home alone. Ginny looked disheveled and exhausted, there was dirt on her soaked and draggled yellow cloak and her damp hair was a wild tangle. None of this surprised Hermione; what did surprise her was the expression on Ginnys face when she raised it — beyond her look of numb shock, she had very obviously been crying.
'Ginny?' Hermione said, pausing on the stairs. 'Ginny, are you all right?'
Ginny looked up. 'Oh! Hermione.' Her voice was heavy with exhaustion.
'Yes. I?m all right.'
'Then what…'
Hermione broke off as the kitchen door opened again, and Harry came through, followed by Draco. Harry was carrying two broomsticks in his right hand; Draco was fumbling with the clasp that fastened his soaked and draggled cloak. Both were walking in the slow manner of those who are weary to the bone. She opened her mouth to call out to them, but only a gasp of surprise escaped her lips.
They were safe, they were home…And yet. She wanted to be overjoyed, but the joy didn?t come. There was something terribly wrong: she could see it, it was in the way Draco walked, the set of Harrys shoulders. Harry was the one who noticed her first; she thought later that perhaps he had heard her sharp intake of breath. He raised his head and looked up; Draco followed his gaze, and they both stared blankly at her, as if they could not quite believe that she was there.
She would always remember that moment later. It was not a long moment, and yet it seemed to go on and on. She stood and stared at them and wondered that although he should by all right be out of her mind with relief, instead a small cold fear was growing in her heart.
They were filthier than Ginny was, both of them. Harrys robes were torn and shredded, his gloves stained black, his face pinched with exhaustion and something else. Dracos cloak was ripped, thick with twigs; there was a ragged bandage around his arm and his face was cut and bloodied.
But it was not that which made her pause. It was the looks on their faces.
She remembered Harrys expression from their fourth year, after the Third Task — that half-drugged, dazed and stunned look of overwhelming shock. She had not seen him look like that since then. And now he did.
And Draco. She would not have thought someone so young could look so old. It was not on his face, this look of age, but behind it, at the backs of his glacial eyes. It was knowledge and acceptance and other things that were worse than that. She remembered his telling her that he was fine, that he would see a mediwizard soon, and knew he had been lying, and that this was what he had been lying to cover up. It all made sense suddenly: Harrys expression, Dracos weary resignation, and she remembered her dream and the silvery blood all over the sand at her feet and she sat down suddenly on the stairs, realization and sudden despair weakening her knees.
'I knew it,' she said, 'I knew it, I knew it, I knew it all this time…'
An indefinite period of time passed for Hermione while she sat on the stairs with her hands over her face, struggling to not cry. In reality, of course, it was less than a minute before Harry came up the stairs and sat down next to her, Draco and Ginny having prudently disappeared into the living room.
'I?d give you a handkerchief,' he said. 'But I haven?t got one. And I ripped the bottom of my cloak off to make a bandage for Dracos arm.
But, If you wanted…'
She looked up. 'I?m not crying,' she said.
'Oh,' Harry said. There was a momentary silence. 'If you wanted to have a cry, I could go away,' he offered.
'Harry…' She looked more closely at him: under the dirt and bruises, he was slightly wan-looking with tiredness, but he seemed healthy enough.
The same reserve was in his eyes that she remembered, the same distance.
In fact, he looked more closed off than ever. But his expression was not unsympathetic. She realized with a start that this was the first time she had been alone with him since they had ended their relationship. It seemed a thousand years ago. 'I don?t want to have a cry. I want to go wake Charlie up and Portkey ourselves back to Hogwarts before anything terrible happens.'
'If she had expected any resistance, she didn?t get it. 'Good,' said Harry decidedly. 'I?ve been wanting to talk to Dumbledore. Although I ought to talk to Sirius first, is he here?'
Hermione shook her head. 'Back at Lupins house. They?re both fine, though. Everyone is, except…'
Harry looked at her narrowly. 'Except who?'
'Ron,' Hermione said finally. She tensed, not sure how Harry would react.
But he looked merely surprised.
'Hes not back yet?'
'No. And Harry — I know about Pansy. Charlie told me.'
'Better him than me,' said Harry, his tone almost flippant. Then, at the look on her face, his voice softened. 'I?m sorry,' he said. 'But I?m also glad you weren?t there at the reception, when Draco let everyone know what happened. It was pretty horrible.'
'Oh, poor Ron,' Hermione said softly. 'He must have felt miserable. I mean, Pansy. He never even liked her. And to find out she was just trying to get at him for whatever reason, it must have been…'
'Awful,' Harry said shortly. 'I thought I wanted to hurt him a lot, but I guess I really didn?t after all.'
'Why did Draco do that?'
'Because.' Harrys tone was clipped. 'I asked him to.'
'Oh,' she said. Then, unable to help herself, she added, 'Harry, be careful what you ask him to do. He?d do anything for you. It wouldn?t be fair.'
'Fair?' Harry voice was bitter; she looked at him in surprise. 'Whats not fair is that the more I try to protect the people I care about, the worse it gets for them. I tried to keep Ron away from the dangerous parts of my life, and he decided I didn?t care about him anymore and turned his back on me. Whats not fair is Lucius Malfoy alive and walking the earth while my parents are dead and buried…'
'The Ministry will deal with Lucius — '
'He doesn?t seem like someone whos afraid of the Ministry.' Harrys tone was cold. 'He stood there and told Draco that he had a month to live and maybe two weeks before the pain got too bad for him to walk anymore — and he laughed while he was saying it.'
Nausea rose up in the back of Hermiones throat. 'Oh my God, Harry.'
Harry seemed to recollect himself. Some of the fierceness went out of his expression. 'Its okay,' he said. 'He won?t die. We got away, so…he?ll be fine. He said Snapes figuring out what the poison is, and Dumbledore will help us, and… he?ll be fine.'
Hermione was dubious, but then she had always been more of an alarmist than Harry, and he seemed so sure it was hard to doubt him. She glanced down, and started — 'What happened to your hands?'
'Oh. I cut them on some glass.' He held them out to her, and she took out her wand and ran the tip over the broken skin. The cuts vanished. Harry nodded appreciatively and drew his hands back. As he did so, his sleeve rode up and a spark of whitish light lit around his wrist. He frowned. 'I don?t suppose you can do anything about this handcuffy thing?' he asked.
'An adamantine bracelet, very clever,' she said, touching it lightly. 'No, Dumbledore will have to get it off for you. Lucius must have been pretty keen to stop you doing magic — then again, you are the big, scary Harry Potter,' she teased.
He smiled wanly, to her relief. 'I guess I am,' he said.
For a moment, he looked very young to her — disheveled as if he?d just come off the Quidditch field, his clothes torn and stained, his glasses hanging crooked again. 'I missed you,' she said suddenly.
'I know,' he said. 'I missed you, too.'
With a little sigh she leaned forward, and rested her head against his shoulder as she had done so many times in the past. For a moment he laid his hand gently on her back, holding her to him, and they sat together without moving. She inhaled the scent of him: sweat, blood, faint traces of soap and wet wool. 'Thank you,' she
