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Knight of the Death Eaters
Part 1
Harry Potter unrolled the piece of parchment in his hand. It was
worn and wrinkled--nearly torn in some places from having been
clutched and folded and unfolded at least a hundred times since
he had received the letter three days ago. He hadn�t counted how
many times he had read it; he just knew that each time he did, he
felt as dazed and numb as he had been when he first saw the
handwriting on the envelope. He had recognized it instantly, but
the letters had been far from the neat, even ones he was used to,
and he knew at once that something must have been very wrong before he had ever
read a single word in the letter.
"Dear Harry,
I need to speak with you urgently--in person. Meet me in the Shrieking Shack in
Hogsmeade at five in the morning, on 17 October. If I haven�t apparated by the time
you get there, please wait for me. Come alone, and do not show this letter to anyone,
under any circumstances, not even to Ginny.
You have to help me, Harry--you�re the only one who�ll understand...
Hermione"
He looked around himself, but he was still alone. Hermione still had not apparated, and
his anxiety only was growing with each second that passed. Outside, dawn still lingered,
and only a dull, charcoal-colored light filtered in through the windows inside
the house, making the dust-covered furniture look like tombs in the darkness.
The eerie sight seemed appropriate at the moment, matching the way he felt.
Absently, he fingered the paper in his hands again, then his eyes went back
down to it, like a magnet drawn to metal.
The words looked as though they had been hastily scrawled, as
if Hermione had tried valiantly--but failed--to keep her hand
from shaking as she wrote it. And he knew then, even without
proof, what this had to be about. Only one thing could affect
Hermione in this way, and his stomach lurched at the mere
thought of it.
Something had happened to Ron.
He felt her arms encircle his waist, her hands slide up to his chest, as she
drew him close to her and pressed her cheek up against his shoulder blade.
Instinctively, he smiled.
"Well," he said, "what's this for?"
He turned around and deftly collected her in his arms,
delighting in the way she giggled when she stood on
her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck.
God, he loved the sound of her carefree laughter.
She didn�t say anything at first, though, only narrowing her eyes in the mocking way she did sometimes, when she was torn between exasperation at him and involuntary amusement. "If you have to ask, Ron Weasley, then you really have been gone for far too long."
He couldn�t help but snicker, though there was a part of him that winced
inside at the grain of truth in her words, but he paid for his reaction
instantly, when Hermione swatted him on the arm. "Ah, I was wondering
when that would come up," he said. "I knew I'd be bound to hear something
of the like sooner or later."
Her mouth opened in preparation for a retort, but he interrupted
her with a kiss before she could say anything, capturing her
half-laugh/half-groan in his mouth. He knew he was off the hook
when she raised her hands to his face. His skin tingled at her touch.
When they finally parted, she whispered, tracing his jawline as she did,
"I hate you," but the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips betrayed her.
"Yeah, I missed you too, Hermione," he answered, in their own unique language.
He bent down to her stomach, noticeably rounder now than it had been before
he had left. She was starting to show now. "And you too in there."
Hermione let out a laugh, though he could tell she
had been resisting to prove a point, and their eyes
met when he looked up at her again and gave her a grin.
"I guess... some things have changed while you've been gone,
haven't they?" Her voice was quiet when she said this,
softer and more tentative, but without accusation, and
despite the smile she was giving him at the moment, he
caught the hint of disappointment in her words nevertheless.
He straightened and sighed, knowing the look on his face
must have been one of pure guilt. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
Before she could answer, he quickly added, "I didn�t expect to
be away that long, Hermione. And I swear, if there had been
any way--any way at all--I would have gotten word to you
so you�d known..."
"I know, I know," she said, breaking free from his embrace.
This was now beginning to be a familiar conversation.
She turned her back to him, putting her hands to her hips, but he gently turned her around to face him again.
"Do you?" he said.
After some silence, she said with a resigned sigh, "You're
an Auror. It's your job. I may not like the fact that my
husband has to leave me for weeks at a time sometimes,
but... I've no choice, really, do I?"
The way she was looking at him drove a dagger into his heart. "I can�t change this," he said quietly.
"I know."
"Look, I'm sorry I don't have the stable desk job you want me to have, Hermione-"
"Oh, don't you dare go there!" A familiar fire flashed in her eyes; he knew
he had touched a nerve, though he hadn't meant to, and he immediately felt horrible
for it. "Perhaps mine seems like a boring life to you, Ron, being in the Ministry,
but you'll have to forgive me if I don't have your thirst for adventure
and danger!"
"Hermione, that's not what I meant-"
"I've had enough of those to last me a lifetime."
She pulled away again, this time a little more forcefully,
then walked off. Ron knew it would be best to leave her be
for a while before trying to talk to her, though it was
instinct to want to chase after her and resolve the argument
now. But the pregnancy had made her more sensitive than
usual these days, and on top of the many months of frustration
and resentment he knew must have been building up inside
her since he had started this mission, he reckoned he
couldn�t have really blamed her.
How he wished he could confide in her about this; they had always been able to tell each other everything. But this
time was different--he was sworn to secrecy, and even if he hadn't been, the thought of Hermione and the baby being
in danger if she knew kept him from saying anything.
But it will be over soon, he thought. And then you'll understand why I did this.
When I am gone, you will understand.
He let out a heavy sigh, and felt his eyes sting with unwanted tears that he
blinked back. In five months, he was going to have a baby he would never
get to meet. A son he would never get to teach the finer points of Quidditch;
a daughter he would never get to call "princess."
A little baby he hoped would look like Hermione and wouldn�t
be cursed with his red hair and freckles--though Hermione had
insisted she wanted every child of theirs to have the distinctive
Weasley features she so adored.
Damn you, Voldemort. Inside, a fire raged in him like an inferno. You've cost me everything.
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