PLEASE READ THE A/N: Oh my, sorry about the horribly long wait. I've been SO busy (you can't even imagine - well, maybe you can, lol), and I've been sick for the past couple of days with the stomach flu. I have NO idea how the O.W.L. scores are supposed to be graded, but I tried my best (that's always a bad sign). For the sake of my sanity, PLEASE DON'T LECTURE ME ON O.W.L scores and such. This plotline isn't based on the scores, so don't get picky! If I were JK I would know what I'm doing.
I have this strange, annoying habit of writing painfully short chapters. In this story, I'm going to try and write LONG chapters. Ah! I have the plot in my head, guys, I just have to write it out! *sigh*
Thanks for everything. Enjoy!
{I had to edit this for some *cough cough* minor errors, but other than that … thank you of those who helped me figure out what I missed, but PLEASE, other reviewers, try to focus on the plot, NOT the O.W.L. scores. Thank you.}
* * *
He stared in stagnant amazement at the ancient-looking stone basin, lying so innocently atop the covers. He knew exactly what it was, of course; Dumbledore had his, and Harry had seen it just last year, studying Occlumency with Snape. He had seen into their thoughts, into the things that they longed to forget…
A Pensieve.
It was almost surreal, sitting comfortable and warm in Hermione's hospitable home, staring wide-eyed down at the last thing he expected to find in the Dursley's dark, dusty attic. Yet, though it was obviously a Pensieve, it was different from the two he had seen in his last few years. It seemed to have lost all of its watery, translucent fluid, and instead, was bare and dry. Harry touched the bottom, and flinched, lest it was invisible, but nothing happened. He frowned, grabbed the paper it had been wrapped in, and looked under it; but there was absolutely no trace of the substance - or where it had gone.
His heart, which had been near to bursting with excitement, deflated. Question after question flashed across his mind. Whose was it? Why was it in the Dursley's attic? Did Aunt Petunia have contact with more wizards than Harry already suspected?
He grabbed the Pensieve with both hands, and at the same time, a searing pain shot across his scar. He gave an "ouch!" of surprise, immediately dropping the basin back onto the bed. Rubbing his forehead, he glanced at it warily.
There was nothing else to do. Harry cautiously picked it up and stuffed it back into his suitcase, settling back onto his bed with his hands clasped over his stomach. He'd have a look at it tomorrow… he was just too tired now…
Harry closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep, just as a woman's shriek erupted from downstairs.
* * *
"… An owl too! We've always trusted your judgment in the past… but this… this is…"
"I couldn't just send him home!" said an irritated voice. "It was raining!"
"Well, he could have had the courtesy to phone us first…" Another voice broke through the babble, calmer than the rest.
"His aunt and uncle hate him! He can't even use the telephone!"
"He's not the one with the red hair, is he?"
"No," said the angry voice. "He's Harry. Harry Potter. Remember?"
The calm voice said soothingly, "Dear, he's the famous one."
"I don't care who he is! He should have done something to tell you he was coming!"
"I should've called you and Mum last night!" the other retaliated angrily, "It's not his fault! He's usually very tactful!"
There was a pause.
Harry sat bolt upright in his bed, at the same moment an awful mewling sound reaching his ears. Crookshanks, flung to the floor by Harry's abrupt movements, hissed and scurried away into the next room. Harry watched him leave in sleepy bemusement, when all of his nagging thoughts rushed back to him. He had heard enough of the bickering to understand what it was about, for sure…
Feeling not only tired, but slightly ill, Harry tugged on some clothes, straightened his glasses, and walked toward the door. Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Granger would understand… maybe they would listen to Hermione…
He remembered last night and the Pensieve, but there was no time for that. He had to explain to Hermione's parents - there was a little jolt of nervousness at the thought - why he, a sixteen-year-old wizard, had sought refuge at their house at one o'clock in the morning.
Harry tried to flatten his hair, failed miserably, and opened the door ajar, just in time to see Hermione, slightly red-faced, jump back in surprise.
"Oh! Harry, you're awake!"
She smiled at him, saying quickly, "Come downstairs, we have so much to do today, and Mum just made breakfast - you know that's the most important meal of the day…"
Grabbing his shirtsleeve, she pulled him across the landing and down the stairs. "Mum and Dad can't wait to meet you Harry, they know all about you from me, of course, but you knew that already -," She noticed his hesitation. "Don't worry, they'll love you!"
She stopped right before the entrance to the kitchen and impulsively tried to smooth down his hair.
"Hermione," Harry said, ducking away, "I heard you fighting -,"
Ignoring him, she walked into the kitchen, Harry following close behind.
At once, Harry was led to believe that Hermione had not been arguing with her parents all along, and he had been still dreaming when he heard the noises from downstairs - for Mr. and Mrs. Granger were perhaps the most cheerful-looking couple he had ever seen. He had seen them briefly before of course, but now, standing in their kitchen, it was like taking a whole new perspective. Mrs. Granger smiled at him as Hermione pushed him into a chair at the table.
Mrs. Granger dumped an omelet onto Harry's plate and beamed when he thanked her. She gave her husband a quick annoyed look when he buried his face in the paper (which Harry recognized as the Daily Prophet), and forked his sausage almost savagely. Hermione smiled warmly at Harry from across the table.
"There we go!" Mrs. Granger announced cheerfully, tucking in her apron as she sat down. "Now, Harry…" She looked at Hermione quickly as if to confirm her thought, "Tell us. What brought you by our house so late last night?"
There was something about the way she said it that made him uncomfortable. "Well, er…" Harry started hesitantly. Three pairs of eyes peered at him. He cleared his throat. "Er -,"
"Mum, please…" Hermione hissed angrily, under her breath.
The muscles in Mrs. Granger's face relaxed a bit. "Yes, yes… Never you mind, Harry. You're welcome at our house at any time. We were just a bit … startled, that's all."
Mr. Granger's eyes were still glued to the newspaper. Hermione looked anxiously between her two parents, biting her bottom lip.
"Go on, young man, have a bit of that egg," Mrs. Granger prompted, smiling.
Harry sure didn't feel like eating anything at the moment, but he grabbed his fork and ate away at it anyway. The longer the subdued silence lasted, the more Harry felt sure he was supposed to say something, anything…
After a long bout of silence, Hermione said, "Well, Harry, you look about done!" She pushed in her own chair, and smiled pointedly at him. "I was going to show you my room, remember?"
Harry too pushed in his chair, standing up. He made a move to gather up his plate and utensils, but they were already being whisked away by Mrs. Granger, amid a hearty smile. "Go on, dear, enjoy your stay with Hermione…"
Mr. Granger nodded at him, and Hermione quickly ushered Harry up the stairs.
* * *
"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized, leading Harry into her bedroom moments later, "Mum and Dad… they're very protective of me… They both like you already, from my letters and such, but they show emotions in different ways. Mum is very outgoing… Dad is very introverted." She sighed. "I guess it went as well as it could have, considering the circumstances…"
She turned to him suddenly, eyes bright and shining. "Oh, Harry, it's so good to see you. We haven't properly met again, have we? I was just so surprised last night, I didn't expect anyone, you know, it was very startling…"
She flung herself against him suddenly in a tight embrace, catching him by surprise.
"You don't know how much we were worried about you, Harry. After… what happened." She released him, trailing off uncertainly. Silence enveloped them both, and Harry once again had the impression he was supposed to say some sort of powerful speech.
"We got our O.W.L. scores this morning," said Hermione swiftly, sounding slightly breathless, "I haven't opened the letters yet … I thought that we might … well, open them together…"
Harry looked into her face, fully aware that this must have cost her much anxiety, and nodded. She beamed, spun around, and began fishing in one of her dresser drawers, muttering to herself.
Briefly, Harry wondered what he would possibly do if he did horribly on his exams, and began to fret himself, imagining the dismayed look on Hermione's face.
He only shook himself out of his reverie when Hermione shoved a fairly thick envelope into his hands, and turned to her own letter, nearly hyperventilating. With a free hand, she wiped a layer of sweat from her forehead, and carefully, trembling slightly, slit open the top and reached shakily inside. Hermione held the letter to her chest and peered at Harry expectantly.
Due to the fact that Hermione was watching him with an unusually shrewd expression, Harry was shaking a bit himself. He tore open his envelope and pulled out a letter, emblazoned richly with the Hogwarts crest.
Dear Mr. Potter,
Enclosed are your theoretical and practical Ordinary Wizarding Levels for the selected classes: Astronomy, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, Defense Against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Herbology, Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration.
Wishing you best,
Griselda Marchbanks
Harry fished another letter from the envelope and started reading:
Harry J. Potter
Ordinary Wizarding Levels
Astronomy
Theory: Exceeds Expectations
Practical: Poor
Overall achievement: PASS
O.W.L. score: 1
Care of Magical Creatures
Theory: Outstanding
Practical: Exceeds Expectations
Overall achievement: PASS
O.W.L. score: 1
Charms
Theory: Exceeds Expectations
Practical: Outstanding
Overall achievement: PASS
O.W.L. score: 1
Defense Against the Dark Arts
Theory: Outstanding
Practical: Outstanding
Overall achievement: PASS
O.W.L. score: 1
Divination
Theory: Poor
Practical: Dreadful
Overall achievement: FAIL
O.W.L. score: 0
Herbology:
Theory: Exceeds Expectations
Practical: Exceeds Expectations
Overall achievement: PASS
O.W.L. score: 1
History of Magic
Theory: Poor
Practical: Poor
Overall achievement: FAIL
O.W.L. score: 0
Potions
Theory: Poor
Practical: Acceptable
Overall achievement: FAIL
O.W.L. score: 0
Transfiguration
Theory: Exceeds Expectations
Practical: Exceeds Expectations
Overall achievement: PASS
O.W.L. score: 1
Extra Curricular (Quidditch)
This extra curricular activity is accountable for one O.W.L.
Congratulations, Mr. Potter, for receiving 7 out of 12 O.W.L.s.
Most sincerely,
Griselda Marchbanks
Harry, who didn't even realize he was holding his breath, exhaled slowly.
"Oh my goodness," Hermione breathed.
She handed him her letter, and he skimmed it quickly. At the end, he was grinning broadly. "Yeah, it's real. Twelve O.W.L.s through and true."
"What did you get?" she asked, taking back her letter in mild disbelief. She peered at him in genuine interest, tucking her scores back into the envelope.
He tried to look offhand and handed her his own letter. "Seven."
Hermione beamed at him, sidetracked for a moment from her own success. "That's wonderful, Harry! I knew you could do it!"
"What about Ron?" asked Harry, raising an eyebrow.
Hermione dismissed this with a wave of her hand. "Oh, he'll manage." She peered at it again, her hand brushing a stray wisp of hair from her eyes. "But Harry … it says here that you failed potions."
"So?" asked Harry, bemused.
Hermione explained patiently, "You want to be an Auror. Auror's need N.E.W.T. level potions. Snape won't allow you back into his class without you getting at least an Outstanding grade."
Harry's stomach dropped. What was the point of getting eight O.W.L.s if he couldn't become an Auror? He scanned the letter again but it was still there - the salient "FAIL" stamped mercilessly onto parchment. How could he have failed? It was coming back to haunt him … he should've paid more attention in class … He groaned audibly and pressed his hands to his forehead.
"Well, it's not too bad," Hermione said with a pitying look. "Maybe you could talk to Professor Dumbledore - or Professor McGonagall. They'll convince Snape to let you back in…"
She said that so very forcefully and confidently that he almost believed her. But it was useless - Snape was too stubborn. He sighed miserably.
Hermione bit her lower lip. "Harry, I know you don't want to hear this, but … I think that you should make a compromise."
He glanced at her, knowing the answer. "Like what?"
"Occlumency," she stated, her head held high; though he could tell she was eyeing him rather apprehensively, "I know you don't want to, but … I think you'd better continue it. Just ask Dumbledore, Harry, please."
He thought about it for a moment. It was worth it, he knew that…
"Alright," he muttered, and Hermione said no more on the subject.
* * *
That day was one of the shortest Harry had ever experienced. After giving him a tour of her home (where she had explained nearly everything, down to the painting in the living room which had belonged to her step-aunt Clara), she had set about talking to him about his summer, conveniently avoiding conversation of Sirius, of which he was particularly grateful. Her questions were so straightforward and freely spoken, Harry had no doubt left in his mind why he had come to her to seek solace. Doubly, she for once had ceased mentioning either classes or curriculum ideas, and laughed and chatted with him about what she had been doing that summer and what she was planning to do. It appeared, after a short while, that she had been quite as lonely as he.
After Hermione had showed her parents her O.W.L. scores ("Oh, Hermione, darling! That's wonderful!"), she had led him out to her backyard, blushing rather red from her parents' loving praise, and there they had talked once again, accepting an afternoon tea and crumpet from Mrs. Granger, and merely catching up with one another.
They had been having such an amusing time that Harry completely forgot about the Pensieve lying covertly at the bottom of his suitcase, and when, many hours later, he remembered, his whole life seemed to hurl itself back into his consciousness.
He kept the Pensieve hidden, the whole while knowing it was just one more thing, one more thought to weigh heavily on his mind. It was as simple as he was not ready, not subjectively willing to share either this newfound mystery or the Prophecy's haunting words, and he told himself that he would tell Hermione and Ron when it did not feel so utterly overwhelming. Not now … he always muttered, later.
And it was after the initial shock of staying at Hermione's home did he realize what kind of situation he was in. At every spare moment he looked up, expecting Ministry personnel to swoop down upon him and take him right to Dumbledore. It was incredibly unnerving. Never coming, however, Harry fretted less and less, until he hardly thought of them at all, and spent all of his afternoons with Hermione worry-free.
He spent a week in this fashion, coming out from the spare bedroom every morning and tucking in every night. Hermione's parents soon succumbed to their daughter's own admiration of Harry, their stony behavior dropping immediately, and they became very friendly and amiable. The only break in this manner was their nightly whispered arguments with Hermione, which Harry had begun to ignore after Hermione's assurance it was not in the slightest about his arrival. He found it no worse than Dudley's thundering snores, and was able to sleep without difficulty - and, he was even getting used to Crookshanks's (so called by Hermione) loving snuggles.
Yet still, Harry was no closer to solving the Pensieve mystery than he was about to deem Malfoy his brother. But amid his and Hermione's daily walks and conversations, and amid the hustle and bustle of the Granger's busy lifestyle, Harry had no desire to work on such a problem now anyways.
* * *
"I was just thinking, Harry," said Hermione one particularly rosy summer day, peering at him from over her slightly burnt toast, "Maybe we should go and get our supplies today."
Harry nodded, but he was reluctant. The time at Hermione's house had been so very peaceful; he was amazed to find school was about to start up again. The thought brought back unpleasant memories.
Just then, Mrs. Granger came out onto the back porch where they were sitting, a confused, rather plastered smile on her face; she was carrying an oddly shaped figure that looked strangely like a breathing feather duster.
"Errol!" cried Hermione instantly, jumping up from her seat and hurrying towards her mother. "But why -?"
Harry knew from the expression on her face that she was thinking exactly what he was thinking. Why would Ron use Errol when he had Pig to deliver letters? Utterly baffled, Harry moved the plates and saucers to one side, and Hermione took Errol into her arms and laid him gently on the table. They leaned forward together, and Hermione retracted the letter from his grasp.
Hermione -
How are you? Sorry I haven't written. Mum has been busy yelling herself hoarse over Fred and George's famous departure last term, and even though it's been a few months, she still can't seem to get over it. You should hear her. She sounds like a banshee. I feel sorry for whoever has to hear those Howlers she's been sending over to Fred and George's lot in Diagon Alley. I think she enjoys it though, even with the fuss she's been making. They're making loads of money.
On a happier note, Dad says the Death Eaters are being pretty quiet. There's no fresh news, which I guess I'll interpret to be good news.
Ginny and I haven't gotten our Hogwarts stuff yet - do you want to meet up with us at Diagon Alley today? You can owl Harry, too, if he can get the Muggles to toss him out.
Hope to see you later!
-Ron
P.s. - Pig had a heart attack. It's about time. But don't worry, Hermione, he's all right. I hope Errol doesn't die on the way to your place … Mum would be frantic.
Harry couldn't help but laugh. Hermione folded the letter back up neatly, giving him a half-exasperated look, but ended up laughing as well.
* * *
Without much persuasion, Mrs. Granger agreed to take Harry and Hermione to get their school supplies. She drove into an empty lot, parked, and Harry and Hermione led the way into Diagon Alley without further ado, scanning the streets for any sight of their redheaded friend.
They found him, as they expected, plastered to the shop window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Ginny, who looked interested, but rather annoyed at her brother's behavior, waved a hello to Harry and Hermione, and called cheerily, "Over here!"
Harry and Hermione maneuvered through the crowd and were immediately engulfed by Mrs. Weasley, who embraced them so tightly their heads knocked together.
Ron looked up from his reverie and grinned. "Harry! Hermione! You made it! Did Hermione owl you?" he asked Harry curiously.
Hermione said swiftly, "Ron, he was at my place."
"Oh," said Ron, looking taken aback. "Oh, well, right." He regained his composure and gestured to the window, which by now had very noticeable handprints, and exclaimed excitedly, "They have a new broomstick handle - supposedly it reads your mind and knows which way to turn and stuff … I told Mum that I had to get a compass for my broomstick, and she almost believed me and gave me the money." He retreated from the window with a sighing, "Oh well."
Ginny joined them, grinning mischievously at Harry and Hermione. "He got caught, and Mum nearly sent him to live with Fred and George. But then she realized she was already mad at them. She lectured Ron for hours."
"Like Quidditch isn't more important than school, anyway!" Ron retorted, his ears going red. Harry laughed.
Hermione scowled at both of them, and Harry stopped immediately. He did not feel like being on the receiving end of Hermione anger, just after they had spent so much fun together.
"I suppose you were pleased with your O.W.L. results, then?" Hermione asked Ron coolly.
Harry, who could feel a row coming on, said quickly, "Hey Ron, can we see Fred and George's place?"
Ginny shrugged, and Ron, who was turning an interesting shade of pink, managed to say, "Sure. They're busy talking anyway. Don't want Mum bursting into tears again."
He gestured towards Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Granger, who were talking together at a distance.
"C'mon then," he said, and lead them forward.
Hermione had her arms crossed over her chest, and Harry nudged her gently, saying, "Lighten up, okay? It's no fun without you." He grinned. "Besides, we both know Ron is a git …"
This seemed to help a bit, because Hermione uncrossed her arms and was considerably friendlier, following Harry's lead through the crowded streets. Ginny tagged along behind Ron.
They stopped in front of a small, but vividly-colored building, with a flashing neon sign that read in looping cursive handwriting: Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes: Home of the Strange and Peculiar!
They pushed through the doors, and Harry was surprised to see the place booming, crowds of people throughout the store, looking at fake wands and sweets, or merely flipping through large, slightly overwhelming catalogs at the front.
But that was not the only surprise. In the middle of the room was a scarlet-plumbed parrot on a gilded stand, squawking things like, "Welcome to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes! Your place to shop!" or "Rain or shine, friend or foe - it doesn't matter!" From the ceiling hung small plates with a dozen or so sweets each, and everyone once in a while, a person would eat one, turning with a muffled cry into a bright yellow canary. Then the bystanders would be treated to a sight as the person molted back into their regular human body, gaped in amazement, then burst out laughing. Applause rang throughout the store, and Harry finally caught sight of Fred and George, who rushed forward, saying swiftly, "Canary Creams! Two galleons a dozen!" A weathered man dropped coins into Fred's outstretched hands and Fred handed him a silky beige bag, saying cheerfully, "Thank you, good sir!"
George suddenly spotted Ron, and he rushed forward, grasping his hand and wringing it tightly. "Ah, Ronald, our distinguished brother. Simply wonderful to see you, old chap."
Ron rolled his eyes and said loudly, "The fame is getting to their heads." Ginny giggled.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Ronald," said Fred, pocketing his money, "You wouldn't want Mummy sending you to live with us, now would you?"
George grinned. "We would have a splendid time, though, wouldn't we Fred?"
"Yes, quite."
Both brothers turned and saw Harry. "Harry!" exclaimed George brightly, "Our main man!"
They grinned at him. "We owe it all to you," said Fred, gesturing around him. "Everything here is from your winnings - plus, a little profit of our own." He jingled his pocket cheerily. He looked past Harry's shoulder, spotting Hermione. "Would do with a bit of our stuff now, eh Hermione?"
She looked rather flustered. "Well … I have to hand it to you, it's quite brilliant."
"That's it, Hermione!" said Fred grinningly, "Have a little fun. Go wild."
Hermione's lips twitched.
* * *
The rest of the afternoon was spent getting supplies, laughing, and joking with their friends. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had met up with a few fellow Gryffindors, who had greeted them jovially; and Harry had even run into a few of the D.A. members, who all asked him if he was continuing the meetings this year. Harry, who hadn't given this aspect of returning to Hogwarts much thought, was much heartened, and replied that most likely they would, if Dumbledore saw it fit.
When Harry and Hermione returned home to the Grangers' that night, Harry immediately went straight for bed, amid a whispered goodnight from Hermione, which he willfully returned, and without much prompting, plopped onto his bed.
However, falling asleep was the last thing from his mind, as he watched the silver moonlight flicker dreamily across the ceiling. The mysterious Pensieve was nagging at him, as was his guilt of keeping the Prophecy's words to himself. He would be returning to Hogwarts in a few days time, but before then, he felt like Hermione, at least should know. He could tell Ron later …
And it was with a heavy heart that Harry drifted into a restless sleep.
Hermione will know what to do … she always does …
Yes … he would tell her.
* * *
A/N: That is one of the longest chapters I've written in my life. *wipes forehead*
Hopefully you guys are patient. This story might take a while!
*looks at clock* Damn! Time to do homework!
Thanks for reading. ^_^
-Lauren
{ACK! Silly me! Thanks for the reviews guys, but PLEASE try to stay off of the O.W.L. scores - I edited my more obvious mistakes, but other than that … I'm really, really sorry that it's not perfect, but I'm not JK Rowling, you know. The O.W.L. scores have NOTHING to do with the plot other than the Occlumency training problem. I'm just trying to make it as genuine as possible, lol.}