Care of Magical Creatures

Disclaimer: Trust me guys, I don't own anything.

Okay, well, first off, I'd like to thank everyone who is reading this (that means you clicked on my story! Yay!). Thanks a bunch!

Yes… Now, to everyone who has been reading Downtrodden, I'm SO sorry I haven't updated for a month. I've been working on the chapter, I swear. It's just that trying to fit schoolwork, a social life, and writing into such a tight schedule is really hard, especially since I take so long with all of my work, trying to edit all of the rough areas… This is sort of like my [very] belated New Years present to everyone, okay? Do with it what you wish… (eh, scary thought)

Last, but not least, I dedicate this little ficlet to my bestest friend Jen, because it was she who gave me inspiration for this story - unknowingly, of course. ^.^

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It was actually a beautiful day for their Care of Magical Creatures lesson that afternoon. The sun was shining, the breeze was warm and comforting, and the clear cerulean sky was completely cloud-free. Only the Forbidden Forest looked threatening, sitting darkly against the blue backdrop, and that, in itself, wasn't much of a difference.

Harry, who forever remained faithful to Hagrid, glared darkly at Hermione whenever she glanced wistfully back at the castle; or at Ron, who was continually scratching his head in a nervous sort of way, not entirely meeting Harry's eye.

Yet even Harry couldn't overlook the fact that Hagrid himself had dubbed the day's lesson “very interesting”, and everyone within earshot of the declaration knew how “interesting” it would be. Claws and poisonous fangs were petty playthings compared to what a seventh of the school population was bound to face, and Hermione had already pointed out that since they were Hagrid's first class, they were initially targeted as guinea pigs - test subjects for whatever lesson Hagrid had in store - and would, theoretically, prove if everyone else was to live or die. Harry thought this a bit harsh of her, but Ron had taken it quite seriously, and had even gone so far as to ask older Gryffindors what Hagrid might show them.

Unfortunately, no one knew.

They reached Hagrid's hut a few minutes before the lesson began, but no one was there yet, save Hagrid, who was busying himself with something that looked like a large basin. When they got closer, he turned, and, waving merrily, strode towards them, looking breathless. Fang bounded after him, his tail wagging happily.

“Excited fer the lesson?” he asked, patting the dog's head affectionately. “Yer all in fer a treat.”

Ron's face looked a tinge green, but Hagrid didn't seem to notice.

Hermione was eyeing the basin warily. Harry noticed that it was broken into two giant slabs, and Hagrid had apparently been trying to glue them back together; the edges were coated in what looked remarkably like…

“Urgh…” Ron sputtered in recognition, “Are those troll boogers?”

Was the lesson about trolls? thought Harry desperately, racking his brain. Who would want to learn about trolls?

To his relief, Hagrid laughed. “Nah, it's glue. Special order from Hogsmeade to repair Fang's food dish here.” He gestured towards the basin. “I could've had one o' the teachers repair it with magic, o' course, but since he is my responsibility…” Fang licked his hand. Hermione shot Harry a horrified look.

“Er… Hagrid? What exactly ruined Fang's dish?”

Hagrid turned to Hermione, rubbing his hands together. “I didn' really see… but, er… ah… well, don' worry. They jus' don' like Fang, that's all…” he muttered something. “Well, no wonder.” He gave the boarhound a reproving look. “Sniffin' where yeh don' belong… They won' hurt nothin' livin', o' course,” he added. Harry didn't need him to explain what exactly they were; somehow the lesson had become even more foreboding.

“That's just dandy,” said Ron sarcastically, “I'm sure our lesson will be perfectly accident-free!”

Hagrid ignored him.

Harry felt unpleasantly apprehensive as the rest of the class walked toward them, each wearing an expression of badly disguised terror. The Slytherins looked hopeful, however - Harry knew it would just give them a good laugh if his fellow Gryffindors were mauled during a Care of Magical Creatures class. Draco Malfoy was smirking, and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, were chuckling stupidly, pointing towards a group of terrified-looking Gryffindors.

“Everyone here?” Hagrid called, looking over the crowd, “Okay, righ'. Follow me!”

He turned and started walking towards the Forbidden Forest. Harry heard a few people whimper in protest, but they followed reluctantly. Hermione clung to Harry's arm so tightly that her nails dug into his skin. She whispered frantically, “Harry, we'll be killed! The centaurs…” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron turn from green to white. He hadn't been there when Harry and Hermione had led Umbridge away into the Forest last year, but Harry had told him all about it later. “What are we going to do? We can't go in there!”

But Hagrid didn't go into the Forbidden Forest. The class walked around its boundaries after Hagrid, some glancing into its depths with horrified moans. Harry had never been this way, but it seemed that they were still on Hogwarts grounds, because Hagrid kept calling out, “C'mon! Still got a ways to go now!” Though by now, even the bravest of people were beginning to feel slightly concerned. Hermione kept glancing up at Harry as if she expected him to turn Hagrid around himself. When he ignored her, she crossed her arms in frustration.

Finally, the class took a sharp left towards the Forest, and instead of going into the Forest like Harry anticipated, Hagrid led them into a clearing, where two halves of the Forest stood threateningly on either side of them. At the far end of the clearing was the dark, mossy opening of a cavern.

Hagrid stopped and looked around. “I have a treat fer everyone today,” he said loudly, so everyone could hear, “Special request o' Professor Dumbledore's.”

Malfoy didn't bother raising his hand. “I never knew dying was a treat, Professor,” he said in mock surprise. Harry and Ron glared at him.

“Oh, yeh won' die, Malfoy,” Hagrid said cheerfully, “But they certainly won' help yeh.” He turned back to the rest of the class; Malfoy looked livid.

“Now, what we'll be learnin' about today can' be caught, so we'll have to observe in pairs - don' wanna scare `em off.” He sounded near to bursting with excitement. “I've never seen one before, so it'll be a learnin' experience fer me too…”

Ron hissed to Harry and Hermione, “he can't be serious.”

Hermione shushed him.

“… Okay, guess I'd better tell yeh what we'll be learnin' about…” He paused dramatically. “Fairies!”

“Fairies?” Malfoy repeated scathingly, “Fairies?!”

“Yeah, Malfoy, fairies. Bloody interestin' ones too.” Hagrid looked around. “Anyone know anythin' `bout Moerae fairies?”

To everyone's surprise, Hermione looked puzzled. Harry and Ron glanced at each other, both wearing identical expressions of amazement.

However, Hagrid looked thrilled at everyone's lack of knowledge. “Moerae fairies are very rare, see? They live in deep, dark caves… like to keep themselves to themselves, mostly… Won' hurt anyone, o' course - they love livin' things. A long time ago people used to come to `em fer help, yeh know… brought gifts an' such… Moerae fairies are well known for determinin' the fate of children, an' have also bin known to help out people in tough situations…” He smiled dreamily. “Brilliant little creatures…

“So, we'll pair up - girls with girls, boys with boys…” He grinned. “… Don' want them messin' with anyone… there yeh go now…”

Soon, after a lot of violent pushing and shoving, the pairing was done. Only Hermione was alone, standing in front of Hagrid, looking around for another girl to pair up with. Unfortunately, all of the other girls had partners, and the only person left was a nasty-looking Slytherin boy, who was glaring threateningly at Hermione like he was daring her to come any closer.

Hagrid, fortunately, spotted her dilemma.

“Okay… can' have this… Hermione, yeh can go with Harry…” he muttered, guiding her over to him.

Ron looked horrorstruck. “What about me? I can go with them, right?”

“Sorry Ron,” Hagrid said quietly, “Professor Dumbledore said pairs - anythin' else will intimidate `em… Yeh can go with that nice Slytherin boy over there…” He pointed in the direction of the glowering boy. “Off yeh go now…”

Ron looked angry and horrified at the same time. Grumpily, he stormed off towards the Slytherin. Hagrid smiled fixedly at the pair, who glared furiously back at him. Ron's face was redder than his hair, and the Slytherin was muttering angrily under his breath.

Hagrid motioned for everyone to follow him, and soon, the class found themselves in front of the cave Harry had seen earlier. Though, he thought, it looked much bigger from where he was now standing… The entrance was at least a few feet taller than Hagrid; it was covered in moss and stray, fallen leaves, smelling faintly of mildew. The sunlight filtering through the Forest seemed to avoid the cavern completely, and left it looking dead and damp - though the sight didn't dampen Hagrid's spirit in the least. On the contrary, he was beaming, looking at the gloomy sight with gusto.

“Okay,” he said excitedly, “We'll go into the cave one pair at a time. I'll tell yeh what to do when it's yer turn. Righ'. Dean and Seamus, you firs'.”

Harry watched Dean and Seamus walk towards Hagrid. Then he turned to Hermione.

“Shall we sit somewhere?” he asked. She nodded.

He looked around, but there didn't seem to be anywhere extremely comfortable. Most people were scattered on the ground, lying atop their cloaks, but some brave souls were leaning against the trees of the Forest. Harry decided not to take his chances with the Forest however, and found a spot secluded from the other pairs. He unclasped his cloak and laid it down upon the warm grass. Hermione did the same, and they immediately sat down.

They sat in relaxed silence, waiting for their turn. The sun was pleasurably warm, and at the same time, the breeze was cool. It was very comfortable, and Harry began to feel pleasantly drowsy. He dropped onto his back, hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. He briefly noted that the inside of his eyelids were red from the sun before a shadow loomed over him, and he opened his eyes. Ron was standing over him, grinning.

“Thought you'd take a nap before the lesson started?” he asked, still grinning. “I just barely got away from that Slytherin nightmare… you'd think being a wizard could help him out a little…” Harry sat up to give him room, and Ron sat down. “I can't believe I have to work with a Slytherin! Slimy git… I'll never get anything done!”

He sighed dramatically.

“Fairies, though! Who would've thought?” Ron shrugged. “I've heard they're really hard to catch. Like leprechauns.”

Harry saw Hermione roll her eyes. “Ron,” she said, not able to contain herself, “Leprechauns are fairies. And they're almost impossible to catch, you have to -”

“Hermione, spare us your lecture, okay?” Ron interrupted, pulling up some grass by its roots uninterestedly. “We were already saved once today… Speaking of which - I'd never thought I'd see the day when Hermione Granger didn't know the answer to a question…”

“Of course I knew the answer!” she snapped crossly, “But Moerae fairies are very uncommon, and they can be awfully meddlesome… I don't understand why Dumbledore would even let us near one!”

Ron raised his eyebrows. “He's always been off his rocker, you know that…”

“Do you even know the properties of a Moerae fairy?” she spat, ignoring him.

“Well… it determines fate… and, er… helps people,” Ron muttered.

“Somehow Hagrid forgot to mention one important detail!” said Hermione shrilly, looking utterly distressed. “If you must know, Moerae fairies are most famous for prying into people's love lives, and supposedly determining who their lifelong partner will be!”

Harry and Ron stared blankly back at her. “So…?”

She let loose a howl of frustration. “I'm Harry's partner!”

Ron choked on the piece of grass that he was absently chewing on. Harry's stomach gave a strange, pathetic flop.

“No bloody way,” said Ron in disbelief, his own eyes widening. “So you're saying -,”

“Listen, Moerae fairies have been known to concern themselves with human romance for hundreds, maybe thousands, of years. Their wings, when found, are used in the strongest love potions ever created by wizardkind… They're practically cave-dwelling cupids!”

Ron sniggered. “Cave-dwelling cupids? Are my ears deceiving me?”

“You're completely missing the point!”

But all Ron did was ignore her, laughing hysterically. Tears of mirth streamed down his face. Unable to talk, he laid there on Harry's cloak, clutching his throat, trying to breathe. “Y-you and H-Harry,” he choked out finally, reducing his roars of laughter to abnormally girly giggles, “T-that is the funniest thing I have ever heard!”

Hermione flushed angrily. “Fine. If you're not going to take this seriously, Harry and I can leave!”

Ron laughed even harder. “C'mon Harry darling, let's go have a nice snog in the woods…”

With that, Hermione seized Harry's wrist, heaved him off the ground, grabbed her cloak, and stormed off in a huff, muttering under her breath. Harry distinctly heard Ron call after them, “Don't come back too soon!”

She trudged a good way across the clearing until she reached a spot where Ron was out of view - in the shade of the Forest's old, moaning trees.

Harry caught something like, `curse him in his sleep' before she turned around abruptly, and, without a word to Harry, spread out her cloak on the ground.

“That's better!” said Hermione brightly, “Much, much better!”

She faced him with a little shake of her head. “I'm sorry, Harry, but I had to leave. Ron drives me mad sometimes…”

“So that's why you took me along with you?” said Harry, grinning.

“You keep me sane,” she said simply.

Suddenly, a large booming voice rose above the faint chatter of students.

“Harry! Hermione! Yer turn!”

“That's us,” Hermione sighed, swiftly gathering up her cloak.

Together they made their way over to Hagrid. Harry felt a tug of nervous fear inside his stomach; he looked to Hermione for consolation, but she was fiddling awkwardly with her cloak clasp.

“Okay, there yeh two are,” Hagrid said loudly. The chatter began again. He motioned them closer, and said in a softer voice, “Yeh alrigh'? Bit of a nasty shock, havin' yeh go together, but I think yeh'll be fine.”

“Hagrid, I think you're making a huge mist -,”

“Shh!” he said harshly. A few of the students closer to them were raising their heads in interest. “I suppose yeh know all about Moerae fairies, eh?” he whispered edgily. She nodded. “Knew yeh would…”

Hermione peered intently up at him. “I suppose you know all about them too?” she said severely, like she was scolding a naughty child.

“Now, don' yeh get yourself in a knot,” Hagrid said gruffly, “Professor Dumbledore himself gave me permission ter teach yeh about these fairies, and I have all reason to. Jus' because of a little dilemma…”

Hermione looked about to tell him off again, so Harry said quickly, “It's okay Hagrid, we'll be fine.”

“Good, good…” he breathed. Hermione pursed her lips, but didn't say anything. “Now, jus' go inter the cave, and write down what yeh see on this…” He pulled out a piece of parchment and a frayed feathered quill, “… sheet. We'll be discussin' characteristics later, an' all… Oh yeah.” He handed them a clipboard. “Don' get too close, keep yer eyes open, and be on yer guard.”

He gave them a friendly push, and they stumbled into the cave. Harry determinedly walked forward, and had to pull Hermione by the sleeves of her cloak when she stalled to glare back at Hagrid's waving silhouette. He didn't want to make this excursion last any longer than already expected.

Hermione caught up with him, and side-by-side, they walked forward.

The cavern certainly started off monstrous, but as they got deeper and deeper, Harry noticed that the ceiling seemed to angle downward. It gave the impression that they were walking ever closer to their doom. Stalactites grew down from the ceiling like mighty stone spikes, and from the ground in mounds of rock rose stalagmites of all shapes and sizes. As they ventured deeper into the depths of the cave, the air around them chilled, and all was dark; the stalagmites and stalactites looked eerily like creatures lurking in the shadows.

Harry shivered as the cold air hit him. He briefly wished that he had remembered to grab his cloak from Ron when Hermione grabbed his hand, tilted it upward, and slid something warm onto it. Harry glanced at his hand, and almost gasped aloud. Flames the color of Robin's eggs were flickering in his hand, licking his skin; yet he could feel nothing but heat and warmth. He stared at it for a second, bracing for the sudden burst of pain that came from holding fire in your hand, but it never came. Instead, a pleasurable sensation coursed through him, and he felt warm all over.

Harry looked over at Hermione, who gave him a small smile before whispering, “Lumos.” Her wand tip alight, she moved in front of him and ran its glow along the sides of the cavern.

“Well,” she said, pointing her wand forward, “I don't see anything… C'mon, we'll keep going…”

“So, are there any spells to repel fairies?” asked Harry, minutes later, as they walked onward. Hermione shrugged, casting her beam of light upon the walls.

“I don't know - I get the feeling that nobody would ever have to use them, though. Fairies are generally good creatures, a little obsessive over things, perhaps, but good nonetheless.” Her light hovered for a moment over a rock that looked remarkably like the outline of a roaring lion, and then continued. “Fairy tales, you know. Little winged people… Rather silly now, when you think about it. I guess most people don't really know that there are so many different kinds.”

Harry thought for a moment. “What do Moerae fairies look like?”

“I'm not sure,” said Hermione, sighing. “There are very few books on them. Though I imagine -”

Hermione suddenly stopped talking in mid-sentence, her mouth slightly agape, her eyes wide and anxious.

Harry turned around, tracing Hermione's open-mouthed stare, and found himself gazing, enraptured, into the innocent blue eyes of a young girl.

For a split second, it seemed as if time itself stood still. The turquoise flames felt cold in his hand.

The girl smiled a slow, meticulous smile.

“We knew you would come.”

* * *

Yeah, yeah. Cliffhanger, I know. I'm so sorry. *grins evilly*

The second portion should be up soon - I have everything right here *points to brain*, I just have to type it out. I'm not sure if I should have this be a 2-part story or a 3-part story… I'm still deciding. Hmm.

Anyway, thanks for reading! Have fun browsing! *winks*

-Lauren

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* * *

Here's the second part to my “story” (it's more like a elongated whim, really). ^_^ Disclaimer applies here, as always…

Sorry this is so short - I wanted to get the next chapter out so you guys wouldn't have to wait any longer. I did it for you, I promise. *winks*

Oh, yeah, before I forget…

The Moerae is a real kind of fairy, thanks for asking!

* * *

Hermione grabbed onto Harry's arm, and the little blue-eyed girl's lips curled into another strange, mysterious smile.

“Welcome, my friends,” said the girl, nodding her head appreciatively, “We are pleased to see you well.”

A cold wave of uncertainty passed over him, but the process of his arm going numb soon distracted him; Hermione's nails burrowed deeper into his forearm.

“Er, thanks,” said Harry hesitantly, gently prying Hermione's fingers away from his blood-drained arm.

The girl bowed. “Let me introduce myself. I am Metagenês, The Youngest.”

“Are you -?” started Hermione, but she was interrupted.

“Yes,” the girl, Metagenês, said mistily, “I am a fairy, so to speak. But only One of the Three.”

She watched them closely.

“We have been observing your school, Hogwarts, from afar, and we have come to believe that those that dwell within are in need of urgent aid.”

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other.

“Why do you want to help people now?” asked Harry curiously, “I mean, you haven't before…”

Metagenês turned to him. “We do not help, Mr. Potter, we determine.” Her eyes drifted to his forehead, “And our determinations are not distributed casually. The persons involved have to be in need of - as I said - urgent aid.”

Harry felt slightly uncomfortable, standing the middle of a pitch-black cavern with nothing but a turquoise flame to sustain his heat. He watched as Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and watched Metagenês with a kind of spiteful annoyance.

He noticed that Metagenês' cloudy eyes drifted over to a side of the cavern whose depths were uncertain, and felt a chill, which had nothing to do with the dwindling warmth.

“My sisters and I pondered over whether matters were too trivial to concern ourselves…”

Hermione looked full out furious now.

“Of course, we knew that if we did not make an accurate determination, these persons would live their lives together, yet apart…”

“Well, I think that these determinations are a load of rubbish!” burst Hermione hotly, glaring at the young girl, “It sounds like guesswork to me! And I think that it's wrong of you, to involve yourselves in people's lives like that!”

“Touchy subject, perhaps, Miss Granger?” said Metagenês indifferently, “Though I see no harm in our conclusions. I have merely come at the time of my calling, when the spirits have awoken, and my presence is vital. For when we come, it has to be important - we cannot use our valuable time nonchalantly…”

Her eyes burned. “Usually fate is unforeseen, my friends, yet this particular case it is quite clear…”

She paused dramatically, and breathed, “My sisters have arrived.”

Harry, who had brought to a stupor by this strange girl's talking, blinked. Hermione tugged his arm to get his attention and hissed, “Harry, look, over there!”

Out of the darkness, two people walked towards them, embedded in shadows. When they reached the three, Harry noticed that the first woman's skin was glowing an eerie peach color, and her long auburn hair fell down to her waist. Her face was kind and tolerant, without marks and creases of age, and when she smiled, the smile lit her whole face.

The last woman came slowly, for she was very old - perhaps the oldest person Harry had ever seen - and it struck him strange for a second that these two other women were Metagenês' kin, her sisters. The elderly woman also had a beautiful smile, but it was not so young and full, and her hair fell past her shoulders in gray, silver-streaked wisps.

Both women faced their third sister, inclined their heads slightly, and turned to smile vaguely at Harry and Hermione. The elderly woman stared at Harry for a particularly long time.

Harry waited, but the two newly arrived women did not state their names; instead, they stood behind Metagenês.

“It is time.” The elderly woman's voice was barely distinguishable, raspy and thin as the air in the cavern.

Hermione backed away, pulling Harry with her. She whispered, “We have to go. Now.”

But Harry couldn't move. His limbs felt as if they had given up on him altogether. By the look on Hermione's face, so had hers.

“Miss Granger has already guessed our preparations,” the middle-aged woman said slowly, “Such a smart young girl.”

“Intelligent,” agreed Metagenês.

“But books can only take you so far, love,” the elderly woman rasped. The two sisters nodded their heads.

“We have a power much greater than books and cleverness,” she said.

Hermione was at her wit's end. “I read about you! All of you! You can't do anything to us!”

“Do anything?” said the middle-aged woman softly, “Of course not.”

“That's bloody right!” Hermione screeched, “Let us go, then!”

But the strange hold on Harry's arms and legs did not cease. In fact, the three sisters just smiled brighter.

Mock surprise. A smile. “But what's this?”

Harry suddenly felt the turquoise flame lift off his warm palm and into the air. The elderly woman flicked her wrist and the flame flew to her hand. She covered it in her gnarled hands.

“A gift, perhaps?” said Metagenês smilingly, “An offering?”

The elderly woman opened her hands and stared into the flickering flame. “A wonderful spell. Fit for that of a Goddess.”

“Thoughtful and precise.” The middle-aged woman's eyes met Harry's, and he felt a strange feeling in his chest… he felt like he was flying…

Hermione said in a dizzy and unearthly voice, “That's… not… yours…” She smiled dreamily, and swayed drunkenly. Her legs stood straight, rooted to the spot.

“Oh, but it is now,” said Metagenês, caressing the flames so that it licked against her fingertips. “And we do appreciate your hard work…”

Her voice seemed to melt out of existence…

Harry could no longer feel anything… The sisters' faces floated before him, smiling mischievously… The only part of their faces he could distinguish were their eerily flashing eyes, boring into own… He turned towards Hermione; saw her own outline swaying beside him… Happiness like no other coursed through him… A longing… a raw longing…

He saw her coming closer, and smiled in jovial pleasure. Why hadn't he seen her before? She was so beautiful, like… yes… like a flower… Blooming…

She approached him. Saw the same raw longing. He wanted to tell her everything he felt… he wanted to pour out his heart to her… Wouldn't he feel so much better? Free… like he was flying… again… Why not? Why not tell her? …

It was on the tip of his tongue when she suddenly threw herself at him, kissing him with such a fierce passion he was knocked backwards into the cavern wall.

He kissed her back just as fiercely, releasing his passionate longing, the feelings that were buried deep inside of him… She buried her hands in his hair, grinning tipsily against his mouth… He grabbed her waist and urged her closer… closer…

Was this how it felt to be floating? Without a cause… just floating in mid-air, smiling down at the people below… Waving back at you… They called your name… voices… voices calling your name…

“Harry Potter! Hermione Granger!”

Why is everyone so angry? They should be happy… happy and happy and happy… floating…

“What is - MR. POTTER!”

Harry's eyes opened. Met two brown ones. Tried to talk.

The only problem was, his lips were already preoccupied.

At exactly the same time, he and Hermione jumped back from each other, stunned. Harry's eyes were wide. Hermione's hands went to her mouth.

They glanced quickly at each other. Hermione turned away first, flushing crimson.

“Well!” said an agitated voice. “Now that Mr. Potter and Miss Granger have decided to join us…”

Harry knew that voice. He turned, only to see a clearly horror-stricken Hagrid, accompanied by the last person he wanted to see right then.

Professor McGonagall.

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A/N: HAHAHA, for some reason, this chapter cracked me up. *shrugs* Maybe I'm just being weird…

I'm going to have one more chapter at least. McGonagall and Ron reactions, probably… hee hee hee… I'm so evil…

How much worse can you get though, with that cliffhanger? *sigh* And it's so short! *bangs head against computer*

Thanks for reading, and if you have time, could you guys please read my new story, In the Hour of Darkness? I posted it yesterday, but everyone posted their stories at the same time, and I don't think many people read it. I would really appreciate if you did! ^_~

Love,

-Lauren

Yay! It's my birthday! ^.^

A/N: Third chapter! Yay! I hope you didn't have to wait too long…

Thanks for all the reviews! They really made my day!

EM!! You reviewed too! I feel so special now! ^_^

Have fun!

* * *

Harry wanted to keel over and die right then and there.

“Come with me, you two,” said Professor McGonagall sternly, and turned around, brushing past Hagrid's motionless, staring form, which was hunched over because of the cavern's diminished height.

Harry and Hermione didn't look at each other as they followed her back through the cavern. Harry's stomach clenched uncomfortably from nerves, and he wished Professor McGonagall would say something, anything that would reassure him even in the slightest. But their professor just strode onward, muttering distractedly under her breath.

They reached the cavern entrance sooner than Harry wished, and as he stared blinkingly out into the sun's blinding light, he realized that everyone in the meadow, including the Slytherins, had come to stand around the entrance to the cave. Professor McGonagall swept passed them, beckoning Harry and Hermione to follow. Harry heard whispers, and was uneasily aware of the amount of stares he and Hermione were receiving.

“Harry! Hermione!” Ron shoved through the crowd violently, and ran up to greet them, breathless and looking anxious. “Where were you? You in the cave for nearly an hour!”

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again, and shook his head. He saw Hermione turn in the other direction.

“Mr. Weasley, please,” said Professor McGonagall. “Mr. Potter and Miss Granger, come with me. Now.”

“But Professor -,”

“If you say one more word, I will give you detention, Weasley!” Professor McGonagall snapped.

Professor McGonagall breathed furiously through her nose, shot a piercing stare at Harry and Hermione, and strode off toward the castle.

* * *

“Sit,” Professor McGonagall ordered.

They sat on the two wooden chairs. Harry tried to breathe, but every time he drew breath, he erupted into a coughing fit. Hermione, on the other hand, was sitting silently, her hands clasped firmly over her lap. Her face was expressionless.

“Now, there's no point in beating around the bush,” Professor McGonagall said severely, “I saw you two... well…” She fell silent and seemed determined not to say anything more.

Hermione's eyes fell to her hands. Harry was sure his face was bright red.

“I am… to say the least… shocked at your behavior,” she said, pausing slightly, “I understand that there are certain… issues adolescents have to go through, of course, but this was extraordinarily -,”

Harry cut in, “Professor, it was the fairies! They did something to me - us… We were under some sort of spell or something!”

Professor McGonagall sighed. “Mr. Potter, there are no fairies. Hagrid merely gave your class the assignment because he had a feeling that they were there…”

“What about Dumbledore, then?” said Harry wildly, “Hagrid told us that Dumbledore gave him permission!”

“Professor Dumbledore's mind works in complicated ways. It would be in vain to try and understand it.”

“But -,”

Professor McGonagall cut him off with an annoyed snap. “There are no fairies, Mr. Potter! You have acted upon your own will! It would be best to just admit that to yourself!” She turned to Hermione aggressively. “And you, Miss Granger! I expect more of you!”

Professor McGonagall said sharply, “I will not punish you this time, but be warned: if this happens again, I will have to inform the Headmaster. Good day.”

And with that, she ushered them out of her office.

Harry and Hermione walked down the corridor, towards the Great Hall, an embarrassed silence in their wake.

Unbeknownst to the pair, Professor McGonagall smiled gleefully and turned back into her office.

* * *

“Is it true you were attacked by a Chimera?” Neville asked anxiously as soon and Harry and Hermione sat down at the Gryffindor table for lunch, “Someone said they saw a creature run off into the woods after you came out…” He said the last part in a whisper so quiet half the table leaned forward to hear it.

Harry looked down at the food on his plate. Didn't answer.

Hermione said quickly, “Oh, don't be silly Neville. We were quite all right. We -,” She glanced Harry's way subtly, “We got a bit lost.”

Ron speared a potato and stuffed it into his mouth. “What did you see? Anything interesting?”

“Nothing,” Hermione lied at once.

“McGonagall looked livid when you came out.” He glanced at Harry with a raised eyebrow. “What'd you do?”

Harry went red. He felt oddly claustrophobic.

“Well, I didn't see anything either,” said Dean, coming unknowingly to Harry's rescue, “I wonder why Hagrid had us go in there in the first place. Seems like a waste of time to me.”

Ron shrugged. “Free time? A little inter-house bonding?”

He shuddered and brutally mashed his peas into his plate with Hermione's unused spoon.

Harry pushed away his plate, realizing he couldn't eat one bite, and announced his departure quickly. Before anyone could ask any questions, he whisked out of the Great Hall, his cloak trailing behind him.

Hermione waited exactly thirty seconds before she too pushed away her plate and hurried after him.

“Well, that answered absolutely nothing,” said Ron cheerily.

* * *

Harry, upon reaching the vacant common room, immediately retired upstairs to the boys' dormitories. He walked across the space that he shared with Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville, and plopped unceremoniously onto his four-poster, staring up at the bottom of Ron's bunk.

How was he supposed to feel?

Sad? Angry? Happy? Apprehensive?

Sad, yes. Sad that he could no longer glance at Hermione without looking away. Sad that his friendship, though definitely not ruined, would be strained and awkward. It had been wonderful then… at that moment, but the consequence was terrifying. It was not like with Cho Chang - he wasn't worrying whether or not he was a bad kisser (though the thought still lingered heavily in his mind), but whether or not Hermione would forgive him.

Yes, Harry thought, but didn't she kiss me first? Either way, she knew we were under some sort of spell…

Or was she? Harry's mind reeled. She read all those books… but then… didn't she tell me there weren't any spells to stop fairies even if we wanted to?

They do what they think is right, Harry's mind responded pointedly, They don't interfere, right? They determine. So doesn't that mean that they're speeding up the process a little?

Harry contemplated this, and muttered, “But - but that's just guessing. Nobody can see into the future…”

He didn't have an answer for himself.

“Maybe they do know something,” Harry said aloud.

But that didn't help his fluttering, nervous stomach in the least. They weren't here now, the fairies - in fact, the last time Harry saw them was before he and Hermione kissed… He was distracted during…

Professor McGonagall said there weren't any fairies, but what did she know? She hadn't seen them. But it was peculiar.

He pinched himself. No, it wasn't a dream.

Then another thought came to his aid. Maybe the fairies were misguided… maybe they got the wrong people… Maybe everything was one giant mistake…

Maybe -

“Harry?” called a tentative voice.

He had half a mind to pretend he was asleep, but it was too late. Hermione pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

“Harry, we should -,”

“I don't want to talk.”

Harry spun around so that he was facing the wall, but it was not quick enough to disregard the look of hurt that crossed Hermione's anxious face. He felt irritated. He wanted to be alone. And why shouldn't he?

“We can't just toss it aside,” he heard Hermione's voice say from the doorway, “It happened, no matter what we want to think.”

Harry recognized that she wanted to communicate with him, but that still didn't make him any less happy about the situation. He frowned.

“I'm not going to say what I'm thinking,” Hermione started stonily, “because I know you'll just blow up at me.”

Harry turned around and snapped, “You know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking that girls shouldn't be allowed into boys' dormitories!”

Hermione smiled grimly at his outburst. “Do you really want me to leave you alone? Do you really want me to leave you to wallow in self-pity? You know, Harry, you're not the only one affected by this.”

Slightly ashamed, Harry turned away again. Hermione sat down at the foot of his bed; he heard the springs under his bed creak quietly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Oh, no matter,” Hermione answered quickly. “I knew we would have to talk sooner or later. At least no one suspects anything.”

“Ron,” said Harry.

“Ron,” Hermione agreed.

They sat in awkward silence for a moment.

“Why did they do it though?” Harry asked after a moment. He looked to her for consolation.

She shrugged, but it was plain the same question had been nagging her too.

“I mean, fairies don't just… do that… for fun, right?”

Hermione paused for a second, listening, then said, “No.”

“So there must have been a reason,” Harry pressed.

She stared at him intently. “Harry, if you're trying to get the answer out of me… it won't work. I don't know any more than you.”

“So what do we do?” asked Harry.

“Do?” repeated Hermione, aghast, “We're not doing anything! We're leaving it to everyone else to sort out. I don't want anything more to do with fairies! Besides,” she said, recovering herself, “I think we've had enough excitement for today, don't you think?”

Suddenly, there was a huge crashing sound and the pounding of feet on the stairs. The door burst open, and Ron stumbled through, breathing in ragged gasps.

“Is it true?” he rasped wildly, choking on air, “It's not true, is it?”

He stared feverishly at Harry, who was leaning against the headboard; and Hermione, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed.

“Come again?” asked Harry slowly.

Ron sunk onto the bed across from Hermione.

“I am never eating lunch without you two again,” he said, “It was awful.”

“What happened?” Hermione asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

He gave a little hysterical laugh. “It was actually funny, really. They said - that - you… you two… snogged in the cave!”

He was bent over in laughter. Harry and Hermione glanced at each other quickly, each one wondering how someone could have possibly known such information. Ron stopped laughing for a moment to look upwards at his two best friends. Their faces were stony.

“I mean, it's funny now,” Ron said quickly, misreading their expressions, “After you've gotten over the shock. How Malfoy expected me to fall for that I'll never know…”

“Malfoy?” Harry said, stunned.

“Yeah… what's wrong?”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other.

“Damn,” Hermione said harshly, and swept out of the room.

Ron looked dazedly at Harry. “Did she just…?”

“Yeah…” Harry answered distractedly, “Listen, Ron, I'll see you later.”

He pushed himself off the bed and sprinted after her.

“Fine, I'll just wait here!” Ron called after him sarcastically.

He shook his head. “This day is just getting weirder and weirder…”

* * *

Next part up soon! Thanks for reading and for the nice `happy birthdays'! You guys are just too sweet. ^.^

Love,

-Lauren

* * *

A/N: Ahem. I start out with - maybe - a two-shot story, and now, look what we have! A full-length novel! *rolls eyes* Aw, it's fine. You guys are just too convincing! LOL. I don't know how many more chapters there will be, but if I keep getting all of these ideas… well…

Okey-dokie. I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed, because it really helps me shape my stories (somewhat) into something better. And if you like my stories, I'm getting a little self-esteem boost, and you are enjoying yourselves. I think that works out well, don't you think? ^_^

Have fun, ya'll!

* * *

Harry ran out of the opened portrait hole and followed the sounds of Hermione's angry footsteps down the corridor.

Harry caught up with Hermione, being much faster, and stopped, short of breath, in front of her. “Hermione,” he panted, “What are you doing?”

Her face was grimaced in latent anger. “Malfoy needs to keep his overly large ego out of everyone's personal business! I have enough on my plate already!” And with a menacing noise that sounded more like a growl than anything, she whipped past him and stormed down the corridor.

“And don't you come after me, Harry!” she yelled back at him, “It's always you and him, you and him. Well, I need to stop him myself!”

From past experiences, and the steely glint in her eye, Harry knew that Hermione, the cleverest witch in their year, wasn't to be underestimated.

But even her threats were not enough to restrain his urge to follow her, and with his mind made up, he sprinted back through the opened portrait hole.

He was quite unaware of the Fat Lady's smirk, or the merry wink she gave him as he swept passed.

* * *

“Oh, so you're back now?”

Ron's comment was highly annoying (which of course was the intention), and quite unnecessary, and its irking cheeriness nearly sent Harry over the edge.

“Ron, shut up for a second, will you?” Harry hissed, grabbing his haphazardly packed suitcase and shuffling through it desperately. His pounding heart fell to his feet. It wasn't there…

Harry plopped onto his stomach and crawled under the bed, groping wildly for his Invisibility Cloak. But he couldn't feel anything, save a squashy something, which felt remarkably like one of Hermione's knitted hats. Ron squatted beside him.

“What're you doing?”

“Nothing,” Harry said through gritted teeth, coming out from under the bed. “I just thought I lost something…”

Ron looked at him in slight amusement. “You mean you know you lost something. What is it?”

“Invisibility Cloak,” Harry muttered.

“Going to spy a little on Herm -,”

“Oh, sod off!” Harry shouted irritably, “I don't know where it is! Where is it?”

Blind panic coursed through him. Hermione… his father's cloak…

He turned to Ron with the slight air of hysteria. “You don't know where it is, do you?”

Ron backed away, holding up his hands defensively. “I don't know a thing about it, mate. Maybe you just misplaced it.”

“Well, of course I misplaced it!” Harry grumbled furiously, “It's not here, is it?”

Ron started, a little hotly, “Hey, I was just trying to help -,”

“Some help you are! Go and find the thing if you're so worried!” Harry shot back, fists clenched.

Ron flushed crimson, which quickly changed into a deep red-purple tint, and stared determinedly at Harry. Though his voice trembled, and his hands shook, Ron held his head high, refusing to let Harry rattle him.

“If I wanted to be snubbed,” Ron started in a suppressed voice, “I could run into Malfoy. I don't need to be harassed by you.”

Harry was hardly paying his friend any heed. His eyes were darting to each corner of the room, urgently trying to search out the cloak. It seemed, however, that the Invisibility Cloak, which had cloaked him so many times, had indeed vanished itself.

Meanwhile, Ron watched Harry, looking rather offended.

“Why is this so important anyway?” he asked, disgruntled, “Malfoy was just making some stupid remark. And it's not true, anyway, so why should you care?” He stared fixedly at Harry. “You're starting to act like Hermione more and more every day, and the thought drives me bloody insane…”

Harry shut his eyes, but through the sliver of light beneath his lids, he saw Ron turn his head quickly, as through stung.

“Where is she, anyway?” he asked briskly. His accusatory eyes fixed on Harry and he said in what he must have thought was an offhand voice, “I thought you went with her.”

“She went to the library,” Harry said evasively. He was well aware that his heart was beating loudly - he wondered briefly if Ron could hear its rapid pounding echoing off the walls of their dormitory…

But he didn't wait long to see. Harry had had enough.

“I have to go,” he said, turning around, and walking down the staircase to the common room. Ron, much to his annoyance, followed in his footsteps.

Though, he didn't know why suddenly Ron's help, as good intentioned as it was, became so irritating. All he knew was that this was something between him and Hermione, and he didn't want Ron a part of it. Ron, however, didn't seem perturbed in the slightest by Harry's hostile manner. He walked alongside him resolutely, clutching the front of his robes in a determined sort of way.

Harry pushed open the portrait and climbed through the hole.

“Well, well, well,” came the drawling, bored voice of Draco Malfoy, “If it isn't Potty and the Weasel come to join our party. Lord knows we need some excitement.”

Harry slammed the portrait back into place. The Fat Lady gave a muffled shriek and reprimanded, “You know, I do shut on my own! After all I'm doing for you, too! Honestly!” Harry ignored her, however; he was glaring at Malfoy, who was smirking, his lips curled up into an unpleasant sneer.

“Malfoy,” Harry acknowledged bitterly. He looked around the corridor, but Hermione was nowhere in sight, and neither were the dim-witted Crabbe and Goyle.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “Looking for your Mudblood girlfriend, Potter? I daresay she needs restraint.”

Ron lunged, but at that very moment, footsteps echoed throughout the corridor, and Hermione and Ginny appeared from behind Harry, looking both red-faced and breathless. Hermione was clutching a stitch in her side, looking rather frightening; her eyes wielded a strange glow, and her hand was clenched over the wand that was protruding out of her pocket. Ginny's eyes were blazing red the color of her hair.

“Hermione…” Ron started, but she pushed him back.

“Malfoy,” she hissed in a deadly whisper, stepping in front of Harry, “Give me that cloak.”

Harry's eyes darted to the folded material tucked under Malfoy's arm. He felt a burst of renewed anger and hate… pure, unadulterated rage that coursed wildly through his veins…

“I'm sorry Granger,” Malfoy said contemptuously, “but I already touched this. It would be such a shame to see it fouled…”

“You filthy git!” Ginny yelled angrily, “Give Hermione the cloak!”

“No,” Malfoy said quietly, so that it was almost a hiss, “I don't think I will.” He fingered the cloak, running his hand slowly and deliberately across the silken surface. The very sight made Harry's blood boil; he could hear his heart pounding in his ears… all logic was gone, thrown to the wind…

“You see,” Malfoy said softly, in a devious voice not unlike Snape's, “I've come too far...”

This comment hit home. Ginny stopped yelling, and Hermione's outstretched wand slowly lowered.

“What?” Ron demanded harshly.

“It's complicated, Weasel,” Malfoy said disdainfully, turning to face Ron, “but I can make it nice and simple for you. Inter-house rivalry.”

“You stole my cloak!” Harry shouted, startling even himself, “You lousy bast -,”

Malfoy cut him off, “Temper, temper, Potter. Who ever said rivalry between houses was fair, fit to match Oh-So Grand Gryffindor's morals?”

“You could do with a bit of chivalry,” Hermione spat.

“I am the one holding the cloak, Granger,” Malfoy said coolly. “So as for now, you are listening to me. And Potter, I would advise you hold your tongue - that is, if you want to see precious Daddy's cloak again.”

Harry felt Hermione tense from beside him, and he felt a kind of fierce joy, knowing that she was standing there beside him, sharing his anger and animosity.

Ginny said quietly, “I can't believe you are doing this, Malfoy.”

Ron muttered, “I can.”

He met her gaze evenly, completely ignoring Ron. “Business is business, Weasley. And my business is important.”

He faced the others with contempt. “I don't want to be spending my precious time with you any more than you want to with me, so listen up. Though unwonted as it seems, I'm going to give you a bit of advice.” His cold gray eyes narrowed at Harry. “Hurry up.”

“Hurry up?” Ron repeated, flabbergasted, “What kind of bloody -,”

“Shh!” Ginny hushed him.

“The house difference is no longer an issue,” Malfoy said, partly to himself, “Either way, it sickens me, and only one way will I get money for my work… for it seems that the first option is no longer available… Professor Snape will be livid when he finds out…”

Malfoy looked scornfully at the lot of them. “I cannot believe I am doing Gryffindor a favor.” He took a step towards Harry and shoved the cloak into his arms.

“Here, Potter, take your cloak. And next time try not to leave it lying around.”

He smirked at their dumbfounded faces, turned in the other direction, and walked away.

After Malfoy was out of earshot, Harry said blankly, “Lying around?”

“Just forget about it, Harry,” Hermione said consolingly, “Malfoy snags any opportunity he can to get under your skin.”

“But how did he get it?” Unanswered questions bombarded his mind. How could Malfoy have gotten his cloak when he remembered vividly placing it safely inside his suitcase? It was preposterous, impossible… And what did he mean by “doing Gryffindor a favor”? He wasn't doing anyone a favor by scurrying around stealing valuables from people.

“He's a git,” offered Ginny simply, “He found a way to break and enter.”

Hermione gave Ginny a half-exasperated look, then said, “We'll see Professor McGonagall tomorrow about this… she'll do something. Stealing is vandalism - Malfoy could be expelled for that.”

The horrors, the memory of the conversation with their professor flooded back to him.

“No!” Harry said harshly. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny stared at him. He hissed, “Hermione… we can't go to McGonagall…”

Her cheeks flushed. “Oh!”

“Remember?” he pressed urgently, “We have to…”

“Go to Hogsmeade!” Hermione finished quickly, smiling brightly. “We scheduled it months ago!” she added; Ron's face was an odd reddish color.

“Hogsmeade?” asked Ginny pointedly, and Harry realized that obviously she, as well as Ron, did not know of their current predicament. “Students can't go to Hogsmeade tomorrow…”

“See, that's the funny part!” said Hermione swiftly, with a tiny little chuckle to match, “We have pass from Professor McGonagall saying we could go - for extra work and such.”

It sounded farfetched to Harry's knowing ears, but Hermione was a better liar than he had imagined. Ron and Ginny apparently accepted the idea of their two-person outing quite quickly, and Ginny even offered to come and help (“There's nothing to do anyway, on a Saturday.”). Hermione smiled and thanked her, but firmly refused her offer.

Ginny shrugged and yawned loudly, climbing through the portrait hole. “Well, okay. Goodnight, then.”

When Ginny was out of earshot, Ron rounded on them.

“Hogsmeade?” he shot dubiously.

“You are too much, Ron,” said Hermione uninterestedly, wiping some dust from her robes. “Honestly, it's getting old.”

A red flush crept into his face. He mouthed wordlessly.

Apparently, Hermione was still offended by his comments earlier that day.

“We wanted to get some work done,” she explained simply, “That's all.”

“But…” he sputtered, “In Hogsmeade?”

“Clearly you don't appreciate real work, Ron,” Hermione snapped, “Real, precise work requires time and effort.”

She stormed away in a huff.

Ron stared, literally struck dumb, at Hermione's retreating back.

“What was that?” he asked Harry, utterly bewildered.

* * *

A/N: Weird chapter, I know. I'm still trying to work out this whole plot… lol…

Lately, I haven't been writing as much, and so I need to get back into practice, so excuse this if it's really bad… *looks ashamed* … It's way easier writing and shaping a full-blown romance story, as opposed to this (which is, I guess, a mystery?). Just my two cents.

Thanks for reading!

-Lauren

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much to those who reviewed! ^_^

Just a little pet peeve, though. Most of you seemed pretty baffled by the last chapter, which I can understand… the only problem is that I am writing slightly more of a mystery story than anything else (besides romance, of course), and not all things are going to make sense. I promise, however, that it all fits into the storyline (I'm not just writing random words, people!). Please, please don't review and complain that it doesn't make sense to you, because at the end, it will. And those reviews don't help me in any way - the basic point of reviewing is to help me better explain the story. Unless you want to tell me what part doesn't make sense - then I'll try to explain. Thanks.

On the other hand, I know that there haven't been H/Hr moments, but you have to remember, I'm trying to fit in a mystery too. But it all revolves around the idea of love and so forth. Everything will be explained, I PROMISE.

This is a very H/Hr chapter, okey-dokey? (*giggles insanely*)

Also, the Malfoy thing is supposed to be OOC, like you guys said… but maybe, just maybe, is he acting from outside influences? That's all I have to say!

Thanks to everyone nonetheless! Much love to all!

-Lauren

* * *

Sleep was not comforting. Harry tossed and turned with restless fits of dreams and nightmares, flailing his arms and legs, wrapping himself unknowingly in the freshly ironed sheets. His bed was old, and it creaked whenever he moved. The moans and groans often weaved themselves into his dreams, as did Neville's congested snores, which had the uncanny ability of stopping whenever Harry awoke.

The creaks of the four-poster seemed louder than normal, and even in his dreamlike state, Harry knew this one fact.

Out of the blue, he felt someone's hands on his shoulders, shaking him awake. He groaned and opened his eyes.

Hermione was positioned over him, peering down anxiously at him. Her face was blurry, and her bushy hair was sticking out wildly, as though charged with static energy. Harry's hands groped for his glasses, and wearily he pulled them on. Clearer now, Hermione looked tired and drawn-out, and there were heavy bags under her bleary eyes.

“Come on,” she whispered urgently, shaking him again.

“What?” Harry wanted to roll over onto his stomach and bury his face into his pillow.

“We have to go,” Hermione whispered again. “Hurry!”

Harry's mind felt foggy. “Why?”

“You'll see,” Hermione said impatiently, “Oh, come on!”

Her voice seemed to melt away into nothingness, and he watched her stupidly… Her lips were moving, yet there was no sound at all… not a whisper…

Hermione did not seem to notice this sudden decrease of volume, however, and continued to talk, though her dramatic motions and furrowed brow illustrated that she was becoming increasingly annoyed with Harry's blank, staring face.

Suddenly, a familiar voice rang piercingly throughout his head. “Why are you denying what you know, Harry Potter?”

“Ah!” he yelped in surprise, clamping his hands over his ringing ears. Hermione stared at him in mild confusion.

“Do you not think we keep track of you, my dear friend?” the voice asked in an amused way, as though savoring the aftermath of its words, “I have seen you have yet to make progress…”

“Oh, you know of what I am speaking,” it said with a merry little laugh. Harry felt ominous uncertainty bubbling up inside him. Underlying the bafflement was a smidge of anger, and involuntarily, Harry let out a subtle sound much like a growl.

“So many questions,” the voice announced, delighted, “yet I cannot reveal any to you… I must not be troubled with other… circumstances.”

“Nevertheless…” it continued thoughtfully.

There was a rushing noise and an awful ringing, and Harry was lying on his bed, breathing heavily, staring up at Hermione's white, perplexed face. There was no trace of the voice or its owner.

“Did you - did you hear that?”

Hermione peered at him with wide eyes, then slowly shook her head.

“I'm going mad,” Harry told her resolutely, “Stark raving mad.”

She showed no amusement, and instead asked quietly, “What did you hear?”

Harry knew what he heard. He knew.

“I don't know,” he told her.

Liar.

“It was them, wasn't it?” Hermione said vaguely, “They spoke to me too.”

“What about?” asked Harry. His words felt slurred in his mouth.

She paused for a moment, and said distractedly, “Denial…”

Her hand gave an involuntary twitch, brushing against his shoulder, and he realized suddenly how close she was to him. His heart rate increased as he watched her peer down at him through slightly dazed eyes, her lips upturned in a tender smile. He was sure he was smiling too, yet he did not know why…

“Harry…” Hermione whispered, lowering her face so that her hair cascaded down his shoulders. Their noses were centimeters apart; he could feel her warm breath on his face. He felt the heat radiate from her cheeks. He heard her heart beating wildly against her ribcage.

He was dizzy, disoriented, when Hermione touched her lips to his, positioning her hand on a side of his face, the other pressed to the mattress, holding her over him. The kiss was saccharine and gentle, yet filled with a raw longing that overcame their senses, burning them inside and out.

In the midst of it all, someone moaned, bringing them closer together.

“Harry,” Hermione choked hoarsely, pulling back from him grudgingly, “what are we doing?”

He did not answer and merely drew her back to him, kissing the corner of her parted lips, running his hand through her beautiful downy hair. His mind was a blank, withstanding only one motive - to kiss this wonderful woman smiling down upon him. Everything else was just background turmoil, whispering anxiously, but not loud enough to understand.

He heard his name called again. Earnestly.

He tried to look through the thick fog at the world below him… everything was cloudy… His mind was reeling, and the peculiar sensation of flying overcame him…

From somewhere in the room, someone coughed in their sleep.

It was enough. Harry and Hermione broke apart, startled. Hermione jumped off of Harry and straightened her disheveled hair. Harry could feel himself turning a terrific shade of red. He looked up, imaging to see a similar sight with Hermione; however, she looked quite composed, and was even looking somewhat triumphant.

“It's so simple,” she said, shaking her head. “So simple, so brilliant.”

Harry snapped his head up to look at her. “What?”

She saw him looking at her and said harshly, “Don't look at me!”

Utterly confused, Harry turned his head.

“Don't you see?” asked Hermione with the air of a person knowing more than they're willing to share, “Those fairies have given us a love potion!” She shook her head in disbelief. “But it's interesting. They never made us drink anything… I wonder…”

Harry suddenly had the very disturbing image of a fairy hidden behind a shower curtain, giggling evilly.

“They're not spying on us, right?” asked Harry in a terrified sort of voice, still breathing rather heavily, “Because that's wrong in so many ways.”

Hermione managed a short coughing laugh. “I don't think they're spying. Dumbledore would never allow it.”

“Yeah,” mused Harry, “but Dumbledore did start this madness.” He turned to look at her, but stopped himself halfway.

Hermione sighed.

“This is going to be a problem. Why couldn't we have just gone to Professor McGonagall? Now we have to spend our whole day cooped up somewhere - without looking at each other!”

“McGonagall's worse,” Harry said stubbornly.

Hermione began pacing the room, her hands behind her head, staring at the floor. “What could it mean?” she asked herself distantly. “Oh, damn this whole mess.”

Harry grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “You swore.”

Hermione, forgetting herself, whirled around and looked at Harry exasperatedly. “This isn't the time, Harry.”

Her eyes began to glaze over and his heart began to beat faster… Hermione realized this quickly and spun around again. “This is ridiculous!”

She sighed heavily, as though settling a conclusion, and muttered something to herself.

“Listen, Harry, we're not going to accomplish anything walking around on eggshells. We should tell Ron.”

For some reason, Harry was reluctant to do so. But why should he? Maybe Ron would go ballistic on them; maybe he wouldn't believe them; maybe he would just laugh and take it all as a joke.

But there was something in the way Hermione was pleading with her body language that collapsed Harry's will to argue his points. “Fine,” said Harry, “We'll tell Ron.”

“Fine,” repeated Hermione. She was silent for a moment, and then said, “Maybe we should go to Hagrid, too. Just in case.”

“Yeah.”

There was nervous tension in the air; they could feel it. It was as though they both had something they wanted to discuss, yet they couldn't bring themselves to do it. After a moment of silence, Hermione cleared her throat and said, “Well, I'll go back to bed, then…”

Something clicked in Harry's memory.

“What did you want me to see this morning?” he asked curiously, “You woke me up.”

Hermione flushed slightly. “I was going to show you that I found out what was wrong with us, but we rather demonstrated it instead…”

“Demonstrated what?” asked a sleepy voice from somewhere above Harry's four-poster. Ron appeared, yawning loudly, his hair sticking up at odd angles. He spotted Hermione. “Oy, Hermione, what're you doing here?”

“Never mind,” Hermione said quickly, “I'll see you at breakfast, Harry.”

She left without another word, her bushy hair trailing behind her. Ron looked after her in amazement, his eyes wide and mouth open.

“Does she have something against me?” Ron asked, incredulous, “'I'll see you at breakfast, Harry'. What's that all about?”

“It's fine, Ron,” said Harry, lying back down on his bed, hands behind his head.

“Fine?” Ron said, “You can say it's fine! She's on speaking terms with you, mate!”

Harry sighed. “She has other things on her mind.”

Ron crossed his arms, disgruntled.

* * *

“So I'm thinking,” Ron said between mouthfuls of omelet, “that I should go for a record.”

“Hm,” said Hermione distantly, nose buried in the pages of her book. The end of her finger was slowly twirling a lock of brown hair.

“Sexist man alive, maybe? Or the buffest? What about Ron Weasley: woman charmer of the twenty-first century?” A piece of cheese and mushroom dribbled down his chin.

Hermione turned a page of her book and chomped absently on a nearby apple slice. “How about this, Ron?” she said. “Ron Weasley: food-gusher and the most tactless man in the history of wizardkind.”

Ron grinned. “You're speaking to me.”

She looked up. “Of course I am, why wouldn't I?”

“Last night -,”

“It was nothing.” She reached for a napkin. “Here, Ron, take this. Use it wisely.” She reached for two identical glass cylinders. “Salt or pepper, Harry?”

Without looking at her, Harry nodded. “Thanks, I'll have pepper.”

Silence.

“I want to know,” Ron said suddenly.

Hermione nodded her head in acknowledgement and lowered eyes to her book. She closed it resolutely.

“What's going on?”

She sighed. “Harry, we should tell him now.”

He looked at Ron's face, mixed with so many emotions it was hard to make out one from another, and secretly wished he could die on the spot. “Yeah, we should.”

Hermione started, “Ron, you have to promise to listen what we have to say… okay?”

“I'm listening.” He crossed his arms over the table and turned to face them, his face set into a kind of grimace.

“Well…” Hermione started, “It's rather complicated -”

“You're not dating, are you?” Ron burst suddenly, casting a feral eye on the two of them, as if that was what he had been fearing covertly for the past few days. Hermione blinked, taken aback, then blushed.

“No… but Ron…”

“Have you?”

“I said no, Ron!” Hermione cried, frustrated, “I knew you'd take it this way!”

“So you are dating!” Ron said loudly.

Hermione blushed a brilliant shade of red, sinking low in her seat at the table. Heads turned their way interestedly. And Harry, for once in his life, utterly resented Ron's immature behavior.

Quietly, he said, “Ron, shut up.”

But Hermione had had enough.

“I can't do this,” Hermione said stiffly, gathering up her belongings and tucking them under her arm, “I can't do this, not when he's acting so childish. He's already crossed the boundaries, but I'm not going to drown with him.”

She turned to him angrily. “If you want to know what's going on between Harry and me, you'd better grow up, Ron. You've gone too far this time. Everything I either do is wrong or not up to your standards. Well, Ron, if I had half a brain, I'd date Harry in an instant!”

As this sunk in, Ron's face discolored.

“Why don't you then?” Ron sputtered.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, closed it, and shook her head, casting some stray hairs across her face. “You know, Ron, I've done a lot for you. I've had a lot of respect for you. Now I'm wondering if you were worth all of that.”

She shouldered her pack.

“Do you want to know what's wrong?” she asked suddenly, facing Ron with contempt. “Do you want to know why Harry and I had to pluck up the courage to talk to you?” Her eyes were shining brightly, and her hands were trembling uncontrollably.

She turned to Harry, staring determinedly into his green-tinged gaze.

He felt it coming before he could react. The sensation, the flying, the wind blowing high over the trees… It was all of what he loved most. Everyone in the Great Hall was suddenly gone, transformed into shadowy wisps of mingled black and gray… Hermione alone stood out before him, smiling as he too was smiling, basking in his gaze that slowly drew her closer…

He knew what he had to do. He reached out and pulled her close, and their lips met. Hungry and passionate, as before.

It was beautiful.

Though the silence… that, in itself, was overwhelming.

* * *

Two kisses in a chapter! TWO! Be happy, my friends! LOL.

Feedback is wholesomely welcomed! ^_^

Poor Ron. Hee hee. >:)

-Lauren

A/N: Hey everyone, thank you so much for the wonderful reviews (lol, fledge, yeah, I noticed that right after I updated, and I was going to change it, but… *shrugs* … too lazy, I guess. *grins*). I really appreciate your support especially, because I'm going through a really hard time… you know, about ages and such. Seeing that I'm younger than most of the writers here, and everything - and I feel like some of my friends are being really weird around me and my work (not you, Jen! *hugs* Love you! Had a good time in California?). Anyway, I just want to say that your reviews are really helping me, and you guys are the best, because you don't judge me because of my age.

Thank you so much.

Enjoy, ya'll!

-Lauren

btw, I promised myself that this chapter would be at least 2,500 words long. So there you go. For some reason, I have difficulty just moving on, lingering on one damn passage, editing and rereading it over and over and over and over... *g* I am so jealous of people who can write long, 5,000 word chapters. *sigh*

* * *

He could feel her animosity, her shuddering anger, against his mouth. He could feel it in the way she gripped his hair so tightly, almost so that her nails dug into his scalp, and pressed up against him eagerly. She was trembling so much it was as if she was cold, but her breath was hot, and her heart was beating wildly against his chest, pumping blood to her sweaty palms. There was something different about this reunion of lips, however; it didn't feel wrong or unusual or strange; they were destined for each other, it felt. It had been determined.

Determined. Destiny. He had heard those words before.

You make your own destiny, a laughing voice whispered in the back of his mind, Remember that.

He knew that their eyes were upon them. Every single pair in the Great Hall.

They should have pulled away minutes ago; he knew they should have. The uncanny feelings and sensations were gone, the reeling flight of his mind had ceased, and in its place was the buzz of whispers and babble in the background turmoil. But beyond that, deeper, past the physical side of it all, he was filled with an undeniable pang of realization.

He marveled that he could taste what she was feeling. How her taste had changed from bitter anger and annoyance, to the sweet saccharine flavor of content…

It would have gone on forever.

But humans have lungs.

Agonizingly, painstakingly, they pulled apart, breathless and dazed. The first thing Harry saw was Ron's clammy face, astonishingly the dull color of pasty milk, staring blankly at the pair of them, as though he had never seen them before. His eyes bloodshot, his hair reddened to its complete potential, he looked as though he had been force-fed one of Neville's wrongly brewed potions.

The teachers were staring. The students were staring. Even Nearly-Headless Nick and the Fat Friar had stopped their careless chatter to blink, stupefied, in their direction.

Ron looked too appalled to speak.

“Ron… listen -” Harry began.

He turned around, shaking unsteadily, and walked past the tables, past the wide-eyed students, and exited out of the Great Hall without another word, drawing his robes around himself violently.

Harry did not dare look in Hermione's direction.

* * *

It began as soon as they left the Great Hall together, stomachs still growling, their appetite yet to be satisfied. The noise, the consistent hiss of gossiping whispers, the clamor of forks against plates - everything started up again as quickly as it had stopped. Talk returned. Laughter rang.

Hermione seemed to be in shock; she would neither look at Harry nor talk to him about what had happened. Her nervous silence transferred to him, and he began fretting himself, flushing red and clearing his throat incessantly. He didn't want both of his friends to cease talking to him, for it was clear Ron had got himself pretty riled up, and wouldn't initiate a conversation with any amount of persuasion. Harry remembered clearly the catastrophe during fourth year. Yet Ron continued to make sudden assumptions, as if he really knew what was going on.

Harry glared at the wall as he passed. Who was Ron to assume anything, when Harry was the one under a spell? A love potion, for that matter, that even Hermione didn't know how to counteract. Who was Ron to accuse him of doing anything other than friendly activities with Hermione, when he knew perfectly well that they weren't?

Harry didn't blame Hermione. In fact, he felt she was the least from blame. She had warned him about the fairies, the powerful love spells they possessed, their meddlesome behavior… He knew everything; from the time he pulled her through the cavern entrance to a few moments earlier, when the potion had taken effect. Even Ron - daft, immature Ron - knew what could have happened within the cave. Why he did not choose to accept this explanation, Harry did not know.

They spent the day in the library together in a handily secluded place behind a row of bookshelves -casually stuffed with muggle books and writings - where no one was bound to look. To Hermione's pleasure, Harry had suggested it, and they had read over homework there. She had corrected all of his work, and Harry was quite satisfied to see she did not have to do much, and even let him read over her DADA work. Neither Ron nor Harry had ever managed to pull off the feat of checking Hermione's homework, and while Harry felt it took all of her dignity to ask such a question, he was quite flattered.

Secretly Harry was wishing they would come across a book on Moerae fairies, but Hermione said it was pointless, because the only people who ever wrote about them were muggle fairy tale writers, not real scientists with real facts and details.

“It's like this, Harry,” she said exasperatedly, “Moerae fairies have never been proven to exist by anyone. Those who write stories are writing off of simple rumors… I know they exist, Harry,” she said, when he opened his mouth angrily (how she managed to know this when she wasn't looking at him, he didn't have the slightest idea), “but no one else does. Look at this.”

She plucked a small muggle book from the shelf and handed it to him.

“'Sleeping Beauty'?” asked Harry skeptically.

Hermione nodded. “It's all there. Look.” She leaned across him, and flipped through the pages. “We can assume that the fairies in this story are Moerae, or at least closely related. Though we know that fairies can't directly affect the future of a person, they are able to soften fate. See?” Her hair fell across Harry's leg in soft ringlets; he wondered why she ever complained about it being bushy… “In this story, the princess is determined to die by her sixteenth birthday; but the Moerae fairies twisted this around so that she was only to fall into a deep slumber, and would only be awakened by the kiss of her true love… Harry, are you listening?”

He shook himself. “Yeah, yeah.”

Her nose was in the book again. “It's interesting. This story was written ages ago, during the fifteenth century or so. Even then some people knew what they were going on about.”

“So you're saying…”

Hermione responded quickly, “Yes, this fairy tale actually does have some basis in fact.”

“Odd,” Harry muttered, “I wonder what caused the guy to write something like that.”

“Personal experience?” Hermione provided knowledgably, shifting about her schoolwork and sitting straight up in her seat, “I'm not sure. There's a possibility that at times of dire need, fairies will appear to help people… Though I don't see any other written evidence of this happening.” This was said firmly, as though that was all the evidence they needed.

“Couldn't we ask anyone about it?” Harry asked. Hermione didn't answer, but seemed to dismiss the matter. They read and corrected work for another few uncomfortable minutes in silence. Finally, Harry put his book down loudly, and said, “I can't do this anymore.”

Hermione dropped her books as well. “I know. We should talk to Hagrid.”

So it was then, moments later, that they were promenading side-by-side down to Hagrid's hut on the opposite side of the school grounds. Like yesterday, the weather was stunning. The sky was a still icy blue, reflecting the lake's glossy water, and the sun-kissed lawn toppled pleasurably beneath their feet. Everywhere, basking in the warm sun, Harry could see students laid out on cloaks, eyes closed, enjoying their weekend without a care in the world. Nothing in the weather portrayed either Harry or Hermione's confused feelings, however, and as they walked, they grew more and more aware of the strangeness of their predicament.

“It's hard to ignore, isn't it?” Hermione said vacantly, her eyes straying from her feet to the far side of the grounds.

“Yeah.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way, you know that, right?”

Harry was surprised when this comment did not startle him.

“I mean,” she continued, “I would rather it be you, as opposed to Ron.”

It took every ounce of strength in his body to keep himself from smiling at her. “I know what you mean.”

“I wish I knew what those bloody fairies wanted, though,” Hermione said quickly, referring back to her frustrated demeanor, “They've had their fun, haven't they?”

Harry shrugged, though he knew Hermione could not see him. “I dunno. I suppose they think they're doing something right.”

He heard her sigh. “I suppose… But your cloak, and Malfoy? I have a feeling that's not a coincidence, Harry.”

He could only smile weakly; the thought of that strange encounter made his head ache. “I thought you were against solving this mystery, Hermione.”

“I could only go so long without wanting another,” she said in a businesslike way, her voice brisk.

Harry wasn't fooled. He grinned.

“Oh, here we are!” Hermione said, planting herself firmly in front of Hagrid's hut. “Go on, Harry, knock.”

Harry heard the quaver in her voice as he knocked on Hagrid's large wooden door. They heard frantic barking inside, some scuffling, and Hagrid appeared in the doorway. He looked down at Harry and Hermione and his weathered face reddened slightly. He rubbed his hands together nervously.

“Hello, yeh two… c'mon, come in…”

He ushered them into his home, and shut the door behind him. He scurried off to a black kettle, which was hissing loudly on the stove. Fang jumped up on Harry, so that his paws almost rested on his shoulders. Harry buckled under his weight.

“Tea?” Hagrid asked, gesturing toward the kettle, as Fang barked happily and jumped down from Harry, retreating into a corner with a pleased wag of his tail. Harry and Hermione shook their heads, and Hermione said quickly, “Hagrid, we have to talk to you. It's important.”

“Yeah, I s'pose it was goin' ter come eventually,” Hagrid admitted sheepishly, “I knew somethin' like this was bound ter happen, I just knew it.”

His beady eyes looked over at the pair of them in interest. “Yeh made quite a show in front of the Great Hall like that. It was quite somethin'.” The two of them blushed. “But yeh see, I guess I'm partly to blame. I never knew those fairies would actually do somethin' like that. Fact, I didn' expect anyone to see `em. It was a test, see. Those who said they saw `em, were probably lyin'. Blimey, fairies never come ter anyone unless they think it's important… `Sides, I never saw `em anyways, so I guess I wouldn' know.”

Hermione looked at him in mild confusion. “Why send us in though, when you didn't even know if the fairies even existed?”

At that, Hagrid smiled self-mockingly. “Legend,” he grunted, “Dumbledore's idea, yeh know. Said that there were fairies there in his day… in my day…” he trailed off. “But Dumbledore's a smart man. I trusted him, and still do. He's not one to make choices without a reason.”

The kettle began to scream again, and Hagrid rushed over to tend to the fire.

* * *

They had gotten absolutely nowhere. Tired and exhausted, Harry and Hermione trudged back to the castle glumly, both awaiting miserably the assailment of giggles and whispers that were soon to come. Thankfully, Hagrid had kept them long past sunset, and most of the corridors were empty, save few students who rushed past and paid them no heed. They knew, however, that as long as they were in the Gryffindor common room, they would be subject to an onslaught of questions and annoying gossip, and that, in itself, was utterly frightening.

Neither Hermione nor Harry had seen hide or hair of Ron since his dramatic departure, and if Harry had not been preoccupied with his own worries, this would have bothered him tremendously. The fact remained though, that Hermione was indeed on his side, and the sacrifice of dragging her along (due to the fairies' mischievously crafted plans) seemed rather trivial. There was something about having her supporting him that got him through the most difficult of troubles.

Stepping through the portrait hole together (The Fat Lady giggling relentlessly), they found themselves suddenly in a room silenced of any noise, countless curious eyes peering their way. As if on cue, everyone had stopped talking. Even the Creevy brothers Colin and Dennis turned around, wide-eyed and beseeching. A few first years squirmed nervously in their armchairs by the fireside.

“I'm never getting any reading done now,” Hermione whispered in Harry's ear. He watched Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil giggle together at a table, exchanging knowing looks, their books completely forgotten.

“Revolting, isn't it?” Hermione whispered again, trying to keep her face impassive, “I'll have to fall asleep before they begin harassing me.”

Harry knew that she was trying to make light of the situation, yet this was only Gryffindor, and his fellow classmates were already giggling and pointing at them like crazed fanatics.

“I'm going to bed,” Hermione said, sighing. She paused for a second, as though on the verge of saying something, then stopped herself. “I'll see you tomorrow, Harry. Goodnight.”

Harry turned around and watched her figure disappear up to the girl's dormitories, and felt suddenly very alone. Without a second thought about it, he too left, hurrying up to his own dormitory, amid the curious calls of the Gryffindors below.

He reached his room in complete relief, and dropped onto his bed. He closed his eyes tightly, his head pounding, and tried to drift away into dreamland, where no one would ask him questions or sneak comments behind his back. He felt worse, though, that Hermione was also getting this kind of attention. Perhaps it was because he was used to being gawked at, but the thought of people making even more rumors wasn't too horrible. The prospect, however, of Hermione getting thrown into the mix gave him a pang of guilt…

“Tired, are you?” came a scathing voice from the front of the room.

Harry grudgingly opened his eyes. Ron was standing in front of him, wearing a look of complete distaste. His face was slowly reddening.

“About time you came back. Out alone with Hermione, catching up with your complicated love lives?”

Harry felt his temper begin to boil. “Ron, you don't understand what you're talking about.”

Ron's sneer apparent, Harry knew that he was just trying to get a rise out of him. “Didn't fancy telling me that before you bloody snogged in front of the whole school…”

“You weren't listening,” Harry spat angrily, “You didn't even let Hermione finish!”

Ron glared, but in all other respects, completely ignored Harry's logic. “Apparently, you didn't think I would take it well. How many other secrets are you hiding from me? How much else will I have to force out of you?”

“We were going to tell you, Ron,” Harry said through clenched teeth, the blood pounding in his ears, “that the fairies gave us a love potion.”

Harry wanted Ron to accept this graciously, or ask some questions, or even laugh, but he did neither of these things. He glared at Harry angrily, looking perfectly insulted. “You don't have to sugarcoat it for me,” he said contemptuously, “I understand when I'm not wanted. See you around.”

Breathing heavily, Ron stormed out of the room, but not before Harry saw a sliver of familiar material folded haphazardly under his arm.

* * *

Ooh, and the plot thickens. ^_^

Gr, Ron is so annoying to write… but he's slightly easier than the other characters. *shrugs* Does that say anything about me, I wonder? Lol.

Thank you tremendously for the encouraging reviews last chapter. They really made my day.

Love,

-Lauren

A/N: Thanks again, everyone, as always!

Just a bit of interesting info for you guys. Like I said a while ago, Moerae fairies are a type of mythical creature, with the same properties I have described… blah, blah, blah. When I was reading about them a week or so ago, I stumbled (oblivious, of course) across something very interesting. Like I have tried to “show”, Moerae fairies (supposedly) appear in three different ages – youngest (hence, Metagenês means “youngest” in Greek – or so I hope, lol), middle-aged, and old – and are sometimes referred as The Weird Sisters. Sound familiar? ^_^

A tidbit for you guys to ponder over, I guess. Enjoy!

* * *

No.

Harry shook with blind rage. He had experienced Ron’s complete lack of support once before, but it had not been Ron arguing against Hermione and Harry, it had been Ron arguing against Harry, with Hermione as the neutral one, trying to console them both. Somehow, now placed in such a delicate situation, Harry felt that Ron owed them for their continuous tolerance. He had been nothing short of jealous over something that had never existed, and if he chose to fight until the bitter end, Harry was unwilling to try and convince him that what he feared most was not liable to happen.

So it was then, moments later, that Harry found himself in the common room, striding impatiently towards the girls’ dormitories.

His mind consumed with thoughts of what to do with Ron when he got his hands on him, Harry began to walk up the short flight of stairs.

Unfortunately, the rules had not been changed; the stairs quickly melted into a slide, and Harry lost his balance and toppled over backwards, landing, on his back, at the foot of the stairs with an almighty thump.

Newly brewed anger bubbled up inside him. Who had insisted on such a stupid system? Gingerly he got to his feet, rubbing his back. He glared at the slide - living proof that he, or any other boy for that matter, had attempted to climb up to the girls’ dormitories – and paced in front of it intolerantly, glancing up its slippery slope every so often in hope of finding Hermione there waiting for him.

Blood was pounding in his ears; antagonism seeped into his veins … He wanted to yell. He wanted to kick and punch something.

A group of girls slid down the slide, giving him a look and turning away, giggling madly. A few stopped to ask him who he was looking for, but he glowered menacingly, and they stormed away themselves, looking utterly insulted. With each passing moment Harry grew more and more irritated.

He wanted answers. He wanted plain, simple answers.

“Harry?”

Without turning around, Harry said briskly, “I was waiting for you.”

There was a brief pause. “I was in the library.”

“I thought you had gone to bed?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Harry turned around and walked towards her, keeping his arms crossed and his eyes on the floor. “They should really fix that.” He gestured to the offending slide.

He heard Hermione laugh shortly. “Yes, well… Harry, what’s happened?”

“Ron and I had a row,” Harry spat out, his anger, which had been quietly ebbing away, reaching another boiling point.

Harry expected Hermione to be just as angry as him, or even more so, but she just sighed. “I expected as much.”

Harry threw his arms into the air in salient frustration. “How can you be so calm about this?”

“I try,” came the straightforward answer. Then she said sternly, “But Harry, arguing with Ron isn’t going to help matters -,”

“What do you think I did? Rush into my dormitory and start ragging on him? I was just minding my own business. He’s the jealous git, not me!” Harry crossed his arms angrily, suppressing an outburst of rage. “And I saw something else.”

“What?” Hermione asked quickly, suddenly sounding curious.

“My Invisibility Cloak. I saw him carrying it. He was using it.”

“Oh my…” Hermione said in a low voice, “That means he must have …”

“I know,” said Harry, lowering his voice also, vainly trying to keep his rising temper intact, “Ron was probably the one who left it ‘lying around’ the last time… when Malfoy picked it up…”

Hermione was silent for a moment, then she said, “Harry, don’t you find it odd that Ron supposedly uses your cloak, and Malfoy just happens to stumble across it?”

“Yeah, it sounds to me like Ron’s joined the enemy,” said Harry bitterly.

“Be as that may,” Hermione said darkly, “I believe there’s more to this mystery than meets the eye. I think we should -,”

“ - Go to the library?” completed Harry dully. “Hermione, I don’t think -,”

“Who said anything about the library?” said Hermione lightly, “I think we should talk to Ron.”

With an impatient, “Come on!” she grasped Harry around the wrist.

It felt like someone had poured frost into his bloodstream. A strange, inward coldness swept throughout him, causing him to shiver pleasurably – and suddenly, as soon as it had come, it was replaced with a kind of liquid fire, which soothed the chill, and made him drowsy and sleepy, like on a rosy spring morning.

Harry shivered again.

Hermione’s gentle hand burned against his skin.

* * *

“Where is he?” cried Hermione frantically, half an hour later, pacing about the common room in contagious anxiety. Harry was sitting on the arm of one of the lumpy couches with his arms crossed defiantly.

“What makes you think he’ll listen to us, anyway?”

Hermione’s pitter-pattering feet came to a halt. “Because, Harry, though Ron can be an immature prat at times, he knows where his loyalties lie. He’s not going to throw away years of friendship over …” She paused uncomfortably. “Well, never mind. We’ll find him sooner or later – he can’t have gone very far.”

It was then that it hit him. A ton of bricks in the face, a sledgehammer, a slap across the cheek.

Harry’s eyes widened behind his glasses; his gut wrenched painfully.

He and Ron were fighting over Hermione.

Harry looked up, disregarding all consequences, and looked into Hermione’s quietly discomforted face.

Devoid of emotion, frowning inwardly, Harry said in his calmest, most rational voice, “He fancies you, doesn’t he?”

Hermione looked away, her eyes determinedly watching the charred evening sky from past the pearly windows. “Harry, the potion…”

But the incentive was too strong. His determination had reached its pinnacle.

“I don’t care about the bloody potion,” said Harry. He grasped her shoulders firmly. “Hermione … he does, doesn’t he?”

Hermione slowly turned her head, her eyes fluttering hastily to meet his. “Oh, Harry, why does this matter?”

His hands were going pleasantly numb as shock after shock bombarded his defenses. To his horror and utter surprise, one of his hands touched her cheek and ran its thumb over her jawbone. Her eyes closed gently, her cheek putting pressure onto his hand as she leaned to the side.

In a barely audible voice, Hermione whispered, “Just because he fancies me doesn’t mean I automatically fancy him …”

Hermione moved her head slightly and pressed her lips tenderly against the palm of his hand, her eyes flickering up once more. “Harry, don’t you see? It’s been you, it’s always been you…”

Harry’s inwardly raging ambivalence ceased; and he paused, pulling in this announced revelation, disheartened, as though it were meaningless and empty; his own mind whirling and twisting into a flustered knot, in which he dwelt despairingly. It was the potion after all. The potion ensnared their minds, misinterpreted their emotions, and spat them back out completely different.

And yet that nasty little voice at the back of his mind chanted all the while that he made his own destiny. That he caused this to happen. Caused what? What was happening?

Harry was not stupid or dim-witted. He knew what was happening. But it was deep down that he knew; and deep down, where all of his emotions were laid, it was impossible for anything to break through – either to get in, or to get out.

Harry tore his eyes away from Hermione’s, breaking off the connection; and all the while the potion was lapping up against his emotional barrier.

Hermione immediately stepped away from him, uncomplainingly, her eyes looking back out of the window. “I know where he is.”

* * *

Harry and Hermione made their way down to the Quidditch pitch in troubled silence and growing trepidation; uneasily looking down corridors; treading as softly as possible across the concrete floors. It was not too late to be out of the common room, but Harry and Hermione had silently agreed that no trouble was wanted with Filch, no matter what the circumstances.

Once or twice the unearthly pounding of footsteps could be heard somewhere through the reverberating castle walls, and it was these times where Harry would shove his uncomfortable feelings aside and pull Hermione with him to the wall, where they would press up against it, shoulder-to-shoulder, panting heavily; their hearts drumming inside of their heaving chests.

The last time the footsteps fell, Harry and Hermione did not bother to hide, but looked at each other quickly – immediately regretting it, and turning away in embarrassment. But instead of a ghostly echo, a small figure appeared in front of them, running forward, nearly tripping on the hem of its robes. Harry squinted and recognized the figure at once.

“Colin?” he called.

“Oh, hi Harry!” said Colin, beaming suddenly and rushing toward him excitedly. “I was wondering -,” He spotted Hermione and blushed scarlet, stuttering, “I was … wondering … Harry, have you –,” He glanced warily at Hermione once again, “Have you seen my camera?”

“No, I haven’t,” said Harry.

“Neither have I,” said Hermione. “Do you know where it last was?”

Colin shook his head frantically. “No… wait … I think I brought it to Professor Sprout’s class, maybe it’s there…” He scratched his head. “It might’ve been Care of Magical Creatures, too … I dunno…”

Hermione said, smiling, “I’m sure you’ll find it, Colin. Someone will return it to you.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Colin suddenly looked sheepish. He looked at both Harry and Hermione curiously, shuffling his feet a bit. “Er, well, have fun.”

With those departing words, he rushed off in the other direction (toward the Gryffindor common room) in a dead run. Harry felt his cheeks burning, and he thought to himself that if everyone were going to follow along the same lines as Colin, he and Hermione might as well have hooked up, gotten married, and had three children since the time of their extravagant display in the Great Hall.

* * *

They found Ron, his back propped up against the tree, staring off into the distance. His Cleansweep broomstick was lying on the ground beside him, as was Harry’s Invisibility Cloak. As Harry and Hermione approached him, he turned his head slightly, saw the pair of them, and looked away in the other direction.

Hermione sat down beside him, but Harry stayed standing, feeling a midway tear between empathy and anger.

“So,” Ron said, his voice rather gruff.

Hermione said quietly, “Ron, we came to talk to you. We need you to believe us.”

Harry knew that she was containing all of her bitterness and resentment also. Ron had always misunderstood her.

“Why should I believe you?” Ron said in a half-hearted voice, fingering the gilded plaque on the handle of his broom.

“We’re your friends, Ron,” Hermione said in a motherly sort of voice, “It doesn’t take a minor problem to shake us loose.”

“Minor?” Ron said, aghast, “Minor, Hermione? Perhaps you don’t understand the problem?” He pointed an accusatory finger in Harry’s direction. “Him.”

All of the hateful feelings resurfaced with renewed vigilance. Harry stood stock-still, clenching his teeth so hard they felt about to break.

“But Ron –,”

Ron stood up suddenly. “He always gets everything, Hermione! Everything! I’m always second best! I’m just a bloody sidekick!” He was yelling now. Harry felt his insides twisting in pent-up animosity.

He walked towards Harry angrily. But before he could so much as threaten him, Hermione grabbed onto his arm warningly. “Ron, please! Control yourself! Harry didn’t ask for it all … you have a wonderful family Ron, a wonderful family … money isn’t everything!”

He jerked himself out of her grasp, glaring at her. “You don’t understand, do you? Harry gets everything, fame, fortune, happiness … and you.”

Harry moved forward, but Ron continued despite. “I mean…” He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully, “I mean… I’m so small next to him. I’m just a regular guy. And I know that you two are better than me at, well, everything, right? And Hermione, you care for him more, I can tell… It’s just now… Now, that you two are …”

“Ron…” Hermione started. “We all have our problems. But you can’t blame the world on Harry, or me, or anyone else for that matter. The grass is always greener on the other side. You want Harry’s fame, Harry wants your normalcy…”

Harry was marvelously glad that Hermione could explain such an imposing matter so straightforwardly. His uprising anger was soothed.

Ron too looked slightly mollified. “I guess so,” he said dully. He peered quickly at Harry, then turned away.

“It’s a love potion,” said Harry firmly. Ron looked up. Hermione nodded also.

“Oh,” Ron said heavily. To Harry’s enormous relief, he looked rather ashamed. “Oh.” He looked at Harry. “I guess… I should apologize, right mate?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Look, I’m sorry,” said Ron, fingering his broom absentmindedly. “Both of you. I – it’s … it’s hard, you know?” He looked uncomfortable.

Hermione said quietly, “Don’t worry about it anymore, Ron. We have other important issues to talk about.”

Ron grinned, still rather guiltily, at Harry. He scooped the cloak off the ground. “Sorry about that.”

“You left it here last time?” Harry questioned, taking his precious cloak and tucking it beneath his arm. Ron nodded.

“Yeah. Malfoy got it that time. I never forgot it again, though.”

Briefly, Harry wondered what could have made it so difficult for Ron to remember such a valuable item as the Invisibility Cloak, but the thought was quickly cleared when Hermione announced composedly, “We should see Professor Dumbledore, Harry. He will probably know some kind of counter.”

* * *

“So,” said Ron as the three of them traipsed through the corridors towards Dumbledore’s office. After he realized that their so-called romantic entanglement was merely induced by meddlesome fairies, he had become considerably open and friendly. “A love potion, eh?”

Hermione made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat and said, “Yes. And Ron, I would appreciate if you took this seriously…”

Ron turned to Harry. “And you, mate? What do you think of this?”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, turning his head away. It felt strange to have Ron suddenly on their side, talking about their predicament so easily. He felt a sort of annoyance, though he was not sure why.

“How does it work?” Ron pressed. “Is it just random or something?”

“Eye contact,” answered Hermione immediately; Harry turned just in time to see a spot of pink on her cheeks, “And touch. It’s a very old-fashioned potion…”

Ron was silent for a moment. Then in a cheery voice he said, “The fairies like their little jokes.”

Hermione opened her mouth to say something when Professor McGonagall strode up to meet them, her long black robes trailing; a wraithlike shadow in her wake.

“Potter, Granger, Weasley,” she said curtly, nodding her head. “May I ask why you are out of your common rooms this late at night?” Her eyes flickered to the Invisibility Cloak in Harry’s arms. “I see. Potter, please, in the future, keep your late-night wanderings to a bare minimum.”

“Professor, we weren’t -,” Hermione said quickly, “We need to see Professor Dumbledore…”

Professor McGonagall’s scrutinizing eyes narrowed, but to Harry’s relief, she smiled slightly. “Ah. Yes. He said you might come by one of these days. Potter, Granger, come with me -,”

“But what about -?”

“Mr. Weasley, you are not a part of this. And though you have doubtlessly been dragged into it,” Her eyebrows were raised shockingly high at this point, “I’m sure that Mr. Potter and Miss Granger will tell you all about their conversation with the Headmaster afterward.”

Looking highly affronted, Ron crossed his arms, but did not say another word. He seemed determined not to move. “Go back to the common room now, Mr. Weasley!” barked Professor McGonagall.

Ron’s resolve collapsed and he slumped away, muttering angrily under his breath. And Harry, to his own horror, found himself very pleased indeed at this turnout.

Smiling cheekily, Professor McGonagall beckoned Harry and Hermione forward, leading them past the two solid gargoyles, which sprung to life as soon as the password was muttered (“Fizzing Whizbees”); past the strange staircase, which elevated them to the top of the darkened, funnel-shaped room; and then onward, to the vast door of Professor Dumbledore’s office. Briskly, Professor McGonagall knocked on the door. Harry and Hermione stood behind, feeling both apprehensive and eager, worried and confident.

The door flew open, and Professor Dumbledore, clad in robes of shimmering periwinkle, peered at them from behind half-moon spectacles. He smiled.

“Ah. Mr. Potter, Miss Granger. Please come in. We have much to discuss.”

* * *

A/N: Thanks for sticking with me! Hee hee. Sorry I haven’t updated for so long… I’ve been really busy… And I’m a procrastinator anyway, so … yeah. *clears throat nervously*

Thanks again! ^_^

-Lauren

A/N: Another chapter has arrived at long last. Thanks for waiting of course!

Have fun, chaps! Cheers!

* * *

Harry snuck a quick glance Hermione’s way, purely out of instinct – but upon finding nothing of clear, concise importance, Harry followed Dumbledore’s cheerily beckoning hand into his office. Professor McGonagall sent him a truly evil smirk (at least he felt it was), and left them to the headmaster, her long black robe billowing out behind her.

Dumbledore noticed Harry and Hermione’s hesitation.

“Come in, come in,” he said, beaming at the two of them, “Make yourselves comfortable!”

Harry complied, though his mind was a rapid blur of choices … He looked around the room. How many ways could he kill himself without it looking suspicious? There was a lethal-looking instrument in the corner … Fawkes looked like he was on his Burning Day, he could always trip and catch fire … and the window was always an option …

He could not see Hermione, but from the clipped, amused laugh and the “Now, now, Miss Granger, it’s not that bad!” he was certain she was blushing furiously. And before he could stop himself, that same heat spread from his neck to his cheeks. He pulled uncomfortably at his collar, and looked up at his headmaster. Thankfully, he was silent, and his hands were placed on his front desk, his fingertips pressed together thoughtfully. Harry remembered the last time Dumbledore had looked so pensive – it was after fifth year, when he was telling Harry about the Prophecy. Harry heard Hermione swallow forcefully beside him.

“I never thought it would come to this,” said Dumbledore softly, closing his astoundingly sapphire eyes. “But, you see, it has taken so long … everyone … alas … no, no one else shall profit … very silly indeed …”

Hermione was positively quivering with impatience. Dumbledore finally looked up at the pair of them.

“I will tell you what you need to know,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper, “But the rest you will need to find out for yourself. In time, my dear friends, in time.”

Harry blinked.

“It was I,” said Dumbledore, evenly. “I could not wait, the time was too precious. The fairies knew they were needed, and they came … but it was I who told them, instructed them.”

“You?” gasped Hermione. “But I thought – how is this -?”

“It is no joke, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore in a maddeningly calm tone, smiling serenely. “Please … continue with your progress.”

Harry was completely lost.

“Harry.” Finally, an explanation. “I have to tell you – I hold much faith in the fairies’ -,” He smiled innocently, pausing for effect. Harry’s face fell, as did his lightening heart. “ – handiwork, shall I say. Metagenês especially is an artisan when it comes to potion making. She’s always so creative!” He laughed lightly, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Indeed, there was another time, in my time … however, the results were the same, as it will be soon enough…” He held up four fingers. “Surprise, denial, revelation …” He ticked off three fingers. “And finally, acceptance.”

He smiled at Harry’s bemused look. “Ah, but of course, Harry. Your parents. Imagine that!”

* * *

“No.”

Harry paced in front of the common room fire, later that evening, his hands in his pockets and his bottle green eyes set ablaze. Harry and Hermione, expecting to meet Ron later, were rather surprised to find him gone – but it was no loss, they felt, for the strangeness of the evening was overwhelming in itself. Besides, thought Harry and Hermione alike, Ron didn’t seem quite convinced that their love potion wasn’t in fact a shenanigan set on dominating his damaged ego. It was silly, stupid, and downright nonsensical - and, in their eyes, completely unworthy of thought.

“What is Dumbledore trying to prove?” raged Harry, kicking at the lint on the rug.

Hermione, from what he understood of her silence, was thoughtful. “Harry, what I don’t understand is why you’re taking this so badly. We have control of our lives, don’t we? Sure, love potions are powerful, but in the end, isn’t it the ones who are affected who make the choices?”

Harry stopped moving. Something was not right … something was off. He could feel it.

“What did you say?” he asked Hermione slowly.

“I said that people make their own choices, we can’t really be controlled, unless we’re under the Imperious Curse of course, but that’s a completely different -,”

There was an odd ringing noise in his head. “We create our own destiny,” he mouthed silently, stunned.

Hermione chanced a quick glance his way. “What’s wrong?”

Harry shook his head wordlessly, still in a searing shock. “I …”

What was wrong? he had to ask himself, but it was all a hopeless charade. He knew, more than anything else, he knew. Part of him wanted to tell her what was on his mind, to confide in her rationality – but the other part, the stubborn part, in his case, wanted to take this newfound revelation to the grave. It was because of this discomforting shock that he knew the potion worked. Despite everything, despite all of his underlying precautions, he had gotten ensnared – he had fallen in love with his best friend.

He knew she was staring at him. He knew his cheeks were burning red.

“Never mind. I just thought …” He took a deep breath. “I just thought I had realized something, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Her voice was crestfallen.

He could not bear to look at her, because he knew he would not have any sense left if he did. His hands were clammy, his forehead was perspiring, his lips were suddenly chapped, and feeling very, very cold …

He cursed Dumbledore viciously under his breath. He knew this would happen. Harry could just see him now, up in his cozy hideaway, laughing down at Harry, the gullible one, the dim one.

“I just don’t understand his motive,” said Hermione. Her voice had never sounded so sweet.

Harry pondered this, his thoughts unconsciously straying to Hermione’s bushy hair. Her wonderful, luxurious hair. “I dunno either.”

“I know there has to be something missing!” she cried impatiently, thumping her fist onto the arm of the couch, “I just know it! There’s some vital, important key point that I’m skipping completely!”

“Yeah, I know what you mean …” Awkwardly, Harry scratched his nose.

“Merlin, I feel so stupid!”

“Maybe you’re just blind,” Harry suggested teasingly, then mentally kicked himself.

Just like true love is blind? You daft git!

Just then, as soon as Hermione was about to retaliate, the portrait hole swung open. Parvati and Lavender stepped through, giggling as usual, their hands fluttering around their hair in flourished mirth. Harry, if asked, would have said they looked remarkably like twittering chickadees.

“ … I couldn’t believe it! So I was sitting there, right, minding my own business, and that Creevey kid comes up to me, asking about a camera! I told him I’d never seen the thing, but I was lying, you know, I’ve seen it somewhere … Oh, where was it? Yes, yes – that greasy Malfoy had it today … I just didn’t want him to snap anymore of those annoying Muggle pictures …”

Parvati stopped her chatter and turned her head in melodramatic grace, focusing her dark eyes on Harry. She whispered into Lavender’s listening ear, and they broke off together, dissolving into another giggly fit of laughter.

“Oooh, hi Harry!” said Parvati. Lavender fingered some of her hair.

Harry heard Hermione let out an annoyed sort of huff from beside him.

“What do you want?” she snapped, “Because if you don’t mind, we’d like to get back to our business.”

Parvati looked like she was restraining herself with extreme difficulty. “We were just coming to check up on our school’s new poster couple …” she said, trailing off mercilessly. Harry blushed, and the strange fluttering feeling in his chest returned. Parvati giggled. “Oh, isn’t that adorable? They’re in denial.”

“Go away,” said Hermione viciously.

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Potter!”

Parvati and Lavender scurried up the stairs to their dormitory, giggling the whole way. Harry and Hermione stood rooted to their spots, faces flushed red. “Well,” started Hermione, her voice shrill, “We did about everything we could about Dumbledore, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, I think so -,”

“Good!” she cried with hearty enthusiasm. “We’ll just see each other tomorrow, then -,”

“Did I hear something about a Mrs. Potter?” asked a female voice. Harry and Hermione turned. Ginny was standing behind them, a broad grin on her face. “Oh, Hermione, it’s just you.”

“If you say anything, Ginny, I will personally -,”

Laughing, Ginny responded, “No need to get your knickers in a twist, Hermione, I’m only joking.” She turned to Harry and grinned, whispering loudly, “Hold on to this one, Harry …”

“Oh shesh!” she cried when she saw Hermione’s look, “Have a sense of fun!”

“Hey Ginny,” said Harry, struck with an idea, “D’you know where Ron is?”

“Bah, him,” she said dismissively, shrugging, “I honestly don’t know. I haven’t seen him around that often anymore.”

“Strange,” muttered Hermione.

“Yeah, well, boys you know.” Ginny rolled her eyes, but said to Harry, “Don’t worry Harry, you’re fine.” She laughed. “Listen, I have to go. I have detention with Snape in about ten minutes – it’s something about an exploding salamander …”

“Did anyone get hurt?” asked Hermione in alarm.

“Oh, not really. Only Malfoy – he got sent to Madame Pomfrey’s earlier, though. From what I hear, he’s been in there all day, nursing some nasty burns …” She shrugged. “Whatever. It was worth it.”

With a last smirking smile, Ginny whisked away out of the portrait hole. Hermione was silent. Harry was assailed with sudden doubt and misgiving. His stomach felt ill.

“Look,” he said slowly, “I’m really sorry about all of this -,”

“It’s not that,” said Hermione thoughtfully, “It’s just … Malfoy. Ginny said that Malfoy was in the hospital wing, but he couldn’t have been, because Parvati saw him with Colin’s camera … and what’s he doing with Colin’s camera, anyway?”

“Maybe he’s trying to get his father out of Azkaban,” Harry suggested darkly.

For the first time in a while, Hermione laughed. She laughed. “I’m sorry Harry, but that’s the silliest thing I’ve heard all day! Honestly, what could he do with a camera?”

Harry was too overjoyed to hear her laugh that he didn’t have time to feel affronted. He grinned. “Yeah … and maybe he’s taking pictures of us and putting them in the Daily Prophet!” They both burst into hysterical laughter.

“Malfoy the matchmaker,” said Hermione breathlessly. “Wouldn’t that be priceless?”

“Yeah …” said Harry, his smile fading to a frown. He opened his mouth, but closed it after a moment of thought. He needn’t worry her. Malfoy was probably just trying to make all of Harry’s followers and obsessive fans as miserable as possible. Yes … that was it.

Hermione yawned. “Well, Harry, I think that I mean it now when I say I need to go to bed.”

He smiled, but he knew she couldn’t see him. He chuckled lightly, wanting, at that moment, to look into his eyes, despite the (not so horrible) consequences … “Goodnight, Mrs. Potter.”

Hermione punched his arm quickly, but laughed all the same. “Goodnight, Mr. Potter.”

His heart spun and he turned around on a whim, maybe to catch her eye, maybe to smile at her, but Hermione had already turned away and was climbing the flight of stairs up to her dormitory. He felt a fleeting twang of disappointment, followed by a leaden, disheartened feeling. However, though a small ray of hope shone through. He had gotten past the horrors.

From now on, he thought grimly, but triumphantly, it can’t get any worse.

He didn’t know how wrong he was.

* * *

A/N: I love making characters squirm. >:)

Anyway, hope you’re paying attention and not just focusing on the underlying H/Hr fluff stuff. Lol. I know, I know, I’m guilty of doing it too … I’m just saying … if you’re following me, you might figure out what’s going to happen/is happening. Yay!

Sorry this is so short. I’m just going to say that if you want your chapters earlier, then I’m going to do short chapters. If you don’t believe this, take a look at my story “Downtrodden”. It took me 3 months to get up another chapter. Eh. Well, I have a reason, because I was really busy (for one), and I was reading OotP again to get more concise info.

Oh well. Ignore my ramblings. ;)

Have a GREAT day!

-Lauren

btw, Jen – insane! Insane in the membrane! Insane … got no brain! ROFL.

A/N: LOL, a reviewer brought up a very good point that I want to clarify … First of all, I’m glad you don’t know where I’m going with this, because I want it to be a surprise. :) Hmm… About Hermione’s reactions – did you read the 1^st and 2^nd chapter thoroughly? She hates it, but she’s going along with it – for Harry’s sake. That’s the kind of person I have always seen her as. Uh, yeah, as for Dumbledore’s “matchmaking”, you don’t really know the whole story behind my Moerae fairies, eh? Or their potion? That’s all I have to say. ^_^ Thanks for the review. I’m glad someone asked about that.

And to you poor confused ones … I’m sorry. I really am. Don’t worry, though, I’ll have it perfectly clear in the end. Also, look at what Dumbledore says in the last chapter. It gives a clue. And, to tell you guys the truth, some people’s (*coughMalfoycough*) motives aren’t exactly what you think (don’t worry, he’s still as bad as ever, lol). Yeah … don’t want to give too much away …

Ah! One more hint – not everything in this story is related to the main mystery. Maybe I’m trying to throw you guys off-track. *giggles evilly*

One more thing … fledge – yeah, I know! Here I am, supposedly writing this “two-shot” joke kind of story, and all of a sudden it’s a full-length novel! I honestly didn’t plan it to be this way … I just got all of these ideas floating around in my head, and I couldn’t get them out. So here I am. I think I’ll finish it soon, though, and then I’ll have more time to work on Downtrodden, which is really exciting for me. It covers an aspect that I’ve never seen done before. Anywho, thanks for the review! And to everything else, thank you! I love you all! ^^

(lol, I think I hold the record for longest author’s notes ever … I just like to talk with you guys … it’s fun!)

* * *

The new day dawned a new kind of horror for Harry and Hermione – classes. Or, in fact, the blatantly lesser amount of teaching being done lately, due to random outbursts of giggles. It was terrible by itself listening to the whispers following them between classes, at breakfast, and down the drafty corridors. Everyone seemed to find it hilariously funny when Harry and Hermione blushed red whenever they threw a well aimed, “Aw, isn’t that cute?” their way. In fact, it was customary to do so whenever they passed. It wasn’t that the majority of the school was cruel in any way, but Harry Potter was involved, and that was their motivation. It was just too wonderful to resist – a real-life drama at their very school.

Harry was (most of the time), ignoring their remarks and continuing on his way. He was used to all of the attention, good or bad, and it didn’t affect him much anymore. He tried to convince Hermione to overlook it, but she was taking it quite personally, and trembled with suppressed rage whenever a fellow student passed. She even snapped at a couple of first years doing their homework in a corner of the common room, sending them scattering for cover. Harry was noticing the subtle metamorphose of Hermione’s clipped, but mellow behavior into a demon-like frenzy of wrath, and though he didn’t particularly support or embrace it, he understood why she was acting that way.

One day, however, she snapped. It was in Herbology, tending to frothing omnivorous Venus Flytraps, that she suddenly ripped off her gloves, threw them to the ground, and stormed out of the greenhouse, her hand pressed to her forehead. Ron, who was in the class at that time, and looking rather tired, merely watched her leave. Harry, before he could think twice, excused himself and ran after her.

She didn’t run away as Harry approached, but she continued walking angrily, breathing out irate huffs of air.

“Hermione -,” he started.

She turned around slowly, taking deep, resounding breaths, as if to pacify her fiery temper. “What … what is it?”

He found that he didn’t know what to say, that he followed after her by instinct, and instinct alone.

“I’m worried about you,” he said simply, “I know all of this attention is terrible, but -,”

“This is your life,” she interrupted, “I didn’t know. How could I?” She groaned suddenly and dropped to the luscious grass. Harry knelt next to her. “Oh, Harry … I didn’t know. It’s dreadful. I’m just so tired of all of this. Why won’t they leave us alone?”

Harry sighed heavily. “They’re just seizing the opportunity, I guess.”

Hermione massaged her hands onto her forehead. “I have a horrendous headache.”

Harry touched his scar briefly. “Yeah.”

“Dumbledore didn’t make sense. He just mumbled at us. And then he’s expecting us to have this stupid revelation about something that I have no idea about! I mean … honestly … how am I supposed to feel about that? And you – you have to kiss me whenever you look at me! How’s that for fun? I bet you’re having loads of happy thoughts doing that …” She trailed off. “But it doesn’t matter now, does it? I’m so smart, aren’t I? I can figure out everything he throws at me! Well, why doesn’t he just hand me everything he wants done?! That would help!”

Harry knew Hermione too well to try and confront her about her irrationality, and let her rant continue, watching the side of her face closely. Her endearing bushy hair seemed to crackle with static electricity.

Hermione buried her head in her hands. “It could’ve been anyone … anyone … why did he have to make it hard for us – for our friendship?” She clenched her fist. “I’m so sorry!”

“Sorry?” Harry repeated, bemused, “This isn’t your fault, Hermione.”

“But I know, Harry … I know about the potion … I didn’t tell you … I …” Shakily, suddenly she stood up off the ground, brushing off stray twigs and leaves. “I figured it out …”

Harry stood up as well. “What? What do you mean?”

Attempting to sound calm, but failing miserably, Hermione said hoarsely, “I have to leave. I have to go to the library … I need to go to the library …”

“Hermione -,”

“I can’t tell you!” she cried shrilly, deliberately avoiding his questioning gaze. “Harry, I just can’t!”

She looked past his shoulder. “I have to go …”

Her eyes met his briefly before she shuddered, closed her eyelids tightly, and hurried away, leaving Harry standing alone staring after her. He felt hollow, scraped of his insides – he wanted to hurry along after her, catch up with her, but his feet wouldn’t respond to his pleading. His heart flopped pathetically inside his chest.

Harry felt a presence at his shoulder and he turned around defensively.

“Hi,” said Ron, and Harry turned away. “What’s wrong with Hermione?”

Harry watched her closely, now a dark speck against the castle’s dreary backdrop. “Wish I knew.”

“Maybe all of those classes caught up with her,” Ron pointed out. “The stress, you know.”

“Yeah … maybe …”

“Listen, if it has anything to do with me,” started Ron uncomfortably, “I’m sorry. I’ve been really busy, and I know I was an ass.”

Unbridled anger bubbled up inside Harry. How he dared think that Hermione was irritated on his behalf … Why, Harry had never heard such a stupid idea in his life. He gritted his teeth, turning away, in hope that Ron would get the message and leave him alone.

“You’re still upset over your Invisibility Cloak, aren’t you?” Ron was talking again.

And there it was again – the disgusted pang in his stomach that rendered him almost speechless with fury.

“Listen, if it makes it any better … I was going to tell you about it … But then I lost it, you know, that one day … and Malfoy got it … I thought I’d better wait.”

Harry spat, in a voice sounding much unlike his own, “What were you doing?”

The pang. Harry suddenly realized what it was. Uncharted jealousy, which had no basis in fact, that existed only because Hermione existed. If Ron had done anything with Hermione, Harry didn’t know what he’d do … it hurt because it was possible. Illogical, yes, but possible.

“Well,” Ron started out, sheepishly, “Bugger, mate, this is embarrassing …”

Harry turned around to face him. Ron backed away at the wild look in his blazing eyes. He gulped some air.

Ron sighed heavily. “You see, when it started out a few weeks ago, I was just flying. To practice, right? And then, one day, Luna Lovegood sort of followed me down to the pitch … and …” Ron’s expression was of suppressed ecstasy. “I guess we hit it off. I’ve been coming back down there every time I can …”

Harry’s relief was so great that he felt lightheaded and dizzy. It was like he took a dose of medicine, and it swept through his veins, clearing his body of any feelings of ill will. He felt free, floating, happy. Harry marveled at the feeling. Unconsciously, he smiled to himself.

“So I guess that means that you’re not mad?” Ron asked hopefully. “I really am sorry, mate.”

Harry’s smile faded and he looked at his friend firmly, but thoughtfully. “You were upset at me, too.”

Ron’s ears went red. “Yeah … see … I was just really overloaded. Ginny was starting to figure out what was going on with me and Luna, and it was a real shock to see my best friends snogging … and liking it. I don’t know – I felt really left out … and I felt I couldn’t talk to either of you about Luna, because you were too caught up with each other to notice me …”

Harry’s heart was beating quickly. “What?”

“Bloody hell, Harry, it’s so obvious. That time in the Great Hall …” Harry turned a brilliant shade of red at the memory. “You two were all over each other … but it doesn’t really matter now, does it? It was the potion that did it all. I’m actually amazed. It looked genuine to me.”

“Yeah,” muttered Harry vaguely, looking back towards the looming castle.

Ron watched him. “Maybe you should talk to her. Sort some things out.”

“She doesn’t want to talk.”

“I think she does, Harry. Girls always want to talk. Just be sensitive, and they’ll open up like a book. Believe me, it works every time.”

Harry sighed heavily, burying his face in his hands. “I never thought I’d see the day when Ron Weasley gives me advice on how to talk to girls …”

“Live and learn, mate,” said Ron, grinning. “Hermione’s no different – she’s a female like the rest of them.”

“Luna taught you well.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “How do you know I didn’t just figure that out by myself?”

Harry laughed shortly, but it ended up sounding like a snort. “Because you’re not sensitive enough. You have got the emotional range of a teaspoon, remember?”

Ron scowled. “Oh, shut it. You’re the one quoting Hermione.”

But it was a moment too late. Harry was already striding towards the castle. Ron, chuckling, called after him, “Don’t have too much fun without me, Harry!” Harry turned around just as Professor Sprout came outside, her hat askew and her cheeks smudged with dirt. She saw Ron, put her grimy hands upon her hips, and gestured violently for him to go back inside the greenhouse, with an audible, “Upon my word, Mr. Weasley! Your plant is eating up all the bobotubers!” Several high-pitched screams erupted from inside, and Ron, with a fleetingly amused look Harry’s way, rushed to the rescue.

* * *

Harry wasn’t stupid.

Rash maybe, but definitely not stupid. He knew, as only the finest of friends could know, what Hermione would think if he burst dramatically into the library, calling out her name as though his life depended on it. And he knew what her response would be if he swept her into his arms and snogged her senseless in front of everyone, amid Madame Pince’s angry screeches and flailing, assailing dusters. Of course Harry knew he could not use his typical tactics for such a sensitive matter.

Yet … he himself was also in need of comfort.

He felt terrible to dwell on such a selfish, conceited thought, but still it was wholesomely true. Were he questioned whether he would rather hide away in his dormitory or spend every living moment with her, he would have chosen the latter. However, all good things come at a cost – and Harry’s cost was the problem that he could not even stand at close proximity with her without risking the chance that he would impulsively kiss her. Briefly he wondered if the potion was accountable for this newfangled dilemma also, but this was washed away as new, terrifying thoughts overcame him.

What was he to do around her? She wasn’t the least bit stupid. The question was whether she would take it as real, or a part of the potion’s mysterious qualities. Maybe that was the secret then, Harry thought blandly; Maybe the potion makes you fall in love with someone. But as he was thinking (and thinking how clichéd his thoughts were), he remembered the stupid voice in the back of his mind that chanted endlessly about “creating destinies”. Well, Harry didn’t want to create a destiny – he wanted to fix one. And of course the potion made people fall in love – it happened to him, didn’t it? With the unlikeliest person imaginable, too. Hermione.

Aimlessly, Harry wandered away from the library’s doors and strode off in the other direction, mumbling characteristically.

But why was that so unlikely? he asked himself, frowning in thought. Why was the thought of Hermione and himself being … He stopped himself uncertainly … like that … unlikely? There was nothing wrong with her, was there? In fact, she was rather perfect … intelligent, charismatic, empathetic, funny when the time called … beautiful … yes … ravishing, really …

Harry swore, turned a sharp left, and slammed himself into the wall. Swiftly he knocked his forehead against the chilled concrete. Once … twice …

“Trying to knock some sense into that empty head of yours, Potter?” a voice hissed malevolently. Harry’s blood boiled on the spot and he lifted his head off of the wall for a moment.

“As a matter of fact,” Harry said, raising his voice angrily, “I am.”

Malfoy sneered. “Hilarious, Potter.”

Harry spun around to face him, and noticed Colin Creevey’s camera slung around his neck. Malfoy smirked. “You like? I nicked it from that little Gryffindor ninny – you know, that mindless fan of yours.” He laughed derisively at Harry’s sullen scowl. Harry opened his mouth to retaliate, but Malfoy cut him off. “Oh, you want to give it back, do you? You want to be a grand hero?”

Harry reached into his pockets for his wand, and was horrified to find it gone. Malfoy’s evil smile brightened. “I wouldn’t come close to this camera if I were you, Potter.” He raised his own wand, sneer apparent.

Harry’s head was pounding with rage. “What do you want with the camera anyway?” he spat through gritted teeth.

“Funny you should ask,” Malfoy said flourishingly, walking around Harry, keeping the wand pointed at his chest, “If I were any less intelligent, I would actually tell you – but fortunately, I’m not. It’s hilarious, really, to watch you suffer.” Harry was listening intently to every word, resorting to glaring at the floor instead of at Malfoy’s greasy pointed face. “And who cares that the fool Dumbledore feels like it’s ‘intruding upon his private business’.” Malfoy laughed mockingly and Harry clenched his fists. “Poor, weak, foolish Potter. Without your lapdogs, you’re nothing …”

“I don’t see your horde of Malfoy-worshipping idiots,” Harry spat, his eyes flashing dangerously, “Perhaps they’re still in class, trying to add two plus two.”

Malfoy looked like he was considering this. “Perhaps.” He rolled his eyes. “But I really want to know where that Weasley girl is.”

“What?” Caught by surprise, Harry narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“The why is not your business. I need to talk to her about this.” He pulled up the sleeves of his robes, and Harry was appalled to see a long, raw burn across his forearm. It sported welts, and it looked like someone (Madame Pomfrey, Harry guessed) had been forced to burst a few blood blisters, which were now oozing with a kind of sickening greenish-tinted puss, which, to Harry, looked poisonous. Some of the skin had been charred a sickening brownish-red color. Even Harry, who was used to terrible injuries, felt himself feeling sickened.

Malfoy winced slightly and pulled his robes back down over his arm. “Where is she?”

Harry glared at him. “I’m not pitying you. Whatever happened, it was either you or your blubbering friends that did it.”

Laughing maliciously, Malfoy replied, “I’m not looking for pity, Potter. I’m looking for the girl. Where is she?”

“I’m not letting you near her,” Harry said sharply, glaring.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Dear Lord. Shall I ask the Mudblood instead?”

Harry’s patience (or whatever was left of it) was nearly at its breaking point. “Firstly, her name is Hermione. Secondly, she hates you even more than I do. She’s after your skin.”

“Then I’ll be sure not to wash it,” said Malfoy sarcastically. Harry clenched his fists and made a menacing move towards him. Malfoy sighed. “Honestly, Potter, just shag her already. It’ll solve both of our problems.” He smirked and twirled his wand. “If she’s in your bedroom all of the time, I won’t have to see her ugly -,”

Harry wasn’t quite sure what happened, but his blood pounded in his veins, his heart rate increased furiously, and his fist was suddenly making contact with Malfoy’s jaw. There was a sickening snapping sound - like the crack of a whip – a resounding yell, and Malfoy was suddenly backing away from Harry, his eyes wide with anger and disbelief, his hand holding his jawbone. Blood was oozing from a nasty cut on his lip. Harry’s fist was throbbing painfully.

“What was that sound?” came a shrieking voice from around a corridor corner, “Honestly, screaming and yelling at this hour! A fine display to be sure … a couple of banshees, no doubt … if this were anywhere near my ward …”

Madame Pomfrey came around the corner, muttering to herself. Angered, she stormed up to the pair of them. “Explain yourselves!” she screeched. “And you, Mr. Malfoy! Why aren’t you in your bed, resting? I haven’t even given you your potion to dull the pain!” She gestured animatedly at his robed arm. “I was looking everywhere for you! Never in my life was a patient just disappeared from my care. Honestly!”

Harry opened his mouth, but Madame Pomfrey cut him off with a strange little huff. “Never mind, never mind!” She grabbed their arms and dragged them along. “You both are going to the hospital wing! I will speak to your heads of house about this, believe me! Fighting in the corridors, and during classes, for Merlin’s sake!”

Malfoy glared daggers at Harry, and Harry just scowled back. Feeling furious, Harry followed Madame Pomfrey’s lead to the hospital wing.

* * *

A/N: Ooh, the mystery is coming to a close (hopefully! LOL). But, we have another mystery – Malfoy. What does he want with Colin’s camera? And why does he want to speak to Ginny? Hmm. This is interesting to write, let me tell you.

Yay! I got a new pet! I’m up to eight now. His name is Hal, and he’s a goldfish. It was actually funny, because my mom had a surprise birthday party, and her friend brought us a cute silver and gold fish. My mom named him Hal because of the Hungarian word for fish, which sounds … er … like “Hal”, I guess. Er, yeah. Anyway, I now have eight pets. Two dogs, two cats, two guinea pigs, a parrot, and a goldfish named Hal.

Random train of thought, sorry. Totally irrelevant to anything.

Hope you enjoyed! I know there wasn’t any cute H/Hr stuff, but there will be soon enough, I promise. I thought it was cute how Harry stood up for her, finally, though. I was giggling when I was writing. My dad asked me if I needed some special medicine. I’m not sure if he was serious or not. Thanks a bunch for reading, anyway! Your reviews are spectacular!

-Lauren

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

A/N: I deeply, deeply, deeply apologize for making this chapter so late. I was sidetracked a couple of times, obviously, but I also couldn't make it turn out right. I actually wrote three quarters of this a few months ago. I'm still not satisfied with it, but I decided to post for the heck of it. You folks have been wonderful with your reviews and constructive criticism, and I don't want to disappoint (knock on wood). This is not the end, but it's very close. Maybe a chapter or two more, and we're actually finished. I don't know when the next update will be, but I'll try to get it written soon. Thanks for sticking with me.

Happy Holidays, everyone!

-Lauren

* * *

You're sure there's a cure
And you have finally found it
You think one drink
will shrink you 'til
you're underground and living down
But it's not going to stop
It's not going to stop
It's not going to stop ...

~ Wise Up, performed by Aimee Mann

* * *

Harry had never truly understood the expression “his heart stopped” until that moment. A numbing, paralyzing sensation was creeping up from his stomach, tracking across his chest and windpipe. His hands began to sweat. He licked his lips briefly, but they were as dry as if he had rubbed them with sandpaper. He seemed to have no control of his limbs, which, to his surprise, began backing away from Hermione slowly.

He wanted to scream at himself. Why was he doing this? Why was he backing away from the most important person in his life? She had done so much for him - sacrificed her bravery to tell him what he had wanted so deeply. Couldn't he do the same for her?

He loved her, no doubt. The potion hadn't concocted his love for her. Was that enough, though, knowing that he loved her like he loved no other? Could he, possibly, faithfully, unwaveringly, confess his truest, most secret feelings? His emotions had been scattered when he was just a child, swept under a rug, burrowed deeply inside him. It was so incredibly hard to let go of what he thought his feelings were. The travesty he had lived with his entire life haunted him endlessly.

Harry realized too suddenly that it must be terrible to be Hermione, watching him struggle internally, not understanding why. She was bright and quick to grasp concepts, ceaselessly loyal; but, even Hermione, his brilliant Hermione, would be devastatingly insulted. She would leave. She would leave and never think about it again. Push it behind her as if it had never meant anything to her. As if it had never meant anything to him.

And suddenly she was there, staring at him. He didn't think he had ever seen her quite like this, washed in an almost silvery light. He wanted to comfort her, but found he didn't know how.

Her agony and mortification was almost tangible.

“Harry, you have to believe me … I never … I never wanted us to be put in this position.” Hermione lowered her eyes, wiping them discreetly with the sleeve of her robes. “ But … oh Harry … do you feel anything? Anything at all?”

Despite his struggles, Harry held her gaze. Surprisingly, there was something there that Harry would never have suspected. She spoke of wishing her feelings away, never wanting such a relationship to occur, but her eyes told a different story.

Harry felt overwhelmed as the reality crashed into him.

She loved him.

Wholly, entirely, without hesitation, she loved him.

And then it was clear.

He loved her.

Wholly, entirely, without hesitation, he loved her.

To Harry's complete amazement, Hermione was still standing bravely. Her eyes looked deep into his. The thought that she could see and read his emotions was suddenly not that strange to him. Mustering up as much willpower as he could, Harry took a step towards her. He heard her breath catch.

“Harry! HARRY! HERMIONE!”

Harry and Hermione whipped around as though stung; angry, embarrassed … disappointed. That kindled feeling was new to Harry. Had he wanted to gather her in his arms so desperately?

Ron was running towards them, a look of triumph on his face. He seemed oblivious, as always, that he just disrupted, perhaps, the most important moment in Harry's life.

“I did it!” Ron cried, skidding to a stop. He drew in his breath in rapid gasps. “I was going … going back to the common room and she was just standing there … we talked for a bit … and Harry! Harry! I kissed her!”

Harry managed a grin, but judging by the way his jaw muscles were twitching, he knew it probably looked more like a painful grimace. “That's … that's just great, Ron.”

Hermione, on the other hand, looked cool and composed as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Ron, who did you kiss?”

“Luna!”

Hermione did not hide her surprise. “Luna Lovegood?” She looked at Harry curiously. Immediately her face blushed and she turned back to Ron, who looked like he was doing a jig on the spot.

“Yeah,” said Ron enthusiastically, “it was fantastic. I dunno, one minute we were just talking, and the next she was all over me!”

He grinned, looking back and forth between Harry and Hermione. “You've really missed out, trust me …” His eyes became unfocused and he stared at the wall, smiling dazedly. Hermione restlessly shifted her feet and her eyes flickered to Harry once more becoming settled on her hands. Awkward silence followed.

Ron, for once in his life, suddenly sensed something was wrong. He looked between Harry and Hermione curiously.

"I'll just be going now," he said, unsure.

"Me too," Hermione blurted out quickly. "Can't miss the next Transfiguration deadline!"

"Hermione, wait -"

Harry seemed to be at a loss for words as Hermione sprinted down the corridor at breakneck speed, and Ron strode off, looking back over his shoulder as though apologizing for what he had done.

* * *

"I want to know what's going on.”

Harry paced across the room, angry and upset. He cast a dark look upon Ginny, who was sitting on one of the common room armchairs, then kicked at the carpet. Thankfully, the room was mostly empty, save a few fellow Gryffindors who were playing a covert game of Exploding Snap in the adjacent corner.

“And I really don't want any lies, or sidestepping of the truth, or anything like that,” he told her viciously. “Got it?”

Ginny nodded. “Okay.”

Harry wasn't trying to act rude or tactless, but this whole ordeal had gotten out of hand, and he had a feeling Ginny knew something that he didn't.

“You're the only one I could talk to,” said Harry, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Hermione is the problem and Ron is off somewhere with Luna Lovegood, snogging her face off.”

Ginny's lips twitched at the latter comment, but she didn't say anything. Harry sat down across from her on another chair, brought his face to his hands, and tried to calm himself.

“Do you know anything that I don't? Anything?”

“Quite a lot, actually,” said Ginny, smiling. “You two must be going out of your minds. I was wondering when you would ask me.”

“So you know what's happening?”

“Naturally.”

Harry closed his eyes.

“It started with that Care of Magical Creatures class of yours, I think. Or maybe before that,” Ginny mused. “I wasn't there, of course, but what I heard was this: you two went into the cave, snogged, and came out.” She shrugged. “I was surprised, and I wondered how anyone would know that. You're not the kind to brag about that sort of thing, and, well, Hermione ... she seemed too out of whack for a while to be able to tell anyone anything. She never even told me, not once, not even when I asked her about it.”

Harry frowned. “Okay. Go on.”

Ginny picked absentmindedly at her armchair. “That was when I saw Malfoy with Colin's camera. I followed him to the Quidditch pitch. He had just tucked the camera inside his robes when I saw him pick something off the ground.”

Something clicked in Harry's memory. “My cloak.”

“Yes. Of course, I knew what it was right away - I grew up listening to stories of Invisibility Cloaks. I was just about to tell him off when, out of nowhere, Hermione comes barreling towards him.” She grinned. “You've never seen such a funny sight. Malfoy screamed and Hermione pulled out her wand. I think she was going to hex him to hell if he hadn't gathered his wits together and ran. When I got to Hermione, she was fuming and mumbling about eavesdroppers and private business. Of course, how could I just leave this alone? I put two and two together, fed Hermione a small lie about how Malfoy stole my favorite quill, and ran after him with her. Well, you know the rest.”

Harry thought about this, trying to remember. Yes ... it made sense. Ginny had appeared by Hermione's side, Malfoy began talking ... inter-house rivalry was his words ... and then, he had given Harry back his cloak. Was that a reason to run into him, perhaps? Did he know about Ron's nightly escapades?

Ginny was watching Harry silently. Finally, she said, “I have a question for you, Harry. How did your cloak get on the pitch?”

“It was Ron,” said Harry.

“Ron?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. It all seemed rather funny now. “He was sneaking off to see Luna Lovegood.”

Ginny punched her fist into the air. “Aha! I knew it! He denied seeing her, but I knew he was! Oh, I'm going to laugh so hard when I see his face ... Fred and George will have a field day when they hear about this ...”

Harry coughed.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry, Harry.” Ginny sat up straighter in her armchair. “Anyway, we talked for a bit, remember? I excused myself as quickly as I could, claiming to go to bed, doubled back as soon as you three stopped your griping about Hogsmeade, and followed Malfoy. I cornered him, raised my wand, and threatened him with my Bat-Bogey Hex when he didn't tell me what was going on.”

"What did he tell you?"

"He almost didn't tell me anything," said Ginny, biting her fingernail as she thought. "Then he admitted what he had done. It actually didn't take much persuasion at all - I think, at first, he wanted me to help him." Shaking her head, she said, "He told me that he used your Invisibility Cloak to follow you and Hermione into the cave. And while you were snogging, took a few snapshots with Colin's camera."

"Why?" asked Harry, baffled.

Ginny smiled grimly. "It was a stupid bet that the professors had going around."

"The professors were betting on me?"

"And Hermione," added Ginny. "At least that's what Malfoy said. And you know he's a oily son of a -"

"Ginny!" interrupted Harry urgently. "Was it for money?"

"Oh yeah. It was something like fifty galleons that you two would get together - or kiss - before seventh year. Malfoy wanted the money, so he got some proof." She shrugged. "A wanker if I ever knew one."

Harry stood up and began pacing again.

Ginny looked pityingly at him. "Dumbledore put a stop to it, though."

A thought raced across Harry's mind. "Does everyone know?"

Ginny looked confused. "About what? Dumbledore stopping the bet?"

Harry shook his head. "The fairies!"

Her expression clouded over. She looked utterly perplexed. "Harry, I have no idea -"

"Malfoy didn't mention anything ... strange ... while he was in the cave?"

"No," said Ginny. She looked scared for Harry's sanity. "Just you and Hermione."

Harry closed his eyes. He had forgotten. Of course - no one would know about the fairies. They didn't even think they existed. Except for Dumbledore - and maybe Hagrid. Maybe.

"Anyway," said Ginny, glancing at Harry worriedly, "Malfoy was furious that Dumbledore stopped the bet. Who knows why. He's rich enough ..."

Harry's head was beginning to hurt. "What happened?"

"Well, remember my 'accident' with the exploding salamander?" She smiled smugly. "It wasn't really an accident. I found out what Malfoy had done with the pictures. Turns out that bloody Moaning Myrtle has a soft spot for you, Harry. Fancies you. Imagine." She scoffed. "Malfoy ran into her and sold her the pictures. Seems Myrtle had a good share of gold in that toilet of hers. Stole it from a fellow peer back in her time, I heard."

"Wait." Harry felt both humiliated and disgusted. "Myrtle bought the photos from Malfoy?"

Ginny shrugged. "I dunno what her motivation was, but I suspect she thought she would get you to the girl's loo someday. With that kind of power, she could blackmail you."

"Okay, now that's just mad."

"I know," said Ginny; her voice sounded highly amused. "But you'd be surprised what some girls will do for a picture of you."

Harry frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Ginny peered at him sadly. "Oh, you poor, sad, naive little boy. Please don't tell me you don't know?"

"Know what? Ginny, what are you on about?"

"Harry Potter United? The Worshippers of Harry Potter? Harry Potter's Personal Sex Slaves?" Ginny deadpanned questioningly. At the look on his face, she said laughingly, "Okay, so I was making the last one up - but really. Harry, you're famous. Good-looking. Kind. Girls would kill just to spend one day with you."

Harry felt dizzy. He felt himself go pale.

Ginny waved her hands in front of his face. "Alright there, Harry?"

"Yeah," he said dryly. "It's just ..."

"A shock?" Ginny offered.

"Well, I was going to go for creepy, bizarre, and disturbing, but that works too." Harry rubbed his forehead. "I had no idea I was that ... obsessed over."

Ginny looked bemused, as though Harry had sprouted a second face. "You're Harry Potter, Harry."

"Well, I know that ..."

Ginny tutted and shook her head, reminding Harry very much of Hermione.

Harry's heart stopped; ironically, at the same time, his pulse quickened.

Hermione.

"I need to go," said Harry quickly. He spun around and sprinted out of the common room. He heard Ginny yelling after him, but he paid her no heed.

He needed to see her, to tell her how he really felt. It was no longer a matter of self-pride, or fear, or the prospect of humiliation. Hermione had laid out her feelings, placed her heart on her sleeve, and despite everything, told him of her hidden feelings - Harry knew that she deserved his honesty. She deserved everything from him.

"Where are you, Hermione?" he muttered under his breath.

Without knowing why, five minutes later, Harry found himself bursting into the library. Madame Pince shrieked and dropped her books as Harry ran past her. She began reprimanding him, but her anger went unnoticed as Harry tore around a tottering bookshelf. He rounded another corner, skidded, panted, and nearly collapsed onto Hermione, who promptly screamed.

"Harry!" she hissed, sounding as terrified as she looked, "What - what are you doing here?"

Harry gasped and fell over the back of a nearby chair. "I'm ... tired ... of ... running ..."

Hermione snapped, "That's not funny, Harry. Leave me alone." She turned back to her work, shaking.

Immediately, he sat up and said, "Hermione, listen, we need to -"

"Talk, I know," said Hermione. Her voice was shrill. She looked like a deer caught in headlights; her eyes were wide, her mouth was a strict straight line, and her cheeks were pale.

"Listen," she said quickly, sounding scared out of her wits. "Everything I said, just forget about it. I - I wasn't feeling right. My head - I couldn't think!" Her hands clutched a book so tightly the pages were beginning to rip. She stared at the book and dropped it on the table.

"I just wanted to -" Harry began earnestly.

"You don't have to say anything!" Hermione trilled. "Nothing! I understand! I don't need any pity!" She jabbed at the book. "Besides, it'll be over soon." She giggled rather hysterically. "No worries!"

Harry froze. "What?"

Hermione turned away. "I found a cure."

Harry stared stupidly at her hunched shoulders. "What?"

"A cure, Harry, for the potion - Dumbledore gave me the book -"

"What are you thinking?" Harry interrupted, feeling suddenly mutinous towards his headmaster. "How can you cure ..." He stumbled uncertainly. " ... what you feel?"

"But I don't feel -" she started desperately.

"Who are you trying to kid?" Harry said angrily. "I'm the only person here, Hermione! I heard what you said!"

"I didn't know what I was saying!" she retorted, taking a step closer to him in her temper.

Harry glared at her. "You knew."

Hermione's eyes flashed. "Why are you continuing this? What are you trying to do? Humiliate me even more? Because if that's what you're aiming for, it's working!"

Without another word, she spun around and stormed away from him. Harry chased after her. Exasperated, he yelled after her, "Why would I humiliate you, Hermione? Is that a habit of mine?"

She pushed open the doors of the library and walked down the corridor, her book tucked tightly under her arm. He wasn't sure where she was going, but he was hell-bent on following her. She was half-walking, half-jogging without any signs of stopping, and Harry was begin to lose his breath again.

"Hermione! Wait up!" he cried.

"Leave me alone, Harry!" she snapped. "You've done enough!"

"Are you just going to run around in circles until I leave?" he shouted after her. "It's rather childish if you ask me! I just wanted to talk, you know?" He panted out breaths, but Hermione didn't seem to be stopping. "You're not the only one feeling confused right now! There are other people involved in this!"

Hermione slowed.

"I'm angry too, Hermione, but it's no reason to shut me out!" He slowed down as well. "Did you know what happened? Malfoy took pictures of us, sold them to Moaning Myrtle, and all the while, the professors were placing bets on us! Of course, Dumbledore put a stop to it, because of the fairies -"

Harry could tell by the way Hermione's shoulders slumped that she was defeated. She stopped completely and turned around. "That's not funny at all, Harry."

"I know," he said, "that's why I'm telling you, so you understand what's going on. This isn't a joke, Hermione, you have to believe me."

"So," Hermione started, her voice shrill. "So, our professors had a conspiracy going against us? Is that what you're saying? Harry, you're making absolutely no sense!" She backed away from him, glaring. "I don't want to see you right now, okay? Respect that!"

"Why are you doing this?" snapped Harry. "I'm ready to hear what you have to say. I'm ready to sit down and have a mature conversation. Isn't that what you want?"

Hermione suddenly looked very lost.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes tightly. "You've made me feel both guilty and insane in one go, Harry. Congratulations. Ron would be proud."

She turned around.

Without warning, Harry tore the book out of her hands, opened it up, and began to tear out the pages. Hermione stared at him in horror a moment before shrieking in rage and hurling herself at him. Harry held the tattered book out of her reach, while Hermione attacked him furiously with every ounce of strength she had. Harry took it all without a sound.

Tears were stained on her cheeks when she backed away. Her chest was heaving.

"Have you even heard my say?" Harry asked her gently. "I say that this ..."

He tore off the cover.

" ... book ..."

He ripped the pages out.

" ... is a ..."

He threw it on the floor.

" ... load of ..."

He ground it into the cement.

" ... rubbish."

Harry looked in triumph at the broken, bedraggled tome, then turned back to Hermione.

"You're infuriating," said Hermione quietly.

"And persistent," added Harry. He took a step towards her, grasped her hand, and held it tightly. "Please, Hermione, why are you denying what you said?"

Hermione blanched. "What do you think, Harry?" she whispered. "I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what?" he asked, bringing his face close to hers.

"Think really hard, Harry," she said, barely breathing the sentence. "If you realized, out of nowhere, that you had these ... feelings ... towards your best friend ... what would you do? If you realized that you were the reason that the stupid potion worked so well in the first place, that those bleeding fairies were right and you were wrong ... how would that make you feel?"

"Cliché?" provided Harry softly.

He was overjoyed when she managed a watery smile. "I suppose, yes."

Harry tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. He inched closer to her; his heartbeat was frantic.

Hermione looked at the tattered remains of the book. "He was right all along."

"Who was?"

"Dumbledore," said Hermione. She shook her head. "He gave me a choice - the book. He knew I could concoct the potion ..." She stared at Harry. " ... but, he also knew that I wouldn't."

"Or that I wouldn't let you."

Hermione shivered. Her eyes searched his own. "Why is that?"

"I think you know."

Against her will, tears began to form in Hermione's eyes. "I hope I'm not wrong," she said quietly.

Harry leaned in close. "You're never wrong."

Hermione's breath caught as his lips brushed her own. She gulped down a sob and pressed herself up against him. She felt stiff, awkward, and scared at first, but after the initial shock, Hermione just let herself go. It felt rather like a dream - a perfect autumn morning sprinkled with colorful leaves, full to bursting with lush green wisteria. A sunrise in the earliest of morning, before the moon had time to hide away, and the smell of lilac and rose still hovered from the night before. She felt ... free. Awake. She had never felt this way before. It was as though she had been born again in a fresh skin. As though she had shed her coat and received a new one in turn.

Gasping for breath, Hermione pulled away. Harry opened his mouth to speak and she launched herself against him once more in a desperate embrace. She felt the nerves throughout her body tingling; she felt her heart beating frantically; she felt, with utmost desire, the sensation that could only be described as longing.

* * *

"Our most difficult challenge," said the old woman. Her wrinkled face was drawn up into a weathered smile.

The middle-aged woman watched the two children. "They are so young."

The little girl laughed. "Age is of no importance, if you remember, sister." The old woman nodded in agreement.

"Albus has said many times how old they seem to be, despite their age," the old woman added.

Her two sisters bowed their heads in acknowledgement.

"Perhaps we were slightly overwhelming," said the middle-aged woman. "Their denial was strong."

"I agree," said the little girl.

The old woman was silent as she regarded them. "Have you any thoughts, Metagenês?"

The little girl shook her head solemnly.

"Shall we wake them?"

* * *

"Harry ..." Someone shook his shoulder. "Oy, mate, are you alright?"

Harry opened his eyes. Ron's worried, slightly pale face was looking down at him. Harry blinked and reached for his glasses. He found them on a bedside table and put them on. He recognized the pale white of the hospital wing immediately.

Ron handed him a glass of water. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

How was he feeling? Why would Ron ask him such a ridiculous question?

"What are you talking about?" he asked. Just a minute ago, he had been happily kissing Hermione. Now ...

Ron looked confused. "Don't you remember?"

"No." Harry offered nothing more.

"You must've knocked your head harder than I thought," said Ron, grinning.

"What?" Harry sputtered. Even to his own ears he sounded hysterical. "Listen, Ron, this isn't funny. What am I doing in the hospital wing? I was just ..." Harry paused. Mentally, he battled out whether to tell Ron about himself and Hermione. Out of sheer frustration, Harry looked around the room. His eyes widened. Hermione was asleep on the bed next to his, looking pale.

"Hermione ..." he started.

Ron looked at Harry strangely. "She was knocked out, too, when they found you in the cave. Madame Pomfrey said you'd ran into a stalactite, but no one really knows." Ron furrowed his eyebrows, thinking. "Dumbledore has been down to visit you a few times when you started having these funny dreams. You'd talk and try to sleepwalk. It was really weird."

Harry shook his head. "I never got knocked out in the cave, Ron. Don't you remember? The fairies in the cave gave Hermione and me a love potion. Malfoy took pictures of us kissing and sold them to Moaning Myrtle ..." Ron raised his eyebrows, but Harry continued on determinedly, "You stole my Invisibility Cloak to see Luna Lovegood. Don't you remember any of this? Is this ringing any bells?"

Harry had never heard such an awkward silence in his life.

"There's only one explanation for this," Ron deadpanned. "That scar of yours really has addled your brain. You're mental."

Harry mouthed like a fish out of water while Ron laughed.

"But it's true!" exclaimed Harry furiously.

"Why would I steal your Invisibility Cloak to see Loony Lovegood?" asked Ron, bewildered. His face suddenly contorted. "Argh, mate, why would you even think that? Gross!"

"But -"

"You were dreaming, Harry." He looked over at Hermione and said, "You really snogged Hermione? What was it like?"

Harry gritted his teeth and flung himself backwards onto his bed. What had happened? How could it have been all a dream? It was impossible. The whole thing had been so real.

Suddenly, Harry heard the rustling of sheets. He turned over. Hermione was wide awake, looking mystified. She spotted him and frowned. Ron immediately made his way over to her.

"Water?" he asked. Hermione took it gratefully.

"So, how's Lala Land? I heard from Harry you were there too."

Hermione looked as confused as Harry felt. "What is going on here? Why am I in the hospital wing?"

Ron sighed heavily. "How many times do I have to repeat this? You were knocked out by a stalactite, to make a long story short."

Hermione looked insulted. She repeated disbelievingly, "I ran into a stalactite."

"Basically, yeah." Ron shrugged. He looked thoughtful. “Or maybe it was that `non-alcoholic' firewhiskey that Dean and Seamus brought back from Hogsmeade …”

Hermione looked at Harry.

"But, the fairies -" she started lamely.

"Not this again," said Ron, sounding exasperated. "Yeah, I've already heard. Malfoy had a camera and took pictures of you and Harry snogging your arses off in the fairy cave." He laughed at his own saying and took a swig of water himself.

Harry and Hermione flushed red. Hermione looked at Harry with her eyes wide and questioning.

He wasn't crazy. Hermione remembered as well.

There was sudden noise from the next room. Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked towards the door.

"Time's up, time's up!" screeched Madame Pomfrey as she scurried into the room. Behind her was Albus Dumbledore, blue eyes twinkling. "Shoo! Get back to class, the lot of you!" Harry found this an odd statement, as only Ron was there. Madame Pomfrey's eyes scanned the room as though scouting out invisible people, then, apparently satisfied, pulled up a chair.

Ron left quietly, but not before shooting Madame Pomfrey a look as sour as old milk.

"Drink this," said Madame Pomfrey, holding up a glass filled with a sickening rust-colored liquid. "It'll cure your dizziness and headache right away."

Harry took the glass, pinched his nose, and gulped it down. He choked.

"Drink up, boy!" said Madame Pomfrey, smacking his back. She handed Hermione a glass. "And you too, Miss Granger! I want you up and ready to go to class by this afternoon!"

Harry caught Dumbledore's eye and felt a surge of anger. What was the old man playing at? What had happened over the past few days that no one seemed to remember but himself and Hermione? Was it never real? Did they just dream everything up?

"Poppy," said Dumbledore gently, "may I have some time alone with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger?"

She huffed, looking ruffled, but did not seem keen on disallowing the headmaster privilege. She nodded and swept from the room.

Dumbledore sat down and faced them.

"What's going on?" asked Harry sharply.

"You found out," Dumbledore said simply.

Harry just stared at him. Hermione looked baffled.

“We found out?” she repeated. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. “Oh!”

Dumbledore smiled at her. Hermione's expression, however, changed to a frown. She looked rather insulted. “Professor, I don't know about what Harry thinks, but I think it was quite overdoing it - on the fairies' part, that is - to put us under such a complicated enchantment without warning. I mean to say, isn't there a law prohibiting the usage of magic on unsuspecting victims? I'm sure I read it somewhere in the Decree of Conventional Witchcraft and Wizardry, and even magical creatures have to abide by Wizarding laws - wouldn't you agree, Harry?”

Hermione said this all very heatedly and very fast, and turned to Harry, glaring at him as if daring him to disagree with her. Harry, however, was clinging hopelessly to the dregs of a step that he'd somehow missed in Hermione's thinking process. Hermione looked very frustrated with him. Dumbledore looked amused.

“Miss Granger,” he said gently, “you must remain calm. I am sure this has come as a shock to you, but I must beg of you to keep a level head.”

“Keep a level head?” repeated Hermione in a disbelieving tone of voice. “I have been insulted, injured, frightened for my life, but never, never have I had my rights been swept out from under me! Professor Dumbledore, I demand to know under what orders the fairies were acting. As a fellow human being and a citizen of this Wizarding society, I have a right to know why Moerae fairies were tampering with my head and my emotions!”

The only other person that dared speak to Dumbledore in such a way was Harry, and he was impressed despite himself.

Hermione turned to Harry and said, white-lipped, “Don't you see, Harry? We were essentially being controlled! We didn't even know what was happening in the real world!”

“Hang on,” said Harry. “Are you saying that the fairies knocked us out, jumped into our heads, and created a fantasy world?”

She nodded.

“And they were controlling us?”

Nod.

“And they had in mind that you and I - we were -”

Nod.

“And they watched everything we did?”

Nod.

Harry's mouth opened in horror. “That's - that's just twisted!”

“Oh, I know,” said Hermione, struggling heartily with would-be calm. She glared at Dumbledore. “It's simply nauseous.”

Dumbledore smiled at them both. “It wasn't just for fun, you know. They had a jolly good time, of course, playing matchmaker, but it was for the best. Your fate was prophesized, Harry, as well as Hermione's. All fairies are assigned to ensure that fate is, well, fate. It's why fairies exist.”

Harry frowned. “But fairies don't just knock people out whenever they have to assign fate, do they? I mean, there'd be unconscious people all over the world.”

The fact that Hermione was confused did not help matters, as Harry felt himself becoming stupider by the minute without her explanations.

Dumbledore laughed loudly. “Yours was a special case.”

“What do you mean?” asked Hermione curiously.

He laughed again.

“No where would be the fun in answering that? You had an extremely special case and it was vital to have it work out properly. I might even venture to say it was a matter of life and death.”

Hermione looked skeptical. “How special could it possibly be?”

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

* * *

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