A/N: Thanks for sticking with me, everyone. It really means a lot to me, honestly. Thank you.
Enjoy! I'm not sure how long this story will last, but as long as I have ideas, it'll keep coming. *laughs* For you, fledge, for you. :P
* * *
With Madam Pomfrey scuttling around, concocting healing potions and making Malfoy comfortable on one of the white, lumpy beds, Harry couldn't possibly get a word in edgewise. After the first five minutes of getting nothing but distantly clipped remarks, Harry gave up his fruitless attempt and sat cross-armed on the opposite side of the room, silently seething. It was terrible enough that he had to suffer through mindless torment in the corridor, but to watch Malfoy being treated to what Harry had caused was enough to pull nearly all the satisfaction from it. The only mollification Harry received was when Madam Pomfrey had to straighten Malfoy's slightly crooked jaw, and the thought still brought a grim smile to his face.
Still, his head was throbbing and so was his bruised fist, and his sensitive temper was quickly beginning to rise. The last thing that Harry wanted to do was start a row with Madam Pomfrey, or even Malfoy, in the heart of the hospital wing.
But just as his anger began to reach its breaking point, his common sense began to take over, accompanied, as always, by Hermione's voice. Shrilly, it told him how much trouble he was bound to be in, and chastised him for fighting. Harry knew he was in a right state of desperation when he tried to defend his actions by telling Hermione's voice that he did it because Malfoy was insulting her too; of course, the voice just ignored him and continued to rag on his misbehavior. Harry had just enough time to appreciate the real Hermione's sympathy before the door to the hospital wing was pushed open and Professor McGonagall came through. She spared one look at Harry, looking stony, then turned to Madam Pomfrey.
"What happened here, Poppy?"
Madam Pomfrey answered heatedly, flourishing her hands about her head. "Fighting in the corridors, Minerva!"
"I see." Professor McGonagall's piercing gaze fell on Harry. "Mr. Potter seems unhurt …"
Madam Pomfrey nodded, still looking rather hysterical. "I came just as they started, I think. Mr. Potter attacked Mr. Malfoy -"
From the bed, Malfoy made quite a show of holding his jaw and moaning in agony.
Harry stood up straight, glaring at Malfoy's now lifeless form. "I didn't -"
"Mr. Potter, we aren't asking your opinion," snapped McGonagall. "Pray continue, Poppy."
Harry could do nothing but glare at her.
"Well," said Madam Pomfrey, looking from Harry to McGonagall, "that's about it. I've been giving Mr. Malfoy some herbs to help soothe the pain, but I thought it would be best for you to talk to Mr. Potter."
McGonagall nodded tersely and motioned to Harry. "Of course. Come on then."
And without a word, she walked to Malfoy's bedside table, picked up Colin's camera, and said, "You won't be needing this anymore, Mr. Malfoy." She tucked it inside her robes; Malfoy looked positively fuming, and hissed something under his breath. Harry, however, was baffled. Was there something he had missed?
As soon as Harry and Professor McGonagall left the confines of the hospital wing, she rounded on him. "Mr. Potter, what were you doing?"
Harry ground his teeth together, feeling irate about the whole mess. Though, he knew, neither heaven nor hell would stop him from doing it again if the need presented itself. This in mind, Harry felt considerably more confident.
"Listen, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall curtly, "We've been seeing entirely too much of each other over the past few days. If you can't keep your temper under control …" She trailed off menacingly, as if to draw out the pain of this statement. "Do you understand me?"
"Yes."
"I expect no more of this behavior." McGonagall watched him shrewdly. "I expect you to report to my office at eight thirty tonight for your detention. No excuses."
Harry found this so unfair that he was actually shaking with rage. He sputtered wordlessly.
McGonagall peered at him over her spectacles, and her features softened. "After what stress you're going through, I don't blame you in the least. Just … be careful." She nodded her head, sighing. "Don't forget - eight thirty sharp."
She was about to walk away when she paused, smiled mysteriously, and turned around.
"Oh, and Mr. Potter - next time, try to hit him harder."
* * *
"You attacked Malfoy?" said Ron, flabbergasted.
They were at lunch, and Harry had told Ron all about his exploit to the hospital wing, conveniently leaving out all of his thoughts and anger on Hermione's behalf. Ron was now staring at Harry with a mixture of admiration and incredulity, a piece of unidentified food dangling from his mouth. From across the table, Harry saw Parvati and Lavender eyeing him with disgust.
"I mean," he started, still in awe, "I heard that Malfoy was in the hospital wing, but everyone keeps saying that he fell off that moving staircase on the fourth floor …"
He speared a lone piece of asparagus. "What did he say?"
Harry looked down at his own food. He seemed to have a hard time eating lately. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" repeated Ron with a skeptical laugh. "If I could pound Malfoy for saying nothing, I'd do it every time he showed his greasy face! He must have said something, mate."
"Listen, Ron," said Harry after a moments pause, feeling thoroughly exasperated, "I really don't want to talk about it."
"Oh." He looked disappointed, but he didn't push the matter. "Okay."
Harry threw aside his napkin. "I'm going to find Hermione."
He stood up, looked at Ron's eager face, and pushed his plate of food towards him. "Have it. I can't eat."
"Thanks!" said Ron enthusiastically. "Listen, mate, when you have this whole fairy thing figured out …"
Harry looked sideways at his friend. "I'll tell you."
"Good," said Ron, grinning. "Then everything will be back to normal!"
"Yeah," Harry repeated, his mouth feeling unnaturally dry, "normal."
He stared at Ron's grinning face for a second longer, then turned away.
* * *
Finding Hermione was easier said than done. The most obvious place, of course, was the library, but Harry had scoured it from corner to corner without a sign of her. Even Colin Creevey, who had been researching fungal remedies for the past quarter of an hour, said he had not seen Hermione since the day before. This was not for lack of enthusiasm, for as Harry soon realized, he had gotten his camera back. Brandishing it in front of Harry, Colin's spirits were only dampened by the small fact that all of his film was missing. McGonagall, Harry suspected, had probably taken the film Malfoy had used and disposed of it.
Leaving the library with a heavy heart, Harry realized that by the rate of failure he was going, he was likely to not only miss the rest of Herbology, but History of Magic as well, which he had with Hermione. It was stupid, really, he knew, because Hermione never skived off classes, even if they were completely pointless; but there was something nagging him. He didn't want to see her in class, taking notes off Professor Binns's tragically boring lectures. He wanted to see her - alone, without Ron - and he wanted to comfort her as best her could. Maybe, if he was lucky, understand why she looked so terrified when she ran out on him …
It hit him then, like a ton of bricks across the face. She knew. Why else would she be so cautious and nervous around him every day? She had figured it out, maybe even before he had …
She was probably hiding somewhere, mortified and disgusted, crying her eyes out over the fact that Harry could no longer be in the same room with her without wanting to meet her eyes …
Harry put his face in his hands. Had he been so obvious?
Malfoy's smirk. He knew.
Did they all know? Did Ron know?
No, Harry convinced himself savagely. If he knew, why would he be acting so normal? Besides, he's more occupied with Luna, anyway …
Besides, he reminded himself with a sliver of annoyance, it's all because of the potion. Malfoy knows, doesn't he? He told Ron … Harry frowned, thinking. But how did Malfoy find out?
Harry crossed his arms and began to head in the way of the Gryffindor common room, confused and downhearted, when a group of girls headed his way, giggling frantically. They shot him a significant look and murmured amongst themselves. One of them said slowly and very clearly, "Oh, it's awful, she's gone and locked herself in Moaning Myrtle's loo again …"
Harry was going to pass them, ignoring their antics as always, but something clicked in his brain. He swept around to say something, anything, but the girls were already gone.
* * *
Harry wasn't quite sure how he got to Myrtle's toilet so quickly - all he knew that when he got there, he was panting and breathless. Ignoring the "out-of-order" sign as always he reached for the doorknob and turned it. To his dismay and frustration, it was locked shut.
He raised his fists and knocked sharply. "Hermione!" he called, "I know you're in there!"
Pressing his ear against the door, he pulled out his wand. He knocked again, but there was no answer. He kicked at the ground savagely. He had been stupid to think she would talk to him …
"Oh, it's you!"
A girl's bespectacled face had appeared suddenly quite next to his own, through the solid wood door, and Harry staggered backwards in alarm, stifling a yell. He blinked, breathing heavily, and said quickly, "Hi Myrtle."
She beamed, her cheeks blushing silver.
"Er …" said Harry nervously under her scrutinizing stare, "Have you seen my friend come in here?"
It was a simple question, but Myrtle suddenly seemed very foreboding. "Yes, I believe so," she said shortly.
"Is she still in there?" Harry asked.
Myrtle's eyes were slowly filling with tears.
Desperate, Harry explained, "I need to talk to her."
"Oh, that's fine!" Myrtle cried, bursting into noisy tears. "Talk to her, see if I care! It's not like Myrtle's been lonely, stuck in her own toilet without company -" She broke off and let out an anguished sob, her transparent glasses slipping down her freckled nose.
"Er," said Harry, scratching the back of his head. Myrtle was now retreating back into the door, weeping openly. Before she left, she cried in a truly suffering voice, "She's not here, if you really want to know! Said she was going to Professor Dumbledore …"
If Harry had been meant to understand something, it was sure lost on him. Still ultimately bemused, he called after her, "Er, thanks!"
There was a sniffle from inside, a sound of shuffling paper, and Harry quickly strode away.
* * *
By the time Harry reached Dumbledore's office, guarded securely by the gruff gargoyles, he was sweating and out of breath, having ran what seemed to be the entire length of the castle. As he caught his breath, hands on knees, he briefly thought of Moaning Myrtle, confined in her forlorn toilet, and for some reason, this seemed important to him … he did not know why, though …
And what was Hermione doing in there, anyway? Harry glared, baffled, at a piece of wall, his heart slowly decreasing its rapid pace. Was it just coincidence that these uneasy feelings arose, or did Myrtle have something to do Malfoy and his assumedly rotten scheme? Malfoy had said something about profit, but what kind of profit? And what did he want with Ginny?
Harry took off his glasses for a moment and rubbed his sore eyes.
"Are you going through, or what?"
Harry looked up. The gargoyles were glaring at him fuzzily, their gazes stony.
"Oh … yeah …"
He made a move to go through, when he collided with something solid. He put his glasses back on quickly, and found himself face-to-face with Hermione. Her face was a strange mixture between white and scarlet.
There was a scoffing sort of noise from the gargoyles, and they pushed Hermione out of the archway, who promptly tripped forward onto Harry. Instinctively, he grabbed her arms, and the gargoyles moved together to block the entrance once again.
"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry!" said Hermione, avoiding his eyes and gathering herself together. She knelt down, grabbed a small book, and stuffed it into her robes. Harry released her quickly, but not without remorse.
"Don't worry about it," said Harry quickly. He looked from Hermione's face to the smirking gargoyles. "Hermione, are you all right?"
She trembled slightly and coughed. "Yes, yes, of course I'm fine. Just fine. I was just -" (she cleared her throat) " - talking to Professor Dumbledore."
Harry said quietly, "We're missing History of Magic."
"Are we?" she said, sounding exasperated and confused.
"Well, it's fine, I should think," he reassured her. "Nothing in that class's worth anything anyway …"
Hermione was so deep in thought that it seemed that even she agreed wholeheartedly with him. With a little nod of her head, she said tiredly, "I'm glad, honestly I am. If I hear one more giggle …"
Harry suddenly caught sight of a pasty-white envelope, and he bent down to pick it up. He showed it to Hermione, cringing in disgust as it dripped droplets of water. "What's this?" he asked curiously.
She snatched it out of his hands, seeming not the bit surprised at its being wet, and said snappishly, "Schoolwork."
Harry looked disbelievingly at the side of her face. "What did you talk to Dumbledore about?"
Hermione, for what felt like the first time in ages, met his eyes. He felt a chill pass through his body. Her eyes were dull and bloodshot. She looked stricken, her face ashen and bloodless.
"Hermione -" he started.
"He told me," she said. "Harry, the fairies … they're fulfilling a prophecy …" Her voice began to fade. "The one that smashed in the Department of Mysteries, about you."
Her brown eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. "Why didn't you tell me, Harry?"
A spasm of guilt rippled through him, but he found he could not speak. "I -"
Hermione flung herself against Harry, and buried her head on his shoulder. "I could have helped," she said angrily, "I've been selfish, worrying about my own problems …" Her nails were biting into his forearm, but he couldn't have cared less. "I thought it was just some sick joke … but it's real, Harry, it's real … Professor Dumbledore told me …"
She stopped, and she closed and opened her eyes.
"I figured it out. It's a rare kind of potion." Though her cheeks were pale, her chin was raised bravely. "It's almost like Veritaserum in the way that latent emotions are revealed … only Moerae fairies have this potion-making talent, and they use it sparingly, only when the need is desperate …" Hermione looked at him unwaveringly, her eyes beseeching. "Harry … to work, one or more of the persons involved … they have to … have romantic feelings for the other …"
Hermione opened her eyes to meet Harry's. He realized how closely they had moved together. Whether by instinct or not, they were suddenly mere inches apart, so close they could feel their body heat intermingling.
"I tried to ignore it, I really did …" she said. "But … oh, Harry, I think … I think I'm in love with you …"
* * *
Do you hate me or do you hate me?
Sorry to do this to ya'll, but I felt like you've been waiting long enough. Next chapter more good stuff, I'm sure. ^_^
Thanks for reading!
-Lauren