The Right Thing To Do

Chapter 1

Hermione regretted her choice of shoes now. She'd picked "sensible heels," as Ginny would call them. "Sensible" only meant that they were not too high as to topple her. And that they were ugly. She realized this when she discovered that her shoes matched perfectly with the stale, dusty floors of the underground Ministry halls.

"Hermione."

She looked up from her shoes to see Harry walking toward her.

"Harry. How was it? Did they – Do you think -?"

"It's hard to tell." He pushed his hair away from his forehead, looking down the hall at the oaken doors he came from. "They have a lot of evidence, obviously. They asked a lot of questions about fifth year and Umbridge, but I tried to give them the details about – about –"

Harry stuttered, and Hermione watched his eyes glaze as he looked away from her. It had only been a year and a half, so she understood his hesitance.

"Malfoy Manor," she finished for him.

"Yeah." Harry swallowed, and Hermione saw him holding Dobby on the beach as if it were yesterday. "But they wouldn't let me say much," he continued. "They had my testimony about the night Dumbledore died –" Harry blinked again, almost a twitch she realized "—but I tried to amend it to include him more. They wouldn't let me. Said it was already 'in the file.'"

Hermione nodded, looking behind him at the double doors. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears.

"He's in there," Harry said.

Hermione snapped her eyes to his green ones. Harry's drilled into hers, searching for... something.

"Right. I mean, of course he is. It's his trial." She held her breath.

"He's not making it easy on them, I don't think."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, he doesn't.... He doesn't seem like he's fighting it very hard. He looks bored almost."

Hermione looked back to the doors behind Harry, nodding.

"And he looks..." Harry stopped himself. "I guess you'll see."

Hermione felt the pounding in her ears again. She would see. She would see him for the first time since the Great Hall, gaunt and stricken at the Slytherin table with his mother clutching his arm. She hadn't meant to look for him. Not in the corridors, not beneath the white sheets of the fallen, not on the way to the Chamber of Secrets with Ron, but she was a stupid girl.

"I'll be here for you when you come out."

Hermione looked at Harry again. "Oh, Harry, no. You've done enough. I know you have to get back upstairs."

"Are you sure?" And there he was again, searching for something.

"Yes, absolutely." She pasted a smile on her face and squeezed his arm. "I'll come find you upstairs when I'm done. Maybe we can go to lunch?"

"That would be great." He smiled at her.

Harry turned and began the long walk back to the lifts. Hermione called after him, "Harry!" He turned to her. "Thank you," she said. "I know you were... hesitant –"

"No, you were right, Hermione," he said. "It's the right thing to do." He turned and continued.

Hermione listened to his footsteps retreat down the hall. A different echo than his trainers used to make. Hermione smiled, thinking of the change. Dragon leather dress shoes were expected in certain situations she supposed, namely a Wizengamot trial, but she'd seen Harry wear these and other fancier shoes more and more often. That could be expected from The-Boy-Who-Lived-and-Died-and-Lived-Again, as Rita Skeeter so artfully, and concisely, named Harry in her articles. The requests for his public appearances were increasing, and his celebrity was doing anything but decreasing. He attended galas, organized remembrances for past Order members, opened orphanages for those children who had lost their families. Hermione had her own fair share of galas and public events, but she was only requested if Harry could attend, and sometimes only if Ron could round out the trio, which was made more difficult these days while Ron was off playing Quidditch for the Irish.