The Longest Day

Harry sat leaning against the pedestal and contemplating the parchment for a long time. Obviously the two simple words were a clue, but Harry was utterly stumped. He wasn’t sure if there was a hidden meaning he had to decipher, or if the words were actually a spell, as unlikely as that seemed…or what. After almost an hour of pondering Harry’s head ached, and he hadn’t gotten any closer to understanding.

Deciding he’d ask Hermione when he got back to the House of Black, Harry stood up a bit stiffly and checked his watch. It was a bit after 4 o’clock, and Harry figured he had time to try his other idea. Putting the Invisibility Cloak back on, Harry left the Room of Requirement and made his way through the castle again. He stopped finally and turned to a door; steeling himself, Harry slipped into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

Myrtle was sobbing quietly to herself somewhere from the vicinity of one of the toilets, but Harry couldn’t see her. “Myrtle?” Harry said quietly.

The sobbing stopped instantly. “Who’s there?” Myrtle gasped, floating out of the toilet to hover a few feet off the ground. “Draco? Is that you?”

Gritting his teeth, Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. Myrtle goggled at him. “Harry?”

“Hi, Myrtle…” Harry started, but Myrtle cut him off.

“You! GET OUT!’ she shrieked. “You almost killed Draco! Murderer! How could you?”

“Myrtle, it was an accident!” Harry blurted out.

“Ha! I saw what you did! You shouted a spell, and Draco…” Myrtle shivered, even though cold couldn’t affect a ghost.

“I didn’t know what it would do!” Harry insisted. “Honestly, I’d never used it before! Snape invented the spell!”

Myrtle hesitated. “Snape?”

“Yeah. I found the spell written in an old book, and I found out later it had been Snape’s. Myrtle, I swear I never would’ve used it if I’d known! I didn’t like Draco, but I wouldn’t have wished that on anyone!”

“Really?” Myrtle smiled wetly. “I knew you weren’t a bad person, Harry. I never understood why Draco disliked you so much.”

Harry didn’t like the idea of discussing his antagonistic relations with Malfoy. “Myrtle, Draco’s in trouble,” he said quickly.

Myrtle nodded sadly. “I know, I heard. He fled with the Death Eaters, didn’t he?” She began shedding ghostly tears again. “I really thought he was different! He was so f-friendly, and he seemed so scared!”

Harry’s mind rebelled at the idea of Draco being friendly. “Myrtle, I came to ask you about Draco. I need to know what you two talked about.”

“Why?” Myrtle asked suspiciously. “I’m not going to help you catch him and send him to prison!”

“That’s not why I want to know,” Harry assured her. “When I saw you two together, Draco- he said he had something he’d been ordered to do. I found out later that Voldemort had ordered him to kill Dumbledore. But when he had the chance, he didn’t do it. He caught Dumbledore without a wand, and weakened, and he still didn’t. Draco even lowered his wand. When I heard him talking to you, it sounded like he didn’t want to do it. I just wanted to know if what I thought I heard was right.”

“Oh yes,” Myrtle said fervently. “He said several times that he didn’t want to kill anyone!”

“Not even me?”

Myrtle looked embarrassed. “Well…he did say he wished Voldemort could get his hands on you. But I don’t think he really meant it.”

Harry thought about having been caught by Draco on the train at the start of the year. Draco could have killed him then, and maybe even gotten away with it…

“Harry, why do you want to know about Draco?” Myrtle asked.

Harry sighed. “I’ve been fighting with him ever since I came to Hogwarts. I always assumed he was following Voldemort blindly. But now…after what I’ve seen, I’m just not sure. If he really isn’t as bad as I thought, then…”

“Then what? You’ll help him?” Myrtle asked hopefully.

“Maybe. If I can, which is a big if. I can’t stand him, but if he’s really not a killer… then I’d rather have him on my side than Voldemort’s.”

*****

Hermione sat alone in the conference room. Fred and George had just left, after spending a bit filling Hermione in on Harry’s plan. Hermione had to admit that even though she thought Harry was absolutely mad, the plan did have a chance of working; a slim chance, but still.

She wondered if Ginny would think it was worth risking estrangement from her parents. But as soon as she thought about it, Hermione realized that if it was Ron, Hermione would risk everything, in a heartbeat.

Thinking of Ron made Hermione’s heart clench; she dug her nails into her palms to keep from breaking down. She’d been to see him each night, and any time during the day she could get away. The medi-witches had taken to leaving a chair for her by his bed with a sign on it so no one would move it.

There had been Aurors lurking around, too. The first time she’d seen them Hermione had exploded; she’d screamed at them, told them they were pathetic, asked what use they were when they showed up a day after an attack. They’d wisely kept away from her until she had left Ron’s room, but once outside they insisted (although nervously, due to her expression) on asking her about the attack. Fortunately she, Harry, Fred and George had sat down and talked through what they would say, so their stories would all match when questioned. The Aurors didn’t seem inclined to doubt them, anyway…Harry was supposedly the one who’d killed Lucius Malfoy after he’d hexed Ron, and since many wizards still believed he was The Chosen One, no one – certainly not the Ministry – was inclined to chastise him for permanently ridding them of an exceptionally dangerous Death Eater.

There were a lot of things Hermione should have been doing. She had begged off work; the sympathetic look her supervisor at Flourish & Blotts had given her had been unbearable. She had a number of potions she was supposed to be finishing, and Neville wanted to talk about a new series of plants for their supplies; but sitting in the room with three empty seats, Hermione found she was unable to tear herself away and return to her very not-normal life.

To her left was where, until two days ago, Ginny had sat. She and Hermione had grown so close over the past year it was amazing – of course, they were able to commiserate over the stupidity of boys, two boys in particular. Ginny had become the sister Hermione had always secretly wanted, even though her parents had insisted that one hellion (and Hermione had never been a hellion) was enough. Ginny was the first girl Hermione had been able to speak to as an equal without fear of alienation or jealousy; they understood each other in a way Hermione never believed she’d share with anyone.

To her right was Harry’s seat, and Hermione was still unable to believe how fortunate she was to have found the friendship of the Boy Who Lived. She’d done plenty to discourage it, those first few horrible months at Hogwarts, when it had become painfully obvious how socially inept she really was – that Harry had been able to look beyond her bossiness and assumed arrogance and see something underneath worth befriending was still a constant source of wonder to Hermione.

Hermione’s eyes drifted of their own accord to the empty seat across from her; Ron’s seat. Her eyes clouded as she thought about the first time she, Harry and Ron had sat in the room, and spoken for the first time about what truly lay ahead of them. She’d found herself guiltily wondering what Ron could really bring to the table; he was (and he’d probably be the first to admit) thick; he carried grudges to the grave. He was arrogant, dense and thoroughly unobservant, hated research and wasn’t particularly good at any subject – not in any way that would be of much help to the Army.

But Ron had earned his place with the Army a thousand times over. His role as Harry’s second – lieutenant, really – had given his gifts new light and made them obvious to everyone. Spiders notwithstanding, Ron was brave; he was fiercely protective of those he cared for, and was more loyal than anyone Hermione had ever met. He was kind and thoughtful when it really mattered – he was the greatest confidant a person could ask for. It had been Ron who’d created the fragile peace between Hermione and Pansy; it was Ron, more than anyone, whose presence calmed tension within the Army. Much to her surprise, Hermione found herself being inspired by Ron; she’d developed a new respect for him and his determination. As if she hadn’t been mad enough about him before.

Hermione knew her feelings for Ron went far beyond simple affection. The teeth-grindingly frustrating, almost always infuriating redhead had completely captured her heart – and she could deny it to anyone, but not to herself.

Because the truth was that her first reaction to Ron’s declaration of love, what she’d felt before allowing doubt to overshadow it, was elation – pure, unadorned joy. This boy had been the first person to truly make Hermione feel like she was worth something – like she was worth anything. Teachers praised her ability to learn, and her parents were loving in a vague sort of way, but Ron, along with Harry, had risked their lives to save her because they felt she, Hermione the person, was worth saving. It was no wonder she’d latched onto them so firmly, and stuck with them through all the scandal, all the near-death experiences, all their fights and long periods of not talking…and it was no wonder she’d fallen as completely in love with Ron as he obviously had with her.

The fear was still there, though, ever-present, to remind Hermione of her own flaws. She’d had plenty of people pretend to like her in the past, just to get her to do their homework for them. A few in primary school had even pretended to like her as a prank, and ended their so-called friendships in the most painful and humiliating ways possible. Hermione had learned through harsh experience to treat any relationship closer than casual as transient and subject to loss at a moment’s notice. How, with that belief ingrained in her, was she supposed to trust any friendship as true and lasting; to say nothing of love?

Until Ron and Harry, she’d never bothered to try. But their sheer persistence, their willingness to put themselves between her and danger, and their trust of her intelligence and talent, had slowly encouraged Hermione to open herself, cautiously, to the possibility that maybe, just maybe, there was someone who she could trust not to desert her once they’d passed their classes. It had taken years before she’d let her guard down enough to truly accept their friendship; she’d fallen in love with Ron that same day. She’d apologized about Scabbers’ supposed death (even though she’d still stubbornly believed Crookshanks hadn’t done anything) because she’d been so desperate not to lose Ron she’d have promised to do his homework for their last four years at Hogwarts just to talk to him again. She hadn’t anticipated that real friendships and love were even more painful than superficial ones.

Hermione picked up the clipboard she was in the habit of carrying everywhere, and flipped to the very back. She stared at the parchment there and gave in to her tears. Every moment she spent in the hospital alone by Ron’s bedside, Hermione softly whispered the truth to him; now, sitting alone across from his empty chair, Hermione repeated the mantra, over and over: “I believe you; I do. You love me, I know it’s true. I believe you. And I love you, too.”

*****

Harry walked slowly through the halls towards the statue of the one-eyed witch, lost in thought. He didn’t know what to think about Draco any more. Certainly the git was evil-minded and…well, and a git. But what if he really wasn’t the loyal prospective Death Eater that Harry had always assumed? Did that mean Harry should try to bring him around? How would he even go about it? And even if Draco wasn’t a killer himself, could he be trusted, or would he still blab the information to Voldemort? Or would Voldemort simply pull the information out of Draco’s head?

Harry was so distracted that he didn’t notice anything until a voice said “Didn’t think I’d see you back here, Potter.”

Harry spun around and saw Mad-Eye Moody peering at him; Hagrid was right beside Moody, gazing in surprise at a spot just to Harry’s right. Oh bloody hell, I forgot…Moody’s eye can see through the cloak! Resigned to the inevitable, Harry pulled the Cloak off.

“Harry!” Hagrid exclaimed, stepping forward and lifting Harry completely off the ground in a bone-grinding hug. “Bloody ‘ell, Harry, I’ve missed yer!”

“I missed you too, Hagrid,” Harry gasped out.

“Not so fast, Hagrid,” Moody said, still glaring suspiciously at Harry. “How do we know that’s really Potter?”

Hagrid put Harry down and turned to Moody angrily. “O’ course it’s Harry, Moody! Look at ‘im…”

“It’s all right, Hagrid,” Harry said. He turned to Moody. “The night you and Lupin and everyone picked me up from the Dursleys, you warned me not to put my wand in my back jean pocket,” he said. “You told me ‘Better men than me have lost buttocks’.” Moody nodded, a bit of respect glinting in his real eye. “What question did Lupin ask me then, and what was my answer?”

Moody’s eye narrowed, this time in approval. “He asked what shape your father’s Patronus took,” he answered. “And you said a stag.”

“Right.” Harry put out his hand, and Moody took it. “I’m sorry for intruding on the Order’s headquarters.”

Moody put a finger to his lips, and opened a door next to him. He ushered Harry and Hagrid inside the abandoned classroom, and closed the door behind them. Then he cast a number of protection and Silencing Spells. “No point in being careless,” he muttered, and Harry nodded his understanding. “You know McGonagall wants you in the Order,” Moody told him. “She’s wanted to ask you for weeks, but she couldn’t find you.”

“I’ve been taking care of myself,” Harry said vaguely. “If Professor McGonagall wants to get a message to me she can give it to Fred and George Weasley, I’ll get it from them. And I can’t be in the Order, I have other things to deal with.”

Moody nodded thoughtfully. “I figured as much. You and Dumbledore were up to something. Something too dangerous for everyone to know.”

Harry sank into a chair and nodded wearily. “I can’t waste my time with the overt stuff the Ministry and the Order are doing.”

Hagrid bristled a bit. “Wasting time? Harry, I thought o’ all people, ye’d understand…”

“I don’t mean what you’re doing is useless, Hagrid,” Harry said quickly. “But you know that some things Dumbledore did were secret, even from the rest of the Order?” Hagrid nodded. “Well, this is like that. Dumbledore and I started it- and I have to finish it.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Hagrid said sadly. “It ain’t been the same what with Dumbledore gone.”

“Has- has the Order been- I mean are you accomplishing a lot?” Harry asked delicately.

“You mean, have we been floundering helplessly since Dumbledore died?” Moody asked. “No, we’re still getting a fair amount done. Minerva’s too clever by half, and the woman knows how to delegate. But it’s no secret that the Ministry’s still losing ground, even with what we’re doing. I hate to say it, but Dumbledore was what was keeping Voldemort in check for ages. With him gone, the Death Eaters are slowly winning.”

Harry nodded glumly. He suspected as much from what he’d picked up, and his private information from Rita Skeeter and from Luna at the Quibbler – not to mention what he was getting from Tonks about the Order – but to hear it confirmed was disheartening. “I really wish Dumbledore was still here,” he said quietly. “I really miss him. He had this air about him, you know? He just projected calm.”

Moody and Hagrid both nodded. “He was the greatest wizard in this lifetime,” Moody said. “Not just for his power, but for his heart.” His lip twitched slightly. “He was a bit quirky, too, but you get that with people too smart for their own good.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at that. “I still remember what he said the first time I heard him address the school. He just said ‘Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!’ and sat down. I asked Percy Weasley if he was a bit mad.”

Hagrid chuckled. “He prob’ly was a bit mad at that. Nobody could do what ‘e did in a lifetime without goin’ a bit off.”

“And he had such a thing for candy, too,” Moody continued. “Never understood how his teeth didn’t rot away. Heh, maybe too much sugar affected his mind.”

“Allays had a lemon drop or somethin’ on ‘im,” Hagrid agreed. “Heckuva sweet tooth he had, right enough.”

“I understood he couldn’t stand Bertie Botts’ Every Flavor Beans though,” Moody said. “Something about getting a nasty one when he was younger…” His voice trailed off. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

Harry was staring in open-mouthed shock at Hagrid. He looked so amazed that Hagrid grew nervous. “Harry? What is it?”

Harry’s jaw snapped shut. He leapt to his feet and raced to the door. “Thank you! He called as he yanked the door open and flew through it. “I’ll contact you, I promise!”
Harry tossed on the Invisibility Cloak as he ran down the hall. What an idiot he was! It was so obvious…Sweet tooth!

Harry skidded to a halt in front of the huge stone gargoyle. “Sweet tooth!” he gasped, and sure enough the gargoyle leapt aside and revealed the stone staircase, which Harry ran up. When he reached the door at the top he let out a long breath, and stepped into the Headmaster’s office.

“Ah, Harry,” Dumbledore’s portrait said. “I had wondered when I’d see you again.”