Change Comes From Words

All previous disclaimers apply.


“Viktor,” Hermoine moaned her longtime lover’s name as they lay on the bed together, bodies entwined as they had been the first time they’d made love, before they knew how to rush their pleasure. Before they knew what they were doing at all. He laid in-between her legs, thrusting into her willing body slowly and deeply as she hooked one leg on his hip and rubbed the back of his calf with the other. She was grateful, however, that this wasn’t their first time, though the sweetness and care of it was recreated. Their first time together, in the summer she had visited him between fourth and fifth years, he had not lasted half a dozen strokes before he had come, shuddering and whispering to her that he was sorry. She had told him that it was okay, though it had all been a little disappointing to her, until he had crawled down her body and used his tongue on her until she was moaning his name and trembling with her own release. Then, he’d crawled back up her body, kissed her soundly, and they’d fallen asleep, wrapped around each other.

They had spent the next four years finding only secret times to sneak away and see each other, making love and getting better at it every time they did. Until, he had decided that he had had enough of her protecting him by pretending that they were not in love. He would no longer sit by and wait for news that she had been killed in a war while he sat, being protected by her. So, one night, a little over a year and a half previous to that very night, he had come to her when all was dark and quiet and had made love to her with a quiet desperation that she had echoed in the way she held him, the way she cried when she came. He had not gone and in the morning Ron Weasley had found them wrapped up in each other and told them that it was about bloody time. They had been inseparable ever since the day and neither cared anymore just who saw them or who knew that they were in love. They protected each other and were stronger for it.

“Viktor!” she called out again, a little louder. He looked down at her to see the tears in her eyes, but knew that this time they were happy tears, completed tears, not desperate tears as they had been in the past. She wrapped her arms around his strong back and crushed her lips to his as he moaned from deep in the back of his throat and she trembled and they both fell over the edge together.

“I love you,” he whispered, even as his body shook with exhaustion, kissing her forehead, her neck, her nose, finally joining his lips with hers so that they could share a deep, long kiss.

“I love you,” she murmured.

“Marry me,” he looked deeply into her eyes.

“Yes,” she answered simply and dragged his mouth down to hers again. With a free hand he reached into the night stand and brought out the midnight velvet box he had hidden there earlier in the day. The tears in her eyes finally fell when he supported himself on one hand, opened the box, and slid the ring onto her finger with the free hand. It was a simple little thing, no stones, no fuss. Just a simple silver band etched with gaelic twists. Exactly what she had told him she wanted.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Then he laid down again, they entwined their bodies and simply laid in the silence. Hermoine knew the exact moment he fell asleep. She held him tighter when he did. He was much too good to her and she loved him so much at times that it frightened her. Like tonight. As she’d dressed for bed in the silk floor length night gown he loved to remove from her and pretended that she didn’t know he was lighting candles in the room she questioned what she would do if ever he was to be taken from her. Could she live without him? Would she want to? She had been so frightened that for a moment she’d had to sit on the floor of the loo and wait for her breathing to normalize. Then, she had come to a decision and she wondered now if it had been the right one.

She wondered, as she lay awake in the silence, wrapped in his arms, holding him in hers, if she had conceived. She had not performed any of the normal contraceptive charms nor had she been on any sort of muggle birth control for months now. Sitting alone in the bathroom she had decided that if ever she was to lose him she would want a least some small part of him with her always. His child would be a part of both of them, a reminder of their love. It was selfish, she knew, but she realized in the darkness that she wanted his child more than anything she had ever wanted in her life. She wanted them to bring a child into the world and raise it together. But, what kind of life could they give a baby in the world they were in? Was it selfish of her to want a child right now? Could a child survive in this war-stricken life?

A deep calm filled her as she lay with him, feeling his heart beat nearly in time with her own. Yes, they would bring their child into the world. The child she knew for certain she had conceived this night. They would raise him strong and tall and he would be a good man. He would grow in a world where he didn’t know the pain she had known, where he didn’t fear for his life. Because they would win. And soon. She didn’t know how, but she knew it. Harry would kill Voldemort and everything would be bright again, people would smile again, and her sad-eyed best friend would be with his love. She knew all of these things in her heart and as she fell asleep, sent all of her love to Harry, where ever he might be.

Charlie Weasley couldn’t sleep. He never slept much when Draco was not with him, he was always to worried about the young man he had come to love. It killed him a little more every time he had to let Draco go back into the forces that, if they knew what he was doing, who he loved, would kill him without a second thought. He turned onto his side and touched the pillow where, just a few days before, Draco’s head had rested. Just two more days and, whether Draco had learned of Voldemort’s location and who had cast the spell on Ron or not, they would be married and Draco would never go back to the Death Eaters again. Charlie would not allow it. He had never understood the muggle hang-up with single-sex relationships. Love was love no matter who it was fell in love. And he did love Draco, more than he thought possible. He had been a little wary of the love at first, calling himself dirty old man when he looked at Draco with lust in his heart. Draco had reminded him their first night together, and many nights since, that he was far from being an old man.

Draco had never really known, but Charlie was as amazed by their love as he was. He was amazed that the beautiful blonde haired young man with the shy silver eyes could ever see anything but a rough-handed, plain man in him. But, when Draco called him dashing, charming, handsome, he believed him. And he did his best to convince Draco that he was brave, gorgeous, everything a man could want in a partner and husband. Charlie closed his eyes, willing to try for sleep one more time, but kept his hand on Draco’s pillow. Everything would be all right. Harry would win this war. Nothing would happen to Draco. In two days they would be married. Charlie had faith. As he felt himself drifting into sleep he hoped that Harry could feel the faith he had in him.

“Arthur, where do you think Harry is? It’s getting awfully late, isn’t it?” Molly looked at her clock as she sat, mending socks, at the kitchen table. It was a muggle habit she had picked up from Hermoine that had helped her all through this horrible war to calm her nerves. After the war had started, Harry, Hermoine, Viktor, Draco, Neville, Fleur, Katie, and Nahane had been added to the clock, but it wasn’t much good, when most of the hands rested on mortal danger. It gave her some small comfort every time she looked at it that the hands of her two lost babies, Percy and Ginny, rested on ‘home.’ She had questioned every member of the household as to who had done it shortly after Percy’s funeral, but no one knew anything about it. She had been at home when Ginny had been killed and had watched the hand move on it’s own. It was her only comfort when it came to the deaths of her children, to know that they were both safe and at peace.

“Molly,” Arthur walked over to her from the window he had been staring out of and leaned down to place a chaste kiss to the back of her neck, “I’m sure he’s fine, dear.”

“I just like it when they’re all home so that I know that they’re fine,” she blinked rapidly, trying to banish the tears that had formed in her eyes without her consent. They came much too often lately, Arthur thought.

“I know you do, love, but someone would contact us if there were anything wrong.”

“Do you think so?”

“I know so. Come sit in front of the fire with me for a bit?”

She nodded and allowed him to lead her to the old sofa they had bought when they were first married. It was old and threadbare, but neither of them had ever been able to get rid of it. There were too many memories that came with that sofa. Bill, Percy, and the twins had been conceived on it, though they never told them that. It was the sofa all of their children had laid on when they were sick so that they could get to them sooner if they needed to. Too many memories. They loved the sofa too much to get rid of it, ever.

Arthur looked into the fire as Molly rested her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. He covered her hand with his. For a moment he simply took stock of all that had happened in this horrible war. His oldest was scarred almost beyond recognition, but he still had the woman he loved desperately with him. His second was about to be married to a Malfoy, but one he approved of immensely after getting to know the boy and Charlie was happier than he’s ever seen him. Percy. His heart tightened a little in his chest. His third had died beside the woman he loved, neither of them had felt any pain, it had all been so quick. That was something. The twins were both in love. Fred would limp for the rest of his life, and George would always have to wear an eye-patch over the eye that had been destroyed by a spell, but they were both still alive and in as good of humor as could be expected. Ron. His Ron was laying in a hospital bed waiting for someone to wake him. Harry would do it, Arthur had faith. Harry loved Ron and he would do anything for him. His daughter, Hermoine, he had considered her his daughter since her parents had been murdered, was in love and very much safe. That was something, even as his other daughter had died right before his eyes. He still had nightmares and woke up in cold sweat as the day replayed again and again in his mind. But, the smile on her peaceful face when she had whispered that it was okay for him to let her go had been the best comfort he could ever receive. Unfortunately, her lover, Neville, had not seen the smile and every day they all watched helplessly as he sunk deeper and deeper into depression. A stronger man than himself would have broken under the pain he had endured. But, stronger men than himself did not have what he had.

Stronger men than himself did not have his Molly. He had loved her since the first time they had met, the first day of first year at Hogwort’s. It had taken him six years to tell her that he loved her. But, he knew she was meant for him when, at his nervous admission, she’d thrown herself into his arms and asked him what took him so long. All through their many years of marriage, the births of their children, and two wars their lives had changed again and again. But, the love he had felt for her on the day they agreed to love and cherish had never faded or changed. She was his sweetheart, his everything.

“I love you, Molly Weasley,” he whispered, “Thank you so much for saying yes.”

“I love you, Arthur,” she responded, snuggling closer, “Thank you for asking me.”

“When this war is over do you know what I want to do?”

“What?” she asked.

“I want to retire and get a house by the beach. And I want us to sit on a porch every night and look at the waves. And I want our kids to come visit as often as possible and play pony with our grandchildren. What do you think?”

“I think it sounds wonderful,” she smiled, “As soon as the war is over, Arthur. It will be strange when we’re the only ones in the house again.”

“I could chase you around the sofa, make you giggle like a girl again.”

“As long as we don’t have to move too fast. We’re not as agile as we once were.”

“No,” he agreed, “We don’t have to move too fast. We’ll move as fast or slow as we want.”

“Arthur?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think Harry can beat him?”

“We helped raise him, didn’t we?”

Molly smiled at that, “Yes. He’s every bit our son in everything but name.”

“ ‘Course he can then. You just have to keep the hope alive in your heart, Molly. We all do.”

“Oh, I do. We both do.” And as they sat in front of the fire, gazing into it, they both hoped that Harry knew just how much hope they had for him and the future.

“God save me from stubborn American women!” George Weasley growled as he watched the woman he loved sitting in the edge of the bed they shared, staring at him passively. It took all of his control not to jump her right then and there as she sat on the bed, knees pulled up so that she could rest her chin on them, naked as the day she was born. He inky black hair, with the eagle feather tied into it, fell down in long, straight sections, covering most of her back and shoulders. Her dusky skin almost glowed.

Nahane Clearwater had come to them with the American Magical Task Force, the best and brightest sent by the American Magical High Council. Out of the dozen, she was the only one who hadn’t been killed in the war. George often cursed the High Council. They had meant well, but there had never been a magical war on American soil and they had sent all eager to prove themselves, and very untried, young witches and wizards who had no idea what real battle was, most of them headstrong and unable to follow orders. Most of them had died quickly. But, Nahane had been different. She was quiet and strong, took orders well, never tried to make herself the hero. It had taken George all of three days to realize that he would love her and no other. It had taken her five. On the sixth day, after her second battle, they had fallen into bed together, making love with a desperation and animalistic quality that had surprised them both. Soon, you could not see one without the other being far behind. In battle, they fought side by side. They ate side by side. They sat together in meetings, one usually seated at the other’s feet when they held the meetings in the den, which they most often did.

They were complete opposites in almost every manner. Where George spoke without thinking, Nahane rarely spoke to anyone but him without first considering for minutes, hours, sometimes days, what she wanted to say. He acted on impulse. She planned everything. He was quick to anger. She had the most calm nature any of them had ever seen. They complimented each other perfectly in most aspects. The only thing that they really seemed to have in common was that they were both as stubborn as mules. Neither budged once they had made up their minds.

“Please, Nahane,” George got to his knees next to the bed and touched her arm, “I’m on my knees. Do you see? I’m begging you. Go back to America. Stay safe.”

“I already told you, George Weasley,” Nahane put her legs down so that she could lean forward and cup his face more easily, “I am not leaving you. I go where you go. I made that promise to you six months ago.”

“I never asked you to make that promise,” he murmured, looking into her dark eyes.

“I know,” she smiled, a gentle tugging of her mouth at the corners that no one else would have noticed but him, “And that’s why it’s so important that I keep it. I love you, George. I’m not going anywhere. You can ask, demand, shout as many times as you want. If you slip me a sleeping potion and bundle me off I’ll just be back here as soon as it wears off. Please, George, don’t ask me again.”

“God save me from stubborn American women,” he groaned again, without heat.

“George?”

“Yes, love?”

“Shut up and make love to me.”

“As you wish, my Warrior Woman.”

“My Knight.”

“We’re pathetic, aren’t we?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. As long as we’re pathetic together.”

“Always.”

“They really are pathetic,” Katie sighed as she tried to find a comfortable position where her large girth would not get in her way. The walls were paper thin and as she lay in bed with Fred’s arms around her large midsection she couldn’t help but listen to the conversation between George and his “Warrior Woman.”

“They’re new in love,” Fred whispered, kissing her neck gently.

“Were we that bad?” she questioned quietly, not wanting George and Nahane to hear them as they had heard the other couple.

“Worse,” Fred kissed her again, “Angel Cake.”

“Snuggle Bear.”

“Starfish.”

“Bubbles.”

“Honey Pie.”

“Bug-A-Boo.”

“Don’t remind me of that one,” Fred groaned, “Where did you get that one, anyway?”

“I’m not sure. It just kind of came to me one night. Fred?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I was think of baby names today when I couldn’t nap.”

“What were you thinking, love?”

“Percival Lee for a boy, Angelina Virginia for a girl.”

Fred tightened his hold on her for a moment and fought the emotion that was rising in his throat, then decided to allow it to show through in his voice as he felt the tears gather in his eyes, “Those sound . . . those sound perfect, Katie.”

“I’m glad you like them.”

“I love them. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Impossible. I love you more.”

“Could never happen. I love you more.”

“No . . . I think I . . .”

“Let’s just say you both love each other a great deal and end it there!” They all laughed as George shouted at them through the wall, “Here I am trying to make love with this gorgeously naked woman in my arms and you’re both getting sugary sweet over there! That’s enough! You’re making me lose my concentration!”

“Didn’t take much!” Fred called back.

“Lover, if you’re going to go beat him, please put on some pants first. You might scare Katie into early labor.”

“Why? She’s seen it all before.”

Katie snorted her laughter and Fred buried his face in her hair and Nahane’s voice drifted through the wall and they could just see her lifting one perfectly shaped eyebrow, “Oh, really?”

“Well, Fred and I we’re twins and all so . . . yeah.”

“Nice try, but still not off the hook.”

And then a voice none of them had expected, “Kick him out, Nahane. I’ll come sleep with you. Katie’s never seen my bits before.” Neville’s voice and teasing manner had them all frozen for a moment before they all burst out laughing, then called their goodnights as they all settled in.

Neville Longbottom smiled as he looked up at the ceiling of the room he had taken after Ginny’s death. He hadn’t laughed in a very long time and it felt good. It felt so good. He had thought for a very long time that if he enjoyed his life at all, even in the middle of this war, that he was somehow betraying the memory of the woman he loved because she could no longer enjoy life, but laughing just now had made him feel closer to her than he had in a very long time.

For you, Gin, he promised toward the heavens, For you I’m going to be strong. Maybe love again some day. You’d be the first to slap me and tell me I should if you were still here. I promise you, Gin, right after the war’s over, I’m going to move on. Until it ends, though I’ll just be strong and miss you. I love you, Gin.

He fell asleep thinking of Ginny and Harry and how much all of them wanted to be strong for him so that he could win the war and save not only them and the world, but himself. He knew, as he fell asleep, that mentally, they were all sending him their strength.

Harry could feel them. All of them. All of their hope, faith, strength, and love. He felt it all flood his heart and his mind as he stood, squaring off with Voldemort in the street just outside of Saint Mungo’s. He had to draw him away. Away from this place where innocent people might be hurt. Where Ron could be hurt. A graveyard. There was a graveyard not far from Saint Mungo’s for those who died when no one knew their names, if they had families. It seemed appropriate. This had all really started in a graveyard, after all. He knew that if he ran, Voldemort would follow him. This was to be their final showdown. One of them would not walk away from it.

But, he didn’t have to run. Voldemort nodded and they walked side by side until they reached the graveyard. He did not care for how many might die because of their private battle, but he was also not stupid. In all of his dealings with Harry Potter he had learned that Harry was often triumphant when he felt strongly about people. Was the Weasley boy to actually die because of their battle, Harry’s grief would give him strength. Not that Voldemort doubted his own prowess, but he was vying for control of the world. Now was not the time to make rash decisions and take chances based upon ego.

“Well, old man,” Harry nodded, his heart and mind full of his friends and their love. It was time, “Shall we begin?”

Next Chapter: Battle