Not a Killer
When Hermione awoke, she was stiff all over; everywhere ached as her muscles pulled at each other and her limbs bent unnaturally. She was groggy too. She tried to remember what day it was, and where Ron was, and why on earth was she so uncomfortable? Was there something she was supposed to be doing today? Had the wedding already happened? But no luck; it was all a blur.
She opened her crusty eyes and blinked furiously around at her surroundings. She tried to move so she could rub the sleep from them, but that was no good either, as her hands refused to move from behind her back. That would be the reason why her shoulders felt as if they were about to snap. But that didn’t make any sense: why would she be sleeping like that? And where was Ron? And Harry … Harry was a part of this strange dream too; had he really come back?
A slight movement to her left caught her attention. Turning her head, she saw a slumped over figure in the same position as she, long red hair obscuring her face from view. As Hermione watched, the girl’s head jerked up and a cry of pain left her lips.
“Ginny?” whispered Hermione, her throat burning. “Ginny, are you all right?”
“Hermione? Where are we?” Ginny looked around until she spotted her friend.
“I don’t know. Are you hurt bad?”
Ginny shook her head. She looked into Hermione’s eyes in the dark, confusion and something like a desperate longing was writ upon her features. “Harry. But … not Harry. He was disguised. He came home.”
“I know,” She felt warm tears starting to gather in the corners of her eyes. “I know.”
“I remember … the wedding, but the memory’s becoming fuzzy. I was dancing with John, only I thought that he was John … but he was really Harry!”
“You were dancing with Harry?”
“And then somebody grabbed me, and held a hand over my mouth while they cast a silencing charm on me.”
“That happened to me too.”
“And then Dave was running and shouting, and John “ I mean, Harry “ Harry was shouting too. But I couldn’t. And it was all chaos,” Ginny whispered hoarsely. “Dave was ordering everybody who could fight to fight, and everybody else to take the children and the Muggles.”
“Yes,” said Hermione, “But there was an anti-Apparating shield and they couldn’t get out.”
Ginny choked out a strangled little laugh. “Mum was right,” she rolled her eyes up at the high ceiling, “our family really doesn’t have the best track record with weddings. I mean, Percy’s was all right; but first Bill’s and then yours and Ron’s. It’s like we’re cursed.”
Hermione was about to respond, to reassure Ginny that no, the Weasleys were not cursed, even if she didn’t quite believe it herself at the moment, when she heard soft footsteps approaching their room. A second later, a heavy door made of bricks in order to blend in with the brick walls opened and Draco Malfoy stepped through, a malicious smirk lighting up his whole face.
It was grim and overcast outside. Ron watched the grey clouds roll by, relaxing slightly as they soothed his anger, which over the past while had only seemed to grow instead of go away. The clouds hid the sun’s brightness and Ron was thankful that, as he lay face up in the grass, he wouldn’t have to squint against it when he just felt like brooding in peace.
When he thought about Harry returning, his heart felt like it wanted to both swell and contract at the same time; it confused him. On the one hand, he was so ecstatic to have his best mate back; but on the other, his return had brought about Hermione and Ginny’s kidnapping and he desperately wanted to cause Harry to feel that pain as much as he did. Just as he was pondering these conflicting emotions, a shuffling noise approaching his spot and a light thud on the ground beside him alerted him to another presence.
“Ron?”
He knew that voice as if it were his own; he didn’t want to hear that voice.
“Ron, are you ever going to speak to me again?”
That voice sounded so miserable. For a moment, Ron contemplated comforting the owner of that voice, but he thought better of it in the next second. “I am speaking to you,” he responded instead.
“Well … yeah, but I meant, are you ever going to forgive me?”
Ron felt Harry lay down beside him, but he didn’t turn his head to look; his gaze never strayed from its focal point in the sky. If Harry had not started talking, and had Ron not answered, to any outward appearances it would have seemed like the two men didn’t even notice that they were together.
“I wasn’t aware that you needed to be forgiven for anything. Everyone has welcomed you back with open arms.” Ron purposely made his tone sound as cold as possible. “Well, except for Hermione and Ginny, and they’re not here; but I’m sure they will when they’re able.”
Harry sat up suddenly and scowled down at Ron, who stared impassively right back. “Don’t start, Ron.”
“Or what, you’ll leave again?”
Harry huffed irritably and lay back down on the grass. He ran one hand through his black hair as he sighed. “I’ll stay until I know that the girls are safe. After that, I can’t say.”
“Good to know.” He snorted. Mentally, Ron was cursing himself; why couldn’t he just say what he meant, or at least, not make this situation already worse than it was. The truth was that him and Harry, hanging on the precipice of another potential disaster … well, he hated to admit it, but it felt almost normal. And he missed normal. “You know,” he said instead, “I still don’t get it.”
Harry looked at him inquiringly, so Ron continued, “I mean, I still don’t get why you just left like you did, and without telling anyone! One moment you were there, and the next you weren’t, and nobody could say why because we never heard from you again.”
Harry smiled weakly. “Well, it was sort of a spur of the moment decision.”
Ron didn’t find it at all funny like Harry seemed to. “I think that after all we’ve been through together, you owe me this much at least.”
“You’re right Ron; I owe you a lot.” He sobered instantly and squeezed his eyes shut momentarily. “I owe you all a heck of a lot. But I don’t know if I can explain it right, not just yet.”
“Try.”
“You have to understand,” he conceded, “that … killing Voldemort took more out of me than I ever expected; than I ever let on that it did. Even though I was relieved, I was also thoroughly miserable: I just kept thinking of everyone who died that day, of the sacrifices that they made for me to come out on top … I couldn’t block that out. But my guilt wasn’t all of it, although it was the greatest motivator. I was just so angry and … bitter towards everything - did Ginny ever tell you of the fight we had that day?”
Ron felt his eyes widen expansively. “No, she didn’t.”
“Well, we did have one,” said Harry, and his voice choked a bit coming out. “She told me not to blame myself, that no one else did, and I just … I just snapped at her! I screamed at her. How I could not blame myself for so many deaths? How could this disaster not be entirely my fault? How could anybody else not blame me! I couldn’t stop believing that if I’d just met Voldemort earlier in the forest, when he first wanted me to, than more innocent lives could have been saved. Also, I detested myself even more for yelling at her like I did. I didn’t feel worthy of being in her mere presence.”
“Well, that’s just bloody stupid!” Ron snapped. “That’s your damn ‘saving people thing’ speaking for you again. Everybody was so happy that you had finally done it! They loved you just for that; and the ones who loved you before, they were just happy that you were okay. And as for saving more lives, you can’t be every place at once and you can’t save everyone you want to; you’ve got to accept that.”
“I know that now,” he replied ashamedly, “but I didn’t understand back then. On top of that though, more than anything, I just wanted to be left alone, to be somebody - anybody - else other than Harry Potter, a person who wouldn’t have reporters hounding him and random people gawking at him when he simply tried to walk down the street; I was so sick of the fame that came along with being me.”
“Yeah, but when have you not had everyone wanting a piece of you, mate?” Ron chuckled dryly.
Harry laughed too, although it was rather forced. “Nothing has changed there, unfortunately, for purposes both good and evil. Malfoy’s proof of that,” he added sourly.
“So, how exactly are we getting Hermione and Ginny back?” Ron asked after a moment of awkward silence.
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know, do I? How are we supposed to know where to look? All we’ve got is that quote and ‘go to the place of the fire’. There have been millions of fires just in the last few years alone; how are we supposed to figure out which one Malfoy meant?”
“Scumbag,” Ron snarled. “I swear, when I get my hands on him …”
Harry rolled his eyes and then stared at his old friend. “You’re not a killer, Ron.”
“There’s a first time for everything. Believe me, I wouldn’t mind becoming one if it meant that piece of trash could never cause pain to anyone ever again.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying!” Harry said loudly and Ron was surprised by the quick turnaround his mood seemed to have taken. He sprang up on the balls of his feet, pacing back and forth restlessly. Ron sat up, shocked, his mouth gaping. “You don’t know - you have no idea!”
“And you do?” exclaimed Ron. He wracked his brains for an answer to his own question, but he couldn’t find one.
Harry whipped around to face him, his eyes hard and blazing with fervour. “Of course I do! Have you forgotten that I killed Voldemort?”
“Oh, right.” Ron had never felt more stupid than he did then. Of course Harry knew what it felt like: he blamed himself for everyone that died; no matter that it usually wasn’t even his fault. And Ron didn’t really count Voldemort, as that monster was barely human enough to kill. But that was the reason Harry had left in the first place “ because he did believe those things.
“Or how about when my parents died to protect me; when I lured Sirius from the safety of his home to come rescue me; when I couldn’t even stop Mad-Eye, or Fred, or Dobby, or Crabbe from dying! How about--”
What was that Muggle saying that Hermione used, when she thought of something smart or important that had been avoiding her and then she suddenly remembered it? Like a light bulb had switched on in her head? Because … “Harry.”
“Quirrel? Or Cedric?” Harry was still pacing in front of him, looking half mad as he pulled his hair, his round glasses sliding down his nose.
“Harry!” Ron said louder. This was it! How could they not have thought of this sooner? There was only one fire that they were involved in with Malfoy, ever.
“What!” Harry stopped his pacing, and stared at him incredulously; his emerald eyes burned with a life all their own. Involuntarily, Ron flinched.
“That’s it! You said it!” said Ron.
“Said what?”
“Think about it.” He was positively grinning now, for the first time in almost twenty-four hours, he was practically floating with joy. “What fire do you think Malfoy would be talking about? There’s been only one with him!”
“You don’t mean--?”
“Yes, I do!” He watched a slow grin spread across Harry’s face now too as he finally caught on. “The Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement, the one that killed Crabbe! That’s the fire that Malfoy wants us to go to. What other one could it be that we all know about?”
“Ron, you are absolutely brilliant.”
Ron ducked his head, hiding his blush. “Nah, you’re the one that said it. I just put two and two together.”
“But still--” Harry stepped forward at the same time as Ron, reaching out for a manly, backslapping hug. At the last minute, Ron pulled back, extending his hand instead, which Harry shook, looking crestfallen at Ron’s sudden hostility.
“This doesn’t mean that I forgive you,” he said more grimly.
Harry nodded, managing a stiff smile anyways, and started towards The Burrow. “Come on then, let’s go tell the others we know where they are.”
Hermione watched steadily as Draco Malfoy stalked towards them. His wand wasn’t drawn, so she didn’t think that he meant to harm them yet, but he also did not look very sociable either at the moment. She took this interval of time to study their old school nemesis: his hair, just as perfectly blonde as usual, was sleeked back flawlessly, his tall figure cast a menacing shadow along the floor and wall as he walked, and his cool grey eyes were shallow and detached. If Hermione had to hazard a guess, she would have said that he looked as if he definitely did not want to be here, wherever here was.
He approached Ginny first and she just stared indignantly back. He drew his wand out and pressed it into her neck, but Ginny didn’t make a sound; it was Hermione who reacted.
“Leave her alone!” she shouted, spitting a loose strand of hair out of her mouth as she did so. Malfoy turned slowly in her direction.
“Why?” he snapped, advancing towards her.
“She didn’t do anything! Just let her go!”
He chuckled humourlessly. “You never could learn when to shut your mouth,” he replied. “Too witty, too proud for your own good, Mudblood. That brilliant brain of yours can only get you so far.”
“So, what? You think you’re better than me? You think you can outsmart the Weasleys? You're not a killer, Malfoy. You’re not Voldemort, you were better than all that in school, I know you were.”
“People grow up!”
“That’s funny, coming from you! Look at what you’re doing!”
Ginny glared at him across the room, her head held high. “Personally, I’d rather be smart and proud than to be a miserable piece of garbage, scrounging whatever you can get with all of your advantages and filthy money!” she hissed.
Malfoy ignored her and said to Hermione, “You have too much of that damn Gryffindor pride, Granger - well, I guess it’s Weasley now, isn’t it? Couldn’t get enough of that poor, untalented blood traitor family, huh? Had to go and marry one.” He spit at her feet. “You’re lucky,” he sneered, “that you’re useful to get to Potter, otherwise I would have disposed of you long ago.”
“This won’t solve anything, Draco.” Her face adopted a calm expression which directly contrasted with her true feelings.
“You just don’t get it!” he howled, enraged. “This isn’t about solving things! This is between just me and Potter, and I won’t have you interfering with any of it.”
“You involved us in this, whether you like it or not, when you kidnapped us, Draco. He’ll find us “ they’ll find us “ eventually; they won’t give up.”
“Exactly.” He went back over to Ginny, who looked mutinous. “And then, he’ll pay for his mistakes,” cooed Malfoy to her, and he used his long, thin index finger to lift Ginny’s chin and examine it under the pale light slanting through the small window. “Your boyfriend will come looking for you, and when he does, I’ll make him see why screwing with a Malfoy was never in his best interests.”