A/N: LOL, thanks RickyElRey. I was being a little difficult with myself. It was just really frustrating, because I got up the morning after I posted, saw the obvious mistakes I made, saw the reviews that reminded me of what mistakes I made … I then attempted to fix those mistakes, but managed uploading the wrong chapter … and I had to delete the chapter again … Then, I couldn't get the chapter up fast enough, so people were asking me where the chapter was … I felt like screaming. But no worries, it was at 5:00 in the morning and I felt like screaming anyway. *smiles fixedly*
Wow, sorry for that ramble. I'm starting to rather enjoy this story, so I'll try to post more often (and if that means shorter chapter, so be it!) Thanks a lot for the reviews.
This is a more H/Hr-y chapter, for those certain impatient people … *cough cough* (me being one of them, of course. lol)
Oh! To those of you who like romantic comedies, watch "Say Anything". That is such a wonderful movie. I was thinking H/Hr the entire time. ^_^
Okey-dokie. One more thing. I know how much you guys adore long chapters, but I think I'm going to stick with medium-sized ones, so I get them up faster. I'm doing this for you guys, lol! Just … that way, you won't lose the flow of the story.
* * *
The next morning was bright and cheery, and the light shone through the daintily curtained window, striping patterns across the walls. Harry was lying awake in bed, arms crossed behind his head; his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and his black hair in untamed disarray. He had lain awake since early that morning, when the outside fog had crept stealthily over the windowpane and past the large oak tree in the backyard - and it had only been minutes before when the mist had finally given way to smiling sunlight.
Harry's mind was whirling so quickly he felt like he would soon scream just to release some energy. He realized then what it must be like to be Hermione, a genius in her own right, quivering with the right answer every minute of every hour; every hour of every day. He sighed, and reached out a hand to stroke Crookshanks, whom was curled into a ball at his side.
How people took their normal lives for granted he did not know. All he knew was that he'd give anything, everything, to be someone else for just a while.
Rolling onto his stomach, Harry reached inside his suitcase, retracted the rewrapped Pensieve, and peered at it for a moment, as if staring would do him any good. What he didn't know, he felt, could have filled its contents to the brim and overflowed into the room.
There was a knock on his door, and Harry said, "Come in," shoving the Pensieve under his quilt.
Hermione pushed through the door and made her way across the room.
"Hi," she said, still wearing obvious marks of tiredness. The bags under her eyes were more apparent than ever.
"Hi," he responded. He tried to hide his symptoms of insomnia, but Hermione looked right at him and said, "Have you slept at all?" He could've done and asked her the same.
With a purr, Crookshanks leapt off the bed and streaked to Hermione, weaving himself affectionately around her legs. She smiled weakly.
"Not really," Harry said truthfully.
Hermione's fingers undid a knot in Crookshanks's ginger fur. "If you have a lot on your mind, Harry, you can always talk to me."
He grinned reassuringly. "I know."
She smiled back faintly, unsure. Her eyes bore into his.
Harry felt as if the time was not at all right, but he succumbed to her piercing gaze and said slowly, "It's about something I found this summer … in my aunt and uncle's attic."
"What is it?" she asked curiously.
He reached under the covers, and pulled out the Pensieve, handing it carefully to her. "You know what it is, right?"
She looked awestruck. "Of course. It's a Pensieve, a thought-container, but …"
Harry looked at her, and she said softly, painstakingly, "Only witches or wizards with special honors are given Pensieves. They're not simply bought."
"Dumbledore has one," Harry said, lowering his voice also, though he was not sure why; "I saw into it in fourth year. And then last year, when Snape was teaching me Occlumency -,"
"Snape has one?" asked Hermione, frowning.
"No," said Harry, shaking his head, "He just was using it, because -,"
Harry stopped short. Hermione's eagerly awaiting expression vaporized.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing."
Hermione just watched him, and when he didn't say any more, dropped her gaze to the Pensieve in her hands. She wiped away some gathered dust. "It's old," she said distantly. She rolled it over and looked at the ancient runes carved onto its side.
Harry watched her closely. "It doesn't have any of that silvery stuff inside," he said flatly.
"Well, you wouldn't expect it to, would you?" said Hermione vaguely, as if that were the obvious thing, "It's been stored up in an attic for ages, by the looks of it …"
"We can get them back, right? The thoughts?" asked Harry hopefully.
Hermione touched the Pensieve carefully. "I've read about it somewhere - it's a simple incantation involving these -," She prodded the runes, "- and the name of the person whose thoughts the Pensieve contained."
"Oh," said Harry, feeling crestfallen. "See, that's the problem. I don't know who it belonged to - and I certainly don't know what those things say …"
Hermione huffed impatiently. "I did take a whole class on such signs, you know." Her eyes flashed, but Harry could see the amusement in them. "It says: intricacy is as such the mind sees it - yet the mind's eye is unclear without the intricacy of hindsight."
Harry felt confused. "What has that got to do with anything?"
"Listen to it, Harry," said Hermione tolerantly, "See? The complexity of something - its intricacy - is based on how each individual sees it. For instance, I could look at a puzzle and say that it's not hard, but someone else could say it is." Hermione was fingering her hair anxiously, which Harry found to be quite distracting… "But then, it says, how we see the intricacy of something could not come to pass without having experience, or hindsight. It's a paradox."
Harry's head was throbbing painfully. This made sense to her?
"The message is clear," Hermione said, heaving a rather drawn-out sigh, "We don't know how complex something is until we've already passed it by."
"Well, thoughts are complicated," Harry said in a desperate attempt to sound intelligent, "Maybe the Pensieve is talking about the thoughts that it holds."
"Or maybe," said Hermione vaguely, "Maybe … the Pensieve is trying to warn us of the consequences of messing around with other peoples' thoughts."
Harry and Hermione looked at each other.
"Well, that settles it," said Harry firmly, "Now I have to know."
* * *
The rest of the day was spent in absolute disorder. Amid Hermione's tediously fastidious packing for the new school term, and her parents' constant pleas of her to write them every day, Harry was quite overwhelmed. The only other place as chaotic (or even more so) was the Burrow - but Hermione's charming home was giving the Burrow a definite run for its money, and it was equally impressive, since it was only Hermione and her two parents creating havoc. Harry himself was not involved - he was quite content to stay out of the way, since no one was asking for help anyway.
At the end of this particularly grueling day, Harry and Hermione said their goodnights, and, with a quick smile passed, hurried off to their separate rooms.
Harry fell asleep with a clenching, excited feeling in his stomach. He had been thinking about the Pensieve all day, but for a few moments, he completely forgot of the morning's talk, and drifted into a slumber involving nothing but thoughts of a new year at Hogwarts.
* * *
"Harry! Harry!" He groaned, turning over onto his stomach and stuffing the pillow over his ears. "Harry!" There was a recognizable voice, sounding urgent this time. "Wake up!"
Harry flung himself awake suddenly, so rashly that he almost knocked poor Hermione clear off her feet. She sidestepped his flailing arm and said, "Harry, Mum and Dad have to take us to King's Cross in 45 minutes! I let you sleep in, but -,"
"I'm up, I'm up," Harry said quickly, when he saw Hermione make a move to shake his shoulders again, "Just let me breathe, will you?"
Hermione smiled sheepishly, but composed herself swiftly and said, business-like, "Breakfast is in the kitchen."
She walked out of the room, closing the door behind her; Harry dragged himself out of bed, undressing and pulling clean clothes back on. He ran his hand through his hair quickly, shrugging, and looked around for the Pensieve. Finding it safe in his suitcase, Harry was satisfied. He zipped up his belongings and trudged out of the room, still half-asleep.
He met up with Hermione and her smiling parents in the tidy kitchen. The smells that assaulted his senses made his stomach groan, and he sat down as quickly as humanly possible. Hermione sat down next to him in her chair, her lips curling into a slight, amused smile.
"Toast, Harry?" she asked, holding up a plate stacked high. He grinned and took it gladly.
After a half hour of eating, Harry was delightfully full and satisfied. He looked around the kitchen in blurry happiness, taking in his surroundings as if his life depended on his doing so. His eyes grazed over Mr. and Mrs. Granger, so glowing in their flourished pride; and over Hermione, who was chattering animatedly to her mother, her eyes shining and lips upturning. This, he realized, was a real family. He felt his heart tremble inside his chest. He was not dismayed, but the thought - the realization - that he missed this … it was too much. The silly idea that the Dursleys were family weighed spitefully on his mind. They were a travesty, at best, shoveling food into their son's mouth to keep him happy.
He found Hermione staring at him strangely, and he gave her a weak smile.
"Breakfast was great," he said to her, and her pursed lips transformed into an instant beaming smile. "I can tell you made it."
"Thanks," she said, blushing modestly. She was about to say something else, but her attention was drawn away as her mother pulled her into conversation once again.
Harry was surprised when it was time to leave for King's Cross. They pushed and shoved the trunks and suitcases into the back of the car, and all scrambled inside. Hedwig's cage was fit into one seat in the back, and Harry was forced against Hermione, whom had Crookshanks curled comfortably on her lap. Whenever the car bounced, Hedwig would screech and flap her wings hysterically, whilst Crookshanks turned his squashed, cunning face towards her, licking his lips. More often than not Harry found himself looking into the eerie yellow eyes of Crookshanks, pressed (not uncomfortably) against Hermione's side.
They reached King's Cross Station with no time to spare, and Hermione, with hurried grace, stood up on tiptoes to give both her mother and father a peck on the cheek. They waved her along, Harry thanking them over and over for their kindness. He fondly recalled hearing Hermione's mother call after him, "We've taken quite a liking to you, dear! Come visit us anytime!"
Hermione drew forth a bright smile moments later, saying in an almost teasing voice, "I told you they'd love you."
Harry grinned.
* * *
After such a pleasant morning, it was hard to be anything but giddily happy. Harry and Hermione met up with Ron at the entrance to Platform 9 ¾, who gave them an unreadable look before smiling rather forcefully. Together they walked casually through the barrier, but Ron's peculiar behavior was still evident. This did not go by Hermione unnoticed, and she looked Harry's way briefly before shrugging and pulling Crookshanks away from a terrified first year.
"Is Pig alright?" asked Harry in way of making conversation, watching absentmindedly the same first year cling to her mother.
Ron laughed loudly. Hermione frowned. "He's fine, but Mum has him at home to let him recuperate."
"Well, I do hope you've been giving him enough attention," Hermione said, "Heart attacks are very serious …"
"He's fine, Hermy," said Ron, rolling his eyes.
"Don't call me that!"
Ron ignored her, turning to Harry. "So what did you get on your O.W.L. scores?"
Hermione spoke for him, saying proudly, "Seven. Didn't you, Harry? And after all that trouble, too."
Ron's expression was of mixed incredulity and envy. "Oh, wow, mate. I only got five."
"Hermione got twelve," said Harry quickly.
Ron mumbled to himself, disgruntled. Hermione looked triumphant, but Harry saw a faint trace of red on her cheeks.
A shrill whistle sounded, and they boarded the Hogwarts Express, amid the hustle and bustle of fellow students. Thankfully, they found a compartment to themselves at the back of the train, and were soon joined by Neville, Ginny, and, to Ron's dismay, Luna Lovegood, who was clutching the latest edition of The Quibbler.
"Are you well, Ronald?" Luna said in a misty voice, brushing past him to go to her seat. She smiled at Harry, and even nodded amiably at Hermione. Ron looked at Harry and Hermione for help, but when they did nothing but shrug, he nodded.
"Yeah. I'm fine."
She beamed. "Splendid. Are we continuing with the D.A.?"
Harry shrugged instinctively, but realized that she wasn't talking to him. Ron turned red, painfully aware of being spotlighted, and said, "Harry doesn't know yet."
Luna merely smiled and returned her attention to The Quibbler.
"Who do you think is the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" asked Ginny, leaning forward to talk, "I've heard rumors, but I don't think they're true. Loads of people are saying that Lupin's back, but I doubt it."
Hermione pondered this. "It's a pity. He was a great teacher."
"Well, you know," said Ginny, lowering her voice, "He is a member of the You-Know-What."
Harry knew the "You-Know-What" to be the Order of the Phoenix; and judging by Hermione and Ron's expressions, so did they. They all shrugged.
"Maybe," said Hermione indifferently, "but I don't think we should over-analyze this quite yet. Dumbledore has his reasons, whoever it is."
Harry grinned to himself, thinking the last thing that Hermione should be doing do would be to tell someone not to over-analyze.
The witch with the food cart came, and Harry, feeling still pleasantly satisfied from Hermione's breakfast, bought only a few Chocolate Frogs and Pumpkin Pasties, leaning back in seat for the rest of the ride to Hogwarts.
* * *
They arrived in front of the magnificent castle a couple of hours later. Harry, Hermione, and Ron got off quickly (especially Ron in his case - Luna was staring at him for half the ride over), strolling across the station to the carriages with many waves and hellos to various people. Harry felt immensely glad to see the large form of Hagrid wave happily at him from over the river of nervous-looking first years.
Selecting a carriage drawn by threstrals - ghostly horse-creatures with a sweet tooth for blood - Harry, Ron, and Hermione clambered inside. The carriage started up minutes later, with a violent jerk, which caused Hermione to tumble forward onto Harry who was sitting across from her. Flushed from embarrassment, Hermione was helped up by Harry, amid Ron's raucous laughter. Harry watched her as she brushed herself off and sent Ron a glare that would turn any man's blood to ice. Ron stopped laughing at once and looked innocently out of the window at the castle, humming distractedly to himself.
They were then led past the giant doors of the castle and into the front hallway. But before Harry, Hermione, and Ron could make their way to their appropriate tables in the Great Hall, McGonagall walked up to them.
"Mr. Potter," she said briskly, "Professor Dumbledore would like to talk with you."
Harry's heart stopped right then and there.
He was going to be expelled. Dumbledore was going to chuck him out. He was never going to trust him again. But of course, why not? Harry had deliberately gone against Dumbledore's emphasis to stay at the Dursley's house - of course he would be angry. Disappointed. Hurt. Harry knew that.
But nothing happened, Harry reasoned with himself. Nothing happened.
Hermione sent him a questioning look; Ron was looking thoroughly baffled. McGonagall tapped her foot impatiently, turned around, and started walking.
"Hurry along, Potter!" she called, "The headmaster can't wait forever!"
"Right," said Harry, his throat dry. "Er … I'll see you two later." He nodded his head to Hermione and Ron.
He would come back, surely … but then they would want to know, wouldn't they? Why did Dumbledore want to talk to you, Harry? he knew they would ask. What would he tell them? He wasn't ready to tell Ron and Hermione the Prophecy, not yet … He couldn't even talk about his parents in front of them …
Feeling doom befall him, Harry turned on his heel and walked after Professor McGonagall.
* * *
A/N: Not really a BIG cliffie, I know. I'm sorry. I think you guys will like next chapter - the Pensieve will no longer be a mystery, more H/Hr moments (*squee!*), and … stuff. Yay! I just have to get past the "introductory". The next chapter will be the beginning of the "real story".
Thanks for reading!
-Lauren