 5
~o0o~
He tentatively prised open an eyelid and then immediately slammed it shut again as the bright morning sunlight bludgeoned into his aching head. He swallowed thickly. There was an odd taste in his mouth. Even worse than the usual bottom-of-an-owl's-cage-hangover-mouth-taste that he had grown rather intimately familiar with during the course of his Auror training.
He needed a drink. A wave of nausea washed over him at that thought, but he willed it away. Water was good. He was hot. Too hot. He was sweaty, itchy, and rather squashed as someone was draped over him and... His mental ramblings screeched to a halt. He was in bed with someone. Definitely smelling of sex. He slowly turned his head and peered blearily at the person next to him.
"Oh, fuck, no," he whispered as he saw the tousled head of his best friend lying next to him, snoring softly into the pillow.
He fought down his rising panic and began to ease himself out of Ron's grip. Ron muttered incoherently and flailed weakly as though reaching for him, but Harry edged determinedly out of the bed, foraged about in his discarded clothing until he found his wand, then hit Ron with a sleeping charm. He couldn't risk him waking up. Not until he'd had time to think.
He gathered up his clothes, then sat down on the edge of the ratty camp bed where he was supposed to have spent the night. He stared blankly at the Chudley Cannons poster, ignoring the cheerfully waving Quidditch players smiling knowingly at him from their broomsticks.
They'd gone out last night to celebrate the end of Auror training, eventually ending up at Seamus Finnegan's flat. He'd had some ancient-looking bottles of Firewhisky that he'd got from... Harry frowned. He couldn't remember if Seamus had actually told them where he'd got them. Probably fell off the back of a flying carpet, knowing Seamus. They'd had a few drinks, and then... Harry vaguely remembered falling out of the Floo and throwing up all over Molly's hearthrug.
"Oh, God," he mumbled, scrubbing his hands over his face. He'd better make sure that was cleaned up before Arthur and Molly returned from their weekend away.
He pushed himself to his feet, grabbed his clothes, then made his way gingerly to the bathroom. He found a headache potion in the bathroom cabinet and swallowed it with a sigh of relief.
As he stood in the shower, listlessly rubbing a bar of soap over his chest and trying desperately not the dwell on whose dried come he was scrubbing from his skin, he was very aware that, thus far, he'd completely avoided thinking about the metaphorical elephant in the room. That he'd apparently had sex with Ron, despite his determination not to do anything of the sort, and he felt like pounding his head against the wall.
This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to become an Auror, get married, have children and live happily ever after. Live a normal life. That's what he'd always wanted, right? And Ron had agreed, whenever they'd talked about the future over a bottle of Firewhisky, late at night. That Ron would marry Hermione and he would marry Ginny, and they'd all be one big happy family and live next door to each other and raise their kids together and always, always have each other's backs. And if his breath caught in his throat as their eyes met, or he grew suddenly hot if their hands brushed, fingers lingering a little longer than they should, well, it didn't mean anything. Right?
"I am so fucked."
Harry thrust his head under the water pouring from the shower rose and resisted the urge to scream out his frustration. He couldn't think and he needed to think clearly about his, like never before, because what he should do, and what he actually wanted to do, were two very different things. He felt as though he were at a crossroads and he desperately needed to talk to someone. Someone he could trust to tell him the plain, unvarnished truth and give him honest, objective advice, regardless of their own feelings on the matter.
"Of course," he muttered softly. And he knew exactly who that person was.
~o0o~
Hermione Granger-Weasley, Controller of the Department of Mysteries, carefully added her signature to the scroll she had just finished proofreading, tapped it with her wand, then gave a weary sigh as it rolled itself up with a loud snap and vanished. She leant back in her chair, rolling her shoulders to try to ease the stiffness in her neck and back, then glanced up at the clock, wincing as she saw how late it was. Not that it mattered, really. There was no one waiting for her at home, after all. Hadn't been for ten years, now.
She sighed again as she rubbed her hands over her face. There was a perfunctory tap at her office door and Hermione looked up and smiled as her assistant, Katherine Miller, quietly closed the door before making her way over to Hermione's desk.
"Don't you think it's time you went home, Controller?"
"Is that an order, Unspeakable?"
The tall, elegantly dressed woman smiled fondly down at her as she shook her head and said, "Simply a request, dear. It's getting late and you know that we promised to look after your grandchildren tomorrow. If you don't get at least five or six hours of uninterrupted sleep you'll find the day utterly unbearable."
"You're right, of course," Hermione agreed reluctantly. She dearly loved her children, their spouses and, of course, her beautiful grandchildren. But the noise, mess and disruption to her routine occasioned by Christmas and its attendant celebrations and obligations did not leave her in the best of moods. Why she had offered to baby-sit so that Rosie and her husband, and Hugo and his wife could go Christmas shopping without their children, she didn't know. Latent streak of masochism, possibly. That or early onset dementia, Hermione mused.
"You head off," Hermione said, pushing herself slowly to her feet. "I'll be home soon. I just want to check on something."
"All right. I'll warm up some of that soup I made the other day for supper. Oh, and I picked up a loaf from that new bakery at lunchtime, so we can have some ham sandwiches with it, if you like."
"Perfect. What would I do without you, Katie?"
"Starve to death, probably," Katherine said tartly. Her expression softened, however, when Hermione slipped an arm around her waist and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.
"I know I take you for granted, my dear," Hermione said softly. "But I truly do not know what I would do without you."
"Luckily for you, you'll never have to find out. Because goodness knows, you need someone to take care of you," Katherine said. "Speaking of which, if you're not home in half an hour I will hunt you down, you know that, don't you?"
"Yes, dear," Hermione said with a mock-sigh of long suffering which had both women giggling for a moment before Katherine shook her head, dropped a kiss on Hermione's cheek and left the office, closing the door softly behind her.
Hermione reached up and touched her cheek, and found herself smiling. Even though she had been teasing, there had been more than a grain of truth to her words. Hermione really did not know what she would do without her.
She had been drawn to Katherine the moment they had first met. There had been something, some spark that had seemed to fly between them, and which had left them both rather bemused and somewhat embarrassed, as their initial meeting had been a job interview. Needless to say, Hermione had offered Katherine the position on the spot.
A few months later an errant piece of enchanted mistletoe had led to their first kiss, and twelve months after that, Katherine had found a nice, reliable tenant for her flat and moved in with Hermione. Which had led to a few tense moments with her family, most of whom insisted on clinging to the fiction that they were simply two middle-aged witches living together for the companionship. Both women found the situation rather amusing, and made it a point to show their affection for each other in some small way during each family gathering.
Hermione stepped over to a large painting that hung on the wall in the far corner of her office. She tapped her wand in an apparently random pattern on its frame as she muttered under her breath, and a moment later the painting began to blur, the rather boring landscape becoming a window into the office of the Minister for Magic.
He wasn't sitting at his desk, and with a gesture from her the view began to pan slowly around the entire office. Hermione stopped it with a sharp motion of her hand as she spotted him sitting in one of the leather armchairs arranged in front of the large fireplace at the far end of his office. He was nursing a glass of what was almost certainly Firewhisky as he stared blankly into the flames. There was a decanter, half-empty by the looks of it, sitting on the coffee table in front of him, and Hermione sighed as she spotted it. The decanter was refilled every morning, she knew.
"Oh, Harry," she said softly. He looked older than his fifty-eight years, drawn and tired, an air of weariness about him as though he'd carried the weight of the world on his shoulders for far, far too long.
"I'm going to fix this, Harry. I'm going to give you another chance," she whispered as her hand caressed the image of her oldest friend. "I'm going to give him back to you."
~o0o~
"Ginny, are you home?"
"Hermione! What -"
"May I come through?"
"Um, yes, of course," Ginny said, moving quickly away from the fireplace.
A moment later Hermione stepped through the Floo, absently casting the spells to clean away any stray smuts from her robes. Her sister-in-law stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, her smile a little too bright, signs of the strain she laboured under clear in the tension around her eyes; to the trained observer, at least, and the head of the Unspeakables could definitely lay claim to that attribute.
"Harry isn't here," Ginny blurted out, her gaze darting between Hermione and the fireplace, clearly wishing Hermione would take the hint and leave.
"Yes, I know," Hermione said. "I came to see you."
Ginny's eyes widened. "Me? Why would you..." Her voice trailed off. She took a deep breath, and Hermione could see her visibly pull herself together. "Of course. Um, would you like some tea, Hermione?"
"That would be lovely, thank you."
It was with a palpable air of relief that Ginny fled to the kitchen, and Hermione allowed herself to mourn the loss of their easy friendship, just for a moment, before she took a deep, fortifying breath and followed her.
Ginny was just closing the back door as Hermione stepped into the kitchen, and she heard the distinct sound of Disapparation from the garden as Ginny turned to face her. There was a hunted, panic-stricken look on her face.
Hermione sighed. "You didn't have to ask him to leave, you know."
Ginny's face paled as she stared at Hermione. After a moment, though, she seemed to find some pool of inner strength because she took a deep breath, raised her chin to look Hermione defiantly in the eye and said, "I've done nothing to be ashamed of."
"I know."
"Do you?" Ginny snapped. "And how exactly would you know? Are you having me followed? Are there monitoring charms on me, or the house? Are you spying on me?" She stomped over to Hermione and jabbed a finger into her chest as though to drive home her point. "You are, aren't you!"
"You are the wife of the Minister for Magic, Madam Potter. Of course you're being monitored. It's for your own protection," Hermione said, her voice cold. Ginny was far too defensive to be completely innocent. She would have to make a point of going over the surveillance logs to ensure that no embarrassing facts remained to possibly one day come to light. She would not tolerate any hint of scandal within her extended family.
Ginny's face crumpled, and Hermione could see the hurt in her eyes at her tone. She felt rather cruel, manipulating her sister-in-law in that way, but she needed the truth. She reached out, but Ginny stepped away, wrapping her arms around herself defensively.
"I haven't done...we're just friends," Ginny mumbled. "But for Merlin's sake I need something, Hermione. Harry hates me and -"
"Oh, Ginny, no. No, he doesn't," Hermione said, stepping deliberately closer to Ginny and pulling her into a hug. Ginny tensed for a moment, then exhaled loudly as she slumped against Hermione.
"He does, Hermione. Everyone knows. He's never forgiven me and it's not fair. It's not fair because it wasn't my fault. I didn't know. How could I have known? And you never blamed me and he was my brother, after all, and I've tried so hard and I don't think I can take this much longer..."
"Shh, it's okay," Hermione said in a soothing voice. She eased Ginny down onto one of the chairs, then opened the kitchen cupboard where she knew Ginny kept the cooking brandy and poured her a large glass. She pressed the glass into Ginny's hand and watched as she sipped, holding the glass in front of her face as though she could hide behind it.
"I know that you've been seeing a lot of Dean Thomas," Hermione said softly. "And -"
"We're just friends. He's teaching me to paint," Ginny interrupted wearily. "I need something to do, Hermione. My career was playing Quidditch, and I'm far too old for that. And the children don't need me any more. They're busy with their own families. Harry barely speaks to me and...and I was never who he wanted, anyway. Not really. I know that." She paused, glancing quickly at Hermione and then back at her glass of brandy. "But Dean wants me. Me, Hermione, not my brother. But I've done nothing improper. I take my marriage vows seriously, even if Harry never did. I never forget that he is still my husband and that we have a wonderful family and that I should count my blessings..." Her voice broke, and Hermione reached out and patted her hand.
"Things are pretty dire if you have to remind yourself to count your blessings, aren't they? But suppose, just for a moment, that you weren't married to Harry. What would you do, Ginny? If you were free, and Dean asked you to marry him, what would you do?"
Ginny's expression spoke volumes, and her anguish was clear in her voice as she said, "Why are you doing this? Why are you asking me these things? You know that can never happen." Her hand shook as she carefully placed her drink on the table in front of her. "Dean told me that Muggles can end their marriages. It's called divorce, he said. He...he wants me to leave and live in the Muggle world with him, but I can't. My children would never speak to me again. The disgrace..." She shook her head as her voice died away.
Hermione picked up the glass of brandy and pressed it into Ginny's hands once more. "Sip it slowly," she said softly. She watched as Ginny took a sip of brandy, then said, "This isn't idle curiosity on my part, Ginny. I'm asking because I need to be absolutely certain of your feelings. The children have their own families, as you say. They'll miss their father, and the little ones will miss their granddad, but they'll move on with their lives fairly quickly. It was you that I was most concerned about. Obviously, I had the surveillance reports, but I needed to talk to you myself. To make sure."
Hermione was mostly speaking to herself by that point. She looked up quickly at the gasp of horror from Ginny.
"You're talking like... What's wrong? Is something wrong with Harry?"
"He's fine," Hermione said soothingly as her wand slid gently from her arm holster into her hand. A moment later Ginny slumped in her seat, the heavy, lead crystal glass shattering as it hit the floor. "But I can't allow you to remember any of this, I'm afraid."
~o0o~
Hermione truly loved her family, she really did, and thus felt a twinge of guilt at the profound relief she felt as she saw the last of them off, closing and locking the Floo as the green flames died away. Christmas Day spent with her children and grandchildren, while far from relaxing, was still the only way she could possibly imagine celebrating Christmas. It was the only truly enduring tradition they had. Early on in their married life, she and Ron had decided that Christmas Day would be spent at home with their children, and Boxing Day would be spent at the Burrow with their extended family. And that hadn't changed in almost forty years.
"Sickle for them," Katherine said, passing Hermione a mug of cocoa once she had her attention.
"Just wool-gathering."
"Still worrying about Harry?"
Hermione shook her head. "I don't need to, not any more."
"Ah. So you've decided, then?"
"Yes. And yes."
"So when will you do it?"
"New Year's Eve, I think. It seems appropriate."
Katherine nodded slowly. "It does. And of course, it's the one night of the year when you can absolutely guarantee that no one will be looking for him." She hesitated, then continued, "Are you sure you're doing the right thing?"
"Definitely. It really is for the best, you know. A chance to start again. I feel as though I owe it to him. To all of them, actually."
"You owe them nothing," Katherine said sharply. "They made their own decisions and you have nothing to reproach yourself about."
"Dear Katie, so fierce in my defence," Hermione said with a wry grin. "But in this case your faith is misplaced. I really do owe them this." She settled back in her armchair and took a sip from the mug of cocoa she held cradled in her hands.
"I've never told you this, and I'm not particularly proud of it, but unless you understand what I did, Katie, you really can't grasp why this is so important to me. After the Battle of Hogwarts, and after we'd tied up various loose ends, I decided to return to Hogwarts to complete my education, and Molly Weasley insisted that Ginny do the same. Ron and Harry, though, joined the Aurors, as you know. We - Ginny and I - had very little contact with the boys during our last year of school. Their training was very intense, and we were studying for our N.E.W.T.s so, well, the odd letter and even more infrequent visit were all we managed, really. Ginny had picked up on Harry's waning interest and had begun seeing Dean Thomas again. Still fairly casually at that point, but the potential for more had been there, particular on his side. And Harry and Ron, well, it was obvious to me that they were growing closer while I was very much out of sight, out of mind, it seemed. I hadn't expected that. I could see them slipping away from me, Katie, and I had no idea what to do about it."
Hermione sipped at her cocoa as she gathered her thoughts, then continued, "And then suddenly, out of the blue, Harry turned up at Hogwarts and told me that he was taking me out to lunch, and that he needed to talk to me about something important. No Ginny, no Ron. Just Harry, nervous, shifty, not meeting my eyes, and I knew. As we walked into Hogsmeade, I knew what he was going to say."
Hermione slowly shook her head, her gaze unfocussed as she stared into the past.
"I had a clear choice. I could have stepped back, given Harry the moral support he needed to pursue a life with Ron, and been the friend they both thought I was. Ginny would have been happy with Dean, and I..." She looked up suddenly, and smiled at Katherine. "Ron loved me, and he adored the children, but I was always aware that I was second best. Meeting you was a revelation, Katie. Had I not been so stupidly self-centred all those years ago, perhaps we would have..." Hermione sighed. "Anyway, as I said, Harry came to me, as his best friend, and asked for my honest advice. And instead of giving it, I manipulated him into doing exactly what I wanted him to do."
"Rubbish," Katherine said dismissively. "You were a child, for pity's sake, and children are notoriously self-centred creatures. Besides, I know you, Hermione, and I'm certain that you thought you were doing the right thing for all concerned at the time."
Hermione waved a hand in an impatient gesture, and said, "I don't doubt that I told myself I was, but it really wasn't that straightforward. I probably knew Harry better than he knew himself, and he trusted me completely; still does, come to that. And I utterly betrayed that trust." She paused, then continued, "I can't completely regret what I did, though. If things had gone differently we wouldn't have the children, obviously, and I think that we would all deem them worth the price. But I feel as though I paid very little compared to the others, and that I need to make amends; balance the books, somehow."
"You have nothing to make amends for, in my opinion. Harry chose to follow your advice and Ron and Ginny went along with it." Katherine said. "But if you feel you need to do this, then you have my full support, of course. I'm just a little concerned that losing Harry will hit you harder than you think it will."
"I'll be fine, honestly. I know I'm a little tired and overwrought at the moment, but you really don't need to concern yourself about me. After all, I'm no longer alone, am I?" She reached out and clasped Katherine's hand, lifting it to her lips to drop a gentle kiss on Katherine's knuckles. "Ginny is the one who'll need support and sympathy, I believe."
"I rather doubt that," Katherine said waspishly. "She seems to have had no trouble attracting the attentions of Mr. Thomas once again, so I don't think she'll languish alone for long."
"That's rather unfair," Hermione pointed out gently. "You know how things are between her and Harry."
"I've never really understood that," Katherine said. "If anything, his wife probably saved his life that night, so why on earth..." Katherine shook her head as her voice died away. She didn't need to ask the question; it was rhetorical, anyway. The Unspeakables had very thorough reports on what had happened on that New Year's Eve, ten years ago, and they had both studied them closely.
Ginny had been asked to host the Ministry New Year's Eve Ball that particular year, and had apparently been determined that Harry would attend, come what may. Harry was then Chief Auror, and technically always on duty and liable to be called in to work at a moment's notice. Ginny had spoken to Ron and asked him, as a favour to her, to keep everyone away from Harry unless it was a matter of life or death. As Harry's second-in-command, Ron was used to running the department in Harry's absence, and he cheerfully agreed. So when a tip off from a supposedly reliable source arrived, giving the whereabouts of an aspiring Dark Lord that they'd been tracking for several months, Ron hadn't hesitated. He'd assembled a team without contacting Harry, and they'd walked straight into an ambush.
The alarm for urgent backup automatically notified the Chief Auror, and Harry had Apparated into a storm of spell fire with his backup team, all still wearing full dress regalia. It was the most elegant rescue team in the history of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and it would have been an amusing tale to tell had the outcome not been so tragic. Ron and his team hadn't stood a chance. Harry had had to be Stunned before they could prise Ron's body from his arms.
The Unspeakables had monitored Harry closely for quite some time following Ron's death. There were several reports in the file that questioned his mental state, but even Kingsley Shacklebolt, the then Minister for Magic, had felt unable to order him take some time off. Harry simply ignored any such orders, anyway, so it would have been a complete waste of time. And when that aspiring Dark Lord, and those of his followers who had escaped after the ambush, turned up several weeks after Ron's funeral in very small, very dead pieces, the general consensus of opinion among those whose business it was to know these things, was that Harry was responsible.
Hermione had added her own reports to this file over the years, obviously. Noting that Harry blamed himself for the loss of the entire team, and in particular for the loss of his second-in-command. And that he also blamed his wife, believing that if he had known about the tip off, and had led the team, they would somehow have survived. Hermione had thought it far more likely that Harry would have died, too. She had noted that perhaps he would have preferred that outcome.
"Harry really doesn't blame Ginny, you know," Hermione finally said. "He just can't deal with the grief and she was a convenient target. Now it's just a habit. They'll all be much happier once this is done."
~o0o~
"Minister, the Head of the Unspeakables is here to see you."
"Show her in, Humphrey."
Harry rose from his seat and walked around to stand in front of his desk.
"Madam Controller."
"Minister," she replied with a nod, nothing but the slight curve of her lips and the twinkle in her eye betraying her amusement at their show of formality.
Harry turned his attention back to his personal assistant, who had placed a tray of coffee and sandwiches on the small table by the fire and was now hovering near the door, awaiting Harry's orders. "Go home, Humphrey. It's late and I'm sure you'd like to get home in time to tuck your children into bed."
Humphrey inclined his head in acknowledgement, wished them both a goodnight in a soft murmur, then quietly slipped out of the office, closing the door behind him.
Hermione had already made herself comfortable in one of the large, leather armchairs set in front of the fire, which was burning merrily. She shot Harry a grin as she poured the coffee.
"Sit. Eat. You didn't have lunch and you must be starving."
Harry frowned. "How did you..." His voice trailed off and he gave a soft, huffing laugh. "I thought I'd got rid of all your surveillance charms. How long's this one been in place?"
"That's for me to know and you to find out," Hermione said with a grin. "And I only use it for emergencies, national security issues, that sort of thing."
"Since when are my eating habits a matter of national security?"
"When I say they are," Hermione said as she pushed a cup of coffee towards Harry. "However, in this case I simply asked Humphrey if you'd eaten. Nothing sinister, I promise you."
Harry accepted the cup of coffee gratefully, took a gulp then gave a satisfied sigh. He picked up one of the rather delicious looking sandwiches and took a large bite. As he chewed his stomach gurgled loudly and Hermione chuckled. Harry rolled his eyes, but finished the sandwich in two bites and ate another three in rapid succession.
Thus fortified, Harry took another gulp of his coffee then said, "So how are things in the Twilight Zone?"
Hermione shot him a look of fond exasperation. "Fine, thank you. And I do hope you don't refer to my department in that frivolous way where anyone else can hear you, Harry."
"Of course not," Harry blithely assured her, although he wasn't in the least bit certain that that was actually the case.
"Because it does rather undermine the seriousness of the work we do," Hermione continued, "to have the Minister refer to us in such a flippant way."
"I hate to be the one to tell you this, Hermione, but the Twilight Zone is one of the more respectful terms I've heard used to describe your department."
"Yes, yes, I know," Hermione said, a long-suffering look on her face. "We get absolutely no respect."
"You get exactly what you want," Harry said. "While people are poking fun they're underestimating you. It's amazing what you can get away with when nobody takes you seriously."
Hermione suddenly grinned and said, "Yes, well, let's keep that snippet of information to ourselves, shall we?"
Harry chuckled softly. Then he rose to his feet and asked, "Sherry? Or I've got a rather nice merlot you might like to try?"
"Just a small sherry, thank you," Hermione replied, and Harry could feel the weight of her disapproving gaze as he poured himself a Firewhisky. A small Firewhisky. He could always have more once Hermione went home. He poured her sherry, picked up the glasses and carried them back to their seats.
Once he'd sat down again, he took a gulp of his drink then said, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening, Hermione?"
Hermione sipped her sherry, looking rather thoughtful. After a moment she said, "I want to tell you a story, and give you a present."
Harry frowned. "You already gave me a Christmas present. And I'm really not in the mood for stories. Not today. And neither should you be."
Hermione sighed. "It's been ten years, Harry. I've moved on. We've all accepted that Ron's gone and moved on with our lives. Except you."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
Harry simply shook his head at the softly spoken question. What could he say? That he couldn't let go of the pain because that was all he had? That he'd made the biggest mistake of his life when he hadn't taken her husband away from her?
As though echoing his thoughts, Hermione said, "Do you ever wonder what would have happened if things had been different? If you and Ron had -"
"Of course I bloody well have," Harry snapped wearily. "But it doesn't do to dwell on dreams, someone once told me."
Hermione nodded slowly. "But what if you could go back? Do it all over again, but this time... This time do what's right for both of you. Follow your heart instead of your head."
A look of despair and a deep, desperate longing crossed Harry's face. An unguarded expression that flickered there for a moment before his eyes shuttered and his face once again assumed his customary bland expression. He shook his head.
"No. There's no way to go back and rewrite the past. And even if there were, I couldn't do it. I'd be erasing our children, grandchildren... No. No matter how enticing it sounds, I couldn't..." His voice died away and he sighed.
"That would be a problem, certainly," Hermione said, "if you were attempting to use something like a Time Turner. You'd be in danger of causing all manner of paradoxes, as you can imagine. But what if I told you that there was another way to travel back to the past?"
"Like what?"
"As you know, Katie is the Custodian of the Time Room, and recently she came across a rather interesting artefact. It appears that this artefact can send you back in time without any danger of you causing a paradox. It does this by sending your consciousness back, rather than your physical body, and it avoids the risk of paradox by causing a branch in time. Basically, you would start a new timeline, leaving this current one intact. So say, for example, you travelled back oh, about forty years, and began a different life to the one you've led, it would change nothing in this timeline. We would all go on. Your children and grandchildren would still exist."
Harry took a gulp of his whisky and said, "As comforting as it would be to know that some other version of myself actually made the choice I wish I'd had the balls to make, what would be the point, Hermione? I would still be here, living a life that -"
"No, you wouldn't," Hermione interrupted. "You don't understand. Your consciousness returns to a key point in your past and causes a branch in the timeline. Everything you are in here," she tapped her head, "travels back in time, and there is no way back. You are gone. Your existence in this timeline therefore has to end."
Harry blinked rapidly for a moment. "What?"
"Of course, it is a bit of a gamble,' Hermione continued. "The evidence is a little sketchy. Katie's research leads her to believe that the artefact does in fact work as she believes it to, and I must agree with her, having reviewed her research. But I can't offer you a cast-iron guarantee, Harry."
"Just...just hold on a minute, Hermione. What are you -"
"I'm not asking you to make a decision right at this moment," Hermione interrupted again. "But hypothetically speaking, if this method of time travel proved to be effective, and you could go back and live your life differently without changing anything in this timeline, would you do it?"
~o0o~
It was bitterly cold in the cemetery. The sky was clear, with only the occasional heavy cloud to scud across the full moon, plunging the world momentarily into an inky blackness that only seemed to accentuate the harshness of the moonlight as it once again flooded across the gravestones and monuments, making them glitter and glow with an unearthly light.
Hermione pulled her heavy, fur-lined cloak more tightly around herself as she moved quickly and silently through the cemetery. She knew he would be here. He was always here. Every New Year's Eve. Not that anyone else was aware of that fact. Well, no one apart from herself, of course, and she had only discovered the fact by following him.
As she drew closer she could hear Harry's voice, and she slowed her pace, deliberately silencing her footsteps so as to remain undetected.
"... of course, he's a fucking idiot, mate, but what can you do? He's not you, after all, so I'm making do with second best. None of them'll ever be as good as you, Ron." A heavy sigh. Silence for a long moment. "It's not fucking fair. You should be running that department, keeping the bastards in line for me. Hermione's pretty slick. She's got spies everywhere and keeps me one step ahead of them, but it's only a matter of time. I'm too liberal. Making too many changes. Huh. Making too many enemies, more like."
Hermione crept closer. She felt a vague twinge of guilt at eavesdropping, but quelled it quickly. This was necessary. She needed to be sure.
She could see Ron's grave, now. She couldn't see Harry, of course. He'd be sitting underneath his invisibility cloak, as always.
"Anyway, enough about me and my problems. Hermione's well. Ruling the Department of Mysteries with an iron fist, and enjoying every minute of it. She's still with Katie, and the kids are still acting like they're room mates or something." Harry chuckled softly. "Funny, that. But you know what? You'd be happy for her, mate, 'cause Katie's good for her. Hermione said it suited her better. That if she couldn't have you, well, she'd have Katie. Not second best, just different, you know?" He paused again, as though listening to something, then said, "It's what you'd want, right? For her to move on. Be happy."
Harry fell silent again. Well, not silent. Hermione cocked her head and listened carefully. He seemed to be humming, a tune she couldn't quite recognise. After a minute or two he began speaking again.
"The kids are fine. Hugo's missus is up the duff again. She hasn't said anything, but I saw her at the Burrow on Boxing Day and it was obvious; that tiny extra spark in her aura. That'll be grandkid number three, mate." Harry fell silent for a long moment, then said, "Fuck it. It's not fucking fair. You should be here to see them for yourself. You should be here to..." He exhaled heavily. "You should be here with me. I miss you so fucking much, Ron. Not a day goes by when I don't miss you and it's killing me, mate. All I've got are memories and regrets. So many bloody regrets."
It occurred to Hermione that Harry was somewhat less sober than usual this year. His rambling speech seemed rather more maudlin than she was accustomed to hearing and... Her eyes widened as Harry suddenly became visible, his cloak pooling to the floor around him as he reached out and placed his hand on Ron's gravestone.
"Ten years. Ten fucking years today, mate and it's my fault. I should have been there, with you, watching your back. Always had your back. Always. And you had mine. Was the way it should be. But I wasn't there and you..."
Hermione could see Harry clearly in the frozen moonlight. His eyes glittered wetly, and he swallowed hard before scrubbing his arm roughly across his face.
"You're supposed to be here. When you came back and saved my arse from drowning, you promised. Never leave me again, you said. You fucking promised me, you bastard. You fucking promised."
And then Harry seemed to slowly fold in on himself, crumpling in a heap against Ron's gravestone with an ugly, guttural cry. And she knew she was making the right decision. It would be tonight.
She slowly moved forward, then crouched down next to Harry and pulled him into her arms.
"Come on, Harry. I'm taking you home."
~o0o~
Ginny pushed open the front door, saying, "I just need to grab a few things. Won't be long."
She noticed that Dean was peering around warily so added, "Harry won't be here. Every New Year's Eve since...since Ron died, he goes off on his own. Never tells me where. Then he goes straight to the Ministry. He won't be home until tonight."
"Oh, okay," Dean said, still looking somewhat edgy.
Ginny shook her head fondly at him then ran quickly up the stairs to the bedroom. She'd spent New Year's Eve with the family at James' house, where Dean had collected her this morning. They were going to an art show which she was rather looking forward to. Particularly as, for the first time, one of her own paintings would be on display. She had invited the children along, and was a little nervous about their reaction. They hadn't seen any of her paintings and... Ginny frowned, her train of thought stuttering to a halt. The bedroom door was closed, but she distinctly remembered leaving it open when she'd left the house yesterday afternoon.
She turned the handle and eased the door open. The curtains were drawn so the bedroom was in darkness, but enough light seeped around the edges of the curtains for her to see that someone was in the bed. Harry, presumably, which was odd in itself. He never came home on New Year's Eve. And even more rarely did he sleep in their marriage bed.
"Harry?"
Something wasn't right. Apart from the oddity of finding him there, Harry was a very light sleeper. He should have woken the moment she opened the door. Ginny moved closer to the bed, and as her eyes adjusted to the gloom she could see that it was indeed her husband in their bed.
"Harry?" Ginny said again as she reached out to place a hand on his arm. "Oh, God, Harry."
Her screams brought Dean running up the stairs and into the bedroom only moments later.
Continue to Part 2