Mindgames

Mindgames

By FenrisWolf

~~~~~

Disclaimer – Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, not me. Damn it.

~~~~~

Impure.

Trash.

Mudblood.

Hermione sat hunched in her favorite hiding place at the back of the library, the tears rolling down her cheeks as she struggled with the voices that were making her life a living hell. And what made it truly horrible was that it wasn’t the insults of small-minded pureblood bigots that were tormenting her, but her own insecurities fixating on those insults and repeating them over and over, until she could no longer protect herself from the pain. She’d been sure that those personal demons had finally been exorcised by the friendship and, yes, love she’d found in the Wizarding world, but lately they’d been back, gnawing at her self-confidence, and she didn’t know what to do.

Hermione had never allowed anyone to realize just how deeply those names wounded her. Not her parents who were saddened by her lack of friends her own age, not her teachers who saw how she was ostracized by her peers, and not the guidance counselors who tried to get her to talk about her problems. That was of course in the days before her Hogwarts letter arrived, and she learned just what it was that made her so different from her schoolmates.

She’d never talked to her friends about her school days before Hogwarts, how she had been the loner, the outcast. Bookworm. Brainiac. Teacher’s Pet. She’d hated being different, but she’d refused to let the jealous words of her peers make her do one whit less than her best. Nor had it helped that she’d always felt different, even more than her intelligence accounted for.

When Professor McGonagall had shown up with her Hogwarts letter and explained that she was a witch, she’d been so happy. Finally there was an explanation as to why she didn’t fit in, finally there was going to be a place where she belonged. She’d devoured every magical book she could get her hands on, determined that she wouldn’t make any mistakes that would brand her as different. She wanted to embrace her new world, and have her new world embrace her.

Then the day came to board the Hogwarts Express for the first time. She’d been a bit nervous, but Professor McGonagall had met her and her parents at the station and shown them the way onto Platform 9¾. She’d known from reading ‘Hogwarts: A History’ that the students traveled by themselves on the train, a sort of rite of passage, but she hadn’t been worried; how could she be, when she was now part of this wonderful, magical world?

And then she’d met Malfoy.

She’d been working her way through the car, looking for an empty seat, when she’d come face-to-face with the platinum-haired, sharp-faced boy. He’d looked her up and down with an air of superiority and drawled, “I don’t recall having met you before. I’m Draco Malfoy,” he paused as if expecting her to react to his name.

Hermione smiled, determined to get started on the right foot. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Draco; my name is Hermione Granger,” she replied, holding out her hand.

The boy ignored her gesture, his eyes narrowing. “Granger; that’s not a Wizarding name.”

“Well, no,” Hermione admitted. “My parents are Muggles. I’m the first witch in our family.”

An expression of disgust appeared on Malfoy’s face. “Another Mudblood,” he sneered. “Father was right, Hogwarts is going to the dogs.” With that he turned and stalked away, leaving her with her dreams of being accepted in tatters.

~~~~~

She’d never told anyone about that experience, not her parents, not her Head of House, and certainly not her two best friends. Hermione knew how mad they got on her behalf just on general principle, she was afraid of what they might do if they knew how badly the insults cut at her. Ron was bad enough, with his fiery, Weasley temper, but at least he flashed hot and exploded, spending his rage quickly. Harry’s anger was different, slower to build, and far, far darker. She didn’t know if it was something he’d been born with, or whether it was the result of all the events that had shaped his life, but there was something dangerous buried deep inside him, something he kept tightly leashed. She knew how hard he’d had to fight to keep that frayed leash from breaking at times, and she didn’t want to be the source of the reason he went over the edge.

So she’d kept that first meeting locked inside, even after encountering Harry and Ron, even after becoming their friends. She’d soon found out that not everyone felt that way about Muggleborns, that in fact there was only a very small minority that subscribed to Pureblood bigotry, but though she knew it intellectually, the emotional shock of that first contact with someone her own age in the Wizarding world had scarred her deeply.

Most of the time she was able to hide it; one didn’t survive being different in a British primary school without learning to hide one’s feelings behind a mask. But sometimes, when she was very tired, or stressed over school or her friends (or especially Harry), the mask cracked, and at those times she was vulnerable.

Today had been one of those days. NEWTs were just past, and while she knew she’d done well on all of them, it didn’t change the fact that passing the tests meant that their time at Hogwarts was almost over. Hermione was too intelligent to pretend that the end of school wouldn’t irrevocably change their lives, their relationships, and that the bonds they had formed in school would not necessarily last into adulthood. More than once while growing up she had heard her parents talk about friends they had known in school, friends they had drifted apart from when they went on to graduate school. Intellectually Hermione knew that such changes were a perfectly normal part of growing up, that childhood friendships often drifted apart in later years as people moved on to adult interests and adult friends. What scared her was knowing that some bonds formed in childhood never changed, that they were strong enough to last a lifetime, and she was afraid that the one she treasured most might be one-sided. Just because he said he loved her, didn’t mean it would be forever.

No one had been more surprised than Hermione when her relationship with Harry changed. They’d always been close; the best of friends, but that was when the Trio was still inseparable. That had changed over the summer between their sixth and seventh years, after Ron had become involved with Luna Lovegood towards the end of term. Hermione was happy for them; Ron’s feelings for Luna had developed a whole new level of maturity in his behavior, and Luna’s love for him seemed to anchor her more firmly in the reality the rest of them shared. But with Ron and Luna a couple, the dynamic that had kept Harry and Hermione apart no longer existed, and after a bit of fumbling while they both dealt with their insecurities, they’d admitted to the feelings they’d been denying for so long.

She’d dithered about telling her parents of the change in her relationship, and then been completely dumfounded when her mother asked her when she was going to introduce her boyfriend to her parents. Apparently her feelings for Harry had been far more evident to them than they were to her, and when their relationship had finally changed the Drs. Granger had spotted it immediately. Harry’s experiences with the Weasleys notwithstanding, growing up with the Dursleys had left him completely unprepared for the warmth with which Hermione’s parents welcomed him, but after a few awkward conversations that both terrified and embarrassed both the young lovers, they all got along famously.

~~~~~

Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of a chair scraping across the floor next to her. She looked up and smiled into the worried face of her boyfriend. “Hello, Harry,” she said softly, mindful of where they were.

“Why weren’t you at dinner, Hermione?” he asked, his voice showing his concern. “I’ve been looking all over the place for you.”

She glanced at the library clock and saw that it was past 8:00. “Oh, dear; I’m sorry, Harry, I was studying, and I suppose I lost track of time again.”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, his tone clearly disbelieving. “Hermione, you haven’t even taken your books out of your bag,” he pointed out, causing her to blush. “Besides, this isn’t the table Hermione-in-study-mode uses, she sits over there by the reference section. This is the table that Hermione-is-unhappy sits at, where she thinks no one will find her.” He smiled slightly as she gaped at him in surprise. “What? Are you supposed to be the only one who can analyze things?” He snorted as she continued to stare at him. “Hermione, the smartest witch in Hogwarts is my girlfriend; I had to start using my brain, if only in self-defense.” He smiled as he got a small laugh out of her. “That’s better. Now, do you want to tell me what’s bothering you? This is the third time I’ve had to track you down this week.”

“I’m just wound up over our NEWTs, Harry; how well we do on them affects our whole future, you know.”

Harry frowned, but didn’t contradict her. The actual tests were over, and if there was one thing he knew about Hermione, it was that while she could turn into an obsessive study fanatic right before an exam, once it was past she quickly returned to normal, or what was normal for her, at any rate. Whatever was bothering her, it was more than that, but obviously he was going to have to find out what it was some other way.

He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? It’ll be our last chance before graduation, and we should make the most of it.”

“I—I don’t know if I can, Harry; I really have a lot to do this weekend,” she demurred, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Hermione? What’s wrong?”

“OH! Oh my, look at the time! I’m sorry Harry, I’ll talk to you later, all right?” And before he could think up a reply she’d gathered her books and papers and rushed away.

He watched as she hurried out of the library, his eyes darkening when he saw a group of girls snickering at her as she passed by. The Hermione he knew shrugged such behavior off as a matter of course, but today he could see it get to her, watched her shoulders hunch a bit more as she flinched from the gossipers.

Harry felt his temper start to do a slow burn. He knew all too well about his girlfriend’s insecurities; in many ways, they mirrored his own. It was one of the many reasons they worked so well together as a couple, because they helped each other overcome their doubts and fears, complementing each other’s strengths and weaknesses. He knew she was worried about how leaving Hogwarts would affect their lives, but he thought they’d come to terms with that. She hadn’t been like this since the end of sixth year, just before they’d become a couple. If she was acting this way now, then someone was helping it along, and by Merlin, when he found them, they were going to pay.

~~~~~

Hermione dropped her book bag on the floor of the Head Girl’s room and collapsed on her bed, burying her face in her pillows. She knew Harry loved her, she did, but more and more that voice whispered to her, telling her she wasn’t good enough for him.

Bookworm.

Plain Jane.

Mudblood.

It was several minutes before she heard the knocking on her door. “Hermione? Are you all right?”

She scrubbed at her face. “I’m fine, Harry,” she called. “I’m just a little tired is all.”

“Hermione, please, can I come in?”

She got up from the bed, her hands clenched nervously. “I really just want to take a nap, Harry, we can talk later.”

“Alohamora.” Her door swung inward and Harry stood there, a concerned look on his face. “Hermione, please, don’t shut me out. It doesn’t work; if anyone knows that, it’s me.” She turned her back to him and he stepped up behind her, slipping his arms around her waist. He felt her tense against his embrace, and pulled her closer to him. “Has someone been bothering you again? Because if they have--”

She shook her head, trying to hold back the tears. “No, Harry, no one’s been doing anything. I’m just—it’s just that—” Suddenly she pulled herself out of his grasp and ran into the bathroom, sobbing.

Harry groaned, collapsing onto Hermione’s bed. He didn’t know what was going through his girlfriend’s mind, but he was going to stay right there until they sorted it out.

Mudblood.

His eyes snapped open and he jerked up in bed. Where the hell had that come from? It sounded like Hermione’s voice echoing in his head, but he knew she’d never use that word. Eyes narrowed, he looked around for a moment, but when nothing else happened he stretched out again.

The second his head touched her pillows, it happened again.

Brainiac.

Impure.

Cursing, Harry shot up and dug through the bedding. Nothing caught his attention until he came to the small, lace-trimmed cushion he’d given her for Valentine’s Day. She’d been complaining about having a hard time falling asleep, and he’d charmed it with spells to help her get a good’s night rest. Now, though, it radiated something else, something that had nothing to do with the spells he’d put on it. Pulling his wand, he passed it over the fabric. “Revealo.” The pillow glowed a soft pink, but there was a dull knot of poisonous green pulsing from the center.

Harry’s eyes flickered with rage as he dug into the padding, exposing the small packet at its center. It was about the size of a Galleon, a lumpy bundle of something black and leathery, with an oily sheen reminded him strongly of the Lethifold he’d once seen. Blood red runes crawled its surface in obscene patterns, and Dark magic radiated from it like the miasma rising from a rotting swamp.

With an oath of disgust he hurled it down onto the desk. “Obstrictus candifico lux!” A quick pass of his wand and a brief incantation bound the worst of curse within itself. For good measure he cast revealing charms over the rest of the room, finding nothing further, and then cast a purification spell over Hermione’s bed to remove any lingering traces of the curse.

By the time he was finished he realized that the sound of his girlfriend crying in the bathroom had finally quieted. After a deep, calming breath he approached the door and knocked. “Hermione, please, come out.”

“Go away, Harry, I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Hermione, either you are coming out or I’m coming in. Now please, open the door.”

After a few seconds the door swung open and Hermione stood there, her eyes red from crying. Before she could speak his arms were around her, holding her close, showing her the only way he knew that he loved her, and wasn’t going anywhere. For a moment she resisted, staying stiff and unyielding in his arms, and then she collapsed against him, the tears starting anew. Gently he she shifted and scooped her up in his arms and carried her to where he could sit on the edge of her bed while she rested in his lap. He rocked her gently back and forth, giving her time to get it all out of her system.

Finally the tears quieted again, and she began to stir in his arms. He let her lean away from his embrace, but before she could speak he interrupted her, placing his hand gently over her mouth. “Before you say anything, there’s something you have to see.” He led her over to the desk and, using the tip of his wand, indicated the cushion and its tainted contents. “Someone’s been tampering with your thoughts.”

She stared at the offending object and gasped. She recognized the twisted markings from her Arithmancy classes, and no charm intended for good purposes would ever have borne them.

“When—who…?” Suddenly it all made sense; the doubts, the fears, the whispering voice that told her she wasn’t good enough for him, all imposed on her from outside, playing on her own normal insecurities and magnifying them beyond her control. With a cry she struck the offending object from her desk, sending it flying across the room.

Harry pulled her close, and this time she didn’t resist. “I don’t know, not yet, but what’s important is that we found it before it did any lasting harm.” He tilted her head towards his and kissed her softly. “We did find it in time, didn’t we?”

She hugged him fiercely. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I thought I was going mad. Everything was so wonderful, who doesn’t worry when things are that good? I thought that’s all it was, but the voices, the fears, they just kept getting stronger and stronger. I should’ve realized there was something wrong, but I never would have suspected something like that.” She looked up at him, unconsciously biting her lower lip in that way that drove him crazy. “Can you forgive me for doubting you?”

He chuckled softly. “Hermione, how many times have you forgiven me for being complete prat over the years? And I didn’t even have the excuse of having someone playing with my head—well, there’s Voldemort, but that doesn’t really count. He just wanted to kill me, not mess up my love life. You weren’t being rude, or stubborn, or cruel, all things I’ve done at one time or another.” He pecked her on the forehead. “So that makes, what, one for you and about a thousand for me? I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

She smiled and held him close. “I really don’t deserve you,” she sighed.

“Well that’s true, no woman could,” he agreed, “but you come closer than most.”

She gasped and smacked him in mock outrage. “Harry Potter, you are the most conceited--!”

He pulled her close and kissed her again. “If I’m conceited it’s your fault. After all, only the greatest wizard in the world could possibly be good enough for you.” He smiled as she melted against him. “You make me believe in myself, ‘Mione. I can’t imagine a life without you with me. Please, never doubt that.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his lips down to hers, and for a while, no words were necessary.

~~~~~

Mindgames – Chapter 2

by FenrisWolf

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Author’s Notes – see part one

~~~~~

Much later, as they cuddled on the bed, Hermione’s eyes fell on the offending pillow. “Harry, what are we going to do about…that?” she asked, waving a hand in its direction. The packet sat on the edge of the desk, its malevolence contained within the protective charm Harry had placed upon it.

Harry frowned. That had been worrying him, too; whoever had planted the curse obviously had no qualms about using Dark magic to achieve their ends, and less concern for who got hurt in the process. That sort of curse could produce irreversible brain damage, even madness, if left too long. What was worse, it would only grow more potent with time.

“First, we need to report it to Professor Dumbledore,” he said firmly, ignoring it as she stiffened in his arms. “Hermione, there’s a chance that damned thing left something behind. The professor is an expert at Legilimancy, if anyone can spot the aftereffects of a mind control curse, it’ll be him.” He kissed the top of her head, running his hand across her shoulder. “I know you don’t want him rummaging through your thoughts, but better Dumbledore than some stranger at St, Mungo’s.”

“Can’t you do it, Harry?” she asked. “I’d rather it was you; I wouldn’t feel so bad about having you look through my mind.”

“No, I can’t,” he replied. “For one thing, I’m not good enough; I could easily miss something that would come back to haunt you. For another, even if I spotted a problem, I don’t have the first idea about how to go about correcting one. No, it will have to be the professor.”

“All right, Harry,” Hermione agreed reluctantly. At least it wouldn’t be Snape looking through her mind, she thought and shuddered.

Harry continued with his own train of thought. “After that, we need to figure out how it was planted in there, and more importantly, who’s responsible. Do you remember when you started feeling the effects of the curse?”

Hermione concentrated, trying to sort out when her normal nervousness over their futures started to change into something darker. “W-e-l-l, I guess the first time was around three weeks ago. I remember waking up out of a nightmare feeling wretched, and it just got worse after that.” She smiled and hugged him close as the echoes of the curse tried to reassert themselves; apparently he was right about having the professor examine her.

“Was the pillow ever out of your sight? Did you take it with you anywhere?” Harry asked, trying to figure out the method used to infiltrate her possessions.

“I did have it with me the night I stayed in the seventh year girls’ dorm for their slumber party…” She grimaced at the memory. The other girls of her year had declared the need for some ‘traditional female bonding’, and had invited the fifth and sixth year girls as well. They had spent the night gossiping, doing beauty charms on each other, and giggling over the potential boyfriends in the different houses. The whole thing had given her a migraine, but she’d gone along for the sake of fellowship. Besides, she rarely did ‘girly’ things, and the idea had seemed fun at the time. “Harry, you can’t think one of them--!”

He shrugged. “Someone had to have put it there, Hermione; if that’s the only time it was out of your room, it was either then, or someone managed to break in here to do it.” They both knew form experience just how tight the security was on the dorm rooms of the students. An intruder might make it into the common room of one of the houses, but each succeeding floor had more safeguards. No one not of their house, with perhaps the exception of the headmaster, should be able to get into Hermione’s room without her permission.

Hermione bit her lip. “I just have a hard time believing any of them would do something like that. We’ve all been getting along so well this year.”

Harry grimaced. It was true that most of the girls really were Hermione’s friends; it had taken a while for them to get past her shyness around them, but once they all realized that they shared a common enemy (clueless boyfriends), they’d begun to get along famously.

There was one, however, that Harry knew only pretended to be friends with Hermione. He knew it because the girl in question had told him in no uncertain terms that he was wasting himself on someone who wasn’t worthy of him, and that she had far more to offer him than Hermione ever would. She’d then tried to show Harry just exactly what she had to offer him, and it was only by dint of a combination of a couple of DADA charms and his Seeker reflexes that Harry managed to avoid finding out just what she was talking about. The trouble was, he knew damned well that the girl in question didn’t have the talent or the resources to produce the offending packet of ill intent that was resting quiescent under a White Light Binding, which meant she had to have one or more accomplices.

Harry sighed. He didn’t like the idea one little bit, but he could think of only one way to flush out the culprits. He turned to his girlfriend and braced himself for an argument; somehow he had the feeling she would like it even less than he did…

~~~~~

Two days later the Great Hall was buzzing with gossip at breakfast. Everyone was talking about the breaking up of the Golden Couple. Harry and Hermione had gotten into a huge fight outside the library, complete with name-calling, book slamming, and concluding with the sound of Hermione’s hand striking Harry’s cheek like the final round of a game of Exploding Snap. She’d run crying for the Gryffindor Tower, and he’d been seen shooting around the Quidditch pitch like a madman. Now everyone was holding their breath to see if the rumors were true, though for many different reasons. Their friends were heartsick at the thought that two people they felt had earned their happiness were losing it, the romantics were horrified at seeing one of the great love stories of the school come unraveled, the cynics were pleased to see their cynicism justified, the gossipmongers were circling, smelling blood in the water, and those that hated or were jealous of them were gleeful at the thought of anything happening to bring suffering to the pair that made them seem small by comparison.

And amidst all these, there was one more group, an unlikely alliance of two people who had conspired to bring these events about. They, too, were watching, hopeful that their efforts had finally paid off.

~~~~~

Harry approached the Hall with a combination of resolve and trepidation. Resolve because he was determined to flush out whoever had attacked his girlfriend, and trepidation because the reactions of some of his housemates were not going to be pleasant, and one in particular ran the risk of being downright dangerous.

“You sonofabitch!” Speak of the devil…

Harry turned and faced the red face and flaming red hair of his other best friend. This was the part of the plan Hermione had objected to the most, but Harry had been adamant; if they were going to convince the saboteurs that their plot was working, Ron’s response had to be natural. And since their friend couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag, if they wanted his response to be realistic, they couldn’t tell him the truth, at least not at first.

Harry just hoped he didn’t get a realistic broken jaw for his troubles.

He held up his hands as Ron stormed up to him. “This isn’t any of your business, Ron,” he cautioned. “This is between Hermione and me.”

The youngest of the Weasley boys was having none of it. “Didn’t I warn you, Harry? Didn’t I tell you I’d make you pay if you hurt her? She’s up in her room, crying her eyes out, because you dumped her!”

“I didn’t dump her, Ron, we just weren’t getting along. It wasn’t working. We both thought we needed a beak to sort things out.”

Ron’s jaw jutted forward truculently. “So what was the fight in front of the library about, then? If you two are being so ‘mature’ about this,” he said, making it sound like a curse word, “why are you down here while she’s upstairs miserable. Ginny spent half the night up with her!”

Harry shrugged, the role he was playing tasting like ashes in his mouth. “She might not have been as happy about the idea, but she agreed it was for the best. Besides, what do you care? Aren’t you and Luna getting along alright together?”

“What I feel for Luna has nothing to do with how I feel about Hermione! She’s my best friend, one of two I thought I had!”

Harry really hated himself for what he said next. Crossing his arms, he raised one eyebrow in a manner deliberately reminiscent of a certain blonde-haired Slytherin. “What’s the matter, Weasley? Still upset that Hermione never let you have a crack at her?”

With a roar Ron lunged at him, swinging a fist wildly at his best friend’s face. Harry braced himself and let the blow land, even though he knew he’d pay for it later. The meaty sound of Ron’s fist impacting on Harry’s mouth was audible throughout the hall, and Ron gaped in astonishment as his friend went sprawling. In six years of roughhousing he’d never managed to connect with Harry when he was expecting it, a side benefit of the same reflexes that made him a deadly Seeker. Seeing his friend sprawled on the flagstones with a bloody mouth seemed to shock him out of his rage.

“Mr. Weasley!” a familiar voice shouted as Professor McGonagall crossed the floor. “Brawling in the halls is not permitted under any circumstances, nor is an assault on your housemate and friend! Twenty-five points from Gryffindor, and a week’s detention with Mr. Filch.”

“But Professor, he—” Ron protested.

“No excuses, Mr. Weasley. Now, into breakfast with you.” She turned her gaze to Harry, and he cringed at the disapproval in her glance. “As for you, Mr. Potter, I am disappointed that you allowed this situation to develop. I…thought better of you.” With that she strode away, leaving Harry feel like a complete prat.

“Don’t worry, they don’t understand,” a friendly voice soothed as the person he’d half-expected pressed a square of cloth against his bleeding lip. “Sometimes these things just happen.”

Harry struggled to his feet, aided by the person beside him, and then turned to look at his helper with a smile that made him wince. “Yeah, you’re right, they do. Maybe I should’ve listened to you before.”

The girl’s face brightened considerably. “Do you mean that, Harry?”

“Well, I’ve got to think a lot of things through, first; I’ve got a lot going on right now. I think I need to talk to Hermione again, sort this all out…you understand, right?”

“Of course, Harry, you don’t want to rush things…but you won’t wait too long, will you? There are only a few weeks of school left.”

“No, I won’t take too long. A couple of good night’s sleep should clear my head. I’ll be talking to you soon, I promise.” He turned to go, and then paused. “Oh, here’s your handkerchief; sorry about the stains. Ask the house-elves, they’re really amazing with things like that.”

“I will, Harry, and don’t worry about it. I was just glad to help. Talk to you soon, okay?”

“All right. See you, Lavendar.”

~~~~~

Part three – we meet the co-conspirator, and Harry gets some help in acquiring the evidence they need.

Mindgames – Chapter Three

by FenrisWolf

~~~~~

Disclaimer – see chapter one

~~~~~

Ginny stood in a niche behind one of the pillars flanking the entrance to the Great Hall, Harry’s invisibility cloak hiding her from view as she watched the scene being acted out before her. She watched silently, impressed with Harry’s dramatic skills as he stoked Ron’s fury, and then winced as her brother flew into a rage and decked his best friend. ‘It didn’t have to be that realistic, Harry,’ she thought drily.

Her attention sharpened and a snarl flitted across her face as their suspect approached Harry’s supine form. As soon as they told her what was going on, Ginny knew who had to be behind the attempt to sabotage Harry and Hermione’s relationship. Sure, lots of girls had set their caps for the Boy-Who-Lived; Ginny had been one of them until she saw how incredibly perfect he and Hermione were together. She knew that she would never set his eyes on fire like that, and she’d loved him enough to be able to see him happy with someone else and be glad for both of them.

Unfortunately, not all the girls at Hogwarts were so easily resigned to missing out on the boy that Teen Witch Weekly regularly listed as the Catch of the Century (when word had spread that Harry was officially ‘off the market’, the magazine had run a special issue with a black cover to “mourn his passing”, not the best of taste considering his life). A few of the attempts to test Harry’s resolve had been quite inventive, one or two positively hilarious, and only one (involving an overzealous Muggle father with a fowling piece) had bordered on scary.

This attack had been far more serious, and Ginny could think of only one girl in Gryffindor who was self-centered enough to think she had a right to do it, and ruthless enough to track down the means—Lavender Brown, the Blonde Bitch of Gryffindor.

Once Harry was old enough to be considered ‘interesting’, Lavender had started trying to catch his attention. The problem was that she was used to dealing with boys who were a great deal more experienced than Harry, which meant that most of her less-than-subtle innuendo shot straight over his head without ruffling a hair. When she’d realized that her usual tactics weren’t working she’d changed methods, trying to slip into ‘good friend’ mode and worm her way in that way. Unfortunately for her plans, Harry already had several close friends, the chief of those being Ron and Hermione, and by now he knew just how risky being his friend could be. He couldn’t shake off the other two members of the Trio, though Merlin knew he tried, but he refused to allow anyone else close enough to become a target. School friends were fine, housemates as well, but friends close enough to be family were out of the question. Every time Lavender tried to get closer she was gently shunted aside, and it made her crazy.

Then, in the space of a few short months, everything changed again. Ron started dating Luna Lovegood, destabilizing the Trio, but before Lavender could take advantage of the situation, Harry and Hermione had realized how they felt about each other.

“Served her right,” Ginny snickered to herself as she recalled the screaming tantrum the scheming blonde had thrown when she heard the news. Ginny had heard from a Ravenclaw who’d been passing by how Lavender had staked everything on an all-or-nothing gambit to change Harry’s mind, and had apparently crashed and burned in a truly spectacular manner. Her dorm mates had thought that would finally be the end of it, but Ginny hadn’t been so sure. Now she wished her hunch had been wrong.

She watched as Harry got to his feet and exchanged pleasantries with the conniving little slut; he was actually managing to flirt with her, much to Ginny’s surprise. ‘No wonder the Sorting Hat thought about sticking him in Slytherin,’ she thought, recalling a summer conversation about their varying experiences at their sorting. ‘He’s certainly sneaky enough.’ She then stared in amazement as he handed the bloodied handkerchief back to Lavender. She hoped he knew what he was doing; giving an enemy who practiced Dark magic a sample of your blood was a huge risk.

Harry and Lavender parted company, Harry walking towards Ginny’s predetermined hiding place. “Follow her,” he whispered, “and see who she meets. Don’t get too close, though; use the Map.”

Ginny nodded automatically, though he couldn’t see the gesture under the cloak, and carefully began to move along the wall, paralleling Lavender’s movements. Fortunately it was still the breakfast period, which meant the halls were relatively clear of students. Still, she had to duck aside and pause several times, and would have lost her target if not for the Marauder’s Map clearly displaying Lavender’s movements. It came as little surprise however when she saw the dot that represented her quarry moving down the stairs that led to Slytherin House’s section of the dungeons.

~~~~~

Ron was still seething when he returned from breakfast to the Gryffindor common room. The nerve of that prat, Potter, making a crack like that! Hell, he’d been the one who encouraged Ron to notice Luna in the first place, and the first one to congratulate them when they announced they were a couple! He’d actually been about to suggest that the four of them go on vacation together after graduation; Luna and her father had visited some amazing places in their never-ending quest for fantastic beasts to feature in The Quibbler, and he’d wanted to see some of them himself. And now all those plans were scuttled because his former best friend was too damned stupid to hang on to the best thing that ever happened to him—

His torrent of recriminations jittered to a stop as the scene in the common room finally registered on him. Harry was sitting on the couch in front of the fire, holding an ice pack to his swollen and bruised face. That he wasn’t surprised to see; in fact he felt a moment of reasonable pride at the sight. What did surprise him, to put it mildly, was the sight of Hermione sitting in his lap, gently sponging away the caked blood around his split lip in preparation of applying the healing salve she had sitting ready in a warming bowl. “What the bloody hell…Hermione, what are you doing!?!” he almost shouted, his face purpling again.

“Ronald, calm down,” a familiar voice spoke from behind him. He whirled, and his mind kept whirling at the sight of his girlfriend sitting comfortably in one of the common room chairs, acting for all the world as if nothing catastrophic had happened between their mutual friends. Of course, Luna acted as if nothing catastrophic was happening in the face of a Force 5 tornado, but still…

His gaze shifted back and forth between the room’s three other occupants, from his girlfriend’s calm, patient expression, to Hermione’s anxious expression, and reluctantly, to Harry’s worried one. Obviously something other than what he’d been led to believe was going on, and he was hurt that they hadn’t kept him in the loop—again. “Will somebody please explain what’s going on?” he asked plaintively.

Hermione looked up at her other best friend, pained by the hurt and confusion written across his face. She glanced at Harry who nodded encouragingly. She rose from his lap and took Ron’s hand, leading him over to the other couch. “First of all, Ron, we’re sorry we had to put you through all that,” she said earnestly. “Please believe me, we wouldn’t have if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

He looked back and forth between them and snorted bitterly. “I’m guessing you two didn’t break up, then,” he replied. “What, you just needed to see me make a jackass out of myself in front of the whole school? Oh, and let’s not forget racking up a week’s detentions with Filch.”

“Ronald, please listen to your friends before you jump to conclusions,” Luna chided as both Harry and Hermione winced. “How many times have you told me you didn’t want to do that any more?”

Ron shrugged sheepishly. One of the best things about his relationship with the slightly odd Ravenclaw was the ease with which he could talk to her about anything. She never judged him, or looked down on him, no matter what he said. She did on occasion force him to listen to what he was saying, and realize for himself when he was acting the prat. It had made for a bumpy ride the first few months they were together, but he couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. “Sorry, Love,” he apologized. “Sorry, Mione. So, what’s really going on?”

Hermione quickly explained what had been happening, and Ron became incensed when she described the nature of the attack on her. “Bloody hell! Hermione, are you all right?”

“I am now, Ron. Harry made me go to Professor Dumbledore, and he broke the last of the curse.” She shuddered briefly as she recalled the experience. The headmaster had been incredibly gentle, but the feeling of him sifting through her thoughts as he removed the last vestiges of the curse had been anything but pleasant. For the first time she truly understood what Ginny had gone through with Tom Riddle’s diary, and she intended to have a long talk with her when this was all over.

“So why couldn’t you tell me about it?” Ron asked, the hurt still in his voice, though not as strong. “Didn’t you think I’d be worried about you two?”

“That was my fault, Ron,” Harry interjected. “We still need to flush out whoever tried this, and in order to do that, they need to believe their little scheme is working.”

“What has that got to do with not telling me what’s going on?”

Harry and Hermione glanced nervously at each other, unsure just how to explain their reasoning without hurting their best friend’s feelings. “Well…” Harry said hesitantly before Luna interrupted.

“Ronald, you know very well that hiding your feelings is not something at which you have a great deal of practice,” she said, her voice still maintaining her usual calm, slightly dreamy tone. “Obviously, you needed to be angry with Harry for their deception to work. And from the appearance of Harry’s face, the deception worked quite well.”

Ron blushed, his eyes going to the icepack Harry was still holding against his jaw. “Sorry, mate.”

Harry shrugged. “Don’t be. Next time you’re being a prat I’ll deck you and we’ll be even. Until then, no worries.”

Ron snorted but let the matter drop. They had more important things to discuss. “Well, now that everyone thinks that you’re a bastard, Hermione is miserable and I’m a raving lunatic, what’s next?”

“Next we wait for Ginny to report back,” Hermione said firmly.

“Ginny? What’s she got to with all this?” Ron asked, concern for his little sister clear in his voice.

~~~~~

At that moment Ginny was following Lavender deeper into the catacombs under Hogwarts. Already they were into sections she’d never seen before, and only the well-maintained (if spaced too far apart for her taste) torches indicated that anyone had used them in years. They certainly weren’t any place she would have gone willingly; they were damp, chilly, and reminded her too strongly of the passages surrounding the Chamber of Secrets. Not only that, they seemed to reek of a sickly musk odor that reminded her of ferrets…

The Marauder’s Map was proving to be an even more invaluable tool than she’d expected. The passages she was traversing weren’t initially indicated, but as she traveled through them the map added them to itself, leaving a clearly marked path for her to follow back out of the maze if necessary.

She wondered briefly how Lavender was navigating through all the twists and turns, and then shrugged. How she was doing it mattered less than following her to her goal, and that had to getting close. For the last few minutes they’d been moving upward again, and if the Map was right, would soon be back in the more heavily frequented parts of the castle.

Suddenly a new dot appeared on the map ahead of Lavender’s, and Ginny paused briefly under a torch and squinted at the tiny writing next to the dot, and felt a moment of surprise. Well, it was a possibility they’d considered, but not favored. She crept up to the last bend before and peered carefully around the corner, forgetting for a moment the invisibility cloak that hid her from view as she spied on the meeting between Lavender and Pansy Parkinson.

~~~~~

Ginny rushed back to Gryffindor Tower, hoping she’d made the right decision. There’d been no time to check with Harry and Hermione, she’d had to set things in motion before the opportunity was lost.

She’d missed Lavender’s first words, but was in time to hear Pansy’s nasal reply. “So the charm finally did its job?” Charm?

“Yes, just like you said it would! Hermione finally realized that she’s just not the right person to make Harry happy!” Lavender gushed. “You were so right, Pansy. Harry’s much too important to the Wizarding world; he needs a wife who was brought up with our ways, someone to provide guidance so he won’t make any missteps. A Muggleborn witch would just be a burden to him, especially since he was practically Muggle-raised himself.”

Ginny could almost hear the Slytherin girl smirking. “And of course, you’d be willing to force yourself to provide that guidance, eh, Brown? Not that I blame you, Potter’s turned into quite the stud the last couple of years…”

“Well, why shouldn’t it be me?” Lavender replied defensively. “I’m young, female, and a Pureblooded Gryffindor. I’m the smartest girl in my class—“

“Next to Granger,” Pansy dug, earning a pout. “Never mind; go on, Brown.”

“Well, you know the rest, we talked about it when you agreed to help me. Hermione’s just not right for him; I’d be a much better match…and he’d know it, too, if she hadn’t sunk her hooks into him so early.”

“All right, all right, don’t get your knickers in a twist; I said I’d help, and I will, haven’t I just proved that?”

“Yes, and I can’t thank you enough,” Lavender replied. “I still can’t get over that, I thought all you Slytherins hated Harry…”

“Oh, well, like I said, when your Head of House is probably one of You-Know-Who’s henchmen, you have to keep a front up if you want to live. Personally, I hope Potter gets everything he deserves,” she finished in a syrupy tone that went right over the Gryffindor girl’s head. “Now, did you get what we need for the next part?”

“I couldn’t get any of his hair,” Lavender admitted. “He never seems to cut it. But I got something better!” she added hastily as Pansy’s expression darkened. She extended the bloodied handkerchief. “Harry got into a fight with Ron Weasley in front of the Great Hall; this has some of Harry’s blood on it. Will that do?”

Parkinson’s eyes lit up as she accepted the soiled cloth. “Yes, that should be perfect,” she breathed.

~~~~~

Ginny hadn’t waited to hear more. There was no way that the Slytherin girl was behind the cursed pillow; she was abysmal in charms, and as far as Ginny knew had never stepped foot inside the Ancient Runes classroom. She had to be a go-between, which meant there had to be someone else involved. And that meant they needed eyes within Slytherin itself.

She glanced at the map and was relieved to see that she was closing in on the person she was seeking, and they were still alone. Turning a corner, she saw her quarry going into one of the workrooms that students used for private projects. Even better.

Ducking into the room, Ginny closed the door before whipping Harry’s cloak off before the surprised eyes of her friend. “Blaise, I need your help!”

~~~~~

Chapter four – Friends and Allies in odd places

Mindgames – Chapter Four

by FenrisWolf

Ferreting Out The Villains

~~~~~

Disclaimer - see Chapter One

~~~~~

Ducking into the room, Ginny closed the door before whipping Harry’s cloak off in front of the surprised eyes of her friend. “Blaise, I need your help!”

~~~~~

Blaise Zabini stared in astonishment at one of the last people she’d expected to see running around in Slytherin territory. “Ginny, are you completely out of your mind?” she hissed, rushing over and making sure the door was secured. “What if someone saw you down here?”

“I have this,” Ginny shrugged, gesturing at the invisibility cloak where it shimmered across her arm. “Besides, there’s something going on that’s more important than me running the risk of bumping into Malfoy’s Goon Squad.”

“Let me guess, something to do with Scarface and The Brain?” Blaise replied drily, a small smirk dancing at the corners of her mouth.

“I wish you wouldn’t call them that, even though I know you don’t mean it,” Ginny frowned. “If they could just get to know you like I do...”

The Slytherin girl shook her head. “We’ve had this talk before; you know I can’t, Red, not until He’s gone. Granger’s all right, I’ll grant you that, but making nice with the rest of your friends is just too risky. But the minute, the second I don’t have to worry about Him coming after Mum and Dad I’ll be there, okay?”

Blaise Zabini was something of a puzzle to much of the student population. She came from a Pureblood Wizarding family whose pedigree made the Malfoys look like jumped-up gutter trash, but she displayed none of the vicious bigotry that defined Draco and his cronies. Not that she was some kind of cute and fluffy bunny; the boys in the other houses might call her the Slytherin Centerfold (a nickname she’d picked up when a potions accident involving fabric-dissolving solution had exposed the silver serpent she had piercing her navel, which one of the Muggleborn Hufflepuffs had sworn was really a staple), but the boys in her own house had a different name for her. To them she was The Girl Most Likely To Hex Your JohnThomas Off If You Try Anything Funny, and it was a name she’d earned quite fairly.

The manner in which Ginny and she had become friends was in a way related to Blaise’s Slytherin nickname, and the housemate in particular that decided its warning couldn’t possibly apply to him. The youngest Weasley had been taking a shortcut between her Potions and Transfiguration classes when she’d stumbled across Malfoy and his two minions, Crabbe and Goyle, accosting Zabini. With his flunkies pinning her arms, there was nothing to prevent Draco from exploring just exactly what Blaise was hiding under her robes, an exploration he’d repeatedly stated his desire to perform with predictable lack of results.

He was so focused on figuring out how to undo the closures on his housemate’s robes that he didn’t notice anyone approaching from behind—at least not until a dainty foot did everything in its power to launch his family jewels into his throat. The Brute Squad were so stunned to see their master mewling in agony on the floor they let their grips slacken, a definite mistake when dealing with a witch who knew more hexes than half the DADA teachers in the past seven years. Ginny and Blaise left the writhing Malfoy and his two flobberworm companions on the corridor floor, and headed off to get acquainted.

As in times past, there are some experiences people can’t share without becoming friends, and effectively castrating a ferret was one of them. The two girls who (according to tradition) should have been blood enemies instead became good friends, though secret ones. Both knew the majority of their housemates wouldn’t understand how close they’d become in a short time, and besides, it was rather fun to have a secret and to sneak around behind everyone’s back. As Blaise had commented in a suggestive tone she’d known would make her friend blush, it was like having a secret lover, but without the messy complications of actual sex.

Needless to say, Ginny’s abrupt appearance in such a manner broke about half of their ground rules, and Blaise waited with arms crossed for her redheaded friend to explain. “This better be good,” she drawled.

Ginny’s description of the previous few day’s events and Blaise’s quick mind was able to fill in the few blanks. “Why, that little bitch,” was all she said. “So, you need me to find out who Parkinson’s playing stooge for? You know who it has to be, Red, she spends so much time brownnosing Draco he has to open his mouth just so she san say hi.”

“That’s what I think, too, but we need proof, or at the very least eyewitness testimony that the professors can confirm. Otherwise all we’ll catch are flunkies. Hermione might leave it at that, but Harry? He wants someone’s head on a pike above the entrance to Hogwarts, and I don’t think he’s too particular how it gets there.”

Blaise sighed. “I thought she was going to talk to him about his people-saving thing, get him to tone it down a bit. If he spreads himself too thin he won’t have anything left when the big showdown comes along.”

Ginny snorted. “This is Harry, remember? I don’t think ‘toning it down’ is in his vocabulary. Oh, he’s better than he used to be, I’ll give you that; two years ago he wouldn’t have even considered looking beyond the person who planted that curse to whom else might be behind it, but this was Hermione, Blaise. Harry’s just not very rational where she’s concerned.”

“True, true; wonder what it’s like to have a boy care that much about you?” she mused, then shook herself and turned her attention back to the matter at hand. “So you need me to find out what Parkinson’s going to do with that blood of his? Wasn’t that pretty foolish of him, letting her have that?”

Ginny looked uncomfortable; she actually agreed with Blaise’s assessment of Harry’s actions, but she couldn’t admit it, even to her friend. Instead she said, “I’m sure he knows what he’s doing, and even if he doesn’t, Professor Dumbledore must know. Anyway, there wasn’t a lot of time to set this up.”

“There is that,” Blaise admitted. “All right, Red, I’ll go see what the slag is up to and who else is in on this little scam; ten Galleons says she’s with the ferret, though.”

Ginny laughed. “No takers, Blaise; my days of being a sucker were over after first year.”

“Well, damn, and here I thought I’d have the money to send off that new order to Brisingamen’s Secret,” she smirked, heading for the door as her friend turned a bright scarlet. During one of their early sessions of ‘girl talk’ the subject had turned to (of course) boys, and how to render them incoherent in thirty seconds or less. Just because Blaise wasn’t currently on the hunt didn’t mean she neglected having a fully stocked arsenal, and the younger Gryffindor had had an eye-opening evening learning about the mysteries of satin and lace knickers and that marvel of Muggle engineering, the Wonderbra…

~~~~~

Blaise sat in one of the numerous dark corners of the Slytherin common room, her peripheral vision focused on the pug-faced girl sitting by the fire. She’d returned from her encounter with Ginny to find their target fidgeting by herself, by which she surmised that Parkinson had yet to pass on her trophy.

She flipped through the pages of magazine, inwardly groaning at its contents. There were times when she enjoyed browsing through the back issues of The Dark Arts Quarterly that were always lying around the Slytherin dungeon, but once in a while it’d be nice to have a change. Her mother had subscriptions to both Occult Cookery and Alchemical Architecture, and always had a scattering of other publications for good measure; Blaise missed the diversity of subject matter. She’d even settle for a copy of Teen Witch Weekly, though the magazine’s tendency to gush over all things Potter related practically guaranteed that their housemaster would incinerate any issue that caught his eye.

Her attention returned to her surroundings as the grating sound of Salazar’s statue pivoting heralded someone’s arrival, and Blaise silently paid herself off as the person she’d expected beckoned to Pansy before heading up the stairs. Blaise gave Parkinson a few moment’s head start, and then followed her to Draco Malfoy’s quarters.

~~~~~

Ginny glared at the flushed face of her brother, determinedly defending her decision to involve Blaise in their efforts. “I’m a big girl, Ron, I can bloody well choose my own friends without asking your approval!”

“But…but…she’s a Slytherin!” he exclaimed, his outrage at this obviously fatal character flaw evident.

“Ron, it’s all right,” Hermione interjected, trying to head off another sibling quarrel. She was the only other Gryffindor who knew about Ginny’s friendship with Blaise, and had spent a little time with the two of them, surprised to find she actually liked the dark-haired Slytherin girl’s dry sense of humor. “If Ginny trusts her, that’s good enough for me,” she added, giving her ‘sister’ her support.

When Ginny had returned and explained what she’d learned and subsequently done, the other’s reactions had been mixed. Luna had merely nodded and accepted the news as if it came to no surprise at all, Hermione had looked searchingly at Ginny for a long minute before accepting her decision, and Harry had merely quirked an eyebrow at Hermione, acquiescing to her choice with a smile and a nod.

Ron had been a different matter. “Look, maybe Zabini’s all you say she is, Sis, but that doesn’t mean she won’t screw up and let something slip. Besides, how do you know she’ll even follow through on this? For all you know she could be off somewhere, sharpening her claws.”

“Blaise wouldn’t do that,” Ginny said firmly and letting the ‘claws’ crack slide—for the moment. “She knows how important this is, and she won’t let me down.”

“But why?” Ron asked. “Why do you trust her?”

“Because she’s my friend.”

~~~~~

Blaise glanced around before crouching down and sliding her set of Extendable Ears under the door to Malfoy’s room, thinking not for the first time that the Unspeakables had lost a great pair of innovators when the Weasley twins had settled on practical jokes instead of tools for espionage as their stock in trade. Then again, the two were not mutually exclusive, as she was now demonstrating…

“…so the stupid cow still doesn’t suspect a thing?” Draco was saying as the Ears started to do their work.

“No, she’s still convinced I’m helping her out of ‘Pureblood loyalty’. As if that would be enough to make me help a Gryffindor do anything!”

“Now, now, Pansy, that’s no way to talk,” Malfoy replied, his tone oily. “Who are we to stand in the way of true love, especially when we have at hands the means to make Lavender Brown’s dreams come true?”

“Is it ready?” Parkinson asked excitedly.

“Almost; and now that you have acquired the last ingredient…Sangre Liquifato!” Blaise listened intently and heard three slow plops of something dropping into a liquid, followed by a boiling hiss. “Perfect,” the Slytherin boy continued. There was some indeterminate noise, and the clinking of glass. “This has to sit for eight hours before it matures; after that I can draw off the required doses. Now be sure that Brown understands she has to add three drops of her own blood to the mixture before she adds it to their drinks. If she doesn’t, the potion will be worthless.”

“And if she does…?” Pansy breathed.

“If she does,” Draco answered, his tone full of gloating, “and they both drink, than Lavender Brown and Harry Potter will be joined together…for eternity.”

~~~~~

Mindgames – Chapter Five

by FenrisWolf

Turning the tables

~~~~~

Disclaimer - see Chapter One

~~~~~

~~~~~

“If she does,” Draco answered, his tone full of gloating, “and they both drink, then Lavender Brown and Harry Potter will be joined together…for eternity.”

~~~~~

“‘Joined together for eternity?’ He actually said that?” Harry asked incredulously. “I mean, who talks like that?”

“Malfoy, apparently,” Blaise replied with a smirk. She’d met Ginny as planned outside the Slytherin common room, and then accompanied her under the invisibility cloak to the Room of Requirement where the others were waiting. The Room had morphed into an arrangement like one of the House common rooms, but without any of the trappings that identified one House over another, making it feel more like neutral territory.

Blaise took another sip of her butterbeer and watched the ensuing conversation in fascination.

“Harry,” Hermione said, her tone worried, “That potion. Do you think…?”

“Probably,” he shrugged.

“Tomorrow is Sunday; no classes. When do you think? Breakfast?”

He glanced at the clock ticking away on the mantelpiece above the fire. “Too early. Supper?”

“Too many people,” Hermione objected. “She’ll need—”

“Privacy,” he agreed. His face lit up. “What about—?”

“Quidditch practice! Before or after?”

“After; better chance that’ll I’ll—”

“Drink whatever she offers you, of course…”

“Will you two STOP DOING THAT!?!” Ron practically shrieked, while Ginny and Blaise dissolved in laughter. He scowled at his sister, grumbling. “It’s creepy; they sound like they’re channeling Fred and George.”

Harry and Hermione smirked at each other and turned towards their friend. “We’re sorry, Ron,” he started.

“But you don’t have to worry about it,” Hermione continued.

“Unless we start calling you—” Harry followed.

“‘Ickle Ronnikins!’” they finished together, laughing.

“Gaaaaahhh!” Ron shouted before grabbing up a pillow and hurling at his friends. In moments everyone, including Blaise, had joined into the much-needed release of tension, which did not end until the last pillow had succumbed to destruction.

~~~~~

Before leaving the room, Hermione brought out a small stack of Sickles and applied the same charm she’d used on the Galleons for the DA in fifth year, and showed everyone how to activate them so that whoever observed activity could alert the others. One pulse meant that Parkinson had the potion; two would indicate that Lavender was now in possession, and three warned that the attempt on Harry was about to go down. All that was left after that was to wait.

At Ginny’s request, Harry agreed to loan Blaise the invisibility cloak; she was after all the one most likely to need it at this point, both for getting to and from the Slytherin quarters and to spy on her housemates. “Thanks, Red,” she’d said when Ginny handed it to her, giving her friend a quick hug before disappearing under its shelter for the trip back to the dungeons.

“I never thought I’d be able to say it, but I actually like a Slytherin,” Ron marveled, earning and elbow from his girlfriend.

“You may put your eyes back in your head now, Ronald,” she scolded. “The only secondary sexual characteristics I want you to admire are mine.”

“Huh?”

Ginny punched her brother in the arm. “She’s telling you to stop staring at other girl’s breasts, Ron,” she said when he gave her an affronted glare.

“I don’t stare!” He looked around at his other friends. “Do I? Mate?” he asked Harry, looking for backup.

Harry glanced at his girlfriend who was clearly struggling not to laugh. “You do tend to get kind of…focused, Ron,” he admitted.

“Hey, I’m a teenage boy with raging hormones; it’s expected,” Ron said defensively.

“You don’t see Harry ogling every girl in school,” Hermione huffed, and Ron snorted.

“That’s because he’s terrified his girlfriend will hex his eyes out of his head if she catches him,” he snickered, earning a glare from Hermione

“That’s not true, Ron,” Harry interjected before the banter could escalate into a full-blown argument. “I don’t stare at other girls because no one could compare to the girl I’m with.”

Ron leaned over to his friend as Hermione preened and Ginny made gagging noises. “Mate, you are so whipped,” he whispered.

“I know,” Harry replied, grinning. “Isn’t it great?”

~~~~~

Blaise worked her way back to the Slytherin dungeons, still chuckling quietly over the antics in which she’d recently participated. Students in Slytherin joked and roughhoused as well, but there was always an underlying current of malice in their banter, the feeling that the friendly pat on the back just might have a dagger in it. From the family journals she’d read it hadn’t always been that way; certainly Slytherins were institutionally proud of being clever and sneaky, but the vicious edge was relatively new. It had taken a bit of digging and asking questions at home, but she’d finally uncovered that her House’s dark shift coincided, not surprisingly, with the arrival of Tom Riddle at Hogwarts. ‘One more crime to lay at his doorstep,’ she thought bitterly.

She’d been so happy the day her Hogwarts letter had arrived. She would be in Slytherin, of course; all her family had been, for as long as their genealogy listed. Grandpere Zabini once jokingly told her that Hogwarts had been founded just so that families like theirs could have some decent competition, and the many stories of friendly rivalries had whetted her appetite to have her own contests with her schoolmates. What she hadn’t noticed was the sad look her parents gave her when she talked about her hopes for school, or their vagueness when she asked them about their own experiences.

It had been a terrible shock to her when she finally arrived at school and discovered that the other three Houses almost universally despised her new House, and that to all intents and purposes the feeling was mutual. She’d kept a low profile her first year, confused and hurt by the huge disparity between her dreams and reality. The final nail in the coffin had been seeing all the other Houses’ reactions when the House Cup was snatched out of Slytherin’s grasp at the very last moment, and she hadn’t been home for more than an hour when she’d demanded that her parents tell her the truth.

So Blaise finally learned the whole story behind Tom Riddle and his transformation into the latest Dark Lord. During his first rise to power the Zabini family had managed to maintain its neutrality, but it had been a near thing, and trembling on the edge of collapse when Voldemort misstepped by trying to kill the Boy Who Lived. Now that he was apparently stirring again, Blaise’s parents urged her to follow their example and stay out of any intrigues or confrontations that might force her to choose sides.

She complied, but it had been neither pleasant nor easy. She kept from being forced to choose sides by being smarter and more dangerous than any of her housemates, and she kept from being pulled into any intrigues by refusing to join any cliques, or to form any of her own. It was an effective strategy, if a lonely one, and probably would have continued right through the end of her schooling if not for a certain egotistical Ferret and the redheaded firecracker who’d scrambled his eggs.

Blaise was still more than a little bemused as to how close a friend Ginny Weasley had become in such a short time. The Zabinis and the Weasleys were well known to each other, of course; no two old Pureblood families were ever complete strangers. True, the last couple of hundred years had seen little fraternization, but prior to that there had been several marriages and at least one wartime alliance. Having a Weasley for a friend wouldn’t shock her family, but she knew it would outrage her housemates, so she’d kept it a secret. Ginny was less worried about her fellow Gryffindors’ reactions, but she’d agreed that some of them couldn’t keep a secret in a dragonhide sack, so she’d gone along.

And then that stupid cow and the ferret had to go all Borgias on everyone! Blaise sighed as she started down the last flight of stairs to the level holding her common room. There was a slim chance she might still get through this without having her shift in allegiances become general knowledge, but she doubted it. At the very least the Professors Snape and Dumbledore would know the truth, and if she had to testify against Parkinson and Malfoy their barristers would be sure to expose her.

Just as she was about to recite the password that would shift Salazar’s statue out of her path, Blaise recalled the playful antics in which she had just participated in the Room of Requirement. She realized that those moments were the first time in seven years she’d experienced what she’d hoped to find at Hogwarts. Blaise thought guiltily of her sister Annette, due to start at Hogwarts in two years’ time. Did she want to see her have the same sort of tense, dreary school life that had marked her stay here? Or did she want to see things change, get back to the way they were before Riddle’s fanaticism infected Slytherin House? Maybe her parents were wrong, she thought. Maybe the do-gooders like the Weasleys and the Potters were right to stand up and be counted as opposing the Dark even if it put them at risk.

It was a very thoughtful and more than a little uncomfortable Blaise Zabini who made her way through the common room and up to her dorm. Maybe it was time for a change…

~~~~~

Sunday proceeded so smoothly along expected paths that the parties involved started to get nervous, certain that something would have to happen to derail their projections.

Hermione joined Ron and Harry in the common room first thing in the morning, and informed them that Lavender had arisen at the first blush of dawn and slipped out of Gryffindor Tower. As she was relating this piece of news, the charmed Sickles in their pockets gave a single warning buzz, making all three of them jump a little.

“Well, that’s step one,” Harry muttered. They collected Ginny and headed off to breakfast, with Harry lagging behind a bit to maintain the illusion that he was on the outs with both Ron and Hermione. No one was there to see him turn aside as they passed the headmaster’s office and quietly speak the password.

He’d just reached the Great Hall, noticing in passing that both Malfoy and Zabini were seated at the Slytherin table, when the Sickle in his pocket buzzed again, this time with two pulses. He glanced around the Hall and noted that Luna was still absent from the Ravenclaw table. So, that explained whom Blaise had passed the surveillance off to, he thought. Meeting his friends’ questioning looks he gave a small nod, and then settled down to the task of loading his plate with the rich, buttery waffles that were always part of Sunday breakfast.

Harry was just finishing mopping up the last bit of strawberry maple syrup when he was disturbed by Lavender sitting down next to him. Was she going to try it now after all? But no, aside from a brief smile she ignored him and concentrated on her own breakfast of rashers and eggs. Peripherally Harry was aware of two more late arrivals as Pansy and Luna settled at their respective House tables. So far, so good…

~~~~~

Harry scanned the skies for the glint of gold that would indicate the elusive snitch and wondered if the practice was ever going to come to an end. The last game was less than a week away, and while it would take an upset of truly cataclysmic proportions for it to change the outcome of the Cup race, it was also the last game of their school years for a number of the players, himself included. No one wanted to slack off, and his teammates were practicing like the match was going to be against their archrivals the Slytherins instead of the last place Hufflepuffs.

A flash of bright yellow drew his eyes to the stands and he grimaced as Lavender waved to him yet again. She’d made a great show of coming to the practice to cheer him on, and extracted a promise from him to join her afterwards for a ‘celebratory bottle of butterbeer’.

He’d found himself hoping that she would somehow realize just what she was doing before she went too far, but that hope was dashed when the Sickle in his pocket gave its final warning of three buzzes. A glance at the stands quickly identified the bushy brown hair of his girlfriend sitting in the stands near the goal Ron was tending, her Omnioculars clearly visible in her hands. Good, if she was using those, there was an excellent chance she’d been able to capture Lavender spiking the bottles for playback later.

A blur of red and gold robes and streaming red hair shot past him, headed towards the rings as Ginny attempted to score another goal against her brother. So far their little impromptu contest was running about neck and neck, with Ginny nudging ahead again as the Quaffle slipped past Ron’s guard. “Any sign of the Snitch, Harry?” she called as she came along side.

“Not yet, Ginny. The little bugger’s being damned difficult today,” Harry admitted.

“Well someone seems to think you’ve spotted it,” she replied, tapping the pocket where her Sickle rested.

“Guess she has more confidence in me than I—whoops!” He shot away from her as his target fluttered into view at the far side of the pitch. A few seconds of aerial acrobatics later the Snitch struggled in his grasp, bringing the practice to a close.

Harry joined his teammates on the ground, his mind only half on Ron’s commentary as he critiqued the rest of the players’ performance. He’d found his element as team captain, and not even the impending confrontation over Lavender’s machinations could distract him from his passion for the game.

Finally he dismissed the team, giving his friend a meaningful glance before heading towards the changing rooms. Harry hopped back on his Firebolt and drifted towards the stands and the girl who waited there with the spiked bottles.

“That was a great practice, Harry!” she called as he settled beside her. “Those Hufflepuffs don’t stand a chance!”

Harry shrugged, not really in the mood for much conversation. “It went all right,” he replied, setting aside his broom and stripping off his gloves. He’d give her every chance to back out, there was still a chance she’d come to her senses.

Lavender prattled on, clearly nervous and struggling with something, and for a moment he thought she’d actually changed her mind, but then she reached down behind her. “Well, I promised you a cool drink when you finished, I guess I’d better keep my word,” she said, lifting two glistening bottles out of a chiller. “They’ve been kept cold ever since I picked them up at the Three Broomsticks, so they should be really fresh. Here, Harry, this one’s yours.”

She held out one of the bottles, and Harry gave her a last look before reaching out to take it. The second his hand touched the bottle a familiar voice spoke. “That will be quite enough, Harry.”

~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I want to thank everyone who has reviewed so far. This grew out of a plot bunny that attacked me a while ago. Originally the story wasn’t going to be more than two chapters, but then Malfoy insisted on getting involved, and then Blaise decided she was tired of playing it safe. The next thing I knew I was learning all about her family and her friendship with Ginny. Who knew? Anyway, I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. Next – the conclusion and epilogue

Mindgames – Chapter Six

Endgame

~~~~~

Disclaimer – see Chapter One

~~~~~

She held out one of the bottles, and Harry gave her a last look before reaching out to take it. The second his hand touched the bottle a familiar voice spoke. “That will be quite enough, Harry.”

~~~~~

Lavender’s head jerked around, her face blanching as Professor Dumbledore appeared behind her, an expression of deep sadness on his face. “Miss Brown, I cannot begin to say how disappointed I am at this moment.”

“What—what do you mean, Professor?” she asked, though she already knew what he meant…or thought she did.

The headmaster reached out and gently removed the two bottles from her unresisting fingers. “I believe we should continue this conversation in a more private location. Come with me, Miss Brown, Harry.”

Lavender was only dimly aware of her surroundings as they made their way off the stands and headed for the castle. She’d failed, she’d failed; she’d been so focused on how perfect things would be after she succeeded that the consequences of failure hadn’t even occurred to her. Now, when it was too late to change her mind, her imagination finally kicked in. She would be humiliated, she would be held back, she would be expelled, they would break her wand, and they would send her to Azkaban and all because she fell in love! It wasn’t fair! This shouldn’t be happening to her!

Her dithering lasted until they arrived in the Headmaster’s office, when the sight of the three people awaiting their arrival shocked her attention back to her surroundings. It was only to be expected that her head of House would be present for her punishment, but why was Professor Snape there? And why was she present?

Her last question was answered first as Hermione flung herself into Harry’s arms, and Lavender bitterly realized that none of her machinations had worked. Resolutely she turned her gaze away from the embracing pair and spoke to the headmaster. “What—what’s going to happen to me, sir?” she asked.

“That still remains to be seen, Miss Brown,” Dumbledore answered her gravely, his normal twinkle almost completely absent. “Much will depend on your answers here today.” He approached the Potions master and extended the two altered bottles. “Severus, if you would be so kind?”

Snape accepted the butterbeers gingerly, raising each to his aristocratic nose in turn and giving a long sniff. Still expressionless, he set them down and extracted a small bottle from his voluminous sleeves, and carefully added five drops of a brilliant sapphire colored potion to each, watching narrowly as the contents of the bottles swirled and changed colors. “Odd,” he muttered. “I haven’t seen that reaction since…is the original phial still available?” he asked, his gaze pinning the scheming girl in place.

Lavender quailed under his piercing, black eyes, but still tried to cover her tracks. “Um, no, I threw it away,” she mumbled, and then flinched as Hermione spoke up.

“It’s in her left pocket, Professor; I watched her put it there after she spiked the bottles,” she finished, glaring at her Housemate.

Professor Snape extended his hand, snapping his fingers impatiently when she hesitated to produce the bit of damning evidence. Finally she relinquished it, and watched as he went through several more steps of adding reagents and cataloguing the potion’s reactions. Finally he set everything aside and turned to the headmaster. “You say Mr. Malfoy produced this?” At the headmaster’s nod his expression became almost proud. “ I must say I am quite surprised, and more than a little annoyed; if he is capable of this, he should have much higher marks in my class than he is currently maintaining. I wonder if that was deliberate,” he mused.

“But Draco didn’t make that for me, Pansy Parkinson did,” Lavender objected, so stunned at the suggestion that Malfoy had been involved that she failed to realize she had just confessed.

“Stupid girl,” Severus sneered, “Miss Parkinson barely passed her O.W.L. in Potions. There is no possible way she would have the skill required to produce Capulet’s Tears; that is N.E.W.T. level work, or beyond.”

Lavender and Harry both looked blank at the name, but both Hermione and Professor McGonagall gasped, the latter looking pale while the former looked horrified. “Are you quite certain of your identification, Severus?” Professor Dumbledore asked, his voice tired.

“Quite certain, Headmaster. It’s a shame, actually; if Mr. Malfoy has the ability to produce this,” he said, gesturing to the phial that had turned a poisonous green under his ministrations, “he very possibly could have served as my apprentice and had a fulfilling career. As it is, I suppose this will earn him the harshest punishment possible…even if the intended recipient was Potter,” he couldn’t seem to resist adding.

“I don’t understand,” Lavender mumbled. “What are Capulet’s Tears? What do they do?”

Snape began to reply, but the headmaster held up his hand, forestalling him. “First, Miss Brown, what did you think you were giving to Harry…without his permission, I might add?”

She had the good grace to stare at her feet as she replied. “Pansy said she knew of a betrothal potion, one that was used by Purebloods to ensure that marital alliances never fell apart because of unfaithfulness. She said once something from each of us was added to it and we drank, it would bind our souls together forever, and nothing would be able to keep us apart.” Her head jerked up at the sound of a growl and she found a pair of emerald green eyes blazing at her in hatred. “Please, Harry, you don’t understand, I just love you so much, I had to…”

“You don’t know the meaning of the word--!” he snarled, but once again Dumbledore interceded.

“I understand your feelings, Harry, but please restrain yourself until we are finished here.” He turned his gaze back to the stricken girl. “And what reason did Miss Parkinson give for aiding you? Slytherin students are not normally noted for their willingness to help Gryffindors…your pardon, Severus, but you know that is true,” he added as Snape bristled.

“She said…that she didn’t like Harry, and that he was wrong about a lot of things, but that it wasn’t all his fault,” Lavender replied, trying to make her accusers understand. “She said it was because of the way he was raised, without proper Pureblood values.” She could feel the anger radiating off her intended victim in waves, and rushed to finish her excuses. “Pansy said that he needed someone besides a Mud—a Muggleborn to show him what it really meant to be a wizard, and that I could be the one to do it.” She felt a spark of her earlier resentment rising and raised her head defiantly. “And I would have, too, if you hadn’t stopped me! I would have made Harry happy!”

“You would have made Potter dead, you little idiot, and you along with him,” Professor Snape answered her. “Oh, you would have been together, certainly, but only on a bier awaiting internment!”

“What? I don’t believe you! She promised me…”

“She lied to you, Miss Brown, or rather, she only told you a fraction of the truth,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Capulet’s Tears date from a much more formal, custom-bound time in our history. They were the escape young lovers used when they were trapped in arranged marriages and refused to be separated. The addition of a part of the deceased to the potion was supposed to ensure that their souls would be bound together in the next world, since they could not be together in this one.”

“Deceased? Next world?” The meaning of the words finally pierced the confusion swirling in Lavender’s head, and with a small moan she collapsed to the floor in a faint.

~~~~~

Draco raced through the halls of the castle, his mind full of panic at the sudden turn of events. He’d been standing in the shadows of the Slytherin House seats at the Quidditch pitch, watching with anticipation as the last stages of his plan unfolded. Once Potter and Brown were dead in an apparent suicide pact, it would be a matter of small effort to tarnish his image in the public’s eye; at least that’s what his mentor had told him, and he saw no reason to doubt Lestrange’s estimations. And while she would claim the lion’s share of the credit for destroying his foe, Lord Voldemort was still sure to reward him for his part in the plan. He might even have been able to take his father’s place in the Death Eater ranks, and visions of power, wealth and glory had intoxicated the young Slytherin.

Now, though, all his plans were crashing into ruin. He’d watched in horror as Dumbledore escorted Potter and Pansy’s dupe off to the castle, and then had raced on a different route, desperate to gather a few essential things before fleeing the school. He didn’t know if his part in the plot had already been revealed, but even if it hadn’t it would be the second any pressure was put on Parkinson. He had to hurry if he didn’t want to share adjoining cells with his father in Azkaban.

Draco spent all of five minutes in his chambers before rushing back out of the dungeons. He’d grabbed his broom and his cloak, along with his Gringotts key and a sackful of Galleons he kept handy for bribes and other small expenses. Once he was outside he’d be able to fly to Hogsmeade and its connections to the Floo network, and once there he could disappear from sight, perhaps even get out of the country. The Malfoys owned property abroad, and so long as he wasn’t immediately arrested he could stay free indefinitely, until time and some greased palms made it safe to return…

“Going somewhere, Ferret Boy?” a familiar, hated voice asked. He stopped as Ron Weasley stepped out of the shadowed alcove Draco was just about to pass. “You wouldn’t be thinking of leaving school grounds without permission, would you?” he continued, the smile on his lips belying the burning anger in his eyes.

“Not that it’s any of your business, Weasel, but I have urgent business that needs attending to,” he replied haughtily. There wasn’t much chance he could bluff his way through, but if he could keep the fool talking long enough, maybe he could get his wand free and hex the blood traitor out of his way.

“Yeah, I suppose saving your own neck would fall in the category of ‘urgent business’ wouldn’t it?” Ron agreed as Draco flushed. “Afraid I can’t let you leave, though. Against the rules, leaving the school without permission, and seeing as how I’m still a prefect, and you aren’t…”

“Just get out of my way, Weasley,” Draco blustered. “You don’t want to face me in a wizard’s duel; you wouldn’t like the results.”

Ron shrugged, shifting as if to step aside before pivoting forward on the ball of his foot. The sound of breaking cartilage as Malfoy’s nose crumpled under his fist was music to his ears, and he grinned as the Slytherin slumped unconscious against the wall. “Using magic in the halls is against the rules, too, Malfoy; nothing in the rules against pummeling Ferrets, though, I checked.” He patted his prisoner down and plucked his wand from the holster in the top of Draco’s boots, and then pondered whether or not to wait for someone to come collect his prize.

He recalled one of the passages in the prefect’s handbook that (despite Hermione’s concerns to the contrary) he had read: ‘Prefects are granted dispensation from the restrictions against using magic outside of class when dealing with situations involving disciplinary issues or medical emergencies.’ “Well, this falls under the heading of a disciplinary problem, and I suppose the ferret would think his nose was a medical emergency, so…Upsy-Daisy!” He cast the levitating charm on Malfoy’s unconscious form and headed for the headmaster’s office, humming the ditty Luna had composed before the last Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match:

“He floats through the air with the greatest of ease,

That Bouncing White Ferret we all love to tease…”

~~~~~

Next – The Epilogue – Loose Ends and Reassurances

AUTHOR’S NOTE – I know I promised to finish this with one more chapter, but I didn’t want to rush through it. At least this time I didn’t leave you with a Cliffy. Thanks again for all the great reviews, they’ve really kept me at it.

And thanks to andain, who was kind enough to nominate me for the Reader’s Choice Awards. Make sure you stop by the forum and nominate your own favorites (other than mine; I’m not pimping my own work). It’s also a great way to track down good fics you might have missed…

Mindgames – Chapter Seven

Epilogue – Loose Ends and Reassurances

~~~~~

Disclaimer – See Chapter One

~~~~~

Lavender sat quietly in the Headmaster’s office, fearfully awaiting the words that would be the final say on her fate. Every so often her eyes were drawn to the desk at which Dumbledore sat, her gaze locked in horrid fascination on the snapped wands of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, already long gone from the school grounds.

Once again, though, the venal nature of some of the people who were supposed to be looking out for everyone’s best interests was revealed. Since the incident occurred on school ground, Hogwarts’ charter dictated that the Board of Governors had the final say on whether or not student behavior should be brought to the attention of higher authorities for criminal prosecution. By a slim majority the Governors had voted for expulsion and the striking of all academic records of the two Slytherins, but balked at involving the Ministry. The mealy-mouthed statement the majority issued stated that ‘no lasting harm was done, and that while criminal intent was suggested by the circumstances, true felonious intent could not be conclusively proven, and therefore harsher measures could not be justified.’ So Malfoy and Parkinson walked, disgraced insofar as the school was concerned, but free to continue to cause trouble once they were situated.

Lavender’s case was a bit different, and while her wand was still confiscated, she had yet to hear the sound of it breaking. Everyone agreed that her behavior was shocking and a betrayal of her responsibilities to her House and her schoolmates, but there were enough incurable romantics mixed in with Purebloods on the board that the group became deadlocked, which ended up dumping the whole mess right back in Dumbledore’s lap. She’d been waiting in a sort of limbo to hear his decision, and apparently was about to do so.

The professor was staring at her over the top of his half moon spectacles, and while his gaze was somewhat more sympathetic than on that horrible day when everything had come tumbling down, it was still not pleasant. “Have you had a chance to think over your actions, Miss Brown? Do you begin to comprehend just how serious your betrayal of your friends could have turned out?”

“Professor Snape explained about the potion, sir, and that there was no known antidote. If we’d both drunk it, we’d be dead now.”

“Yes, the potion; that was quite serious, but not as serious as this.” He removed a small, silk wrapped packet from a drawer and laid it one the desk before unwrapping it. The exaggerated care with which he did so, obviously avoiding touching the contents, made her a bit nervous, so she was shocked to see the packet she’d planted in Hermione’s pillow revealed to view. “You do recognize this, don’t you, Miss Brown?”

“Of course, Professor, that’s the charm Pansy Parkinson gave me to plant in Hermione’s pillow,” she replied confidently, though that confidence was fading in the face of the extreme caution he was displaying.

“And did Miss Parkinson explain its effects to you?” he pressed, his eyes piercing her soul.

“She said it would help her realize that she and Harry weren’t right for each other, and that they would both be happier if they looked for love elsewhere.” She swallowed. “I’m guessing that it doesn’t do that, does it?”

“No, Miss Brown, it does not,” the headmaster replied, his tone severe. “This curse is designed to seek out a person’s worst insecurities and magnify them to a pathological level. A person exposed to it for a long enough period of time would become trapped in his or her own mind, reduced to a catatonic state from which there would be little chance of escape. If not for Mr. Potter’s fortuitous discovery of your addition to Miss Granger’s bedding, she might very well have spent the rest of her days in the long-term care wing of St. Mungo’s.”

Lavender felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t like Hermione; even leaving Harry out of the picture, she thought she was a bossy, know-it-all Miss Goody-Two-Shoes. But no matter how annoying she was, she didn’t deserve to have that happen to her. No one did. “Oh, god, I am so sorry…I didn’t know, I swear…how terrible…”

“Well, you’re finally beginning to wise up, Lav; a little late, but better late than never, I suppose.” Lavender twisted in her chair to see Harry standing behind her, having apparently entered the office in silence while Dumbledore distracted her. The expression on his face was closed and shuttered, the only sign of emotion in his eyes; those flashed with barely suppressed rage, and Lavender’s heart sank as she finally understood that he would never look at her with friendship again.

It came as something of a shock to her how much that idea hurt, even more than losing the pipedream of having his love. Of all the boys she’d known over the years, Harry had been one of the very few who had ever looked past her outer appearance and seen her for herself. He’d never stared at her with open lust like the Slytherins, or become tongue-tied and confused like the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Even her own Housemates had for the most part fallen into one of those two categories, but never Harry, and now that it was too late, she realized just how important that had been to her.

Harry moved across the room, deliberately swinging wide around her chair to prevent even the slightest chance that she would touch him, and came to a standstill next to the professor’s desk. The initial anger that had radiated from his gaze was now hooded, his face betraying nothing of what was going on in his mind.

“Is Miss Granger joining us, Harry?” the professor asked, and Harry nodded.

“She had to help some First Years in the library, but she said she’d be along in a few minutes, sir,” he replied. “I came ahead because I wanted a chance to talk to her when Hermione wasn’t here.”

“Very well. Miss Brown, you have been waiting to hear what decision has been made regarding your status.” At her slight nod Dumbledore continued, “It should come as no surprise to you that you will not be graduating with your classmates. A group was empanelled to decide what the appropriate punishment would be for your irresponsible actions.

“At their direction, your NEWT scores have been sealed for a period of ten years. During that time, your behavior will be monitored, and if at the end of the ten years your record shows no evidence of further questionable behavior, your scores will be unsealed and the results officially entered in the records for your class. Your OWLs still stand, and any career or activity that they justify is open to you in the interim. The Muggle term for this arrangement is, I believe, ‘probation’.

Lavender swallowed nervously as she felt relief washing through her. Given the nature of her actions, her punishment could have been far worse, and she knew just how lucky she was to get off so lightly. One question bothered her, though. “Professor? Could you tell me who it was that reached this decision? I’m not complaining, I just want to be able to thank them for giving me a second chance.”

Dumbledore held himself silent for a few moments, weighing her words, before responding. “The panel consisted of myself and your Head of House, Professor McGonagall, and the primary injured parties, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger.” He paused as she gasped in surprise, her gaze shifting briefly to the angry young man standing next to the professor’s desk, and then continued. “You might also be interested to know that this method of dealing with your case was devised almost in its entirety by Miss Granger.”

“If it were up to me,” Harry interjected, “your wand would be lying broken with the other two and you’d be out on your arse. Luckily for you, Hermione is far more forgiving than I could ever be.” He leaned forward as she sank back into her chair. “Do you have the least inkling what you did to her? How much you hurt her? I can’t believe you; she thought you were her friend, and you tried to steal her boyfriend! And then, when I wouldn’t play along, you go to someone like Parkinson for help to assault her!”

“Harry, no…I didn’t think…” she sobbed.

“That’s right, you didn’t; or rather, you did what you always do, and thought of nothing but yourself, of what you wanted! When you couldn’t get it any other way, you tried to take it from her by force! In my book, there’s only one name for someone like that.” He paused and then spat out the ugly word: “Rapist.”

Lavender almost doubled over as Harry’s condemnation hit her in the gut like a punch. That word, that hated word, she never in a million years would have dreamed someone would apply that to her. And what was worse, she realized she deserved it. “No…” she whimpered.

“No?” Harry scoffed. “What, you don’t like hearing the truth?”

“Harry,” Dumbledore cautioned, concerned with how agitated he was becoming, “that’s enough.”

“No, it’s not, Professor,” Harry disagreed. “I didn’t object to Hermione’s wishes concerning her, but I’m damned well going to have my say. I deserve that much justice.”

“Is it justice you want, Harry, or vengeance?” his mentor asked softly.

“They’re one and the same,” Harry replied, drawing his wand. “Legilimens!”

She was five years old, and Mummy and Da were fighting again, Mummy wanted to go out and have fun, and Da wanted her to stay home where she belonged…she was seven years old, and the children in the neighborhood teased her all the time, asking her what last name she was using today…she was nine years old, and Da was gone and Mum was always drinking, and told her that once she was older she’d understand what it was that the boys really wanted…she was eleven years old but she’d begun developing early and looked like she was fifteen, and her few girlfriends were jealous of the attention the boys paid her, but she didn’t care because she was popular…she was thirteen years old and she’d found out her Mum was right, she could get a boy to do whatever she wanted, and all she had to in return was—

“Harry, stop it, that’s enough!”

Lavender found herself curled on the floor in a fetal position, her body racked with sobs as the images faded from her mind. Dimly she was aware of Hermione arguing with Harry in the background. As the tremors faded she began to comprehend the words that had been just so much noise moments before. “—you can’t, Harry,” Hermione was saying. “No matter what you think she deserves, you can’t lower yourself to her level, I won’t let you…”

Harry was on his knees, sickened by what he’d done, and by what he’d seen when he’d invaded Lavender’s mind. All he’d wanted to do was expose her to her own insecurities so she’d have a taste of what she’d put Hermione through. He didn’t think he’d end up feeling sorry for her; he didn’t want to feel sorry for her, he wanted to hate her for what she’d done, but that was no longer an option. She had been shaped by events beyond her control, just as he had, but while he had discovered the strength to overcome that shaping, Lavender had not. After that brief glimpse, Harry found himself hoping that perhaps now she would find the strength, and realized the wisdom of the mercy the girl he loved had shown her attacker.

~~~~~

The Graduation Ball was in full swing; there was a bit of a hysterical edge to the gaiety, but that was hardly surprising. As one wag had observed, it was very rare that a graduating student could say, “My god, I can’t believe we made it though alive!” and have it be the literal truth. That virtually all of their class had survived more or less untouched by the tribulations of the wizarding world was as much a testament to their pluck and courage as it was to the efforts of those who watched over them, and both students and teachers were pardonably proud of their accomplishments.

The long trestle tables that normally occupied the Great Hall had disappeared for the evening, replaced by a number of midsize round tables that provided more convivial seating for the graduating class, their escorts and their families, while still leaving a large space in the center of the floor open for dancing. In this way it was similar to the arrangements made over the years for the occasional balls, but in this case there were no seasonal decorations creating the atmosphere.

Harry and Hermione were currently seated at one of the tables devoted to the Gryffindor students and their relations, having taken a break from the dance floor to soothe their parched throats and rest their tired feet. Hermione was happily chatting with the present with which Professor McGonagall had surprised her; her parents, the first wholly Muggle couple to set foot with Hogwarts’ halls in over five hundred years. The professor had told the stunned girl that it was only fair, since they had produced highest-scoring witch since the NEWT system had been established over two hundred years earlier.

The Drs. Granger’s brief exposures to the Wizarding world over the years, consisting as they did mostly of the annual trips to Diagon Alley for Hermione’s school supplies, had hardly prepared them for the wondrous nature of Hogwarts, and they finally began to understand the deep hold this strange world had on their daughter. Then again, Alice Granger had whispered to her husband, perhaps it wasn’t their world, but the wizard who held her that had claimed their daughter as she watched Hermione and Harry together on the dance floor.

As for the wizard in question, Harry felt a tranquility far out of keeping with his usual emotional state. Yes, the threat of Voldemort still hung over their heads, though the Order’s efforts seemed to finally be paying off in the form of heightened public awareness and reduced Death Eater activity, but that threat was in the future. And he was preparing for that future; he wasn’t ready, not yet, but he was close, and he was anxious to see the threat end.

Not only that, but he finally believed he would see it end, and had the hope within him that he would be there to see what followed. It was a very odd feeling, that hope. It was an emotion alien to the Boy From The Cupboard Under The Stairs who had learned that he was the Boy Who Lived. Hope was something he felt for others, not for himself, and the first time he realized what it was that he was feeling, he’d been overcome with guilt at its selfishness. It had taken Professor Lupin to make him see that what defined selfishness was not what one hoped for oneself, but what one was willing to do to fulfill that hope. In some ways, the old Marauder had reasoned, the person who was filled with selfish hopes was capable of far more selfless acts than one who had no hope at all.

Harry smiled as before him he saw further evidence that in a world with hope, all things were possible. Out on the dance floor were two couples that drew his gaze to them; the first was familiar, the second a complete shock.

The first couple was, of course, Ron and Luna. Everyone thought she had him wrapped around her little finger, and Ron was certainly known to jump when she yelled ‘Frog!’, yet there were definite signs that the relationship went both ways. For one thing, though her fashion sense remained eclectic, it was more along the lines of that worn by a free spirit rather than a suspected mental patient. For another, while she was still fascinated by things like the mythical Crumple-Horned Snorkack, she no longer acted as if she was staring at one perched on your shoulder while she talked to you. They suited each other, and even Molly Weasley seemed to approve of the match.

As happy as the first couple made Harry, it was the second one that filled him with hope. Out on the dance floor a smiling and laughing Blaise Zabini was twirling the night away in the arms of (and he still could remember the shocked stares of the other students when they had walked in together) Neville Longbottom. True, he looked more than a little poleaxed by the whole situation, but they gave every indication of being more than just casual acquaintances. Here and there around the room he had seen speculative glances passing between various Slytherins and members of the other houses, and he found himself wondering what other unexpected consequences Lavender’s plot might eventually generate.

“Sickle for your thoughts?” a much loved voice whispered in his ear, and he turned his attention back to the person who had made such a difference in his life. He gave her a quick kiss and chuckled. “What’s so funny?” she asked, one eyebrow arched.

“I was just thinking, ‘I must remember to buy Trevor a nice, large box of crickets one of these days’,” he said, smiling as she laughed.

“Yes, I suppose it is rather unusual to be grateful for a lost toad,” she replied. “Just imagine, we might never have become friends.”

Harry shuddered at the thought. “Don’t say that, even as a joke. I don’t ever want to think of my life without you in it. I don’t want to live a life that doesn’t have you in it.”

Hermione’s eyes saddened a little at his words. “Harry…I know you think you mean that, but honestly—”

His hand gently covered her mouth before she could complete whatever she was going to say. “Come on, let’s go for a walk,” he said, rising and taking her hand.

“All right, I could do with stretching my legs a bit,” she replied.

One of the things that made the Graduation Ball different from the other dances held at the school was the opening of the ornamental gardens to the attendees. Normally restricted to the use of the staff, graduating students were now considered to be adults, which meant the teachers could turn a blind eye to the activities that were occurring on benches and in bowers throughout the carefully manicured and sculptured garden. Here and there the occasional professor wandered, but usually accompanied by their loved ones.

Harry led Hermione through the gardens to the place he had marked for his own use, a small gazebo with a crystal roof, covered with night-blooming jasmine in full flower. For this one occasion he’d chosen to trade ruthlessly on his reputation and had recruited Dobby and a few of the other house elves to make sure no one else found their way to this location. He had something he needed to say to Hermione, and he needed the right setting to do so.

She gasped in delight as the gazebo came into view, its crystal dome and spire shimmering with fairy lights, the blossoms of the jasmine seemingly lit with their own unearthly glow. “Harry, it’s beautiful,” she breathed, and he smiled as he led her inside.

Once inside he activated the charm he’d prepared earlier, and the dance music from the great hall began to drift down from the crystal dome above them. “May I have this dance?” he asked, and she laughed as she came into his arms.

They swayed together through two numbers, and then by mutual consent found a seat on the padded bench that ran around the inside of the gazebo. Hermione tilted her head back, gazing up at the beauty of the stars flickering through the crystalline panels above them, while Harry contented himself with gazing at the beauty beside him. “You’re wrong, you know,” he said suddenly, startling her attention back to him.

“Wrong, what about?” she asked, puzzled by the odd remark.

“Wrong to think I could survive without you, that I could ever be happy without you,” he said, determined to make her understand just how much she meant to him.

“Harry, we’ve had this talk before; you know how uncertain life can be, especially now. You have to face the idea that something could happen to me. I can’t bear the idea that you couldn’t survive if it did.”

“Could you?” he asked. “Could you survive, go on if something happened to me?”

“That’s different,” she demurred, not answering him (which was an answer in itself). “I’m just Hermione, you’re Harry Potter. You have too many people who depend on you to be there for them to let something happening to me stop you.”

He shook his head. “Hermione, to them out there, to the rest of the world, I can be Harry Potter, the Boy Who Must Face Voldemort. I can be their hero if I have to be. But to you, I’m just Harry, the boy whose glasses you fixed on the train, the boy you nagged into doing his homework, the boy you helped find the ability to love, and who fell in love with you. If something happened to you, Harry Potter would go on and do what he had to do, but the real Harry, just Harry, he’d be gone, gone with you to wherever you went, and he’d never be back again.” He took her hands in his, his eyes focused on hers as he fought to make her accept the truth of what he said.

Finally he saw it in her eyes, and felt in the feathery touch of her fingers as her hand cupped his cheek. “Oh, Harry, whatever am I going to do with you?” she asked, and then gasped as he dropped to one knee in front of her.

“You can spend the rest of your life with me,” he said softly. “I know we’re young; I know we have responsibilities we have to fulfill, duties we have to perform. I know we can’t have a life together until our world is free from the threat hanging over it, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make a pledge to have that life…if you’ll have me.”

“Harry…” she started to speak, but once again he stopped her.

“Please, Hermione, let me finish before you say anything.” He waited for her to nod, and then continued. “Do you remember asking me once what I wanted to do with my life after Voldemort was gone? I didn’t answer you at the time; I told you that I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Well, that was a lie; I had thought about it, and knew what I wanted out of life. I just didn’t know how to put it into words.

“Every morning, for the rest of my life, I want to wake up next to you. I want your face to be the first thing I see when I open my eyes, and your voice to be the first sound I hear. I want to sit across the table from you at breakfast while we discuss what we’re going to do that day, and you read the Daily Prophet and complain about its inaccuracies. I want to be there to support you and cheer you on in whatever career you choose to follow, and have you do the same for me. I want us to fight and make up, and fight again because making up feels so good.

“I want to be the father of our children together, to watch you read to them from your favorite books, to teach them how to ride their first brooms, to see their faces when they get their Hogwarts letters. I want us to stand on Platform 9¾ and wave goodbye when they go off to school, and then go home and make love in every room and discover each other all over again.

“I want us to watch out children grow up in a world without fear, find love, and start lives of their own. I want us to spoil our grandchildren the way grandparents are supposed to spoil them, and listen to our children complain about it.

“I want us to live long, happy lives together, and when the time comes, a hundred or more years from now, I want us to go on to the next adventure together. I want to live my life with you, Hermione, because life without you isn’t life at all. All I ask is that you give me a chance to prove it. Say yes, Hermione; say that someday, when the time is right, you will be my wife?”

Hermione looked down into the hopeful, fearful face of the young man she loved, and felt the last of her own fears fade away. The nagging little voice was silent at last, banished by the sincerity of his words and the intensity of his feelings. “Yes, Harry,” she said, smiling.

The fearful expression vanished as Harry’s face lit up with a huge smile and he flung his arms around her, hugging her fiercely before covering her mouth with a passionate kiss. After a few moments that left them both breathless they broke apart, and Hermione’s eyes widened as Harry withdrew a small, velvet covered box from within his robes. “I asked Professor Dumbledore, and he opened the Floo connection to Gringotts for me,” he explained. He opened the box, showing her the two rings nestled inside. “The last time I visited my vault I saw these, but didn’t understand what they were until our recent experiences made me research Wizarding customs.” He turned the box so the light reflected on the diamonds and rubies set in the two rings, one for a man, and one for a woman.

“These were my great-grandparents’ betrothal rings. They wore them to signify their commitment to one another prior to their formal engagement.” He removed the woman’s ring from its space and, taking her left hand in his, slid it onto her ring finger. Hermione felt the ring adjust itself to her, and then he was extending the box to her. “Now you,” he said, and with trembling fingers she mirrored his actions, sliding the gold band onto his finger. As both rings finally settled into their place the rubies on them flared brilliantly before reducing to a steady, warm glow like the flickering of a banked fire.

Hermione turned her hand and admired the setting adorning her finger. The band was simple, a narrow strip of gold supporting an oval setting. The setting itself was topped with white gold, in which eight small diamonds surrounded a cabochon ruby that radiated comforting warmth, the glow from its depths catching and refracting in the facets of the diamonds.

Harry’s ring complemented hers in a masculine fashion. It was a plain gold band, rising smoothly to a slightly elevated crown that supported its own cabochon ruby, its fires flanked on each side by a small, sparkling diamond. It, too, was lit with an inner light, and it flickered in time with her own.

She leaned forward to once again claim Harry’s lips, this time lingering as the passion grew within them. When at last they broke apart, their faces were flushed and their hearts were pounding. Hermione knew her lips were swollen, and she was probably more than a little mussed, but right then she didn’t really give a damn. “So this means, what, that we’re engaged to be engaged?” she asked, her voice a little shaky, and she blushed as she heard it squeak.

Harry smiled and nodded, his fingers caressing hers, his touch grazing over the ring that even now he had a hard time believing she’d accepted. “Pretty much,” he said. “I think your parents will find that easier to accept than if we were to announce a date right now. They’re still getting used to thinking of us as adults, I don’t think they’re quite ready to see their baby walking down the aisle.”

“No, I suppose you’re right,” she agreed, though she realized that while they might not be, she was more than ready to take that walk. If it were possible, she’d be willing to do so right then, but she knew Harry was right in saying they had to wait. It was going to be hard, though; she wanted to start that life he’d envisioned, and blushed furiously at the thought that she wanted to get started on producing that family he wanted, or at least the more pleasurable aspects of the effort…

She rose to her feet and took him by the hand, determined to distract herself from that train of thought before she had her way with him right there in the gazebo. “Shall we go tell them the news?” she asked, looking forward a bit to the reactions they would receive when their new status became common knowledge, and to the squees of her friends when they saw her ring.

“Might as well,” Harry agreed, taking her in his arms for another kiss before saying softly, “I love you, Hermione Jane Granger.”

“And I love you, Harry James Potter,” she replied, and together they walked off into their future.

~Fin~

~~~~~

AUTHOR’S NOTE – Whew! Well, that ended up being quite a bit longer than I had expected, but I’m reasonably happy with the results.

The description of Hermione’s ring is of the ring my Great-Grandfather gave my Great-Grandmother as her engagement ring. It’s a bit different from a traditional engagement ring, which is why it has become a betrothal ring in my story. Someday, if I’m very lucky, it may serve that purpose again.

Hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. There are a few things I may go back and polish up a bit later on, but for now, that’s the end. Harry and Hermione, together forever…