The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301
Part II - Chapter Six
For several days after Austin and Norway had searched Harry’s room, except for Ron and Hermione and Ginny, the other recruits, even those he had been friendly with, had avoided Harry. Often conversations would cease just as he entered the room and he knew that the incident had made him the subject of intense speculation and interest bordering on outright distrust. While a certain amount of teasing had always been a form of outlet for the unspoken competition between the recruits, Harry now found that some of the comments were tinged was a far more cutting tone. Hawkins, who had generally been quite decent before, had taken to calling him Prince Harry, and Norway was to be heard asking when Merlin would arrive to assist Harry’s performance in hand to hand defense.
Generally, he was able to ignore the comments as he had endured far nastier speculation when the Daily Prophet had published stories reporting him repeatedly as an emotionally disturbed, attention-seeking liar. However, when Hawkins had managed to trip Harry up again in defense class and had suggested Harry might be better off sending in his butler instead, Harry’s temper had nearly got the better of him.
He rolled back up and had drawn his fist back before he thought better of it. Hawkins' amber eyes were fierce as any raptors as he waited for Harry to strike. Harry took a deep breath and let his fist fall, but kept his eyes on Hawkins.
Before he could reply, however, Carter jumped in and said, "That's a bit much, Hawk. He's actually been doing better than he was."
"Maybe," Hawkins answered. "But it doesn't change the fact that he's some underage aristocrat who got in here because he's got connections and because his Daddy's decided he needs a fancy place to kick his drug habit."
***
Johnny could hardly blame Hawkins for his resentment. He hadn't even seen the sword, which Harry had said was a family heirloom and which he'd handled with a careless familiarity. But Hawkins would have heard an earful from Austin about the cool disdain with which the kid had treated their accusations and the coldly threatening way in which he had faced them with the weapon in hand.
Even so, he knew it was hardly the kid's fault that Austin and Norway had invaded his room and he had found the kid's collected disregard for the others' taunting rather impressive. It had seemed that even now, where Hawk had insulted the kid, he had kept his control and forborne from attack. Until the last comment that was.
Where his face had been angry at first, and then quickly calmed, as he had dropped his fist, at the last mention of his father, the kid's green eyes had changed again. The faint flush had drained from his face leaving it pale and strained beneath the untidy black hair and the green eyes had turned brilliant with anger or distress.
"My Dad is dead," he said. "He hasn't got any connections with anybody but God." Then he spun on his heel and strode toward the gymnasium exit without permission for the second time since training had begun.
Johnny was sure he would have been thrown out were it not for the fact that Bones and Daniels had walked in first with Major Halsey right behind. Harry stopped dead and Johnny could see the faint struggle as the kid's face changed abruptly once more to a cool inscrutability.
"Take a seat," Daniels barked at them. "All of you."
They all settled on the benches, which lined the edges of the gym and waited attentively for Daniels to continue. Instead of Daniels, however, Major Halsey spoke.
"There's been an incident about fifty miles from here," the major said.
"We have a hostage situation in a town not far from here," Major Halsey continued. "Ordinarily, you would not be called on to respond until you’ve finished your initial training session. Unfortunately, the closest response team will take nearly two hours to arrive, by which time the hostages may be dead. We are less than forty-five minutes away and we’ve decided that the situation requires the fastest response possible." The major paused and examined his recruits for their reactions, but no one offered an objection or dared to speak.
"We'll assign ten of you to make the first response. You'll fly in by helicopter and follow orders from there," the major added.
Carter didn’t know whether to be pleased or terrified that he’d been selected for the response team. The only comment came when Potter was selected.
"You can't mean to put him in," Norway objected, "He's one of the worst of us in defense."
Potter said nothing, though his face tightened in annoyance. Daniels, however, snapped coldly, "We've chosen those who have the best shooting skills and Potter has top scores in that.' Daniels eyed all of the recruits and said, 'I don't expect any more questions at this point. We've got a town hall with a load of civilians held hostage by men threatening to blow up the hall if their friends aren’t released from the lock-up. This will require a team effort and razor sharp responses."
No one had anything further to say as they scrambled into special issue uniforms and went through the now familiar action of checking and loading their weapons. The flight to the small town went by far more quickly than Johnny could have thought and within less than forty minutes they were entering the hall by a side entrance.
The terrorists were standing on the hall stage for the entire world as if they were merely actors in a drama. Under a spotlight, one man held a grenade out and another had a gun pointed at a woman who held a small baby in her arms. Silent tears poured down the woman's face, as she cradled the child. It occurred to Johnny for the first time that they might not be successful. There were ten of them with guns and training yes; but the man with the grenade had only to toss it into the seated audience and the man with the gun had only to tighten his trigger finger to take the lives of the innocents in his control.
At Daniels' motion, the team moved forward to stand in front of the audience just below the apron of the stage. Major Halsey stepped out and said in a quiet, carrying voice, "We don’t want any trouble here. Put up your weapons and we’ll talk about releasing your friends. It’ll certainly go better for them if you’ll let the woman come down and join us here."
The man with the grenade shouted, "No! No! We know this is just a trick. You'll kill us." The man's face was slick with sweat and the hand holding the grenade shook visibly.
Next to him, Potter stirred and made a small wave at Daniels as though he were trying to attract his attention. However, other than a quick glare in their direction, Daniels ignored him and returned his attention immediately to the stage.
Johnny understood that they were buying time while they waited for a more experienced response team to arrive. The man with the grenade, however, had other ideas.
"I'm going to pull the pin," he yelled. "Your men will go first and so will half the people here."
Several of the people in the audience moaned and the man with the grenade yelled again, "Don't move! Don't make a sound. I’ll do it!" He shook the fist that held the grenade at them and said, "We want them released now. I’ve given you the names."
"We're checking on them right now," Major Halsey said calmly. "We'll let them go if you'll let that woman come down with her child."
"No," the man with the grenade answered. He swiveled and pointed it directly at the woman and then waved it back toward the crowd again. A faint wave sounded as though each person there had drawn in breath and failed to breathe back out again for fear the man would snap.
A bead of sweat ran down Johnny’s face and he turned it fractionally trying to keep it from dripping in his eyes and clouding his vision. Next to him, he noticed, Potter was no longer there, nor his friend Weasley.
***
"What are you doing?" Ron whispered nearly soundlessly to Harry.
"We're going around the back," Harry whispered back. Every eye was riveted on the man waving the grenade and no one noticed as they crept toward the door to the side of the stage.
"I don't see what good this will do," Ron said, "not unless you're planning on using magic?"
"Not unless there's no other choice," Harry answered. He slipped through the stage wings trying to stay concealed behind the draperies. Behind the scrum that separated the stage from the rear, there was, as he had hoped, a ladder that led up to the catwalk from which the stage lights hung.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Ron asked again.
Harry pointed up and started climbing and said, "Listen. There’s a split in the rear curtain. When I give the word, you grab the lady and her child and pull them back through here. I’ll get the one with the grenade."
"What about the one with the gun?" Ron asked. "I'll have to disarm him first if I can."
"If you can," Harry answered. "The others will shoot the minute we move anyway."
From the other side of the curtain, the spokesman's voice rose hysterically, "I'll do it!" he repeated. "Don’t think I won’t!"
From the top of the catwalk, Harry had a clear view of the stage and the audience below. The man with the grenade was waving his hand again and Major Halsey called out more sternly, "Just hold still. We're getting confirmation that you’re friends are being released."
"I don't believe you," the man said. "You lie! You all lie. You can't do anything but lie!"
Harry took aim with his gun, but before he could get off a shot, the man had clasped the grenade in two hands and he pulled out the pin and threw it toward the audience in less than a second. The grenade sailed through the air and Harry leapt off the catwalk reaching for the round object as though it were a snitch. He would have barely a second to get rid of it before it blew up. His hand closed over it and he whipped back his arm threw it again, as fast and as hard as he was able, and it crashed through the high window at the side of the hall just before it exploded. A hail of bullets had stormed out, and between the sounds of the shots and the grenade exploding, Harry ears rang as he fell into the crowd of spectators and landed with an uncomfortable crash on several somebody's laps.
He struggled dizzily to rise and saw that the grenade man was now sprawled on the stage with a large hole in his head. The gunman was also dead. He had attempted to jump off the stage but had fallen at its edge, one hand still dangling the gun. Harry couldn't see Ron, but he could hear the baby wailing and the woman crying loudly and he could hear Ron’s voice carrying clearly through the microphone, "He's a bit smelly, this baby, isn’t he?"
***
Dumbledore would kill him, Bones thought, as he saw Harry fall into the audience below. His second thought was if Harry hadn't been killed, he was going to kill him anyway so at least he would deserve Dumbledore's anger. Why couldn't the idiot keep his rescue button under control?
He strode over to the row where several old ladies were wringing their hands and trying to get out from under Harry's weight. Others were trying to scramble out and run from the hall now that the terrorists were dead, several people had succumbed to hysterics in reaction and the noise was unbelievable.
"Quiet, please!" Daniels shouted. His parade ground voice silenced the screaming people and everyone froze. "Now if you'll just slow down," Daniels said, "we'll get you all out of here in an orderly fashion. Anyone who is hurt, please report to the officer at the rear of the hall, if you're able to walk. If you're not, please stay where you are, and someone will come to assist you."
At a gesture from the Lieutenant, several of the recruits moved to assist in guiding the people out of the hall. After a few moments, Bones was able to push through to the aisle where Harry was still down. He reached down and got a hand under one arm and gently lifted Harry up off of the old ladies who were still trapped under his weight. Harry blinked up at him and held a hand to his head. "I'm okay," he said muzzily. "Is anyone else hurt?"
"I'm not sure," Bones answered grimly. The explosion from the grenade had shattered the other windows and glass had sprayed across the room. Fortunately, though, most of the explosion had occurred outside on the side of the building away from the street.
"Can you walk?" he asked and when Harry nodded, but wobbled, he kept hold of Harry's elbow to steady him. He had a feeling that Harry would wish he were unconscious once they returned and the other officers got a hold of him.
***
Upon their return to the Compound, they were directed into the gymnasium again. The recruits all took seats once more on the benches that lined the walls. Harry started to sit and hoped vaguely that they would be dismissed quickly as his head was aching and he wanted nothing more than to drink a cup of tea and a sandwich or two. He was not particularly surprised though when Daniels pointed at him and gestured for him to stand in the middle of the room and for Ron to stand beside him. He waited with resignation while the other officers arrived and took seats at the front of the gym from where Worthington usually directed the class.
Daniels glared at him and said, "You do recall the first day when I told you we expected all of you to obey orders; do you not?"
Harry nodded and when Daniels’ glare intensified, he said quietly, "Yes, sir."
"You also recall that I told you we were not looking for you to show off and act the hero on your own, do you not?" Daniels continued.
Harry nodded again and said, "Yes, sir?"
"And you do recall that just as we left I told you all I expected you to follow directions exactly?" Daniels continued to glare ferociously at Harry and Harry found himself growing irritated at the Lieutenant's lecture.
Next to him, Ron swallowed and shifted uneasily. It occurred to Harry that they were going to be expelled now from the Muggle Ministry and that Ron would be out of a job in both the Muggle and Magic communities. It struck Harry with sudden force that he did not want to be expelled. Because despite the drab mundane non-magic environment, what they were doing was something worthwhile. They had stopped people from being killed. And then there was the mystery of what a known Muggle thug and terrorist's hire had been doing with a dark wizard’s potions box.
"Perhaps you would explain why you chose to flout orders then?" Daniels said. "Perhaps you can explain what the bloody hell you were doing and how the hell you managed to get yourself in midair to catch that grenade?" He glared even more ferociously than ever and said to Ron as he stirred again, "I'll get to you next."
Harry said quietly and in as respectful a tone as he could muster given his incipient annoyance and lingering headache, "I tried to get your attention, sir, but you didn't notice."
"We were in the middle of a hostage crisis with a nutter about to blow us all up, Potter," Daniels retorted. "You are a half-trained recruit. What made you think you had anything to say? Did you think I'd be taking suggestions like we were in class? Now answer my question!"
"But, sir," Harry protested, "we were in a hall with a stage. It had a backstage and we were all lined up right in front just aggravating the man more. I was trying to tell you we could go around the back and get at them from the wings and the rear and from above."
"And how would you know that if you'd never been there before?" Worthington cut in.
"It was obvious," Harry, replied, "I knew it the minute we went in. The stage had a spotlight and standard theatre lights. It had to have a means of getting up to the light assembly for the technicians to move them and change their colors and all. And I could see from the side there were wings for performers to enter from." He paused and added, "And I could tell he was going to crack. So I thought there was only once chance of stopping him and that was getting behind him and taking him out before he could."
"So you thought you would play James Bond?" Daniels said. "This isn't a movie or a telly show. And you had no experience and no way knowing the prep would crack." He turned from Harry to Ron and went on, "And you Weasley? What’s your explanation? Why didn’t you stop him?"
Ron's ears were red with anger. Harry tried to step on Ron's toe to stop him but Ron blurted out, "Harry knew what he was doing. He knew there would be a ladder there and he knew there was a way in through the back. And I didn't try to stop him because he's usually dead right about stuff like this. And if he says he knew the loon would crack, he knew it. And besides, if it wasn't for him, half of you would be dead."
That's the end of that, Harry thought.
"What do you mean he's right about stuff like this?" Daniels asked sharply. "He's barely old enough to drive a car. It's not like he's an experienced intelligence officer."
A low cough came from the front reminding Harry of his least favorite teacher ever. "Well, actually," Inspector Bones said, "Harry and Ron were involved in bringing down the, erm, Lord of Death."
Harry gawped at Bones. He couldn't believe the Inspector would mention Voldemort there among the Muggles. He felt his face grow hot and then a shiver ran through him. Of all the subjects in the world, Voldemort was the last he would choose to talk about with anyone, much less a bunch of Muggles who had no idea what he'd been.
He could feel everyone staring at him. Bones added, "That's why he was recruited so young. He brought down one of the worst terrorists we've ever seen virtually on his own."
Major Halsey stood up abruptly and asked Harry, "Is that true?"
"I wasn't the only one fighting him," Harry answered. He looked reproachfully at Bones and added, "I can't believe you brought up Voldemort here."
"Who do you think spent all their time investigating him?" Bones replied.
"Well, you and Sergeant Kray," Harry answered.
Bones nodded, "Yes. But Security Services were brought in last year when he expanded from murder and crime to terrorist tactics and attacks on the Queen."
"And how were you involved?" Major Halsey asked. He had a funny look on his face as though he were trying to recall an elusive but important bit of information.
Harry hesitated. He dug down and deliberately calmed himself and erected the wall in his mind as he had learned to do in Occlumency and as he had been forced to do in the past year for his very survival and sanity.
"He murdered my Mum and Dad," he answered briefly, hoping that would be sufficient. Beside him, Ron cast a sidelong glance of anxiety at him, and he knew that Hermione and Ginny would both be on the verge of drawing their wands. He hoped they would have the sense to keep still and say nothing, no matter the provocation. He hoped Ron would stay quiet, too.
The shocked silence pooled about him and, desperate to get away, Harry said quickly, "Can I go then?"
But the Major wasn't finished with him yet. "I don't recall anyone by the name of Potter being on the list of victims last year. And I don't see how a teenager could have gotten near enough to the headman of an organization like that. None of our officers even got close."
Harry closed his eyes momentarily trying to think. When he opened them, he saw that Bones' face was perfectly closed and whatever his motives had been for bringing up Voldemort, he was not anxious to do the explaining. Trying to keep his own face and mind completely closed and calm, he answered, "He was a killer long before he went into the business of terrorism. He killed my parents when I was a year old because they got in his way. And he would have killed me then too, but he . . . missed. When he came back and started killing again, I was at the top of his list, because he didn't like failure, you see. I was a loose end. He kept his followers in line by terror, too. He wanted me dead because he didn't want them or anybody thinking anyone could escape him." He stopped there hoping that would be enough.
"Are you saying the Lord of Death was a serial killer first?" Carter asked.
Everyone stared at him in surprise as he had interrupted an officer's questions, but the Major merely gave Carter a keen glance and said, "That's a very interesting question. Was he?"
This time, Bones did step in. "Very likely. The Yard got sight of him first because he started killing again two years ago, individual murders of young women. When we investigated, we found he had very likely been killing for nearly fifty years and we're sure we don't even know a third of the actual number of his victims. Our profile of him fit within the classic pattern of a psychopath, at first."
"At first?" Major Halsey asked.
"Obviously," Bones replied, "once we realized that he was also the man behind the organization of the London gangs into one coordinated group, we knew we had something different on our hands."
"Something different," Lieutenant Daniels echoed. "And a teenage boy took him down?" He turned to Harry and asked, “How? How did you get close enough to him? We couldn't get near him. He appeared, did his damage, and disappeared. We couldn't track him and we still don't know how he was doing it. How?"
Harry's insides had gone glacial and all of his calm had deserted him. "Well he was trying to kill me at the time, so I killed him instead. I gave him the perfect opportunity. I let him have a clear shot at me and I tricked him. I did it on purpose, too. I knew exactly what I was doing." He stopped and the weight of it, what he had to become in order to stop his enemy, just as the prophecy had said, paralyzed him. He swallowed and said flatly, "I guess that means I'm no different from him, doesn't it?"
Again shock stilled the room, then Bones said angrily, "That's not so and you know it. You're nothing like him. You had a right to defend yourself. Defending yourself or others, it's not the same as what Riddle did. He killed for pleasure. He killed because it benefited him. He killed to demonstrate his power. The fact that you can feel horror at having had to do that makes you completely different from him."
"You think so?" Harry whispered. He felt he ought to change his mind again and run from there as fast and as far as he could. He felt, as he had more and more, that they were training him to be an even better killer, and he wondered whether even saving the people today was enough of a reason for him to go on being an even better killer tomorrow.
***
They were going to lose him, Bones realized, unless he could turn the youth's perception of himself, of what he'd done. And he could not even really address the whole of it in front of the others. He could not say to him, you let the monster kill you, that's not the same as killing him at all. He could not say, Riddle killed himself in the end, by his own arrogance and with his own power.
Seeking to distract Harry from his distress, he asked curiously, "What were you planning to do when you went backstage today anyway?"
Harry frowned, the dark winged brows drawing together, and the green eyes beneath them were weary in a way that no one his age ought to be.
"I was going to shoot him, of course. What else could you do, when he had a grenade in his hand and could blow up half the people there in a second? I had a clear shot, too, because from above I could see him perfectly in the spotlight, but he couldn't see me. If he looked up, he'd be blinded by the spot and so would anyone else on the stage below."
"That's quite brilliant," Bones said, not caring that it implied a severe criticism of the other officers for their failure to see the tactical advantage as Harry had. He paused and thought, I could lose him altogether by asking this, or make him see everything: "Would you have killed him then, if you'd had time to get off a shot?"
Harry froze even further and Bones thought; see the truth. Don't give in. Oddly, the green eyes caught his and Bones could almost see the change, the turn in his thinking, as the weariness altered from a dark shadow to a clearer, light. "Yes," Harry answered. "I'd have had to. If I left him alive, even wounded, he could have pulled the pin and killed everyone anyway. The only way to stop him for sure would have been to kill him first." The sensitive mouth firmed and he added, "I'd probably do it again, too, if the situation were the same. If it's a difference between someone innocent being spared or allowing a killer to win."
Bones breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Dumbledore wouldn't have to kill him after all. Unfortunately, Harry, being Harry, would continue.
"I guess it means, too, that I'd disobey orders again, if I had to," he said defiantly, "if I thought it meant I could stop the guy from pulling the pin or the trigger and killing someone. I reckon that's the job here, isn't it? And if it's not, then maybe I don't belong here after all."
Bones could have shaken him then.
"That is the job," Major Halsey said. Then he added very dryly, "But you're supposed to obey orders when you do it, or we'd have chaos. You do see that?"
Harry sighed and said, "Yes, sir."
Bones was sure that the Major was on the verge of doing something very drastic; though he could also see that he and the other officers were now beginning to get a glimpse of Harry's true character and talent. Not the whole picture. That, he hoped, they'd never see.
However, before the Major could say the expected, you'll have to be discharged, one of the other recruits, Hawkins, spoke up. "I think you're being awfully hard on him, sir." He stood up and stepped forward and said directly to Harry, "I owe you an apology. As far as I'm concerned, you saved my life and I think you should get a medal, not a lecture."
Obviously disconcerted, Halsey frowned, but before he could speak, Carter stood up and said, "I agree." Several others stood up, including Halsey's own daughter and said, "So do I."
Almost irritably, Halsey said, "Well, I wasn't going to discharge him. But there will have to be a consequence. You can't go about disobeying orders or changing a plan anytime you feel like it. I'll leave it to you, Inspector Bones, to come up with something appropriate."
Keeping a straight face was quite difficult, as Halsey had just handed him the perfect gift. "Right," he said crisply. "You'll be assigned to stay in on Sunday whilst everyone else has day passes and sort through a new load of e-mails and web-postings that we think might be suspicious. I don't think you can get into trouble that way."
Harry said very quietly, "Yes, sir." But Bones knew from the lifting of the shadows on his face that it would be all right after all. And there was the added bonus that he could bring the two Weasleys and Granger to the meeting of the order on Sunday morning without having to make up a weak excuse why Harry wasn't invited, too.
He was even more encouraged when Harry stopped him afterwards and said, "Erm, do you think I can get a pass for later in the day if I finish everything first." The green eyes were clear and limpid as a brook as he added wistfully, "I was really hoping I could get out to a pub and just get away from the grounds here."
Thinking Harry did deserve some reward for his bravery, Bones nodded and said, "Get it done first and just stay out of trouble."
"I was going to go to the museum in London," Harry answered. "I never got to do stuff like that with my aunt and uncle, you know."
"Why not," Bones answered. "Or see a play," he added just a bit sarcastically, "or maybe you ought to be acting in one. Like Hamlet?"
"You know about that?" Harry asked incredulously.
"Of course," Bones answered sedately, but without explaining. You had to have something to keep the kid believing in you, even if it was only the magic of superior knowledge.
***
Hermione and Ginny tapped at Harry's door and when there was no immediate answer, Ginny opened it impatiently. Her fair face was flushed with temper, although Hermione was not sure which had annoyed her more: Harry's most recent escapade or the fact that Ginny hadn't been selected to go along and or been able to join him in it.
Harry stuck his head out of the bathroom door and said, "I don't remember telling anyone to come in."
Without glasses, his green eyes were brilliant with irritation; but that was surely better than depression or that awful remoteness that he was wont to fall into. His black hair was rebelliously untidy despite being damp, but enough of it was pushed of his face for once so that you could see the faint red mark at the temple where he would undoubtedly have a full-blown bruise, and below and running up into the bruising, the very faint, almost invisible line of his lightning scar.
Hermione had asked Dumbledore once just after Harry had woken why the scar remained. The elderly wizard had looked thoughtful and said simply, "Curse scars never go away. He'll have that the rest of his life."
Ginny's voice cut into her brief reverie. "Why didn't you tell anyone you're hurt, you idiot?"
"It's nothing," Harry replied. "Just a few bumps and bruises. Now go away, would you? So I can get dressed."
"Certainly not," Ginny answered coolly. "Come out of there and let me see how bad it is."
Harry turned to Hermione, squinting just a bit as his glasses were on the desk. "Would you please take her and go?"
Hermione contemplated his frustrated face and thought it was a good thing Ron had been detained by Bones for his punishment. Between the two of them, they'd never make any headway with Harry. Instead of answering, she walked over to the desk and stuck his glasses on his nose. Then giving him The Look, she said sternly, "I agree with Ginny. Come out of there and let us see to your bumps and bruises."
"And what are you going to do?" Harry asked dangerously, "Wave your wands and make it all disappear? It'll look awfully suspicious if all my bruises are gone."
"That's right," Ginny said. "You haven't told anyone you're hurt in the first place, so the Muggles won't know there's anything strange about you being healed up anyway."
"Well, they're not stupid," Harry, answered. But his eyes widened in surprise as Ginny had drawn her wand and was advancing towards him. Hermione struggled not to giggle, but it was awfully difficult. With his glasses on, Harry looked rather like an intellectual lion who'd suffered a surprise attack by a much smaller animal.
"I shall just have to hex you," Ginny threatened, "if you don't cooperate."
"Oh?" Harry answered sarcastically. "I can see me going to a Muggle class with bats decorating my face. What's that, Lieutenant Worthington? It's just a little gift from my girlfriend, you know? She got mad 'cause you didn't pick her for the team yesterday."
Hermione did giggle then. She wasn't sure which was funnier: the image of Harry with bats on his face being questioned by the strict defense teacher or Ginny's inability to decide whether to be furious at his mocking or happy that he'd called her his girlfriend.
They both glared at her and she decided that perhaps Ginny would be the better person to lecture Harry. If it didn't work, she could always try again herself. Not that lecturing Harry ever worked, she thought.
"I think Ginny can handle you just fine," Hermione said quickly. "Besides, I want to find out what punishment Ron got."
"Did he?" Harry asked then. A faint frown of discomfort made a line between his brows. "He shouldn't be. It was all my fault really."
"Of course it was all your fault," Ginny answered. "It's almost always your fault."
All the life drained out of his face and Hermione thought, damn that Weasley habit of blurting out whatever they thought without regard to the consequences.
"You're quite right," Harry said distantly. "You're absolutely right." He wrapped the towel more tightly about him, turned his back on them and limped toward the bed.
"Be like that!" Ginny said. "Just wrap yourself in your misery and act as though you've never met us before."
He turned to look at her and his face was indeed as miserable as Hermione had ever seen it. "I expect you wish you never had," he answered. "You wouldn't be stuck in exile here, would you, if hadn't been for me."
"We would rather be stuck in exile with you," Ginny answered after a moment, "than work for the Minister of Magic himself. Even if he is our Dad."
Hermione saw with relief that he hadn't completely mastered the knack of hiding his thoughts. No matter how calm he kept his face, his eyes revealed the pleasure and the pain of his reactions. He lost his calm altogether though, when Ginny added painfully, "Why do you keep trying to kill yourself? Do you hate life so much and love death so much, that you'll take any risk that arises, no matter how grave, just to see if you really can finish the job Voldemort started?"
"I'm not trying to kill myself," Harry answered.
"It looks like it to me," Ginny retorted almost angrily. "All last year, you kept taking risks. Then you stood there, just stood there, and let him hit you with the Curse. Did you know you would live? You did it deliberately, you admitted it. You expected to die, and you didn't care enough about living yourself today, or you wouldn't have taken the risk you did!"
"I was going to shoot him," Harry said, but he looked shocked and Hermione wondered if he had only just realized exactly how close the incident that day had been.
"Well, I couldn't use magic," he added defensively. "There were too many Muggles. We couldn't have obliviated all of them. And I was afraid if I did the thing would explode anyway. Some Muggle weapons are too dangerous to risk that. If I'd tried to transfigured it and it went wrong, everyone would have been killed." He stared at them both as if willing for them to understand him. "You'd have done the same thing, if you were there," he insisted.
"No, Harry," Ginny said. "No one else would even have tried a thing like that." He looked quite lost then, as though he'd had the very floor sink away from his feet, until she added, "That's why we love you. We only wish you would let us in on things again, so we can help you."
"It's you three who don't let me in on things," he replied. "You talk about me when I'm not there and you try to keep me from finding out what's going on with the Order. You don't even tell me the simplest news from the Daily Prophet." He looked at them accusingly and said, "You think I'm a bit of a nutter after all, don't you? All those stories in the Prophet. I bet you're hiding them from me, so I won't know that everyone thinks I just went mad altogether and that I defeated Voldemort because he never expected me to be even more crazy than he was."
"No one thinks you're mad," Hermione answered. She had to keep her own face calm and that was quite difficult. He had noticed more than they had realized. They should have known that he would and that he'd resent being cut out of things. But she knew, too, that he still mustn't know people thought he was dead, not mad.
Ginny seemed to have heard the alarm in her thoughts, for she advanced again on Harry, distracting him from the treacherous mire of the subject of his present public image in the wizarding world. She lifted her wand and quickly spoke the word of the healing charm for dealing with small cuts and bruises. The nasty scrape on Harry's right knee was bathed in a blue glow and the damaged skin mended itself cleanly. The faint lines in his face of temper and distress softened away, but he said, "You could have just put a plaster on it. My computer will probably go down now."
"The stupid Muggle remedy," Ginny answered militantly. Her brown eyes glinted in anger and mischief and she said nastily, "Or I could just kiss it and make it better. That's the better remedy, isn't it?"
"You will not!" Harry said.
"You never minded it before," Ginny answered. Her pale cheeks were flushed again, with anger or humiliation.
Harry, however, had flushed with equal embarrassment. "With Hermione here?"
At least, Hermione thought it was embarrassment. She thought, I'm going to get hexed in the crossfire if I don't leave now and she said, "I know when I'm not wanted." Then, taking her revenge for Harry's similar behavior last year, she said to Ginny, "I would kiss him, if I were you. He can be a bit dim, like most boys in some things, but I expect he just needs a bit of reminding." Then she ducked out, but not before she saw him mouth in outrage, "Dim?"
***
Harry closed his mouth and eyed Ginny warily. He ought to stop her, he thought, before things could go any further. She must have read the change in his face for she backed away and said stiffly, "I see how it is." She studied his face as though she were reading some difficult and abstruse book.
"You really don't remember," she said. "You don't remember any of it, do you?"
He couldn't find the right words to tell her, but before he could gather himself and respond, as he ought she said dully, "You've forgotten everything."
"I haven’t..." he started to say, but she interrupted him and rushed on.
"Ever since you woke up, you’ve been like a different person," she said. "I could kiss you," and she did, lightly on the lips, "like that, and you would simply be embarrassed."
The heat crawled up his face and she said, "As you are, aren't you?"
"I'm not..." he tried to say, but she rushed on.
"You don't remember standing in the Forest and telling me you loved me. You don't remember the garden at Grimmauld Place." With a defeated look, she whispered, "You don't remember."
She stared at him and he could not find the words. The images flashed through his mind, a summer night beneath the stars and the laughter of fairies tinkling nearby; an icy night, filled with the song of the veela, the wild exultation of the dance and the singing in the blood as it poured out and melted the ice.
"You don't understand," he said finally, painfully. "I remember. I remember it all. I'm not for you anymore." He held up his hands and said, "You see these hands: these are the hands of a killer. I've killed; I took a life. It's not right for me to touch you now with these hands."
Deliberately, she reached out and took his hands in hers. She leaned forward and kissed them each and said, "You gave up your life for the rest of us to be safe. And it's not you who took Voldemort's life. He took his own."
He started to protest, to draw his hands away, but she reached out with one small, delicate one and touched his lips. "I won't hear it. Just this once, Harry Potter, you are going to listen to me. And you are going to hear me and believe me. Voldemort took his own life the day he tried to kill you with the Curse That Failed. The Curse backfired and took his life, because the Curse always takes a life and he only survived because the Curse forged a connection to you through your scar. When he came back, he wanted to steal your life for his own and you knew it, you knew you could defeat him only one way, by letting your life be the price of his defeat, and you paid the price. You are not a killer. And I don't care if you are."
"I wish I could believe that," he said softly. "I wish I could. But today...even today... I would have killed today, if I'd been a few seconds faster. I had the gun out and I would have shot him."
"So would I," she answered. "It's what we've been trained to do, if necessary, to stop men like him from murdering the innocent. Will you call me a killer, a murderer, if it happens next time that I'm the one who has to strike? What of Ron or Hermione? Do you even know that all of us probably killed, yes, killed at the last battle last June? Do you say that we are killers?"
He shook his head and a tiny wisp of hope was lit and when she bent to kiss him again, the wisp of smoke began to burn into a steady fire the warmed his very core.
