Be Careful in the Dark

Hermione stalked through the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, her temper barely under control. The past 24 hours had been incredibly frustrating. She’d finally sat down to check her arithmancy figures last night. The calculations were quickly becoming incredibly complicated. After she’d gone over every variable and figure with a fine tooth comb, she let the formula run… Nothing. Snake eyes. The lines had become enormous, tangled snarls… no clear path, outcome or possibility. She’d spent most of the night going over her figures again and again with the same results. Either they were at a very unusual crossroads where all possibilities had an equal chance of occurring or there were variables she didn’t have that would change the outcomes dramatically. Or, and this made her grind her teeth, it was also possible that the calculations had become too complicated for her arithmantic skills. The first two possibilities petrified her and the third pissed her off.

Then, in a stroke of exhausted brilliance, she had decided to go down to the Ministry of Magic to make a few inquiries about what she was to do with Pansy Parkinson. Hermione had currently stashed the other girl with her parents… neither her parents nor Pansy were happy about the situation.

After hours in lines, being bounced from office to office, she finally managed to find someone who could give her a tentative answer to her seemly simple question… if someone wanted asylum from the Death Eaters, what was the process. The answers were… well, the only word for it was unacceptable. The person in question would have to agree to undergo a battery of tests (many of which Hermione considered unnecessary… a full body cavity search… seriously?), have their magic bound, and spend an undetermined about of time in a Ministry lock-up. Somehow, Hermione couldn’t imagine Pansy agreeing to such conditions. She herself wouldn’t.

She stood, tapping her foot impatiently, waiting to retrieve her wand. Flapping overhead caught her attention and she looked up. Hedwig was flying above her with a smoking, red envelope. Hermione’s stomach tightened in dread and heat spread through her chest. Hedwig dropped the envelope and flew off with a squawk. She apparently wanted nothing to do with the loud and nasty howler. With a disgruntled sigh, she opened the envelope.

HERMIONE JANE GRANGER! HOW HARD IS IT TO PICK UP A PEN AND RETURN A POST!!! WE’VE BEEN BLOODY WORRIED SICK ABOUT YOU! STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE… OR ELSE!

Harry and Ron’s voice boomed through the atrium and Hermione winced as heads swiveled to stare at her. An embarrassed flush crawled up her neck, entirely against her will. The security wizard at the desk in front of her looked angry, his eyebrows drawn tightly together and his mouth pinched into a tight pucker of disapproval. She stepped forward, cut him the nastiest look she had at her disposal, and requested her wand back. The guard blanched and complied, though he muttered under his breath.

She’d gotten several letters from both boys over the past month and she hadn’t even had time to open them. She knew she should have but dammit… there’s only so much a girl can do in a day… training with the most demanding, difficult man on the planet… having sex with said man…forays into muggle spy kidnappings (and nearly getting killed for her trouble)… trying to find a flat… having Pansy Parkinson show up on her doorstep… doing research on horcruxes… trying to develop charms and spells to repel Death Eater attacks… and filling out the extremely complicated applications for the wizarding world’s most exclusive libraries pretty much put her at the end of her rope.

The doors to the elevator opened; Harry and Ron stepped out, both with identical disapproving frowns.

“We’re on our lunch break and you are coming with us.” Harry growled, grabbing her by the elbow and dragging her towards the door. Hermione suppressed the urge to pull her arm free and kick out his kneecap… barely.

“We write and you don’t answer. We know you’re alive because the owls are delivering their mail. We stop by your flat, you aren’t home. I bloody well staked out your flat on my only day off in weeks and you never came home! What the hell have you been doing?” Harry hissed at her, his lips barely moving as he marched her to the exit of the building. His face was pinched so tight it was white in the creases.

Hermione looked over at Ron who looked just as upset but for once was keeping his mouth shut.

“I’ve been exploring some options… doing research... honing my skills.” Hermione answered, telling the truth and lying at the same time.

Both boys glared at her. Her answer was clearly not up to snuff.

He half-pushed her into a small café on the corner, shoving her down into a chair.

“Sit!” Harry said.

Hermione barked back at him and Harry suppressed a smirk.

Ron sat down, crossing one booted leg over the other. They had removed their wizarding robes before walking into the muggle world. Harry walked up to the counter to order. He returned, plopping an unappetizing looking turkey sandwich in front of her.

“Now. Where have you been?” Harry growled as he pulled his chair up closer to the table.

Hermione looked at her two closest friends, felt guilt and resentment rise within her, crest, break open and squirm through her. “Do you have any idea how complicated the applications are for wizarding wing in the Bibliotéque Nationale in Paris are? They want to know why you want access to the world’s most dangerous books. What the hell am I supposed to tell them? I can’t tell them it’s to fight Voldemort. Who knows who reads these applications? What if they support Voldemort and then He’ll know we’re onto him. Or they don’t give two shits about the English problem? Or, worse, they resent us for the spread of Death Eaters through their fair country? But if I can’t tell them it’s to fight Voldemort, then how will I explain why I need to look at books that reference the darkest of the Dark Magic? Gee folks, let me in to figure out how to bring myself back from the dead by slaughtering other people. I won’t do anything bad. Promise. Yeah, they’ll really believe that. And the Chinese application is even worse!!”

Hermione felt tears trembling in her eyes and she bit down ruthlessly on the inside her mouth. She was not going to cry in public. She knew it was an overreaction but she couldn’t figure out whether or not she should tell Harry and Ron her secrets and she felt like a horrible person for evening having the debate. Ron was staring at her with his mouth open. Harry had tightened his into a paper-thin slit.

“Do you have any idea,” Hermione continued, unable to stop the trembling in her mouth and chin. “how hard it is to test a charm against an Unforgivable? To develop one at all without getting myself killed? Wondering who I can think out loud too? Feeling all alone in my lab, wondering if I am making any movement forward? I am really sorry I haven’t written you back but I just…!” Hermione threw up her hands and grimaced at the boys.

Harry took a deep breath in through his nose and let it slowly out of his mouth. His loosened his hands, shaking the white out of his knuckles. Ron managed to close his mouth.

“It’s not like we’re over here, having picnics and frolicking outside. This is the second time I’ve been outside in a month. A month! We don’t sleep, we barely have time to think. We just drill and react, drill and react. And still, we manage to write you now and again. I hear that you’re busy. I didn’t think you weren’t.” Even though is body looked relaxed, Harry’s lips barely moved as he spoke. His green eyes had darkened and his gaze bore down on her like a freight train. “Pick up a pen so we know you’re ok. End of discussion.”

Hermione folded her arms over her chest and glared back at him. She knew he was right. If he or Ron had done the same thing to her she would be furious. And yet, the resentment had bubbled up and she couldn’t ignore it.

“I’m keeping secrets, Harry. I don’t know if it’s the right thing but I’m doing it anyway because I think it’s the most effective way to get me where I want to be. If you promise to leave me alone when there are gaps in my replies, I will pick up a pen more often.”

If anything, Harry’s face got even more pinched and dark. For once, Ron managed to avert an argument rather than start one.

“Fair enough.” Ron took a big swig of his soda and ignored the glare Harry fired in his direction.

“Ron!” Harry hissed.

“What? We’re gonna have our secrets. Auror training demands it. Why can’t Hermione get a little of the same space we need? I just want to know she’s ok and some of what she’s up to.” Ron ate a couple of crisps while he spoke, his eyes focused intently on the bag in front of him. “Mum’s having a big dinner this weekend. Even Bill’s coming home. You should come. She’d love to see you. So would everyone else.”

“Um, ok. That sounds nice.” Hermione blinked at Ron’s acceptance. Harry’s face still looked like a thunder cloud. “Harry?”

She met Harry’s flinty green gaze calmly. Harry had always been the unpredictable one and the past seven years had honed him until he was almost razor sharp. He could make everything much more difficult.

He dropped his eyes and let out a long sigh. Then he smiled. It was a half-hearted one, the concern and anger still tightened his eyes, but the smile reminded her of the gangly, shy boy she who befriended her at Hogwart’s.

“So, did you find a flat?” Harry asked and Hermione bit back a laugh and some tears.

-------

Hermione stepped outside, spotting Ron standing across the yard. He was staring up at the sky, the moon low and full, hands shoved in his pockets. Behind her, the uproar in the Burrow continued. Bill had announced his engagement to Fleur Delacour. No one in his family had even know he was dating the Frenchwoman and Molly had no problems voicing, at the top of her lungs, her disappointment at being left so out of the loop. It didn’t help that Fleur managed to insult Molly and Ginny in the first five minutes of her arrival or that every male in the room couldn’t help gaping at Fleur like complete morons.

“I hope you’re ready for a year’s worth of talk about formal wear and flowers. Bill seems pretty set on her. Do you think your mom will come around?” Hermione asked as she stopped next to him. She could see her breath in the chilly, early winter evening.

He shrugged. “Probably though Mom’s got a point. Bill just checked out a few years back and it’s frustrating sometimes. I guess I can’t blame him though. Mom would’ve blown a gasket if he’d brought a Veela home… and she is hot. Damn.” Ron chuckled the last part, sending a side-long glance at Hermione.

Hermione clucked disapprovingly before she could help herself.

“I know Veela’s piss off every female within 15 feet but I almost didn’t believe that would be true for you. I though you and Ginny were going start spitting nails at Fleur when she walked in the room.” Ron sounded amused. Then he paused and said quietly “For Bill’s sake, I hope there’s more to their relationship than physical chemistry.”

Hermione stared at Ron. “Well, that’s…” She trailed off. Ron had been saying some very thoughtful things lately and Hermione wasn’t sure how to respond. “I guess Auror training agrees with you.”

“Doesn’t leave a lot of room for self-delusion.” Ron twisted his mouth bitterly as he spoke.

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully.

“Come on, let’s leave your family to sort it out for a bit and go for a walk. I’ve got a question for you.” Hermione threaded her arm through his and tugged him further down the lawn.

The air was cold and crisp. Winter had arrived far sooner than she had expected. Leaves crunched under their boots as it had yet to snow.

“Why has no one ever mentioned to me that magic is becoming more difficult to access? I mean, it just makes the whole thing with Voldemort make so much more sense.” Hermione asked in a rush.

“That’s a load of bollocks, ‘Mione.” Ron said with an eye roll.

“But… I’ve never even heard of it, Ron. How come?” She retrieved her arm and tucked her hands across her chest and into her jacket.

“We talked about it in History of Magic. I swear we did.”

“No we didn’t.” Hermione stopped in her tracks.

“Sure. Had a right nasty argument with that git Malfoy about it.” Ron stopped too, turning around to look at her.

“Come on Ron. I’d remember something like that. When did this happen?”

“I dunno. Second year? It just wasn’t that important.”

The two started walking again. Ron spoke again.

“Maybe it was when you were petrified. We only talked about it in a class or two.”

“Oh.” Hermione said, the ice cold feeling of terror she had felt when the basilisk bore down on her momentarily washing through her. “You don’t buy it though? That the magic is diminishing?”

“No.” Ron snorted. “The whole idea was posited hundreds of years ago by a bunch of whiny idiots who just didn’t want to face that the wizarding population is expanding. Even with the damage done to the population in the Witch Burnings, our population has been on the rise. There are more wizards, that’s all. Pretty much everyone nowadays except some stuck up prats, most of whom follow Voldemort, think it’s a matter of increased population. And really, either way, killing muggles isn’t going to solve anything.”

Hermione let that roll through her mind. The whole thing didn’t sit right with her. If it was a matter of population… well, most of the theory she had read on magic made no mention of it being a limited commodity. Would is be possible for the magic to run out?

“If it is such a stupid theory, how did you and Malfoy get in an argument about this?” They had resumed walking and Hermione took a deep breath.

“Dunno. It just came up. Everything about the ferret pissed me off.” Ron shrugged the answer.

They walked for a couple of minutes, enjoying the night, knowing that hardest months of winter were still to come.

“I’m so sorry Hermione. It was stupid of me… trying to crucio Malfoy. Merlin’s Balls, I didn’t even do it right, too. It’s just… I hated that little toad. The Malfoy’s and the Weasley’s have been blood enemies for hundreds of years and I just… couldn’t… let it go.” Ron’s face was hard and cold. “He was touching you. You were crying and he was laughing and… I wanted to kill him with my bare hands but he had his wand.” Ron’s eyes burned, emotions still running high almost three years later.

“He set us up.” Hermione said, deciding it was time Ron heard this. “He knew he could push you over the edge and that I would do whatever he wanted to prevent you from being harmed.”

Ron stopped on the pathway, blood drained out of his face until it was chalk-white. His eyes bugged out of his head and his mouthed worked in rage. With a strangled cry, he hurled himself at a tree, punching at it wildly with his right fist. Hermione just stood there, letting him work it out.

With a sob, he crumpled up next to the tree, cradling his bleeding and broken hand in his lap.

Hermione stepped delicately off the path and sat down next to him, back against the rough bark of the tree.

“That’s your flaw, Ron. When it comes to battle plans and strategies, you’re brilliant. You see things other people miss but when it comes to the up close and personal… it takes so little to send you over the edge, for emotion to cloud your judgment.”

“I know.” Ron said, keeping his head tucked into his chest.

“I don’t think you know that it’s ok, though.” Hermione said softly, putting one arm around his shoulders.

Ron looked up at her in surprise, teary-eyes and with a runny nose. “No, it’s not. I’m no use in the field. I can’t help Harry.” A fresh wave of tears dribbled from his eyes.

“Bullshit. We all have our flaws and strengths. Work with what you have. Are you honestly telling me that you think there is no place for strategists? The Death Eaters are spreading. This isn’t going to be a grand war where we all meet on the field of battle and honorably try to kill one another. This is battle after battle, guerilla warfare, spies and counter spies. We need strategy- long term and short term. Who better than Harry Potter’s best friend?”

Ron snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, what’s Harry’s flaw? He’s a bloody hero.”

“He is a hero. He’s also a martyr.” Hermione said.

His mouth dropped open and Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him. “You know it’s true. He’s brave and forthright but he also does what he think is right no matter what anyone else says or the cost. He is thoughtless about how his own behavior affects other people because he is too busy making sacrifices.”

Ron looked away and stared off into the distance. “And what about you, Hermione, what’s your flaw?”

“I’m cold and controlling.” She replied with a sad sigh.

Ron looked back at her, looking surprised and chagrined at the same time.

“You think I didn’t know? I love books because they do exactly what they say they will. As long as you play by their rules, they are clear and concise and reliable. I spent years mothering you and Harry, trying to free House Elves who didn’t want to freed, trying to make everyone behave the way books do.”

Ron put his left hand on her knee and patted it comfortingly.

“It’s a darker personality trait now… after… after Malfoy. And it pains me to say but it is a more mature trait after him. I had to let go of certain kinds of control or I was going to go mad.”

They sat there quietly for a few minutes, listening to the wind whisper through the trees and birds chirp.

“We’ll do what we have to Ron, what we’re good at, and hopefully it will be enough.”

Ron nodded and wiped at his face with his good hand.

“Let’s go get someone to look at your hand.” Hermione stood, offering Ron a hand up. He took it with a smile.