Chapter 2 - The Wooded Trail
The sun broke through the morning mist hanging over the Burrow and warmed the small hearth room. As it grew brighter, Harry stirred in the chair he had fallen asleep in only hours before. As he opened his eyes, he couldn't remember having slept so well, even though he knew he'd pay for it now.
"Ouch," he muttered to himself, rubbing his sore neck. He had fallen into such a relaxing sleep even the increasing pain in his neck from sleeping upright in a chair all night hadn't manage to wake him. He closed his eyes and tried to rub the pain away from his neck. He felt his heart nearly jump into his throat as his hand collided with someone else's.
Startled, Harry leapt from the chair and spun around to see who was behind him.
"Hermione!" Harry gasped. "You nearly scared the life out of me."
"I didn't mean to frighten you," Hermione replied, looking a bit dejected. Apparently noticing Harry was still dressed from the night before, she asked, "Did you sleep in this chair all night?"
"Well, I… er," Harry stammered, looking at Hermione, suddenly remembering what had brought him downstairs in the middle of the night.
"Harry, we need to talk," she said quickly. "Let's go for a walk," she suggested, motioning her head toward the door. Harry followed her into the morning dew, and they set off for the wooded trail leading out of the garden.
A quiet walk, just the two of them, was not a new experience for Harry and Hermione. They had walked around the lake together at Hogwarts several times. The most memorable of these meanderings came only last year. This time, however, it was different. They had known each other for years, yet this was the first time they both seemed to be at a total loss for words. Harry broke the awkward silence first, clearly trying to stave off the time he would be required to discuss the inevitable.
"So, what did you want to talk about Hermione?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
She continued to walk beside him but couldn't bring her eyes to his. "Well, I was just thinking. Yesterday seemed a bit strange to me. You were very quiet from dinner until I turned in for the night. You didn't seem to want to look at me. I was just wondering if I had done something to make you angry?" she asked, with a guilty look on her face.
Harry had the clear impression this was not what she wanted to talk about at all, yet this was her attempt of discussing the events of yesterday without actually having to say anything. He thought it was quite a clever strategy and was unable to control a faint smile.
"No, I'm not angry about anything. I've just had an awful lot on my mind. I've just been a bit down this summer, that's all." He was only speaking the partial truth.
Hermione looked up at him with a compassionate expression and asked, "How have you been dealing with Sirius?"
Harry was almost surprised at the candor in which she asked the question. Given this particular subject, everyone seemed to be prancing around him as though not wanting to remind him he had witnessed the death of his godfather only weeks before. He looked back at her and began recounting the last two weeks. The images, the dreams, and the thoughts that plagued him all summer became the focus of the conversation. He stopped short of telling her about his conversation with Dumbledore and the prediction concerning him and Voldemort. It almost seemed unnatural for him to stop talking to her. That was one thing that was so incredibly easy for him to do; it always had been. Following Harry's lead, Hermione began telling him about the short holiday she'd spent with her parents in Switzerland.
He listened to Hermione rattle on about her summer and thought about the times they managed to communicate without words. He remembered Malfoy's threat on the Hogwarts Express about "dogging" Harry throughout his fifth year. While Harry and Hermione both seemed to understand the play on words and the implied threat toward Sirius, Ron had continued on blissfully unaware.
They continued to catch up, avoiding any reference to Quidditch, flying, or yesterday's events in the backyard. Harry could smell bacon in the distance and realized the Weasley's would no doubt be wondering where they had gone.
"We'd better be heading back before Mrs. Weasley gets worried. We don't have hands on that clock yet," Harry said, chuckling. He was thinking about the ingenious clock in the Burrow that let Mrs. Weasley know exactly where each member of the Weasley clan was stationed.
"Oh, I just feel so much better about everything, Harry," Hermione added in a relieved voice. "I mean for a very small minute yesterday I thought you might have been looking at me… I don't know… differently," she continued, looking away into the woods.
"That would've been awkward, wouldn't it?" Harry chuckled with the best laugh he could muster.
"Yeah, it would've! But, everything is okay. It's just Harry and Hermione again, best friends!" she said, suddenly stopping in his path and beaming up at him with her hand awkwardly extended to shake his.
However, Harry failed to notice her blocking his path. As soon as they breached this subject, he had turned to watch a few nesting birds in the dim hopes Hermione wouldn't see him reddening. As he continued to look upward, he walked directly into her.
His reaction was what one would expect from the celebrated Gryffindor Seeker. He seized Hermione's arms firmly to keep her from crashing to the forest floor. The result, he was sure, flushed his face unmistakably.
"Oh! Hermione! I'm sorry…I, er-," he stammered, trying to think of good reason why he would've charged right into her. Somewhat taken aback, she looked up at Harry. His embarrassed glance connected with hers and he found himself unable to conjure any words to explain himself out of the situation. Apparently, Hermione was in the same predicament. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
All he could hear were the sounds of the forest. He heard the birds chirping in the distance and wind rustling through the trees. He was still holding her close to him. He could see every highlight in her hair as he looked into her face. He couldn't explain why, but he wasn't letting go. More shocking to him, however, was the fact Hermione wasn't pulling away. They stood in the forest silent and immobile for what seemed like an eternity.
Harry wasn't sure who started to move first. All he knew is they were getting closer to each other. Where he could only feel her arms in his grasp before, now he could feel her body approaching his. The scent of her hair eclipsed the faint smell of Mrs. Weasley's breakfast. His heart was pounding. What was he doing? He could hear his own voice screaming in his head. Harry, this is Hermione. Reality Check, please! He could feel her breath beginning to mingle with his own…
"Ouch!" Harry yelped, more out of surprise than pain, as Hedwig landed on his shoulder. A letter was attached to her leg. The shock seemed to snap both Harry and Hermione back to reality, and they quickly separated. Hermione was obviously clamoring for anything to look at other than Harry.
"Hedwig!" Harry said, snapping at his snowy owl. She flashed with indignation at his tone. She stuck her leg out further as if to reiterate the fact she had brought the post. As he begrudgingly pulled the letter off her leg, he heard Hermione gasp frightfully. In the split second he turned to look at her, she had already spun toward the Burrow and set off in a run. His confusion was quickly extinguished. The Hogwarts seal on the back of the letter drove Harry's heart even higher into his throat. Their O.W.L. results had arrived.
By the time Harry looked back up at the Burrow, Hermione had already charged inside the house. She was obviously rifling through the post for her O.W.L. results. Harry looked down at his letter and began to stroll toward the back door where Hermione had disappeared.
He spent some time over the summer thinking about his O.W.L.s. He constantly wagered in his mind which he had done well on and which he hadn't. He felt as though he should be compelled to tear open his letter, but it stayed intact as he meandered back to the Burrow. He was in another world. This world was entirely foreign. It looked the same as the world he knew, but it felt completely different. In a word, albeit a horrifically understated one, Harry was confused. He was thoroughly confused.
Things seemed to spin wildly out of control yesterday, and they were off to no better start this morning. As always, Hermione had a great idea. Going for a walk seemed to work all the awkwardness out of the air hovering between them. That was until Harry decided to trounce her down in the middle of the forest.
Way to go, Captain Coordination.
But even that didn't bother him as much as the realization that his hands completely ignored his brain's order to let her go. Adding to his confusion was Hermione's lack of a well-placed right hook. The Hermione he knew should've embarked on some scathing verbal tirade that would've left him seeking a dictionary for the proper definition of the word "audacious."
And what happened after that? He didn't even want to think about the ramifications kissing her would've brought about!
Imagine what Ron would've said to that! Suddenly, Ron's voice echoed through his thoughts.
"Wow! You must've done really well Harry!" Ron said impressed.
Lost in his thoughts, Harry had not only returned to the Burrow, but walked into the kitchen without realizing it. "What do you mean?"
"Well, look at you! You're smiling broader than Lockhart at a book signing!" Ron retorted.
Harry suddenly realized he was not hiding his expression at all, not that he could've if he'd tried. "Where's Hermione?" He asked trying his best to look nonchalant.
"You know Hermione; she snatched her letter and dashed upstairs to open it in private. I'm sure if we hear her crash to the floor it will be over an "E" in Ancient Runes rather than an "O," Ron sniggered. "Mum chased up the stairs after her. So what did you get? You must've done well!" Ron reiterated.
"Oh! I um… I haven't actually," he looked at Ron's confused expression and decided his salvation might be staring him in the face. No one knew Harry or Hermione like Ron did. He might not have been as quick as Hermione to pick up on some things, but this was an emergency situation. He needed his best friend and could currently care less about his test results. Honestly, he didn't care if he was a bona fide "Troll" in every subject if he could get some modicum of explanation for what dimension his brain had port-keyed to in the last 24 hours.
Harry stuffed his Hogwarts letter in his pocket and slumped down at the table across from Ron.
"What's the matter Harry?" Ron asked curiously.
"I need to talk," Harry added bluntly.
"I thought you didn't open your results yet?" Ron said, apparently having picked up on the fact Harry's letter was still sealed before he put it away.
"It's not about the O.W.L.'s Ron," he added quietly. He drew a deep breath and tried to determine where to start. "It's about…"
"Harry!" Fred's voice was nearly singing as he waltzed into the room.
"Hey, George," Harry slumped his shoulders and let out the breath that had prepared to spill every strange detail to Ron.
"George!" Fred guffawed at Harry's mistake. "Well, I've never been so insulted in my life," Fred continued. "Well, I take that back. Mum confuses us all the time," he smiled broadly. "However, after such a mental error as that, I'll have to revise the wager I make with my dear brother concerning your O.W.L. scores."
"Wager? O.W.L.'s? Where's Harry? I am sure Fred owes me ten galleons by now!" George chirped as he sauntered into the room. Harry exchanged a quick glance with Ron that ended the conversation that never began.
"Right, later," Ron agreed. "So come on, open the letter," he persisted. Harry pulled it from his pocket, opened the seal, and began to read.
"Well, no surprise there," Ron said, moving to look over his shoulder. "Always knew you'd do better than me. I can't complain too much though, I passed 5 of them! After Fred and George's three, mom's likely to buy me the Firebolt next!" Ron beamed while both Fred and George threw their hands over is hearts in a melodramatic display of betrayal.
Harry examined the parchment and was happily surprised. He had taken both a written and practical examination in each course, with the exception of History. To this day, Harry was quite convinced there was nothing practical about that subject. In his opinion, he had done quite well. It was no surprise to anyone that he received an "Outstanding" in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He also received "O's" in Charms, which surprised him, and in Care of Magical Creatures, which didn't surprise him at all. His face light up even more to see that he had even earned the "Outstanding" that Professor McGonagall preferred for her N.E.W.T. class. He let out an audible chuckle for the "E" he had managed in the written portion of Divination. However, his practical score demonstrated exactly what he knew of Divination, nothing. It was the first exam he noticed he had failed. It wasn't the last.
Not surprising in the least, he also failed History of Magic and managed only an "acceptable" in Practical Astronomy. None of these scores truly shocked Harry given the distractions that occurred while he was taking both exams. He had fallen asleep in History and was startled awake by the vision of Sirius being tortured by Voldemort, and the scene at Hagrid's hut had distracted everyone during the practical portion of the Astronomy exam. He glanced further down the scroll to his potions score, and the toothy grin he had sported for the last thirty minutes began to fade.
He remembered McGonagall's decree that Snape accepted no one in his N.E.W.T. classes with less than "Outstanding," and apparently, "Exceeding Expectations," which is what Harry did, was not enough for Professor Snape. Technically, he didn't exceed his expectations. He managed an "O" in the theoretical portion, but only "acceptable" in the practical. He was quite sure, the average of which, would keep him from continuing his study of Potions.
Ordinarily, this would've sent Harry's elation to the point of spontaneous combustion. However, without enduring another two years of Snape, he couldn't become an Auror. It appeared as though that dream wasn't going to become a reality after all. Harry couldn't think of anything else he'd like to do after leaving Hogwarts than seeking out dark wizards for the Ministry of Magic. He slumped into a chair, and for the first time in what seemed like eons, the smile vanished from his face.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Ron said quietly.
"Er- nothing" Harry said quickly, trying to stuff his results back into the envelope. He had hoped Ron hadn't seen the Potions score. It wasn't that he would've understood Harry's reaction, but Harry felt like a failure at the moment and didn't want anyone to know it. As he tried to stuff his scores back into the envelope, he was not the only one to notice another piece of parchment.
"Hey, what's that?" Ron said, stuffing a muffin into his mouth. His reaction led Harry to believe, and quite correctly it turned out, that no one else had gotten an additional letter. He opened it only far enough to glance at the handwriting. Recognizing the unmistakable penmanship of Albus Dumbledore, he decided to read the letter outside. Luckily, Fred and George began heckling Ron over his "D" in History of Magic and Harry was afforded the opportunity to quietly slip out onto the patio.
As he discreetly walked outside, he thought to himself, "This isn't so bad; not only have I exceeded what Snape thought I could do, but I'll never have to see him in class again!" Even missing out on being an Auror couldn't keep him from smiling over that. However, as his smiles had become over the summer, it wasn't meant to last. As he unrolled the additional parchment and read the letter, he flopped onto a chaise lounge, crestfallen.
Harry,
Upon your return to Hogwarts, please see me concerning your future course schedule. I have spoken to Professor Snape about your study of potions. He will allow you into his N.E.W.T. class under the pretense that you are continuing your "Remedial Potions" course. Both courses are necessary for your continued success.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
"What?" He not only had to take Potions, but Remedial Potions as well? In thirty seconds, he'd gone from no Snape to double-Snape! Why Remedial Potions?
Then it hit him. It wasn't "Remedial Potions" at all. That was the story they told the students when Snape was teaching Harry Occlumency. Locked in a dungeon alone with Severus Snape breaking into your most intimate thoughts was nearly the closest thing to Hell Harry had ever experienced at Hogwarts. Now, he seemed destined to return to it. Why? It didn't work last year, so why would he become a successful Occlumens now?
Harry crumpled the letter in his hand as he pulsed with anger he'd not felt since the end of last year.
"Harry, what did it say?" said a soft voice that lodged Harry's heart uncomfortably in his throat. He turned to look at Hermione, and the wooded trail flooded back to him. He couldn't move. He could scarcely breathe. That didn't make him feel any better. Get a hold of yourself Potter, what is the matter with you?
"Er… It was just… I…," he faltered, unable to continue looking at her. Aside from the strange occurrences over the last 24 hours, he was sure she had outmatched him in O.W.L. scores and really didn't feel like comparing results right now.
"It was what?" she probed, her brow ruffling.
Harry couldn't speak, and he couldn't come up with anything to say even if he could charm his own vocal chords into action. He was angry with Dumbledore and confused about nearly everything else. He dejectedly handed the letter to Hermione and she read it quietly.
"Well, Harry, you had to expect this didn't you?" Hermione said as an all-too-familiar assertion. Apparently seeing right thought Remedial Potions as well, she said, "You must study Occlumency again."
"Why?" Harry demanded. "I hated it last year! I never got it right anyway. I've not had any dreams like I did last year. Why do I have to be locked up for hours at a time with Snape?" He snapped, getting to his feet.
"Harry, you have to protect yourself… and," she trailed off.
"And what?" Harry demanded, growing even angrier. Regardless of what had occurred between them recently, she was still his best friend, and he could read her thoughts. He knew what she was going to say, yet he insisted on hearing her say it. "And what?!" he repeated, growing louder.
"…and to protect everyone else," she added at a whisper.
Harry knew what she meant. That familiar empty guilt returned to him. Had he done what Snape told him and practiced Occlumency as Hermione kept badgering, he would've blocked the images of Sirius' fictionalized torture. He wouldn't have overreacted, rushing off to the Ministry of Magic. In short, Sirius would be alive. In his head, Harry knew there was enough blame to go around concerning his godfather, but it didn't stop his heart from feeling the brunt of the guilt nonetheless.
He opened his mouth to let Hermione have it, but he couldn't muster the energy or willpower to do so. Instead, he snapped his letter out of her hand and stormed off toward the woods. He could hear Hermione's faint pleading behind him as he charged off, but he refused to return. He needed time alone.
He found himself drawn to the very spot on the wooded trail that he and Hermione had occupied nearly an hour before. He glanced at the trees and closed his eyes as the wind blew across his face. Why had be baited her like that? He knew what she was going to say, and what's more, he knew she was right. Yet, he made her say it anyway. He sat on a fallen tree trunk and his thoughts returned to Hermione. A million images of her flashed through his mind; the first time he saw her, the first time she chastised him for breaking the rules, her smile, her laugh. He realized he had stopped thinking about Snape completely.
He had no memory of Hogwarts without Hermione. Even for the weeks that Ron refused to speak to him during their fourth year, Hermione was a mainstay. She was loyal, she was brilliant, and she was a wonderful friend. He couldn't stop himself from thinking about her. The mere thought of her seemed to vanish his anger as quickly as Snape vanished his potions. He didn't care, though. He only cared that he couldn't get the images of her out of his head. And that voice, that damned annoying one that he'd quietly been trying to squash since dinner the night before; that same voice that kept posing that same unnerving question, "What's going on?"
Nothing…nothing is going on. She's my best friend, that's all.
Right, and Vernon Dursley is up for Humanitarian of the Year.
Shut it.
If you are only 'best friends,' then explain why your stomach flops every time you think about her.
It does not!
Look, Harry. You might as well just admit it. You'd rather she be more than your best friend.
You're mad!
Yeah? You're the one having an argument with yourself in the middle of the forest.
I am not in love with Hermione Granger.
Funny, I didn't say you were in love. Those were your words. Thanks for proving my point.
Sod off.
Temper, temper Harry. The truth hurts.
Okay, let's for sole sake of argument, say I am in love with her. It doesn't matter. She is not in love with me. It will go away.
Only one problem with that theory Potter, if that were truly the case, why didn't she slug you an hour ago when you were a hair's breath away from kissing her?
Even Harry's thoughts were silent in attempting to answer this question.
Uh huh, exactly my point. You are in love with each other and too stubborn to admit it.
You're mental.
I'll again remind you that you are the one carrying on a conversation with yourself. Let me ask you one last thing. Would it be so bad if you did admit it? All you need is love!
Great! Now, I've got the Beatles stuck in my head. Thanks.
Harry couldn't decide which was worse. Having a conversation with the voice in his head, or the fact his gut knew the voice was right. His stomach did flop every time he thought of her. What's more, he was thinking of her differently than before. Rather than worrying about getting caught sneaking around, or dreading her latest lecture for leaving homework until the last minute; he was thinking about her hair.
He was thinking of the way the sun illuminated the natural caramel highlights she possessed or the way she would absent-mindedly twist a strand between he thumb and forefinger when she was lost in thought. He was thinking about her chocolate eyes. He thought of how they glimmered when she smiled, how one glance from her suddenly had the ability to make his knees weaken. He was thinking about the fruity scent of her perfume; how he was entranced by its essence, intoxicated by its ability to drive his thoughts to nothing but Hermione. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned aloud.
I'm not supposed to be thinking about how my best friend smells!
Giving into the voice, before he had to listen to it again, he conceded, "Okay, maybe, just maybe, I am in love with her. Is that really so bad?" He finally allowed himself to think, for just a moment, what things might be like if she loved him in return. A grin broke across his face and he began to think of the few people that did love him.
He thought first of Ron. It was a bit odd to talk about Ron with the word love associated with it, but it was the truth. He was his best friend, his confidant, and his right hand in more adventures than he cared to count.
Adventures that nearly killed him.
His thoughts drifted to Sirius. Of all the things that happened last year, of all the guilt, of all the sadness, he was never far from the thought that he knew Sirius loved him. He loved him in a way only a parent can. Not that he had much experience with that.
His parents loved him as well. Not that he could remember any of that, but he knew his mother and father gave their lives to save his. He could imagine no greater love than that. Although the concept still felt foreign to him. He'd lived his entire life (as he could remember it) being shunned, starved, and stuffed in a cupboard under a staircase. The whole concept of love was still something he thought was reserved for others. The images of his lost family scrolled across his mind. He thought of his father, his mother, and Sirius. He wished he could talk to any of them about the new feelings he was experiencing. Unfortunately, Voldemort….
Voldemort.
A hollow of despair started to open in the pit of his stomach. A sudden realization crashed into him with more force than the Whomping Willow. He gasped for air as he sat on the trunk. How could he be so incredibly thick?
The three people that cared for him most in his life, before Ron and Hermione, were all dead. They were all killed by Voldemort himself or agents of his power. Ron and Hermione, helping Harry fight the Dark Lord, had been injured or nearly killed themselves.
Dumbledore's voice broke the silence of the forest in his mind: "Neither can live while the other survives." The prophecy…
Harry thought of the danger he had put his friends in time and again since learning he was a wizard. The perpetual visions of Hermione in his head changed. He seemed to wince harder with each passing memory. He saw Hermione caught in devil's snare. He saw her lying petrified and seemingly lifeless in the hospital wing. He thought of her falling, helpless, by the lakeside in the face of a swarm of approaching Dementors. He watched her bobbing unconsciously underwater during the Triwizard Tournament. Please, please, he thought to himself. Please make the images stop. He didn't want to see what he knew was coming next.
He saw the spell flash off her chest. He saw her crumple to the floor while he ran to her side. He remembered being unable to wake her, and believing she, like Cedric, was dead; knowing it would've been his fault and feeling completely helpless to save her. The pit in his stomach grew deeper and darker as the final realization hit him in full measure.
He can't be in love with Hermione. Moreover, she can't be in love him. She would end up dead. Anyone he loved this much always did, and it was always through a connection to Voldemort. Voldemort didn't care whom he killed. Cedric's death taught him that. Unlike Cedric, he wasn't helpless to save Hermione.
He knew what he had to do. The only way to keep her safe was to keep her at a safe distance from him; but that wouldn't be enough. Sirius was chosen because he loved Harry. If there was any chance Hermione loved him, he would have to change that. It was the only way to keep her alive.
He pulled his face from his hands and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and stood up. He gave a final glance at the rustled leaves on the forest floor, marking where he had nearly betrayed his feelings to her; feelings he didn't even know existed until then. He thanked Hedwig in his mind that he didn't kiss her. He could still convince Hermione that he doesn't love her. He had a feeling that that would make it much easier to dissuade her from falling in love with him.
It was the only way to keep her alive. It was the only way to keep Voldemort from taking the one thing on Earth he now realized he couldn't live without… Hermione.