And Harry hugged Hermione, feeling how very alive she seemed. He felt like crying, and suppressed it, because he didn’t know whether that was just her aura affecting him or not.
Hermione’s arms around him were gentle, exceedingly light in their pressure, as if she were being deliberately careful not to snap his body in half like a used toothpick.
“So,” Hermione said, once Harry had let go of her. Her young face looked very serious, as well as pure and innocent. “I didn’t tell the Aurors you were there, or that it was Professor Quirrell and not You-Know-Who who killed all the Death Eaters. Professor Flitwick only let them give me one drop of Veritaserum, so I didn’t have to say. I just told them the troll was the last thing I remembered.”
“Ah,” Harry said. He had somehow found himself staring at Hermione’s nose instead of her eyes. “What do you think happened, exactly?”
“Well,” Hermione Granger said consideringly, “I got eaten by a troll, which I’d frankly rather not do again, and then there was a really loud bang and my legs were back, and I was lying on a stone altar in the middle of a graveyard in a dark moonlit forest I’d never seen before, with somebody’s severed hands clutched around my throat. So you see, Mr. Potter, finding myself in a situation that weird and dark and scary, I wasn’t going to make the same mistake I did last time with Tracey. I knew right away that it was you.”
Harry nodded. “Good call.”
“I said your name, but you didn’t answer,” said Hermione. “I sat up and one of the bloody hands slid down over my shirt, leaving little bits of flesh behind. I didn’t scream though, even when I looked around and saw all the heads and bodies and realized what the smell was.” Hermione stopped, took another deep breath. “I saw the skull masks and realized that the dead people had been Death Eaters. I knew right away that the Defense Professor had been there with you and killed them all, but I didn’t notice Professor Quirrell’s body was also there. I didn’t realize it was him even when I saw Professor Flitwick checking the body. He looked… different, when he was dead.” Hermione’s voice became quieter. She looked humbled somehow, in a way Harry couldn’t often remember seeing. “They said David Monroe sacrificed his life to bring me back, the same way your mother sacrificed herself for you, so that the Dark Lord would explode again when he tried to touch me. I’m pretty sure that’s not the whole truth, but… I’ve thought a lot of nasty things about our Defense
Professor that I never should’ve thought.” “Um,” Harry said.
Hermione nodded solemnly, her hands clasped in front of her as though in penitence. “I know you’re probably too nice to say the things to me that you have a right to say now, so I’ll say them for you, Harry. You were right about Professor Quirrell, and I was wrong. You told me so. David Monroe was a little bit Dark and a whole lot Slytherin, and it was childish of me to think that was the same thing as being evil.”
“Ah…” Harry said. This was very hard to say. “Actually, the rest of the world doesn’t know this part, not even the Headmistress. But in point of fact you were one hundred and twelve percent correct about him being evil, and I’ll remember for future reference that although ‘Dark’ and ‘evil’ may not technically be the same thing, there’s a great big statistical correlation.”
“Oh,” said Hermione, and fell silent again.
“You’re not saying that you told me so?” said Harry. His mental model of Hermione was yelling: I TOLD YOU SO! DIDN’T I TELL YOU SO, MR. POTTER? DIDN’T I TELL YOU? PROFESSOR QUIRRELL IS EEEEVIIIL, I SAID, BUT YOU DIDN’T LISTEN TO ME!
The actual Hermione just shook her head. “I know you cared about him a lot,” she said softly. “Since I was right after all… I knew you’d probably be hurting a lot after Professor Quirrell turned out to be evil, and that it wouldn’t be a good time to say I told you so. I mean, that’s what I decided when I was thinking that part through several months earlier.”
Thank you, Miss Granger. Harry was glad she’d said that much, though, it just wouldn’t have felt like Hermione otherwise.
“So, Mr. Potter,” said Hermione Granger, tapping her fingers on her robe at around thigh level. “After the medi-witch drew my blood, it stopped hurting right away, and when I brushed away the little bit of blood on my arm, I couldn’t find where the needle had poked me. I bent some of the metal in my bedframe without trying hard, and though I haven’t had a chance to test it yet, I feel like I should be able to run really fast. My fingernails are pearly-white and shiny even though I don’t remember painting them. And my teeth look like that too, which, being the daughter of dentists, makes me nervous. So it’s not that I’m ungrateful, but just what exactly did you do?”
“Um,” Harry said. “And I’m expecting you’re also wondering why you’re radiating an aura of purity and innocence?”
“I’m WHAT?”
“That part wasn’t my idea. Honestly.” Harry’s voice went small. “Please don’t kill me.”
Hermione Granger raised her hands in front of her face, staring somewhat cross-eyed at her fingers. “Harry, are you saying… I mean, my radiating innocence and being all fast and graceful and my teeth being pearly
white… is it alicorn my fingernails are made of?”
“Alicorn?”
“It’s the term for unicorn horn, Mr. Potter.” Hermione Granger seemed to be trying to nibble her fingernails, and not having much luck. “So, I guess if you bring a girl back from the dead she ends up as, what did Daphne call it, a Sparkling Unicorn Princess?”
“That’s not exactly what happened,” Harry said, though it was frighteningly close.
Hermione took her finger out of her mouth, frowning at it. “I can’t bite through it either. Mr. Potter, did you consider the problems now that it’s literally impossible for me to trim my fingernails and toenails?”
“The Weasley twins have a magical sword that should work,” Harry volunteered.
“I think,” Hermione Granger said firmly, “that I would like to know the whole story behind all this, Mr. Potter. Because knowing you and knowing Professor Quirrell, there was some sort of plan going on.” Harry took a deep breath. Then he exhaled. “Sorry, it’s… classified. I could tell you if you studied Occlumency, but… do you want to?”
“Do I want to study Occlumency?” Hermione said, looking slightly surprised. “That’s at least a sixth-year thing, isn’t it?”
“I learned it,” Harry said. “I started with an unusual boost, but I doubt that really mattered in the long run. I mean, I’m sure you could learn calculus if you studied hard, regardless of what age Muggles usually learn it. The question is, um.” Harry was having to control his breathing. “The question is, do you still want to do… that kind of stuff.”
Hermione turned, and looked at where the sky was lightening in the east. “You mean,” she said quietly, “do I still want to be a hero now that it’s earned me a horrible death that one time.”
Harry nodded, then said “Yes” because Hermione wasn’t turning toward him, though the word felt blocked in his throat.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Hermione said. “It was, in fact, an exceptionally gruesome and painful death.”
“I, um. I did set some things up just in case you still wanted to be a hero. There were some short windows of opportunity where I didn’t have time to consult you, I couldn’t let you see me because I expected you to be given Veritaserum later. But if you don’t like it, I can undo most of what I did and you can just ignore the rest.”