Ryan had left his bedroom door open overnight, which meant Hermione heard the rush of flames in the fireplace when the Daily Prophet was delivered. But she didn't jump out of bed to retrieve it. Ryan was still asleep, and she was enjoying lying next to him before reading the article that was sure to break her heart.
She'd known something was wrong during the match when Harry flew close to the ground for no apparent reason. Her attention had been divided between Harry and Ryan—primarily on Ryan. Seekers weren't very interesting to watch, after all, unless they were feinting or catching the Snitch. But she checked on Harry periodically and used the Omnioculars he'd bought her years earlier to confirm he looked all right.
And for most of the match he looked fine. She could see that Gilstrap was taunting him relentlessly, but Harry's new air of confidence never left him. In fact, she worried that other spectators using Omnioculars would decide Rita Skeeter had been right about his colossal ego.
But then she felt a shift, and when she spotted Harry he had inexplicably angled his broomstick downwards. Does he want to land? she wondered. And the facial expression she saw through her Omnioculars was Harry at his most defiant—the way he'd looked during the most desperate moments of the war.
She grasped Annie's arm. 'Something's wrong with Harry,' she said, and moments later he seized Gilstrap and knocked him from his broom with a powerful-looking blow. Hermione couldn't hear what he was saying but she could see his fury, and she noticed Ryan's shocked expression as he pulled Harry from the ground.
'Potter, you're ejected! Five-minute penalty!' called the referee, his voice magically amplified, and the stands exploded with shocked speculation.
'What just happened?' asked Lucinda. 'Did Harry just punch the other Seeker?'
'Yes,' said Hermione, her Omnioculars on Harry as one of the reserve players flew him into the stands. 'Gilstrap must have taunted him too hard. I shudder to imagine what he must have said to set Harry off like that. He seemed fine until then.'
'Poor thing,' said Lucinda, 'getting verbally abused for hours, for sport.'
'I don't like it either, but apparently that's what league Quidditch is all about.'
They were interrupted by a wave of chatter from the other spectators. 'They treated him like shit,' someone said. 'Who?' came another voice. 'His Muggle relations. Worked him like a house-elf. Made him sleep in a cupboard. And someone used to beat him up.'
Suddenly Hermione heard the same phrases from all sides. 'Treated him like shit. Forced him to sleep in a cupboard. No wonder he never talks about them. Bloody Muggles!'
She was numb with shock. They made him sleep in a cupboard? she thought incredulously. How long?
'Those fucking Muggles forced him to sleep in a cupboard for years!' spat a nearby spectator. 'Someone needs to teach them a lesson.'
'No,' she cried. 'Please, no! Harry wouldn't want that, I'm sure of it.'
'What makes you an expert on what Potter wants?' snarled the spectator.
'She's Hermione Granger,' said several people around him, and the man backed down, but not before muttering something that included the word 'Mudblood.'
Another fan who was painted orange said, 'He's lost us the bloody match! Gilstrap still has three more minutes.'
'No,' said someone whose Omnioculars were pointed at the Magpies Seeker. 'It looks like he's just staring. I think he's stunned.'
'Damn right he's stunned,' said another Cannons fan. 'Potter punched the daylights out of him. Don't fuck with the kid who killed You-Know-Who.'
Hermione was looking at Harry and could see his dazed expression. Poor Harry ... this had to be his worst nightmare, to be exposed like this. Why hadn't he ever told her?
'Did you know he'd been abused that badly?' asked Annie, and Hermione shook her head.
'I knew they'd neglected him, and that they weren't affectionate, but I didn't know they were abusive. He never told us.' Why not? she thought desperately.
As far as she could tell, nobody was even watching the match—they were all speculating about Harry, and people were trying to remember whether they'd heard his relations' surname.
'It might be Evans,' someone said. 'That was his mother's surname.'
'It wasn't Evans,' snapped Hermione. Heaven forbid they go after some poor family with a kid named Dudley Evans.
She was still watching Harry through her Omnioculars, and he suddenly started looking desperately around the stadium.
'I'm right here,' she shouted, standing up and waving her free arm. She raised her wand and shot sparks from it, but he didn't see her.
'Do you think he's looking for you?' asked Lucinda.
'Yes, he's almost certainly afraid of reprisals. We'll have to ward the house, at the very least.'
'Ryan can manage the wards, and you can get amulets as well,' said Walter, showing Hermione his wristwatch. 'Lucinda charmed mine, but it was fiddly work.'
'I'm certain Gringotts can do it in an instant,' said Lucinda. 'The only reason I did it myself is because I'm thrifty and stubborn.'
The referee blew his whistle, and all the Cannons fans roared as Owen entered the match.
'Go on, Barrowmaker!' cried a fan. 'Do it for Potter!'
Thirty seconds later the match was over, and the stands erupted again. Hermione was still watching Harry and saw him rise with a determined expression she recognised. He levelled his wand and Prongs leapt forth, prompting another round of shrieks.
The stag spoke with Harry's voice, which sounded remarkably ragged. 'Hermione, help me, I need to protect them. My relations.'
Everyone stared at her as she cast her own Patronus, and she sent a discreet message in reply.
Turning to Walter, Lucinda, and Annie, she said, 'I'm sorry, I need to go find him. Please, tell people to leave his relations alone.'
'Yes, of course,' said Lucinda.
Annie said, 'I'll escort you,' and she immediately pushed through the crowd shouting, 'Hermione Granger coming through ... make way!' A small part of Hermione was mortified but she appreciated Annie's quick thinking.
Soon she was standing by the goalposts, and when Harry arrived with Ryan she wrapped him in a hug. Mercy, he's stiff as a board, she thought with alarm. He seemed completely lost, so she began issuing orders. Hopefully a hot shower will calm him down.
They went up to the locker room and Harry took his time showering, which gave Ryan a few minutes to fill her in. 'He was like a coiled panther when I pulled him off Gilstrap. I admire his restraint for punching him only once, given how angry he was. I'm not certain I could have fought him if he'd turned on me—thank goodness he didn't pull out his wand.'
'He's not violent by nature, so he must really have been provoked,' said Hermione. 'Can you help with the wards? I can do them myself if necessary, but you probably have more experience warding Muggle houses than I do. I've only done my parents' house a few times, and with a book in front of me.'
'Yes, I can do them in my sleep.'
'I'm so glad you're here,' she said, hugging him. 'I love how steady you are ... Annie said you were solid as the earth, and she's right.'
'My mother would probably call me an enormous block of granite, so that's an improvement.'
Harry emerged looking somewhat more settled, but he still seemed terribly small—it was all Hermione could do not to hug him again. Once they'd worked out a plan, the two of them Apparated to the house she'd seen only once before.
His aunt opened the door and reluctantly admitted them. So this is Aunt Petunia, she thought. Harry looked nothing like her, except for his slim build, and in spite of her anger Hermione felt compassion. Her sister was so pretty, and a witch besides. No wonder Petunia turned out bitter.
Hermione returned to the stadium to collect Ryan, and when they came back he began evaluating the existing wards. Normally she would have liked to assist or at least watch, but this was probably her only chance to see the Dursleys up close, and she wanted to protect Harry as well.
He wasn't timid around them, but Hermione thought he was more polite than they deserved. It was as if he knew he could destroy them, even without his wand, but was unwilling to do it. She wanted to scream, 'Your nephew is probably the most popular wizard alive! He's David Beckham, Winston Churchill, and Prince William rolled into one!' But she mostly kept her mouth shut, except for when his purple-faced git of an uncle accused Harry of trying to steal his wristwatch—then she let him have it.
After Harry left for Gringotts she joined Ryan, ostensibly to help with the wards. But he was remarkably adept, and she was torn between pride in her boyfriend's ability and irritation that he knew more than she did.
Hermione also kept her distance from the Dursleys, in spite of Dudley's attempts to chat her up. She didn't trust herself not to lecture them, or even hex them for good measure. No wonder Harry's concerned about revenge-seekers ... I'm tempted to retaliate myself.
She felt sick walking through the house, knowing how miserable Harry had been there. This was his Azkaban, she thought, and she felt his disappointment that Sirius had never rescued him from it.
When Harry returned she barked at the Dursleys again. 'Where's the cupboard?'
'Hermione, no,' said Harry. 'That's not important.'
'Yes it is,' she snapped. 'Show me the cupboard.'
Poor Harry looked embarrassed as he led her there, as if it had been his fault somehow. She looked inside and was shocked by how cramped it was. I doubt he could have stood up in here past the age of eight or nine, she thought angrily.
And then there was his aunt's statement about his eyes, and that Harry had changed. He was quicker than she was to realise the Dursleys had been affected by the Horcrux. Poor Harry! she thought again, and she wondered if his teachers and classmates had been similarly affected. Her mind reeled with the implications.
They returned to Grimmauld Place, and Hermione hoped he'd finally let down his guard. But he didn't, and she realised that Ryan's presence might be an impediment. And yet Harry was the same after Ryan left—he only accepted her help with practical matters, like sending a statement to the Prophet. Why doesn't he trust me? she thought with dismay.
She decided he didn't want to talk about it at all, which she could understand—she knew it had taken years for Ryan to talk about being raped. But then Harry said he wanted to talk to Owen, which hurt her to the core. It wasn't deliberate, of course, but she felt awful, particularly after everything she and Harry had been through together.
She went to Ryan's flat to wait for him, and after he finished his warding they spent the evening together. He proposed going out to the cinema or a restaurant, but Hermione insisted on staying home in case Harry sent Kreacher or Prongs. But he never did.
That morning as she lay next to Ryan, putting off reading Rita Skeeter's article, Hermione realised she'd never felt so separate from Harry. He'd been remote during those horrible months with the locket Horcrux, and she'd been the same. But this felt different, and worse somehow. Even during the Horcrux months she'd felt like he was a part of her, and presumably vice versa, but now she felt cut off. She knew not to take it personally, and she didn't. But the isolation hurt, and even Ryan's warm presence couldn't make up for it.
She finally rose from the bed, and her movement woke Ryan. 'Are you getting up now?' he asked.
'Yes, the Prophet arrived a while ago and I can't postpone reading it any longer.'
'Should we read it together?' he asked, and she nodded.
They sat together at the small kitchen table, and her heart sank when she read the headline:
'The Boy Who Was Abused: Harry Potter's Secret Tragedy.'
There weren't any current photographs of the Dursleys, thank heaven, but Rita Skeeter had unearthed numerous primary school photographs of Harry, which were all the more haunting for their Muggle stillness. One class picture included Dudley, seven years old and already overweight, and Hermione could almost see Harry cowering.
The article included excerpts from his school evaluations. 'Harry is a shy and withdrawn child who interacts very seldom with his peers. He performs well on individual tasks but avoids group activities. Harry is reluctant to make eye contact with others, and his classmates largely ignore him.'
More than one teacher recognised the signs of abuse. 'Harry avoids his cousin Dudley whenever possible, and he flinches noticeably when Dudley and his mates approach. I've tried to keep them apart within the classroom, but there's no way to protect him at other times, and certainly not at home. Recommend evaluation by social worker and possible intervention.'
And yet nothing came of it, nor of similar recommendations. Hermione was shocked to find herself agreeing with Rita Skeeter's interpretation. 'Every one of the evaluations ordered by Harry's teachers was quashed for reasons unknown. Although an inept Muggle bureaucracy might be to blame, it is far more likely that a wizard interfered—namely Albus Dumbledore.'
She went on: 'We can only speculate as to why Dumbledore insisted on subjecting young Harry to years of neglect and abuse. Was it to prevent the rise of a wizard whose power might someday rival his own? After all, when Harry survived his first Killing Curse, all of magical Britain wondered what strange and terrible power he might have. And we are left to wonder how much more powerful Harry might have been had he been nurtured as a child and not suppressed.
'Or was Dumbledore motivated by the prophecy regarding Harry? Perhaps he thought it necessary for Harry's childhood to resemble that of his nemesis, He Who Must Not Be Named. Although the notorious Dark wizard was raised in a Muggle orphanage rather than with abusive relations, perhaps orphanages were under stricter oversight by the 1980s, in which case Harry could more reliably be mistreated at home.'
The article continued for pages in exhaustive detail, punctuated liberally with photographs of Harry. One pair of photos juxtaposed Harry's 1990 class picture with a current photograph, taken during his date with the model. In the class picture, Harry stood amongst the smallest students in the front row, wearing a shapeless school uniform that was far too big for him. By contrast, in the new photograph he wore sleek robes that fit him to perfection.
Rita wrote, 'The mystery of Harry's new robes is hereby solved: He clearly wishes to erase the memories of wearing his cousin's enormous cast-offs. And who can blame him, having endured the scorn of both classmates and neighbours for dressing so poorly, even though the Dursleys were relatively well off. This raises the question, however, of why Petunia Dursley thought it acceptable to clothe him thus. Did it not reflect as badly on her as it did upon the orphan entrusted to her care?'
Hermione nodded in agreement. That's a damn good question, Rita, she thought with grudging respect. Was the Horcrux to blame? Or was Petunia really that petty? Hermione supposed they'd never know the answer.
Much was made of the now-famous cupboard under the stairs. The Prophet ran a photograph of the emptied cupboard, to which an artist had added the outlines of a thin mattress and a small boy curled on top. Rita even shared a clipped illustration she'd found in the depths of the cupboard, depicting an armour-clad knight raising his sword against a fire-breathing dragon.
By the time Hermione had finished reading, she'd splattered the newsprint with tears. There were so many awful details: Harry-hunting; being fed through a cat-flap; St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. And above all, the depiction of an achingly lonely child.
Even Rita expressed compassion, albeit laced with a few barbs. 'We must pause to appreciate the noble young man who miraculously emerged from such an environment. He could easily have turned out as Dark as the wizard he defeated, but instead he is the standard-bearer for the Light. Perhaps we can forgive his current excesses, whether in appetites or behaviour, in view of his tragic past.'
'Oh Ryan,' sighed Hermione. 'I can't believe I never knew, and that I never thought to ask. I only knew he'd been neglected and unloved. Why didn't I do anything back then? I could have asked my parents to help, but I never did a thing.'
He tightened his arm around her and said, 'You mustn't blame yourself, and I know you did a lot for him. Didn't you say you sent him food when his cousin was on a diet?'
'Yes, but that makes me feel worse. If I knew they were capable of starving him, surely I should have deduced the rest.'
'Hermione, you can't pull confidences from someone who isn't ready to share them. I'm sure Annie figured out something was wrong with me after the Love Potion incident, but I did my best to hide it from her. Amongst other things I didn't want to burden her with it.'
'You're right. Harry clearly had his own reasons not to confide in Ron or me. But I only wish he had done, so we could have stopped things earlier.'
Ryan shook his head. 'I understand completely why he didn't. Talking about it would have made it real, in all its egregiousness. Most of the damage was already done before he went to Hogwarts. By the time you met him, he probably just wanted to grit his teeth and get through the summers without calling further attention to himself.'
'I suppose you're right, but ugh! I could curse Dumbledore for putting him through that!'
'He's lucky you never got the chance ... I suspect you'd have come out the winner, Elder Wand or not.'
She chuckled in spite of herself. 'Fawkes probably would have switched sides mid-battle.' At Ryan's puzzled expression she added, 'Dumbledore's phoenix.'
'My beautiful warrior,' he said affectionately. 'Will you accompany me to football practice this morning, so I can introduce you to my friends?'
'Yes, it's clear Harry doesn't need me right now. At least he has Owen,' she added, with only a little sadness.
'He'll need you soon enough,' Ryan reassured her. 'He sent you his Patronus the second the match ended after all. Clearly you're the one he relies on the most.'
She nodded gratefully, and Ryan prepared their breakfast. After eating, Hermione borrowed Ryan's owl to send Harry a short letter of support:
Dear Harry,
I thought I already knew how brave and strong you are, but now it's more apparent than ever. I'm sorry your privacy has been so thoroughly breached. Please let me know if there's any other way I can help.
Love,
Hermione
When she returned from the roof where Ryan's owl roosted, Hermione found Ryan looking at a long parchment and frowning.
'What's wrong?' she asked. 'What are you reading?'
'For lack of a better term, this is a log file showing all the attacks on the wards we installed yesterday.'
'A log file?'
'That's a computing term, referring to a file that records events as they occur. I've charmed this parchment to list any attacks on the wards I created.'
Hermione was impressed by the magic involved and wanted to ask how he'd done it, but that wasn't her most pressing question. 'How many have there been? When did they start?'
'They started last night, just after sunset. There seem to have been nine separate incidents so far, with two in the last hour.'
'Nine incidents! Even though they announced on the radio that Harry didn't want reprisals, and the Prophet ran Harry's statement this morning?'
'I'm afraid so.'
'Did the wards hold at least?'
'Yes, perfectly.' He reviewed the parchment and said, 'Mostly it was attempts at vandalism, but there were a few violent attacks, and several attempts to enter the house.'
Hermione sighed. 'I can't believe that anyone who admires Harry enough to avenge him would think he'd approve of violence.' She looked at the parchment and asked, 'Do you have any way of identifying who did it?'
'Not really. I could probably return to the house and detect magical signatures, but I'd need to know who I was looking for.'
Several more attacks appeared on the parchment over the next hour, but Ryan's remote monitoring confirmed that the wards remained at full strength. They therefore felt confident to attend his football practice, which was on a pitch belonging to one of the colleges.
As they approached, Ryan was greeted with a loud shout. 'Behold, it's the Bellamy!'
'Hi, Liam!' called Ryan.
'And who's this?' asked Liam. 'It can't possibly be ...'
'Yes, this is Hermione,' said Ryan. 'She exists.'
'I'll be damned!' exclaimed Liam. 'You're real, right?' he asked her.
'Yes, I'm real,' she said, holding out her hand. 'It's a pleasure to meet you.'
Several other young men approached and introduced themselves. 'We had a wager going,' said Jamie, 'about whether Ryan was going to turn up with another excuse or not, and which one he'd use.'
'Oh? What are some of your favourites?'
'Let's see,' said Liam. 'There's the standard "She couldn't make it." And then there was a girl who was downright religious about attending church on Sundays.'
'Don't forget the girl who didn't care for sports,' added Nick. 'As if she and Ryan would have anything in common.'
'She liked music!' protested Ryan.
'A likely story,' said Liam. 'And finally there was the one who lived in Aberdeen and never seemed to visit when we got together.'
'Aberdeen?' asked Hermione. 'That's awfully inconvenient.'
'We met at university,' explained Ryan. 'She was only able to visit once that summer.'
'Whatever you say, Bellamy,' said Jamie. 'But Hermione, what's your story? How is it you're not otherwise engaged this fine morning. Don't tell me you ... spent the night!'
'Jamie!' said Ryan. 'That's none of your business.'
Hermione laughed and said, 'It's not, but he's found us out. Ryan made breakfast and everything.'
'Do you also take a half dozen eggs every morning, Hermione?' asked Liam.
'That was one time!' said Ryan. 'And I'd played football for hours, on an empty stomach.'
'Yes, but there was also sausage, and quite a lot of potatoes,' said Liam. 'And about a quart of salsa.'
'I know,' said Hermione. 'I don't know where he puts it.'
'Oh, I'll bet you know where he puts it,' smirked Jamie, and she couldn't help laughing again.
She turned to Ryan and said, 'I can see why your other girlfriends stayed away.'
'I know, we're awful,' said Liam. 'Completely filthy. But it's mutually-assured destruction, because we all knew each other as adolescents.'
'How long have you been playing together?' asked Hermione.
'Ever since primary school,' said Nick. 'Our mums signed us up for as many afternoons as they could, mostly to get us out of the house.'
'How many of our younger siblings do you suppose can be attributed to Cambridge City Youth Football Club?' mused Jamie.
'At least four,' replied Liam. 'And probably thousands of near misses. So Hermione, how did you meet our friend Ryan? Surely not at that crypt where he works.'
'No, I'm still a student. I'll be starting my second year at Tufton.' She and Ryan had picked out one of the newer colleges, which none of his mates were affiliated with.
'Brilliant, so we'll see more of you this autumn. And do you live nearby as well?'
'Not very close, but my parents approve of Ryan for some reason so they don't mind my visiting.'
'Parents love Bellamy,' said Jamie. 'It's his superpower—he so clean-cut.'
More of the players had arrived and introduced themselves, and soon they began to play. Hermione knew little about football, having avoided it as much as possible during primary school. But apparently Ryan was a second striker, which meant he was heavily involved in the offence. It seemed analogous to playing Chaser, and he was clearly good at it.
Watching him, she could see why Lucinda scorned Quidditch for being too sedentary. Hermione could easily imagine flying on a broomstick for an hour or more, particularly since Ryan had given her lessons, but she knew she'd be knackered after a quarter hour of running up and down a pitch. But perhaps she'd improve, now that he'd shown her around the machines at the leisure centre near her parents' house— she'd already been there twice on her own.
No wonder all the girls at Widgington were mad for him, she thought. I probably would have been as well, particularly given his Charms ability. She supposed he'd been his school's version of Cedric Diggory, and she felt relief that Widgington had been excluded from the Triwizard Tournament. Ryan would have been an obvious choice for school champion.
Oddly, she'd never had a crush on Cedric. She hadn't seen the point, since there was no chance he'd choose her over all his other admirers. Nobody was surprised when he asked Cho Chang to the Yule Ball, since she was considered one of the prettiest girls in school—though she was apparently disappointed Harry hadn't invited her first.
And yet Viktor Krum had invited Hermione to the Yule Ball, even though he had his own flock of admirers. She'd been astonished when he asked her, and her first instinct was to assume it was a cruel joke, like the valentine she'd received from Errol Reddington. But he was very earnest, and she knew her appearance had improved after Madam Pomfrey had fixed her teeth, so she accepted him.
Many people expressed shock that Viktor had invited her, and just last week Rita Skeeter—disguised as Sally-Ann Perks—had marvelled at how a mousy little bookworm like Hermione Granger had snagged two Quidditch stars. And she herself was more shocked than anyone. Ron had always seemed like a more realistic match, in spite of the now-obvious ways they weren't suited to each other.
She shook her head in amazement, and her charmed ringlets moved as well. The Cedric Diggory of Widgington fancies me! she thought delightedly. She didn't want to insult Ryan by comparing him to Errol Reddington, but her old wounded pride relished her triumph. Take that, bullies!
The football game continued for more than an hour, and unlike at Cannons matches, Ryan was able to see her cheering in the stands. He smiled at her, causing her to melt from head to toe, and she wondered if that might be the day she tried entering the shower with him. She hadn't attempted it yet, knowing that a shower had played a major role in his Love Potion experience.
He certainly needed a shower after playing. 'Ryan, I hate to say it, but I think your mother's right about football being more strenuous than ... that other sport.'
'I know. It's far more strenuous, but I'll never give her the satisfaction of hearing me say it.'
She kissed him in spite of his drenched state, and some of his teammates hooted. 'Now that's what we came for!' cried Nick.
'Better late than never,' added Jamie. 'Poor Ryan ... he was a late bloomer.'
'We didn't think he'd crack five feet, Hermione. But he finally had a growth spurt last year,' said Liam.
Ryan was actually blushing, which prompted Hermione to kiss him even harder. 'Into the shower with you, Bellamy,' she murmured.
'Don't let us keep you,' said Liam. 'We've been trying for years to corrupt him ... if we hadn't seen him in the locker room we'd have wondered whether he was equipped.'
'Are you kidding?' asked Nick. 'As I recall, he was rather fond of those magazines we used to pass around.'
'Come on, Hermione, let's go,' said Ryan, tugging her hand. 'They won't be satisfied until they reveal all my most embarrassing secrets.'
'Like that time you got a stiffy when the Under 14 girls team arrived on the pitch?'
'I was twelve!' protested Ryan, and Hermione laughed and dragged him away.
'It's been lovely meeting you!' she cried as they scurried off, and they ducked into the nearest alley they could find. They Apparated to his flat, and she eagerly peeled his jersey off him.
'Hermione, I'm disgusting ... I really need a shower first.'
'Can't I join you?' she asked, looking at him affectionately.
She felt him tense, but he relaxed under her loving gaze. 'All right. But I can't make any promises ... I haven't showered with another person since ...'
'Yes, I know. But I love you and you'll be safe.' She gasped to hear herself say it.
'Oh, Hermione ... I love you too. I've been desperate to tell you, but I didn't want to scare you away.'
She kissed him tenderly, but their need quickly became urgent and he began pulling off her clothes. They made their way into the shower, and together they created new memories.
Lying in his bed afterwards, Hermione felt a closeness she'd never previously experienced, not even with Ron. I've given myself to him completely, she thought. She'd loved Ron, but this was entirely different. Ryan possessed all of her—and vice versa—and she never wanted to let go.