Hermione had considered his words carefully for the remainder of her stay in the hospital wing, and finally convinced herself that he must be right. At the tender age of 12, she had no experience with manipulative adults, and she trusted the Headmaster implicitly. If a great man such as he asked her to perform a service for the wizarding world, who was she to refuse? Being part of such an important historical event appealed strongly to her growing ambition.
I can do this, Hermione had thought. She could keep Harry focused on his school work and far from the corrupting influences of others. She could protect him until it was time for him to do his duty. She could be his friend and help him to be as happy as possible in his remaining time, however long that would be.
She had even understood, mostly, why Harry couldn't be told. It would be a terrible knowledge to live with, and likely make him miserable. It would grate on her, she knew, to maintain such a deception, but she was prepared to make sacrifices for the good of the wizarding world. Such were her self-righteous delusions at the age of 12.
And so she had sworn a binding oath of secrecy to the wise old Headmaster, promising not to speak of her new knowledge in the presence of others. And for two years the burden of that knowledge had been bearable.
But after Voldemort's resurrection and Harry's near death, the bleak reality of his situation was brought home to her. Harry was practically a brother to her at this point. She didn't think she could bear losing him, and yet there was no one she could talk to about it. She had once begged Professor Dumbledore to try an alternative, any alternative, but he had delivered such a stern rebuke that she never tried again. Her desperation and guilt began to eat her alive; soon she had been unable to eat or sleep properly, her mind unable to accept the awful truth that her best friend would soon become a sacrifice for the greater good.
Since term began those feelings of regret and despair had only gotten worse. She had guessed at Ron's plot to set Harry up with Ginny, but could not understand his motives. She did not know of Harry's family wealth, so it did not occur to her to think of greed.
She was certain that Ginny had no idea what has happening, but there was no way to warn her about what was to come. Several times she had tried to think of a way to warn Harry, to make him run away, but each time she had forced herself to remember that things had to be this way.
Ron's indifference to Harry's plight and to his sister's feelings was astonishing to her. She now loathed being in the boy's presence; the words he had spoken during their argument were unforgivable. The callous bastard had tried to apologize the next morning, but she had refused to even hear him out.
And now everything had fallen apart; someone had apparently overheard her argument with Ron, and Harry had learned about their plot. Now he was gone, and he blamed her for conspiring to kill him. Is that truly what I'm doing? she thought, for the first time seeing it fully from his point of view.
But the Headmaster swore that this had to happen, or the world would be doomed, she thought desperately, trying to justify it to herself. But the look in Harry's eyes yesterday—"I thought you were my friend, Hermione," he had said—it was more than she could bear.
She had held such high hopes for finding a place in the magical world, a place to call home. And she had found a purpose here, one she now bitterly regretted. That purpose would end in her only true friend's death. Now she felt utterly alone, and wished for nothing more than to just disappear, to forget she had ever heard of the magical world.
24 Hours Earlier, Manchester
Merlin, Harry sighed. I did it. I got away.
Dinesh Patil let go of his arm and ended his disillusionment, giving Harry his first look at the man. He looked to be in his late 40s, and bore little resemblance to Padma or Parvati. His skin was slightly darker and pitted, unlike the smooth skin of his nieces. He was of average height and weight, but had a paunch that hung over his midsection and was visible even beneath robes. He gave off a faint air of dissipation, and his apartment reeked of tobacco and stale curry.
Harry took a moment to look around. He was in a small, dingy room that would have made a respectable foyer had it been cleaned and decorated. He saw several doors leading to other rooms, but surmised that the whole flat was very small.
"Thank you," Harry said to Dinesh, who had stood back and was peering at The-Boy-Who-Lived in curiosity. "I couldn't have done that without your help."
Dinesh merely nodded. "Too right, you couldn't."
He pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his robes and fished until he found a suitable one. Lighting up and exhaling loudly, his gaze returned to Harry, eyes flicking up toward his scar.
Harry didn't know how to respond to this scrutiny, so asked, "Er, where are we, then?"
"In a big muggle city," replied Dinesh. "And that's all you need to know. I don't want to know why you're running, and I don't want you to know anything about me. Safer that way. Here are the rules, Harry Potter. If you break them, you're on your own. So listen carefully."
"One: you are never to leave this flat, not for any reason. Two: you will place your wand on the mantle over the fireplace, and it will stay there unless there is an emergency. Three: you have three days to figure out where to go and what to do. After that, you're not my responsibility. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Harry replied, slightly cowed at the Indian man's brusque demeanor and quick, clipped speech. "But my wand is not leaving my holster, and I'm not debating it."
"Fine," replied Dinesh, eyeing him for a few more seconds. "But if you cast a spell with it, you'll bloody regret it."
He turned and moved toward a door that appeared to enter his kitchen. "You follow the other rules, and we'll get along just fine. Now, come sit down and we'll discuss how much you're going to pay me."
Harry followed obligingly, seating himself in one of the metal chairs in a kitchen that was decorated just as sparsely as the living room. He was a little irritated at the apparent venality of this man, but was in no position to bargain with his safety.
"I, er," Harry began, "I don't know what I can pay you. Parvati just said that we could work something out."
.....
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