Caught in a Web

Caught in a Web

Category: Adventure/Romance/Angst

Archive: Ask first.

Feedback: Yes, please. Thanks in advance.

Pairing: Now, I’m not going to reveal that just yet, am I?

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: This fictional story takes place on the Trio’s Seventh Year. References to all previous adventures as described in PS, CoS, PoA, GoF and OotP are used here.

Disclaimers: Harry Potter and his world belong to the magnificent J.K. Rowling. If they were mine, I’d be RICH! No infringement on any copyright is intended and no profit is being made.

Summary:

When Harry drinks a love potion in Snape’s class by mistake, he has his world turned upside down. Love, frustration and a series of revealing dreams will make up for one of Harry’s craziest weeks at Hogwarts.

A/N: I’ve taking a bit of poetic license by including two things that will probably not be part of the future canon:

1. Neville and Ron are part of Snape’s Advanced Potions class (just because I like to see them squirm ^__^)

2. The books “imply” that Roger Davies is one year ahead of Harry and friends in Hogwarts. However, for the purposes of this fic, I decided to put him on the same year.

3. Although love potions are against Hogwarts’ rules in the canon, I allowed them here if only to watch Harry suffer. ^__^

So, there it is folks! Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1 - The Potion

Monday, October the 27th

It was an unusually sunny and breezy day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Although Harry hardly remembered this as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. It was his last class of the day, but it was the only one that he truly detested. Advanced Potions was, after all, taught by Severus Snape, a tall, pale man with greasy shoulder-length hair, crooked nose, and a personality to match.

“Potter, the potion is supposed to look orange… not nauseous green,” Snape sneered as he inspected the contents of Harry’s cauldron.

Harry mumbled “Yes, sir” and lowered his head even closer to the parchment he had been writing on, hoping that Snape wouldn’t notice how much Harry’s desired to connect his boot against the professor’s butt.

“Mr. Weasley, I suggest you wipe that smirk off your face. Yours isn’t any better,” Snape said to the red haired man sitting next to Harry, his voice full of bitterness. It was Ron Weasley, one of Harry’s best friends since they took the Hogwarts Express together a little more than six years ago.

“Yes, sir” Ron replied to Snape, lowering his eyes.

As soon as Snape turned around and decided to torture Neville instead, Ron leaned in against Harry and said, “I wasn’t smirking, mate. I was wincing. This potion smells worse than Buckbeak’s dung.”

“Agreed. This heat is not helping either,” Harry said off-handedly as he tried to smooth the back of his hair which, due to the high humidity, was sticking up worse than ever. As expected, the attempt was futile.

Between the fact that the Potions classroom was located in one of Hogwarts deepest dungeons, that it had no windows, that they had to share the classroom with the Slytherins, and the strong smell coming from their cauldrons, Harry was feeling slightly claustrophobic.

“You okay, Harry? You look a little pale,” Ron whispered as he added the essence of belladonna to his potion and continued stirring.

“Yeah,” Harry added, sounding unconvinced even in his own ears.

“Is Harry Potter feeling ill?” a squeaky voice said in a whisper from behind Ron. They both quickly turned around to watch a short house-elf with green eyes the size of tennis balls looking up at Harry with worry.

“Dobby, are you bloody mad? What are you doing here?” Ron whispered, looking over his shoulder at Snape, who was still ranting at Neville for not waiting 15 minutes before adding the lily powder.

“Dobby’s been here the whole class, Wheezy sir. Dobby is in charge of cleaning this classroom after Harry and his Wheezy leave,” Dobby answered politely.

“What do you want, Dobby?” Harry whispered hurriedly.

“I heard Harry Potter was ill, sir.” Dobby replied anxiously. Seamus Finnegan, who was sitting with Dean in the desk next to Harry’s, looked over this shoulder and almost spilled his essence of belladonna over Dean.

Harry, not wanting to get everyone’s attention (specially Snape’s), replied in one breath, “I’m just a little warm. That’s all. Now go!”

The worry vanished from Dobby’s face, replaced by a caring smile. “Would Harry Potter like some cold pumpkin juice?” he asked excitedly. Before Harry could answer, Dobby waved his arm and a tall glass of cold pumpkin juice appeared in Harry’s desk.

Ron quickly hid the glass behind his cauldron. Caring more about what might happen to Dobby than what Snape might do to him if he caught him with a glass of juice on his desk, Harry whispered, “Fine. Thanks. Now go!”

With another wave of his hand, Dobby vanished from the room.

“Is there something interesting about the wall, Mr. Potter?” Snape’s cold voice boomed. Harry looked back; Snape was standing in front of his desk, his pale arms crossed over his chest, a not-so-amused expression in his face.

“Nothing, sir,” Harry said as he tried to busy himself with adding the moonstone powder. As soon as Snape turned around to walk behind his desk, Harry reached in front of Ron’s cauldron and, without even looking, took a bit gulp of pumpkin juice, emptying half of the glass, the cold liquid spreading a refreshing sensation throughout his body.

“I needed that,” Harry whispered as he put the glass back down in the desk, hiding it behind Ron’s cauldron, since his own work area was still cluttered with the remains of his potion’s ingredients.

“Professor Snape, sir?” a cold, drawling voice came from the front of the class. Harry didn’t have to look up to know that the voice belonged to Draco Malfoy, the white-haired, pointy-faced boy with the perpetual sneer on his lips. Maybe Harry couldn’t stand Snape, but Malfoy was Harry’s least favorite person in all of Hogwarts.

“What is it, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape answered, his voice more gentle than usual. It was the voice that he reserved only for his fellow teachers and students from his own house.

“I was wondering. This potion… it seems like a waste of time, doesn’t it? I certainly don’t need to learn how to make a love potion… although I couldn’t say the same for others,” Malfoy drawled, winking flirtatiously at Pansy, who seemed ready to faint with the attention. Harry fought the sudden need to gag.

If it were a student from any other house, Snape would have taken points from them for daring to question his curriculum. But, since Malfoy was a pureblood Slytherin, Snape merely replied, “I couldn’t agree more with you, Mr. Malfoy. However, the Ministry of Magic has decided that this is one of the potions that come at the N.E.W.T. examination, so I am forced to waste my precious time teaching it to you.”

“Don’t you feel privileged?” Ron whispered sarcastically to Harry as he added the last of the ingredients to his potion.

When only five minutes remained before the end of the class, Snape, who was helping Goyle with his potion (which looked 10 times worst than Harry’s) turned toward the class and announced, “Alright. The Love Potion No. 9 should be ready. Please, prepare a sample for evaluation.”

The sounds of the students looking for flasks to store their offending potions echoed in the classroom.

“That’s a queer name, Professor. Why is it called Love Potion No. 9?” Millicent Bullstrode’s nasal voice carried across the room. Not surprisingly, the person who answered the question wasn’t Snape, but the delicate Gryffindor girl standing next to Neville. It was Harry’s other best friend and constant companion, Hermione Granger.

“It was originally called the Philtrum Casses Amator potion, but the name was changed during the 1960’s because of a popular song written by a muggle who temporarily fell under the potion’s control. The wizarding community thought it was so amusing that they adopted the name, until the Ministry was forced to recognize it as the official name,” Hermione said matter-of-factly as she secured the cork to her flask.

“Miss Granger is correct,” Snape sneered, his voice contorted in an expression that could only be interpreted as physically ill for paying Hermione a compliment.

As an afterthought, he added, “Five points from Gryffindor for speaking without raising your hand.”

Harry, who was used to Snape putting Hermione down at any opportunity he had, crushed the eucalyptus leaves in his hand, dreaming that instead of the leaves he could crush Snape’s neck. “Bastard,” Ron muttered angrily as he went back to finish his potion.

“If you take five points from Gryffindor, then you must take five points from Slytherin house too, because Millicent also spoke without raising her hand,”

Harry looked up to see who had dared to speak out loud what everyone else had been thinking. Not so unexpectedly, he found Dean Thomas had uttered the defiant statement. Snape hit his desk hard with the palm of his hand, fixing his eyes on Dean. His glare was so full of anger that, if looks could kill, they would already be planning Dean’s funeral.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor! Miss Hermione is not a damsel in distress and does not need you to come to her aid, Mr. Thomas!” Snape hissed, his teeth clenching so hard Ron was sure they would break. Harry’s anger rose so rapidly that he was already on his feet before Ron grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to sit down again.

Snape had also noticed Harry’s little outburst, and he replied to Harry’s action with a very twisted smile. “Do you have a problem with what I just said, Mr. Potter?” he asked threateningly. Harry stole a glance at Hermione. Her chocolate brown eyes were wide with alarm while her delicate mouth spelled the word, “No!”

“No, sir,” Harry said, his voice shaking with anger. Hermione smiled gratefully at him, and her smile was so contagious he actually winked at her, assuring her she had nothing to worry about. Harry picked up his flask from the wooden table and started filling it. Just the thought that he was minutes away from not having to see Snape’s ugly mug till Friday was enough to make him smile.

When he next looked toward the front of the classroom, Hermione was already handing her sample, followed close by Parvati and Seamus. Neville, as usual, was trying hard to make his potion at least the right color.

Harry ached to get out of the classroom as soon as was possible, so he sealed his flask and walked toward Snape’s desk. He stood in front of the desk, anger boiling inside him at the close sight of Snape’s leering face.

“Potter, is there something you need?” Snape hissed at him. Harry felt that if he didn’t let go of the flask in his hand soon, he would crush it.

So he swallowed his pride and left his sample on the desk next to the others with an icy, “No, sir.”

Harry ignored Malfoy’s triumphant smile as he turned around and walked back to his desk. By the time he had arrived, Ron was already filling his own flask and was now gathering his books from the floor. “I swear that man leaves a bitter taste in my mouth,” Harry said as Malfoy made a whipping sound at him, handing in his sample, Crabbe and Goyle laughing at the stupid little joke like two gorillas in heat.

Harry glanced at the door that will soon be his exit out of this hellhole, his anger disappearing as he remembered that he won’t see Snape until the end of the week. He could see Hermione speaking with Dean on the hallway beyond the doorframe. As usual, Hermione was waiting for Ron and him before walking together to the common room.

Harry took the glass that was hidden behind Ron’s cauldron and took another big gulp until the glass was empty. The now warm and bitter liquid was still falling down his throat when he felt a great tug inside his stomach.

He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as he watched Dean leaning close to Hermione and whispering something in her ear. Hermione put her hand over her mouth to stop the laughter.

Without knowing why, Harry suddenly felt irritated. His stomach gave another violent tug when he saw Dean put his hand on Hermione’s shoulder.

“HARRY!” Ron suddenly screamed, his voice squeaky with panic. Harry looked at Ron and found the redhead was so pale he could count all the freckles on his cheeks.

“What?” Harry asks off-handedly as he continued to stare at Hermione, who was now waving goodbye to Dean. It wasn’t until Ron grabbed his arm forcefully and shook him that Harry tore his eyes away from her.

“WHAT?” Harry screamed at him.

“Harry, look…” his friend showed him the object that Ron had in his hand. It was the pumpkin juice glass that Dobby had summoned from the kitchens. But how could it be? It was still half-full. Harry could have sworn he had just finished it. Had Dobby appeared again and refilled his glass?

Seeing the confusion in Harry’s face, Ron added, “Now, look at your hand!” Harry looked down. In his hand, where Harry had assumed was the empty glass of pumpkin juice, was Ron’s potions flask.

And it was now empty.

Harry’s eyes immediately went back to the door, looking for Hermione. She was still standing in front of the doorway. She smiled tiredly when she caught him looking at her and waved her hand, beckoning for Ron and Harry to join her.

Ron looked over his shoulder, trying to pinpoint what had caught Harry’s attention. He went pale when he noticed Hermione was standing on the hallway.

“Harry?” he whispered ominously, pulling on Harry’s sleeve like a child fighting for his parents’ attention.

“Yeah?” Harry stuttered.

“Did you look at Hermione while you were drinking my potion?” Ron asked, his voice unusually serious.

“Yes. So?” he replied, once again forcing himself to look from Hermione to Ron.

“So? SO? This is Potion No. 9! A love potion, Harry! Whoever drinks it falls in love with the first person they see!” Ron explained, his voice higher with every word he uttered.

“Potter! Weasley! What in blazes are you doing?” Snape screamed from his desk, thumping the surface hard with the palm of his hand.

“Nothing, sir. Just preparing to submit my work,” Ron muttered as he took the glass from Harry’s hand and filled it with the liquid in his cauldron.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron. I am not under the potion’s spell! Specially a potion that even Snape thinks it doesn’t work,” Harry whispered angrily.

“Snape said it was a waste of time… not that it didn’t work,” Ron replied softly, walking past him toward Snape’s desk. Harry then looked back out the door.

And his stomach dropped a few inches when he noticed Hermione wasn’t there.

It wasn’t until he felt Ron’s hand on his shoulder that he stopped looking at the spot where Hermione had been moments ago. “Mate, you are in big trouble,” Ron said, his voice now sounding both concerned and amused by the situation.

“Shut it, Ron,” were the only words Harry could articulate as he hastily grabbed his schoolbag and walked out the door, Ron following behind.

No sooner had he crossed the doorframe that he searched the hallway for a sign of Hermione. “Now you believe me?” Ron said, noticing what Harry had just done.

“Let’s go. I’m hungry,” Harry said hastily, trying to replace the expression on his face for a tired demeanor. But the truth was that dinner and rest were the last things on Harry’s mind as a single thought consumed him.

What if Ron was right?

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“Philtrum Casses Amator” roughly translates as “Potion of the Snared Lover.”

Feedback is welcomed!

Chapter 2: The Reluctant Stalker

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The Great Hall was buzzing alive with students from all four houses as they came inside for a bite to eat before returning to their common rooms.

But there was only one person that Harry wanted to see coming thru those double oak doors, and is the one person he hadn’t seen since they had left Snape’s classroom.

“Ron, could you please close your mouth when you chew? You are not a pig, contrary to popular belief. And next time, could you please not put half the table’s servings on your plate? You are eating enough food to feed five giants,” Harry absently heard as the redheaded Ginny, the youngest and only female of the Weasley clan, scolded her older brother. She was sitting next to Ron, who in turn was chewing loudly next to the distracted Harry.

His mouth still half-full, Ron replied, “I would worry more about what’s on your plate, Ginny. Look at that!” Ron pointed at Ginny’s plate; aside from some slices of watermelon and a few grapes, Ginny’s plate looked awfully empty.

“I didn’t feel like having a heavy dinner. Besides, Harry hasn’t even touched his food. Go worry about his dietary habits,” Ginny said, pointing at Harry’s plate. At the mention of his name, Harry forced himself to look from the oak doors toward Ginny and Ron.

“What?” Harry replied absentmindedly, not having followed the siblings’ petty argument.

“You haven’t touched your food. Are you okay, Harry?” Ginny asked worriedly. Ron, however, was giving him a wicked grin, for he already knew the reason why Harry was so distracted.

“I… I’m not hungry, I guess,” Harry replied to Ginny, forcing a nonchalant smile.

“Yeah. He’s too busy looking for someone,” Ron winked at Harry, putting his hand over his mouth to hide the smirk that came over his face.

After the initial shock of finding out Harry had drank the love potion while looking at Hermione, Ron had decided this was the perfect opportunity to make fun of his best friend, who was now looking at him as if he was fighting back the desire to strangulate him.

“Looking for who?” Ginny asked as she took a bite from her watermelon, the juice dripping lazily down her chin.

“For Hermione,” Harry said before he could stop himself. He already had enough on his plate with Ron making fun of him; he didn’t need to have Ginny, heir apparent to Fred and George’s mischief legacy, making fun of him too.

“That’s right. Where is she?” Ginny asked, scanning the Gryffindor table just in case Hermione had seated somewhere else. She winked when she caught Neville’s eye.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Harry mumbled. Ron cleared his throat in a not so conspicuous manner.

“What? I’m just worried about her. That’s all…” Harry replied unconvincingly.

“Yeah, right. And I’m Snape’s bastard son,” Ron whispered out of Ginny’s earshot.

“I am! You know she usually spends all night studying, and… and… Well, the brain needs proper nutrition to work… and… and…” Harry tried to redeem himself. It was in vain.

“And you are now a love sick fool,” Ron interrupted him with another wink.

“Who’s a love sick fool?” Ginny asked, frowning.

“NOBODY!” Both Harry and Ron answered, slightly startling the smaller redhead. They were spared further interrogation by Ginny when Harry decided to change the subject.

“Where’s Luna?” Harry asked Ron. Luna Lovegood was the blond, blue-eyed sixth year Ravenclaw whose strange personality had managed to capture Ron’s heart last year. Ron beamed when he heard her name.

“She’s in her common room. Had to finish an essay. Told me to stay away… she says I’m so cute, she can’t keep her hands off me,” Ron said proudly. Harry smiled in spite of himself.

“You are a regular boytoy, Ron,” Harry joked, drinking down his juice as he stole another glance at the Great Hall’s entrance.

He grunted inwardly when Lavender and Parvati, also known as the Gossip Twins, sat in front of Ginny and Ron.

“I can’t believe in less than a week we finally get to celebrate the Halloween Ball!” the trio caught the end of Parvati’s sentence.

Harry groaned. He had forgotten everything about the Halloween Ball. Truth be told, he was in no mood to celebrate, dress up, or dating for that matter… not when Voldemort and his Death Eaters were still on the loose.

“Bet you pretty girls already have dates,” Ginny said with unconcealed girlish enthusiasm.

“Of course! I’m going with Seamus,” Lavender answered, batting her eyelashes seductively. It was the signal that Seamus was going to have the time of his life.

“And I’m going with Dean. He’s a great dancer, you know,” Parvati added with a small smile.

“I know,” Ginny replied timidly, not wanting to inform Parvati that she had dated Dean for more than five months and was fully aware of his dancing skills.

Harry, on the other hand, was delighted by the news. If Dean was going with Parvati, it meant that he wasn’t interested in Hermione and that the reason he had stood up for her during Potions was nothing but friendship.

‘You git, why do you care? You shouldn’t! It’s the potion speaking! I am such an idiot! When has following Dobby’s advice resulted in anything but trouble?! And who the hell will drink ANYTHING while on Snape’s classroom?’’

Harry slapped his own forehead with the palm of his hand. Ron raised his eyebrow at him worriedly, but thankfully no one else had noticed. The three girls were too busy talking about their favorite subject: boys.

“I didn’t know you fancied Seamus,” Ginny said to Lavender as she finished the last of her watermelon slices.

“He’s a nice guy. Although I have to admit he wasn’t my dream date,” Lavender added with a tinge of regret.

Ginny looked around the table to make sure Seamus wasn’t nearby before whispering, “Who was?” Lavender and Parvati leaned over the table until their faces were less than a foot away from Ginny’s.

“Roger Davies,” Lavender and Parvati whispered simultaneously, getting an audible groan from Ron. The expression on his face was not open to interpretation.

“What?” Lavender asked Ron, personally insulted that Ron didn’t share her views.

“It’s clichéd! Of course you are going to like him… he’s handsome, rich, Quidditch captain, and Head Boy. If you ask me, Seamus is much better a date than Big Head Roger,” Ron said matter-of-factly.

“Oh, come off it Ron. You are just happy to know that Seamus is not taking Ginny to the ball. You are worse than a hound on a trail. Leave the girl some space to breathe!” Parvati said before she bit loudly into a very juicy apple she had been holding since she sat down. Ron glared at her, and she glared in return. Ron finally looked down. Parvati was the undisputed champion of staring contests.

“Well, that too,” Ron whispered before he stole a glance at Harry, who had gone back to looking at the entrance to the Great Hall.

However, Ron was the only Weasley at the table who found the subject of Roger to be non-welcomed.

“So, Roger has a date then?” Ginny asked nonchalantly, although the answer interested her more than she could tell Ron or Harry. She didn’t know if Roger had a date, but she was sure she knew whom Roger wanted to ask. And that person really deserved to have the night of her life.

“I don’t think so. But Padma told me that Susan told Diana that she had heard Roger telling Justin that he was going to ask the Head Girl to the ball,” Parvati said, her voice falling into a whisper full of mischievousness.

The loud “WHAT?” that came from Ron and a resounding “YES!” that came from Ginny brought Harry’s attention back to the table.

“What?” he asked densely as he looked from the two redheads to Parvati and Lavender.

“Oh, this is so exciting!” Ginny exclaimed giddily, ignoring Harry’s question.

“What is exciting?” Harry asked, even more confused by the fact that Ron was now looking at him with an expression of “sorry” written all over his freckled face.

“Oh, it’s nothing that will interest YOU, Harry,” Lavender said with a conspiratorial glance at Parvati, getting a giggle from both Ginny and Parvati.

“Didn’t you heard what Parvati said, mate?” Ron asked, his unusually serious tone carrying in his whisper. Harry had reached the end of his tether.

“If I had heard I wouldn’t be asking now, would I?” Harry snapped.

“What these two vipers just said was that Big Head Davies is going to ask the Head Girl to the ball,” Ron said between clenched teeth, out of hearing range from the three Gryffindor girls around them, who were now talking about the costumes they were going to use and speculating about who the guest musical group was going to be.

“So, what’s the big de…” Harry started, but the sentence trailed off before he had a chance to finish it.

He had just remembered who the Head Girl was.

“HERMIONE!?” Harry said loudly, receiving annoyed glances from the people around him.

It wasn’t until Ron opened his eyes wide in surprise that Harry heard the familiar feminine voice behind him ask, “What is it, Harry?”

Harry looked over his shoulder. Standing less than a foot away from him was Hermione Granger.

“Hermione… err… nothing! I just… I called you to… to… to tell you to come join us!” Harry lied not so smoothly, trying to find a way for Hermione not to find out that she was the object of fancy of the most popular (albeit conceited and hateful!) guy in Hogwarts.

Hermione didn’t seem to notice as she playfully hit him on the shoulder. “Silly git. I always join you,” she said, going around the table and sitting next to Parvati and directly in front of Harry.

“Oh, that was smooth Harry… very smooth,” Ron whispered to Harry with a wry grin. Before Harry could step on Ron’s foot under the table, Hermione spoke.

“So, what were you all chatting about?” Hermione asked casually as she started buttering a piece of freshly baked bread.

“NOTHING!” the five of them replied, suddenly very interested in the contents of their plates. Hermione raised her eyebrow at Harry, requesting more information, but he just shrugged and smiled shyly before focusing his eyes on the fruit cocktail in front of him.

In reality, Harry could not stop listening in to the Gossip Twins, who were discussing among themselves if it was safe to prod Hermione for more information. Finally, Lavender nudged Parvati in the ribs. Clearing her throat unceremoniously, Parvati asked casually, “So, Hermione… have you seen Roger today?”

“Yes. He came to see me after Potions ended. Why?” Hermione answered, stuffing her mouth with a giant grape.

‘So, that’s why she didn’t wait for us.’

Harry’s heartbeat quickened slightly. He felt disappointed, and didn’t know the reason why. As he watched Hermione gulp half her glass of pumpkin juice, it occurred to Harry that Hermione seemed to be eating in a hurry.

It was Lavender’s turn to prod. “And… did he say anything?” Lavender asked nonchalantly.

“Yes…” Hermione answered before biting on another grape. Harry felt his insides boil and he accidentally bent the fork he had been holding on his hand. Thankfully, Ron was the only one who noticed this particular reaction.

“AND?” Lavender, Parvati and Ginny asked at the same time, startling Hermione slightly.

“You are an overexcited bunch today, aren’t you? He just came to tell me that Peeves had somehow come inside our common room and had tear all the curtains,” Hermione said as she shrugged toward Harry and Ron, assuming the girls’ interest in the conversation was because they had heard about Peeves latest mischief.

“Oh… that’s… too bad,” Ginny said as she exchanged knowing glances with Lavender and Parvati.

“Yes it is! I spent months trying to find the right curtains for the room. Thankfully, Roger told the Bloody Baron what happened. I’m sure Peeves is not coming to our room anytime soon,” Hermione finished with a small triumphant smile.

Harry finally grasped that it was the second time Hermione had used the word “our”. And it was just then that he remembered that Hermione, as Head Girl, shared a private common room with Hogwarts’ Head Boy. He hadn’t really thought about it before since Hermione still spent most of her free time in the Gryffindor common room.

But now… now it was different. Now, he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that the girl he loved was sharing a cozy common room (not to mention a private bathroom complete with tub!) with a guy who was six-inches taller than him, had better hair, better face, a healthy tan, MUCH better grades, and who was …according to Parvati and Lavender… every girls’ fantasy.

‘Wait… “girl I love”? Oh, for Merlin’s sake! Get a grip, Potter! You don’t love Hermione! Well, you do love her but not like that. She’s your friend! Your mate! Oh, how long did Snape say the potion’s effects were supposed to last? Eight hours? Damn, maybe I should just go to my room right now and don’t come out until tomorrow, in case Ron’s right for once and I’m under the potion’s spell. Yeah, I should do that. Then everything’s going to be the way it’s supposed to be.’

Ron’s voice brought him back to the land of the sane people.

“Harry, didn’t you want to ask Hermione something?” Ron said, his eyes wide as if he was trying to communicate something important to Harry. Whatever the secret message was, it was lost on Harry.

“I don’t…” Harry said, before getting a hard nudge on the ribs from Ron’s elbow. Hearing the thud, Hermione stopped eating and was now looking at her two best friends curiously.

“Yes, you do! Remember? You just told me how you were stuck in the History of Magic essay that we need to submit tomorrow… and you told me you were going to ask Hermione for help,” Ron said forcefully as he awkwardly nodded his head in Hermione’s direction.

“Do you have something on your neck Ron?” Hermione asked, unable from her point of view to see the look of “play along” Ron was giving Harry. Finally, Harry gathered Ron was trying to help him find an excuse to spend time with Hermione.

‘Ron, you sod! You are supposed to be helping me get out of this mess, not pushing me further in!’’

Harry tried to force what he thought of Ron’s plan into his eyes hoping that Ron would stop his meddling. But either Ron didn’t understand or he was simply convinced his plan was not going to fail, judging by the way he continued nodding conspicuously at Hermione.

“Ron, are you sure you are alright?” Hermione asked worriedly, aware that there was something going on between her two friends that she wasn’t privy too.

Harry was about to turn to her and scream, “He’s fine. He’s just being an idiot!” when he noticed how charming she looked, frowning slightly, biting her bottom lip in an expression mix with both confusion and concern.

And while his brain yelled, ‘Don’t play along!’ Harry found himself saying, “Oh, right! I’d forgotten.”

“Hermione, can you help me with my essay?” Harry asked quickly before he had a chance to think twice. The truth was that Hermione had already finished her meal, and he didn’t want to see her leave again.

“Of course I will, Harry!” Hermione said with a big smile as she reached across the table and patted his hand with hers. Harry had use of enough of his brains to stop himself from grabbing her hand.

“Excellent. Harry will go with you to get your things and I’ll wait for you two in the common room,” Ron said triumphantly. Harry stepped on his foot while looking at Hermione, who was oblivious to Harry’s predicament, judging by how she savored the last of her dessert.

“OUCH! Watch it!” Ron complained, looking tempted to return the favor.

“Sorry,” Harry apologized in his most sarcastic tone. Hermione finished the last of her pumpkin juice and quickly stood up.

“Finished. See you later,” Hermione she waved casually as she started walking away. Ron and Harry looked at each other with questioning expressions on their faces; Hermione always waited for them after dinner.

“Wait. Harry is going with you!” said to Hermione, adding to Harry in a whisper, “You better start ranking some points by helping her carry her books.”

“Don’t push it, Ron,” Harry whispered between clenched teeth.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m not going to my common room now. I have to go by the library first,” Hermione said.

“AGAIN?” Harry and Ron asked simultaneously; Hermione had already spent half of her lunch hour in there… and she had dragged them with her.

“Yes, I promised Roger I was going to help him with his Arithmacy,” Hermione continued nonchalantly. Ginny raised a curious eyebrow at the Gossip Twins, who had just found the conversation between Harry, Ron and Hermione very interesting.

Harry, on the other hand, found the noise his teeth made when they were grinding against each other incredibly annoying.

“Oh, so Roger is going to be there too?” Parvati asked as casually as she could.

“Yes,” Hermione answered with a frown. What Parvati and Lavender found so interesting about Roger Davies, she didn’t know. She decided to ignore the subject and focus on Harry and Ron.

“I’ll be at the common room at around nine,” Hermione told them. She wasn’t far from them when she stopped and turned around.

“Oh, and Harry… if you want to start sooner, you are welcome to come to the library with me,” she added.

“Thanks,” Harry answered as he forced himself to smile casually. Hermione didn’t notice the strain for she turned around and left the Great Hall.

“If you even think of going to the library, I’m going to kill you myself!” Ginny threatened as soon as Hermione was out the doors. Harry gulped; he truly couldn’t tell if Ginny was joking or not.

“WHY?” Ron asked indignantly before Harry got a chance.

“Oh, isn’t it obvious?” Lavender sighed, “He’s going to ask her to be his date while they are the library. He’s such a gentleman.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked her hurriedly. His throat suddenly felt as dry as if he had just finished crossing the Sahara.

It was Parvati who answered by saying, “Well, he has to ask her in a neutral ground just in case Hermione is crazy enough to say no. Roger is such a gentleman that he won’t risk popping the question in a place they spend a lot of time in… since they practically live together…”

“They share a COMMON room! They DO NOT live together,” Harry corrected quickly, suddenly feeling the urge to slam the kidney pie in Parvati’s face.

“Whatever! In any case, asking her in neutral ground means that even if she says: “No, thank you. I can’t go with you because I’m being picked up by the Loony House truck,” then she won’t feel out of place when they are sharing sleepless nights on their PRIVATE common room while sitting next to the cozy fire,” Parvati finished, winking her eye maliciously so as to not leave any doubt what kind of “sharing” she was talking about.

Harry could have sworn Parvati was enjoying how he squirmed.

Parvati and Lavender stood up and left before Ron could give them a piece of his mind. Ginny also stood up, but she did not leave the Great Hall immediately. Instead, she turned toward Harry and Ron and inspected them gravely, her eyes growing into slits.

“Now… do I have your promise you two are not going to go into the library? Hermione certainly doesn’t need you two to be her third wheels!” she asked seriously, looking at them with an expression that she usually reserved for Quidditch players on the opposite team.

“We promise,” Harry and Ron said simultaneously, giving her their best “I didn’t do it/It wasn’t me/No one saw me; no one can prove anything” smiles. Her eyes filled with suspicion as she looked from Harry to Ron and back.

“Relax, Ginny. You know you can trust us,” Harry said, widening his smile. Ron gave his little sister a thumb’s up and nodded vigorously.

After a few seconds, Ginny sighed and said, “Well, I guess I have no other choice. I’ll see you guys later.” She turned around and started walking away, not noticing how their smiles dropped like anvils in a Saturday morning cartoon.

Ginny was still within sight when Ron leaned toward Harry and whispered, “You really weren’t going to keep that promise, were you?”

“Hell no!”

****************

30 minutes later…

“Are you sure this is what we want?”

Ron hesitantly asked Harry as he watched his friend open his trunk and take out a piece of gray translucent cloak from the very bottom. Ron had seen Harry use the Invisibility Cloak enough times to recognize it immediately. Harry had already hidden the Extendable Ears George and Fred had given him in his pocket.

It was definitely an undercover operation.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked absently. But Ron’s answer really didn’t matter to Harry. The green-eyed boy had already formulated the plan when he watched Hermione leave the Great Hall.

‘You are just concerned for your friend. Because Hermione IS your friend. You just want to make sure Roger doesn’t try to… you know… get funny with her. Yes, that’s it.’ Harry repeated in his head over and over again in a lame attempt to try to explain his strange behavior.

“Harry, you DO know you are under the potion’s effects, right? Maybe that’s the reason you are jealous and you want to sneak in…” Ron managed to say before Harry closed his trunk with a loud thud and glared at him.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Ron! I am not under any potion’s spell! I am not doing this because I am jealous… I am simply concerned for my friend! You know Hermione has never… well, she trusts people too much! I don’t want that git Roger to take advantage of her,” Harry said, feeling slightly secure by how determined he sounded.

Ron, however, was not as convinced as he muttered, “Yeah, right. Whatever.” Harry pointed at him with an accusing finger, deciding to fight fire with fire.

“Hold on! You too wanted to go into the library and see what was going on! Maybe you are the one who is in love with Hermione!” he said, trying to sound convincing and failing.

“Don’t be a git, Harry,” Ron answered calmly, “I am helping out because Roger is one of my least favorite people in this school and, if I have to go to the Davies-Granger wedding, I’m going to hang myself with my jock strap from the top of the Astronomy Tower.”

“I don’t know if I should be disturbed or disgusted,” Harry mumbled, shaking his head as he tried to dissipate the mental picture of Ron and his jock strap.

“Anyway, Harry,” Ron continued unabated, “One thing is to go to the library and, you know, interrupt them by sitting next to Hermione and badgering incessantly, but to sneak in? That’s stalking!”

“We promised Ginny, we weren’t going to chaperone,” Harry said. He was getting angry with Ron for making him stall.

‘Oh, if Roger has his hands on her, I am going to…’

Ron’s voice interrupted the pleasant mental image of Roger screaming in pain.

“Oh, yes, breaking a stupid promise to Ginny is bad. But spying on our best friend isn’t?” Ron argued. Harry just sighed. He was going to try one more thing to convince Ron that going to the library to check out things was the correct thing to do, but if Ron didn’t agree, then he would just have to knock his best friend’s lights out and beg for forgiveness later.

“Ron, think about this. We both dislike Roger. We both think Hermione can do much better than him,” Harry started saying.

“And will that “much better” person be you, mate?” Ron interrupted, raising a questioning eyebrow at him.

“No, you idiot. It’s not me. I already told you! This is not about me being in love with Hermione! It’s about two mates looking out for the welfare of their best friend! Agreed?” Harry replied with certainty.

Ron thought about Harry’s words for a few seconds before answering, “Alright… agreed.”

“It’s settled then. Let’s go,” Harry said, tucking the Invisibility Cloak under his sweater and leaving their dormitory with determination. Ron reluctantly followed him as they walked thought Hogwart’s halls, occasionally encountering some of their fellow students, but marching away briskly before anyone could engage them in conversation and stall them.

When they were standing in front of the boy’s bathroom that was a hallway away from the library, Harry quickly pulled Ron inside and threw the Invisibility Cloak over them. Ron had grown so much during the summer that the cloak barely reached their mid-calves.

“You’ll have to bend your knees a bit, mate,” Harry instructed, shifting nervously. He loved Ron like a brother, but being pressed against him was not one of Harry’s favorite ways of passing the time.

“Why me?” Ron hissed.

“Because you are the one who’s freakishly tall!” Harry snapped.

Ron adjusted himself until the cloak finally touched the floor. “Done. And by the way, girls think tall men are sexy,” Ron whispered as they slowly walked out of the bathroom.

“I’ll call you ‘sexy boy toy’ everyday if you just shut up and walk now,” Harry pleaded as they silently stepped inside the library.

The library was a huge room with at least 30 pairs of tall bookshelves surrounding multiple study tables. Madam Pince was sitting on her desk pretending to read a book about Mythological and Magical Creatures of Romania, but Harry knew better. That woman watched over her library like a hawk watches over her newborns.

“Do you see her?” Ron whispered behind him. Harry was going to answer “no”, when he suddenly spotted Hermione’s brown hair by the far corner’s table. There was another head next to hers, with blond hair and maybe a foot taller than hers. Holding up the blond head, he could see pair of broad shoulders and a confident stance that Harry had always wanted to posses.

Harry felt his stomach drop a few notches when he saw Roger putting his arm around Hermione and patting her on the shoulder. If he hadn’t taken his hand off a second later, Harry was sure he would have walked toward them and twisted Roger’s arm off.

“Closer,” Harry whispered as he made Ron follow him closer to where Hermione and Roger were sitting.

“Harry, I can’t stand this much longer. My back is killing me,” Ron mumbled painfully. Harry found a perfect hiding spot on the high bookshelf a few feet away from Hermione. He made Ron follow him behind the bookshelf. Moving a few Muggle studies books out of the way, Harry and Ron could partially see Hermione and Roger’s face more closely.

Ron sighed with relief as soon as he was able to stretch. If anyone had walked by the last bookshelf on the library, they would have seen two pairs of worn out sneakers… and nothing else.

Harry noticed that Hermione indeed was working on an assignment for she had in her delicate hand a blotched piece of parchment with a confusing numbered chart. Roger, however, didn’t seem to be that interested in the homework, since he looked at Hermione the whole time she was trying to explain something in the chart.

Harry suddenly fought the urge to poke Roger’s eyes.

‘They’re talking… but what are they talking about? I mean, Hermione is trying to show him something in the chart, but now he’s saying something and… she’s laughing! What is it? Did he ask her to the dance yet? Wait… is he trying to rub his elbow against her breast? If he is, in I’m going to cut off his di… ‘

“Harry. That’s enough. Let’s go back” Ron whispered urgently. Harry had been concentrating so hard on spying on Hermione that he jumped at the sound of Ron’s voice. He watched as Hermione turned her head sharply around and looked at the direction of the bookshelf they were hiding behind.

“Did you hear something, Rog?” Hermione asked her companion, frowning slightly.

‘Rog? Why the hell is she calling him Rog? She never calls me Har or Arry…’

“I didn’t hear anything, beautiful. Now, what was it you were saying about 91 divided by a prime?” Roger said smoothly as he tried to focus Hermione’s attention back to his favorite subject… him.

“Chill, mate. Let’s go,” Ron urged.

“Not yet,” Harry disagreed, “let me get a bit closer. I can’t really see what they are doing under this thing.”

“Any closer and we are going to step on Hermione’s foot!” Ron hissed.

Before Ron could protest, Harry carefully took off the Invisibility Cloak so it only covered Ron. He had an urgent need to see everything that was going on. He was afraid that, with the limited view that hiding behind bookshelf provided him, he was going to miss something important.

Images that filled him with surprising panic attacked his mind… like Roger and Hermione holding hands… or Hermione’s fingers twirling Roger’s perfect locks of hair… or Roger’s hands tracing lazy circles on Hermione’s thigh.

So, Harry did the only thing his distrustful brain could think of.

He started climbing the bookshelf, using each shelf to go higher and higher until he reached the top shelf and sat on it. Harry looked down; he was at least 10 feet from the floor. Although he had a bird’s eye view of Roger and Hermione (‘At least I can now see where their hands are!’) Harry now couldn’t figure out what they were talking about.

Just then he remembered the Extendable Ears he had in his pocket. ‘Reminder: tell George and Fred what a couple of geniuses they are’ Harry thought as he pulled them out of his pocket. Slowly, he lowered one of the ears until he could make out Hermione’s voice coming thru the device.

“So you see? When you divide 91 by any prime, you get what’s called a vortex epsilon, a powerful number that can be used for good or dark purposes. The higher the number you get, the more powerful the base spell is going to be,” Hermione was saying, making Harry scratch his head compulsively as he tried to make sense of her explanation.

“I get it now! Finally!” Roger said, flashing a smile that reminded Harry of Gilderoy Lockhart. “You are a great teacher, Mione,” Roger added, giving Hermione a quick hug that made the blood boil on Harry’s vein.

‘Mione? MIONE? That’s how I CALL… I mean, how Ron and I call her! What is this intruder doing calling her by our pet name?’

Harry clenched his fist until his knuckles were white.

“I’m glad to help, Rog,” Hermione said coolly and stood up.

“I promised Harry I was going to help him with his essay,” she said as she started gathering her things, “so, I’ll see you later?”

‘That’s it, Hermione! Be a good girl and run from the slimy son of a b…’

Harry was so happy she was going to leave Roger to go to him that he couldn’t help but grinning like the idiot he was.

“Wait! There’s something I want to ask you,” Roger said, his voicing sounding a little less casual than before. Harry leaned even further, until he had to use his free hand to grasp the shelf for fear of falling. He didn’t like where this was going.

“What is it, Roger?” Hermione asked, her voice betraying how clueless she truly was about the direction the conversation was about to take. Roger stood up, tightened his already perfectly done tie, and faced her.

“I was wondering if… well, if you’d like to be my date for the Halloween Ball,” he said, flashing one of those smiles that will surely get him nominated for Witch’s Weekly Best Smile Award.

Harry was as irritated as Hermione was shocked. Harry would have enjoyed seeing Hermione at such a loss for words if the hand that was holding onto the shelf hadn’t started to hurt, and if his other hand wasn’t dreaming of wrapping itself around Roger’s throat.

“I… um… I… well… I’m flattered that you… you’ve asked me, but… I… em… don’t know… don’t know what to… what to say,” Hermione stuttered for what may have been the first time in her life.

“Then say ‘YES’,” Roger said with a playful wink. Betting on his own charm, Roger took Hermione’s hand in his.

Harry leaned even further, willing his mind to suddenly start transmitting extra-sensorial messages to Hermione.

‘Tell him to go screw himself! Tell him you are going with your two best friends because you don’t want to spend the evening with a self-centered, egotistical, ambitious, slimy motherfu…’

“Alright! I’ll go with you to the ball!” Hermione said, smiling up at Roger.

‘SHIT! NO! WHY!?’

No sooner had the words come out her mouth that Harry heard a loud creaking sound.

With a mixture of shock and alarm, Harry found himself rapidly moving closer and closer toward the floor.

***********

A/N: Hey everyone! Hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Thanks for the support. And thanks so much for the reviews!

Nice: Let’s see if poor Roger is as lucky as Dean. -wink-

Fenriswolf: Oh, you are totally right about the “arse” thing. Thanks for pointing that out. And by all means, if I make the same mistake again, please correct me! Thankx again!

KypDurron: Yes, very, very careless. He should know by now not to drink anything in Snape’s class.

The Real HOPE: Hehe Like he says, when has listening to Dobby’s advice not brought him trouble?

Zaxxon: I am very much aware of the rules in Portkey, but thanks for the reminder. It was simply a bit of a joke. Love cannot be manufactured? Hope you keep reading to find out what I think about that. -wink-

Beppo: I think the answer to the first question is already in this chapter. But on the second? Let’s just say that Hermione will probably never find out about Harry’s embarrassing incident. Oh, you from Germany? My favorite band is from there! Rammstein forever (random comment of the day)!

Just Breathing: Glad you enjoyed it! Hopefully, this was fast enough.

Swimchick1614: You really think that? Oh… read on to see if you are correct on that one.

Creepy Susie: You are correct! This was originally posted in FF.net… but the first couple of chapters (I think up to the 8 chapter) have been rewritten before posting them here. Just a couple of loose ends I wanted to cover.

DVSEzekiel316: Aw, thanks for the encouraging message. But remember, this story is just getting started. –grin-

Davaca: Yes, another member of the “Let’s torture Harry” fan club!

Bentheslayer: Thanks for the kind words!

Pillarmagic: Glad you enjoyed it!

Kinsfire: I aim to please. Glad you are amused.

Clairseach: Oh, I agree Love Potion No. 9 is a bit clichéd, but it is mentioned as a small tribute to my mother, who sang it to me incessantly when I was a child. Beats Barney any day!

Blue Lady: Hehehe I got to warn you… I am a big tease. The suspense is going to keep getting worst!

Caroline Delacour: Thanks for that Caroline! Will it work out? You’ll see!

Thanks again everyone!

Anasazi

Chapter 3: A Walking Contradiction

*********

It was the darkest of blacks, like the one in a moonless night or the one that might be encountered below six feet of dirt, on the playground of roots and worms.

And in the middle of that all-consuming darkness, there was a single spot of color… a glowing red sphere.

It was beating.

Softly at first, almost imperceptible, and then… blinding him.

Until the black was swallowed by a wave of red light, and a piercing scream like that of a thousand wailing souls in agony shattered the glow…

And the terrifying darkness was once again all that there was.

*********

Harry woke up abruptly, feeling the sweat clinging to his body as if he had just stepped out of the shower. He knew he had been dreaming, but by Merlin’s sake, he couldn’t remember what he had been dreaming of. Harry sat on the bed and compulsively put a hand to his forehead.

His scar was burning. And his chest felt so tight for a moment he thought someone might have been sitting on him.

“You better get used to it. Pomfrey said it’s going to hurt for a while,” Harry jumped at the sound of the voice and looked to his right. The voice belonged to Ron, who was sitting on a chair next to Harry’s bed.

Ron reached over and took something from the night table on Harry’s right. He placed it on Harry’s hand and sat back down. Harry realized that what Ron had just handed him were his eyeglasses, so he quickly put them on, noticing that one of the lenses was broken. He winced in pain, feeling how stiff his left arm was.

It was at that moment that Harry realized he wasn’t in his room, but in the territory of the Hogwart’s nurse, Madam Pomfrey. Harry noticed his left arm felt heavy and he looked down at it; his arm was bandaged and in a sling. He also realized that there was a heavy bandage over the scar on his forehead.

“What happened?” Harry asked Ron, feeling slightly dizzy.

“You mean you don’t remember your little circus performance in the library?” Ron asked, arching his eyebrow emphatically.

‘The library… last thing I remember is being in the library… I climbed the bookshelf… I sat on the top… I took out the Extendible Ears and leaned forward…’

‘Oh, no…’

Harry didn’t remember what happened after that, but he didn’t need to be a Master of the Obvious to piece the puzzle together.

“I fell. Didn’t I?” Harry asked, his cheeks tinting in embarrassment.

Ron shook his head and smiled wryly, “No, mate. You didn’t fell. You CRASHED like an overripe fruit. You even broke the bloody desk Hermione and Roger had been using!”

Harry wasn’t sure now if the pain in his chest was because of the fall, or because of the memory of a certain girl’s voice as she said, “Alright! I’ll go with you to the ball!”

“Hermione… where is she?” Harry asked Ron in an oddly subdued voice.

“She’s making rounds,” Ron said casually. The look of disappointment in Harry’s eyes did not go unnoticed by the usually thick-as-a-concrete-wall Ron.

“Oh, but she was very worried about you! She wanted to be here, but McGonagall made Roger assist Madam Pince to clean up the mess you left in the library, and Hermione got stuck with the rounds!” Ron offered.

“Yeah, right” he mumbled, the sarcasm evident in his voice even when he did not wished it. He thought he knew Hermione well enough to determine that, if she really wanted something bad enough, she would find the means to get it.

“You got a lot of explaining to do, mate,” Ron said honestly, leaning back on the uncomfortable chair.

“Oh, I bet Madam Pince just wants to get her bony hands around my neck,” Harry mumbled, closing his eyes tiredly.

“You don’t owe her an explanation, you git! I’m talking about Hermione!” Ron replied.

“Why? Because I ruined Roger’s perfect proposal? Well, I’m sorry if I got blood on his white crisp shirt. I’ll try to bleed on myself next time” Harry said, surprised at his own bitterness.

It was true what Ron had implied just moments ago… he had definitely expected to see Hermione standing by his bedside. That’s why it hurt so much to wake up and not have her there.

‘Shut up, Potter! Don’t think about that!’

“I take it by your charming disposition that the Philtrum something whatever is still working,” Ron snapped at him. Harry was ashamed with himself

He had been the one that had acted like a jerk. He knew he had no right to spy on Hermione, and that he definitely didn’t have a right to be mad at her for accepting Roger’s invitation.

‘But it still hurts like a bitch.’

“What explanation did you give?” Harry asked Ron.

“That you were trying to reach a book on the top shelf and decided to climb up… and that the bookshelf toppled. Thankfully, I had managed to stuff your Invisibly Cloak under my jumper before she noticed my presence.” Ron said.

“And she believed that?” Harry asked wearily as he closed his eyes. Ron’s ears went a slight shade of pink; he had never been a gifted liar.

“I don’t think so. But she didn’t say anything. Hermione was too worried about you. She… She took off her jumper and put it in your forehead… She got blood all over her shirt… and she was crying…she couldn’t stop crying… it wasn’t until McGonagall came that she calmed down,” Ron started answering.

Harry didn’t want to hear anything else. He closed his eyes tiredly. He knew that the mental image of Hermione crying because of his idiocy was going to torment him for a while.

“What time is it?” Harry desperately wished to change the conversation.

“A quarter to midnight,” Ron answered, looking at the old cuckoo clock on the other side of the room.

“That late?” Harry asked, opening his eyes tiredly.

“You’ve been unconscious for the last couple of hours. You split your head against the desk… and what a sound it made!’” Ron said with a slight smile, sounding as if he was just narrating a Quidditch game.

If it was 15 minutes to midnight, it meant that the effects of the Philtrum Casses Amator potion were already passing.

“How long do I have to stay here?” Harry asked.

“Madam Pomfrey said that you had to stay the whole night. Your arm should be okay by morning, but she says she wants to make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Ron replied as he stood up from the chair and stretched languidly.

“Alright. I’ll guess I’ll see you in the morning,” Harry said with a light wave of his good hand.

“Sure. Try to catch some sleep,” Ron said with a yawn, patting Harry’s arm.

Ron turned around and started walking away. The redhead was now out of sight, but Harry could still hear his footsteps in the room.

Ron’s footsteps suddenly stopped, and Harry knew his best friend was still in the room. “Harry?” he heard Ron say hesitantly.

“What?” Harry mumbled.

“I’m sure Hermione wanted to be here more than anything else,” Ron said. Leaving behind that simple thought, Harry heard Ron’s footsteps as he finally left the hospital wing.

Harry was groggy; he didn’t know what medication Madam Pomfrey had given him, but it had to have been something quite powerful. He took off his glasses and placed them on the night table.

And yet, he didn’t feel like going to sleep. His guilt over his behavior since he had taken the potion and the pain he felt in his chest every time he remembered how excited Hermione was about going to the ball with Roger made for two very contradicting trains of thoughts that were colliding inside his tired mind.

‘Just go to sleep, Harry. Tomorrow you are going to wake up and all this mess would have cleaned up by itself.’

******************

2 Hours Later

But sleep didn’t come over Harry. Instead, he had spent the last two hours looking up at the ceiling, his good arm on his side, listening to the sound of his breathing and the occasional tapping of Madam Pomfrey’s feet on the cold marble floor.

He pretended to be asleep every time she walked by his bed to check up on him. He had too many things in his mind to add an old lady who had a tendency for being excruciatingly over-protective… things like the growing headache that made his head feel like an overstuffed piñata.

He didn’t pay attention to the footsteps that were growing louder, thinking it was just Madam Pomfrey coming to check up on him for the tenth time that night. Harry felt slightly uncomfortable by the attention, but it wasn’t exactly because he didn’t like the fact that someone was taking care of him… it was because that someone wasn’t a certain brown-haired, brown-eyed witch with the warmest smile in Hogwarts.

‘What the hell is wrong with me? I’m losing my bloody mind! The potion’s effect is supposed to be subsiding. I am not supposed to be feeling this way anymore… or am I? Maybe Ron did something with his potion that makes it last longer. Bloody Ron! I’m going to strangle him in the morning…’

It wasn’t until Harry heard a familiar female voice whispering nearby that his senses were completely jerked awake. Harry looked through the curtain around his bed and saw two outlines: a tall woman sitting behind a desk with an open book in her hands, and a shorter, but full-bodied young woman standing in front of her.

“What are you doing here so late, Ms. Granger?” Madam Pomfrey asked briskly.

“I just finished my rounds. I was wondering if I could see my friend Harry before going to bed?” Harry heard Hermione say. He couldn’t ignore how tired her voice sounded.

“He’s sleeping,” answered Madam Pomfrey, her voice softer than before. She knew of the special relationship between Harry, Hermione and Ron, and she knew that those three couldn’t be kept away from each other for too long.

‘That’s it, good woman! Send her back to her room where she be… Wait, no! Her room is next to Roger’s room and… oh, what the hell am I saying? I’ve gone bloody insane’.

“Oh, I understand. Can I see him for just a minute? I promise not to wake him up,” Hermione pleaded. His heart sank until he could feel it in the pit of his stomach. She sounded very worried.

‘How could I have doubted her?’

“All right, child. But just a minute,” Madam Pomfrey said gently.

“Thanks,” Hermione whispered. The next thing Harry heard were Hermione’s footsteps coming his way.

‘What am I going to do? Merlin, I want to see her so badly… But what will I say? How can I explain what I was doing without sounding like a bloody sod? I just can’t go and tell her “Hermione, I drank the love potion in Snape’s class and it made me fall in love with you, so I was spying on you on the library and that’s why I fell. Now, let’s go up to your room and start making us some babies” now, can I?

So Harry did what he thought any other guy would have done in his situation.

He pretended to be asleep.

The characteristic smell of lavender that seemed to accompany Hermione everywhere she went was mingled with the scent of drying blood. Harry opened his eyes just enough so he could watch Hermione through the curtain of his long lashes.

Hermione’s hair was wilder than ever, fixed in a very shoddy ponytail. Her uniform was in no better condition… her previously white shirt was wrinkled beyond recognition, dried blood leaving a big stain near her chest. There was a smudge of dried blood on her left cheek. She looked exhausted and her alluring brown eyes were full of worry.

Harry had to use all of his self-control to resist the urge to wipe the smudge in her cheek with his coarse hand. It was almost offensive to see something like that marring her beauty.

He almost jumped when he felt her delicate hand gently touching his own. Thankfully, Hermione didn’t notice, judging by the way she was softly speaking to him.

“Oh, Harry. Just what do you think you were doing?” she whispered, her voice sounding both annoyed and worried. It was a tone familiar to Harry, for she had used that same tone of voice countless of times with Ron and Harry.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose when he felt her fingers caress his unruly raven hair, moving it away from his forehead, tickling him slightly. With the tip of her finger, Hermione kindly touched the bump that had formed just over his scar.

“Well, it doesn’t look as bad as it did when you fell…Harry, you scared me half to death!” Hermione said in a whisper. Harry felt as if he was going to explode when he felt her hand on his cheek. She lightly rubbed his cheek with her thumb with a gentleness Harry had never experienced before.

He wanted to smile; he found simply charming how she kept speaking to him, even when she thought he was asleep.

“Harry James Potter. What am I going to do with you? When you are not looking for trouble, trouble’s looking for you,” she said humorously, obviously relieved that her friend was recuperating well.

“I got to go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispered softly.

Harry felt a bolt of lighting run throughout his body when Hermione’s lips planted a feather-light kiss on his forehead.

It wasn’t until after Hermione exchanged goodbyes with Madam Pomfrey and left the room that Harry dare open his eyes.

He exhaled a breath of air he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

*******************

Sorry for the short chapter, but I promise more angst and heartbreak in the next! Please review and let me know how you like/dislike. And thanks to all the reviewers. I was overwhelmed!

Sweet: Now you know what happens. Hermione was too worried to be mad… but who knows what may happen after a good night’s sleep?

Muse: Glad you enjoy the humor… I believe in finding comedy in every aspect of life. However, this story has a very dark side to it and a mystery that will have to be resolved… it has already started.

Muirnin: LOL If you want to kill Roger now, I can’t wait to see what you want to do to the poor guy later.

Pottersgirl2003: Who says Hermione doesn’t like Roger? Hehe I agree that is about time Hermione takes control of her love life. That girl won’t disappoint!

JayaMioneDurron: LOL Again, Hermione was too worried to be mad. And I’m actually a big Krum fan, because he treated Hermione like she deserves to be treated. And I think, in canon, that Krum knows something about Hermione that no one else knows.

MelanieBlack: Yes, he indeed fell on them… thankfully, he landed on the desk, or there would be three people in the hospital tonight.

Anonymous 1: ^__^ Very glad to make you smile!

KypDurron: LOL. Why would Hermione change her mind? Harry didn’t ask her to the ball, did he? ^_- And keep the faith in Ginny!

Kjm: Harry admits to the fact that he drank the potion? I think the poor guy is going to be too embarrassed.

MissLexiRe: Glad you liked the cliffie! It’s good to have someone on my side when most of the readers wanted to strangle me.

Spaz141: Thanks for the kind words!

Nice: LOL Loved how you answered your own question. And I think Ginny would have slapped him if he had followed Hermione out the Great Hall.

Anonymous 2:Oh, I totally agree with the humor part. But this story has a bit of everything, and one of those things is angst. Hope you still enjoy it though!

Laurieisme1: LOL Poor girl needs some loving too!

Parvati_Patil: Interesting proposition… it just may happen. Heheh “Protect” indeed! And thankfully, Hermione was too busy screaming to notice Ron taking off the cloak and running toward them in his best “I’m-just-an-innocent-redhead” face.

Joogie: I LOVE Jealous!Harry… so you’ll be getting plenty of him in this fic. And, ouch, sorry about the Harry hurting himself bit. Aw, but the Prissy Head Boy asked nicely! Let’s see what happens, all right?

Davaca: LOL Another Rog fan, eh? And Hermione has her own reasons for saying yes… you’ll see!

Nom_De_Plume: Thanks. I enjoy being evil. Glad you enjoy the chapter. Don’t worry about goofball Harry… he’s going to be a goofball for a long time. And Ron has a HUGE part in this story. I can’t imagine a H/Hr story without Ron… he’s too important for me AND for them to be left out.

SilverMoonlight: Hehe Glad you liked it. Thanks for the kind words!

Swimchick1614: Thankfully, Harry was spared having to answer… for now. Glad you enjoyed!

Musique: LOL I end it there because I love a good cliffie. And Hermione does have good reasons why she said yes. Oh, Canada? One of my best friends is from Ottawa. Who’s Head Boy? That will be every reviewer favorite guy: Roger Davies. The same Roger that’s taking our dear Hermione to the ball… ^_-

Anonymous 3: Hehe too bad the potion is wearing off… or is it? ^_-

Excalibur: Like I’ve said, Hermione has her reasons… just wait and see.

Caroline Delacour: LOL You had an OC like Roger? They are so much fun, aren’t they? Oh, thanks for telling me I keep the characters IC… and if you ever think something they’ve done is OC, please tell me. In this fic, I want to be as true to JKR’s vision as possible. And that last question… well, you’ll have to wait and see.

Rekka: Hope I still have your interest! You want me to try to make the transition not too painful? But Painful = FUN! LOL

IssaBissa: Thanks for the encouragement!

ClairSeach: Hehe I agree Jealous!Harry is incredibly cute. And about Ginny… let’s just say that she meddles in some things that should be meddled with.

AkJennyMay9: Hehe Harry gets plenty stupid in this story. I see the readers love to hate poor Roger. And I think if Harry has landed on Hermione, he would have probably sent her to the hospital. So no… although it would have been fun to see him squirm knowing the girl he was crushing after was on the bed next to his.

BenTheSlayer: ^__^ As you may have noticed, I’m a big fan of slapstick. Wait until tomorrow morning for Hermione’s full reaction.

PilarMagic: Oh, thanks for that! Hope you liked the new chapter also!

Falling: I think the same way. I love Ron too much to pit him against Harry… although I’m afraid it may happen in canon.

Katakali: LOL He deserves it indeed. But everything in the right path for the couple next chapter? Oh no… long time to wait for that one!

Beppo: The potion’s effects are supposed to last only eight hours. However, there are some things you can do to it to lengthened/shortened the timeframe.

Anonymous 4: I actually got the idea from a song called Caught in a Web in my CD player while my mother was listening to Love Potion No. 9 on the kitchen. It was as if lightning struck!

Holland Sauce: Basically, fanfic writers are sadists… ^_-

Peace,

Anasazi

Chapter 4: Territorial Pissings Pt. 1

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Tuesday, October the 28th

Harry sighed tiredly as he tried to make his necktie look the way it was supposed to. But after five minutes of unsuccessful tries, he finally gave up. It had been a long and restless night, and Madam Pomfrey had allowed him to go back to his quarters 30 minutes ago in order to get ready for a full day of classes.

What Madam Pomfrey didn’t know was that Harry would have preferred to stay in bed all day, hiding under the covers to avoid Hermione, Ron, and of course, himself.

His arm and shoulder had healed overnight, and he felt only a tiny prickle of pain when he made sudden movements. Only a small bandage on his forehead remained from last night.

Harry ran a hand thru his unruly black hair, touching the bandaged bump next to his scar roughly, grimacing. He took a moment to look at his reflection in the mirror. One of the glasses in his spectacles was cracked from the fall, but he was so weary that the thought of raising his wand and performing a simple spell tired him out. Also, the crack served to distract from the dark circles under his puffy eyes. He pressed the palm of his hand to his face, feeling the stubble of his chin on his fingers, knowing full well he didn’t feel like shaving that morning, for he didn’t trust a razor anywhere near his jugular.

‘Harry, you look like a bloody bum.’

‘How can you even think of competing with someone like Roger Davies?’

“Wait, where did that come from?” Harry whispered, frowning. It was 7:30 in the morning; almost sixteen hours after he had drank the faithful potion in Snape’s class. The effects were supposed to have vanished long ago.

Harry heard a sleepy voice mumble, “Err di wha om rom?” He looked away from the mirror and toward Ron’s bed. Ron, already fully dressed, was sprawling face first on his unmade bed, apparently unable to let five minutes of waiting for Harry go without seizing the opportunity to sleep.

“Nothing. Let’s go. I’m hungry,” Harry answered briskly, trying to hide his worry.

‘Who knows? Maybe the potion has some side-effects… temporary I’m sure. Yeah, that’s it. I’ll see her this morning and she won’t be anybody else but sweet, reliable, good old Hermione.’

Ron got up from the bed, still half-asleep. Together, they walked in silence toward the Great Hall, Ron looking around the corridors in case Hermione was approaching, and Harry looking down at the floor with his hands on the pockets of his coat.

Ron caught sight of the giggling Lavender and Parvati (what do they have to be so happy about so early in the morning?), a flustered-looking Ginny (what was that girl up to?), a red-faced but beaming Neville (is everybody a morning person but me?), but no sign of Hermione.

Ron stole a worried glance at Harry. There was something different about his friend this morning, and Ron had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with Hermione and the whole potion business. The effects of the Potion #9 should have vanished by now, but Harry’s expression right now reminded Ron of the expression he wore when he had found Cedric had beat him to asking Cho for the Yule Ball.

They entered the Great Hall and took their usual seats at the Gryffindor table. Harry hadn’t even finished buttering his single slice of toast when he felt a big, warm hand on his shoulder. He looked over his shoulder only to find Albus Dumbledore, Hogwart’s Headmaster, smiling warmly down at him.

“I trust you are feeling better, Harry? Minerva informed me of what happened last night,” Dumbledore said softly, adjusting his spectacles up his crooked nose.

“I am, sir,” Harry said curtly, feeling a little uncomfortable with the strange twinkle in the Headmaster’s eyes.

Dumbledore nodded, “I trust that, next time you want to reach a book, you will tell Madam Pince about it. I can assure you she can get them down safely, since she was the one that put them where they are in the first place.” Harry gulped as he forced a polite smile.

“I will, sir. Thank you,” Harry answered. Was it his paranoid imagination at work or did Dumbledore just imply that he didn’t believe a word of Ron and Harry’s story?

Dumbledore smiled once more and said, “I have to go now. But if you need me, you can reach me in my chambers.” He squeezed Harry’s shoulder one last time, turned around and started walking away.

“What was that all about?” Ron whispered, puzzled.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Harry said as his eyes followed Dumbledore toward the exit.

Lucky he had been looking at the direction of the doors or he would have missed Hermione coming into the room. And not so surprisingly, she wasn’t alone, for Roger was standing next to her, holding her hand in his.

Harry let his slice of toast fall on the plate with a muffled thud; he was not hungry anymore. “What’s wrong?” Ron asked, noticing Harry’s not-so-subtle change in mood.

“My stomach’s not feeling well,” Harry said quickly as he tore his eyes away from the happy couple and looked down the table, trying to focus on Dean as the fellow Gryffindor tried explain what football was to a second-year student.

Ron wasn’t convinced, and he looked at where Harry had been looking at less than a second ago. He looked up just in time to see Roger kissing Hermione’s hand and walking to the Ravenclaw table.

“I think your stomach thing is contagious,” Ron grumbled as he did the inconceivable and put down his fork when he still had food on his plate.

Hermione looked over at the Gryffindor table and positively beamed when she saw Harry was already there. Only Ron noticed this, for Harry was too busy pushing his half-eaten piece of toast around the plate.

Harry couldn’t stop thinking about the image of Roger holding Hermione’s hand. His stomach was in a twist, his head hurt and he was having difficulty breathing. He had to get out of there, and he had to get out of there fast.

‘What in bloody hell is wrong with me?’

“Err… I have to go to the little boys room. See you at class,” Harry lied, standing up abruptly. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to splash ice-cold water on his face and scream at his reflection on the mirror until he couldn’t speak for a week.

But he had only managed to take two steps away from the Gryffindor table when Hermione intercepted him. “Harry!” Hermione squealed excitedly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and giving him such a hug he thought she might bend him in half. In spite of himself, Harry couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey Hermione. Nice to see you too,” he whispered, hugging her back timidly. The smell of her lavender shampoo hovered around her, and he felt strangely intoxicated by it. But the warm sensation that spread through his body ceased when she pushed him within arm’s length and scowled at him.

“Just what do you think you were doing?” she hissed, obviously referring to last night’s stunt.

“I was… I was… I was trying to study!” Harry stuttered. Hermione looked at him menacingly, wondering whether it was safe to believe he was capable of something so stupid.

“Come on, Mione! You are always saying how I need to read something else other than Quidditch Thru the Ages, aren’t you? Well, you should be proud of me cause I finally listened!” Harry lied, hoping that the “I’m a good kid” smile he had just plastered on his lips was enough to fool her.

Well, it either worked, or she was so happy to see him well that she wasn’t going to press the subject… yet. Hermione’s expression changed from a scowl into a patient smile. “Well, next time, try not to crack your head open. I can’t believe that for you a trip to the library results in more injuries than a Quidditch game,” she said softly.

Harry remembered what Ron had told him last night… about how Hermione had ruined her sweater when she used it to try to stop his bleeding. He remembered how the redhead had told him Hermione had been so worried she had cried. Hermione rarely cried. Feelings he didn’t know how to identify grew in him.

“Hermione… thanks for taking care of me in the library… Ron told me what happened,” Harry said softly, feeling suddenly nervous. He didn’t know the reasons why; Hermione had taken care of him plenty of times, and he had been grateful each and everyone of them.

“Don’t mention it, Harry… although if you want to buy me a new jumper next time we go to Hogsmeade, I won’t say no,” Hermione answered with a playful tone.

“Oh, speaking of that,” Hermione said, as if she had just remembered something. Again, and without warning, Hermione pulled him toward her, until the length of his body brushed with hers. He gulped hard, and his throat turned suddenly dry.

‘What’s she doing? Oh, Merlin, is she going to kiss me? YES! I mean, NO! Argh…’

All hope for a kiss faded when she pushed his hair away from his forehead and stared at the bandage on his forehead. Carefully, she lifted it and gazed at the wound underneath it.

“Well, it is almost healed. Just one more day and it will be good as new,” she whispered approvingly as she carefully replaced the bandage, or so Harry thought. He could hardly make out her words as he put all his efforts in trying to ignore how her breath gently tickled his skin.

He needed a distraction, and he needed it fast.

Sometimes the universe had a very twisted way of answering his requests.

“Don’t tell me this is the first time you notice that hideous scar, Granger? I know muggleborns are thick, but this is a bit too much,” Draco Malfoy’s drawling voice worked like a cold shower on Harry.

Harry looked over Hermione’s shoulder to see Malfoy’s just a few feet away from them, his gorillas, Crabbe and Goyle, flanking him. The blonde was looking at them with the sneer that often led to Harry’s fantasies about punching Malfoy’s lights out. Ron stood up from the table and took his usual defensive position next to Harry.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Ron and Harry said simultaneously, ready to fight if it came to that. Hermione placed a soothing hand in Harry’s shoulder and the other one on Ron’s. With a dramatic fling of her curls, she looked over her shoulder at Malfoy.

“What’s your problem, Draco?” Hermione asked, her voice sweet and patient. Malfoy sneered violently; it there was one thing he hated was a mudblood on a first-name basis.

“I don’t have a problem. Which is something that cannot be said for you two friends, Potty and the Weasel,” he hissed. Harry had never known the word “friends” could be uttered with so much contempt.

Harry flexed his knuckles, but a strange sense of tranquil came over him when he watched the calm expression in Hermione’s face as she turned around to face Malfoy.

“Oh, I get it, Draco. You are jealous,” Hermione said, putting her best puppy eyes expression on her face, obviously faking feeling sorry for Malfoy. Harry had to stifle a laugh; Malfoy looked as if he was ready to explode.

“Jealous? Of Scarface there? Are you bloody mad?” Malfoy spat, his cronies cracking their knuckles reflexively.

“Not because of the scar, Draco… but because of the fact that I can touch my friends without feeling the need to wash my hands afterwards. Which is something I believe your girlfriend Pansy has not been able to accomplish,” Hermione said sharply, matching Malfoy’s venom with some poison of her own.

“Filthy little mudblood,” Draco hissed, his voice carrying threat in its whisper as he took a step toward Hermione. Harry tensed; he was ready to slam Malfoy’s face against the table if he dared to put a finger on his best friend.

Hermione, however, seem completely unfazed, going as far as crossing her arms over her chest and looking at Malfoy with a very threatening look.

“Better to be a filthy little mudblood than a closet Death Eater. Won’t you agree, Draco?” Hermione smoothly replied. Harry didn’t thought it was possible, but Malfoy looked even redder than before, clenching his fists at his sides.

“Is there something else I can do for you, Draco?” Hermione asked sweetly, giving him another toothy smile. Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, but looked at the staff table, where Snape, McGonagall and Hagrid were looking down at them.

Draco knew he had to cool down; he couldn’t attract more trouble, not when the wheels had already been put into motion and the dateline for the plan was so near.

“We’ll continue this later, Granger,” Malfoy hissed at Hermione.

She smiled brightly at him. “Jolly good then. Have a good day, Draco.”

No sooner had Malfoy started walking away that the whole Gryffindor broke into applause. Hermione playfully took a bow.

“Blimey, that was awesome,” Ron said, patting her shoulder, the pride he felt for his best friend evident in his voice.

“Thank you, Ron,” Hermione said, that playful smile still tugging at the corner of her lips. Ron sat down back at the table and started eating, his appetite miraculously restored.

Hermione turned around and, without asking for permission, started doing Harry’s tie for him.

Harry had a silly grin on his own face. There was something so personal and hypnotizing in the simple gesture that made Harry’s heart beat wildly on his chest.

Hermione finished with the knot and ran her hands over his uniform in an attempt to smooth the wrinkles from his clothes.

The contact of Hermione’s hands on his chest, even through the clothing, was enough to send shivers up and down his spine.

This was something he shouldn’t even consider exploring.

When Hermione looked up at him, she found Harry with a soft smile on his lips that contrasted sharply with the tiredness in his viridian eyes. Harry kept on smiling down at her, and her curiosity was peaked. “What?” she asked softly.

“That was incredible, Mione… simply incredible,” Harry blurted before he had a chance to think. Hermione started laughing, thinking Harry was speaking about what had happened with Malfoy moments before.

Her hands left his body as she reached inside her pocket and pulled out her wand. Without wasting another moment, she pointed her wand between Harry’s eyes and said, “Oculus Reparo”

Instantly, the crack on Harry’s glasses disappeared, leaving them as good as new. For a second, Harry saw the 10-year-old little know-it-all he had met on his first train ride to Hogwarts.

He remembered he still had to thank Neville and his toad Trevor for bringing Hermione into his life.

Harry realized Hermione was still smiling softly at him. “I’m glad to see you so happy,” he said, wondering if there was a particular reason why Hermione was in such a good mood that morning.

“Thanks, Harry. I’m just so happy to see you doing better that I wasn’t about to let that ferret ruin my morning,” Hermione said, tucking the wand back into her pocket.

‘I am! I’m the reason she’s happy!’

Harry felt energized, and he even started thinking about eating a bit more for breakfast so as to spend time with Hermione.

But that vanished when he saw an arm draped itself over Hermione’s shoulder.

‘I guess I’m not the reason after all.’

He forced himself to continue smiling as he watched Roger plant a kiss on Hermione’s cheek.

“You were unbelievable, Hermione,” Roger said, flashing a bright smile. Harry felt the urge to see how Roger’s smile would look if he knocked all of Roger’s teeth out.

“Thanks,” Hermione said, her demeanor strangely shy.

‘Is she blushing? She is, dammit! Oh, why do I even care? This is none of my business!’

“Hello, Harry. Glad to see you are looking better than you did last night,” Roger said as he turned his attention to Harry. Only Ron noticed how truly strained Harry’s smile was as Harry nodded politely at Roger and said a simple hello.

“Well, let’s go, Hermione. I’ll walk you to your lesson,” Roger said confidently as he turned his attention back to the girl standing between Harry and himself.

“She hasn’t eaten breakfast!” both Ron and Harry said between clenched teeth. Hermione, who apparently didn’t notice the effect the Head Boy seemed to have on her two best friends, smiled at Roger.

“You know what? I’m not that hungry to begin with. I think I’ll skip breakfast,” Hermione replied.

Roger, playing the part of the perfect gentleman, grabbed Hermione’s books and nodded at Harry and Ron. “We’ll see you later,” he said with an irritating smile before turning around.

“See you in class, guys,” Hermione added as she turned around and started walking to the Great Hall’s doors, Roger’s arm still around her shoulders, leaving Harry slack-jawed and Ron so mad you could practically see the smoke coming from his ears.

“WE’LL see you later’. WE? Since when are they a WE?” Ron snapped, the expression on his face indicating that he wanted to choke Roger till his lips were blue.

Harry couldn’t answer, for he didn’t trust his mouth was capable of producing any sounds.

Getting no reply from Harry, Ron turned to look at his best friend to get an opinion about Roger and Hermione.

He was stunned by what he saw. The expression in Harry’s face was nothing like Ron’s. It was something that could only be described as sheer panic.

“Are you okay, mate?” Ron asked, worriedly. Harry looked paler than he had looked in the hospital last night. Again, Harry didn’t answer, but continued looking at the spot where a few moments ago Roger and Hermione had disappeared.

“Harry, you are scaring me. What’s wrong?” Ron said, looking around the hall to see if Harry had spotted some danger that no one else knew about.

Harry suddenly turned around and grabbed Ron’s arm forcefully. “Ouch! What?” Ron frowned.

“If I tell you something important… do you promise not to laugh? Do you promise to help me out of this mess?” Harry asked bluntly. Ron now looked as scared as Harry felt.

“I do. Now, what’s wrong?” Ron said, pulling his arm from Harry’s iron grip.

“The potion is still working. I am still in love with Hermione. And I need to find an antidote NOW!” Harry blurted.

Ron broke his promise immediately by laughing in Harry’s face.

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A/N: Short chapter, but compensating with faster updates! Hope you enjoyed it. By the way, the title “Territorial Pissings” comes from a song by Nirvana. Awesome song… and I thought that it describes Harry’s situation perfectly.

In the next chapter: Harry gives a dog a run for his money when it comes to Hermione.

Thanks to all that left me feedback! I truly appreciate it. Sorry for not replying to each and every one of them as it is my custom, but I’m pressed for time today.

Take a minute to drop me some feedback if you can. They are what inspire me to become better.

Peace,

Anasazi

Chapter 5: Territorial Pissing Pt. 2

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12:05 PM

Ron rubbed his still sore arm in the exact spot where Harry had hit him for breaking his promise of not laughing at the peculiar situation. The truth was that Ron hadn’t realized that what he found amusing and fortunate, Harry found it to be something absolutely, positively disastrous.

So, he had tried to calm Harry by telling him he was going to help him find an antidote to the potion. But, to be honest, Ron didn’t believe what Harry was feeling was entirely due to the little misadventure in Snape’s class.

“You have to eat something. You didn’t have anything for breakfast,” Ron said to Harry as he dragged the other guy toward the Great Hall, the morning classes already behind them.

“I’m not hungry,” Harry said absently. Ron’s stomach was growling; after all, his breakfast that morning hadn’t constituted half of his usual breakfast.

But Harry… Harry looked worthy of pity, his expression as cheerful as one of a person who had just been informed that his puppy had been run over by a car.

Harry had hardly spoken during their classes. Since Roger had developed the annoying habit of waiting for Hermione after every class and walking her toward the next, Ron had the opportunity to ask Harry what was wrong with him when they left the History of Magic classroom.

“You know what’s wrong,” Harry had whispered in response to Ron’s incessant badgering. Harry had looked up from the floor and sighed, his face darkening slightly. Ron looked at what Harry was looking to find Hermione and Roger 20-feet in front from them. Hermione was talking animatedly to Roger about the lesson and Roger pretended to listen as he tightened his hold on Hermione’s waist.

“Oh, that… I forgot,” Ron said quickly, lowering his gaze. Ron had trouble conceiving that something he had waited to happen for at least three years was turning into such a disaster.

“Um… Harry… maybe… maybe you should try avoiding her… you know? Until we can find an antidote… but don’t be too obvious or you are going to make her feel bad,” Ron counseled.

“Try avoiding her? She’s doing a pretty good job avoiding us,” Harry mumbled. Ron made a face; he wasn’t used to Harry’s voice sounding so bitter.

“She’s not doing it on purpose, Harry… is just that damn Roger. No wonder he never lasts long with his girlfriends… he suffocates them,” Ron said, jumping to the defense of his other best friend.

“You know what?” Harry said, more energetic that he had sounded before. Ron looked up at him; Harry was not looking better, but at least he looked as if he decided to focus his bitterness in something (or someone) else.

“I think Roger knows… I think he knows exactly how I feel for Hermione and he’s rubbing in my face the fact that he’s with her,” Harry said between clenched teeth.

Ron was surprised, but not because of the reasons Harry thought. Could it be that Harry didn’t realized what he had just said? “Err… mate?” Ron asked tentatively. Harry stopped walking and Ron followed suit. They had stopped near the entrance of the castle, just in front of the great hall.

Harry had followed with his gaze the happy couple in front of him, as Roger had led Hermione out of the castle and were now walking on the grounds toward the lake.

“Harry!” Ron pressed. This time, he got his friend’s attention.

“What?” Harry finally replied without much enthusiasm.

“You said Roger knew exactly how YOU feel for Hermione… YOU!” Ron said very softly.

Harry realized his mistake immediately.

“I meant, the potion. What the potion makes me think I feel for Hermione,” Harry said, faster than a speeding bullet. Before Ron could ask anything else, a delicate hand was intertwining his fingers with hers.

“Hey, Luna,” Ron said with a smile, momentarily forgetting about Harry, Hermione and the whole potion business as he looked at the beautiful girl standing next to him. She had grown in the last two years until she was no longer the skinny little girl, but a full-bodied and beautiful woman with long blonde hair and the most amazing blue eyes Ron had ever seen.

“Hello, Ronald,” Luna said with a dreamy smile as Ron leaned in and kissed her cheek. Harry sighed, looking the other way; the last thing he needed was another pair of lovebirds rubbing their happiness in his face.

“Hello, Harry. How are you feeling?” Luna asked, turning her attention toward Harry. He was always slightly surprised about how dreamy her eyes appeared even in the most ordinary of surroundings.

“I’m… okay,” Harry forced a smile.

“Hon, what’s for lunch?” Ron asked Luna. He needed food and he needed it fast.

“I don’t know. I’m waiting for you to go in. Remember? We were going to have lunch together,” Luna answered.

“Oh, right,” Ron looked at Harry apologetically, adding, “Harry, you want to join us?”

Ron looked downright livid; he hadn’t expected to leave Harry alone in the condition he was in.

“Don’t worry about it, Ron. I’m not that hungry. I think I’ll go and start my Potion’s essay,” Harry said quickly. He knew Ron didn’t want to leave him by himself, but he also knew the last thing he needed right now was to see his best friend and his girlfriend acting all lovey-dovey in front of him.

“I’ll see you later,” Harry said quickly and before either Luna or Ron could tell him it was okay for him to join them, he sprinted down the hall with no destination in mind other than to get away from it all.

He walked and walked until his feet started hurting, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. When he looked up, he found himself a few meters away from the entrance to the Astronomy Tower, being yelled at by a frustrated painting of Sir Cadogan challenging him to a duel.

“Not now,” Harry said absently as he started going up the stairs. It seemed like he couldn’t get away far enough from all of them. By the time he reached the top of the tower, he was gasping for air, and his body ached from the exertion and the lack of food.

But he felt almost happy and carefree when he felt the wind blowing on him. It was so refreshing he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips as he closed his eyes and allowed the wind to caress him. He spread his arms to the side as if he were a bird, his cloak billowing behind him loudly. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to fly away at that moment.

When he opened his eyes again, he was slightly saddened to find he was still at Hogwarts, his arms spread to the side as if he were a little kid pretending to be Superman. He lowered his arms and walked toward the edge. Making sure no one was watching from the grounds, he did what he had wanted to do since the very first time he stepped into the Astronomy Tower…he pushed himself off the railing and sat on the ledge, looking down.

Ginny was right; Hogwarts was indeed beautiful this time of year. Autumn was already in full steam; the leaves in the trees were dressed in orange and brown, and the air smelled of pumpkin and change. It would have been very relaxing scenery if Harry wouldn’t have had other things in his mind.

Harry found Hermione on the grounds automatically. She was sitting next to Roger under the shade of a tree. Harry may not have had a great sense of direction for things other than Quidditch, but he knew that tree was THEIR tree, the one under which Ron, Hermione and himself had spent countless of hours during their time at Hogwarts.

He knew it was wrong to feel like this, but even then, he couldn’t help but hate Roger at that moment. Roger was an intruder in their world, and he was slowly, but surely, taking Hermione away from them.

‘Wait… why am thinking this way? It’s not like she’s going to desert us! We will always be together. Won’t we? Besides, I didn’t have a problem when Ron started dating Luna… I never thought Luna was going to take him away from us. I didn’t followed him around and spied on him… I never wanted to punch Luna’s lights out…’

Just then he remembered what was different this time as he felt a surge of anguish while watching Roger wipe something from Hermione’s cheek.

‘Damn it, Harry! Hermione was right. When you are not looking for trouble, trouble comes to you. Why did you have to complicate things with that damn potion? As if you didn’t have enough problems already, you had to go and do something that may endanger the best thing you’d ever had.’

He looked down at the tree. Hermione seemed to be listening to Roger as she bit on a red apple, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the tree trunk.

The last time Harry had been under that tree, he was the one that had been leaning against the tree trunk, his left arm over Hermione’s shoulders. Hermione had been resting her head on his shoulder as they laughed at Ron spin the tale of his last potion’s lessons to Luna.

Hardly a week had passed, and yet to Harry it felt like a lifetime.

‘You have to stay away from her, mate. You can’t risk hurting her… you know you have quite a temper. Remember during your fifth year? When Hermione tried to stop you again and again from going to the Department of Mysteries and you, again and again, snapped at her, pushing all your anger and frustration at one of the few people that was actually on your side? If only you would have listened to her, Sirius would still be alive...’

His chest tightened so hard he was momentarily breathless. Why had he thought of Sirius now? He had spent the entire summer after his fifth year blaming himself for the death of his godfather, and it had been one of the darkest times of his young life. How couldn’t it be? After all, his godfather had given up his own life for Harry’s.

But if there was something that pulled him out of that depression and heartbreak was the fact that Hermione and Ron were always there for him. Hermione was the only one he could talk to about Sirius that listened to him as he cursed and screamed and cried in the name of his dear friend. Their friendship, instead of being destroyed, prevailed and grew stronger than he had ever imagined possible.

And now… now he felt physically ill just thinking that he might do something that will put that friendship in danger… and that could result in losing his best friend… forever.

So, when the time came to leave the tower for the next lesson of the day, Harry had only one course of action in mind.

Find the antidote as soon as possible and stay away from Hermione until then. T

That seemed like the only plan that will leave his sanity intact.

***********

Later…

Transfiguration Lesson

“Mr. Weasley, could you be quiet? I’m trying to teach a lesson here,” Prof. Minerva McGonagall said, her thin lips pursed as she glared down at Ron.

“Sorry, Professor,” Ron said apologetically. Ron had been trying for the last part of the hour to get Harry to talk to him, but Harry just sat in the stool and looked down at the desk, his eyes filled with sadness.

No sooner had McGonagall turned around that Ron whispered to Harry, “See, now you’ve got me in trouble!”

“It’s not my fault you don’t shut up! I told you, I’m fine! Leave me alone, please!” Harry whispered back, impatient.

The fact that he had hardly slept the night before and that he hadn’t had any food since he ate half a slice of toast this morning seemed to have caught up to Harry. He felt exhausted, even downright dizzy.

Hermione had been looking at him worriedly throughout the lesson, but he had avoided meeting her gaze. When Hermione gave Ron a questioning look, Ron just shrugged and shook his head.

He had one suspicion about what was wrong with Harry and, if he shared it with Hermione, he was sure Harry would kill him.

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose sleepily, closing his eyes. He was so tired, and his head ached so much that he didn’t even heard McGonagall’s voice as she went on explaining about the effects of transfiguring a living creature with highly cognitive abilities.

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Everything became dark, until a faint gray fog rose around him. It seemed to swirling around slowly, but after a few moments Harry noticed that it was slowly gaining speed.

He was now shivering from the cold. He hugged himself protectively, looking for a way out.

But there was none… the swirling mist surrounded him completely, as if a wall had just been erected around him. And now, the wind was so strong Harry could hardly keep his eyes open, and the cold was so biting he felt as if tiny nails were being pushed all over his skin.

He felt something touch his leg… and then his arm… his chest… his cheek. It felt as cold as ice and as sharp as cut glass. He forced himself to open his eyes and gasped at the sight around him.

There were hands, ghastly and horrifying, appearing in the mist, trying to grab him.

Instinctively, Harry took a few steps back, but stopped when he felt one of those hands wrapped itself around his neck. It tightened… until Harry’s lungs burned from lack of oxygen and his vision darkened.

And then, Harry heard it… dozens of voices… cold, slithery and in perfect unison… The mysterious choir was coming from the mist that surrounded him.

And finally, he realized what the voices were telling him.

“Your time is up”.

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“HARRY! HARRY! HARRY!”

Harry touched his forehead and winced. A sharp pain was growing at the back of his head, and someone seemed to be screaming at him.

He opened his eyes, and the light blinded him temporarily. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness, Harry realized the concerned faces of Ron, Hermione and McGonagall hovering over him surrounded him.

“What… what’s wrong? What happened?” Harry said groggily. He was surprised when he realized he was lying on the floor, a few feet away from his desk.

“You… you started screaming! And… the stool toppled… and well, you fell! Are you okay, mate?” Ron asked, his red freckles even more noticeable on his now pale face.

“What happened, Mr. Potter?” McGonagall asked worriedly as Ron, Hermione and Dean helped Harry to stand up.

Harry raked his exhausted brain. What the hell had happened? Well, he knew he had fallen asleep… so that must have been a nightmare. What had he dreamt about? He could hardly remember as he tried to make sense of disrupted images that were rapidly dissolving in his brain.

But the cold… he could remember a cold so biting it chilled his very bones. He felt a shot of sudden warmth in his arm, and he looked to his right to find Hermione was still grabbing him by the arm, her brown eyes wide with unconcealed worry.

“I… I fell asleep, Professor. I apologize. May I be excused?” Harry said with great speed. He had to get out of there; the last thing he needed was the person that he was supposed to stay away from taking care of him as if he was a little boy.

He looked around the classroom; those closest to him looked scared. Harry didn’t have to be a certified genius to know why… the last outburst of this type Harry had experienced was when Voldemort was using him like a puppet to get to the Prophecy.

“Certainly, Mr. Potter. I know you’ve had a rough night. But I have to ask you to go to Madam Pomfrey before you go to your room. I want to make sure you are in good health,” Prof. McGonagall instructed as she watched Harry wince when Hermione gently touched the back of his head.

With a last glance at Hermione, Harry gathered his books and left the classroom in a hurry, leaving a very worried Hermione and Ron back, wondering what the hell had just happened to their best friend.

As tempting as it was to go straight into the library to start his search for the antidote, Harry decided to be true to his word and visit Madam Pomfrey.

A few minutes later, Harry found himself back at the infirmary under the watchful eye of Madam Pomfrey. The older woman had a mix of fury and motherly concern on her face as she checked the back of Harry’s head.

“Mr. Potter, you have to be more careful! You are even more prone to injury than Mr. Longbottom!” Madam Pomfrey said as she handed him a small bottle filled with what seemed to be a white and thick liquid.

“Now, take this tonight before you go to bed. It will help you have a relaxing night without dreams,” she instructed him as she pointed at the bottle.

“Thanks, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said politely, thankful that Madam Pomfrey was a nurse and not a psychiatrist, for if she had been one, Harry was sure he would be in his way to the loony bin right now.

He walked briskly toward the Gryffindor common room, ignoring the growing stabs of pain in the back of his head and trying to concentrate on having a shower and a quick bite before going to the library to start his search. But his thoughts quickly diverted from their goal when he saw Hermione at the other end of the hall, running towards him.

“Are you alright? What happened back there?” Hermione quickly whispered, her lovely chocolate eyes anxious and full of tenderness.

“I am fine, Hermione. It’s just a bump,” Harry said slowly, feeling as his earlier resolution dissolved as he felt her lean her weight against his body as she checked him for any sign of injury.

When she was satisfied he had none, she took a step back and looked him straight in the eyes. “Harry, what’s going on?” Hermione asked softly.

“I told you. I fell asleep, had a nightmare, the stool was wobbly, so I fell and bumped my head. That is all,” Harry said, as casually as possible under the circumstances. He couldn’t let her know that the proximity to her was making the hairs in the back of his neck rise.

Harry continued walking toward his original goal in hopes of getting away from her. But it was useless, for now Hermione was walking by his side.

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about how crazy you’ve been acting since last night,” Hermione said matter-of-factly, her eyes trying to penetrate the mask that was Harry’s expression.

‘She doesn’t know. Does she?’

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Hermione,” Harry said quickly, hoping Hermione couldn’t notice the blush that crept on his cheeks.

“Don’t you lie to me, Harry. I KNOW YOU! I know there’s something wrong with you… and, you are shutting me out! I am your friend, Harry. I want to help you. Let me help you!” Hermione said, straining to match Harry’s long strides.

“Hermione, I don’t need your help. Everything is fine,” Harry said, his voice sounding a bit harsher than he had intended.

He was surprised when he felt her hand on his arm pulling him to a stop and forcing him to turn around and look at her.

“Then why have you spent half of the day avoiding me?” Hermione said. Harry had no other choice but to lose himself in those eyes, and was surprised to find not only worry, but anger and hurt in those eyes.

That wasn’t his intention. In fact, his only intention was to stay away from her so as not to hurt her.

“You are imagining things,” Harry retorted abruptly. As much as he didn’t want to hurt her, the more time he spent with her, the worst it was going to get. He had to get away and he had to get away now.

Hermione was hurt by the tone of his voice, but at the next moment the anger returned full blast. “Imagining things! How can you say that with a straight face? You’ve been ignoring me all day! I’m worried for you and that’s what I get in return. A BLOODY COLD SHOULDER!” Hermione snapped.

Now, it was Harry’s turn to be taken back. She had never raise her voice at him in anger before.

‘Wait… she’s the one that’s been giving me a cold shoulder. At breakfast, at lunch… during classes… she’s the one that has been running off to with that slobbering little git! Not me!’

‘Harry, calm down before you screw up royally.’

‘Calm down? CALM DOWN?”

‘Oh, f-ck it. You’re screwed.’

And once more, Harry’s infamous short temper decided to make an appearance.

“I’ve been ignoring you? Well, I’m surprised you’ve noticed, seeing how busy you’ve been with Roger all day! You’ve probably swap so much spit with the idiot that it has affected your higher brain functions! So don’t tell me that I’ve been ignoring you when you are the one who’s been giving us a cold shoulder!” he screamed at her, his mouth contorting on a sneer worthy of Malfoy himself.

Hermione’s face was so red she could have been an honorary Weasley.

“Swapping spit, eh? Is that what this is about? About Roger and me? Well, let me tell you that if you two bothered to get to know him, maybe you wouldn’t dislike him so much. And know this Harry… I won’t let you two interfere with my love life, or lack thereof. You two have NEVER cared it and you WON’T start now!” Hermione said, her voice low and uncharacteristically threatening, crossing her arms over her chest, her nails digging into her flesh.

Last time he had seen Hermione so angry was when she discovered his bleeding hands after one of his detentions with Umbridge during Fifth Year.

Harry finally realized what a mistake it had been to open his big mouth, and the anger he had felt at Hermione a few seconds ago was now fully directed at him.

‘Real bright of you, Potter. Put this on the list of your shining moments.’

“I’m sorry, Hermione. Please forgive me… I’m just… tired… hurting…hungry… and a little dazed. I didn’t mean what I just said,” Harry whispered softly.

The expression of Hermione’s face softened considerably, and he watched as the anger disappeared from her eyes. Finally, she exhaled loudly and said, “I forgive you, Harry. But…I really want you to tell me what’s wrong. I want to help you!”

Harry bit his tongue before he let something he will regret slip out of his mouth. He knew his silence was bound to hurt Hermione, and yet… what could he tell her? That she was the reason for his temporary insanity? That he had drank a potion that had made him fall hopelessly in love with her?

Harry could think of a thousand reasons why, for the first time, he could not tell Hermione about his problems.

When the silence grew heavy and uncomfortable, Hermione released a tremulous sigh. She knew the expression on Harry’s face, and she realized he was not ready to speak about whatever it was that was bothering him.

“Fine. You don’t want to talk about it now, that’s fine. But remember,” Hermione said, standing closer to Harry than before and putting her hand on his shoulder. She couldn’t help but notice the intense helplessness in his eyes.

“When you are ready to talk about whatever is bothering you, I’ll be here to listen,” Hermione finished. She rose on tiptoe and planted a gentle kiss in Harry’s cheek, not unlike the one she had given him at the end of their fourth year.

Without another word, Hermione turned around and walked away, leaving a very mortified Harry behind.

After he trusted his legs to obey him, Harry walked straight into the Gryffindor common room, his desire to go to the library and work completely squashed by the ghost of her lips in his cheek.

When he reached his dormitory, he carefully placed the bottle of sleeping fluid Madam Pomfrey had given him on his night table and fell into bed, still with his uniform and shoes on.

Praying for sleep to find him, it was Ron who found Harry first. “Hey, mate. What happened?” Ron asked worriedly as he threw his books on the bed and started taking off his shirt.

“Nothing,” Harry mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.

“Don’t give me that. There’s something wrong with you… aside from the obvious, that is,” Ron said, changing into a t-shirt before going to the Great Hall for dinner.

“Not you too,” Harry grumbled against the pillow, turning his head to the other side and praying Ron would get the message and leave him alone.

“Who else has been asking?” Ron asked casually, suspecting that he already knew the answer.

“You know who…” Harry answered.

“Really? When did you speak to her? I know she left Transfiguration in a hurry, but she didn’t told me where she was going,” Ron continued prodding. Harry sighed; he wasn’t going to get any rest until Ron’s curiosity was satisfied.

So Harry sat on the bed and proceeded to tell Ron all about his latest conversation with Hermione. When he had finished, Harry noticed Ron’s ears were slightly more pink than usual.

“What?” Harry asked, sensing Ron had something on his mind and was holding back.

“She was right, you know. You’ve been ignoring her all day,” Ron said matter-of-factly.

“I haven’t ignored her! How can I ignore her when she’s the only thing I think about? But I can’t be near her… you know it would only make things worst! So don’t try to make me feel guilty about it, okay?” Harry said, hoping for a little support from the only person who knew of Harry’s predicament.

He found none.

“And what you said about her and Roger swapping spit… that was really mean! I’m surprised that Hermione, with that temper of hers, didn’t shove her wand up your ars…” Ron continued.

“I KNOW! I FEEL BAD ENOUGH ALREADY! SO QUIT IT!” Harry snapped. He seemed to be doing that a lot… is that what grownups were supposed to do?

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. He suddenly felt extra weight on his bed and opened his eyes. Ron had sat on the edge of the bed next to him, and was now looking out the window, his arms crossed over his chest in a pose that reminded Harry of Ron’s father, Arthur.

“You know what?” Ron spoke out of nowhere.

“What?” Harry replied tiredly, resting his head on his hands. He had such a headache he felt as if at any moment, his head was going to explode. But nothing in the world was going to prepare him for Ron’s next words.

“You remind me of a dog.”

“A DOG? What is this? The International “Let’s offend Harry Potter” Day!” Harry said as he sat up in bed, startled by the undignified comparison.

“Calm down, mate. It’s not an insult. It is merely an observation. You know how dogs get when there’s another dog sniffing around their territory, don’t you?” Ron asked Harry.

Harry’s experiences with dogs were limited to having to clean dog poo from the bottom of Dudley’s shoes when Aunt Petunia had ordered him to. “I’m not following you,” Harry mumbled tiredly.

“They raise their hind leg and they start pissing, Harry. Yeah, they piss around everything they consider theirs so other dogs won’t dare to break into their territory. Yeah… they piss on the lawn, on their owners clothing, on the carpet, on the…” Ron continued before Harry could interrupt him.

“What’s the point of this lovely metaphor, Ron?” Harry said bitterly, ignoring the desire to hit Ron for the second time that day.

“The point is,” Ron got up from Harry’s bed and started walking out the dormitory, “that you need to stop being a dog around Hermione, cause you are hurting her. She’s not your territory, Harry. And if you truly care for her, remember you are human. You have the choice to talk to her and tell her how you feel… instead of pissing on her leg.”

Standing on the doorframe, Ron said without looking back at Harry, “I’m going to meet Luna for dinner. If you want, we can work on the antidote when I’m back.” And, without giving Harry the opportunity to make up any excuses, Ron left.

Harry was left alone with his thoughts, his guilt, and most of all, with one horrible headache.

‘You really outdid yourself this time, Potter.’

Slowly, sleep overcame him, bringing with it images of a certain brown-haired Gryffindor witch being chased down the hallways by a giant black haired dog with green eyes.

And a strange scar on his forehead.

***************

Hi everyone! Hope you enjoyed this new chapter. Please R/R

For those who are interested, I’ve started an AU story called The Accursed. You can find it by clicking here.

Good night and good life,

Anasazi

Chapter 6: Dazed and Confused

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Harry didn’t know how much time he had slept, but by the time he opened his emerald green eyes he realized it was already pitch black outside, and his stomach was growling louder than ever.

His headache had subsided somewhat, but it wasn’t enough to stifle the groan that escaped from his lips as he forced his sore body out of bed. None of his roommates were in, so Harry didn’t think twice about taking off his shoes, shedding his school uniform, and walking to the showers clad only in a towel.

He jumped into first empty stall and turned it on, letting the scalding hot fluid travel down his head and back. He closed his eyes and released a trembling sigh. He felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

Now, not only was Hermione mad at him, but he had also managed to piss off Ron, the only person that could help him with his problem.

Harry stayed under the faucet for what seemed like hours, the steam rising around him while he massaged the back of his neck. The pain the scorching liquid caused on his body had a strangely calming effect. It distracted him from the bigger problems he has facing.

Without realizing what he was doing, Harry absently mumbled the lyrics of a song he had heard this summer that seemed to describe his current predicament with an almost prophetic likeness. If this was how it felt to be in love… well, Harry could only reach one conclusion.

Being in love… sucked.

Harry considered the possibility of avoiding his friends. Recognizing how ridiculous the idea truly was, Harry finally stepped out of the shower, dried off and walked back to his room. Quickly dressing in second-hand jeans (courtesy of his cousin Dudley) and a comfortable sweater Mrs. Weasley knitted for him last Christmas, Harry finally put on his eyeglasses and walked down the stairs.

He already knew luck was not really on his side, so he wasn’t shocked when the first people he saw as he walked down the stairs were Hermione and Ron. Ron had his potion book and a half-a-dozen discarded sheets of parchment on the table, biting his lip in concentration at what Harry assumed was Snape’s homework.

Crookshanks, Hermione’s magical ginger cat, was sleeping on the rug in front of the fireplace. Harry often teased Hermione about her cat being lazier than he and Ron combined. But if there was something special about that cat, it was that Crookshanks seemed to posses the ability to read other people’s emotions.

Harry wanted to stay out of the cat’s way, because he was sure Crookshanks would try to claw his eyes off if he came anywhere near him for what he did to Hermione earlier.

Hermione was sitting on her favorite chair next to the Gryffindor fireplace. She had the History of Magic course book on her lap, her legs tucked under her body, her head resting on her right hand. She was wearing worn out green sweatpants that barely reached her hips, and a gray tank top that was too tight for Harry’s comfort.

Seamus, who was doing homework on the chair opposite Ron, was the only one who looked up when he heard footsteps coming down the steps. “Hello, sleeping beauty!” Seamus kidded, bringing both Ron and Hermione’s attention to the young man that had just reached the bottom landing.

“You feel better?” asked Ron, his voice businesslike as he went back to his homework.

“A bit,” Harry answered softly, greeting Hermione with a nod. For a second there, he thought he saw Hermione’s expression soften, but the relief soon vanished as she nodded back at him and quickly went back to her book without saying a word.

Harry took a seat next to Ron and looked up at the common room’s grandfather’s clock. “9:14,” he mumbled.

“What are you doing?” he quickly asked Ron, who was cursing under his breath as he made another ball of his latest parchment and threw it across the table.

“The History of Magic essay… Dark Arts and World War II,” Ron groaned as he took another clean parchment and started again with his essay.

“I forgot about that” Harry mumbled. Between the potion problem and the weird dreams he has experimenting, his usually weak interest in schoolwork was down to none.

Harry realized it was now too late to go to the library and start his search for the antidote. It was better to start with his assignment, since he almost failed the last History of Magic test.

”I better start,” Harry said tiredly as he reached for his own bag, which he had discarded on the table earlier that day, and opened it. He was in for a surprise. There was a small paper bag inside, and he didn’t remember putting it in.

“What’s this?” he said as he took the paper bag out and opened it. His mouth hung open when he noticed two banana muffins and two chocolate muffins inside, along with a glass of hot chocolate in a small mug.

“Oh, that… you really should eat something,” Ron said casually when he spotted the paper bag.

“Thanks,” Harry said, truly grateful, not wasting another second as he gleefully bit into a chocolate muffin.

He almost choked on his muffin when Ron added, “Don’t thank me. It was not my idea.” Ron didn’t need to offer any more information.

‘Hermione’

Harry looked up from the table in time to see Hermione looking at him. Both of them looked away, trying to hide their embarrassment as Harry focused on his muffin while Hermione’s eyes landed on her book.

Harry felt like the biggest prat in the world. Hermione was angry with him; there was no doubting that. But that didn’t stop her from worrying for his wellbeing.

“T-Thanks, Hermione,” he said sheepishly.

Hermione mumbled something like “Don’t’ worry…not a big deal”, but without taking her eyes from the comfort her book provided.

Harry forced himself to look away from Hermione, and used the opportunity to offer a muffin to Ron, “You want one?”

“No thanks,” Ron said quickly, once again avoiding looking at Harry. If Harry had any lingering doubts that Ron was still mad at him for what he did to Hermione, they were quickly dissipated. The Ron he knew will never pass an opportunity for free food.

Harry quickly took one of the discarded pieces of parchment and speedily wrote, “I’m sorry, mate.” Passing the note to Ron, he took another bite of his muffin before he heard Ron sigh wearily.

“It’s okay. Just… don’t let it happen again,” Ron whispered with a small smile, patting Harry’s shoulder as he finally looked up at his friend.

“How’s she doing?” Harry whispered, signaling toward Hermione with his finger.

“She’s angrier than a banshee. Why do you think I haven’t asked her for help? I’m afraid she’ll pummel me,” Ron replied as Harry looked at Hermione over Ron’s shoulder.

“I really screwed up, didn’t I?” Harry said apologetically.

“Big time. Now, where’s my muffin?” Ron asked. Harry managed to smile as he threw him one of the banana muffins (‘There’s no such thing as too much chocolate’) and was ready to start with his essay when Seamus interrupted him.

“Hey, Harry… what happened to you in Transfiguration?” Seamus asked.

Harry cast a furtive look at Hermione, noticing how her shoulder had stiffened visibly, even while she was still pretending to read.

“I… I… fell asleep. Had a nightmare,” Harry answered, forcing himself to look at Seamus.

“Must have been some nightmare, mate. You were screaming like a girl,” Seamus said, shaking his head.

“You would scream too if you had dreamt you had just married Millicent Bullstrode,” Harry lied, trying to make light of the situation.

The truth was that Harry hardly remembered the nightmare except for the feeling of cold numbness that had spread on his limbs.

Harry strategy worked, as evidenced by Seamus laugh as Hermione sighed in defeat. “I believe me would have,” the Irish boy said as he went back to his quill and parchment.

Harry was about to start on his own assignment when the door to the Common Room opened and Ginny came walking inside.

Well, maybe “walking” was not the right term. She was waltzing… floating actually. She had a mischievous smile on her freckled face. She was even blushing as she hummed a song under her breath. She sat on the high back chair that was next to Hermione’s and propped her legs on the center table, twirling a strand of her red hair between her fingers.

Ron and Harry were raising questioning eyebrows at Ginny. Ron was the first one to inquire as to Ginny’s strange behavior, “You are obviously in a jolly mood. What’s up?”

Ginny smiled conspiratorially at Hermione and said, “Nothing. I just enjoyed a very relaxing walk around the lake. Hogwarts is beautiful this time of year.”

“What’s so good about that?” Ron asked bitterly, remembering that the last time he had taken a stroll around the lake with Luna, the squid had decided to come out and play, and it did… by wrapping a tentacle around Ron’s leg and pulling him into the water.

Ginny giggled, remembering a very angry and very wet Ron walking into the common room that night. Hermione was the one to answer Ron as she said, “She wasn’t alone, Ron. That’s why she’s so happy.”

As it usually happened when he heard those types of news concerning his only sister, Ron was as territorial as a lion guarding his pride.

“Who… is… he?” he asked between clenched teeth. Harry knew that if he didn’t take the quill out of Ron’s hand, the redhead would break it in half.

Ginny giggled, winking at Hermione, who obviously knew the answer. “My lips are sealed, little brother,” Ginny answered enigmatically, grinning cheekily at the other Weasley in the room.

Just then, the door to the common room opened again, and Neville Longbottom stepped inside. His clothes were a little disheveled and there were a few pieces of grass in his hair, as if he had just been rolling and tumbling on the school grounds. And his face… he was positively beaming.

Not noticing the presence of Harry, Ron and Seamus by the table, Neville sat on the chair next to Ginny’s. “Here, I got this for you…” he said, as he gave her a bar of expensive Honeydukes chocolate.

“Thank you, Neville,” Ginny said, taking him by the arm, leaning toward him and giving him a very innocent peck on the lips.

Harry wasn’t that surprised by what he had just seen. After all, Neville had always had a soft spot for the youngest Weasley, and since last year he had become more relaxed, more self-assured, and, according to Parvati and Lavender, more “doable”.

Ron, who had by now bended his quill beyond recognition, said between clenched teeth, “Hello, Neville.” Neville looked at the table, and he went as pale as if Snape himself was standing in front of him.

To be honest, Snape would have been looking at Neville with more sympathy than Ron.

“E… I… Hello, Ron…” Neville stuttered, avoiding Ron’s gaze. A very uncomfortable silence followed. Even Seamus noticed, quickly gathering his things and making a swift exit to his dormitory before the Wrath of the Big Brother was unleashed.

“Neville, can you bring me some pumpkin juice from the kitchens? The walk around the lake has left me a little parched,” Ginny said in a sweet voice as she put her hand on Neville’s arm.

“A… I… yes, sure. I’ll be right back,” Neville stammered, managing to smile at Ginny before getting up and leaving the common room. Ginny’s smile faded when her eyes fell on Ron.

“Just what do you think you are doing?” she hissed at her brother, getting up from her chair and taking two steps toward him. She towered over him, her hands on her hips, the blush of her cheeks matching her hair.

The resemblance with Molly Weasley was undeniable.

“Neville? THE NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM?” Ron asked as he stood up in front of her, his voice full of shock and disbelief.

Ginny scoffed at him, “Yes, Ron. If you must know, I am dating THE Neville Longbottom.”

Ron didn’t look angry anymore; he just looked so surprised he was having problems with his English skills. “But… but he’s so… so not like you…” Ron finally stammered. Harry and Hermione groaned as they watched Ginny debut a new shade of red.

“Just WHAT is THAT supposed to mean, Ronald Weasley?” she hissed, her voice dangerously low. Even Ron, who was a good foot taller than his sister, looked intimidated.

“I… I didn’t mean… is just… is NEVILLE! He’s so… so… absentminded… and… just… different… I don’t mean anything bad,” Ron said apologetically.

The expression in Ron’s face knocked some of the anger out of Ginny, but she still crossed her arms over her chest and said, “I will admit he’s different than I am. But what can I say? Opposites attract. Besides, what’s not to like? He’s gentle, polite, courageous… and he makes me feel special.”

Ron didn’t know how to reply to that, and Ginny just sighed, making her way back to the seat she had previously occupied.

Hermione looked at Ron and shook her head while saying, “I don’t know how you didn’t notice Ron. They’ve been going out for months.”

Ron gasped and looked at Ginny, his eyes wide. “Months? MONTHS?” he blurted.

“Yes… months… And I don’t get what your problem is, Ron…I thought you liked Neville…” Ginny replied. This time, Ron actually seemed to think about what he was going to say before he opened his mouth.

After a few seconds, he replied, “I do like Neville.” Harry smiled slightly; Ron had finally not put the proverbial foot on his mouth when it came to his little sister.

But it was a short-lived celebration, for the next words that came out of Ron’s mouth were “Neville’s just so different from Michael and… Timothy… and Zachariah… and Dean… and… “

Harry resisted the urge to kick his friend as Hermione shook her head from her seat. Ron definitively hadn’t developed the ability to know when to shut up.

“Are you implying that I’m a slut, Ronald?” Ginny interrupted him before he could finish the dreaded dating history list, arching her eyebrow dangerously at him. The way she was looking at him made him realize he was very close to getting his arse kicked.

In his defense, Ron looked utterly livid when he realized what he had implied. “No, Ginny… I… It’s just… I’m just confused… cause… I… don’t know… I just never thought it was possible,” Ron mumbled, mortified.

“That what was possible?” Ginny said, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“That you would date someone so… so right for you,” Ron whispered. Ginny’s scowl turned into beaming smile.

“That’s one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me, Ron” she said.

“I’m sorry for snapping at Neville… It’s just… why didn’t you tell me?” Ron quickly asked. It was her turn to look embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, Ron. It’s… well…you guys always overreact… Remember when I had Zachariah over for dinner one night? He spent the next two days in St. Mungo’s after you, Charlie and the twins, decided to ‘play’ Quidditch with him. I guess I didn’t want anything to happen to Neville till I was sure of what I felt for him,” she explained.

“I’m sure it will be different with Neville. The difference between Zachariah and him is that we actually like Neville,” Ron alleged. Ginny quickly got up from her chair and strode toward Ron, grabbing him by the arms and planting a very wet kiss on his cheek, leaving him red-faced.

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist the urge to kiss your ugly mug,” Ginny said, leaving an utterly embarrassed Ron in her wake. She walked back toward her chair and plopped down dramatically.

Ron sat down in front of the table, mumbling something like “why in public?” as he tried to straighten his quill.

Seeing the fight between the siblings had ended (and had gone a lot better than both Harry and Hermione had expected), Hermione tore her attention away from her book (or from Harry, depending on the angle you were looking at her from) and smiled at Ginny as she asked, “So, why are you so happy? Did Neville proposed?”

Harry had to clasp his hand on Ron’s mouth before the redhead could make an ass out of himself… again. “Hermione’s joking,” he whispered, feeling Ron relax under his grip.

Ginny stuck her tongue at Hermione before replying, “We were just talking about the costumes for the Halloween Ball. We decided we wanted them to match.”

Harry groaned.

‘I forgot all about the stupid Halloween Ball…’

Harry stole a glance at Hermione over Ron’s shoulder, remembering the brown-haired girl will be walking to the ball on Roger Davies’ arm. As it had happened over the last two days, the thought of Roger made Harry’s bile rise like the tide.

Ginny smiled wickedly and turned to Ron, saying, “By the way, Luna told me all about your costumes, Ron. I can’t wait to see you on Friday, big brother.” Ron’s ears were so red Harry could feel the heat coming from them.

“Care to elaborate?” Hermione grinned, turning around to face Ron. (And deliberately avoiding my eyes!)

Ron mumbled something that sounded like, “Don’t make fun of me. I had no choice.”

“Ron, try to relax. I’m just teasing. To tell you the truth, I think is very sweet of you,” Ginny said. She then turned her attention to the not-very talkative boy next to Ron.

“So Harry… who’s the lucky lady?” Ginny asked, winking at Harry.

“Lucky lady?” Harry asked, too busy thinking about how it would feel to use Roger’s head as a quaffle to capture the meaning of her words.

“Yes, Harry. Lucky lady! Your date for the ball?” Ginny added.

“I’m… not sure…” answered Harry, returning his attention to the empty parchment in front of him and praying that Ginny would change the subject.

The truth was…

‘I thought I was going with Hermione. Why didn’t I ask her? I never even thought of asking her… I just assumed she wouldn’t have a date, and since Ron would be busy with Luna, I just thought we were going to go together. Why did I do that? Why did I assume no one else would ask her?’

Harry raised his eyes to steal a glance at her.

‘After all… she’s beautiful… she’s fun… she’s kind… why did I take for granted she would automatically be there… with me? Why do I always assume she’s going to take care of me?’

When Harry looked away, he noticed Ginny was frowning at him. “Don’t tell me you haven’t asked anybody yet?” she chastised him.

When Harry didn’t reply, Ginny just sighed and said, “Seriously Harry. I thought you would have learned your lesson by now. Don’t you realize that the girl of your dreams could be right in front of you? That you might lose her because you were too slow to do anything about it?”

Harry resisted the urge to scream.

‘Ginny doesn’t know about the potion. Does she?’

“Whatever, Gin,” Harry mumbled, forcing his eyes to focus on the piece of paper and the quill in his hand. He was so distracted that he wrote Ron’s name at the top of his page by mistake.

‘I already lost her.’

Harry crumpled the parchment and threw it on the pile Ron had already accumulated. Grunting, he picked a new sheet and wrote his name on the top.

‘You didn’t lose her! You don’t love Hermione that way! It’s the potion speaking! Argh, this is stupid! I should be looking for an antidote in the library right now, not doing homework… Why didn’t I listen to Hermione and wrote this Sunday?’

“What about you, Mione?” Ginny asked, prompting Harry to look at the two girls from the corner of his eye.

“What about me?” Hermione asked as Crookshanks jumped to her lap and curled on top the book.

“Do you have a date?” Ginny asked with unbridled girlish enthusiasm.

“Yes,” Hermione said nonchalantly, scratching the back of Crookshanks’ ear, receiving a contended purr from the feline in return.

“AND?” Ginny inquired. Harry didn’t have a good view of the girls by looking out of the corner of his eye, and he definitely didn’t want Hermione thinking he was the least bit interest about their conversation.

But he didn’t want to miss any little detail from this particular conversation.

“Oops,” Harry said dramatically, dropping his quill under the table and crouching down to get it. Ron groaned, resisting the urge to kick his best friend under the table; this was Harry’s lamest attempt at spying on Hermione to this date.

Truth be told, if Harry wanted to be an Auror, he will have to work on his stealth skills, because frankly… he sucked. Period.

Harry was still crouching under the table, but he didn’t even bother to pick up his quill He didn’t take his eyes off Hermione.

“And what?” Hermione answered casually.

Ginny looked as if she wanted to strangle the brown-haired girl. “AND WHO IS HE? IS IT ROGER?” Ginny asked, getting up from her chair and standing in front of Hermione with a “don’t you dare answer a question with a question” look in her eyes.

“If you must know… it is Roger,” Hermione answered with a smile that made Harry’s insides twist unpleasantly.

Ginny clapped enthusiastically, “He’s so handsome.”

“He is,” Hermione whispered nonchalantly, trying to push Crookshanks from her lap so she could return to her book. She didn’t know why, but she just wasn’t comfortable discussing Roger in front of Harry. She knew Harry disliked the Ravenclaw Head Boy, and she knew she shouldn’t care.

Truth was she did care… a lot.

Ginny was too giddy to notice that Hermione was not exactly interested in continuing the conversation. “Head Boy and Head Girl! You guys will definitely be the King and Queen of the ball… you two just look perfect together… SIMPLY PERFECT!” she said.

The lyrics to the song Harry had remembered when he was in the shower came back to haunt him.

‘Been dazed and confused for so long.
It's not true.
Wanted a woman…
never bargained for you.’

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his quill from the floor, and stood up, completely forgetting he was still under the table. The loud thud that followed was loud enough to make Hermione and Ginny glance back at the table in time to see Harry coming out from under it, rubbing the top of his head with his hand.

Hermione quickly forgot she was still mad at him as she asked, “Harry, are you alright?”

“I am… I just dropped my quill…” Harry mumbled as he started gathering his things.

He had to get out of there. He needed to be far away from all the talk about Roger… and dating… and Roger… and perfect…. and Roger… and Hermione.

“Where are you going?” Ron asked as he watched Harry quickly throwing his books inside his schoolbag.

“I’m going upstairs… I’m still a bit dizzy. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Harry said, turning around and dashing up the stairs as if the devil himself was running behind him.

Ginny looked at Hermione and Ron, who weren’t the least bit surprised by Harry’s unexpected departure. “What just happened?” Ginny asked, sensing that no explanation was going to be offered.

Hermione was the one to answer, “I don’t know. But he’s been in a mood all day.”

Turning to Ron, Hermione added, “I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with what happen last night in the library.”

Ron almost had a heart attack as he glanced at his sister just in time to see her arching her eyebrow maliciously. Without taking her eyes off Ron, Ginny asked Hermione, “What exactly happened in the library?”

“Harry wanted to reach a book that was at the top of a bookshelf, so the git climbed to the top, but the bookshelf toppled and he fell. For the life of me, I can’t think why Harry just didn’t use the Accio spell on the book,” Hermione answered, thankfully clueless as to the real motive behind the strange act.

“I can’t think of a reason either,” Ginny said, still looking at Ron.

Unlike Hermione, Ginny was not so clueless. She did have an explanation for Harry’s behavior, however unlikely it was. Ginny thought she had seen something there just now… something in the way Harry looked at Hermione as he was running up the steps. Something she’d have to question Ron about.

She was glaring at Ron the way Mrs. Weasley glared at the Twins when she found out about their joke shop. Ron swallowed hard; he could almost hear Ginny’s voice in his head, screaming at him ‘Traitors! You promised me you weren’t going to go to the library!’

Ron got up from the table so fast he knocked his chair down. “I think I’m going to bed too. Quidditch tomorrow! Night!” Ron quickly said, gathering his books under his arm. He finally ran up the stairs, cursing under his breath when he hit his toe on the top step.

Now it was Hermione’s turn to be surprise. “Don’t tell me is contagious,” Hermione said, arching her eyebrow at Ginny.

“Don’t you ever think you got stuck with the two biggest weirdoes for best friends?” asked Ginny, the wheels on her head turning like clockwork.

“Every single day, Ginevra… every single day,” Hermione answered with a small smile as she went back to her book and the very needy feline known as Crookshanks.

Ginny waited for Neville while looking at the door where Harry and Ron had disappeared into. Knowing no one was looking at her, Ginny finally smiled.

She wasn’t sure, but something told her she had just won the bet she had made with Parvati and Lavender at the beginning of the year.

Seems the time had come to take an active part on her friends’ love life.

-----------------------

Meanwhile…

Ron reached their room, gasping for breath, ready to tell Harry off for dragging him into this mess. But he found Harry was already asleep face-first on his bed, not even bothering to take his glasses off. Ron walked to him and slapped his leg, but he got no reply in return.

“I don’t think that’s going to work, mate. Harry took one of Madam Pince’s Dreamless Sleeping potions,” Seamus, who was finishing his essay on his bed, explained. Ron looked at Harry’s night table, finding the white vial that had been there earlier completely empty.

“Is he alright?” Seamus asked.

“Yeah... Why do you ask?” Ron said, trying to sound casual as he walked to his own bed.

“Well, before he fell asleep, he mumbled something…” Seamus said.

“What?” Ron asked curiously, sitting on his bed and taking his shoes off.

“It sounded like ‘why did I take her for granted?’ or something like that,” Seamus replied, making Ron’s heart jump to his throat.

After recovering from the surprise, Ron replied, “Don’t worry about it, mate. He’s got love problems.” Ron realized his mistake after the words had come out of his mouth.

Seamus smiled. “Harry is in love?” he asked. Ron nodded, mentally slapping himself for not thinking about what comes out of his mouth before it actually does.

“About time, mate… about bloody time…”

*****************

R/R, please!

Hello, everyone. I know this chapter doesn’t have a lot of action, but is more for character development. Plus, there are a few hidden clues about what the future brings for Harry.

On the next episode of Caught in a Web (lol): Ginny confronts Ron with a surprising proposition, and Harry has one of the freakiest Divination lessons… ever.

Peace,

Anasazi

P.S. The song that Harry is thinking about in the shower and later remembers when Ginny mentions how perfect Roger and Hermione are together is Dazed and Confused (Nirvana).

-Thanks to my wonderful beta Another for the help.-

CHAPTER 7: BAD MOON RISING

********

Wednesday, October the 29th

“It is true!”

“It’s not!”

“IT IS!”

“IT’S NOT!”

The two Weasleys glared at each other, catching their breath, unaware they had just attracted the attention of every other Gryffindor in the table. It was already morning, and the Great Hall was packed with students eating their morning meal.

Harry and Hermione, however, were nowhere to be found. Ron had left Harry still asleep on the dormitory they shared, while Ginny had gotten a glimpse of Hermione talking with Roger on the hallway.

Luna, who had sat next to Ron that morning, looked at the two siblings and said, “Could you please lower your voice? I don’t think this is something you want to advertise.”

“It’s not my fault, honey. Ginny’s just bloody mad,” Ron said, his ears as red as his hair.

“I am not insane,” Ginny whispered, leaning across the table so Ron and Luna could see how serious she was. Neville, who was sitting next to Ginny, already knew how serious Ginny was. After all, they had discussed this subject all the way to the Great Hall when they walked together this morning. Neville suppressed a smile; he had never seen his girl so determined about anything.

Ginny continued, resolute not to allow Ron’s pessimistic outlook to squash her enthusiasm, “I know what I saw last night, Ron. That was jealousy… plain and simple jealousy!”

“Harry is not jealous of Roger! Who would be jealous of Roger? He’s a pompous, slimy, son of a bi…” Ron managed to whisper before Ginny interrupted.

“And he has Hermione as his date to the ball,” the girl smoothly replied.

“Why are you doing this? You are the one that was all giddy about Roger asking Hermione to the ball,” Ron argued.

“Yes, I’m very guilty of wanting my good friend to actually spend a magical night being treated like the wonderful young woman she is. Feel free to crucify me….” Ginny said sarcastically.

She took a deep breath before adding, “Look, Ron. I just want Hermione to have a wonderful time… and my gut tells me she’d rather have a wonderful time with Harry than anybody else. And judging by what I saw last night, I think Harry feels the same.”

“Gin, listen to me. Harry doesn’t want her to go with Roger, and neither do I! Now, does that mean I’m in love with Hermione? Of course not! It just means that I don’t like Roger! Which is exactly how Harry feels,” Ron said sheepishly.

Even Luna looked unconvinced with his logic. “Yeah, but you don’t look at Hermione the way Harry does,” Ginny said, a triumphant smile spreading on her freckled face.

“That’s true,” both Neville and Luna said at the same time.

“Are you all insane?” Ron asked, hoping his facial expression hinted at how crazy he thought the idea was.

When Neville, Ginny and his girlfriend gave him the international “We’re not crazy; you are,” look, Ron realized he had no choice but to start explaining what was going on before they got any crazy ideas in their heads.

“Look, let’s say—hypothetically, of course—that Harry drank a love potion we were preparing in Snape’s class on Monday…and that he looked at Hermione while doing that. So, Ginny, if you saw jealousy in Harry’s eyes…well, it was because he’s still under the potion’s spell. Hypothetically speaking, of course,” Ron explained.

“He DRANK it? That’s stupid. Not even I would do that,” Neville said, grimacing.

Ron snapped, “It wasn’t on purpose. And that’s beside the point. The point is that Ginny here thinks that Harry is in love with Hermione, but she’s wrong! He’s not in love with her! He was just under the effects of the potion last night. It will pass… soon.”

“Wait, wasn’t your Potion class on Monday?” Ginny asked; Neville nodded in return.

“So?” Ron shrugged.

“So, the effects of the Philtrum Casses Amator last for only eight hours,” Luna answered, guessing at Ginny’s line of reasoning.

“Have you been playing with love potions behind my back?” Ron asked his girlfriend.

“You just don’t like being wrong. Harry couldn’t have been under the influence of the potion a day after he drank it,” Ginny answered cheekily.

“How can you know? For all I know, I could have mixed more fairy dust or less dragon dung or stirred it the wrong way, and that might have resulted in the potion’s effects lasting for a longer time,” the redhead said.

The truth was Ron knew Ginny’s arguments by heart, because they had been floating around on his mind since he had witnessed Harry’s strange behavior the day before.

Neville caught sight of a certain raven-haired boy entering the great hall. “Harry’s coming,” he quickly announced, and everyone tried his or her best to look nonchalantly as Harry approached the table.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked, frowning. There was definitely something up with his friends.

“You look better than you did last night,” Ginny said as Harry took the empty seat next to Ron.

“I feel better,” Harry answered her. It was true that his body felt better, even if the bump next to his scar was hurting like hell. Madam Pomfrey’s potion had worked wonders on him.

Now, if Madam Pomfrey could only make a potion to make him fall out of love with his best friend…

He has just started to savor his first piece of toast with grape jelly when he saw Hermione step into the Great Hall. Like yesterday, Roger’s arm was draped around her shoulders, making Harry’s stomach somersaults. He forced himself to swallow as they stood next to the Ravenclaw table.

Roger kissed Hermione on the cheek and whispered something in her ear. Hermione was blushing as she nodded at him.

-‘Why does she have to look so beautiful when she blushes?’

She turned around and made her way to the Gryffindor table. She was still smiling when she took the empty seat next to Ginny.

Was it Harry’s imagination or had Roger thrown a very annoyed look his way?

“Good morning, everyone,” Hermione said, quickly grabbing a green apple and sinking her teeth on it, the juice dripping lazily down her chin. Harry fought the urge to find out if the apple’s juices would taste different if he drank it from her skin.

“Morning,” everyone, including Harry, greeted.

“How are you feeling?” Hermione asked, looking up to lock her eyes on Harry. Harry knew that, even if she was still a bit mad at him for their little row yesterday, his welfare was still one of her priorities. His stomach gave another jolt when he remembered how she had saved food for him last night.

“I’m feeling better. Thanks for asking,” Harry whispered, forcing himself to look at his plate, since he still wasn’t sure what he was capable of if he looked directly into his eyes. Who knows? He might be tempted to profess eternal love.

For a moment this morning, he had thought the potion’s effect had disappeared. But seeing Hermione walking in Roger just helped him see how wrong he had been.

Harry felt Hermione nod, and he didn’t even look up when he heard the familiar fluttering on hundreds of wings as the morning owl post arrived. He heard a heavy thud on the table in front of him and looked up for just a moment to see Hermione picking up her copy of the Daily Prophet from a beautiful tawny owl.

Hermione opened the newspaper, and Harry forced himself to butter another piece of toast. Both of them missed the way Ginny was looking at them, and then at Ron, giving her older brother a small kick under the table.

“This is interesting,” Hermione said absentmindedly, her eyes scanning the front page.

“What is it?” Luna asked, twirling a red strand of Ron’s hair in her fingers. Hermione turned the newspaper around so Luna could see what had caught her attention.

“Ancient Magical Artifact Stolen from Muggle Museum,” Luna read out loud. Hermione once again turned the newspaper so she could read, but knowing Luna was interested, she read the clipping out loud.

---------

Ancient Magical Artifact Stolen from Muggle Museum

By Bobby McGee

At 1:32 AM today, the Museum of Berlin reported a break-in on their premises, and an object of magical origin has been reported as missing.

The Museum, one of the oldest and most respected Muggle institutions in Europe, was currently housing a special exhibition of Myths of the Dead from the Middle Ages. This exhibition had been prepared in collaboration with Berlin’s Ministry of Magic officials.

Berlin’s Ministry officials have not released information specific about the missing object. All that is currently known is that the object is of extreme value to the magical community.

An inquiry is under way to see how such a magical artifact ended up in a muggle institution.

---------

“Somebody screwed up,” Neville said when Hermione finished reading the story.

“I didn’t know that people in muggle government knew about our world,” Ginny said absently.

Luna answered by saying, “Some do. They help to keep our world secret from the muggles.”

“What I find so strange is that such an important artifact was housed in a non-magical place,” Hermione said, frowning slightly as she took a small bite out of her toast.

“This looks like a case for Shirley Holmes!” Ron added, winking at Luna, trying to impress her with his ample knowledge of muggle culture.

“The name’s Sherlock Holmes, Ron,” Harry mumbled, pushing the piece of bacon all over the plate with his fork.

“Harry, would you just eat? You’ve been pushing your food around for the last two days,” Hermione sighed.

Harry threw his fork on the plate with a loud clink. How dare she criticize his eating habits? She was the one that seemed to be on a perpetual diet since…since…

“You are one to talk! Since you started dating Roger you’ve hardly had a decent meal!” Harry snapped before the rational part of his brain had a chance to kick in.

No sooner had the words left his mouth that he wanted to slap himself senseless.

He had managed to anger the woman he cared for… again.

-‘Great. Now you did it, Potter. Now you really screwed up…’

Hermione sat up abruptly, the sound of her chair screeching against the marble floor so loud it resounded in the crowded hall. Her eyes were bright, and she seemed to be shaking with anger. Without saying a word, she started walking away.

Roger sat up when he spotted her, but she put her hand up to stop Roger from following her, shaking her head and finally exciting the Great Hall.

-‘Fools. There’s one born everyday.’

When Harry’s eyes left the doors, he realized all the Gryffindor students were looking at him in shock. “Your breakfast is getting cold,” he hissed, standing up and turning around, intent on following Hermione and apologize for his behavior.

“Did you have a fight with your girlfriend, Potty?” Malfoy snickered from the nearby Slytherin table. Harry resisted the urge to turn back and punch him, so he swallowed his anger and left the Great Hall. When he arrived in the hallway, he looked sideways, trying to find a clue as to where Hermione had run off.

Harry felt a hand on his arm, and before he knew what was going on he was being turned around forcefully. He found the angry face of Roger Davies a few inches away from his.

“WHAT DID YOU DO NOW?” Roger spit in his face. Harry clenched his hands on fists.

-‘A fight with Roger is the last thing I need right now, unless I want Hermione not to speak to me for the rest of my life.’

“Let me go, Roger. I need to apologize to Hermione,” Harry said, trying to control his temper in the presence of his least favorite person in all Hogwarts.

“I won’t let go until you tell me what you did to my girl!” Roger said, holding so tightly to Harry’s arm Harry was sure he would leave a mark.

-‘My girl…how dare he call her “my girl”. He didn’t even smile at her until she became Head Girl!’

Harry wriggled his arm free of Roger’s iron grip and said, “First of all, she’s not YOUR girl. Second, what happens between Hermione and me…stays between Hermione and me. If she feels like sharing with you, it’s her choice! But I don’t have to tell you ANYTHING!”

“20 Points from Gryffindor!” Roger hissed, taking one more step so he was less than an inch away from Harry.

Harry looked up at the taller man and couldn’t help but smirk, replying, “Roger… you can take those 20 points and shove ‘em where the sun don’t shine.”

Harry turned around quickly before Roger could do anything that could jeopardize his position as Hogwarts’ Holier-Than-Thou Head Boy, and sprinted down the hallway.

---------------------

MEANWHILE

Ron and Ginny were involved in another of their staring contests, and Ron was loosing badly. After what they had just witnessed between Harry and Hermione, Ginny was surer than ever of what was going on.

Ron finally sighed in defeat and looked away, saying, “It’s the potion, Ginny.”

“It is not the potion, Ron! Not even you believe it anymore!” Ginny said, shaking her head.

The redhead added resolutely, “I’ve been expecting something like this for a while. Believe me, little brother, there’s something else between Harry and Hermione… something’s that’s been brewing since your Fifth Year.”

Ron leaned across the table, not wanting any of the other Gryffindors (specially Lavender and Parvati) to eavesdrop, and asked, “Since you know everything, what are you asking me for?”

“Because I need to know what WE are going to do about it…” Ginny said. “We? WE? We are not getting involved in this, Ginny. If Harry does feel something for Hermione…then is his problem if he wants to admit it or not!” Ron replied defensively.

“Ron,” Ginny said softly, knocking the anger right out of her big brother, “Don’t you think your best friends deserve a chance to be happy?”

Ron should have known better than to think Ginny was going to back down. It was a good thing too, because he just realized his little sister had just given him the push he so desperately needed.

Ron looked from Luna, to Neville and back to his sister, a small smile spreading on his freckled cheeks.

“Alright…hypothetically…what are we going to do to get the two nitwits together?”

***************

A few hours later…

To his dismay, the school bell had rung before Harry had a chance to see Hermione and apologize. He didn’t share any classes with Hermione during the morning period, and he knew better than to interrupt her during one of her classes.

Thoughts of Hermione had consumed him the entire morning. He knew he’d better start working on an antidote soon, because he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting Hermione in one of his jealous fits more than he had already hurt her.

Divination was his last class of the morning, and the last hour he would have to endure without apologizing to Hermione.

Surprisingly, Divination had become one of Harry’s favorite classes. After all, he would usually sit down on the enchanted hill that was Firenze’s classroom, and looked at the make-believe stars hovering over them, thinking about Quidditch, butterbeer and weekends in Hogsmeade.

As usual, the handsome Centaur that was their Divination teacher, Firenze, started his class by saying, “Students, please sit down. Relax your thoughts and open your mind. Look up at the heavens…and prepare to see what they may be ready to show you.”

“Your wish is my command,” Ron whispered as he lay down on the grass next to Harry, both putting theirs hands on the back of their heads like a pillow and looking up at the stars.

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. For the first time since the whole potion incident, he almost felt at peace. Maybe it was the thought of finally apologizing to Hermione and begging her for forgiveness…maybe it was the thought that as soon as he drank the antidote everything between Hermione and himself would go back to normal.

When he opened his eyes again, the room was strangely quiet. He couldn’t even hear Ron’s soft snores next to him, which had become a fixture of almost every Divination class. Harry sat up and looked around.

Only to find he was completely alone on the grassy hill.

-‘What’s… what’s going on?’

His fingers dig into the earth when he felt a cold wind forming all around him, swirling the dry leaves around him, ruffling his hair every which way, until the coldness was so acute he had trouble keeping his eyes open.

He panicked when he found he couldn’t move as roots that looked like thin arms with bony fingers wrapped themselves around his wrists and ankles, pinning him into the ground. He tried wriggling himself free, but only managed to cut into his skin.

The time had come for Harry to scream, but when he tried to, no sound came out of his mouth. It felt like someone had sucked the air out of his lungs, until only he could only feel the burning sensation of being deprived of oxygen and the icy coldness that had spread through his body.

He sharply snapped his head back, trying with all his might to draw some much needed air. He found that the night sky that had been filled with stars moments ago was now pitch black, and the only source of light was the foreboding full moon.

Harry was already feeling lightheaded by the time he noticed that the full moon was turning darker and darker…that something seemed to be crawling on is surface, slowly swallowing it behind a curtain of red.

Red.

A drop fell on Harry’s cheek, and he instinctively knew it wasn’t water. It was something warm and sticky…something that smelled of pain and death.

Harry didn’t need to be a genius to know what blood felt like.

He forced himself to look at the moon, really look at it, as more and more drops fell on his face, his arms, his chest…

The moon was being swallowed by blood.

The drops soon became a drizzle. Harry tried harder than ever to free himself of the holds, completely disgusted by the blood falling on him. He could feel the cuts in his arms and legs growing deeper and deeper, until he cried in pain and frustration.

But it wasn’t a drizzle anymore…it was as if the heavens themselves had decided to open their doors and release the blood of every person that had ever died on this earth…

Harry was soaked to his very bones, completely covered by the offending liquid. He could taste the blood in his mouth, he could feel it going down his nose and slowly coming down his throat.

Harry tried closing his eyes, but he couldn’t… there has too much blood floating in them.

The ground started to cave in inch by inch until the ground underneath him was swallowing Harry.

It was Harry’s turn to drown in a pool of blood.

“HARRY! HARRY! HARRY! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

Harry opened his eyes to find Ron’s face hovering just inches above his. He quickly tried to sit up, but knocked his forehead against Ron’s chin in the haste. Clutching his newest injury, Harry looked around.

His fellow students were looking at him as if he had sprouted a second head. Even Firenze was looking at him in wonder. But aside from that, everything looked just as it did when he had stepped into the classroom.

“What happened?” Harry asked Ron, who was rubbing his chin.

“How the hell should I know? You just started screaming and trashing like a madman!” Ron replied.

“Are you okay, Harry?” Neville asked worriedly. Harry nodded absently. What the hell had just happened? He hadn’t felt sleepy when he first came into the classroom. How come he had fallen asleep and had subjected himself to another nightmare?

Harry clutched his scar, trying to soothe the pain. It felt like a hot metal rod was poking his forehead. He was soaking wet, but thankfully, it was only sweat.

Professor Firenze spoke for the first time, “Students, you can go now. Class has ended…Ron and Neville helped Harry to his feet. He was a bit wobbly, but soon found the strength returning to his legs. When he found he could stand on his own, he nodded at the two boys, whom slowly let go of him.

Harry had already threw his bag over his shoulder and was about to follow Ron, Neville and his fellow Gryffindors out of the classroom when he heard Firenze’s voice say, “Harry, I need to talk to you.”

Harry sighed in defeat. ‘Why can’t anything be easy?’

“I’ll meet you outside,” Harry whispered to Ron. The redhead nodded and left the classroom with Neville.

When they were in the hallway and out of earshot from Harry, Ron turned to Neville and said, “You stay here. I’m going to get Hermione. Something’s definitely wrong with Harry, and she’s the only one that can get it out of him.”

Inside the classroom, Harry was trying to busy himself with looking at his shoes and ignoring Firenze’s eyes on him. The centaur had remained silent for almost five minutes, with only the occasional clop of his hooves echoing in the classroom.

-‘I can’t take this anymore.’

“Professor, I…,” Harry started saying, but he didn’t get to finish the sentence, because Firenze chose that moment to finally break his silence.

“I know what it is you saw,” the centaur said, his voice grave.

-‘WHAT?’

“It is a very powerful omen…what the heavens have decided to reveal to you, Harry,” Firenze added.

“Professor, I’m sorry but… I just fell asleep. I bumped my head the other day on the library and… well, I’ve been having weird dreams since then,” Harry replied hesitantly.

“That was not a dream, young Potter. You need to be asleep in order to dream. You were very much awake when you received a vision,” Firenze said sharply, his eyes growing into slits as if he wanted to see what was going on inside Harry’s mind.

“A vision?” Harry asked out loud.

“Yes, a vision…a vision of death and destruction…of the past…of the future…maybe of the present. Time doesn’t mean much to the universe,” Firenze said cryptically.

“That was helpful,” Harry said sarcastically, feeling inexplicably tired. Why did these things happen to him? Why couldn’t Dumbledore, Snape or Trelawney get cryptic messages from the universe? Why did it have to be the boy with the freaky scar?

“What I just told you is all I know. All I know is that a sanguis lunaris is a very powerful omen…” Firenze said, anger flashing in his eyes at Harry’s disrespectful words.

“But…but how can I know what it means? I mean…let’s say for a moment that it was a vision… why me? Why now? What is the so-called universe trying to tell me?” Harry said hurriedly, a thousand different thoughts floating in his tired mind.

“I don’t know. It hasn’t been revealed to me… I was not the chosen one,” Firenze said forcefully, feeling impatient that Harry seemed unable to understand what he was saying.

All the frustration and anger and disappointment that Harry had felt all his life seemed to accumulate and explode in that single moment. Why couldn’t he get a straight answer for once?

“Well, I won’t let the universe fuck me over one more time,” Harry said fiercely, turning around and walking away, leaving a shocked Firenze behind.

“Trouble is coming your way, young Potter!” Firenze called.

“Tell me something I don’t know!” Harry said angrily as he finally left the classroom. He was so angry he couldn’t even see straight, and he unwittingly bumped against someone or something at the end of the hallway.

“Harry, are you okay? What happened to you?” a familiar voice, full of worry, suddenly asked.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, recognizing the owner of the voice.

His legs started feeling very weak, and he felt very lightheaded. Before he could hit the floor, he felt Hermione grab him by the waist and push him against the wall, using her body to pin him and support him. He would have been exhilarated if it wasn’t for the fact that he felt as if he was dying.

“Oh my god. We have to get you to Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione said worriedly, putting her hand on his forehead. Her hand felt so cold against his rising fever. Harry shook his head in protest. He had visited the hospital enough this week; he wasn’t about to waste more hours cooped up in that room.

“But you have to! You are not well!” Hermione said, her voice breaking with emotion. Harry tried to look at her thru his fogged up glasses. Her eyes were red and full of anxiety; her lips were trembling slightly, and she was shaking with the exertion of supporting Harry’s weight.

“I’ll be fine, Mione. Don’t worry…I just need a little rest,” Harry said with a sigh, closing his eyes. He put his forehead against Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione softly started caressing the back of his head with her hand, as a mother would do to her crying child.

Harry felt his body relax at her soothing touch, and realized that he felt like crying. Everything had been going so well this semester. His grades had gone up, his future prospects looked good and even Voldemort had gone into hiding. But this week…it was as if the Powers-That-Be upstairs had decided to come together and send something Harry’s way just because they were bored.

Before he knew it, Harry was moistening Hermione’s shoulder with tears. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, until her body was rocking with his sobs.

“Harry, I’m here…talk to me,” she whispered soothingly, kissing his hair with tenderness.

“Just…just…don’t let me go,” Harry whispered, wrapping his arms around Hermione’s waist and hugging her against his body.

It was so comforting to be in her arms, to breathe in her scent, to feel the warmth of her skin against his. And Harry Potter felt something he had not felt since he was a baby.

He felt safe.

He was about to tell her he was sorry for the way he had acted, and he was even going to confess about the potion and that he was now head over heels in love with her, when she took his face between her hands and forced him to look at her.

“Harry, what happened in Divination class?” Hermione asked him, her thumbs gently kneading his cheeks.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. He really did know what she meant. But how could she know that something happened? She had not been in the classroom with him.

Answering the unasked question, Hermione said, “Ron looked for me and told me what happened. He asked me to come in after you. He was so worried! And I can see why… Harry, please let me take you to the hospital.”

“He told you to come. Didn’t he?” Harry said, feeling the coldness once again as he let go of Hermione’s waist. Is that why she was here? Holding him? Soothing him? Because Ron sent her?

“Don’t be mad, Harry. He’s just worried… and so am I! You’ve been acting weird all week…” Hermione said worriedly, dropping her hands from Harry’s face when she felt him tense.

“I’ve had things on my mind,” Harry mumbled, running his hands on his raven hair.

“Things? THINGS? You collapsed on Transfiguration yesterday! You started screaming in Divination just half an hour ago…that’s more than just things!” Hermione said, beginning to get exasperated by Harry’s stubbornness.

“You don’t know what they are,” Harry said softly, looking for a way to make a swift exit from what had downgraded to a very uncomfortable situation.

“Because you refuse to talk to me, Harry!” Hermione replied, crossing her arms over her chest in an attempt to prove that he was not the only one who could be stubborn.

-‘I can’t take this anymore…I can’t…I can’t breathe…I need to get out of here…

“That’s because there are things about me that don’t concern you!” Harry screamed, making Hermione take a few steps back. He regretted it immediately. He was angry at all the bullshit around him…but he was definitely not angry with her.

Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and she was biting her lower lip to stop herself from screaming back at him.

-‘Great, Potter. Just great. You are in love with the girl and you’ve made her cry twice in less than 24 hours. Way to go. No wonder your relationships suck!’

“Fine! You want to play the lone fucking ranger now, that’s fine with me! I don’t care! Happy now?” Hermione blurted in an uncharacteristic surge of anger, turning around sharply on her heel and walking away as if the devil himself was nipping at her feet.

-‘Shit! Shit! SHIT!

“Hermione, wait! I’m sorry...” Harry started, but it was already too late. She had already rounded the corner and was out of his sight.

He contemplated running after her and begging for forgiveness, but if he had learned anything these last six years about his best friend was that if Hermione Granger was angry, then she needed her space. He didn’t want to be on the receiving end of her right hook like Malfoy had on their Third year.

So Harry decided to skip lunch and run straight to the library, putting thoughts about the dream/vision in the backburner. He had a more pressing problem concerning the potion, and he needed to find a solution.

NOW.

What Harry didn’t know was that Neville and Ron had been watching from the far corner his little exchange with Hermione…and that Ron was not a happy camper.

****************

Hey guys! Hope you liked the longer chapter! Worked really hard on this one, so I hope u can take a few seconds to drop me a line. Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

“Sanguis Lunaris” means “bloody moon” in Latin. And for those trivia lovers, the name of the chapter comes from the song Bad Moon Rising by Creedence Clearwater Revival. Great song for those who liked their “oldies”.

On the next chapter of Caught in a Web: Ron confronts Harry about Hermione. Harry finally apologizes, and is left to wonder about a future he never dreamt of considering.

And thanks to last chapter’s reviewers. I apologized for not being able to reply one by one, but I just came from the airport and I’m a bit jetlagged. I think you prefer to read the new chapter rather than my reviews (hehe), which is why I hurried to upload this.

Side Note: Many readers pointed out that Dazed and Confused is by Led Zeppelin. Very true! But the version I was listening to while writing last chapter was from the cover by Nirvana (Jam – Live Session). It carries a lot more angst, which is why I pointed out that it was the version Harry had listened to.

---

My sincere thanks to Another, for his wonderful beta work. -bows-

Chapter 8: She Loves Me. She Loves Me Not.

Y así pasan los días
y yo, desesperado,
y tú, tú contestando:
“quizás... quizás... quizás.”

--------------------------

Harry decided to skip lunch and his afternoon classes and sought refuge in the place no one would expect to find him in.

The library.

Madam Pince had been keeping a close eye on him all afternoon, watching him over the top of the book she was holding as if expecting him to continue the destruction of her beloved sanctuary.

Thankfully, Harry had been on his best behavior. After his “vision”, after his fight with Hermione, after the dizziness and weakness had diminished, Harry had walked straight to the Hogwarts library and had taken from the shelves all of the Potions books he thought could help him with his current predicament.

“1001 Useful Potions”

“How to be a Potions Master”

“Potions for Dummies”

“A Nitpicker’s Guide to Potion Brewing.”

“What to Do When You Are Under a Spell”

“This is hopeless,” Harry mumbled as he reached the last page of the last book on his list. He had found nothing on the Philtrum Casses Amator potion, and even less about a possible counter potion.

The only bit of useful information he had found among the thousand of pages he had flipped through this afternoon was about how a potion’s effect could change slightly due to small differences in the quantity of the ingredients. Harry guessed that this was the case. Probably Ron had used more belladonna or less lily dust, and that’s why the effects of the potion on Harry had lasted for more than the intended eight hours.

At least, that’s what he hoped, because just the thought that there might be some other explanation terrified him.

He sighed in defeat again, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes, trying to push his headache out by the sheer power of his will. The headache was so pervasive that Harry couldn’t concentrate anymore on the whole business of Hermione and the potion.

Harry had managed to suppress the images of the dream/vision that had tormented in Firenze’s class, but due to his weariness and his hunger, he couldn’t anymore. He shivered absently, remembering the piercing cold that seemed to reach his very bones. Today had been the second time in two days that he had felt that screeching cold washing over him, and he had no idea why.

Harry had never thought of himself as claustrophobic. After all, you couldn’t be claustrophobic if your room for ten years had been a tiny cupboard under the stairs, and if one of your family’s favorite punishments was to lock you in a dark closet for hours. In fact, he rather liked that punishment…it was better than his uncle beating on him.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling of despair and hopeless every time he remembered what it felt to be bounded by the arms and the legs, unable to move an inch - what it felt like to try to draw breath and feel your lugs burning for lack of air… what it felt to drown in blood… what it felt like when the earth opened up and swallowed him.

The heavy Irish accented voice that belonged to Seamus Finnegan brought Harry back to the real world.

“Harry, where’ve you been? You missed all afternoon classes!” Seamus asked. Harry opened his eyes to find Seamus and Dean standing next to his table, looking very concerned over his classmate.

Harry said the first thing that came into his mind, “I needed to do some research for an extra-credit in Transfiguration.” He heard his stomach grumble impatiently, and it reminded him that it had been a while since he had last eaten.

“What time is it?” Harry asked his friends. Dean, the muggle-born of the two, glanced at his Thundercats wristwatch.

“Its 8:15PM, mate,” Dean answered. Harry was surprised; he knew he had spent a long time in the library, but he was shocked to learn that the day was almost gone.

“Well, I’ve been here enough. I’ll see you guys later,” Harry said, standing up and picking up the books that were scattered across his table before Dean and Seamus got a chance to see them. He managed to smile politely again, only to be met by the worry faces of his colleagues.

“Are you sure you are okay, Harry? I mean…what happened in Firenze’s class was pretty scary,” Seamus said. Harry shook his head, trying to appear casual about what had happened.

The word “scary” paled in comparison to what it really felt like.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t worry about it. It was a just a bad dream,” Harry said nonchalantly. Dean and Seamus finally nodded at him, a little bit more relieved by his demeanor. “See ya,” he repeated, making his way out of the library, but not before putting the books back in their rightful places and giving Madam Pince a polite “good night”, whom still felt the need to guard her beloved sanctuary from the menace that seemed to be Harry Potter.

Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor common room, encountering a few students on the way who seemed to stop what they were doing when he approached, staring cautiously at him. How Harry hated his fame! He knew that the rumors of what had happened to him in Firenze’s class must have spread throughout the school like wildfire, and that now everyone was wondering just what it meant.

If it had happened to anyone else, the matter would have been forgotten by dinnertime. But he was the Boy-Who-Lived, and everyone knew with Harry things were always more complicated.

Even love.

He pretty much ignored everyone as he walked down the hallways, only stopping short when he caught sight of Neville and Ginny walking hand in hand just a few meters away in front of him. He hid behind a corner until he couldn’t hear their footsteps anymore. He could ignore everyone else, but he knew he would have a hard time trying to dodge Ginny and Neville’s questions.

Harry made it inside the common room, ignoring the Fat Lady’s remark that he looked quite ill. “Harry, how are you feeling?” he heard Lavender asked from the couch she was sharing with Parvati. He didn’t even glance at them as he walked straight up the stairs to his dormitory, giving them a polite, “just peachy. Thanks for asking,” before he disappeared into his room.

He breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that just maybe he had reached a place where there will be some peace and quiet inside his head. He was already thinking about a relaxing shower and what he was going to ask Dobby to bring him from the kitchen when Harry felt someone’s hands on his back. Next moment, he had fallen face first on his bed, pushed by an unseen assailant.

He quickly turned around on the bed, already clutching his wand on his hand, prepared to hex the living daylights out of the intruder. But “surprise” was too mild a word to describe what he felt when he realized that the only person on the room with him was Ron.

Ron was standing a few feet away from him, staring daggers back at him. It was a look that was usually reserved for Malfoy and had only been directed at Harry during their Fourth Year, when Ron thought that Harry had entered the Tri-Wizard Tournament because of fame and fortune. It was a look Harry hoped would never be directed at him again.

“RON? WHAT IN BLAZES DID YOU DID THAT FOR?” Harry screamed at his best friend.

“Because you DESERVED it!” Ron hissed, trembling with anger, pointing an accusing finger at Harry.

“What did I do now?” Harry said, utterly confused as he straighten slightly until he was sitting in bed.

“I saw what you did to Hermione! How can you say something so hurtful? She was just worried about you!” Ron accused. Harry was shocked, not only because Ron hardly took Hermione’s side on arguments, but also because he realized Ron was keeping a close eye on him.

“You were SPYING on me?” Harry said defensively. If he had hoped his own accusation would make Ron back down, but he was sorely mistaken.

“YES, I WAS! I didn’t trust you to behave…and I WAS RIGHT! And don’t give me any crap about it, cause you sir, are the master in listening in to your friends’ private conversations,” Ron said, getting redder with every word that came out of his mouth.

“Why did you tell her what happened? Why did you tell her to check up on me?” Harry asked, letting go of his wand, not trusting the guilt he was feeling over Ron’s words to stop him from hexing his red-haired friend.

“Because this is HERMIONE! If anyone can help you with whatever is going on with you, it’s HER! It has ALWAYS been her!” Ron said truthfully, some of the anger ebbing away at the helpless sight his best friend made.

“Nothing is going on with me, Ron,” Harry said, hoping that if he lied enough times, the lie would become the truth.

“Like hell it is, Harry. There’s some crazy stuff going on with you. I mean…,” Ron said, running his hands through his hair in frustration, “If you had seen your face when you started screaming…you were terrified…I’ve never seen you so scared in my life, Harry.” Ron sat next to Harry on the bed and exhaled loudly, feeling useless to help his friend.

“I have a lot of things on my mind,” Harry whispered, leaning his head on his hands and closing his eyes. The headache was back with a vengeance, the skin over his scar burning like a lump of coal.

A silence fell between the two friends, and wasn’t broken until Ron softly whispered, “Is this about Hermione…I mean…about your feelings for her?” He suddenly felt guilty about “The Plan” Ginny, Neville, Luna and himself had concocted that morning.

“Maybe…maybe not. I don’t know. Firenze seems to think what happened this morning was some sort of vision, but…I don’t know…I can’t shake the feeling that Hermione has something to do with it,” Harry confessed, surprised at the sincerity of his words.

“Why did you snap at her? She was so worried about you when I told her what had happened! She didn’t come to dinner, you know. She didn’t say anything to me, but…I caught sight of her crying…on bloody Roger’s shoulder,” Ron said, his voice turning suddenly bitter at the mention of the Ravenclaw’s name.

Harry impulsively gripped handfuls of his hair more tightly, and tried to ignore the stream of images of Hermione in Roger’s arms that popped into his head, and that threatened to make his headache even worst.

Harry sighed and looked up at Ron, his answer clear as he said, “I think…I think I’m trying to push her away…that is, until all this mess with the potion is resolved. I don’t want to do anything that would jeopardize our friendship. You know you two mean the world to me.”

At that moment, Ron felt something he had never felt concerning Harry. He pitied the emerald-eyed boy, wondering how come such an incredibly courageous and bright person could be so oblivious to what was evident to everyone else.

Ron put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and said, “Look, mate, I’m not trying to give you advice on your love life, because that’s always been Hermoine’s department, but…if you ARE in love with her, even if is just the potion…what’s so bad about that?”

Harry didn’t respond, turning his head around, absently looking at his partial reflection on the corner mirror. Ron decided to continue pressing the matter, “Hermione is not ugly, mate.”

That got a reaction from Harry. “She’s beautiful,” Harry whispered with reverence.

Ron followed with a, “She’s not an ignorant git.”

To which Harry replied, “She’s the most intelligent girl I know.”

“She’s not self-centered or selfish,” Ron said. Harry seemed slightly offended by Ron’s casual description, judging by the way his eyes grew into slits.

“Ron, she has the biggest heart in the world and you know it!” Harry replied.

“True, she’s a bit bossy. But so are the Weasley women and they are, according to others, lovable. But you know that even when she bosses us around, she always means well,” Ron said, trying to conceal his smile. He has finally getting a reaction out of Harry he could work with.

“I know she does,” Harry whispered. Ron raised his hands emphatically, knowing he was going in for the kill, and asked, “Then, what is the big problem with falling in love with her?”

He wasn’t prepared to hear Harry’s whisper, “The big problem is that she’s not in love with me. She’s in love with Roger Davies. And that makes me feel so bad that I end up doing the thing I want the least to do in this life…I end up hurting her.”

Ron didn’t know what to reply. This definitely wasn’t the answer he was hoping for.

“Ron, you and Hermione are my best friends. I don’t want to hurt her, just as you don’t want to hurt her. But if I don’t find the antidote soon, my jealousy will end up destroying my friendship with her…and I can’t even stand the thought of that happening,” Harry said softly, turning around once more to look at Ron.

Ron shook his head and sighed. Maybe Ginny was wrong and Harry was right. Maybe Hermione didn’t have more feelings for Harry than just a close friendship. After all, she seemed to be getting pretty tight with Roger. Maybe by trying to push his best friends together, Ron was making things worst.

But…what if? What if Ginny was right? Ron had never found the “what if” so infuriating before in his life.

“Harry, can I ask you something?” Ron said, turning around to look at his friend. Harry had once again closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands. The young man mumbled what sounded like a “what?” and Ron decided to ask Harry the same question Ginny had asked him this morning.

“How can you be so sure Hermione is not in love with you?” Ron asked Harry. Harry looked at him as if he suddenly had sprouted a third arm.

“Are you bloody mad?” Harry spouted.

“I think it’s an honest question!” Ron said. Harry scoffed.

“How can I be sure? Well, maybe because I’m not the one that’s been hand in hand with her all week…and I’m not the one that’s pulling her inside an empty classroom to snog her senseless… and I’m not the one who’s going to take her to the Halloween ball!” Harry snapped before he could stop himself.

He grimaced as soon as he realized how bitter and jealous he sounded. Ron raised an eyebrow at him.

“I turned into a cretin again, didn’t I?” Harry said, feeling so ashamed he could feel his cheeks burning.

“You did, mate. Look, I think that before you do anything else, you need to apologize to Hermione,” Ron suggested.

Harry nodded. “Do you know where she is?” he asked, remembering Ron had told him she hadn’t gone down to dinner.

“In the library?” Ron offered.

Harry shook his head, saying, “I just came from there.”

“She’s not downstairs…maybe she’s in her common room,” Ron said.

“I’ll take a shower, and then I’ll go and I’ll apologize,” Harry said, getting up from the bed, the hunger and the exhaustion he had felt not ten minutes ago were already forgotten.

He grabbed an old jean and a thin white shirt from his armoire, and looked back at Ron, who was still sitting in Harry’s bed with an unreadable expression on his freckled face.

“So, are we okay?” Harry asked his best friend. Ron looked at him seriously for a couple of seconds, but finally smiled, nodding his head in agreement.

“Yes, we are okay,” Ron said, getting up from the bed and walking toward Harry. Patting Harry in the back, Ron added, “But next time you make Hermione cry, I’ll kick your arse.”

Ron then left the room and went back to the common room, leaving Harry with a slight smile on his tired face.

He didn’t mind Ron kicking his arse when he deserved it.

------------------------------

30 minutes later…

Harry adjusted his eyeglasses and ran his fingers through his still wet hair, trying to smooth it back in a lame attempt to look presentable.

‘Why am I so nervous? It’s only Hermione…come on, buddy, you can do this.’

“What do you want?” the portrait of the old hag that was the guardian of the Head Boy and Head Girl’s Rooms asked Harry brusquely.

“I…I want to see Hermione Granger,” Harry said, wondering why Hermione had never given Ron and himself the password.

‘Maybe because I never bother to ask her…. She’s always in the Gryffindor common room, after all.’

Harry stayed in front of the door for some time, but nothing was happening. He was growing more impatient by the second, until he couldn’t help to turn toward the portrait on the right and blurt a gruff, “Well? Is she coming or not?”

“WHAT AM I? A BLOODY MAID? Knock if you want to see her!” the portrait of the hag screamed at Harry. Harry mumbled a very sarcastic “thank you,” just before he knocked twice on the wooden door that marked the entrance to the Head Boy/Girl Quarters.

He heard a faint noise from the other side of the door, and ran his fingers over his shirt impulsively, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. He heard definitive footsteps now, and took a deep breath.

The doorknob turned. The door opened just a bit…to reveal the face of Roger Davies.

‘Bloody Wanker’

“Can I help you?” Roger asked the irritated Harry. Judging by the Ravenclaw’s face, Harry knew Roger would swallow a jalapeño than actually be helpful.

“I’m looking for Hermione,” Harry said, managing to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“What for?” Roger asked brusquely. Before Harry could reply that it was none of Roger’s damn business, he heard Hermione’s voice in a soft whisper.

Roger visibly tensed, but finally opened the door completely, revealing Hermione, who had been hiding behind the door.

He gulped hard. Hermione was already dressed for bed, a tank top and trousers the color of crimson, with a silk robe over her shoulders that contrasted sharply with the rather worn out bunny slippers that were adorning her feet. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her hair tied on a messy bun that let many lose tendrils cascade around her face. He would have smiled at how beautiful she looked, but he stopped when he caught sight of the sadness in her brown eyes.

‘This is my fault.’

“Yes, Harry?” Hermione asked, her voice tired, but business-like. It didn’t escape to Harry the fact that she was still standing next to Roger.

“I…I…was wondering if I could talk to you,” Harry said softly, locking his eyes with hers.

“So talk,” Roger interrupted. Harry sighed and turned his attention toward the Head Boy, ready to liberate all the expletives in his vocabulary, only to be beaten by Hermione.

Turning toward Roger, Hermione coolly said, “I’ll be outside.” Harry couldn’t help but savor the sight of Roger’s scowl as Hermione stepped out of their common room and closed the door behind her. That was a Kodak moment if he ever saw one.

Hermione avoided Harry’s eyes as she took a few steps down the hallway, and Harry, who did not know how to continue with his plan, followed her in silence. Hermione finally stopped, leaned back against the wall, and looked up at Harry.

“What is it?” she asked, her red-rimmed eyes locking on Harry’s. Harry found he had trouble finding his voice when she was looking at him with such gloom in her eyes. He looked down at his feet, hoping that some of that legendary Gryffindor courage would kick in. The silence was growing heavy, unbearable.

“I’m sorry…for yelling at you earlier…I wasn’t feeling well, and…well, I snapped at the first person I saw…which unfortunately happened to be my best friend,” he finally whispered, still looking down at the floor.

He was surprised when he heard Hermione sigh tremulously and say, “Well, I’m sorry too.”

“You are?” he asked, finally looking up, his eyes betraying the confusion he felt.

“Of course I am…I shouldn’t have screamed at you,” Hermione said, her head lowered, her voice suspiciously neutral. Harry didn’t know what to make of it until he heard her say with an amused voice, “I should have slugged you.”

Harry let out a nervous laugh when Hermione finally looked up, revealing a small smile gracing her enchanting lips.

“Was that a joke, Ms. Granger?” Harry asked cheekily.

“Maybe,” was Hermione’s answer, the smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth.

After they shared another nervous laugh, Hermione’s expression sobered. “I am truly sorry, Harry. I…I shouldn’t have screamed back at you,” she said, biting her lower lip nervously.

“I deserved much more than just for you to scream back at me,” Harry said truthfully.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t make it right,” Hermione said gently. She looked down so only the top of her head was visible to Harry, and said, “I’m just a bit overwhelmed…and frustrated, you know.”

“With what?” he asked, venturing to put a hand on her shoulder. He could feel the heat coming from her even through her robe, and he gulped nervously.

“With you, Harry, with you,” she said, raising her head and locking her eyes with his.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his mind suddenly at a loss for words to express all the things he was feeling at this moment.

“Do you even know why you are saying sorry, Harry?” Hermione said softly. He let his hand wander from her shoulder, slowly down her arm, until he reached her hand, all the while reveling in the warmth she emanated. Harry felt assurance when Hermione captured his hand on her own and squeezed softly, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

“Because I’ve hurt you,” Harry whispered, looking down at their intertwined hands, mesmerized by the feel of her thumb tracing circles on his skin.

“You have hurt me. But is not because you’ve snapped at me or said mean things; it’s because you’ve been pushing me away. Because there’s something wrong with you and you’ve left me in the dark. I’m not used to that…,” Hermione whispered, her broken voice betraying how hurt she truly was. Harry instinctively gripped her hand more tightly in his.

“I really didn’t mean to, Mione. It’s just like I told you…I’ve had a lot things on my mind,” Harry said apologetically.

“Like what?” Hermione said, surprisingly gripping his shirt and pulling him closer to her, until the tip of his sneakers touched the tip of her slippers.

Harry gulped, aware that her hand was still clutching to his shirt possessively.

‘Like you.’

“Like Voldemort. Death Eaters. N.E.W.T’s. Sirius. The war,” Harry said softly. He wasn’t lying—those things were always on his mind, just like the scar was always present on his forehead. But everything else had taken second place to the brown haired girl standing in front of him.

He heard Hermione sigh and let go of his shirt. He looked up to find his friends with her eyes closed, rubbing her temple with the hand that had been clutching his shirt. When she opened her eyes looked up at him, he immediately knew she wasn’t satisfied with his answer.

“What about what happened at Transfiguration yesterday? And in Divination today?” Hermione asked him. Harry sighed and looked down at the floor. He really didn’t want to think about what he had seen in Divination, or remember the coldness he had felt in Transfiguration. Absently, Harry noticed that one of her bunny slippers was missing an ear.

Hermione straightened, and the sudden movement brought her even closer to Harry. Once again, she made that exquisitely possessive gesture of clinging to his shirt, her nails grazing slightly his stomach through the thin fabric of the shirt. He closed his eyes and sighed. If she kept this up, he was going to do something stupid. Again.

“I…it’s just…just nightmares. That’s all,” Harry finally answered, still looking down at the floor.

“Harry, look at me,” Hermione pleaded. He didn’t want to; he was afraid…afraid that if those chocolate eyes locked with his one more time, he wouldn’t be able to hold back all the things he wanted to tell her and knew he couldn’t.

Harry jerked slightly when he felt her hand touch his face. Hermione put her hand under his chin and tilted it, gently coaxing him to look at her.

He felt like soon he would be reaching the point of no return.

“What did you see, Harry?” Hermione whispered softly, the way a loving mother would speak to a frightened child. Again, that feeling that had come over Harry when he was crying on Hermione’s arms on the hallway of Divination washed over him, that feeling that told him that everything was okay with the world and that he was safe and sound as long as she was with him, came over him.

And before he could think twice, Harry said, “I don’t remember what I dreamt about during Transfiguration…I just remember feeling cold, as if I had just gone skinny dipping on the lake on Christmas morning. Scratch that…the cold was more biting than that…I could feel it jarring my bones…getting into my skull….”

The hand that was holding on to his hand tightened, and her other hand traveled from his chin to his cheek, her thumb tracing the edge of his face soothingly.

‘She’ll make it better. She always makes it better.’

Harry continued, his voice never rising from a whisper, “And today…I saw a starless night. And then the moon…the moon turned the color of blood…and blood started raining down…and the earth opened up and swallowed me…I could feel the blood on my face…on my eyes…I could taste in my mouth…and I couldn’t breathe…I couldn’t breathe, Hermione…I couldn’t….”

Hermione’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and Harry found himself choking on his words. He didn’t need to finish the sentence though. Hermione closed the distance, enveloping him in a crushing embrace. Harry let his arms slowly travel around her shoulders, and he crushed her body against his, holding onto her as if Hermione was the only lifeline he had on this world.

Still holding Harry, Hermione whispered, “I’m so sorry, Harry. That must have been horrible.” Harry allowed one of his hands to travel from her shoulders, down her back and settled on her waist.

The moment he had started telling her what he had seen, the memory of the coldness came back. Again, he had felt that dreaded cold in his very bones. But the contact with her body filled him with much needed warmth, and it intoxicated him.

“Harry, I know I don’t know what it’s like to be the Boy-Who-Lived. But you have always been plagued with nightmares…and ninety percent of the time, they mean more than meets the eye. Remember the snake’s attack on Mr. Weasley? And the dreams you had about the Department of Mysteries? What if this is like that?” Hermione continued, speaking rapidly, her voice thick with dread.

The tables had turned for Harry. Now, instead of wanting her to make him feel safe, the only thing he wanted was for Hermione not to be scared. Harry leaned back just enough so he could look at her eyes.

“Don’t think that, Hermione. I’m sure they were just bad dreams,” Harry tried to reassure her, taking her face in his hands with as much gentleness as a boy of seventeen was capable of.

‘How can you say that? You weren’t even asleep during Divination and you know it. And what about what Firenze said? About something lunaris being an omen of destruction.…’

Harry considered telling her this, but he immediately decided against it when he felt the wetness of a tear on one of the hands that was cupping her face.

“How’s your Occlumency?” Hermione said as Harry gently wiped away the trail that the tear had left on her cheek.

“Not that good,” Harry admitted truthfully.

It wasn’t easy for Harry to clear his mind and empty his emotions when the potion was making the brown haired girl with the warm smile the most prominent thought in his head during all his waking hours.

'It doesn't help that you are touching her every opportunity you get.'

He slowly lowered his hands from her face, missing the warmth in the pit of his stomach as soon as he broke the contact. He managed to give her a small reassuring smile; but Hermione looked crestfallen, probably expecting that after two years of Occlumency lessons Harry might have mastered the art.

“Harry, promise me you are going to tell Dumbledore!” Hermione suddenly pleaded. Harry sighed and looked away; speaking to Dumbledore was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Look at me,” Hermione issued the quiet order for the second time that night.

‘Don’t look at her…don’t look at her…you know you won’t be able to say no if you look at her….’

He felt her hand grip his bare arm, skin against skin as her nails dug slightly into his flesh. He felt his eyes roll to the back of his head, and was tempted to just make a run for it and take another cold shower before continuing this conversation.

‘DON’T LOOK AT HER! DON’T LOOK AT HER! DON’T…!’

“Harry.”

Harry’s eyes found hers in an instant.

‘Wuss.’

‘Oh, shut up!’

Hermione’s eyes left no doubt that “no” was not an acceptable answer.

“Alright, alright! I promise I’ll tell Dumbledore tomorrow,” Harry said, utterly defeated in the battle of the wills.

‘Grow a backbone, will ya?’

It was almost worth it when she hugged him again. This time, he didn’t dare to put her arms around her. He didn’t trust himself to resist the urge to find out what her lip-gloss tasted like.

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered, the relief evident in her voice. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on his shoulder, a small smile on her lips.

“No, Mione. Thank you,” Harry said with honesty, fighting the desire to bury his face in the crook of her neck. Hermione let go of him and resumed her original position, leaning against the wall a few meters away from the door to her common room.

“So, are we okay?” Harry asked, searching her eyes for any signal that she was still angry with him. He found worry there…a bit of disappointment too…love, maybe? He wished. But anger? It was gone. Poof. Like magic.

Hermione smiled at him again, saying, “Yes, we are okay.” As an afterthought, she added, “It would take much more for us not to be okay.”

“This was almost worth it. After all, how many times have I heard you say the f-word?” Harry smirked, feeling once more completely at ease with Hermione. This was, after all, his best mate, his buddy, his pal.

‘And you want to ruin this by falling in love with her?’

‘YES!’

‘I said shut up!’

Hermione scrunched her face in such a way that made Harry laugh out loud. She had such a cute button nose when she did that.

“You are not going to tell anyone about that, are you?” she asked, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Harry shook his head airily and said “Of course, not…I’m going to wait till I can use it to blackmail you.”

Hermione punched him in the stomach as a joke. “I swear you can be worst than Ron,” she said.

Before Harry could realize what he was going to do, he took the hand that she had used to punch him and lift it to his lips, kissing her knuckles, saying “Oh, but that’s what you love about me.”

For a moment, he could have sworn he saw something flash across Hermione’s eyes, some primal and forbidden emotion he had never noticed before. It was gone almost as soon as it came, and Harry would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking directly into her eyes.

‘You don’t think that…?’

“Well, I better go back. I was about to go to bed when you came,” Hermione said with a sigh, looking at the door to her common room with eagerness.

‘Is it me or is she’s trying to avoid looking at me?’

“Unless you want to come in,” Hermione offered absently. Harry was about to grin like a maniac, thinking that it would be so nice to sit near a warm fire on a comfortable couch talking to his best friend like in old times (because this week seemed to have lasted an eternity), when he suddenly remembered that they were not going to be alone.

‘That slimy cockroach’

When Hermione finally looked at him, he managed to smile tiredly and say, “Maybe another day.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Hermione said, squeezing the hand that was still holding onto hers. Hermione started to walk away toward the door, but her hand didn’t let go of Harry’s and Harry didn’t let go of her hand either, and he didn’t make a move to follow her.

The truth was Harry didn’t want to see her go. He didn’t want to think about what may be waiting for her on the other side of the door.

Hermione let go of his hand, but he still held to hers until she couldn’t keep walking. Her arm outstretched and still linked with Harry, Hermione looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes were unreadable from this distance, but Harry knew what she must be seeing right now.

A lost boy who had gotten in way over his head.

“Do you have something else you want to tell me?” Hermione whispered, the tone of her voice unusual even to Harry’s ears.

‘Tell her what’s happening. Tell her how you feel!’

‘I don’t feel anything! It’s the potion!’

‘Tell her! Don’t let her go back to her room without her knowing.’

‘It would be selfish of me! When I find the antidote, I won’t be in love with her anymore.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘Just shut up!’

‘Tell her then!’

‘No’

‘TELL HER!’

“No,” Harry whispered softly, letting go of Hermione’s hand. He watched her as she turned around and walked away.

She pushed her door open and said, “Goodnight, Harry,” without looking back at him.

“Sweet dreams, Mione,” Harry said, hoping his voice didn’t betray the sudden pain he felt in his chest. He could see Roger standing next to the door, as if he had been eavesdropping on them this whole time. Hermione finally walked inside.

It was as if time itself wanted to stop for Harry…the door was closing in a speed that could only be described as painfully slow. Still looking inside the Head Boy/Girl common room through the open door, Harry saw Roger step closer to Hermione and whisper something in her. Hermione looked down at the floor and nodded at Roger.

And then Roger did something that made Harry feel as cold as he had felt in his dream.

Roger gently touched Hermione’s cheek…and made her smile.

Harry could have sworn he saw Roger look up and give him a triumphant smile before the door close completely.

He couldn’t bring himself to move for a couple of minutes. He just stared at the door, wondering about what might be happening on the other side. Did Roger have his arms around her tiny waist? Was she running her fingers through his blonde hair like she did with Harry’s? Did she grip his shirt the way she did Harry’s and pull him toward her?

Was she resting her head in the crook of his neck, tickling his skin with her breath? Was Roger lowering his head and brushing his lips against hers?

Could he know already what her lips tasted like?

Harry then remembered the question Ron had asked him earlier in their dorm.

‘ ”How can you be so sure Hermione is not in love with you?” ’

‘I guess I already have the answer to that one.’

--------------------------------

Well, I got to thank my CD collection for helping me get through this chapter, specially, the songs If Love is a Red Dress by Maria McKee and Train Wreck by Sarah Mclachlan.

And of course, the words at the beginning belong to the wonderful song Quizás, Quizás, Quizás (Maybe, Maybe, Maybe) by the incredible Nat King Cole.

Let me know what you think of this!

Peace,

Anasazi

---

Props to Another for his wonderful beta work.

Chapter 9: You Go to My Head

-----------------------

`Where am I?'

Harry slowly opened his eyes, feeling heavy and somewhat woozy. The last thing he remembered was reaching his room after his conversation with Hermione. Seamus and Dean had been playing a game of Wizard Chess, Neville was reading a book on Advanced Herbology, and Ron was already snoring, tangled in his bed sheets. Harry remembered he had gone straight to the bathroom to brush his teeth and then slipped into bed, wishing the day would end as only a person with a broken heart would wish.

But when he opened his eyes, Harry found he was not in his room, but rather, he was standing inside the Great Hall, next to the entrance. Harry turned around and tried to push the heavy doors open, but they didn't budge an inch.

Turning his attention back to the room, he took a good look at the Great Hall. It was almost pitch black, but he instinctively knew that the usual house tables and chairs were nowhere to be found. The only sound that reached his ears was his own steady breathing.

He started walking toward the other end of the Hall, toward the area where the staff tables usually lay. With every step he took, the temperature inside the room dropped dramatically, until he could actually see the mist of every breath he exhaled.

He could feel the increasing cold jarring his bones, piercing his skull, burning his scar, but he couldn't stop walking. It was as if he was in autopilot, not knowing his final destination.

And then, Harry saw it. It was just hovering in the air in the middle of the staff area…a glowing crimson orb. It was petite, no bigger than a baseball, with deep rune markings all around.

It was calling him.

At first, it was almost imperceptible, like the sound the breeze made against the leaves on a spring day. Then it grew louder, like the rising wind of a stormy night. Now, Harry thought he could actually hear voices in that raging wind.

“Come.”

He kept walking, with each step growing closer and closer to the orb.

“Come to us.”

Just then, Harry noticed that with every step he took, the light coming from the orb grew stronger. He was standing so close now that the light washed over him, bathing him in red glow.

He stretched his arm… just two feet more and he would be able to touch it. It was a strange sensation… half of his mind was telling him to turn around and run and scream for help… and the other half was telling him that as soon as he touched the orb, everything would be all right.

No more cold…no more darkness.

“Come to us, Harry.”

Just a few more inches.

The light coming from the orb was so strong it was blinding him, and even then he found he couldn't close his eyes. Instinctively, Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to stop, even if he wanted to.

It was too late.

He felt his outstretched fingers touch the glowing orb and gasped. It was a thousand times colder than ice, so cold that the moment he touched the orb he felt his arm go numb. The numbness spread like a snake from his arm, to his chest, his face, his stomach, his legs…

`This is the end.'

There was no time to scream.

The orb had consumed him.

--------------------------

Thursday, October 30^th

Harry woke up abruptly, sitting on the bed with a jolt. He was bathed in cold sweat, the sheets tangled on his legs.

`Breathe… just breathe…'

He closed his eyes and took a series of long, deep breaths. He felt as if his lungs were burning; his heart was beating so hard inside his chest he thought his ribs were going to be cracked at any moment. And his scar… his scar was on fire.

`It was just a nightmare…'

But was it? What if Firenze was right? What if Harry had been chosen by The-Powers-that-Be as the one who would have a revelation?

Whatever it was that the universe was trying to tell him, Harry had no idea.

What he knew was that The Powers that Be had picked one hell of a week to mess with him.

He got out of the bed and left the dormitory, grateful that his nightmare had not woken up his roommates.

Harry wanted—needed—to be alone.

Automatically, he walked toward the only window in the Gryffindor common room. The window ledge was just big enough for him to fit, and he pushed himself up and sat on the ledge, leaning back against the wall so he could look outside.

The sun was coming, the first light already peeking behind the mountains to the east. Harry hugged his knees close to his body, still feeling the coldness from the dream in his skin.

What was going on? He knew he had experienced revealing dreams before, and that the source of his dreams was his dreaded archrival, Lord Voldemort.

One thing he knew was that Voldemort was not the source of these dreams. He didn't know why he knew; it wasn't like he had any proof. But something deep inside of him knew that the Dark Lord was not the answer this time.

The one person he needed now more than ever was the one person that he would probably have to do without.

“Hermione.”

Even saying her name made his heart ache. He closed his eyes, remembering the look of triumph in Roger's face when Hermione had smiled at him. Harry didn't know why he ached so much… it wasn't as if he had ever had a chance to be the one to make her smile like that.

He had lost the war before he could fight a single battle.

Harry wondered briefly what might have happened in that room behind closed doors.

`Stop that.'

He ran his fingers through his raven hair in frustration and opened his eyes. The sun was now coming from behind the mountains. Harry intuitively knew it was going to be a beautiful day… not too warm, not too cold… without one wisp of cloud to mar the perfect sky.

He was going to hate it.

Harry spent the next hour looking out the window, trying to push the memories of the nightmares out of his head. He had been quite successful. But he wasn't as successful in trying to push Hermione out of his head.

`Is this what it feels to be in love?'

“You are not in love with Hermione,” Harry whispered out loud. What could he do to make his heart understand that? It was the potion… it was ONLY the potion. Hermione was his best friend… nothing more!

But what did he really know about being in love? After all, he had a mild infatuation with Cho Chang in his Fifth Year (alright, his Fourth Year also…what a waste of time that was). He didn't know if he should count his “date” with Ginny on Hogsmeade, where after an hour of being alone with him, Ginny had told him it would be better if they were to remain just friends (something which he agreed on 100%…but it still hurt a bit).

The truth was Harry knew as much about love as he knew about Arithmancy. He had a vague idea of what it was, but did he understand it?

Not at all.

Before the sun could fully appear, Harry sneaked back into his room, careful not to wake his friends. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast the day before, and his stomach was already rebelling against him. He decided that the best he could do was to get something to eat.

After a quick shower and a much-called-for date with the shaving razor, Harry dressed in his school uniform and walked toward the Great Hall. The hallways were deserted, as they usually were at 6 in the morning. Harry actually enjoyed the silence. He didn't felt like answering questions about what happened yesterday in Firenze's class, especially on an empty stomach.

When Harry reached the Great Hall, there was a sense of déjà vu that left him paralyzed for a second. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Harry remembered the burning cold spreading from his hand throughout his body, that feeling that your body was dying faster than your mind could register. He felt the pull of the orb as it swallowed him whole, and that sensation of knowing that there was nothing else beyond the void.

But when he opened his eyes, Harry found the Great Hall the same way it was every morning. All the house tables were ready to receive the students, and there was no strange hovering orb at the other end.

Feeling less hungry than he had been two minutes ago, Harry walked toward the Gryffindor table and sat down. As soon as he did, a tray with bread, butter, cereal, fruit and pumpkin juice appeared next to him.

It wasn't until Harry was buttering his third slice of bread that the other students started coming into the Great Hall. The Hufflepuffs, being the most reliable group in the school, were the first ones to fill their table. Soon joined the Ravenclaws, who talked excitedly about the coming ball.

The Slytherins started pouring in too. Most of them whispered snide comments when they passed by Harry's side, laughing amongst themselves at the latest rumors concerning the Boy-Who-Lived. He could ignore them well; they didn't know how to push his buttons. He just hoped Malfoy and his goons would have a case of the runs this morning, because he was definitely not in the mood for them.

Soon Dean, Seamus, Lavender and Parvati came, joining Harry at the table. They were polite to him, making casual conversation, but after six years Harry knew them enough to know they were very concerned about what they had witnessed on Divination the day before. One thing he was grateful for was that his friends seemed as reluctant to talk about it as he was.

Before Harry could make an exit though, Ginny and Neville came inside. Ginny seemed so happy to see Harry that he didn't have the heart to avoid them again. Ginny gave him a quick hug when she reached his side, and she and Neville squeezed themselves next to Harry.

“How are you feeling, Harry?” Ginny asked.

Harry forced himself to smile and say, “Better. Much better.”

“Neville told me what happened in Firenze's class,” Ginny said quietly.

Harry threw a look to Neville that made the round-faced boy turn the color of his girlfriend's hair. Finally, “It was just a bad dream.”

“Are you under a lot of stress? Aside from the normal `The most powerful dark wizard there ever was has a beef with me since I was born' stress, that is,” Ginny asked.

Harry frowned. Was it just his impression or was Ginny unusually interest in the subject of his emotional state?

“I've had a lot of things on my mind… that's all,” Harry said with a lacking smile. He could have sworn Ginny and Neville shared a very conspiratorial look when they heard his answer.

“I can imagine,” was the only reply he got from Neville.

“So,” Ginny started as she chewed hungrily on some passion fruit, “what do you think about me and Neville?”

Harry almost choked on his pumpkin juice. Was Ginny asking for his opinion in the love department? Didn't she know how bad he was when it came to relationships?

“Oh, don't give me that look. You know I care about what you think as much as I care what my brothers' think. Ron already gave me his opinion. Now I want yours,” Ginny continued candidly. Neville was looking at him over Ginny's shoulder with an almost nervous expression. Harry had never realized that his opinion actually mattered to Ginny, but he had no doubt that Neville's expression confirmed exactly that.

He gave Neville an appraising look, and found himself smiling genuinely for the first time that morning. Neville was honest, kind-hearted, and courageous. He had experienced almost as much heartache in his life as Harry had. If there was anyone who really deserved to be happy, it was Neville.

“I couldn't be happier for you two,” Harry said with sincerity, giving them another quiet smile. Neville exhaled loudly and put his arms around Ginny's shoulders, as Ginny mouthed a “thank you” to Harry.

Ron and Luna soon appeared by the entrance to the hall. Ron looked around, and smiled softly when he chanced upon Harry. He walked Luna to her table and quickly ran to the Gryffindor table, taking the empty chair next to Harry.

“How are you, mate?” Ron asked as soon as he sat down.

“Better than expected,” Harry lied. Thankfully, Ron could not read his emotions like Hermione could.

“Did you speak with Hermione last night?” Ron whispered, leaning closer. Harry chuckled dryly; Ron was so concerned about the Hermione issue that he had not touched the food in the trays in front of him. This was definitely a new record for the redhead.

“Yes, I did,” Harry answered, sipping some of the already-warm pumpkin juice.

“AND?” Ron asked, getting annoyed at Harry's nipping of relevant information.

Harry licked his lips clean before answering, “Nothing… I apologized… she forgave me… we…” Harry looked at Ron out of the corner of his eye and thought about telling him about the nightmares, but he suddenly realized it would be counterproductive. He didn't want to have another person worryingly incessantly over him.

“We talked and… she says everything's good between us,”' Harry said, taking the tray with the bacon and passing it to Ron in an attempt at not-so-subliminal hinting to stop talking and start eating. Ron took the bait, quickly pouring a generous helping of bacon into his plate.

For the next five minutes, Harry discussed Quiddith with Neville and Ginny, right up until Ron whispered with his mouth still full, “Did you told her?”

Harry didn't quite grasp the meaning of the question. “Told her what?” he asked, turning his attention away from Ginny and Neville.

“That you are in love with her,” Ron said, his voice dropping low. Harry looked at Ron as if his face had just turned purple.

“Are you bloody insane? I can't tell her how I feel!” Harry whispered angrily. He groaned when he realized what he had said. Ron gave his friend a cheeky smile, and was about to make what was probably going to be a very inappropriate comment when Harry cut him off.

“You know what I mean, Ron. I can't tell her about the Potion…it's too…embarrassing. Besides, it would make her too uncomfortable and…well, it would get too weird…,” Harry whispered, hoping Ginny was so engrossed in her conversation with Neville to overhear them.

`Especially when Roger is hanging all over her.'

Harry sighed. That's one thing he didn't want to remember…how she had smiled shyly up at Roger when he had touched her cheek…and how Roger had taken a step toward Hermione just before the door closed.

`Where is she?'

Harry looked at the entrance hall, unsure of what he was actually feeling. It was like half of him wanted nothing more than to make a run for the doors before Hermione came, and the other half couldn't wait to see her in the morning light.

Harry didn't noticed when Luna walked toward them and sat next to Ron and asked, “Has Hermione's Daily Prophet come in yet?”

“No. You want to read it? I thought you said it was rubbish,” Ron said casually, chewing loudly on a juicy sausage.

“I do think it's rubbish. But the news about the missing artifact seemed interesting. I owled Dad yesterday for more information, but I haven't received his answer yet,” Luna answered as she started playing with Ron's hair, the dreamy expression in her face masking her cunning intelligence.

“There she is,” Harry said a little too happily when he caught sight of Hermione at the entrance…by herself. But the smile soon faded when Roger appeared a second later, giving Hermione a dimpled smile and putting his hand on the small of her back. She smiled gently up at him and let him guide her toward the house tables.

The Ravenclaws' table came first, so when they reached Roger's table Hermione and her companion stopped. Roger leaned to her and whispered something in her ear. Harry watched as Hermione shook her head, the auburn locks flying all over the place, and gave an apologetic smile to Roger.

Roger pouted slightly, but soon winked at her and sat down at the head of the table, all his fellow housemates greeting him as if the King of England had decided to drop by for breakfast.

Harry searched his brain to see if he knew of any spell that could make Roger's teeth rot and fall out.

Before he knew it, Hermione had already reached his side. “Good morning, everyone!” she said cheerily, taking the seat in front of Harry and greedily grabbing the two remaining slices of toast in the tray.

She didn't even bother to butter her toast, choosing to take a big bite out of one of the slices in a very Ron-like manner. When she raised her eyes and noticed the shocked expressions in her friends' faces, she mumbled with her mouth still full a rather deadpan “What?”

“Quite an appetite today, eh?” Ron said. Lavender and Parvati managed to overhear them as they walked behind Hermione. They winked at each other, a malicious glint evident in their eyes.

“Leave Hermione alone, Ron. She probably needs to replenish all the energy she exhausted last night,” Lavender said, winking mischievously at Ron and Harry as they kept walking toward the entrance.

`Hags!'

“What was that all about?” Hermione asked, raising her eyebrow, swallowing her last bit of toast and reaching for the bacon before the Ron and the rest of her friends mumbled various “I don't know” “have no idea” “insane mumblings” and anything else that might avoid them having to explain to Hermione the dirty implications of Lavender's words.

`They can't be right, can they?'

“Anyway, Harry was right. I haven't been eating well these last few days,” Hermione continued casually, drinking from her pumpkin juice glass. The sound of wings flapping nearby alerted them to the morning owl post.

A young tawny owl stopped in front of Hermione, dropping the newest edition of the Daily Prophet before flying away. “Can I see this?” Luna asked, nudging the newspaper with her finger. Hermione nodded absently, and Luna quickly grabbed the newspaper and started reading the front page, her face disappearing behind the magazine.

Hermione gave Ron a questioning look; nobody had any misunderstanding about how Luna felt about the Daily Prophet's reporting skills. Ron just shrugged, saying, “She's nosing about the stolen thingy in Berlin.” Hermione's eyes suddenly sparkled with interest.

`I love how she looks when she's curious.'

`No, you don't! Stop thinking that!'

“The artifact! Oh, I forgot about that! Any news, Luna?” Hermione asked her best friend's girlfriend.

“Well, there's a small article about it, but there's no new information about the artifact… although there's something strange concerning a security guard,” Luna said, placing the newspaper back on the table and pointing it at the third panel of the main page.

Under the title “Ministry in Trouble”, there was a picture of a foreign looking wizard with a caption of “Till Linderman, Ministry of Magic, Berlin.”

Harry watched Hermione distractedly as she read the article out loud.

-------------------

Ministry in Trouble
By Megara Blackflower

The enigma of the missing magical artifact from the Museum of Berlin keeps getting more mysterious as the local Ministry of Magic office releases new information pertaining to the case.

There are no records about the artifact, which the Ministry of Magic still refuse to identify to the general public, being loaned to the Museum for their “Myths of the Dead from the Middle Ages” exhibition. In fact, as official records show, the artifact is supposed to be housed in the Ministry offices and its extraction consists an illegal and dangerous action.

A parallel investigation has been opened in order to find how the artifact was taken from the Ministry of Magic offices without the appropriate permissions.

There are rumors that the brightest minds in the magical community have been called by the Ministry of Magic to help in locating this artifact, but at the moment, these rumors are still unconfirmed.

In what could be related news, 43-year-old Frank Potente, who worked as a museum security guard for the last 13 years, was found dead in his apartment late last night. No official information about the cause of death, time of death, or if it might be related to the theft of the artifact has been released.

When this reporter questioned Till Linderman about Mr. Potente, the liaison between the Berlin and London Ministry of Magic offices, the only answered I received was “No comment.”

The Prophet promises our readers that we will not rest until we find what the Ministry seems to be hiding.

-------------------

“13 years…13 wasn't a lucky number for poor Frank,” Ron said with a slight chuckle. He quickly sobered when Hermione glared at him.

“A missing artifact and a dead guard? I think that's too much coincidence for my liking,” Neville said to Hermione as Ginny wiped some watermelon drops from his cheek.

“I agree,” Hermione nodded, “there's something fishy with this.” She looked up at Harry to find him staring right at her with a rather wistful expression on his face. Thinking that Harry was lost in his thoughts about the newspaper article, Hermione asked, “What do you think Harry?”

Harry shook his head slightly, as if waking up from a dream, and blurted exactly what had been floating in his head at that moment.

“I think you are amazing.”

Hermione frowned, Ron choke on his juice, Luna sighed rather dramatically, Ginny and Neville stifled a laugh, and Harry clenched his fists under the table when he realized what he had just said out loud.

`Great, Mr. Smooth! Just great! Why don't you leave your foot in your mouth and save you the trouble?'

“What did you say, Harry?” Hermione asked, sure she had not heard correctly.

“Oh, that… I think you are right. Something's definitely fishy with the…the…the thingy,” Harry corrected, doing his best to save face. As judged by the small “O” that Hermione's lips formed, she was satisfied with the answered.

Harry stepped on a foot that belonged to Ron, who was now snickering at Harry's slip of the tongue. Hermione was once again busy with her food as Ginny reached over the table and grabbed the newspaper away from Hermione.

“Oh, I don't know why you insist on reading this. As if we didn't have enough bad news to deal with in our lives,” Ginny said good-naturedly. She flipped the newspaper and an article on the last page seemingly grabbed her attention.

“WHAT?” Ginny screamed in alarm. Everyone in the Great Hall turned their heads to look at the youngest Weasley, but only her closest friends leaned toward her and looked over her shoulders to find what had captured her attention.

-------------

A Close Call
By Paolo The Fabulous

The Weird Sisters, the most successful wizarding musical trio of the century, were involved in a strange incident in Belgium's The Pit last night after finishing their presentation.

According to the three musicians, three fans entered their dressing rooms after the show and demanded to take pictures with them. The girls complied, fearing for their safety. After the pictures were taken, the rabid fans demanded that the girls apparated with them back to their hotel rooms.

It was then that Tori, the group's lead singer, summoned her wand and hexed her attacker as the other two girls managed to free themselves from their fans. When club security opened the magically sealed door, this talented trio had already stunned their attackers senseless.

“I think this was a good thing. We were a bit to lax with security and this showed us we need to be more careful in the future because we don't know who might be out there to get us,” Alanis, the most sensible of the group said.

“Oh, this was so exciting! I've already written a song about the incident. You can find it on our next album!” squealed Fiona, the drummer.

“There's a moral to this story. DON'T MESS WITH THE WEIRD SISTERS!” Tori said, offering her trademark middle-finger pose to the adoring fans waiting outside.

This reporter was assured that this incident would not affect their future concert dates.”

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“Oh, this is tragic!” Ginny huffed, putting the newspaper down. Everyone knew how passionately Ginny felt about her favorite musical group.

“I didn't even know this thing had an Entertainment section,” Neville said in wonder as he grabbed the newspaper and passed it back to Hermione.

“Well, at least this won't affect Friday's plans,” Hermione said absently. She winced as soon as the words left her mouth.

“WHAT PLANS?” Ginny screamed excitedly, her brown eyes wide with shock.

“Shh! Lower your voice, Gin! No one's supposed to know!” Hermione whispered, leaning closer to Ginny.

“No one's supposed to know what?” Luna asked, her curiosity peaked by Hermione's embarrassed expression.

“Oh, I'm just going to say it…but you can't tell anybody because this was supposed to be a surprise. Agreed?” Hermione asked. Everyone but Harry nodded in agreement. He was too distracted by the chocolate curl that kept falling over her cheek to hear what she was saying.

“The Weird Sisters are the surprise musical guest on the Halloween Ball. It was Dumbledore's idea…he's a fan,” Hermione whispered. Harry had to clamp his hand over Ginny's mouth to shut the squealing.

“Calm down, Ginny. I think you've busted my eardrum,” Harry whispered as he let go of Ginny's mouth. Ginny turned excitedly toward Neville and started talking about rehearsing dance moves for her favorite songs. Neville looked at Harry like a deer caught in headlights.

“Are you okay? You are awfully quiet,” Hermione asked Harry with a worried expression.

“Don't worry about it,” Harry whispered, trying to manage a smile but failing.

“Harry, you have a date yet?” Ginny asked with girlish abandon. The sudden change in subject just added more confusion to Harry's already befuddled psyche.

“A date? For what?” Harry asked Ginny. Ginny sighed, the expression on her face changing from excitement to maddeningly patient, as if she had just realized she was speaking to a child.

“For the Halloween Ball, Harry. You remember? Tomorrow night!” Ginny answered Harry, shaking her head, showing her disappointment at his obvious indifference.

“I'm not going to the ball, Ginny. Ipso facto, I don't need a date,” Harry answered, trying to hide his annoyance at the question behind his irritatingly casual tone.

“What do you mean you are not going? Harry, this is your last year at Hogwarts! Surely you don't want to miss this,” Luna said, looking at Ron in search for support. Ron was too busy chewing his pancakes, and it wasn't until Luna slapped him in the back of the head that he looked at Harry and said something like “Una a'ight'”

But it was Hermione's expression that made Harry's stomach do violent summersaults. It was almost… almost as if she suspected… that she was the reason why.

`Merlin, you have to do something! Say something!'

“You mean why I want to miss having to dress up, ask a girl I probably can't stand out, dance on each other's toes all night… when I'd rather be doing anything else? Because I think the whole ball thing is just stupid,” Harry answered without really thinking about it before it came out of his mouth.

`Anything but that, you idiot!'

Harry realized his mistake as soon as he caught sight of the shocked expression on his friends' faces…especially Hermione's.

“I'll see you later in class,” Hermione said briskly, standing up with such speed that her chair screeched loudly. Harry didn't know if Hermione was angry or just hurt, but her chocolate eyes were unusually shiny. She walked toward the exit before any of them could say anything.

Harry slapped himself in the forehead as Ron whispered angrily, “What the hell did you do that for? You know she's been working hard on this whole Halloween thing!”

“Because I'm a git,” Harry answered, getting up from his chair and hastily following Hermione out of the Great Hall. Luckily, Roger was so busy recounting his latest Quidditch victory to his groupies to notice Hermione's departure.

He wasn't as lucky when he found Malfoy and his goons standing by the entrance. Malfoy was behaving rather oddly that morning, for he barely looked at Harry as he whispered, “Fighting with the girlfriend, Potty?”

“That line is getting old, Malfoy. Do us all a favor and get a new one,” Harry mumbled bitterly, looking to his right to find Hermione at the end of the hallway.

Hermione had turned around the corner toward their first class when Harry finally managed to catch up with her. That girl could really walk! “Hermione, wait!” he said breathlessly as he jogged to her side.

Hermione took a deep breath and turned toward him, her eyes shooting daggers at him. “What is it, Harry?” she snapped impatiently.

“I'm sorry… I didn't mean to say that I thought the Halloween Ball was stupid,” he blurted.

Hermione looked at him in astonishment, and hissed, “That was exactly what you said!”

“I know, but I didn't mean it! It's just…it's just,” Harry stuttered, nervously running his hands thru his hair.

“Just WHAT?” Hermione demanded, throwing her hands up in the air as if asking the superior forces to help her understand her friend.

“That I don't want everyone to know I'm not going because I can't find a date,” Harry said in defeat. He tried to rake his brain for the memory of another moment where he had sounded as pathetic as he had just sounded. He came out with none.

Hermione's expression softened instantaneously. “Oh, Harry… that's not so bad. I'm sure there are dozens of girls who'd die to go with you,” she whispered, taking a step toward him and resting her hand on his forearm.

`Why aren't you one of them?'

Harry gulped.

“There's only one girl I want to go with…and she's taken,” Harry said before he could stop himself, utterly entranced by the way she clutched possessively to his arm. He remembered the night before, when Hermione had taken a hold of his shirt and her nails had raked his stomach with her nails in exquisite torture, and a violent tremor ran through him.

Hermione didn't make the association, as judged by the way she sighed before she added, “I'm sure it's her loss.”

“Yeah,” Harry said absently, lowering his head until his eyes fell on the floor. Contradictory thoughts assaulted his head: in one hand, the heat that spread through his body at her chaste contact was intoxicating, and on the other hand, he was so afraid she was going to see through his charade that he wished he were anywhere but here.

He looked up when he felt her fingers brush against his forehead, moving his unruly hair away from his scar. Harry's eyes locked momentarily with Hermione's and his heart skipped a beat. There was so much emotion in those brown eyes, emotions he couldn't identify… much less understand. But they were gone as soon as Hermione noticed he was looking at her, and her attention focused on the area she was touching.

“Well, the bump is gone,” Hermione said, referring to Harry's first injury when he crashed in the library.

“What can I say? Madame Pomfrey's the best,” Harry said in an attempt to be lighthearted, not wanting to betray the fact that her touch made his nerves stand on end. Hermione stopped tracing the scar with her finger and tucked her hands back inside her robes in an unusually anxious gesture.

“Did you sleep well last night?” Hermione added as an afterthought. Harry knew that it was her way of asking, “Did you have any more nightmare/visions I should worry endlessly about?”

“Like a baby,” Harry lied, mustering a half-hearted smile. The dream had haunted him all morning. Now that he had managed to push it out of his mind for more mundane thoughts appropriate for a 17-year-old male (but equally scary), he wasn't about to bring it back.

Not, at least, till he speaks with Dumbledore.

Hermione didn't look convinced, but decided the morning had been troublesome enough without pressing the subject any further. “When are you going to talk to Dumbledore?” she asked curiously. Harry smiled sadly; only Hermione could pinpoint exactly what he had been thinking about.

“There are at least 15 minutes till class starts. I think I'll wait for him outside the Great Hall so I can talk to him as soon as possible,” Harry said, very conscious of his promise to Hermione last night.

“You better try his office. He wasn't in the Great Hall during breakfast,” Hermione informed him. Harry frowned slightly. It was true that he hadn't actually looked for Dumbledore in the staff table that morning, but he thought he didn't have to. He couldn't think of a single day Dumbledore hadn't joined his students for breakfast.

“I guess I better try his office then,” Harry said. He was going to ask `Do you want to go with me?' but he proved to be too slow to ever get a chance.

“There you are!” a voice boomed from the other end of the hallway. Harry and Hermione turned their heads simultaneously to find Roger Davies jogging toward them. He beamed when he reached Hermione's side, and again placed his hand on the small of her back.

Harry didn't catch Hermione's embarrassed expression, because all his energy was focused on trying to perform a little wandless magic that would make Roger's perfect set of blonde hair go up in flames.

“I've been looking everywhere for you. Peeves just flooded Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. We need to get there right away,” Roger said in a honey-coated voice. The kid had the uncanny ability of talking about toilets with the same charm that someone used when talking about poetry classics.

“Right. I'll see you later, Harry,” Hermione nodded, her eyes avoiding Harry's, her cheeks slightly flushed. She finally turned around and, with Roger's hand still firmly tucked in the small of her back, started walking away.

Roger looked over his shoulder and winked at Harry before turning his attention back to Hermione. Harry couldn't scream at Roger to go eff himself, he certainly couldn't take his wand and hex him with Hermione standing so close, and he definitely couldn't cry like the big baby he was.

So he gave Roger the international “hope your dick falls off” signal by proudly showing him his middle finger.

`Really courageous of you to flip someone behind the back, Potter. Really brave.'

Harry decided to forget about hurting Roger until after his little talk with Dumbledore.

-------------------

Meanwhile…

Luna, Ron, Ginny and Neville watched with their mouths open as Harry ran out of the Great Hall in an attempt to catch up with Hermione.

“And I thought you were an insensitive jerk when you spoke to girls… was I wrong,” Ginny said to Ron with a sarcastic smile. Ron glared at his little sister, but spared Ginny from the expletives he wanted to release when he Luna's fingers started twirling his hair. That was Ron's Achilles' heel.

“I think we need to do something for Harry,” Neville suddenly spoke up. Ginny, Ron and Luna turned their heads to look at Neville. Neville was seemingly lost in thought, his finger tapping rhythmically the empty glass in front of him.

“Harry's obviously stressed out. I mean…not only with this whole love potion situation, but with what happened in Transfiguration and in Firenze's class yesterday…and I know he had another nightmare this morning…I just…I think we need to do something for him…to make him forget all the negative things, even if it's just for a moment…so he can realize what he feels for Hermione, potion or not,” Neville finished, still tapping the glass absently.

The other three openly gaped at him, surprised that the ultra-shy, absent-minded boy could provide the solution to their problem with such ease. Neville finally stopped his tapping and looked at his friends, suddenly nervous to find them staring at him. “W-w-hat is it?” Neville stuttered.

“I think I love you more now than I did this morning,” Ginny said truthfully, squeezing Neville's hand under the table. Neville's cheeks went bright red, and a shy smile came over his features as Ginny leaned in and brushed his lips gently over his. Ron groaned, and Luna had to pinch his butt cheek to stop him from pushing Neville away from Ginny.

“Alright, alright…before you two lovebirds make me sick,” Ron interrupted, his ears as red as Neville's cheeks, “I think we need to plan out exactly what we are going to do for Harry that will make him all happy-go-lucky.”

Neville, Ginny and Ron threw some ideas out…Ginny's idea involved chocolates, Neville's idea involved flowers, and Ron's idea involved Dean's dirty magazines. It wasn't until Luna coughed loudly that they turned their attention to her.

“What is it, darling?” Ron asked. Luna had a playful smile on her lips as she leaned toward her three conspirators.

“My dears, I think you are forgetting just who Harry Potter is…and what's the one thing that has the ability to make him forget every little trouble of his in the world?”

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A/N: This chapter is very VERY important. Lots of hidden clues scattered throughout. Hope you enjoyed! Leave me some feedback!

Thanks to my reviewers for taking the time to let me know what they thought of this story.

A bit of trivia:

1. Till Linderman is the name of the singer of Rammstein, one of my favorite bands.

2. The names of the Weird Sisters (Tori, Fiona, Alanis) come from three of my favorite all time singers: Tori Amos, Fiona Apple, and Alanis Morrisette.

3. The dead security guard is named after one of my favorite actress, Franka Potente (Ron Lola Run, The Bourne Identity).

Until the next update,

Anasazi

PS. Due to the recommendation of the wonderful WonkyKris (thank you, oh wonky one!), this story has a discussion thread on the PK forum. Although the forum does list this story's alternate location (Fanfiction.net), I strongly recommend that you keep reading the version posted in PK, since this is version 2.0 (the version in FF.net is sort of a draft). The link to the forum is the following: Caught in a Web discussion forum.

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Thanks to Muirnin for her fantastic beta work.

Chapter 10: A Simple Plan

Harry walked unhurriedly down the hallways, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking down at the floor without paying much attention to where he was going. After all, he was probably the student most familiar with the way to Dumbledore's chambers having visited the old man more times that he cared to count since his first year at Hogwarts.

What he couldn't stop thinking about was Hermione and Roger. He knew it was stupid of him to even care that she was dating someone he wasn't particularly fond of (ok, understatement of the year, but let's not get into technicalities right now). After all, when he finds the antidote to the potion, everything will go back to normal. Hermione should have... she deserved it after all... a guy that would love her for the great person she was, that would protect her with all his might... that would give up everything and anything for her.

`But I am that guy.'

`No, you are not.'

Harry wondered if he would be this bad with all of Hermione's boyfriends, or if it was because that boyfriend happened to be Roger Davies. Harry had never really liked Roger. Don't get him wrong... it wasn't as if he thought Roger was in league with Voldemort and was a Death Eater in training. And it wasn't because Roger had dated Cho Chang before and after Harry's fiasco with the Ravenclaw seeker.

It was because Roger was the type of person that had everything... money, looks, charm, a brain... and had always struck Harry as using everything he had to manipulate those around him. He wanted a glass of juice? Roger only had to pop the suggestion and a couple of seconds later he would have three different glasses to choose from. He wanted to go to College? Roger only had to tell his dear Daddy-O which college and Dad would write a big fat check that would get Roger into the college of his choice. He wanted a new broom? His daddy would have it delivered the next day by Express Owl.

Now that he thought about it, Harry realized that Roger reminded him of Malfoy... a less-evil, but just as conniving and scheming version of Malfoy. Maybe that's why he disliked Roger so much… because he feared that he would manipulate his best friend the same way he manipulates everybody else in his life.

`That... and the fact that you are in love with her.'

`Shut up!'

He had reached the entrance to Dumbledore's chambers. He didn't know this year's password (he had been back for almost three months and had yet to visit the Headmaster's office... that was a new record), so he decided to just call for the old wizard.

“Professor! Professor Dumbledore! It's me... Harry Potter. I... I have to talk to you about... something,” Harry called tentatively, looking up and down the hallway, reluctant to be caught by any of his fellow students.

There was no reply from the other side of the statue. Harry called a second time, and waited.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Three minutes.

Dumbledore was not on his chambers, just as he had not been at breakfast that morning. Harry found it odd, but didn't really give it much thought. If Hermione asked him if he had spoken with Dumbledore, Harry could be truthful and tell her he had tried, but couldn't find the Headmaster, and that he would try again later.

“Mr. Potter, you are late for class. What are you doing here?” a stern feminine voice came from the other end of the hallway. Harry looked to his right to find Professor McGonagall walking toward him, her footsteps as brisk and business-like as her tone of voice.

“Am I? I just… I wanted to speak with the Headmaster. Do you know where I might find him?” Harry asked her in a very polite manner as he met Transfiguration teacher halfway.

“Oh. I'm afraid he's not at Hogwarts. He was called yesterday on urgent business by the Wizengamot,” Professor McGonagall said, her disappointment at finding Harry roaming the hallways during class hours replaced by concern.

“I see. Do you know when Professor Dumbledore will return?” Harry asked, actually regretting the fact that he could have spoken with Dumbledore yesterday and missed the opportunity.

“I'm afraid I don't know, Mr. Potter. But in the meantime, I'll be acting as Deputy Headmaster. Whatever you had to say to Professor Dumbledore, you can say to me. Is this about returning to the Quidditch team?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“Um… no. It's sort of… personal,” Harry stuttered, feeling nervous by the way McGonagall's beady eyes were fixed on his. Her usually stern expression softened when she displayed a very uncharacteristic look of surprise.

“Oh, I see. Well, Mr. Potter… I am the head of your house. You know you can speak to me about anything… personal or otherwise. I am here to listen,” Professor McGonagall added softly, gently placing her hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry actually considered telling McGonagall about his dreams, but quickly shot down the idea. Dumbledore knew things about him that Harry doubted McGonagall even suspected, and he didn't feel comfortable sharing them just yet.

“Thank you, Professor. But it's nothing big… a guy problem, really. I'll wait for the Headmaster to return,” Harry said with what he hoped was a sincere smile.

McGonagall gave him a look that reminded him of Hermione and the expression she always wore when she didn't believe Harry was being totally honest with her. But the Professor finally sighed and said, “Very well, Mr. Potter. I'll be around if you change your mind. I'll inform the Headmaster that you want to see him upon his return. Now, I think you should get to class.”

Harry nodded and walked away, hoping that the boring History of Magic class that was waiting for him could push the thoughts of Hermione, Roger and the visions out of his mind.

------------------

11:55 AM

Hermione hadn't had a chance to ask Harry about his conversation with Dumbledore all morning. Classes had been more hectic than usual, and even she had trouble keeping up with her notes. As soon as their last class of the morning ended, Hermione followed Harry outside.

“Harry, did you see Dumbledore? What happened? What did he say?” Hermione asked breathlessly as she tried to put her books inside her bag. Harry stopped, turned around and gave a small smile when he saw how adorable she looked when she was concerned.

He took the books from her hand and carried them for her as they started walking side by side toward the Great Hall. “He wasn't in his chambers. Actually, Dumbledore is not even in Hogwarts.”

“Really?” Hermione asked with interest, a frown creasing between her brows. Everyone knew it was unusual for the Headmaster to leave the school during the term.

“Really. According to McGonagall, Dumbledore was called on urgent business by the Wizengamot,” Harry answered as he moved Hermione's books to his other arm so he could move a bit closer to her.

“Oh. That's too bad,” Hermione said, disappointed. Harry knew why. She felt helpless to assist him with the visions Harry had experienced these last couple of days, and she was hoping Professor Dumbledore would provide the help she couldn't.

As if a thought had just occurred to her, Hermione grabbed Harry by the arm and stopped him from going any further. “You don't think it has anything to do with what was in the paper today, do you?”

“With the Weird Sisters? I doubt that,” Harry mumbled. Why would Dumbledore care about the Weird Sisters? Sure, the old man may be a fan, but…

“Not the article about the Weird Sisters. The article about the missing artifact!” Hermione said excitedly. Seeing Harry's blank expression, she sighed.

“The valuable magical artifact that found its way into the Berlin museum, only to have disappeared without a trace. Remember?” Hermione pressed. Again, Harry had the same look in his eyes he often got when Luna asked him if he had read the latest article on the Quibbler.

“Honestly! Harry, where were you at breakfast the past two days?” Hermione chided in good nature, playfully elbowing Harry in the ribs.

“Anyway, the paper said that the brightest minds in the magical community had been called by the Ministry to assist in locating the artifact,” Hermione continued.

“Well, maybe Dumbledore is helping out with that… but McGonagall was a bit tight-lipped about the subject… tighter than usual that is,” Harry answered.

“Oh, well, I'll ask him when he returns. By the way, where IS Ron?” Hermione asked, looking up and down the hallway for any sign of their redheaded friend.

Harry remembered that Ron had mumbled something as soon as the class had ended, and that he had ran out of the room before Harry had a chance to ask where he was going.

“I guess he had to meet Luna because he ran out of the room like a bat out of hell as soon as Professor Binns said we could,” Harry said.

“So, I guess it'll be just you and me for lunch, eh?” Hermione said with a playful smile. The butterflies in Harry's stomach started flying wildly, and he could feel his hands getting sweatier by the second.

“I guess,” Harry mumbled, looking ahead and seeing if there was any Gryffindor that might join them and saved him from further mortification.

He almost lost his footing when he felt Hermione's arm snaked around his free forearm. He looked to his right and found Hermione smiling, looking down at the floor as if strolling arm in arm with Harry down the hallways was the most natural thing in the world.

With every step they took, Harry's anxiety lessened. This was, after all, his best friend, the person that time and time again had stood by his side through thick and thin.

Harry had never actually stopped to think about it, but it felt so right just to have her so near. He could just close his eyes and forget all about the potion and Roger.

Not so surprisingly, he could almost imagine that the woman next to him not only was his best friend, but his girlfriend… his lover… his other half…

His better half.

“Thanks,” Harry said softly, opening his eyes and looking down at Hermione. She smiled up at him with a puzzled expression on her face.

“For what?” she asked him. Harry actually thought considering telling her that it was because she was always there for him, and because he had come to need her more than he needed anybody else in the whole world. But that thought only lasted about a second… he was too afraid of ruining this simple moment.

At this time, he was just content with being plain old Harry and Hermione.

“For giving me the pleasure of escorting you to lunch,” Harry smiled. Hermione winked at him playfully.

“Smooth, Mr. Potter, very smooth,” she joked. They were just a few feet away from the Great Hall's entrance when the voice that Harry had come to dread more than any other came from the castle doors.

“Hermione? Where have you been?” Roger asked. Hermione and Harry looked at the same time toward the castle doors to find Roger with a weave basket in one hand, a checkered cloth in the other, and a puzzled expression in his usually cool face.

“Oh… I was… talking to Harry… um…” Hermione stuttered, taking her arm away from Harry's arm, her cheeks reddening instantaneously. Harry's stomach tightened when she pulled away, but quickly hid his discomfort behind an unreadable mask.

“Well, are you ready?” Roger asked softly, his eyes moving from Hermione to Harry and back in a slightly cautious manner.

“Ready? For what?” Hermione asked, her voice more high-strung than normal. In answer, Roger wiggled the basket and the checkered cloth in his hands and gave her a bright smile.

“Oh, right! The picnic… we were going to eat outside… I forgot… I…um,” Hermione stuttered, her eyes shifting nervously from Roger to Harry. Harry didn't know what to make of the expression in her eyes. Was she telling him that she was sorry because she didn't want to go with Roger? Or was she telling him that she was sorry because she was going to leave him alone for lunch?

Harry realized that he was witnessing a very bizarre event. Hermione Granger was at a crossroads… and she didn't know which way to go.

`I'll make things easier for her.'

“That's okay, Hermione. We'll have lunch another day,” Harry said, managing to muster up a halfhearted smile.

“Are you sure?” Hermione whispered, apparently not wanting to reach Roger's ears. Again, Harry didn't know what to make of the look on her face; there was a tinge of sadness in those brown eyes that he hadn't noticed earlier.

“Yeah, I'm sure. Go and have fun. Beware of the ants. They can be a bit of a handful,” Harry mumbled, forcing his smile to widen and giving her a thumbs-up. Hermione released a trembling breath, took the books he had been carrying for her and smiled slightly.

“I'll… I'll see you later, then,” Hermione said softly, turning around and walking toward Roger. Always the gentleman, Roger tried to carry the books that Harry had been carrying moments earlier. But Hermione just smiled politely at him and shook her head. She finally followed him out the castle doors and into the grounds.

Harry didn't feel hungry anymore, so he turned around and walked toward Hogwart's library, intent on continuing his quest for the antidote that could cure a fool from a broken heart.

------------------

12:13 PM

Unbeknownst to Harry and Hermione, Ron and Neville had been watching them since they left Binns' classroom. That morning, the Plan “Get-the-two-nitwits-together” was devised, but Neville still felt guilty about the part he was assigned to play.

Now, witnessing what happened by the entrance castle, Neville realized that they had reached desperate times… and desperate times called for desperate measures.

When Ginny and Luna came out of their class and started walking to the Great Hall for lunch, they found Ron hiding behind a corner, watching Neville speaking with Colin Creevey, a sixth year photographer aficionado and the current Gryffindor Seeker. “Oh, he's doing it already?” Ginny asked in an excited whisper. Ron nodded.

“He was afraid he might not have the guts to do it later,” Ron answered blankly. Ginny scowled at her older brother.

“Neville has plenty of guts, Ron… is wickedness and malice that he lacks,” Ginny replied coolly as the three of them watched Neville and Colin.

“Well, I'm sure a few weeks at the Burrow with the other Weasley's will give him all the wickedness and malice he will need. Look!” Luna whispered excitedly. Ron and Ginny noticed that Neville had just given a candy wrapped in a brown wrapper to Colin. Neville shook Colin's hand before turning around and walking toward them, the smile that he had plastered on his face while speaking to Colin now shifting into a more panicky expression.

“I'm going to hell,” Neville whispered to his three friends when he reached their side. Ron and Luna patted him in the back, while Ginny kissed his cheek soundly.

“Good, because I would have been lonely down there without you,” Ginny joked, lacing her arm around Neville's arm. Neville managed to smile genuinely this time, even when thoughts of what poor Colin was about to experience plagued his conscience.

“I'm sure you will be forgiven, Neville,” Luna said as Ron took her hand and the four started walking away, “after all, this is about love.”

“Yes, but Colin will spend the next five hours puking his heart out,” Neville bleached at the thought. He still couldn't believe that he had just passed Colin one of Fred and George Weasley's Puking Pastilles.

“This was the only way, honey. Remember? We are doing this for Harry and Hermione…” Ginny said, finding adorable how Neville's cheeks reddened and his ears flush from guilt.

Ron, on the other hand, couldn't stop grinning, “Congratulations, everybody. We've just put the wheels into motion. “

----------------

4:05 PM

Luna straightened her uniform and watched from behind the corner as Hermione walked toward her. As if the Powers-That-Be were also in on “The Plan”, Roger had finally left Hermione alone.

“Well, the others did their part… now, it is up to you, Loony,” Luna whispered as she left the safety of the corner, almost crashing into Hermione on the process.

“Luna! You scared me!” Hermione screamed as she came to a screeching halt before smacking into Ron's girlfriend.

“I'm sorry, Hermione, but I've been looking everywhere for Harry. Have you seen him?” Luna asked in that same dreamy voice that used to drive Hermione insane when they first met.

Hermione sighed. The last time she had seen Harry was when they left their last class of the day. They had hardly spoken since the incident during lunch, and, even when Harry was being awfully polite, Hermione knew she was being dodged.

“Not since we left class. What do you need him for?” Hermione asked Luna.

“Oh, Colin has fallen sick… a stomach flu or something. Anyway, Ronald asked me to come and get Harry to fill in for Colin during practice. Everyone else is already on the Quidditch pitch; they're just waiting for Harry,” Luna said, twirling absently a lock of her blond hair.

“Very well. I'll look for him and tell him. You can go to the pitch if you want to… I know how Ron gets when his #1 supporter is not there to sing, “Weasley is our King” “ Hermione said with a small smile. She waved goodbye to Luna and started to walk away.

But Luna was not finished with her yet.

“Hermione! Wait!” Luna called. Hermione stopped and turned around in time to see Luna jogging toward her.

“I was wondering if… if you could also come to the pitch? It can get really lonely for me down there. I'm the only significant other who goes to practice,” Luna said with a wistful expression.

“I'll… I'll see what I can do. You know Quidditch is not really my thing,” Hermione answered with a polite nod. She didn't mind joining Luna there… but she wasn't sure how Harry would feel.

In an uncharacteristically thoughtful and clear voice, Luna answered, “Oh, I know… but Harry is going to be there. He's had a really tough week, you know. If there's anything that can cheer him up, it's Quidditch… and you.”

Hermione's cheeks flushed at once, but before she could even think of what to reply, Luna winked goodbye and turned around, thankful that the brown haired girl could not see the big grin on her face.

----------------

4:40 PM

Hermione had already tried the Gryffindor common room, her room (alright, she wasn't looking for him there, but she used the opportunity to change into a comfortable wine-colored tee and jeans), the boys' dormitory, the Great Hall, and even the kitchens looking for Harry, but she had found no sign of her raven-haired friend. So, she decided to look for him in the place Harry was least likely to visit in a normal day.

The library.

She walked inside the Hogwarts library and politely nodded to Madame Pince, who smiled at Hermione as if she was an old friend. It wasn't unfathomable after all… Hermione did spent most of her free hours cooped up in here, exploring the wonders that the world of the written word had to offer.

Hermione walked toward the librarian's desk and whispered, “Madam Pince, have you seen Harry this afternoon?” Madam Pince's eyes turned to slits the moment Hermione mentioned Harry's name; the woman definitely remembered Harry wreaking havoc on her precious library Monday night.

“Oh, yes… Harry “The Spiderman” Potter. He's sitting by the desk behind the Potion's aisle,” Madam Pince said with a nod, returning her attention to the filing cabinet she had been perusing.

“Thanks,” Hermione nodded absently and, being familiar with the library's layout as familiar as she was with the back of her hand, walked directly toward Harry.

Without really knowing the reason why, Hermione stopped a few meters away from him and took a moment to just watch him.

Hermione could only see his outline, but she knew she wouldn't have mistaken him for anybody else. Harry's black and unruly mop of hair was sticking on the back, his glasses were crooked, and he had a look of intense concentration on his face, biting his bottom lip as he scanned the page of the book he was holding. The knot in his tie was loosened, and his white uniform shirt was not tucked inside his trousers, the rolled-up sleeves showing his well-toned forearm muscles.

And not for the first time since she had met him, Hermione thought about how endearing Harry looked when he thought no one was watching him… when he didn't feel the pressure of being the Boy-Who-Lived, and dared to be Harry.

Just Harry.

She kept strolling toward his table, and was now close enough to see that he had four different books sprawled all around him. Hermoine was pleasantly surprised. Since when had Harry developed such a love for books? And why hadn't he informed her?

“Famous potions and their counterparts?” Hermione read out loud the cover of the wine-colored leather-bound book Harry was holding. It was only then that Harry was alerted to her presence, judging by the way he jumped from his seat and snapped the book close, looking like he had been caught with his hand in someone else's cookie jar.

`Don't let her see the books! Don't let her see the books!'

“Did I miss an assignment?” Hermione asked worriedly, suddenly thinking about the extreme possibility that Snape had assign homework and that she had actually forgotten about it.

“NO! No… I'm… I'm just doing some extra-reading,” Harry lied, his breathing slowly returning back to normal. He immediately gathered the books that he had scattered around the desk and grouped them in a pile, hoping Hermione hadn't had a chance to see their names.

“You are not getting remedial potions, right? Is that what's been on your mind?” Hermione asked, thinking that maybe that was what Harry had been hiding from her all week. After all, extra sessions with Snape could cause anyone to be in a foul mood.

“No, no… I just… I don't want to fail the Advanced Potions' N.E.W.T. test. That's all.” Harry lied, managing to smile slightly at Hermione as he gathered the books under his arm and stood up. He turned around and started filing the books at a frenzied pace, afraid Hermione would spot a particular one with the title “In Love with Love Potion No. 9”

“Oh, Harry, I'm so glad you are working extra-hard on studying for the N.E.W.T.'s” Hermione beamed, the pride evident in her voice. He almost felt bad about lying… almost.

“Yeah,” he said off-handedly, putting the last book on its rightful place and turning around. Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. Which wasn't easy considering how tight and low-cut her tee was.

“So, what are you doing here? Looking for Davies?” Harry asked, trying to sound like the cool and smooth dude he had never been. Hermione seemed slightly embarrassed by the question, but she seemed to recover as she placed the palm of her hands in the desk that Harry had been using and leaned forward.

“Actually… I'm looking for you,” Hermione said, a playful smile tugging at her lips. Oh, yes… Harry could definitely use a night of flying to loosen him up.

“What?” Harry replied, dumbfounded and pleasantly surprised that she was looking for him instead of Davies, and at the same time, worried about the reason why.

Had Dumbledore returned and asked to see him? Had Ron opened his big mouth and told her about the potion? Was she going to announce that she had gotten engaged to Davies and that Roger wanted Harry to be the best man at the wedding?

Okay, so Harry was a little bitty paranoid… you would be too if you were him.

“What you heard, Harry. Ron sent me to look for you. Colin has fallen ill and he can't play Quidditch today. They need a seeker to fill in so they can practice,” Hermione said, utterly enjoying how Harry's eyes visibly lighted at the mention of the word “Quidditch”

For the first time in his life, Harry was considering if it would be better to stay at the library rather than taking his Firebolt out for a spin. He knew he needed to find an antidote and fast, and that last book he had put on the shelf promised to be quite helpful in the matter.

But just the thought of being up there, almost touching the sky, away from all the problems, away from the visions and the nightmares, away from all the heartache…just feeling the cool wind on his skin as the sun sank in the west… that was a bit too tempting to resist.

“I take it you are going?” Hermione asked with humor, watching as Harry practically drooled at the thought of flying around the pitch.

“Hell yeah. I think I've done enough studying today. You wouldn't want me to overload my defective brain with too much information in one seating, do you?” Harry joked, taking his cloak and his school bag from the desk and flinging them over his shoulder.

“Oh, we definitely don't want that,” Hermione teased. Harry was about to wave goodbye and walk away, when the thought struck him that Hermione had not moved. She was still leaning over the desk, and was now looking down at the top with an unreadable expression in her eyes.

What Harry didn't know was that Hermione was replaying the conversation she had with Luna minutes before. The silence grew thick, and for a few seconds, nothing happened… Harry's eyes never left her outline, and Hermione's eyes were stuck to the table as her hand traced lazy circles on its surface.

`She's probably waiting for Roger? Maybe trying to sneak a quick snogging session before dinner.'

`But what if she's not? What if she's waiting for you?'

`Why would Hermione be waiting for me?'

`Because that's what she has always done… wait… wait for you.'

“Hermione?” Harry asked, his voice tight in the echoing hall. She raised her eyes from the table and looked up at him with a shy smile.

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked. Harry felt his throat go dry, and was unsure if what he was going to do was indeed wise.

`This is not the time to start thinking before acting, Potter. Just do it!'

“Do you… do you want to come with me?” Harry stuttered, clearing his throat nervously and simultaneously trying to appear as if it wouldn't kill him if she said no. Hermione's smile grew wider, but she remained silent.

Harry continued to babble, “I mean… I just noticed is a beautiful day outside. And I think you've done enough studying this week… blimey, you've done enough studying to last a lifetime! And… and…”

Hermione saved him from further embarrassment when she interrupted, “I guess a bit of fresh air will do me good.” She then walked to where Harry was standing and tapped his nose with her finger.

“Besides, I wouldn't miss my best friend's triumphant return to his beloved sport for anything in the world,” Hermione added, winking at him. Harry grinned genuinely.

`You wicked little witch! You were planning on going all along, weren't you?'

Harry hadn't failed to notice how Hermione had called him “my best friend,” but he found he didn't mind one bit. She had chosen to spend the afternoon with him, not Roger… and during lunch, she had wanted to eat with him, not with Roger.

`Take that, you arrogant little git! Maybe the war is not lost.'

`What the hell are you babbling about? Just go to the pitch before you say something stupid and ruin it again.'

It was Hermione's voice that pulled him back to the real world. “Are you just going to stand here? Let's go get your Firebolt before Ron has a heart attack,” Hermione joked.

Without further ado, Hermione grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the library, that blissful smirk still plastered on Harry's face.

----------

“Are you scared?” Hermione asked Harry when they reached the edge of the field. Luna was sitting on the Ravenclaw stands, cheering and applauding as the Gryffindor players flew around the field overhead.

Harry smiled nervously, gripping the handle of his Firebolt tightly, and nodded at her. Was he scared of making a fool of himself in front of Hermione because he hadn't practiced in almost a year? Hell yeah.

“Don't worry. I'll be around… and when have I ever let you fall?” Hermione winked at him. She then touched his shoulder, gave it a reassuring squeeze, and sprinted toward Luna, her brown curly hair bouncing behind her.

`You have never let me fall.'

“It's about bloody time, mate! Come on!” he heard Ron scream from high above. Harry looked up and grinned at his redheaded friend, throwing a leg over his broom and pushing himself from the ground.

The muggles would say that flying a broom is like riding a bike; you may spend years away from a bicycle, but as soon as you sit in one and start pedaling, all the technique comes back to you as if you had never stopped riding in the first place.

That's how Harry felt as he soared on the sky, whooping like a child when he dodged a bludger Seamus had sent his way. He hadn't seen the Snitch yet. In fact, he hadn't even looked for it. He was having way too much fun just flying around, enjoying the sight of the sun as it set behind the mountains, the cool breeze as it pounded against his skin, and the lingering smell of Autumn in the air.

After about 50 minutes of just goofing around while the rest of the team practiced, Harry flew down until he was hovering next to Hermione and Luna on the stands.

“Having fun?” Hermione asked him redundantly with a bright smile; the goofy grin on his face was the only answer she needed.

“Oh, yes,” he answered breathlessly.

“Then, could you please stop showing off and catch the snitch? The mosquitoes here seemed to think my neck is an All-you-can-eat buffet,” Hermione said, her tone half-joking, half-serious. Harry laughed, and tipped his head forward as if he was pulling off an imaginary hat in reverence to a lady.

“As you wish,” Harry bowed dramatically, and with a final wink flew upwards and circled the field, looking for that tiny speck of gold machinery that had brought him many joyful times.

After little bit over 4 minutes, he saw it! It was hovering a few feet away from Ron's head, to the right of the center goal post. Driven by instinct, Harry pushed himself forward, gaining an incredible amount of speed in a few seconds. Ron squealed like a little girl, thinking Harry was about to crash into him, but Harry turned at the last minute, following the golden snitch, which had apparently noticed that it had been spotted and flew away.

Harry followed it, the end of his broom just three feet away from the golden treasure. He had to dodge Ginny, Seamus and Neville on his way, but he didn't lost sight of the little ball with wings, even when dusk had already settled in and there was really no sunlight glinting from its surface.

At the last instant, Harry let go of the handle of his broom and leaned forward, deftly catching the snitch on his right hand, feeling as good as he had felt when they had won the Quidditch cup on his Third Year.

“Way to go, Harry!” Hermione and Luna cheered from the stands, breaking into applause. Harry raised the fist that was still holding onto the snitch triumphantly. Seamus flew toward Harry and gave him a grateful smile while saying, “You know you could have catched that an hour ago, do you?”

“Yes… but then practice would have been cut short. And I wouldn't do that to you, Seamus,” Harry winked, guiding his broomstick toward the ground. Neville, Ginny, Ron, and Alex were already on the ground. Hermione and Luna were coming down the stands toward them.

Harry received another round of applause by his surrogate teammates as soon as his feet landed on the ground. “That was great, mate. Too bad we don't have you on the team anymore. The Quidditch cup would be a sure thing,” Ron said with a friendly pat on the back.

“Colin is a good seeker. You guys will be the champions this year. I'm sure of it,” Harry said, feeling the warmth crawling on his cheeks.

“As long as he stays away from Fred and George's candy,” Ginny said, winking at Neville, who blushed furiously as he put his arm over her shoulders. Harry didn't know what to make of that little exchange, but he forgot all about it when Hermione finally reached his side, flinging her arms around his neck.

“That was awesome, Harry! I think you are even better than you were the last time you were on the team,” Hermione said with obvious pride, letting go of him and leaving him even more embarrassed than before.

“Errr… thanks, Mione,” Harry said sheepishly. He frowned when he saw Ron's rather suspicious grin as the redhead stood behind Hermione, his arms around Luna's waist.

“Do you miss it, Harry?” Luna asked, leaning back and resting her head on Ron's shoulder. Harry couldn't help but think that Luna must really love Ron, because only a person that truly loved you would hang around you when you were smelly, sticky, and sweaty.

“Miss what?” he asked her absently, waving goodbye to Alex and Seamus, who were now making their way back to the Castle.

“Playing Quidditch,” Luna added dreamily, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. To anyone who didn't know her, it would seem Luna couldn't care less about his answer. But he had come to know his best friend's girlfriend well enough to know that it was just a façade.

Harry took a deep breath and looked around the field before answering, “I do miss Quidditch… sometimes… I mean, the feeling that you get when you are riding on that broomstick is quite… indescribable. It is almost like… almost like…”

“Almost like falling in love,” Ginny finished for him. Harry turned around sharply and looked at her. For the first time today, he had noticed that Ginny, Neville, Ron and Luna were looking at him with a strange glint in their eyes, as if they knew something he didn't.

`If Ron blabbed about me and Hermione, I'm going to pull every red hair from his head!'

“I used to think Quidditch was not for me. I used to like my feet on the earth where they belong,” Neville said, breaking the silence.

“Actually, according to Moodus Brandock of “The Quibbler”, the Earth is not the place of origin of wizardkind, but rather the 5^th dimension,” Luna said in a very serious tone. Hermione covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile.

“I don't know which dimension we are from, but Malfoy is definitely an alien from planet Urectum,” Ron added, shrugging at Hermione and Harry, making them laugh out loud at Luna's comment.

“You know whom I've never seen playing Quidditch? Hermoine!” Ginny added after the laughter subsided. Hermione just shook her head sheepishly.

“That's because I've never played it,” she said, sounding almost embarrassed. She knew what was coming, and she braced herself for it.

“WHAT?” Ron, Neville and Ginny screamed simultaneously. Even Luna seemed surprised. Harry just shook his head and smiled; he was all too familiar with Hermione's fear of flying.

“I'm more of a spectator,” Hermione added defensively, shrugging and crossing her arms in an “I-dare-you-to-make-fun-of-me” expression. That look may have worked on the boys, but Ginny seemed to be oblivious to the threat.

“I can't believe this is your seventh year at Hogwarts and you never tried Quidditch! Not even once! And to think you are my role model!” Ginny scoffed, shaking her head. Harry didn't know if Ginny was being serious or if she was just joking.

“There should be a law against that!” Ron added, shaking his head in almost identical fashion.

“And I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be courageous,” Luna said, mirroring Ron's movements.

“If I could do it, you have no excuse,” Neville said with a slight nod.

Was it just Harry's imagination or were his four friends behaving more eccentric than ever before? It was almost as if they were following the same script, one they hadn't bothered to share with Harry.

Hermione was not easily fazed, judging by how she rolled her eyes at them and said, “Honestly! It's not that big a deal!”

Again, the “WHAT?” coming from his four friends thundered in the empty Quidditch pitch.

Thinking that she had just offended them by being disrespectful for their favorite sport, Hermione quickly added, “I mean, I'm sure is a lot of fun. But it's just not for me.”

“If you had tried it, you wouldn't say that,” Ron said with a sigh, his tone daring. The others followed with some “Yeah” and “That's right” of their own. Harry didn't know what was going on as Hermione's eyes grew into threatening slits and she crossed her arms over her chest.

Surprisingly, Hermione didn't realize that she was being backed into a corner.

“You know what? Why don't you try it right now?” Ron said in a challenging tone, letting go of Luna's waist as he mimicked Hermione's pose and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind giving you a crash course… I mean, a tutorial,” Ginny added quickly, an “I-dare-you” smile playing at the corner of her lips.

`What the hell is going on here? And how come I'm suddenly involved?'

Even with the poor lightning, Harry saw how Hermione's cheeks paled slightly at the prospect.

“What? Oh, no Ginny… It's… getting dark and it is a bit cloudy… not much visibility… well, I'm not that good at riding a broom…” Hermione stuttered uncharacteristically.

“Are you scared, Hermoine?” Luna asked in a very levelheaded voice.

`Oh, she didn't say that…'

“No, I am not, Luna!” Hermione hissed, all the nervousness from her previous answer gone.

“Then, come on!” Neville said, giving a resounding two thumbs up.

“Yes, give it a try, Mione!” Ginny said with equal enthusiasm.

“I don't have a broom,” Hermione said defensively.

“You can ride with Harry on his broom,” Luna added cheerfully.

It was now Harry's turn to look maliciously at his friends as understanding finally dawned on him.

`Oh, shit!'

Harry Potter realized that his four friends were setting him up.

`Oh, I'm going to kill you for telling them Ron!'

Ron just winked at Harry when he caught sight of his friend's angry expression.

“Oh, yes… The Firebolt… everyone knows Harry's broom is a pleasure to ride,” Ron said with a wicked voice, still looking at Harry.

`Oh, that's just plain dirty, Ron! Wait till I get my hands around you! And stop doing THAT with your broom handle!!!'

“We can release the snitch and you can try to catch it,” Neville said, taking the little golden ball from Harry's hand and showing it to her.

“And Harry will help you, after all,” Luna added. Harry stole a glance at Hermione to find her chewing her bottom lip, eyeing the snitch in Neville's hand apprehensively.

“I'm… I'm not sure…” Hermione mumbled, her eyes shifting from Neville's hand to the broom in Harry's.

`Oh Merlin! She's actually thinking about it!'

`Would it be so bad?'

`Yes! Getting on a broom with Hermione, feeling as she practically sits on my lap in that all too tight jeans and heavy cleavage shirt while I'm holding on to her waist is a VERY BAD THING under the circumstances.'

`Potter, that is so gay.'

`It isn't! This is my best friend and I couldn't… I shouldn't… I SHOULDN'T THINK ABOUT HER THAT WAY!'

`She's just a girl, isn't she?'

`Is a rose just a flower?'

`Again, very gay thing to say.'

`Oh, shut up.'

`Stop being a saint for once, Potter. Have the guts to be a man.'

“Come on, Mione… you don't want anyone thinking Hogwarts' Head Girl is a chicken, do you?” Harry said before he could think twice. Hermione snapped her head and looked at him crossly over her shoulder, while Ron and the others beamed at him.

“You too?” Hermione hissed at him. Harry gulped visibly, feeling the beads of sweat starting to collect over his eyebrow.

Maybe he had made this decision thinking with the wrong head.

Hermione took two steps until she reached his side and swiveled her arm. Before he knew it, she had yanked the Firebolt from him and had swung a leg over it.

“Well, are you coming or not?” Hermione asked him in a business-like voice. Harry cleared his throat and, with a mixture of fear and excitement, swung a leg over the broom and positioned himself behind Hermione.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers before tentatively reaching over and taking the broom handle from her. He almost jerked away when her hands left the handle and settled over his naked arms, her nails digging into his flesh, the gesture betraying how truly nervous she felt.

Harry was careful not to brush against her or get too close for fear of stimulating more than just his imagination.

“Ready?” Harry asked, his voice hoarse and trembling.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” Hermione whispered, sounding as scared and excited as he felt.

Without wasting one more second, Harry pushed himself from the ground. Slowly, but steadily, they began to rise. Hermione closed her eyes tightly and dig her nails further into Harry's skin.

Harry had never understood the phrase “exquisite pain” until now.

On the ground, the four remaining friends looked at each other and smiled.

“We are geniuses,” Ron whispered, his gaze shifting from his two best friends to Neville, Ginny and Luna.

“Here's to true love,” Neville said, raising his fist high in the air.

“To true love,” Ginny followed suit.

“To true love,” Luna followed, looking at her beloved Ron.

It was Ron's turn to speak as he raised his fist.

“To friendship… because from the best of friends come the greatest of lovers.”

---------------

Hello! This chapter is dedicated to Dama-blanca for her support and encouragement. ¡Gracias, linda!

A little bit of a cliffie here. I promise the next chapter (Under a Glass Moon) is going to be pure FLUFF. Now, whether is good fluff or bad fluff, you'll decide.

If you could just drop me one or two lines and let me know what you think of this chapter, I'd be very grateful.

And to those reviewers from last chapter, thank you very much!

Well, that's it for me. Don't know how long it will take me to update the next chapter, so till then…

Adieu,

Anasazi

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Chapter 11: Under a Glass Moon

Outside the soundness of your mind…
Bathing your soul in silver tears.
Beneath a blackened summer sky…
Praying for time to disappear.

-Dream Theater's “Caught in a Web”

----------------------

The Firebolt slowly rose into the darkening sky. She was scared and he knew it, so he tried to be as gentle as possible. Her nails were still digging into his arms, and she had shut her eyes when they were still within 5 feet of the ground. Her long locks were tickling his face as the wind beat severely on their bodies.

The sun was almost buried behind the mountains, and only a trickle of daylight remained. Harry didn't dare look anywhere but at the back of Hermione's head, but he was sure that the moon had already appeared overhead, and that the stars were beginning to twinkle in the dark blue sky.

“Hermione, are you alright?” Harry whispered softly.

“Yeah,” she whimpered unconvincingly.

“Do you want to do this or do you want to go down? I don't want to pressure you,” Harry said very gently, wishing to run his hands through her mane of messy brown hair and settling for tightening the grip on the broom handle.

“And face the Inquisition down there? Never,” Hermione replied, some of her legendary courage creeping into her voice.

“Alright. I'm going to tell Neville to release the snitch. Are you ready?” Harry asked, taking a deep breath. It wasn't everyday that he held a trembling Hermione between his arms, and it was a blessing to know that he was there to comfort her. Hermione nodded in reply.

“Hermione…” Harry started, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“What?” Hermione asked him breathlessly.

“You might want to open your eyes,” Harry finished, his smile widening. He heard a little “Oh” and a nervous laugh coming from her. He then heard her wince, and he instinctively knew she had opened her lovely eyes.

“LET IT GO!”

Harry and Hermione looked down and watched as Neville released the snitch. The little golden ball with wings hovered over the four friends on the ground for just a second, but then it zoomed with such an amazing burst of speed that both Harry and Hermione lost track of it.

“Where did it go? WHERE?” Hermione asked nervously as soon as the snitch disappeared from her sight, tensing her already stiffed shoulders.

“Relax, Mione,” Harry whispered soothingly. He had trouble keeping a clear view of the darkening field when her hair kept flying on his face, so he took a deep breath and placed his head next to hers, his chin lightly touching her shoulder.

He tried to ignore how his stomach flipped with the chaste contact. Thankfully, he didn't notice her reaction, or his heart would have jumped right out of his mouth.

Harry cleared his throat and said, “You got to be patient, Hermione. That's the key. Be patient, but be alert. Keep your eyes and your ears opened. You may not see it, but it is here, just waiting for you to get it.”

“But how can I get it? There's not enough light! I can't see a thing!” Hermione whispered as she tried to focus her eyes in scanning the field.

“Quidditch is not only about ability, but about instinct. You have to trust your instincts on this one,” Harry said encouragingly, wishing he could let go of the broom handle to give her a quick hug.

“That's not a good thing, Harry. My instincts tell me to get my feet on the ground where they belong,” Hermione replied, her edgy voice tinted with amusement.

“That's your head speaking, Hermione. For once, do the thinking with your heart,” Harry whispered.

Hermione's stiff shoulders relaxed slightly, and her heart became steady enough for her to dare to look over her shoulder at him. For a moment, he was taken back by how close her lips were to his.

`Don't think of her lips! Don't think of her lips!'

“Since when did you become so wise?” she asked, the corner of her lips rising in a smile, arching her perfectly defined eyebrow at him.

Harry grinned nervously while replying, “Since Luna gave me that subscription to The Quibbler for my birthday.”

This time she laughed out loud, and turned her head back to its original position. Harry closed his eyes and took a steadying breath of air.

`Lost your window to kiss her.'

`Shut up!'

Harry opened his eyes when he heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath. “What is it?” he asked worriedly.

“I… I think I see it,” Hermione whispered, her eyes focused on a point somewhere in front of them.

“Where?” Harry asked, his eyes immediately scanning the area Hermione was looking at. But the night had already settled in, and his visibility was down to nil.

“By the left side of the middle goal post at the other end of the field,” Hermione replied hurriedly. Harry looked at the area in question and squinted his eyes.

He gasped a few seconds later. There it was, the snitch, that little golden ball that meant everything in his beloved game, just hovering exactly where Hermione had said it would be.

`How did she…?'

A new wave of pride surged inside of him for his best friend.

“Alright, you've seen it… now you need to go after it. Ready to take the broom?” Harry asked, not bothering to hide the emotions he was feeling at the moment.

“Have I ever told you how much I hate flying?” Hermione said, fighting the intense urge to shut her eyes close.

“About three dozen times. But I think you are just begging for a chance to think otherwise,” Harry whispered. Hermione didn't say anything, but she shifted slightly and scooted a bit closer to him. He realized he was so close he could smell the lingering scent of her lavender shampoo, her vanilla soap, and her sweat.

It drove him mad.

“Take the broom, Mione,” he whispered, the commanding tone of his voice hiding the tremors within. He bit his lower lip when she tightened her grip on his arms, feeling her nails digging in, wondering if she had drawn any blood yet.

“Harry, I'm not a good at flying. It might not be a good idea to…” Hermione started saying, but was quickly cut off by Harry.

“You are better at this than you think,” Harry whispered throatily, “Come on, Hermione… it is just in front of you… you can almost touch it… don't let it get away.”

“I don't want to fall,” Hermione said, succumbing to the fear and shutting her eyes. Harry suppressed a sigh; he had brought her this far… he wasn't about to let her give up now.

Harry's lips were less than an inch from Hermione's ear when he whispered, “Hermione, do you trust me?”

After a few moments of heavy silence between them, Hermione nodded.

“Then trust me on this… I won't let you fall,” Harry whispered, leaning back a bit after the desire to nuzzle against her neck became almost unbearable. She shuddered visibly, but slowly opened her eyes.

Hermione looked over her shoulder, and their eyes locked. Could she read his expression in the darkness? Could she know how much he felt for her? The pride? The awe? The love? Could she know that he wanted her to do this for HERSELF and no one else?

“Take the broom,” Harry commanded hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. She looked back to the snitch that was still hovering on the other side of the field and released a trembling breath.

Hermione's hesitation started melting, and he felt as her fingers traveled down his arms, his wrists, the back of his hands… his knuckles… to the tip of his fingers. And she finally released him, gripping the Firebolt's handle tightly in her hands, literary hanging on for dear life.

Harry smiled and nodded imperceptibly. “Alright, the moment I release the handle, you are going to be in control of the broom. Just remember it is a very powerful broom, so be gentle when you command it.”

Hermione nodded, her jaw squared in determination. Slowly, Harry let go of the broom handle, resting his hands lightly on the sides of Hermione's waist, hesitating to get a firmer grip. As soon as he let go, the broom lost power and dropped a little bit over a foot before pulling back. Hermione yelped softly, but stood her ground, and a second later the Firebolt found itself under her control.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Hermione continued staring at the snitch on the other side of the field while Harry stared at the back of her head, wishing that the simple contact of his hands on her body was enough to project into her the confidence and assurance she needed to conquer her fears.

Boy, was Harry in for a surprise.

Unexpectedly, Hermione leaned into the broom, and the Firebolt jerked forward and zoomed to the other side at neck-breaking speed. His shyness at her nearness was soon forgotten as the instinct for survival kicked in, and that instinct told him that if he didn't grab onto her for dear life, his friends would spend the night scraping the remains of his body from the ground.

Hugging her tightly, Harry could hear the cheers of his friends on the ground even amidst the roaring wind as the little golden speck on the other side came closer and closer…

Sensing that it had been found, the snitch moved, zooming to its right. Harry got another shocker when Hermione didn't hesitate in doing the same, making a wide turn to her right and following the golden ball. Hermione's command over the broom was far from smooth, but the important thing was that there was not a trace of self-doubt or vacillation in her actions.

And she certainly didn't hesitate when she followed the snitch behind the Gryffindor stands. Harry swallowed a scream as they flew under the stands, their heads barely dodging one of the wooden boards.

But Hermione kept following the snitch with the same determination and passion that she used when looking for a particular bit of information while searching through the maze of knowledge that was the library.

“That's it, Hermione! THAT'S IT!” Harry cheered as Ron and the others scream on the field.

The snitch now flew over the stands and dived toward the ground, zooming toward the goal posts just before it crashed into the ground. To Harry's utter delight (and a bit of terror too), Hermione did exactly the same!

Harry's body crashed into hers as she pulled them up just before hitting the ground and followed the snitch. They were riding so low that he had to pulled his knees up to avoid hitting the grass with his feet.

But even the threat of injury wasn't enough to stop the grin across Harry's cheeks when he realized Hermione was actually gaining speed, closing the distance between the little golden ball and themselves.

It was now less than a foot away. And that's when Hermione did what Harry thought was impossible.

Her body tightened around the handle, and her right hand was not on the broom anymore but in the air, reaching for the snitch. The golden ball tried to make a last minute effort to save itself by quickly flying to the side.

But it was too late.

Hermione Granger had just wrapped her delicate hand around the snitch.

Before Harry could make coherent words come out of his mouth, his feet were already on the ground after a rough landing, while Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville ran toward them. Hermione turned on her heels and looked at him with the same expression of shock and delight he was giving her, the little speck of gold still clutched tightly in her hand.

Seeing as words failed him, Harry could only wrapped his arms around her waist and hug her tightly, lifting her up the ground and twirling her around. Their sound of their laughter echoed in their ears as their friends finally joined them.

Harry reluctantly let go of Hermione, who turned around and faced the still gaping Ron with a very cocky expression on her face. “I believe this is yours,” Hermione said with a wink, handing the snitch back to Ron.

Ron blinked two more times before he was finally able to say, “BLIMEY, HERMIONE! THAT WAS INCREDIBLE!” He didn't hesitate in hugging her tightly and lifting her up the ground just as Harry had done. Harry beamed at them, knowing exactly how proud of Hermione Ron felt at that moment.

As soon as Ron let go of Hermione, it came Ginny's turn to embrace her as the smaller redhead said, “I'm so proud of you!”

“You really acted like a pro out there,” Neville beamed, patting Hermione on the back sheepishly. Luna looked as if she was about to belt out “Hermione is our queen”, but settled for a small hug while saying, “If I didn't know better, I would have swore you play before.”

Ron sighed dramatically, shook his head and looked at Harry, “You do realize that now that Hermione knows she's even good at Quidditch, there's no way to stop that big head of hers from exploding.”

Hermione stuck her tongue at Ron and slapped his arm. Even with the cold of the night, Harry could feel the embarrassed heat coming from her cheeks. “If I was any good, it was all thanks to my coach,” she said with a smile, looking at Harry over her shoulder.

It was now Harry's turn to blush.

Ron stretched and dropped his right arm, landing on Luna's shoulders. “Well, I better go take a bath and hit the books. Got that potions assignment to finish,” he said, holding Luna close while winking at the currently dull-witted Harry.

“Thanks for reminding me,” Neville mumbled, the grin on his face disappearing.

“Cheer up, you two. After all, the ball is tomorrow night,” Ginny said, her face lighting up like a Christmas tree in December. Harry stole a glance at Hermione, and was surprised to see that the smile grazing her features was slightly forced.

Luna turned to Ron and said, “Speaking about the ball, Ronald, I've been thinking about our costumes and…” Everybody leaned toward them, hoping to get a hint about the mysterious costumes. But before Luna could say another word, Ron quickly clasped his hand over her mouth.

“Pumpkin, I will gladly be laughed at tomorrow… but I don't want to have people laughing at me tonight,” Ron said with a mischievous smile. She tried to glare at him, but quickly yelped happily when Ron scooped her off her feet.

“See you guys later,” Ron said after turning around. Luna waved at them dreamily as Ron started walking toward the castle, his girlfriend safely cradled in his arms.

“If my brother intends to carry her all the way to the castle, I predict a hernia in his near future,” Ginny said in good nature, hooking her arm around Neville's waist, and beaming at Harry and Hermione.

“Well, I better get started on that assignment. See you guys later,” Neville said, throwing his broom and Ginny's Cleansweep over his shoulder and walking back to the castle with his free hand still draped around the redhead's shoulders.

“I'm so happy for them,” Hermione whispered as they watched them retreat under the moonlight.

“I am too. I think they are perfect for each other,” Harry said absently, stealing a glance at the young woman standing by him.

-----------

“Do you think that those two nitwits will one day realize this was their first date?” Ron whispered to his girlfriend. Luna looked over his shoulder at the couple on the field, noticing that they were now alone with each other.

“Actually, Ronald, something tells me this date is not over yet.”

-----------

Harry became consciously aware that he was now alone with Hermione. And he had absolutely no doubt that the four friends had intended for this to happen all along.

Harry briefly wondered what Ginny, Ron, Neville and Luna wanted him to do as he turned his head and looked at Hermione's smiling profile.

`What can I do? What can I say? What did they expect to happen? Did they expect me to kiss her and make her forget everything about that stupid prat she's dating? Do they want me to ask her to go to the ball with me and not with Roger? Did they expected Hermione to suddenly confess her undying love for me, grab me by the arm and pull me to her room to start making some babies?'

But just remembering how it had felt to be so close to her was enough to send shivers up and down his spine. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath before trusting in his ability to speak.

“Y-y-you coming?” Harry stuttered nervously, opening his eyes but not daring to look at her. Hermione looked up into the sky and said nothing for a few seconds. Harry started thinking she might not have heard him until Hermione asked a very peculiar question.

“Harry, can you loan me your Firebolt one more time tonight?” Hermione asked softly. He turned his head sharply around to look at her. There was a playful smile tugging at her lips, her hands resting on her hips as she enjoyed the look of utter shock on his face.

“There's something I want to try…” she trailed. Harry blinked twice, but couldn't bring himself to do anything else but stare at her.

After she laughed out loud, Harry finally blurted, “What are you up to?”

“That's for me to know and for you to find out,” Hermione said when her laughter subsided. Her laughter was a beautiful sound, like that of wind chimes blown by a sweet tropical breeze.

“So… what do you say?” she asked, reveling in the knowledge that there were still things about her that could surprise the person that knew her the most.

“Take it! It's yours!” Harry ranted, handing her the broom he was holding on his hand.

`Great, Potter. Offer her your second most prized possession! That's not suspicious AT ALL, Mr. Smooth.'

“Thanks. But it'll do for tonight,” Hermione said with a small laugh, taking the broom from him. She faced the field and took a few steps, finally swinging her leg over the broom. She looked over her shoulder at Harry, her eyebrow arching roguishly.

“Are you coming or not?” she asked the now smiling Harry. He mentally weighted the pros and cons of that particular offer.

`Trying to find out just what exactly is your best friend, who half an hour ago was terrified of heights, up to? PRO!'

`The fact that she has never invited Roger to get on a broom with her? PRO!'

`The fact that, even if you get on the broom with her, Roger will still be the handsome, intelligent, rich and well-behaved son of a bitch that will take Hermione to the ball? CON!'

`The fact that you are totally and completely alone with her? PRO!'

`The fact that you can be a total PRAT when are you totally and completely alone with her? CON!'

`The fact that you can take a cold shower afterwards? PRO!'

`The fact that you have the uncanny ability to blurt out the wrong thing at the worst of times? CON!'

`Getting a second chance to put your arms around her? PRO! No… CON! NO PRO! NO...'

`AH, TO HELL WITH IT.'

“You can bet on it,” Harry said, grinning nervously as he walked toward her. Swinging a leg over the broom and sitting behind her, he tentatively put his arms around her waist, still careful to leave a few inches between them for fear of arousing more than the hairs in the back of his neck.

“Are you sure you want to do whatever it is you want to do? After all, you just tried Quidditch. You don't want to overexcite yourself! Maybe we should go back to the common room and you can go back to reading Hogwarts: A History,” Harry teased her.

He couldn't help but think not so appropriate things about his best friend when he heard her answer.

“Grab on tight and I'll show you how exciting I can be.”

Looking over her shoulder, Hermione winked at him before facing forward and jerking on the handle, sending them flying directly overhead.

After a few seconds, Harry realized she had no intention to stop their ascent. They were now higher than he had taken her for their Quidditch run… and they kept on rising.

As Harry watched over her shoulder as the Hogwarts castle grew smaller and smaller in the distance, he started notice the mist forming around them. He looked overhead and realized that they were flying into the clouds… and beyond.

They finally reached a clearing, the blanket of clouds under them and the clear dark sky above. Just then, Hermione stopped their ascent. It was a very rough maneuver that caused Harry to close the distance he had careful left between their bodies and crash into her. Harry groaned, closing his eyes and taking a big breath.

“Sorry. I still don't get a handle on braking,” Hermione said sheepishly. Harry opened his eyes and tried to tell her not to worry, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a squeak.

`Hagrid in a bikini shaking his tush! HAGRID IN A BIKINI SHAKING HIS TUSH!'

When he had gathered enough control over his body and his heart was not racing like a wild stallion in heat, he chanced a glance at his surroundings.

It was so beautiful Harry was left speechless.

The sky above the clouds was a deep shade of midnight blue, and there were hundreds of stars twinkling, noticeable even by the naked eye. An almost full moon was directly suspended in front of them, great in size but mostly in its supreme beauty. He was so caught up in the moment that he was only able to verbalize one word.

“Whoa”

“Whoa indeed,” Hermione said with a small laugh. Harry immediately felt a little bit stupid at his lack of proper vocabulary.

Unexpectedly, Hermione leaned back and settled her head on his shoulder, putting almost all of her weight against him. Harry's heart leapt on his chest, and his breath became ragged. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to bury his face on the crook of her neck and let her scent envelop him as he planted gentle kisses on her bare skin.

“See those three stars?” she asked Harry, sounding like a teacher excited about the lesson she was about to teach.

Harry forced himself to open his eyes and look at the direction she was pointing. He had to squint his eyes for a few seconds, but finally he saw it… next to the lower right part of the moon there were three stars, seemingly equal in shape and size, forming an almost perfectly vertical line. She lowered her hand, but didn't move away from Harry.

“My parents and I went on vacation to Spain the summer before I began at Hogwarts. There, the gypsies have a legend around this sight…the moon and those three stars. They called it El Hijo de la Luna” Hermione started, her gaze fixed on the view in front.

“What?” Harry asked absently, turning his head around in order to gaze at her profile.

“It means Son of the Moon. The stars… they represent tears,” Hermione whispered, her voice almost reverent.

“How come?” asked the young man, noticing the sudden shift in mood.

Hermione started, “Well, according to the gypsies it all started when a gypsy woman prayed to the Moon for a husband. She prayed and she prayed, until the Moon had no choice but to respond. The gypsy then begged the Moon for a cale, or gypsy husband, who would love her with mad and endless passion. The Moon agreed to give this woman a husband, but it came at a prize.”

“The Moon asked the woman for her firstborn in return.”

“Why would the moon ask that?” Harry asked, genuinely interested in the strange tale.

Hermione continued, “Because the Moon wanted to be a mother above all else, and she had no one to be her lover, since the Sun, whom she loved with all her heart, burnt her with his intensity whenever he got closer.”

“And then, what happened?” Harry whispered, mesmerized by the way the light of the moon glinted inside Hermione's eyes.

“The woman readily agreed to the Moon's request. Sure enough, the moon granted the woman a husband that she desired… strong, handsome, fierce, passionate and just crazy for her. They married, and nine months later, the woman gave birth to a child. But it was not a gypsy child, for his skin was as white as snow, and the wavy hair on top of his head was the color of silver… just like his eyes,” Hermione whispered.

Harry felt her shuddering lightly, and impulsively hugged her tightly against his body, hoping that some of the warmth she was creating in him could pass into her.

Hermione continued with her tale, “When the husband saw the child his wife had just bore, his own intensity and passion for her led him to think his wife had been unfaithful. So… the man took a knife… confronted his wife…and stabbed her.”

Harry gulped, “And the baby?”

“Well, the husband took the baby in his arms with the intention of killing him… but he found he could not bring himself to harm the child. Instead, the man ran into the fields and left the baby there for nature to do as she pleased,” Hermione answered.

“And then?” Harry whispered, noticing that her eyes had glisten with unshed tears somewhere along the tale.

“The Moon took the form of a woman and came down to the ground. She wrapped the child in her arms and finally took him back where she belongs… into the night,” Hermione said, her voice slightly shaking.

Harry tore his eyes away from her face and looked ahead. And, to his surprise, he could see the face of a woman on the moon, with long flowing brown curls that fell over her shoulder and sparkling caramel eyes that seemingly glinted.

All right, so the view might be slightly influenced by the woman in his arms… but still, the moon that was looking down at him that night was one of the most striking sights his emerald eyes had ever settled upon.

Present company excluded.

Hermione finished the tale with a whisper, “The legend ends saying that, whenever the child is happy, there is a full moon, because the Moon is happy. But when the child cries, before the fourth tear has been shed, the Moon becomes a crescent… so she can rock her child in her arms.”

“It's a beautiful story… sad, but beautiful,” Harry whispered, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“It is,” Hermione laughed softly, wiping the single tear that had fallen on her cheek with the palm of her hand, “I can't believe I remembered all of it. It's been almost eight years since I last heard it.”

For the first time since they had stopped their journey, Hermione moved forward, leaving the comfort of Harry's body against hers as she tightened her hold on the broom's handle. Harry sighed inwardly, immediately missing the butterflies in his stomach that the sensation of her weight pressing against his body made him feel.

Hermione was still looking at the moon when she added as an afterthought, “Funny thing is that… when I was child… I thought it was just beautiful nonsense. But now… now I know exactly how the Moon felt.”

Harry gulped, frowning faintly. “You mean you want to have a child?” he blurted.

“Goodness no!” Hermione said with a slight chuckle, “not yet anyway.”

“Then why?” Harry asked her softly. He watched as her shoulders tensed a little, and another shudder ran through her body.

“Because… Because I think I know what is like to love someone and not be able to get close to him… because his intensity burns you… just like the Sun burned the Moon,” Hermione said, sounding awfully small, looking down at her hands as she finished the last word.

`Who… who is this person Hermione loves? Is it Roger? Has Roger done something to hurt her? Is he the one who burns her?'

Harry didn't respond for his actions if he ever found out someone had hurt his Hermione.

He opened and closed his mouth, wordlessly. Not knowing what to do or what to say to her to make it better, and fighting the desire to stay up there with her forever versus the fear of what might happen if he did, Harry finally sighed wearily and said, “Well, it's late. We better get going.”

Without another word, they both glanced at the moon one more time. Finally, Hermione gently guided their descent pass the billowing clouds and the icy wind into the grounds.

After a slightly more graceful landing than the first time, Hermione got off from the broom, and Harry did the same, throwing the Firebolt over his shoulder. Hermione started walking toward the castle, and Harry didn't know what else to say or do but follow her, a comfortable silence setting between them as he fell into step next to her.

After about a minute, Hermione broke the silence, “So… have you decided which lucky girl is going to be your date for the ball?” Harry forced himself to smile.

He really didn't want to think about the Halloween ball… because thinking about the Halloween Ball made him think of Hermione in all her gorgeous glory… and thinking about Hermione in all her gorgeous glory made him think about Roger… and thinking about Roger made him think about the Ravenclaw's annoying habit of putting his arms around Hermione's shoulders… and thinking about the Ravenclaw's annoying habit of putting his arms around Hermione's shoulders made him think that maybe being the Boy-Who-Lived might actually let him get away with murder.

Ok, Roger Davies definitely didn't bring out the best in him. But Harry found, surprisingly, that the night had turned out to be so magical already, first with the game and then with that solitary moonlight ride with the woman he loved, that he didn't really want to spend another second thinking about Roger.

“I don't think I'm going,” Harry said with a small smile, turning his head slightly so he could look at her profile, “I don't want anyone to experience the same pain I inflicted on Parvati on the Yule Ball.”

“You are talking about your dancing skills, aren't you?” Hermione said, the lingering sadness that had settled in her eyes after she finished the story vanished as she smirked up at him.

“I can see that they are now legendary,” he replied, arching his eyebrow mischievously.

“You are not that awful,” she quickly replied, shaking her head and sending her brown locks all over the place. He couldn't tell if she was being honest or just pulling his leg.

Harry stopped walking and just gaped at her. She stopped and turned around, giving him an appraising look before adding, “Alright. You are pretty awful… but you are only awful cause you get so nervous. You have got to learn to relax.”

“I would relax if I knew how to dance,” he confessed, looking down at his feet and wondering how a person that could be so good at sports could be so clumsy when holding a girl in his hands.

“Well, we can solve that right here and now,” Hermione said with a resolute glint in her eyes, and took a step toward him. Harry's smile faltered and a sudden lump formed in his throat as the butterflies started flying on his stomach as delicately as hippogriffs on Ecstasy.

She took the broom from his hand and laid it on the floor gently. Hermione then tenderly grab the hand that had been holding the broom and placed it on her waist, just above her hipbone. Her sleeveless tee had ridden up slightly during their little game of Quidditch, and that, coupled with her low riding jeans, allowed Harry to feel her skin under his fingers.

Electricity coursed through his body as if a lighting bolt had struck him down. This was the girl that been his best friend for almost seven years... and this was the most intimate touch he had ever shared with her.

Harry watched breathlessly as she took his other arm and raised it to the side, intertwining his fingers with hers. Hermione then raised her other hand and rested it on his shoulder.

Only then did she looked up and met his eyes… and only then did Harry realized his best friend was giving him an impromptu dance lesson. Some of the tension ebbed from his shoulders… but quickly returned when the hand that had been resting on his shoulder slowly travel to the side and settle behind his neck.

“Step forward with your right foot,” she ordered gently, her caramel eyes locked on his emerald orbs.

“But… but… there's no music,” he stuttered clumsily, painful aware of how much he wanted to close the distance between their bodies.

“Use your imagination, Potter,” Hermione said, smiling up at him reassuringly. He gulped, and took a step forward with his right foot with the gracefulness of a first generation android… and landed hard on Hermione's toes.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” he quickly apologized after he saw her bite her lip from the pain, as he returned his foot to its original position.

“Don't worry about it. You just need to let me know where you are going,” Hermione explained patiently.

“You mean I got to talk for as long as I dance?” Harry asked with a frown. He had seen other couples dancing before… it was strange that he had never realized that they didn't shut up.

“Not with words, Harry. But with this hand…” Hermione said with a maddening serene tone in her voice. He jumped a bit when she lowered the hand that been resting behind his neck and placed it over his hand that was resting on her waist.

“Relax, Harry. It's me… good ole Hermione,” she said with a reassuring smile, her fingers lightly caressing his knuckles.

`That's exactly the problem… that you are Hermione.'

Hermione continued with the lesson with the same ease she showed when trying to explain to Neville how to work on any of Snape's potions, “You use this hand to guide me… see, the male is usually the dominant during a dance. You were probably stepping on Parvati's toes because you didn't know how to let her know what your next step was going to be. Just push your thumb into me when you want to take a step forward…”

A cold sweat immediately broke out Harry's skin.

`Hagrid and Snape belly dancing! And… and… rubbing lotion on each other! Oh, dear God, that's disgusting…! AND IT'S NOT WORKING!'

“And when you want to take a step back, just pull my flesh with your fingers… not too hard… just enough so I know to take a step forward. And follow the same principles when you want to go side to side,” Hermione continued.

“Now… close your eyes,” she instructed. Harry readily complied, if only to stop the sensation of drowning in her eyes. He felt her hand leave his own and settle back into his neck, brushing his hair slightly with her fingernails and sending another wave of tremors down his spine.

“Now… think of a song you like… and hear it in your head… and when you are ready… open your eyes and take a step forward with your right foot… and then a step forward with your left… and then, retrace your steps back… then, side to side…” Hermione whispered.

Her voice was so soft and hypnotic, and Harry felt as if they were once again riding the Firebolt into the sky, just contended to have Hermione in his arms, feeling the wind caress her as he wished he could, just gazing at the woman in the moon and the three little stars that were her child's tears.

And it was the sensation of holding Hermione in his arms that brought a melody into his head. He opened his eyes and look down, licking his lips nervously when her eyes bore into his.

`You look so fine'

Harry took a step forward. But this time, he didn't step on Hermione foot. He had successfully guided her back.

`I want to break your heart…

And give you mine'

He took a step back, and she followed his lead.

`You're taking me over'

Her smile widened, and he actually managed to give her a rather nervous smile as they stepped to the sides.

`It's so insane.
You've got me tethered and chained'

“See, you were not a hopeless case after all,” Hermione said with a proud smile, brushing the back of his neck absently.

`I hear your name…
And I'm falling over.'

“Can I now add incredible dancer to my list of impressive abilities?” Harry asked, some of his nervousness ebbing away. Somehow… he couldn't quite explain how… feeling Hermione in his arms was starting to feel natural.

`I'm open wide.
I want to take you home.'

As if it was meant to be.

`We'll waste some time.
You're the only one for me.'

A memory suddenly burst into his head. It was of a fourth year Hermione at the Yule Ball, wearing that beautiful periwinkle blue dress with her hair up, exposing her delicate neck. She had little crystal earrings in her lovely ears, and a silver necklace with a single sparkling crystal solitaire pendant hanging around her neck. She was wearing little makeup, just a bit of blush on her cheeks and cherry lip-gloss appropriate for a fourteen-year-old girl.

But her eyes… those sweet caramel eyes sparkled more than the jewelry she was wearing. Harry instinctively knew that even if the Yule Ball had been a masquerade ball and Hermione had been hiding her lovely face behind a mask, he would have recognized her just by looking at her eyes.

Harry vaguely wondered why he had stored such an old memory with so many details in his head.

`You look so fine.
I'm like the desert tonight'

“Hermione, why didn't I asked you to the Yule Ball?” Harry asked out loud, “You would have saved Parvati from having blistered toes for a week.” Impulsively, he tightened her hold on her and the little space that remained between them lessened considerably.

Hermione let out a small laugh, not phased by the fact that her body was now brushing against his, “Well, if my memory doesn't fail me, it was because of a certain crush you had a on very beautiful Ravenclaw girl.”

`Leave her behind…

If you want to show me'

“Forgot about that,” Harry mumbled, his mood sobering a bit when he thought what a waste of time and energy pining over Cho had been.

Hermione moved her head slightly and now rested her forehead against his cheek, making goose bumps appear on his arms.

“I'm sorry it never worked out with her, Harry,” Hermione said softly, sensing his change in mood but attributing it to the wrong reasons.

`You're taking me over…'

“I'm not,” he whispered breathlessly, feeling as her skin brushed against his cheek when she moved back to look at him.

`Over and over'

“She didn't make me happy, Hermione. And I definitely didn't make her happy,” Harry felt the need to explain himself. Funny that Hermione was the only person that made him want to do that.

`I'm falling over'

“Why? I mean… aside from the fact that she could be a bit, well… sensitive, she was beautiful, intelligent, and courageous… she was even good at Quidditch! She was great, Harry.”

`Over and over'

“No, Hermione. YOU are great,” he said with uncharacteristic emotion in his voice. She once again rested her head against his chin, and he took the opportunity to close his eyes and breathe in her intoxicating fragrance, natural and sweet.

`You're taking me over'

“Thanks, Harry. But I doubt catching the snitch is my contribution to greatness,” Hermione whispered with an uncharacteristically nervous smile, lowering her eyes to his chest.

`Over and Over'

Harry opened his eyes, stepped back and looked at her. Using the hand that had been raised and was still intertwined with her fingers, he pushed up her chin and made her meet his eyes.

“This doesn't have anything to do with Quidditch, Mione. I'm just saying that… that…”

`Do it!'

`Drown in me one more time'

“That I think you are awesome…” Harry whispered nervously, “I mean, Cho was beautiful and mysterious, but you…”

`Tell her!'

`Hide inside me tonight'

“You are that and so much more, Hermione… so much more,” Harry finished breathlessly.

Still following that hypnotic movement she had asked of him, Harry took a step forward with his right foot… but this time, Hermione didn't move… which caused him to try to shift his weight to avoid stepping on her toes again.

But he failed… and lost his footing… and ended up crashing against her.

They both fell down, Harry falling in top of Hermione on the moist grass.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked nervously, his eyes wide, propping his weight on his arms as they settled on each side of Hermione. Hermione, her eyes closed, nodded twice before taking a deep breathe.

She opened her eyes… and let out a laugh when she saw the expression on his face.

“What is it?” Harry asked her worriedly. Had she hit the back of her head that hard? Weren't unexplainable bursts of laughter a symptom of a concussion?

“You should see your face,” Hermione teased him. It was now his turn to laugh.

“Well, this wasn't exactly how I planned to impress you with my newfound dancing skills,” he smirked at her.

“Umm, you are definitely not hopeless, Harry. But…” Hermione pulled on his shirt, making him lean closer until his ear was just hovering over her mouth, “I suggest you tell your date to get a life-insurance policy before you ask her to dance.”

Harry laughed genuinely, his body rocking slightly on top of hers. She did the same underneath him, giggling uncharacteristically.

But when the laughter subsided, Harry became fully aware of the compromising position he was in.

His smile dropped immediately, and from his gaze all trace of playfulness vanished.

Hermione became aware of the sudden tension, and raised her gaze to meet his. She ceased smiling as a small gasp escaped her parted lips.

She had seen that intensity before in his eyes… but never directed at her.

Harry thought that the cat had to be out of the bag by now. There was no way in hell that the brightest witch in Hogwarts could miss what was happening to him.

There was no way she couldn't notice how his body reacted to hers when the proof was pressing itself against her leg.

There was no way she could not feel his heart beating on his chest, threatening to break his ribs from the sheer force of its pounding.

There was no way she could miss the desire in his eyes.

Harry propped all his weight into one arm, and he used the other to gently touch Hermione's hand, causing her to shudder faintly.

His eyes followed his hand as his fingers trailed a path from her hand and upwards, caressing her arm, her shoulders… her collarbone… the side of her neck…until his hand rested on her cheek.

`Do what you want to do'

Harry cupped her cheek gently, and used his thumb to trace lazy circles on her face, watching her as she opened and closed her mouth, but no words came from her. He hoped for his logical mind to kick in, to convince him that she was going to hex him if he got any further, to stop him from doing what he wanted so desired.

`…'

`…'

`…'

Her eyes. They were dark, intense… but unreadable.

One day, those eyes were going to be the death of him.

`Let's pretend… happy end…'

His thumb grazed her bottom lip, parting them with tenderness. The shudder that ran through her body was unmistakable.

And for the first time in Harry's life, there was no Voldemort… no Death Eaters… no Snape… no Sirius… no Roger… no past… no future… no pain… no consequence… no death… no prophecy… no guilt… no shame… no regret… no scar… no potion… no antidote…

No doubt.

To Harry, nothing else existed but the young woman whose eyes had bewitched him from the first moment their paths crossed.

`Let's pretend… happy end…'

Not daring to waste one more moment without letting her know how he felt for her, Harry lowered his lips to hers…

`Let's pretend… happy end…'

-------------------------

+__+ Like? Don't like? Please let me know. I'm not really a romantic person, so this chapter was a personal challenge for me. I would love to have some constructive criticism/rant/hate-you-for-the-evil-cliiffie review on it!

Just some trivia:

1. Hijo de la Luna is actually an old Spanish song that tells the tale Hermione told Harry under the moonlight. The original song is by the amazing group Mecano, but there are other versions by Sarah Brightman and Mario Fragoulis that are quite good too.

2. You can really see a woman's face on the moon… you just have to know were to look. Look in web for some pictures that may help you!

3. The song Harry is thinking about is “You Look So Fine” by one of my favorite alternative bands called Garbage. It makes me weak in the knees just listening to it.

4. The lyrics at the beginning of the chapter are actually the ones that inspired this fic. Dream Theater is also the band behind a song called “Under a Glass Moon” from which the name of this chapter is taken.

Thanks to the wonderful people that review the last chapter for their motivation. I apologize for not being able to reply to each and every one of them, but things have been kind of hectic at work and I thought you might want to read this as soon as possible without having to wait for my reply. Again, thanks for those comments, for they are what inspire and helps me keep on writing.

Well, that's it for me.

Good night. And good life.

Anasazi

PS. A mi niña Lidia… espero que haya sido de tu agrado.

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Chapter 12: Something I Can Never Have

----

Yay, he's back! A round of applause for my beta Another for a job well done.

----

I still recall the taste of my tears.
Echoing your voice just like the ringing in my ears.
My favorite dreams of you still wash ashore.
Scraping through my head 'till I don't want to sleep anymore.

Make this all go away.
You make this all go away.
I'm down to just one thing.
And I'm starting to scare myself.
Make this all go away.
You make this all go away.

I just want something.

I just want something I can never have.

-Nine Inch Nails's Something I can never have

-------------------

He was so close.

He could count every little freckle on her cheeks and even the ones that adorned the delicate tip of her nose.

He could make out each of her eyelashes, so long and thick and soft that they left him wondering how they would feel if his cheek were to graze against them.

He could feel her hot breath on his lips.

He could see how perfectly her small body molded against his.

`Meant.To.Be'

Time had no meaning anymore… this moment could have lasted for days, hours, minutes, seconds.

Nothing else mattered.

There was no other sound but the sound of her breathing.

There was no other smell but the scent of her skin.

There was no other sight but that of her beautiful face.

And there was no other gravitational pull in the universe but the one Hermione's lips held on him.

Harry remembered that not so long ago, he had wondered what the flavor of her lip-gloss was. Would she taste like chocolate? Watermelon? Cherry? Maybe even strawberries?

`Only one way to find out'

Truth be told, it was not really that important.

Harry knew-as he knew that the sun always followed the moon—that her lips would taste delicious.

Hermione had not moved an inch, looking intensely at Harry's face, her eyes a blur of a brown and golden shade darker than he remembered ever seeing them. For a fraction of a second, he was reminded of the way a moth looked at a flame.

Hypnotized.

Deadly.

This moment was simultaneously the most scary and exhilarating instant in Harry's life. How was it possible to feel so much for one person? Harry almost laughed at the thought of one kiss being able to make up for seventeen years of wrongdoings, but he knew instinctively that with one kiss… HER kiss… every little shitty deal life had handed to him would be forgotten.

And finally, just when his lips were about graze hers…

“HERMIONE!”

Hermione turned her head sharply toward the source of the sound before Harry's lips ever reach hers and instead landed clumsily on her cheek.

Harry released a trembling sight as he felt his strength leaving him. His arms gave in, and he let the full weight of his body fall on hers, his forehead resting on her soft hair, that had fallen like a halo around her head.

“HERMIONE! HERMIONE, WHERE ARE YOU?”

Reality hit him like a brick to the head.

He could now feel the drops of sweat that had pooled on his lower back… he could smell the grass underneath them… and most of all, he could see the look of utter horror in Hermione's face.

“HERMIONE!”

The intruding voice was coming closer, and with it, the realization that he had been about to commit what may very well have been the worst mistake of his life.

“That's Roger,” he heard Hermione whisper, her voice hoarse and slightly strained. He once again used his arms to support his weight and moved back just enough to look down at his best friend.

Hermione had turned her head around, and was now looking at his intently. Her cheeks were flushed a deep red, the sweat glistened on her skin like morning dew, and her eyes were dark and unreadable.

`She's ashamed.'

`She's excited.'

`I repulse her.'

`I attract her.'

Harry tried to find the courage to look her straight into those mesmerizing eyes.

`Then why isn't she pushing you?'

`Because she's scared…'

“HERMIONE!”

Why isn't she moving?'

`I… I don't know.'

`Tell her how you feel, Harry!'

`I… I can't.'

`Tell her you love her!'

`I… I…'

“I… I… I'm sorry,” Harry finally whispered, refusing to meet her eyes. He pushed himself from the ground, immediately missing the warmth that her soft body provided him with. He wiped his hands on his trousers and offered his right hand to help her up.

A few seconds passed before he felt Hermione grabbed his outstretched hand. Still avoiding her penetrating gaze, he helped her to stand up.

“I'm… I'm sorry,” Harry repeated clumsily, letting go of her hand. He listened to his heart thundering in his ears as she beat the dirt out of her clothes.

“Don't mention it,” Hermione whispered, her voice sounding not at all like her own, “it was my fault. I… I messed up the step.”

Suddenly, Hermione once again lost her balance. Harry's Quidditch trained reflexes were activated, and he immediately grabbed her by her upper arms and pulled her toward him to keep her from falling.

The contact lasted a mere second, but goose bumps broke up and down his arms with that chaste touch. Their eyes locked momentarily before Harry forced himself to look away. Those eyes that had held a magnetic pull on him just moments ago now tormented him, and he wondered if he would ever look into those eyes again without losing himself completely in them.

Harry let go as soon as she was steady on her feet. He barely wondered why Hermione had taken a tentative step back without taking her eyes off him.

Finally, Harry saw Roger walking toward them.

“There you are! I was starting to get worried!” Roger said, smiling widely at Hermione, and simultaneously throwing a very unfriendly look at Harry. He had to give points to Roger… how he could do both things at the same time was beyond Harry.

“W-w-what is it?” Hermione stuttered slightly while looking at the ground. Harry turned around before realizing Hermione was avoiding crossing gazes with both of them. Harry walked a few feet away and picked his discarded Firebolt from the ground, flinging it over his shoulder unceremoniously, trying to ignore the growing pressure in his chest.

“Oh,” Roger said, his smile faltering, “We were supposed to meet in the library. We were going to work on our Ancient Runes lesson together.”

Harry thought he should have felt delighted that Hermione had skipped about her encounter with Roger to be with him. But the only thing he managed to feel was the intense desire to have the earth open up and swallow him.

The expression of her face when she realized he was going to kiss her was permanently recorded into his brain. Was that confusion he saw in her eyes? Shock? Disgust?

“Oh, right… I… I… I… I was on the Quidditch field and… and…I… I… I was riding Harry… I mean… Harry's broom… and…” Hermione tried to explain, nervously running her hands through her wild hair and fidgeting with the hem of her tank top, bringing it down so no millimeter of her midriff was exposed.

`I've never seen her so nervous.'

`I bet she's terrified of me.'

“Don't worry about it, love. You can make it up to me later,” Roger said, going back to his million-dollar smile, winking playfully at her.

`I.am.going.to.kill.the.bloody.git.'

Harry did his best not to look at the couple standing next to him.

“Besides, I came here to let you know that McGonagall is looking for us,” Roger continued, closing the distance between him and Hermione before resting his arm over her shoulders.

For an instant, Harry thought Hermione seemed uncomfortable with Roger's nearness, but he quickly dismissed the thought as the ramblings of a lovesick fool.

“She is?” Hermione asked absently. There must have been something very interesting in her trainers for her eyes seemed to be stuck to them.

“Yeah. Flitwick needs help in the Great Hall with the decorations,” Roger added, his thumb starting to lazily trace circles on Hermione's shoulder.

Harry felt dizzy and breathless, as if the air had been knocked right out of his lungs.

“Um… yeah… I… I guess we better go then,” Hermione mumbled, still looking down at the ground.

A few seconds of heavy silence fell over them, until Hermione asked Harry, “You coming?”

He raised his head to look at her; she still refused to meet his eyes, focusing instead on her shoes.

“In a minute,” Harry mumbled. The truth was he did not quite trust his legs to work just yet.

Harry barely noticed Roger's frown before the Head Boy took Hermione's hand in his own and started guiding her back into the castle.

He watched without seeing as the couple started walking away, Roger practically dragging Hermione, whose legs apparently were betraying her.

He wondered if their friendship would ever be the same.

Probably not.

Hermione will probably always remember the night her good friend had taken advantage of her vulnerable position and tried to snog her in the school grounds, and she will never be truly comfortable to be alone with him.

And as for him… could he survive watching her like this… hand in hand with another man?

Probably not.

And in that state of silent acceptance, Harry realized that, surprisingly, the anger that had been directed at Roger had disappeared.

The best man had won.

And Harry loved Hermione way too much to ruin this for her.

He just wanted her to be happy… even if it wasn't with him.

“Hey, Hermione!” he called when they were still within earshot. Hermione quickly stopped and turned sharply around on her heel to look at him, her brilliant eyes magnetic even in the distance.

“What do you want, Harry?” she asked softly in a voice that belonged to a stranger. Roger's eyes moved from Hermione to Harry and back again in silent inquiry.

“Let's not wait another seven years for a second ride,” Harry said, managing to give a small smile, but sincere, smile.

In the darkness, he could see Hermione returning his smile. She nodded, and turned, slowly walking back into the castle with Roger next to her. The blonde sent one last look of puzzlement Harry's way before returning his attention to his beautiful companion.

Harry couldn't take his eyes off them until they disappeared through the castle doors.

And with them, the hope that he had finally found what had always been denied to him.

--------------------------

25 minutes later…

Gryffindor Common Room

“Merlin, where is he?” Ron groaned, resting his head in his hands. Luna, Ginny, Neville and Ron had been watching Harry and Hermione on the Quidditch pitch from one of the common room's windows, but had lost track of them when the couple had started walking back toward the castle.

Thirty minutes later, and still there was no trace of them. The four friends were now alone in the common room, and it was nearing midnight.

“Maybe he pulled her into a closet and they're snogging each other senseless,” Ginny said with a dreamy smile. Neville could only look at her, and smiled.

“I have to go back to my dorm,” Luna yawned, squeezing Ron's shoulder as she added, “Are you okay, love?”

Sounding harsher than he intended, Ron replied, “I'll be fine when I find out how that little trick we just pulled worked!”

The infinitely patient Luna just looked at him with her glassy blue eyes and a look of understanding she reserved only for him. Caressing her cheek ever so slightly with his calloused thumb, Ron's eyes asked for forgiveness.

“I'm sorry, Luna. I'm just a little nervous… Harry really needs this to…”

He didn't get to finish the sentence as the Fat Lady portrait opened and Harry stepped inside, looking like something Crookshanks had dragged in.

“Where were you?” Ron asked, frowning slightly, hoping Hermione was about to walk in behind Harry and feeling rather disappointed when the door closed behind his best friend.

“Around,” Harry mumbled, his eyes on the floor as he dragged his feet toward the stairs to the boy's dormitory, the Firebolt leaving a deep dent in the rug as he lazily hauled it behind him.

The four friends shared a worried look. This wasn't exactly the dizzyingly happy Harry they had hoped to greet.

“Harry, what happened?” Ginny asked, getting up from her chair and standing next to her brother.

“What do you mean what happened?” Harry replied absently.

“Between you and you know who. We saw you flying together,” Neville answered for her.

“Voldemort?” Harry said bitterly as he decided to continue on his way and tried to walk past them. Ron ignored the slight shiver at the sound of the Dark Lord's name; he wasn't going to have any of that. He stood up quickly from the sofa and grabbed Harry by the arm to stop him.

“Not that you-know-who… we're asking about the one that can drive you crazy with just one smile,” Ron said in a whisper.

Harry looked to his right at Ron, and sighed. There was no denying the fact that Ron and the others had expected something magical to happen between him and Hermione today. Too bad they were going to be sorely disappointed.

Was it evil of him to actually be a bit glad that he wasn't the only one whose bubble had burst tonight?

“Yeah, we went for a ride,” was the only thing that Harry managed to answer as he wriggled himself out of Ron's vice grip.

“And?” Luna asked, her usually dreamy voice flooded with graveness.

“And Roger came and called her… and she went with him…” Harry mumbled as he started up the stairs. He didn't feel like thinking about what happened, much less talk about it… and he definitely didn't feel like sharing the fact that Hermione had rejected his kiss.

“Blimey. That pompous son of a…” Ron hissed as they watched helplessly the broken man making his way back to his room. But none of them knew what to say to make it all better.

They had been sure their “plan” was going to work, or at least give them a bit of progress… but it seemed to have blown up in their faces.

Surprisingly, it was Neville who hit the nail in the head. Before Harry reached the third step, the young man asked, “Harry, did you tell her?”

“Tell her WHAT?” Harry snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously. He was beginning to feel angry at nothing in particular.

“How you feel about her,” Ron added seriously, guessing at Neville's line of questioning.

Harry's blood boiled in his veins, and he couldn't bite his tongue before exploding, “WHAT THE HELL WAS I SUPPOSE TO SAY? “Hey, Hermione, I drank Ron's Love Potion No. 9 by mistake and NOW I AM HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE WITH YOU. But it could have been worst…I COULD HAVE BEEN LOOKING AT RON WHEN I WAS DRINKING IT!!!””

“But Harry…!” Ginny started, but was quickly silenced by the glare he threw her way.

“But Harry NOTHING, Ginny!” Harry screamed.

It wasn't until he saw the brightness of tears shining in her brown eyes as Ginny took a step back that he felt something close to shame. He was being unfair; they weren't responsible for him drinking he potion. He was taking it out on the wrong people. They had meant well. If there was someone to blame for making a mess of everything, it was himself.

Harry ran his hands through his unruly black hair and took a deep breath before speaking, “Look, I'm sorry… I just… I want this day to end! I want to wake from the fucking nightmare that's been my entire week! I know… I know you meant well, but… I just can't deal with this right now.”

“I want her… and I can't have her,” he whispered, looking as imposing as a child's broken doll. He started to go up the steps slowly and heavily, as if the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders.

The four friends had been rendered speechless. This wasn't supposed to happen.

“I'm going to bed,” was the last thing Harry said before he disappeared from their sight.

It was a good couple of minutes before any of them could speak.

“Next time, let's follow my suggestion and bind Roger for a couple of hours,” Ron mumbled angrily, wishing he could have convinced his friends into stunning Roger and locking him in a cupboard.

“Do you think there's going to be a next time?” Neville sighed.

Ginny exchanged a knowing glance with her brother. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

“There has to be a next time…” she answered for her brother, instinctively hugging Neville for support and resting her head on the crook of his neck.

Everyone had expected Luna to add something, but she remained oddly silent, her face scrunched up as if she was mentally debating something.

“What is it, hon?” Ron asked her softly.

“If he had drank the potion while looking at you… would that have made him an homosexual?” Luna asked out-of-the-blue.

When his girlfriend started debating sexual orientations, it was a clear signal that it was time to call it quits.

“I'll walk you back to your dorm… you need to sleep,” Ron said with a sigh, putting his arm over Luna's shoulders and guiding her toward the door. With a heavy heart, he left the common room, pondering if maybe it is too late for Harry and Hermione.

If he only had Hermione's side of the story…

-----------------------------

Later…

Harry didn't know how long he had been lying on the bed when he suddenly felt a weight on the mattress next to him. He opened his eyes groggily; his surroundings were just a blur of undulating shapes and shadows. Sitting up on the bed, Harry was about to reach the night table for his glasses when he felt a delicate hand grabbed him by the wrist.

“Harry,” a voice he was all-too-familiar with whispered from somewhere very close to his ear.

“H-H-Hermione?” Harry stuttered, not really needing an answer. He looked to his right and tried to focus. Indeed, his female best friend was lying on the bed next to him, her hand still locked around his wrist.

`What is she doing here?'

Hermione was still dressed in the jeans and tee she had on when they were in the Quidditch pitch. Her curls were framing her face in such a way that made Harry gulped loudly. The realization that he was in bed with the object of his obsession while wearing only a pair of boxers make the heat travel to his cheeks, and self-consciously he tried to pull the covers and hide underneath them.

`Hermione… in my bed. In.My.Bed.'

To his utter shock, Hermione sat on the bed and pushed him back until he was lying down again. Before he could even ask her what was the piece of information she had found in her nightly reading that could not wait till morning, he watched as she pulled the covers away from his body, exposing him. And before he could verify if this was another Voldemort plot to drive him into a catatonic state, Hermione straddled him, her knees on each side of his body, her exquisite weight effectively trapping him underneath.

`Oh.Dear.Lord.'

“H-H-Hermione… w-w-what are y-you d-d-doing?” Harry stammered, trying to force the blood to stay on the upper part of his body. It wasn't an easy task.

`…'

“Harry, what were you going to do tonight?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“When?” he croaked. Tonight? How was he supposed to remember what he was going to do tonight… he could hardly remember his name!

“Tonight… when we were dancing,” she replied smoothly. He could hear the amusement in her voice, and it drove him mad. To make things worst, she shifted her weight, putting even more pressure under her and causing him to roll his eyes at the delicious contact.

“Don't,” Harry hissed, placing his hands on her hips to still her.

“Don't what?” she asked innocently.

“Be still.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Harry started, feeling rather ashamed but being rendered incapable of stringing a coherent lie, “because I'm just flesh and blood.”

He heard her laughter before she replied, “What do you mean by that?”

When he got her to be still (or was it the other way around), Harry dared to look at her from his position on the bed and with a hoarse voice asked, “Why are you really here?”

Hermione lowered her head until she was just a few inches away from his face. He bit his lip, his body betraying him in more ways than one as the fabric of her clothes tortured his upper body as much as she was torturing his lower body.

`I can't. I can't. This is Hermione. I can't…'

“I.want.to.know.what.you.were.going.to.do.tonight.”

“Tonight? I-I-I don't know what… mmm… what you mmm talking about,” Harry replied, closing his eyes and trying his best to concentrate on anything but the girl pining him to the bed.

He felt her close the distance between them, until he could taste the air she breathed inside his own mouth, and the curls around her face now cascaded around him, tickling his cheeks slightly.

“Oh, I think you know,” Hermione whispered, taking his hands in hers and drawing them over his head, until his knuckles grazed the headboard.

He had never been in a more vulnerable position, and yet, he wasn't scared because he didn't trust her… but because he didn't trust himself around her.

“Hermione,” Harry groaned, a very primitive sound he had never heard coming out of his lips. He opened his eyes, and what little he could see was enough to take his breath away.

Again, he couldn't help but think that those eyes were one day going to be the death of him.

`Tell her!'

`… I can't …!'

`Why?'

`Because this is my best friend!'

`She's in our bed! Straddling you! Touching you! Don't you get it, you dolt?'

`Get what?'

`That she wants to be MORE than your best friend!'

She had snuck into his bed in the middle of the night.

She pinned him against the bed.

She was touching him and torturing… and she seemed to be happy with the results.

`Sweet Merlin, she wants me!'

And he couldn't have been any happier.

“There's something you need to know,” Harry whispered hoarsely, trying to stop the shivers of anticipation running up and down his body and fighting the urge to push his hips upwards. He had enough working neurons to free one of his hands from her teasing grip and cup her cheek ever so delicately.

“Yes, Harry?” she whispered, her voice showing that she knew she had already triumphed over his will.

The look in her eyes was nothing short of smoldering, and for a while, nothing but the sounds of his harsh breathing could be heard. He wanted to tell her how he felt about her so much, and yet, his voice failed him with every try.

`Hermione doesn't want you to tell her.'

`She wants you to SHOW her.'

And by God, he wanted to show her so badly it hurt.

Placing his hand behind her head, Harry closed his eyes and pushed his head forward at the same time he applied gentle pressure to her neck, pulling her toward him.

He dreamt about the moment his lips touched hers…

But his lips grazed nothing but air.

Harry opened his eyes with a start and sat upright in bed. His chest ached, and the sheets were tangled like shackles around his legs. Searching his bed, a groan came from deep within himself.

He was alone.

It had been nothing but a dream.

`Great. That's just great. She not only haunts you every day, but you go and dream about her. Freaking awesome.'

Although, he had to admit, it had been a pretty good dream. Harry ran his hand through his messy hair, which was drenched with what, he guessed, was sweat. Even his boxers seemed to be sticking to his body in a very uncomfortable manner.

`Don't tell me I got to scourgify myself! I'm so pathetic,' Harry thought with embarrassment as he wiped a particularly big bead of perspiration from his body.

But it felt strange… it was bulkier than sweat. He brought his hand up to his nose and sniffed. It smelled differently too… bitter… metallic. He had smelled this before, but he couldn't quite remember when and where.

Six years old.

A slap from Uncle Vernon.

Two teeth missing.

The thick and heavy liquid filling his mouth.

And he remembered.

With a strangled gasp, Harry reached to his left and grabbed his wand from the night table, “Lumos”.

Only to find he was dripping wet with blood.

And it was not just his body… the sheets, the pillows… even the bed curtains were drenched in blood, making them almost translucent in the dim light.

He flipped the curtains open, jumped off the bed, and was ready to call for his roommates when an unexpected sight greeted him.

Their beds… they were in the same state his was in… drenched in blood… and dripping with heavier things.

Panic gripped him in the worst kind of way. He started screaming for them, but he got no reply aside from the echo of his voice bouncing on the room's walls. He quickly recovered the use of his legs and ran toward the door. Slamming it open, he quickly stepped outside to call for help when…

He realized he wasn't standing at the top of the stairs… but by the entrance of the Great Hall.

Or at least, it seemed like the Great Hall. There was hardly enough light in the room to really be sure.

`What in bloody blazes is going on here?'

Harry raised his hand and whispered, “Lumos Solara” and a bright beam of light shot from his wand and illuminated the room.

It was a vision from his worst nightmares.

Harry fell to his knees with a whimper, feeling as if a giant hand had punched him in the middle of the stomach, knocking all the air out of him. His wand fell to the floor with a clink, forgotten and abandoned.

The Great Hall was in a similar state as his room, bloodstains splattered on the walls, the floor and the roof an awful shade of red.

But there was an addition to this room that truly terrified him.

`This is not happening!'

There were bodies hanging from the ceiling. He could recognize the unruly red hair of his best friend, Ron, and the round-face of the once smiling Neville, and the long flaming hair of Ginny, and the blond locks of Luna… he could also see the others: Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati, Roger, Justin, Ernie, Colin… they were all here… hanging from the ceiling by thin tendrils that looked awfully organic. Their faces were pale, their skin a dreadful shade of gray… and as still as the dead.

Harry's eyes moved downwards and a whine of panic rose in his head not unlike the one he felt on that fateful night at the end of his fifth year. He tried to scream, but no sound came from his lips. He tried to move, to get up from the floor and run, but his body was not working anymore.

`THIS IS NOT HAPPENING!'

His eyes were locked on Hermione's figure; she was caught up in what… for lack of a better term… was a giant spider web. It went from one side of the room to the other, and she was caught right in the middle of it, her arms raised over her head, her knees pressed tightly together, her head hanging limply to her side, her cascading curls hiding her face from Harry.

Rendered immobile by some powerful force he couldn't describe, Harry saw as a glowing red orb appeared over her head.

Hermione looked so small, so vulnerable.

Like a prey waiting for her predator.

`GOD, NO! RUN! HERMIONE! GET AWAY FROM HERE! GO!'

The orb pulsed more brightly. He could now hear a small humming sound coming from the sphere.

`NO! NO!!! SOMEBODY… ANYBODY… HELP HER, PLEASE!'

The cold came at him like a tidal wave, piercing his flesh and freezing his very bones. A graying mist had started to exude out of the orb, and the wind grew until the breeze became a whirling tornado that surrounded Hermione.

Harry struggled against the cold and the wind to keep his eyes open, but he doubted he could have closed them even if he had wanted to.

`Somebody… please… please help her…'

He saw as translucent arms appeared out of thin air, and started clawing at Hermione's body. She raised her head slightly, her eyes still closed. She didn't struggle against her bindings. She was just standing still, either too stunned by what was happening or too weak to do anything about it.

`Come on, Mione… wake up, love… you've got to run now… you've got to get out of here…'

The hum was replaced by the sound of actual voices. He couldn't make out the words, but he found he didn't need to understand to realize that the situation was progressing from bad to worse.

Hermione opened her eyes with a start, and Harry choke on his scream. Her eyes were not the color of warm honey and chocolate he had gazed upon for the last seven years, but silver, metallic and mirror-like.

And then, she spoke… and her voice was one with the voices from the mist.

“Time's up.”

The mist closed around her, swallowing her completely, and a gut-wrenching scream echoed in the hall.

Harry felt himself being spattered with something warm and heavy …

And he knew… he just knew that the liquid that he could now taste in his mouth… that he now could feel in his nostrils… that had now fallen over his eyes and blinded him …

… was his beloved's blood.

-----------------

Well, I bet you want to send a couple of insults/death threats my way… you are welcome to do so! I just ask you to have a little faith in me… everything will be explained in due time. Oh, this chapter was made thanks to one of the most angsty songs ever to be written: Nine Inch Nails's “Something I can never have” What an anthem!

Let me know what you think of this! PLEASE!

One of the reasons this chapter took so much time was that I was overwhelmed by the response to the last chapter. I just have to say: THANK YOU SO MUCH! I'm… I'm still shocked that so many people liked it! Thank you for the kind words and the encouragement! It is my true wish not to disappoint any of you in the end.

Adieu,

Anasazi

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Many, many thanks to my beta Another for his wonderful work. You are the best!

Chapter 13: Dirty Little Secret

I'm not in love. So don't forget it.
It's just a silly phase I'm going through.

-----------------------------

If Harry were to be asked what the single worst moment of his life was, now he knew how to answer. Without a doubt, the sensation of being washed in the blood of his best friend of six years - the woman he felt for like no other - was the most terrible experience of Harry's young life.

And considering he was the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Screwed, that was saying a lot.

He felt something pushing out of him, something organic and foreign, originating from below the pit of his stomach. It moved from his stomach to his throat, burning and pulsing, pushing out of him like a giant snake looking for release. When it arrived at his mouth, he recognized the sensation for what it was.

A scream.

He opened his mouth and released an agonizing cry. He screamed and screamed and screamed till the world spun around him in a whirlwind of anguish, his tormented soul begging for only one thing as everything was swallowed by the darkness.

Death.

Harry didn't get his wish though, for the next moment he felt a pair of strong hands gripping him by his upper arms and shaking him violently. He opened his eyes to find the anxious face of his redheaded friend, Ron. “Wake up! Wake up!” Ron yelled over and over again, shaking Harry desperately.

`It was a nightmare…just a nightmare.'

A wave of relief flooded his head with such intensity that he felt like crying from happiness. His head was pounding, his scar was burning, the sheets that were tangled around his legs were cutting his circulation, the contents of his stomach were bubbling as if he had swallowed a chemical bomb, and yet he felt so happy he could dance.

`She's all right. They are all alright.'

“I'm awake, Ron! I'm awake!” said Harry in a hoarse voice, the burning sensation in the pit of his stomach getting worse by the second. Ron, who had still been shaking him up to this point, sighed audibly and let go of him. Harry looked around the find that Seamus, Neville and Dean had also woken up and were now standing around his bed looking quite frantic.

“You okay, mate?” Ron asked with a shaky voice as he looked worriedly at Harry. Harry nodded weakly as he tried to focus on getting his heart rate back to normal.

“Yeah… it was just a nightmare,” answered a breathless Harry, using his arms to sit up on the bed. It was not an easy thing, for his whole body ached with the exertion.

“Harry, I've been sharing this dorm with you for almost seven years. Next time you wake me up with your screaming, I'm going to smother you!” Dean said as he made his way back to his bed, shaking his head with a smile that told Harry that the muggleborn was only half-joking.

“Sorry, guys,” Harry whispered, taking deep breaths, attempting to stop the shivers running up and down his extremities.

“At least we don't sleep in bunks. Imagine Harry dropping on one of us? Enough for a heart attack, say I,” Seamus said with a small smile before jumping into his bed and throwing the covers over his body.

“Are you sure you are okay, Harry? You look as pale as the Bloody Baron,” Ron asked softly. Harry considered telling Ron about the dream… for about half a second; Ron would go frantic and go wake up Hermione, who would panic, and with Dumbledore out of the castle it would all be for nothing.

Harry nodded weakly as he swung his legs to the side and pushed himself out of the bed. “Yeah. I just… I just need some water.” Slowly, he stood up, the blood rushing back to his legs with such force that he felt dizzy. His body seemed to be burning up, and he wanted nothing more than to splash cool water on his face. Ron looked reluctant to believe him, but he was too groggy and exhausted to insist, and finally nodded at Harry and walked back to his bed, snuggling under the Chudley Cannon's bed sheets Hermione had gotten him for last Christmas.

Harry walked to the back door of the room and opened it, but before he could step outside, he heard someone calling his name. He looked over his shoulder to find Neville, who had been silent since Harry woke up, sitting on his bed and looking at the picture he kept on his night table. It was a picture of his parents, Alice and Frank Longbottom, from their seventh year at Hogwarts. The look on Neville's face as he watched his father giving a piggyback ride to his mother left no doubt as to what was going on inside the boy's mind.

“This nightmare… it doesn't have anything to do with… with You-Know-Who… does it, Harry?” Neville asked, his voice strangely devoid of feeling, his eyes never leaving the portrait of his parents.

Truth be told, Harry didn't know how to answer. What WAS that dream about? Was it a vision like the one Firenze said he experienced in Divination? Why was Hermione the central character in the dream? Was it just a message of his unconscious regarding his current situation with his best friend? And if indeed the dream had something to do with Voldemort, how was he supposed to decipher its meaning?

Dammit! Where was Dumbledore when you needed him?

“Don't worry, Neville. Go back to sleep,” Harry said with as much strength as he could muster, nodding slightly at his good friend. Neville finally looked at him, his eyes inspecting the green-eyed boy, before he finally sighed and nodded back at Harry.

Harry left the room and dragged his body by the doors of the other dormitories into the boy's lavatory. He bent over the water basin and opened the tap, splashing cool water on his weary face. He felt sticky, dirty and soiled… as if he would never be clean enough.

Water dripping from his face and the raven locks that were now stuck to his forehead, Harry looked up to find himself staring back from one of the bathroom mirrors. His vibrant green eyes had lost their sparkle, and were now red-rimmed and shiny, with dark circles underneath them. Moving his hair away from his forehead, he gazed at the lightning-bolt shaped scar that had been his curse since he was little more than a year old. It felt like it was burning from the inside and yet, it looked the same as it had been for the last 16 years of his life.

Harry turned around, leaned back against the cool porcelain of the basin and closed his eyes, trying to recreate in his head what he had witnessed not ten minutes ago.

He impulsively chewed his lower lip when the memory of Hermione on his bed came into focus. It had felt so real: the weight of her body pressing against his, the smell of her vanilla soap and her lavender shampoo, the way her hair tickled his face, the way her breath caressed his lips.

Oh, how much he had wanted to tell her right there about the potion, that he didn't care about anything but her, that he didn't want to be cured of his ailment, and that he wanted nothing more than to feel her full lips on his! But, just like the mad love he felt for Hermione, it was just an illusion.

An illusion that had all too soon gone down the drain.

Why the sudden change? Why had he seen his friends trapped in the Great Hall, hanging from the ceiling like pieces of raw meat in a butcher shop? Why had Hermione taken a central place in the nightmare? Why was she trapped in the spider web? What is the orb? And what was it doing hovering over her?

He remembered the feeling of Hermione's blood raining over him, how he had tasted the metallic bitterness of her essence in his throat, and he gagged in response. Harry felt the nausea violently hit him. He opened his eyes and ran to one of the stalls, kneeling in front of the ceramic bowl and puking the contents of his stomach into it.

After about five minutes that seemed to last an eternity, the violent lurches in Harry's stomach subsided. He sat on the floor of the bathroom stall, leaning back against the wall, the little strength he had recovered after his terrifying nightmare failing him entirely.

He had not stopped thinking about the dream and it's meaning, even when the headache was now pounding violently behind his eyes so harshly that the dim light from the few candles spread throughout the room hurt him.

Hearing only his ragged breathing echoing in the hollow lavatory, Harry thought he had reached a possible explanation for his nightmare. Potion or no potion, Hermione was the single most important person in Hogwarts for Harry. She was his best friend, the person that understood him and comprehended him like no other, and his number one ally in the fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

If he were to allow himself to indulge in the fantasy that he was in love with her, it would ruin their friendship. She would be trapped in the proverbial spider web, suffering on the inside for fear of hurting him. The strain will get to be too much, and he would finally lose her completely.

And without Hermione, there was nothing for him in Hogwarts… no education, no friends, no Quidditch, no tests, and no future.

Hogwarts without Hermione meant nothing to him.

The thought that he one day might have to live without his best friend by his side terrified him more than any nightmare he had ever experienced, more than Uncle Vernon and his leather belt when he was a kid, more than Aunt Marge's rabid mutt chasing him through the backyard, and even more than encountering Voldemort face to face in that godforsaken graveyard.

Without his best friend, Harry was crushed… overpowered… defeated.

`I'm not in love.'

Harry ran his hands through his jet-black hair, soaked with sweat.

`It's just the potion.'

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, ignoring the sudden urge to cry. He was a man for Merlin's sake! And not just any man, but the one that had the fate of the wizarding world on his shoulders. What good would it do to cry?

For him, it was actually a blessing that what he was feeling wasn't for real, because if it had been… only God knows if he would risk it by going off to fight some evil dude with delusions of world domination.

And, still sitting on the cold marble floor of a dirty stall in an empty lavatory, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World and Fool Extraordinaire, fell asleep.

--------------------------------

Friday, October 31^st

7:24 AM

The next time Harry opened his eyes, sunlight had flooded the lavatory. There was an incessant tapping on his shoulder, and Harry looked to his right to find Colin Creevey crouching next to him, frowning with worry.

“Harry, are you okay? You feeling ill? Want me to call Hermione?” Colin said in a hurry, his wide eyes scrutinizing Harry's face.

`Why does everyone think of calling Hermione when I'm in trouble? I'm starting to think I'm a bit co-dependent.'

“I'm okay, Colin. Just a touch of stomach flu,” Harry grimaced as he pushed himself from the floor of the bathroom stall. He was still feeling rather weak, and it didn't help that he had spent only God knows how many hours asleep on the cold marble floor. Colin grabbed his arm and helped Harry to stand up, and didn't release the raven-haired boy until he made sure Harry was steady on his feet.

“Oh, you too? I had it yesterday,” Colin said, his face paling at the memory, “Are you sure you are okay, Harry?”

Harry nodded in reply, slowly dragging his aching body back to his dormitory. Only Neville and Ron remained, and they both looked relieved when Harry stepped inside the room. “Where were you?” Ron asked as he hastily tied the knot in his tie.

“Around,” Harry lied, feeling rather humiliated by spending the night in front of a toilet. He didn't miss the look of disbelief that Ron and Neville shared, but decided to ignore them as he quickly dressed on his school uniform. As soon as he finished, the three friends walked in silence through the Hogwarts hallways until they reached the Great Hall.

A violent shiver ran down Harry's spine at the sight of the Great Hall, the memories of the dream assaulting his senses: the bodies hanging from the ceiling… the blood on the halls… Hermione in the spider web… the taste of her blood at the back of his throat.

“Harry, are you okay?” Neville's concerned voice broke through his thoughts. Harry raised his head to find Neville and Ron looking at him as if they were expecting him to break into little pieces at any moment. It both warmed his heart and unnerved him to no end.

`Get a grip, Potter. It was only a nightmare. She's fine; they are all fine.'

“Yeah, just a bit dizzy. That's all,” Harry nodded, managing to give them a weak smile. Again, Neville and Ron shared a look that told Harry they weren't easily fooled, but they had apparently learned their lesson after last night's little date fiasco: it was better not to meddle in Harry's personal affairs until he was ready.

“Come on, mate. Let's get some breakfast in you,” Ron said, smiling slightly and giving Harry a small pat on his shoulder. They walked toward the Gryffindor table and sat at the end, Ron next to Harry and Neville on the other side of the table. They were soon joined by Ginny, who gave a sheepish smile to Harry before kissing Neville on the cheek.

Ron was piling the pancakes on Harry's plate and telling Harry to “dig in”, but Harry was too preoccupied to eat, having realized that there were no decorations visible in the Great Hall.

Had the whole business about helping Flitwick with the Halloween Ball decorations been a rouse by Roger to get Hermione to go with him? If it had been, he had to give points to Roger for his oh-so-simple yet so effective lie.

His stomach was doing summersaults, his heart was beating wildly in his chest and the palm of his hands started sweating profusely. He gripped the fork in his hand with such force that the old iron gave in.

`I'm not in love.'

The memory of his friend, not the one on his dream, but the flesh and blood Hermione that had danced with him in the grounds to the beat of a silent melody, came back to torture him. He closed his eyes and thought solely on the memory.

He had been so close, yet so far.… Had Roger kissed her yet? Had he felt how her body fitted against his? Was he planning on taking her on a broom ride under the moonlight?

Had she danced with him the way she danced with Harry?

`It's just the potion.'

Harry exhaled loudly, and finally opened his eyes. He found Ginny and Neville were trying to get more information from Ron about his infamous costume, but the redhead just blushed furiously and waved at Luna, who was looking at him dreamily from the other side of the hall.

“You two will know soon enough,” Ron said, chewing his bacon loudly. Ginny, who seemed to be back to her usual excitable self, turned her attention to Harry.

“How about your costume, Harry? Is it top secret too or can you let us in on the scoop?” the youngest Weasley asked before taking a bite of her buttered toast. Upon seeing Harry's sour expression, she choked.

“Sorry,” she mumbled after swallowing her food. Harry smiled reassuringly, a smile he hoped conveyed his belief that soon things will be back to normal.

“Don't worry, Gin. It's just a phase,” he whispered before forcing himself to start eating his pancakes. The food was quite good, but his stomach was not really feeling up to it. So after a few bites, Harry settled for watching in silence the parade of students coming and going from the room.

Breakfast was almost over, and two key players were still missing: Hermione Granger and Roger Davies.

Trust one of the Gossip Twins to state the obvious.

“Hey, where's Hermione?” Lavender asked from her seat next to Ginny, her question directed at Harry.

`What am I? Her boyfriend? Ask bloody Roger!'

“I haven't seen her since last night,” Harry mumbled, whispering, “Not that it's any of your business,” under his breath, absently pushing a lonely grape around on his plate.

“I know what must have happened to her,” Parvati said, winking slyly at Lavender. The not-so-innocent expression was enough to raise the alarm in Harry's head.

“What is it? What happened to Hermione? Is she okay? Where is she?” asked Harry hurriedly, unconcealed panic in his voice as flashes of last night's nightmare swam behind his eyes. Lavender and Parvati looked at him as if he had sprung a third eye.

“Roger Davies!” Parvati answered bluntly, sharing a giggle with her best friend. Ron and Neville looked apologetically at Harry, who was gripping his wand tightly underneath the table and daydreaming about performing the Bat-Bogie Hex on those two, but it was Ginny who silenced the Gossip Twins' laughter with a “shut it, you hags”.

Before World War III could break out on the Gryffindor table, Hermione appeared at the doors to the Great Hall. Even from the distance, Harry could tell Hermione looked quite tired and haggard.

Everything else faded to the background as Harry watched Hermione walking toward their table.

Would she be angry about the kiss that almost happened last night? Would she tell him that she wants to stop being friends with someone that can't keep his hands to himself? Would she scream at him for breaking the bonds of trust and friendship they had shared for the last six years?

Hermione sat on the empty chair next to Harry before the emerald-eyed boy had a chance to regain his senses. The brown-haired witch mumbled a quiet “good morning, everyone” before grabbing a piece of toast from a nearby tray and hungrily beginning to bite at it.

Okay, so she had apparently decided to ignore it.

Harry surprised himself by realizing that he couldn't decide if that meant he was sad or if he was happy.

The nearby Gryffindors watched in fascinating horror as Hermione crunched on her food with a passion never equaled (with the sole exception of Ron after a Quidditch game). She was already on her third piece of toast when Ginny broke the silence, saying rather bluntly, “You are abnormally famished this morning.”

“Sorry,” Hermione said with a sheepish smile, wiping a bit of butter that had trailed down her chin, “I was up all night working.” That simple statement was enough to make Lavender and Parvati break into another giggling fit. Everyone but Hermione glared daggers at them until they calmed down.

“Did I miss something?” Hermione asked, looking from Lavender to Harry and Ron, who were behaving rather oddly this morning, even for them.

“Where's Roger?” Lavender asked in a not-so-subtle tone.

Harry grimaced; part of him knew that the subject of Roger was as painful as a prostate exam in the hands of a giant, but another part of him wanted to know where the head boy was as badly as Lavender and Parvati did.

Hoping for a “he got pecked to death by Buckbeak this morning”, Harry almost choked on his pumpkin juice when Hermione shrugged nonchalantly and answered, “Resting, I guess. Poor guy was exhausted when we finished.”

Lavender and Parvati both whooped loudly, giving each other a high-five as if they had just won the lottery. Harry had had enough with those two that morning. His eyes growing into slits, he turned his attention to them and whispered, “Either you two shut your mouths, or I'll shut them for you.”

At least the two girls had the decency to look intimidated by the empty threat (or perhaps they didn't think it was that empty), because both stood up from the table, and, without looking back at either of them, walked out of the hall.

Had Hermione's frown been any deeper, it might have left a permanent scar between her lovely brows. Once again, she turned to her silent friends and asked, “Are you sure I didn't miss something?”

“Nope!” Harry, Ron, Ginny and Neville answered in unison, each trying to busy themselves with their breakfast. Hermione looked thoroughly unconvinced, but Luna, who was coming from the Ravenclaw table with a roll of parchment clutched on her tiny hand, spared them from further interrogation.

Kissing Ron soundly in his cheek, Luna quickly turned her attention to Hermione. “I got Father's answer,” she said, waving the piece of parchment in her hand. Harry had no idea what the hell Luna was talking about, but Hermione apparently did, judging by how her ears perked up in interest.

“What did he say?” asked Hermione, propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her hands. An errand curl of chocolate brown hair fell over her cheek, and Harry impulsively reached out and tucked it behind her ear. A tremor ran through Harry's arm when he realized what he had done, but thankfully, Hermione just gave him a grateful, but rather shy, smile before turning her attention back to Luna.

Taking the empty seat next to Neville, Luna said in a whisper, “He says he doesn't have a lot of information about what the stolen artifact really is, but that his sources told him that, until the day before the exhibition opened, the artifact was under the care of the Department of Mysteries, and there's even rumors that it was under the direct protection of the Unspeakables.”

The Department of Mysteries - the place that was the source of many of Harry's nightmares. His mind wandered to the end of his Fifth Year, to the reckless flight to save Sirius from the clutches of Voldemort, to the sphere that held the prophecy that had become Harry's curse, to the image of his best friend falling to the floor, still and seemingly lifeless, and to the veil that ultimately took his godfather's life.

Unexpectedly, he felt a warm sensation on the hand that had been resting on his thigh. Fingers curled around his hand and squeezed softly, a thumb tracing gentle figures in his skin. His eyes followed the arm of the person that was holding his hand under the table, only to find Hermione smiling tenderly at him.

She had instinctively known how he had felt. Somehow, she had known, and as always, she didn't waste another second in letting him know that she was standing there with him.

It was ironic that at that moment, with the simple feel of Hermione's hand holding his, Harry Potter felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

Still holding Harry's hand under the table, Hermione returned her attention to Luna and said, “You do realize that if indeed the artifact was under the care of the Unspeakables, it is potentially a very dangerous object. Probably a conduit for the dark arts.”

“I don't know. But I'm guessing it's something that will do a lot of damage if it fell into the wrong hands…” Luna added, seemingly slipping into one of her meditative states, something the Trio had grown quite accustomed to.

“Was it under the protection of our Ministry of Magic?” asked Neville with a slight frown. Luna replied with a simple nod.

“Then how did it get from England to Germany in the first place?” he asked. Luna and Hermione both looked at each other, unable to give him a suitable answer.

Harry felt as Hermione squeezed his hand lightly before she withdrew from him to scratch a spot next to her nose. He immediately missed the warmth of her skin, but didn't want to dwell on why.

`I'm not in love. I'm just glad she's my best friend.'

Ginny, who had been watching Harry and Hermione out of the corner of her eye, cleared her throat and said, “Hey, does everyone else think is a good idea if we have our lunch outside? It's such a beautiful day! It would be a shame to spend it inside the castle!”

“I think it's a lovely idea,” Luna said dreamily as Ron and Neville both nodded. In reality, the four friends had agreed last night after Harry had come from his date that it would do Harry a lot of good to spend as much time as possible away from the walls of the castle… and away from Roger Davies.

“I'll have to take a rain check on that. I already made plans with Roger,” Hermione said after finishing the last of her juice.

“Well, change them,” Ron said rather brusquely. A small kick to his shin by his little sister told him he had said the wrong thing.

Hermione, either accustomed to Ron's bossiness or simply deciding to ignore his immaturity, just rolled her eyes at him and smoothly replied, “I can't. It's very important that I meet with Roger today.”

`I'm not in love. I just… I just wish she could come with us… and not with him.'

“I'll… we'll miss you,” Harry whispered, giving her a slight smile. Only she heard him, and judging by the small smile she sent his way, she appreciated the sentiment. A mischievous glint appeared in her lovely eyes, and she unexpectedly beamed at them.

“Well, how about this? If you all want to, I can speak to McGonagall about getting us passes to visit Hogsmeade tomorrow. With all the extra work I had to do for this ball, I'm sure she'd agree to give me a day to relax with my best friends,” Hermione said with excitement.

“I'm in!” Ron said, raising his hand. Luna and Neville did the same, while Ginny wondered out loud if the Hogshead would serve her Firewhiskey. Hermione turned her attention back to Harry, locking her eyes with his in an unmistakable “How about you?” expression.`By tomorrow, I'm sure the potion would have wore off. What could be so dangerous about going to Hogsmeade with her?'

`Admit it, Potter. You just want an excuse to spend time together.'

`I'm not…'

` “in love” bla bla bla. I know. Keep telling yourself that.'

“I'd love to,” Harry said softly, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he averted his eyes from hers. He heard Hermione chuckle, and felt her fingers ruffling his hair playfully for a moment before she stood up from her seat.

Smoothing the front of her jumper, Hermione said, “Well, tomorrow I'll be all yours. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to return a book to Madame Pince. I'll see you all later.” And with one last smile, Hermione turned around and walked away.

All eyes were on Harry as the young man watched his best friend walking away from him. He looked, by all means, like a little boy that had spent the last five hours looking at the latest racing broom on display at Quidditch Quality Supplies.…

… Who knew he would never get a chance to ride it.

----------------------------

12:03 PM

Hogwarts Grounds

It had been unusual morning for the Hogwarts crew; the only thing truly familiar was Hermione scolding of Harry and Ron when they started snoring in the middle of Professor Binn's lecture about the role of the red goblins in the trade of silk in 15^th Century China.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson was canceled, mainly due to the fact that the teacher, Professor Dumbledore, was still absent from the castle. Again, Harry felt a deep sense of uneasiness; he may not always see eye to eye with Professor Dumbledore, but Hogwarts felt a lot safer with the old man around. The only one that shared his uneasiness was Hermione, mainly because she knew that Harry didn't felt comfortable discussing his dreams with anyone but Dumbledore.

`Don't be so paranoid. Nothing is going to happen.'

Harry had suggested (to the surprise of everyone but Ron) going to the library during the free period. Hermione congratulated him on trying to do better in school, but apologized because she still needed to work on some charms for the Ball. Ron had told a visibly gloomed Harry that he would go to the library with him, but of course, it had all been an excuse to spend some time with Hermione, and Ron, Neville and Harry settled for sitting in front of the Divination door for an hour and a half.

Divination was particularly uncomfortable for Harry, and not only because it was the only course Hermione didn't share with them. Nothing had changed from the previous classes taught by Firenze, and yet, Harry could feel a tension so thick he could almost cut it with a knife. The centaur hardly looked at him, and didn't spoke to him once during the entire time.

After the class had ended, Harry stayed behind, intent on apologizing to his teacher.

“Professor, I -”

He hadn't finished the sentence when Firenze put a comforting hand to his shoulder. Harry was more than surprised when the usually stoic centaur looked him straight in the eyes and said, “Young Potter, if I had the answer to your questions, I will give it to you… gladly. But I don't. I am but a simple creature, just a fly caught in this web we called existence.”

“Eh, alright, Professor. I'm sorry for being disrespectful the other day,” Harry said sheepishly, not quite wanting to meet the centaur's gaze.

The expression on his professor's face became even more serious as he continued, “Remember… destiny has chosen others to walk the same path you have to walk…”

“Professor, what do you -“

“Remember that… to open the door… you'll need the key.”

Was it just Harry or did Firenze tended to be even more confusing than Trewlaney?

`What the hell has he been smoking?'

Firenze sighed and shook his head slightly, remaining silent for a few moments. Finally, he added, “Just follow your heart, young Potter, as Mars follows Venus to the Twelve house, and I promise, it will all be well in the end.” There was an almost imperceptible smile gracing his handsome features.

Harry returned the smile and left the classroom, feeling both relieved that the Professor had apparently forgiven his tantrum and troubled by the strange parting words.

The words still echoed in his head as he followed Neville, Ginny, Ron and Luna to the place where they had decided to have their picnic… the tree by the lake. It was a hot, but breezy afternoon, not unlike the one on Monday, where Harry had, by mistake, drank the cursed love potion. His heart sank when his thoughts drifted once again to Hermione, whom he had caught a glimpse of when they walked past the Great Hall, sitting next to his least-favorite Ravenclaw.

They finally reached the tree by the lake, and stood under the refreshing shade. Harry sat against the trunk as Ginny opened the basket Dobby had prepared for them. Neville and Ron placed the red and white picnic cloth on the moist grass as Luna performed a charm that would keep the ants away from the food.

Harry mumbled “thank you” to Ginny when she passed him a plate with fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy and ate in silence, his mind drifting to the last time he had sat under this very tree.

That afternoon, Hermione had rested her head on Harry's shoulder as they laughed at one of Ron's stories. He could still feel the way Hermione's hair tickled his cheek, he could smell her characteristic aroma impregnated on his skin, he could see himself resting his arm on her shoulders when he felt her tremble from the cold.

Absently, he wondered why he remembered those things if he was yet not under the potion's spell.

`I'm not in love.'

“You are not eating, mate. Are you okay?” Ron asked softly as he took the spot next to Harry. Harry hadn't realized he had spent the last 10 minutes without touching his plate.

“I guess I'm not,” Harry sighed as he put the still full plate aside. He leaned back against tree trunk and closed his eyes, deciding to ignore his friend's pitiful stare.

“Hey, isn't that Hermione?” Neville suddenly asked, peering over Ron's shoulder. Harry opened his eyes in time to see Ginny elbowing Neville in the ribs and mumbling something under her breath. Harry and Ron looked around the tree to find that Neville was indeed right, for Hermione was walking on the other side of the lake. And she wasn't alone.

“Where's that dessert already?” Ron asked, trying to divert Harry's attention back to the picnic. Everyone else tried to continue with his or her meals, but for Harry, who just couldn't keep his eyes off Hermione and her companion, the idea of eating was preposterous. He wished he could see them more clearly, and not just as far away figures walking on the grounds.

Suddenly, Harry remembered a spell Hermione had taught him at the beginning of the term. She had apparently found it in one of the many books she read over the summer break, and memorized it in order to teach it to Harry. It was a simple and yet effective incantation, and one Harry had doubted he would ever need… until now.

Standing up and walking around the tree trunk, Harry sat against once again and, out of eyeshot from his friends, took his wand from his pocket and waved it in front of him. “Oculus Maximus,” he muttered under his breath, tapping the end of his wand against the surface of his eyeglasses.

`Remind me to thank Hermione for this nifty spell… minus telling her how I tested it.'

The view in front of him magnified considerably, and he zoomed in on the two figures strolling on the opposite side of the lake. The wind had picked up, and Hermione tucked a strand of her curly hair behind her ear to stop it from hitting her in the face. Roger was animatedly talking next to her, waving his hands in front of him almost frantically, that award-winning smile plastered on his face.

`Wanker.'

`As long as she's happy.'

Hermione suddenly stopped walking and, tucking her hands inside the pockets of her cloak, looked down. Roger stopped speaking and turned to face her, a frown on his face.

Since he couldn't read lips to save his life, Harry watched with interest as Roger spoke before placing his hand on Hermione's shoulder.

She looked up and replied with a whisper. The frown on Roger's face deepened, and, placing his hands inside his trousers, waited for Hermione to continue. A few more moments passed in which Roger and Hermione exchanged glances, but not words, while Harry could do nothing but stare.

Harry didn't know what came out of Hermione's mouth next, but as the words flowed and the seconds passed, he could swore he saw Roger's shoulders visibly sag, the proud posture he seemed to possessed betraying him. Hermione looked down on the ground, and said something that made Roger looked away, his eyes bright with something Harry had never seen on the Head Boy before.

Hermione looked up at Roger once more, and ceased to speak. Another silence fell between them, one that seemed more lasting and oppressive than the last one. Finally, Roger raised his head and met Hermione's eyes. Taking her hands between his own, Roger whispered something before raising her hand to his lips and tenderly kissing her knuckles.

Harry wanted nothing more than to hate Roger at that very moment, but to his surprise, he found he couldn't. It had been a gentle gesture, delicate, genuine and loving, and Hermione deserved nothing else but to be treated with total devotion.

`If only I learned to treat her that way.'

A bittersweet smile appeared at the corners of Hermione's mouth as she took a step toward Roger, closing the distance between them considerably. With her free hand, she gently cupped his face, her thumb tracing his cheek softly, and started speaking.

Like a passerby about to witness a car crash, Harry found himself unable to look away from the couple in front of him. His chest was aching, his breath became shallow, his palms sweated, and yet… he could not look away. Not even when he felt Ron kneel next to him could he tear his eyes away from the loving picture on the other side of the lake.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” asked Ron softly and with evident sadness in his voice, knowing exactly what had kept Harry's attention for so long.

“I don't know,” was Harry's blank answer.

“Tell her how you feel, mate,” pleaded Ron, looking up from Harry and toward Hermione and Roger. He knew there was no way under the heavens that Hermione could feel about Roger the same way she seemed to feel about Harry.

“I'm not in love, Ron,”' Harry whispered the mantra that had kept him going since last night, his own voice sounding like a stranger's.

“It doesn't look that way to me,” Ron sighed, turning his attention back to Harry.

“I'm telling Snape about the potion and begging him for the counter-potion. I don't care how much he ridicules me… nothing is worth this pain,” whispered Harry hollowly.

“Is there anything that can change your mind?” Ron asked, but Harry couldn't reply this time, for the view had once again captured his undivided attention.

He forgot to breathe as he watched Hermione lean closer to Roger, her lips capturing the Ravenclaw's mouth in a chaste kiss.

`There's one thing that can change my mind. Make me the one she wants to be with.'

“No, Ron. There's nothing to be done.”

------------------------

3:45 PM

Potions Classroom

The afternoon had been nothing but a blur. Harry did not remember walking back from the picnic, or the name of the creature that had stung him in Care of Magical Creatures. He didn't remember what Ron and Hermione had been fighting about on the way to Potions, so he was slightly confused when he found himself sitting in front of his desk, stirring a vile green liquid in his cauldron.

“What am I supposed to be doing here?” he mumbled to Ron, who was standing next to him stirring his own potion.

“Well, what WE are supposed to be doing is the first stage of the Draught of the Living Dead potion,” Ron replied, stealing a glance at Snape, who was helping one of the Slytherins with his work. He then pointed at Harry's cauldron and added, “That, my friend… I don't know what the hell that is.”

Sadly, Ron was right. Knowing his work was now unsalvageable, Harry muttered Scourgify and the contents of his cauldron vanished. He knew he would get a FAIL mark on today's lesson, but frankly he didn't give a damn. He had more pressing concerns in his head.

As they had been doing for as long as Harry remembered, his eyes searched the room until they found Hermione. She was biting her lower lip softly as she often did when she was deep in thought, stirring her potion with care, her eyes fixed on the simmering liquid. Harry chuckled dryly, not from amusement, but from the sheer irony that only his best friend could look so lovely doing such trivial things.

Hermione looked up and he caught her eye. She gave him a big smile, a gesture comforting because of its familiarity. Harry smiled back before Hermione returned to her work.

“I have your grades for last Monday's potion. As usual, you have done nothing but disappoint me,” Snape's voice broke through Harry's thoughts. He looked at the front of the classroom to see Snape was sitting in front of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest, a look of deep disgust on his face. Harry shuddered when he remembered that this was the man he was supposed to ask for help. In normal circumstances Harry would prefer to swallow his own tongue than to go to Snape, but alas, there wasn't anything normal about his peculiar situation.

Harry didn't know how she did it, but the next moment he felt Hermione's familiar hand on his forearm. He looked to his right to find her looking up at him with concern written in her charming features. “Did you just apparate?” was the only intelligent phrase that came out of his mouth.

“No, silly. I walked here. But I'm not surprised you didn't notice. You haven't taken your eyes off Snape for the last ten minutes,” Hermione said patiently. Ten minutes? Merlin, that loss of time was becoming rather annoying to Harry.

“I can see your potion didn't turn out that good,” Hermione said, turning her attention to Harry's empty cauldron. Harry just nodded, mesmerized by the way she was still holding onto his arm.

`I wonder if… when things get back to normal… I will notice all these little things.'

`Do you want to notice?'

He didn't have a chance to find out as Hermione turned her attention back to him and whispered, “Look, I have to leave straight away after class, but I just wanted to let you know that I hoped you had changed your mind about the Ball. I don't want you to miss this.”

She looked so hopeful that he didn't have the heart to let her down. He vaguely thought about how lucky he was to have a friend like her as he whispered, “I'll… I'll think about it.”

Hermione gave him another knee-jerking smile and said, “If you do go… will you save me a dance?”

“The first,” Harry said as he forced himself to keep smiling. He didn't thought it was appropriate to add that he would save for her the first, the last, and every other dance in between if she would just ask it of him, so he kept quiet before he could make an ass out of himself.

“Good. Hope to see you there, Harry,” Hermione said, giving him another bright smile before squeezing his arm in farewell. She turned around to look at Ron, who was concentrating hard over his cauldron, committed to actually getting a pass in today's work.

“And I definitely can't wait to see you there, Ron,” she said, her voice full of mischief. Ron grew immediately suspicious and, frowning, asked her why.

“Oh, let's just say Luna told me all about the costumes. I'll definitely be asking Colin to take a picture of you,” Hermione said. With a playful wink at Ron, she walked away from them.

Snape interrupted the murmuring of the classmates, “When you are finished with your potion, prepare a sample for evaluation. Bring it to my desk so you can pick up your substandard grade for Monday's work.”

Hermione left her sample and picked up Monday's grade from the pile of sheets on Snape's desk. She smiled at what, obviously, was another Outstanding and ignored the sneer the professor sent her way as she walked out of the room.

“At least I know I'll get a good grade for a change,” Ron said as he started to prepare his own sample for evaluation. Harry mumbled a weak under his breath and took a look around at his classmates. Most of them were visibly excited about tonight's ball, gossiping about the dances they had practiced and the costumes they had bought.

Instinctively, Harry's attention drifted to the Slytherin side of the classroom. He found everyone but one in the same energized state. Surprisingly, it was Draco Malfoy who seemed not be in the mood to join the celebration. In fact, he was behaving uncharacteristically jumpy as he prepared the vial with today's potion, even spilling some of the liquid on his table.

`What the hell is his problem?'

“Ready, mate?” asked Ron, his sample ready as he threw his book bag over his shoulder.

“No,” replied Harry, shaking his head and tearing his eyes away from the white-haired Slytherin, “let's wait till everyone gets out of here.”

So they waited until only Malfoy and Snape remained in the dungeon. Malfoy finally put the cork on his vial and hand it to Snape. The Slytherin picked up his grade and stuffed it in his bag without checking it, leaving the classroom in an obvious hurry.

“Now or never,” whispered Harry as he and Ron walked toward the front of the class. Snape was reading an old scroll in his hands, and didn't look up from the sheet until Harry cleared his throat.

“Yes, Potter?” asked Snape, raising his eyes from the scroll and looking at Harry with nothing but disdain. Ron placed his sample with the others and picked up his grade from the desk.

“Professor… Professor Snape. I have a p-p-p-problem…” Harry started saying, but he didn't get a chance to finish his request.

“WHAT?!?” screamed Ron, effectively silencing Harry. Harry looked at his friend and found him with an expression of shock in his face, clutching his grade sheet in his hand.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Weasley?” Snape sneered, venom dripping from his innocent words.

“I failed… I FAILED!” screamed Ron, looking from Snape to Harry and waving his grade sheet in front of him.

“WHAT?” hissed Harry, his rational mind shutting down as he made a grab for Ron's paper. The word FAILED was written across the parchment in bright red ink, provoking Harry's heart to beat twice as fast as it normally did.

`No, it can't be. The potion worked! This is just… this is just Snape messing with Ron! He hates it when we get things right!'

“How could… How could I have received a FAILED grade when the potion works?” questioned Ron, voicing Harry's concerns as he turned his attention back to his Potions' teacher.

Snape slowly stood up from his seat and, placing his hands on the tabletop, he rounded on Ron. “Mr. Weasley, if you are speaking about Monday's potion I can assure you, the grade you have is the grade you deserve. You did not hand in the Philtrum Casses Amator potion as was requested of you,” Snape hissed, his whole body shaking with anger.

`I'm not in love… I'm not in love…'

“If the potion doesn't work, how come…” Ron started, turning his attention back to Harry.

The same thought plagued Harry's head, and yet, didn't have enough working neurons to voice it. He just stared back at Ron, his jaw hanging open, his breathing shallow, his hands trembling.

`I AM NOT IN LOVE'

“WHAT ARE YOU TWO NINCOMPOOPS TALKING ABOUT?” Snape screamed, sick and tired of the ridiculous staring contest Harry and Ron seemed to be engaged in.

But the Potion Master didn't get an answer, because the next moment, Harry Potter ran out of the classroom like a bat out of hell, his best friend trying to catch up to him and failing.

Reality had come knocking on his door, leaving his dirty little secret out in the open.

-----------------------------------

Hello, my friends! Sorry about the scare I gave some of you last time. I wasn't about to kill Hermione! Not yet, anyway (hehe kidding… or not. :) )

This chapter is dedicated to the lovely Musketeers and the fabulous Glendy, for hounding me about this update every time they saw me online, and to Tori Amos, for her lovely rendition of Harry's Anthem (otherwise known as “I'm not in love”).

So, I guess one-half of the question everyone has been asking since the second chapter of this story has been answered. Let's recap: was Harry under the effects of a love potion? The answer is N-O. But he was under a potion's effect. You'll have to wait to find out more about that.

And thanks to all my wonderful reviewers for the inspiration, encouragement and constructive

criticism.

Love,

Anasazi

-who thinks nincompoop is one of the coolest words in the English language.

-->

Chapter 14: Through the eyes of a hippogriff

------------------------

“Harry, I…”

“Don't want to talk about it, Ron.”

Harry raised his head slightly, his chin moving away from his chest, and his gaze became lost in the shimmering reflections of the lake. He had ran to this spot as soon as he had left Snape's classroom and, judging by the way the sun was setting behind the mountains, had been sitting under their beech tree for hours, a single thought pulsing in his head.

`There was never any potion… there was never any potion...'

Who could have guess that such a straightforward admission meant that nothing would ever be the same?

“Aren't you going to at least get something to eat?” Ron asked with a sigh.

“I'm not hungry,” whispered Harry hoarsely. He wasn't kidding; his stomach was in such a state that he knew no nourishment was capable of staying down.

“Look, Harry,” he heard Ginny say, “I think there's something you should know.” He frowned, and reluctantly looked to his right. Not so surprisingly, Ron was standing with his co-conspirators just a few feet away from the tree.

“Surprise! If it isn't the Scooby Gang!” said a very sarcastic Harry. He took a deep breath, ignoring the way his lungs ached, before continuing, “If you are here to talk about what happened in Potions, which I'm sure Ron has already told you, don't bother. I already know I got myself in this mess.”

“Actually, it looks like you had some help,” said Luna, who reached into the pocket of her cloak and took out an old leather-bound book. She carefully opened it, and read out loud from a page somewhere in the middle, “The Ardeo Candor Potion”. Seeing she now had Harry's undivided attention, Luna continued reading…

The Ardeo Candor Potion

The Ardeo Candor potion, also known as the “Draught of Ardent Lucidity” is used to bring into the conscious mind the more pressing matters floating in the personal unconscious. That way, the wizard or witch can deal with those matters using a logical and empirical approach.

The Ardeo Candor potion, however, should not be used lightly, for it is not without harmful side effects. A wizard that was once under the potion's spell compared it with “feeling like a man who has lived all his life with a blindfold over his eyes, and suddenly takes it off in the middle of the Summer's Solstice.”

The feelings of disorientation, confusion and violent mood swings that are usually caused by this elixir can be so intense that some wizards have permanently lost their minds, while others have committed suicide in order to avoid having to confront that which they had buried in their unconscious. Disturbing dreams and hallucinations are also not uncommon when you are under the draught's influence.

As tempting as it seems to use this potion in order to get a better understanding of your psyche, be careful.

There may be things you are not ready to know about yourself.

The ingredients and the instructions to brew this powerful elixir are the following…

Harry's face was ashen white by the time Luna was midway through the directions, and he found it difficult to breathe.

The only difference between the Philltrum Casses Amator and this Draught of Ardent Lucidity seemed to be 200mg more of lily dust.

The Ardeo Candor potion has no antidote, and no counter spell has been able to cure the subject of its effects. However, the potion ceases to have any influence when the witch or wizard in question acknowledges and understands the now conscious notion.

Luna closed the book and set it back inside her cloak. “We found that in the library,” Neville piped in.

“And we checked Ron's supply of potion ingredients,” Ginny added, reaching for Neville's hand.

Ron crouched next to Harry before saying, “There is a bit over 200mg missing from my supply of lily powder.” Picking a pebble from the ground and throwing it into the water, he mumbled, “I'm sorry, mate.”

“It's… it's not your fault,” Harry muttered, his nails unconsciously digging into the muscles of his thighs.

What Luna just read explained everything… his sudden joy and unexpected anger, the burning jealousy when he thought Roger… the sensation of intense loss when she had refused his advances… the torturing thoughts that plagued him when he thought of Hermione with another man. Even the nightmares could be explained!

His sanity had gone down the drain… and it was a simple “faux pas”.

“I don't know about you, but I don't think knowing the truth is such a bad thing,” Luna said calmly.

“Have you been dipping in Ron's firewhiskey? It said there that I would continue feeling like shit until I acknowledge and understand the now conscious notion! How the hell am I going to do that?” snorted Harry, annoyed that she could be so calm when he was feeling like a rat caught in a maze.

“How about actually doing something about it instead of just talking about it?” Ron suggested very matter-of-factly. Harry gave him a look that would have made others run for cover.

Not liking where this was going, Ginny tried for a more soothing approach. Crouching on Harry's other side and laying her hand on his shoulder, she said, “Harry, being in love with Hermione is not going to be like falling for Cho.”

“Great. Thanks for reminding me about how bad that was,” Harry mumbled, focusing his eyes once more on the lake, hoping that his friends would take the hint that their presence at the moment was neither required nor desired.

“Well, if you aren't thinking about Cho, what's the big deal?” asked Neville with surprising certainty.

Harry stood up slowly, holding back the desire to scream. Taking a deep breath, he tried to remember the fact that these were his friends, and that they only wanted what's best for him.

Opening his eyes, he looked at each of them before speaking in a clear voice, “I've tried to explain to you. Hermione is my friend. My.Best.Friend. Being IN LOVE with her changes everything! We will no longer be Harry and Hermione, mates, buddies, and faithful companions! We will be the Boy-Hopelessly-In-Love-With-His-Best-Friend and the Girl-That-Is-Clueless-About-It! It's a recipe for disaster!”

“For facing You-Know-Who so many times, you are a bigger coward than Gilderoy Lockhart!” Ron said without any trace of humor. It caught everybody off-guard, including Harry.

“What are you talking about?” Harry hissed.

“That you are scared shitless,” Ron continued, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes boring into his best friend.

“I am not a coward!” replied the green-eyed boy.

“Yes, you are!” answered Ron with absolute certainty. With a calmness that Harry found quite annoying, the redhead continued, “I recognize this because I felt the same way. You know Hermione so well that you think you know everything there is to know about her and everything there is to know about you with her… That's what love changes.” He took a few steps toward Harry before adding, “You aren't scared of hurting her because you know you would never hurt her… You are scared that she might hurt you!”

“She's already hurting me,” muttered Harry defensively.

“And that's your own bloody fault!” Ron said with conviction.

His hands curling into fists, Harry said between clenched teeth, “Why? Why is it my bloody fault?”

“Because you refuse to acknowledge what everybody knows,” Ron said, shaking his head softly.

“And what, pray tell, does everybody know?” Harry asked rather sarcastically, his eyes drifting toward the lake once again.

“That you and Hermione belong together.”

His head snapped back into place instantly. This was the second time in less than five minutes that Ron had managed to surprise him.

“Guys, can you give us a bit of privacy? I'll meet you inside,” Ron nodded to his girlfriend, sister and good friend. Luna kissed him on the cheek goodbye, and reluctantly she, Neville and Ginny started walking back to the castle.

Ron watched them for a few moments before turning his attention back to Harry. The green-eyed boy was still looking at Ron as if the redhead had just bitch-slap him. “W-w-w just what are you talking about?” Harry stuttered.

Ron took another step toward his friend and placed his hand on his shoulder, “I'm talking about what everybody's been talking about for years, Harry. Why do you think Cho dumped you as if you had a bad case of leprosy? Why do you think Viktor Krum was jealous of you and not me? Why do you think Rita Skeeter wrote about her as your girlfriend and everybody believed it? Why do you think Ginny stopped crushing after you when she became Hermione's good friend? …

Why do you think I stopped crushing after Hermione?”

“Huh?” Harry stared at his friend, completely dumbfounded.

Ron snorted and shook his head while saying, “Bloody hell, Harry! Sometimes a flobberworm uses more brain cells than you!”

Harry took a step back, running his head through his messy hair. He couldn't believe what Ron was saying! How could he have not known this? He walked toward the edge of the lake until he could see his reflection on the darkened water.

“You… were in love with Hermione?” Harry said, finally finding his voice.

“I… don't know if it was love. But I liked her. I liked her very, very much. Maybe it was love… it's too late to know the answer to that one,” Ron answered truthfully.

“Did you… did you tell her?” whispered Harry.

“I didn't bother,” Ron shrugged, thrusting his hands inside his pockets. The redhead raised his head, and looking at the fading horizon, asked, “You want to know why I didn't bother?” Harry nodded absently.

Ron walked toward the lake until he was standing next to his best friend before saying, “Because somewhere deep inside of me, I knew she would never return my affections… cause I believed she was in love with you, mate.”

“W-w-why… why would you think that?”

Ron exhaled loudly and waited a few moments before answering, “The way she looks at you… The way she puts her hand on your arm when she speaks to you… How she's ready to forgive you when you act like an idiot… How she always stands by your side, no matter what… The smiles she reserves only for you. The way she goes absolutely spare with worry over your well being.” A smile tugged at the corner of Ron's lips before he added, “Do you want me to go on?”

Harry's mind had gone blank.

`She's… she's in love with me?'

“No… no…she's not. Yes, she cares about me… a lot… because she's my friend… and friends care about each other. That's all there is,” babbled Harry.

“You are delusional,” Ron said with an impatient shake of his head.

Harry's hands shook slightly as he continued rambling, “And… and… and… how do I really now I'm in love with her? Maybe I'm just confused… maybe because she's my best friend and I… I depend so much in her emotionally… well, maybe I'm mixing the fact that I love her as a friend with the fantasy of being in love with her. Luna did say the potion caused confusion.”

Ron spoke in clear voice, “Let me ask you some questions, mate… when you look into Hermione's eyes… do you feel like you know everything about her? Every dream? Every thought? Every desire? And yet, at the same time, the whole lot of her is a mystery… something you want to know… to explore… a treasure to be discovered?”

“Yes,” whispered Harry, feeling as a shudder went through his body.

“When she holds your hand, do you feel like you've found the one that will stand by your side for the rest of your life? The one that will never let you fall? The one that gives you the strength to go on no matter how crazy and unfair life becomes?” Ron quizzed.

“Yes,” Harry croaked.

“Does she make you laugh? Does she make you cry? Do you want to hold her in your arms and never let her go?”

“Yes… yes… and yes,” whispered Harry breathlessly as he watched the last ray of light disappear behind the mountains.

Ron grinned and, patting Harry's shoulder, stated, “Then, I got news for you, my friend.” He waited until Harry turned his head to look at him before he continued.

“You are truly… madly… deeply… in love with Hermione.”

Harry sighed, his head dropping of its own accord until his chin rested on his chest. There was no way to avoid the fact.

`I am in love with Hermione… I am in love with Hermione… I am in love…'

“Harry, listen to me, ” pleaded Ron. Harry raised his head to see that Ron was not smiling anymore, but rather an expression that said Ron was wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“I am very happy with Luna, and being in love with her taught me that I was never really in love with Hermione… But I've always wondered… what if? What if Hermione had been in love with me? What if she was the one I was meant to be with?”

Placing his hand on Harry's shoulder, Ron said, “You don't want to spend the rest of your life wondering, Harry.”

They both looked away at that moment, their gazes lost in what little they could see of the moon on the surface of the lake. No more words were needed. Ron had played his part, and it was now Harry's turn to take the next step.

After a few minutes of silence, Ron patted Harry's shoulder one last time and said, “I got to go. Got to put that blasted costume on. Will you be joining us later?”

“I'm not sure,' whispered Harry truthfully, watching the reflection of a hummingbird that was flying over the water.

“Well, I'll see you later,” Ron said, his voice tinted with sadness as he turned around and started walking back toward the castle. He had taken a good twenty steps when he heard Harry's voice.

“DO YOU REALLY THINK HERMIONE IS IN LOVE WITH ME?”

Ron grinned and, turning around, replied in a booming voice, “SHE GAVE YOU A BROOM SERVICING KIT, HARRY! IF THAT'S NOT LOVE, I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS!”

Harry gave him a small, but genuine smile, his glasses momentarily flashing with the moonlight. “Thank you, Ron… for everything,” he said.

Giving him a dramatic curtsy, Ron said, “It's my duty, mate.” He gave Harry a last nod, turned around and resumed his walk back to the castle.

Under the light of the full moon, Harry wandered the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, his thoughts lost on the potion, the events of the last week, and the conversation with Ron.

Could his best friend be right? Should he tell Hermione how he felt? Could we have a chance with her after all?

Could she really be in love with him too?

It wasn't until he found himself standing behind Hagrid's hut that he realized his legs had taken him to Buckbeak's enclosure, the place the hippogriff had called home since the beginning of Harry's sixth year.

The massive beast was walking around the pen, flapping his wings occasionally, and trying to catch the little birds that flew near him as if to taunt him. He was alone; he had gotten so used to the contact of human beings that he wasn't fit anymore to live with others like him.

“Hello, Buckbeak,” Harry called softly. Buckbeak turned his head and fixed his yellow eyes on Harry. The hippogriff started walking toward him. In an impulsive reaction, Harry jumped over the wooden fence and met the creature halfway.

He bowed to the beast, and waited until Buckbeak lowered his head in return. Harry then straightened and closed the distance between them, patting the feathers on the side of his neck. For a moment, he forgot about his own troubles as those yellow eyes fell on him.

He couldn't quite put his fingers on it, but whenever he locked eyes with Buckbeak, he felt at calm, safe, at peace, as if the creature had been sent by someone to watch over him. He often imagined Sirius had felt the same when he had looked into Buckbeak's eyes, and that thought alone was enough to make him smile.

“How are you, my friend? Hagrid treating you well?” asked Harry very softly. Talking with Buckbeak was a habit he had picked from Hermione. He wasn't sure if the creature understood or not, but that didn't really matter.

The hippogriff nodded softly and flapped his wings once. Harry was about to open his mouth to say goodbye, when something strange stopped him.

A cherished image.

A forgotten memory.

Triggered by the sight of Buckbeak's remarkable eyes.

It was the summer after his fifth year. He had spent only three weeks at the Dursley's, where he had been submitted to a new level of abuse. And this time, Harry hadn't fought back. It was Petunia Dursley herself that had contacted the members of the Order, and had told them that Harry refused to come out of his room, and that she actually worried that he might not survive. He didn't know if she was doing this because she in fact cared about him or simply because she was afraid of retaliation, but whatever it was, it had worked.

Lupin had taken Harry to Grimmauld's Place. Harry had inherited the house from Sirius, but Lupin was in charge of the place until Harry was of age.

It had only made matters worse.

Harry had taken refuge in the room that used to belong to Sirius' mother, and now was Buckbeak's abode. The hippogriff, who was still nursing the wing wounded by Kreacher, didn't seem to mind the company; Harry thought he benefited from being in a place where no one was constantly trying to get him to talk about what had had happened that night at the Ministry of Magic.

The problem was… once he was in… he refused to come out.

And the hours turn to days… and his surroundings faded to black… and he fell into a waking sleep.

Twelve Grimmauld's Place
Summer after Fifth Year

“Alohamora”

The door to Buckbeak's room opened, flooding the darkened and dusty area with uninvited light. The hippogriff raised his head, made a low, desolate sound, before setting himself back on the floor.

Sitting on the corner while resting with his back against the wall, Harry shut his eyes, temporarily blinded by the sudden brightness. As if the voice weren't enough to give away the identity of the intruder, the smell of lavender and vanilla that accompanied her pierced the stale stench of his inner sanctum.

“Hermione,” whispered Harry hoarsely. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, thick and gruff from not using his vocal chords for only-God-knows how long. He heard her delicate steps as she drew nearer and stood in front of him.

“Hello Harry,” was the first thing Hermione spoke that day. She sounded weak and tired, and not at all unlike he felt. It wasn't much consolation.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were going to Tuscany with your parents,” he asked, not bothering to open his eyes. The less he saw of her, the better.

“I came to see you,” was her rather straightforward answer.

He chuckled without an ounce of humor, “Well, you've seen me. You can go now. Enjoy your summer.”

“I'm not going anywhere, Harry,” replied Hermione, her tone of voice indicating clearly that she was being very serious. He felt rather than saw her crouch in front of him, her knee bumping against his.

“I take it you've been speaking to Lupin,” Harry growled, the annoyance at the older man's intervention plainly shown.

“So, what if I have?” quietly answered his friend. He was growing rather annoyed at her too. Why can't they just leave him alone?

“For being a quiet man, Lupin seems to have a big mouth… better to eat you with, I suppose” Harry answered, trying to hide behind a cynical smile. His eyes twitched under his eyelids; he wanted to see her, to make sure she was getting better, and at the same time, he never wanted to lay eyes on her again.

“He's worried about you… so is Dumbledore and Ron and the Weasley's… and so am I,” Hermione whispered in a frustratingly patient voice. He heard her shift, and the next moment, he felt her hand on his bare arm.

It burned like liquid ice.

He immediately wriggle his arm free of her hold. Hermione took a sharp intake of breath, but didn't try to touch him again.

“There's nothing to worry about. I'm fine,” he murmured dully, his head dropping until his chin touched his chest. He was so weak… so damn tired. He just wanted to sleep… and never wake up.

“Really? Last I heard, you have hardly eaten or slept since you came here. You refuse to talk to Remus. And you haven't left this room for four days… So, forgive me for not agreeing when I say that there's plenty to worry about.”

Harry opened his eyes for the first time since she had stepped into Buckbeak's room. A knot formed in his throat at the sight. Even when she was wearing a rather casual green jumper and black jeans, there was nothing relaxed about her posture. She looked thinner than she had been when they had said goodbye at King's Cross, and the brown curls that framed her face did nothing to soften the dark circles under her eyes… those sweet caramel eyes that were now red with too many sleepless nights, and shiny with unshed tears.

It never crossed Harry's mind that he looked ten times worst.

“Leave me alone, Hermione. Please,” Harry whispered, speaking honestly for the first time. Green eyes locked with hers, and, for a moment, he thought she was going to grant him his wish.

“You know I won't,” she replied. Harry took a deep breath and looked down, trying to rein his temper under control. What could he do to make them understand that he just wanted to be left alone?

A heavy silence followed, were the only noise that was heard was the sounds of their breathings and the loud snoring that came from Buckbeak. Hermione finally broke the silence with a soft, “Harry, we need to talk.”

“If it's about homework, don't bother,” Harry whispered weakly. He seemed to be more interested on the grime on his white shirt than in the presence of his friend. It was a lie of course; her visit was like a pebble thrown in a pond. It had started a chain reaction in him of feelings he'd rather keep quiet.

“It's not about homework. To tell you the truth, I haven't felt like doing much this summer,” she sighed.

“There's a first time for everything,” he deadpanned.

“I want to talk to you about what happened at the Department of Mysteries… I want to talk to you about Sirius,” Hermione spoke.

“Don't waste your breath, Hermione. I'm sure I've already heard what you've got to say,” Harry whispered, his rising anger evident in his voice.

“It's not your choice anymore, Harry,” Hermione replied tiredly.

He raised his head slightly, and, arching an eyebrow at her, asked, “You going to take that away from me too?”

Hermione shook her head, her jaw set in resolve, “No. You did that yourself, Harry. Do you think this is what Sirius wanted for you?”

Harry smirked at her as he closed his eyes. Resting his head back against the wall, he replied, “Well, he's welcome to come and tell me that himself.”

His head snapped to his side rather forcefully as a smacking sound echoed in the room. His cheek burned, feeling as if hundreds of tiny needles were stinging him. Only when he opened his eyes did Harry realize what had happened.

Hermione had just slapped him.

His eyes blazed as he hissed at her, “Why the fuck did you do that for?”

Her eyes showed equal fierceness as she finally lowered her reddened hand, “To see if I could knock some sense into you! To finally get a reaction worthy of someone alive!”

He pushed himself from the wall until he was sitting on his knees, his body almost colliding into hers. His face was merely an inch away from Hermione when he spat, “You want a reaction from me? Fine.”

Harry stood up and violently grabbed her by the arm, pulling her up with him. Hermione winced before biting her lip; he had an iron grip on her arm and he didn't show any signs of easing up.

He started walking toward the still opened door, dragging her with him. She resisted him by trying to sit down, but Harry used his free hand to grab her by the waist and raise her from the floor as she vainly tried to kick herself free.

Buckbeak screeched loudly, standing up from the floor on his two hind legs. The beast towered over them, a sight to behold as it flapped its massive wings.

The hippogriff's outburst effectively distracted Harry, who failed to notice Hermione was reaching into her back pocket until it was too late. Immediately, he heard her whisper the spell that caused the door to the room shut with a squelching sound just before they reached it, bathing the room in shadows. He let go of her waist and tried the doorknob; the door did not budge.

He gritted his teeth when he remembered his wand was still locked up in his trunk… in his living room.

His eyes locked on the door as if he were trying to open it by the sheer force of his will, Harry spoke in a hoarse whisper, “Open the door, Hermione.”

“Not unless you leave with me,” she replied breathlessly, her wand still safely clutched in her hand. She tried to wriggle her arm free, but he refused to let her go.

Harry turned his head to look at her, and a small gasp escaped her parted lips. She had never seen him so menacing, not even when they fought about going to the Ministry that fateful night. Between clenched teeth, she heard him command, “Open the FUCKING DOOR!”

“I WON'T! NOT UNTIL YOU PROMISE YOU ARE GOING TO LEAVE WITH ME!” Hermione screamed in return. She almost gave in when he raised his hand over his head as if to strike her, but the blow never came. Instead, his hand curled into a fist before he punched the door, enraged. He barely noticed the wooden chips that pierced the skin of his knuckles.

Harry's eyes locked with Hermione's as they stood by the door. His face and his eyes were red with anger, but he didn't say anything, and he didn't let go of her. Tears were threatening to break out from her eyes, and she bit her lip impulsively. “Harry, please…” she managed to whisper, reaching up with her hand to caress his cheek before he finally reacted, letting go of her arm and shoving her hard against the door.

Buckbeak let out another loud screech, and tapped his left talon against the floor menacingly. Ignoring the hippogriff's outburst, Harry turned away from Hermione and walked toward the other side of the room, sitting with his back to the wall next to Beaky's stack of hay. Through half-lidded eyes, he looked at the girl on the other side of the room, searching his weary brain for a way to get her out of his haven.

“I'm not leaving, Harry,” said Hermione, guessing his train of thought, rubbing her arm where he had grabbed her, her eyes shiny in the darkness. He believed her; he had seen that look on her face before. She wasn't backing out of this one.

Neither was he.

“Fine,” he said in a low whisper that carried all the way to the other side of the room, “You want to stay here, be my guest! But I am NOT going to talk about… about what happened. Got it?”

Hermione continued to nurse her wounded arm, her jaw set in resolve. Finally, she nodded. Harry watched as Hermione tucked her wand back in her pocket and leaned against the door. She slowly slid to the floor, crossing her outstretched legs in front of her.

Only then did Buckbeak sat back down between them, crossing his talons in front of him and resting his head on his knees.

Harry surprised himself when he realized he felt a rather perverse pleasure in the knowledge that he had hurt her when he had grabbed her so forcibly. Why? He had never been that type of person.

He found a reason why: he wanted to knock some sense into her, make her see one way or the other that she needs to stay away from him… for her own good. How can such a bright woman not realize that simple truth?

He closed his eyes and took another trembling breath. Slowly, but surely, he blocked out the smell, her sound, her presence, and he slipped into that wonderful state he had discovered weeks ago, a place that existed between sleep and wakefulness, where time and space had no meaning, where he couldn't know the difference between night and day… and right and wrong… and life and death.

It was nirvana.

It was oblivion.

It was what he craved.

When Harry next opened his eyes, he instinctively knew many hours had passed. He couldn't hear Hermione, and he vainly hoped that she had finally grown tired of him and left him alone. But when he looked up, a very unexpected sight awaited him.

Hermione was kneeling in front of Buckbeak, and she was reaching with her hand to stroke his gray feathers. She kept caressing the creature with unimaginable tenderness, until the wounded hippogriff raised his head and released a mournful cry.

Harry watched amazed as Buckbeak leaned his face into her hand, his yellow eyes looking intently at her. Hermione seemed to have been caught in a spell, leaning even closer to the deadly creature, and wrapping her arms around his thick neck, rested her forehead against his soft feathers.

He discovered that her mouth was moving. The words were unintelligible to him, barely reaching a whisper, but amazingly, Buckbeak seemed to understand, judging by the soft sounds he was making.

Tears were now running freely down her cheeks even as she continued speaking to the massive creature in the room. Hermione had not realized Harry was looking at her until he spoke.

“'What are you doing?” he whispered brusquely. He licked his dried lips, but it didn't help much. He didn't remember when was the last time he had water.

Hermione raised her head and leaned back on her legs, surprised that he had decided to speak to her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opening her eyes again and fixing them on him, she answered plainly, “I'm speaking to him.”

“Why?” Harry asked with genuine curiosity.

“Because you are not the only one who's lost someone they love,” Hermione coolly answered. She wiped her cheeks with the cuff of her jumper, and by the time she looked again at him, Harry had turned away, his gaze now hovering somewhere along the empty wall.

A grumble echoed in the room, and Harry recognized that it came from Hermione's stomach. He tried to force himself to not care, thinking that it was her own damn fault for being so bloody stubborn, but the truth was he did care. He was used to get by for days without nourishment; after 15 years with the Dursleys you had no other choice. But he knew she wasn't, and it hurt him to think she might be suffering.

“It's late,” said Harry, still avoiding looking at her, “You must be hungry.”

“I am. Very much,” she answered with honesty.

“There's food downstairs,” he offered.

“Are you going to go with me?” asked Hermione very softly. He shook his head in answer.

“Then I'm not moving,” she replied, her hand stroking under the hippogriff's beak.

He curled his hand into a fist. She was going to make this more difficult than it had to be. “Then at least get your wand and summon something from the kitchen,” Harry suggested.

“Will you eat with me?” Hermione prodded in a gentle voice.

“I am not hungry, Hermione,” he answered automatically.

“If you won't eat, I won't either,” Hermione replied, turning her attention to the wounded hippogriff in her arms.

Harry had had enough. Turning to look at her, he jeered, “For Merlin's sake, Hermione! Stop being so stubborn and get the fuck out of here!”

To his dismay, she just arched her eyebrow and gave him a very wry smile, “Stubborn? There's a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”

He bit his tongue before he could release all the expletives in the English language. Doing his best to control his irritability, he tried to make her understand, “Look, you are still weak from Dolohov's curse! You need to keep your strength up, and you need to rest. Please, Hermione, I beg you! Leave me alone! Go home and stay away! You'll only suffer more if you stay here.”

“Do you really care about my well being, Harry?”

The question caught him by surprise. How could she doubt that? He'd died for her. He was dying for her… for all of them.

”You know the answer to that question.”

He almost couldn't see her dark chocolate eyes, but he felt the weight of her gaze in every fiber of his being, penetrating to his very core. The intensity of her gaze contrasted sharply with her quiet answer, “Then, think for a second… If I were behaving like you are doing now… if I were hiding in a dark room, wallowing in my grief, shutting everybody out while wasting away… would you let me?”

“Hermione…”

“Would you let me?”

For the first time since her arrival, Harry had no smartass reply to give her.

“I didn't think so,” Hermione said quietly. Buckbeak gave another somber howl. She leaned closer to the creature and, to Harry's amazement, dropped a kiss on the top of his feathery head. She finally stood up and walked back to the door as Buckbeak laid his head back on the floor, oddly looking as if he were finally in harmony.

Hermione took her jumper off before leaning back against the door and sliding back to the floor. She was wearing only a white sleeveless t-shirt that now revealed on her upper arm the red mark made by Harry's hand.

“I'm sorry…”

She looked at him, tilting her head to the side in confusion.

“… for grabbing you so hard. I didn't mean… I didn't mean to hurt you,” Harry finished, his voice barely audible across the room.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hermione nodded at him, signaling he was forgiven. They spend a few more minutes in the now familiar silence accompanied by the snoring of the creature now sleeping serenely in the middle of the room. Suddenly, Hermione stretched her arms upwards, yawning loudly, which caused the edge of her shirt to ride up. Harry became consciously aware that his best friend had indeed lost a lot of weight. His stomach tightened; it was his fault.

“You can take the bed,” Harry offered, nodding to the dirty mattress on the opposite corner. It wasn't much, but it was the only furniture in the room remotely comfortable.

Hermione shook her head tiredly, “It's okay, Harry. You take the bed.”

To her surprise, Harry used his hands to push himself from the floor. He wobbled a bit once he had stood up, obviously dizzy from lack of food and water and rest. He used the wall to steady himself, and once the room had stopped moving, he walked purposely toward her.

He was standing in front of Hermione when he extended his hand toward her and spoke a simple command, “Come to bed.”

She remained silent, looking up at him through the curtain of her long eyelashes.

“Please… for me,” pleaded Harry. Hermione finally reached up and took a hold of his hand. He helped her from the floor, and had to hug her against his body for a split second to steady her. But that was enough to make him realize how much he'd missed her. Breathing in her scent as his nose pressed against her hair, he felt warm and safe for the first time that summer. Taking a step back and shaking his head to push such thoughts out of his head, Harry gently pulled Hermione toward the mattress.

When they reached the bed, Harry pushed her kindly until she was sitting on the edge. Without any words, he knelt in front of Hermione, finally breaking eye contact as he looked down at her feet, slowly unlacing her shoes. He took them off her feet and placed them next to the bed.

He didn't look up when he felt Hermione's hand press against his cheek, the same cheek she had slapped many, many hours ago. It felt warm and cool and soft and delicate over his skin, and as soothing as murtlap essence.

“You are such a good person, Harry,” whispered Hermione, stroking his cheek with tenderness. He closed his eyes and leaned against her hand, reveling in the foreign feeling of security her touch provoked in him. Leaning closer to him, her eyes bright, she softly said, “Do you realize how much we care about you? How much we love you? How much we hurt to see you like this?”

That woke him up; to love him was to be sentenced to death. He won't let any more of them fall to the eternal darkness for his sake.

Harry grabbed her by the forearm and yanked her hand away, because what had once been such a comforting touch now stung him. “Good night, Hermione,” he mumbled, standing up from the floor, turning around and walking toward his spot next to the hippogriff.

“Good night, Harry,” she sighed, her voice thick with exhaustion and heartache. She laid herself on the dirty bed and closed her eyes as Harry sat back on the floor.

He spent what seemed an eternity trapped in a single point in time watching Hermione's sleeping figure, mentally capturing the way her hair fell over her eyes, the way her chest rose and fell with every breath she took, and the sound of her soft snoring.

He wanted to go to the bed and rest his head on her chest so badly, to hear her heart beating against his ear, to make sure she was alive and well and to believe, even for just one second, that what had happened at the Department of Mysteries had been nothing but a nightmare, and that tomorrow morning, he would join a healthy Hermione downstairs for breakfast with Sirius.

Harry closed his eyes, his head dropping of its own accord. Again, Harry fell willingly into the abyss, and endless void where nothing existed. The place he had called home for the last month.

A whimper. A cry.

Unaware of how much time had passed, Harry opened his eyes and looked toward the bed, only to find Hermione curled up into a fetal position, holding her hands over her stomach, whimpering almost imperceptibly as silent tears came down her cheeks.

Panic seized him immediately. “Hermione, what's wrong?” Harry asked as he stood up, almost falling back to floor from weakness. He wobbled towards her, using the wall for support, until he finally collapsed on his knees in front of her. Harry smoothed her hair back from her now sweaty forehead, and looked down at her body to find her clutching her belly as if she were trying to reach inside and rip something out of her.

The realization of what was wrong with his friend suddenly struck him. It was the curse… it was Antonin Dolohov's spell.

Hermione opened her eyes, but seemed unable to focus them on the boy kneeling next to her bed. “It's okay, Harry… Madam… ugh… Madam Pomfrey said it would happen… from… aw… time to time,” she whispered in a strained voice.

“What can I do?” Harry implored.

“Come here,” Hermione whimpered, taking him by the hand and pulling him toward her. He jumped over her body and lay on the bed on his side behind her, his front to her back. Harry propped his head on his left hand, as she moved his other hand to her lower back and left it there. “Apply pressure with your fist; it eases up the cramps.”

Her hands went back to her stomach as he used his fist to knead the flesh on her lower back. Aside from the occasional whimper, Hermione remained silent, and if it weren't for the brightness of the tears in her face, he wouldn't realize she was crying.

Harry wanted to cry himself. He wanted to cry so badly that he bit his lower lip until the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

She was in so much pain… and it was his fault.

Slowly, Hermione's cries subsided, and she finally released a shaky breath and lay on her back, signaling the crisis had passed. Their eyes locked for a moment, before his eyes traveled down her body and settled over her stomach. He remembered that purple light that had flashed through her just before she collapsed, and he shivered as his right hand settled over her tummy. He was distressed beyond measure when he felt her insides move against his hand, like a giant snake looking for release by breaking through her flesh.

How acutely he wished he could have died before ever taking her with him that night.

“I'm so, so sorry, Hermione. More than words can say,” whispered Harry in a strangled voice.

“For what?” Hermione softly asked, her hand settling over his on her stomach.

“For not listening to you… dragging you to the Department of Mysteries… getting you hit with a curse… getting Sirius to fall through the veil…”

“You are not to blame for that,” Hermione quickly interrupted, reaching up with her free hand and smoothing back the hair that stubbornly stuck to his sweaty forehead.

“Why not? If I had listened to you, none of that would have happened! You would be healthy! Sirius would be alive!” Harry said between clenched teeth, refusing to give in to the urge to break down and cry.

“Harry, you can't…” whispered Hermione in a shaky breath, tightening her hold on his hand.

“You want to know why I can't sleep? … Because whenever I sleep, I see Sirius falling… I keep hoping to see him on the other side of the veil… but he never comes… he never comes…” Harry interrupted, his voice breaking.

Hermione couldn't keep her emotions in check any longer, and she sobbed against him, momentarily unable to find the words to tell him all the things she wanted to say. The hand that was resting on her stomach started moving gently over her skin absently, for she knew that even when he was looking at her, he was not seeing her.

“Bellatrix's laughter rings in my ears as I call to him… and I call and call… but he doesn't answer,” he continued absently. Hermione still couldn't find her voice, but she caressed his hair and what she could reach of his back, encouraging him to finally get what plagued him out of his chest.

“And I watch as the purple light passes through you,” he whispered shakily, sliding down on the bed until he rested his head on top of her belly. He felt her insides spasm against his cheek, and he closed his eyes to shut out the tears.

He took a deep breath before he continued, “And I see you crumpling to the ground… like a broken doll… I keep hearing my own voice in my head telling me that… that you are dead, that… that I killed you.”

A tear escaped through the corner of his eye, and more followed, until the Boy-Who-Lived found himself sobbing achingly, his body rocking against hers, his tears staining her white shirt.

Hermione hugged him tightly to her, her hands soothingly moving down his neck to his shoulders and down his arms. Her body shook with his as he finally gave in to the tears he had refused to shed since his godfather died.

“And… when I wake up… I pray to whoever is up there… to let me die… I want to die, Mione… before the nightmare becomes reality,” whispered Harry.

“Harry, listen to me…” Hermione tried to interrupt.

“Because I can't take this anymore…”

“Harry!”

“My parents, Sirius, you… I can't keep watching the people I love die because of me. It is better for me to die before I keep taking people with me,” he finished, planting a kiss on her wet abdomen, tasting the saltiness of his tears on her skin.

““Harry, look at me… please, look at me…” Hermione said, tightening her grip on his hair, and gently pulling until he raised his head. He continued moving until they were laying on their sides at eye level, their faces barely an inch away from each other. She let go of his hair and let her hand traveled down the side of his face. She took off his eyeglasses, leaving his soul naked for her to see. Her delicate hands continued their exploration of his tired face, feeling the wetness of his tears when she cupped his cheek.

Her tender gestures helped him to slowly calm down. Finally, Hermione spoke, “What happened to your parents is not your fault, nor what happened to Sirius… least of all, what happened to me. You want to blame someone? Blame Voldemort, Harry. Blame Bellatrix and Kreacher, and Malfoy and Dolohov. But not yourself, Harry. Stop punishing yourself.”

“But it was my fault, Hermione… it was because of me that you two were at the Ministry. I was the one that refused to listen to reason,” Harry murmured weakly, the hand that had been resting on her stomach now on her hip.

“You made a mistake, Harry. You are human after all,” Hermione softly replied.

“My mistake got my godfather killed. And it almost got you killed,” breathed Harry, lost in the golden brown orbs she called eyes. To think he almost lost the chance to look into those eyes again…

Hermione shook her head delicately, “You didn't make me follow you, Harry. I chose to follow you that night. Sirius chose to go after you.” Cupping both of his cheeks now, feeling the light stubble on his not-so-young-anymore face, Hermione added, “Our choices… our consequences to bear.”

“I thought I had lost you, Hermione… I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe…” Harry confessed.

Once again, Hermione shook her head, and giving him a reassuring smile, she replied, “You haven't lost me. I'm alive, Harry. Alive… and I need you. I NEED YOU! Ron needs you. Remus needs you.”

“It would be better for all of you if I were to die. Don't you get it? You are a target as long as you stand by my side.”

She moved closer until the tip of her nose touched his, and making sure he could see the honesty in her eyes, Hermione hushed, “Harry, try and get this through your thick skull… I can't be without you. Not anymore. You are too… too much a part of me. There is no me without you, Harry. It is not a matter of choice.”

Harry had no words with which he could reply, and the only thing he could do was lean into her hand in a tender gesture. Hermione smiled at him through her tears as she said, “I'd die without you.”

They remained like that for a while, gazing into each other's eyes, tears falling into the mattress in silence, sharing the pain and the helplessness and the suffering and the doubt that the last few months had brought in.

It finally hit him. Harry wanted to laugh at how ridiculous his wish had been… no matter how much he pushed them away, Hermione, Ron and Remus were never going to leave him.

But, how was he supposed to let them stay by his side when the only thing he wanted was to keep them safe?

“I miss him so much, Hermione… and it's only been two months. Please tell me how am I supposed to go on without him… tell me how am I supposed to go on when everyone I love is in constant danger,” he said with honesty.

Hermione sighed softly, letting her hands roam his face soothingly, and she said, “Harry, I don't have all the answers. But we'll find a way… together.”

He surprised her by giving her a small smile. Somehow, he believed it… When she said it, he truly believed it. She wiped the tears from his face, and smiled back

Hours ago, Harry had wished he could lay his head on her chest, that he could feel her beating heart against his cheek. At any other time, that action would have been inappropriate, it would have meant crossing a line he was not ready to acknowledge, much less defy. But at this moment, and at this time, Harry found no reason not to indulge in his wish.

His eyes seeking permission, Harry slid down the bed until she settled on her back and he laid his head on her chest, his arm draped over her waist. Ah, there it was, beating against his ear, strong and steady. The smile tugging at the corner of his lips grew a bit wider as he closed his eyes and breathed in her scent.

Yes… his best friend was here… his best friend was alive.

Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tightly against her body, one hand softly caressing his shoulders, the other weaving into his dirty hair, her nails gently scratching his scalp. When she heard him release a tired sigh, she whispered, “It's time to sleep, Harry. And when you wake up, we'll get out of this room… you'll take a bath while I make some pancakes. You want pancakes?”

He nodded against her, feeling as the tension started easing from his body as her hand traveled up and down his back and her heartbeat thundered under him. Her voice was like a lullaby, and it was coaxing him toward the loving arms of the Sandman.

“And if you think is the right thing, maybe we can talk to Dumbledore about letting Buckbeak fly for just one night. He's been cooped up here for too long,” Hermione whispered, her own exhaustion showing in her voice.

“I'd like that,” Harry mumbled. A surprising sensation of calmness was flowing all over his body, and he knew it wouldn't be long until he finally gets some rest.

A question suddenly popped into his muddled brain, and he knew he had to ask it before going to sleep. “Hermione,” he muttered against her skin.

“What is it, Harry?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Harry could hardly form the words. Her hand on his hair felt absolutely wonderful, and this promised to be the first time in a long time he would sleep without nightmares. And it was all because of her.

“Why are you here. Why not Dumbledore? Or Remus? Or even Ron? Why did you give up the vacation of a lifetime, the only time you have to be with your parents, to lock yourself in a room with a stinky hippogriff and an even smellier friend?” Harry asked with an almost imperceptible smile.

Hermione chuckled dryly, “Honestly, Harry! If you need me to tell you why, you are not ready to know the answer. Someday, I'll tell you. But not now. Be assured that I'd rather be here with you than anywhere else.”

She raised her head and drop a kiss on his unruly black mop before whispering, “Now sleep. Tomorrow is a brand new day.”

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Promise me you'll be here when I wake up.”

“I promise… tomorrow, and forever”

The two teenagers soon fell asleep, wrapped in each other's arms, unaware that the yellow eyes of the hippogriff were watching over them.

Present Day

And she had kept her promise.

That morning, no words were exchanged as they fed Buckbeak before leaving the room. Harry took a shower and washed the dirt and grime from his body, and by the time he came downstairs, Hermione had already made breakfast and was sitting at the table with a very-relieved Remus waiting for him.

Hermione stayed at Twelve Grimmauld's Place until the middle of August, when her parents had returned from Tuscany. They were only apart for two weeks, and yet Harry missed her terribly. He had gotten used to their late night talks next to Sirius' fireplace, where they talk about everything and anything, from his parents and his upbringing to her childhood, from his plans for the future to her dreams and desires, from the threat of Voldemort to their favorite movies, from what they wanted to buy in his next Hogsmeade trip to what lady could they hook up Remus with.

Sometimes, they sat on the couch and held each other's hands as the tears flowed down their cheeks, and sometimes, they laughed out loud while playing Exploding Snaps, or wizard's chess (Hermione was really terrible), or just sat in comfortable silence in front of the flickering flames of the fire. Sometimes Remus joined them, and sometimes, the older man seemed to know the kids needed to be alone.

Remus never asked what had happened in Buckbeak's room the day Hermione arrived, and they never told him. In fact, Harry and Hermione never spoke about it either, not even to Ron, not even between them. It had faded from his memory, like a wonderful dream.

But their relationship had changed that day.

And now, two years later, when the boy was no longer a boy, but a young man bathed by the light of the full moon, Hermione's words from that night echoed in his head.

“If you need me to tell you why, you are not ready to know the answer.”

It was an epiphany… a revelation.

What Harry was experiencing at the moment could be compared with standing in a field on a sunshiny day and being struck by lightning.

For as he stared into Buckbeak's eyes, Harry dared to think Ron might have been right.

He dared to believe that Hermione might be in love with him too.

Well, this is the longest chapter I've written, and I hope you could bear to read it all the way to the end. The scene in Buckbeak's room was a pleasure to write, and served as a medium for healing not only for Harry, but for me too.

Liked it? Hated it? LET ME KNOW!

I want to address something a reader in FF.net mentioned. He said that the story was “boring to no end.” There is a reason for the cyclic nature of the scenes: the timeline of the story is quite short (five days) and Harry IS stuck in a rut (or “caught in a web” -wink-) and that he will stay in that vicious cycle if not for a cathartic event. During the summer of his fifth year, the catharsis came from what happened in Buckbeak's room with Hermione. In the present, the catharsis came from his acknowledgement that he is indeed in love with his best friend, the conversation with Ron, and the possible meaning behind Hermione's words.

And I apologize for not having the time to answer every reviewer personally, but I am very, VERY grateful that you took the time to let me know what you thought about last chapter. THANK YOU!

Please review!

Peace,

Anasazi

PS. This chapter goes out to Lidia and Elena, whose voices echoed in Ron's words. Un beso y un abrazo. ¡Las quiero!

PPS. For those who like facts, Hermione arrived at Sirius house on July 13. They spent a little more than 33 hours locked in Buckbeak's room.

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Chapter 15: Crash Push

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“Thanks, Buckbeak… I'll… I'll see you later.”

Feeling as if he were walking through a fog, Harry turned around and stepped away from the hippogriff, carelessly jumping over the fence and making his way back to the castle.

He couldn't get her words out of his head… neither could he stop thinking about the implications that those words entailed.

The question remained… if Hermione had indeed been in love with him, does that mean that she was still in love with him? If she was, why was she dating Roger?

His heart sank just with the mere notion that he had lost the chance to be with her.

But what if she still held those feelings for him? What was she waiting for? Graduation? Voldemort's demise? For Harry to get his head out of his arse and realize that the girl of his dreams had been standing in front of him all these years?

In that land of uncertainty he now inhabited, Harry was sure of just one thing.

He needed to tell her.

And it wasn't just because the effects of the potion would not cease until he dealt with his feelings. He needed to tell her because he knew she deserved to know exactly why had he been acting so weird this past week, why he couldn't stand Roger, and why last night had been the most wondrous night in his seventeen years of life.

He needed to tell her how much he loved her.

He had wasted enough time… he couldn't wait another moment without letting her know.

What happened next… if something were to happen… would be her choice. It wouldn't change how he felt.

Not now… not ever.

He stepped into the castle, barely picking up the sound of the music coming from behind the closed doors to the Great Hall. The All Hallows' Eve Ball was already in full swing.

Briefly, he had considered going straight through those doors, finding Hermione in the crowd and just blurting “I'm in love with you,” but he knew he wasn't in his best fashions, not to mention that after spending God-knows-how-long in the company of Buckbeak, he now smelled like a wet dog.

The hallways were deserted as he made his way directly to the Gryffindor common room. As Harry had expected, it was empty except for a few third and second year students who were too busy cheering in a game of Exploding Snaps to notice the preoccupied young man that made his way up to his dormitory.

The room he shared with the boys was empty, although in a particularly great state of disarray. Seamus and Dean's beds were full of clothes, shoes, and other articles, as if they had been in a hurry to find something in their closets. Neville's night table had one object Harry had never noticed before… a hair gel bottle. And Ron's… what the hell was white fur doing on Ron's bed?

Harry's attention quickly shifted to the foreign box waiting for him on his bed. He took off his tie and threw it on the bed before picking up the piece of parchment that lay neatly next to the box. He immediately recognized Ron's messy handwriting.

Hiya Harry,

Fred and George sent me this a few weeks ago, before Luna chose another… well, another costume for me so we could match. I think it will fit you nicely… just in case you decide to join us.

Your friend,

Ron

PS. She's waiting for you, Harry. Don't let her get away.

“Bless you, Ron…” Harry whispered with a grateful smile, laying the parchment on the bed before stripping himself of the rest of his vestments and stepping into the shower.

It was the longest shower Harry had ever taken. The scalding hot liquid didn't bother him as he replayed again and again in his head the different scenarios he could encounter.

He had never been good with words. In fact, Ron was probably the only person in the lot of Hogwarts who had a worst case than him of the foot-in-mouth-titis disease.

So… what words could he use to make her understand just how much he felt for her? What could he say to make her see through his eyes that she was the most wonderful woman in the world and that it would be his honor if she were to give him… them… a chance?

Where was a Hallmark when you needed one?

And what would he say if Hermione told him that she didn't share his feelings? His chest tightened as he leaned his forehead against the cool tile, letting the spray of water pelt his back. What would happen then?

Will they be able to remain friends? From his part, the answer was a resounding yes. It would be hard, it would be painful, but she was too much a part of him to ever let go, and if he could only be with her as Harry Potter, best friend, then that's whom he'll be.

But… could she still be his friend even when she knew how much he desired her?

`It's Hermione you are talking about. She will never leave you.'

“There's no me without you,” her whisper echoed in his head. And reluctantly, Harry smiled.

He knew exactly how that felt.

He stepped out of the shower and quickly dried himself with a towel before heading back to his room. Dressing in his favorite boxers (a novelty gift from Fred and George that had the words SEEKER written in big letters over his tush), Harry opened the gift box, took out the costume and laid it on the bed.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips; he recognized the costume. He had seen it years ago in a BBC special he had seen on the telly about a British composer.

He's here… the Phantom of the Opera.

Harry tried not to think about the fact that the Phantom was a tale of a disfigured man whose love for a woman was not reciprocated. He doubted the Powers-That-Be would use this costume to try to communicate with him. Besides, the possibilities of Fred and George knowing about the muggle story before buying it was close to nil.

He had to perform a charm on the black trousers to compensate for the fact that he was a bit shorter than Ron in stature. The white crisp shirt fit him perfectly, for Harry was thicker than Ron around the arms and the chest. The black vest with its silver embroidery was a tailor's masterpiece, and he was surprised to find that he didn't mind having to wear the bone-white bowtie that came with the costume. He slipped into the black tuxedo coat with ease before looking at his reflection in the full-length mirror.

Even with the mess on top of his head that people call hair, he looked halfway decent.

He did his best to arrange his hair, but it always ended up sticking on the back. Harry looked with unease at the tube of gel hair on Neville's dresser; he had never use any before, but he knew he had to look his best if he wanted to divert Hermione's attention from Roger.

The hair gel seemed to do the trick for the moment, because for the first time in Harry's life, his hair was behaving normally. He slicked it back before picking up the mask from the package. He really wanted to wear the mask (he thought it would help him if Hermione couldn't notice him blushing), but there he found a dilemma, for wearing his glasses over the mask would make him look ridiculous. But not wearing his glasses would mean bumping into everything and anything, and he would probably end up visiting Madam Pomfrey's once again.

`You're a wizard, Harry. Start thinking like one.'

Harry grabbed his wand from the pile of discarded clothing and, touching his eyeglasses, performed a Disillusionment charm. He watched in the mirror as the glasses became chameleon-like and took the colors and contours of his face. Removing them slowly, Harry placed the mask over his eyes before putting them on again and walking to the mirror.

He was ready.

Harry left the safety of his room and walked out of the Gryffindor common room, making his way through the labyrinth of hallways of Hogwarts toward the Great Hall.

On the way, something quite unexpected happened.

His scar burned.

It was a blinding blaze so violent that Harry fell on his knees. He grabbed his head with both hands, breathing deeply through his nose, trying to remember the Occlumency lessons Snape had given him.

`Voldemort can't be nearby… he just can't… this is Hogwarts… this is Hogwarts… we are safe.'

Harry sat against the wall while the burning receded. There was no way in hell that Voldemort nor his Death Eaters could be here. Even when he had encountered a life-threatening adventure every year since coming here, he knew the Hogwarts castle was the safest building on the planet, with every conceivable charm in place to prevent the entrance of those who were not welcome.

`It's just the nerves.'

It was comprehensible, thought Harry. He was about to have the most life-altering conversation of his life, not including the revelation of the Prophecy at the end of his Fifth Year. His hands were sweaty even in the cool temperature, and he had to wipe his forehead twice before standing up and leaning back against the wall.

Harry cracked a half-hearted smile. Seemed his head was more willing to go off and fight Voldemort than to tell Hermione how he felt.

`I'm doing this, whether you like it or not.'

Harry pushed himself from the wall, the burning now reduce to a slight sting over his scar, and continued his walk toward the Great Hall.

Rounding the last corner, Harry collided with an unexpected object. The force of the impact was so strong than Harry fell back on the floor before realizing what was going on.

`Great. First the scar and now this…'

“Hey, you okay -“ but his words died out. Standing up from the floor was none other than Draco Malfoy, dressed in black and red. Malfoy grimaced when realization dawned on him as to whom he had crashed into.

Harry instinctively reached in his tux's pocket for his wand as he stood up. He really didn't want to waste another moment, but if Malfoy was looking for trouble, he was going to find it.

“Gryffindor scum,” Harry heard Malfoy whisper. His temper flared, but he thought of Hermione, and the desire to get to her was stronger than the desire to pick a fight with this git. Biting his tongue, Harry placed his wand back in his pocket before walking right past Malfoy.

He hadn't taken two steps when he heard Malfoy whisper, “Do us all a favor, Potter. Turn around and crawl back to the hole you came from.”

Harry looked over his shoulder in time to see Malfoy's billowing cloak as the Slytherin rounded the corner. Um, that was strange, Harry thought. He had called him Potter… not Potty, not Pothead, not Scarface, not Saint Potter… he couldn't remember the last time Malfoy had actually called him by his name. And his voice… the words were carried it in a tone Harry had never heard Malfoy use.

Turn around.

He scoffed… as if he would ever listen to Draco Malfoy. If Malfoy had a problem with Harry going to the ball, then let it be his problem.

Harry finally stood in front of the massive oak doors that marked the entrance to the Great Hall. Loud orchestra music could be heard coming from behind the doors, along with dozens of snippets of casual and cheerful conversation.

For an instant, such a strong sense of panic gripped Harry that he considered listening to Malfoy, turning around, going back to his room and hide under his bed.

`I am not going back on this… not until I speak with her.'

Harry pushed the doors open and took a sharp intake of breath at the sight that awaited him.

The Great Hall had been decorated to look like an Opera House. The full moon could be seen behind a huge chandelier that was hanging from nothing in the middle of the hall, and dozens and dozens of candelabra and light spheres were levitating overhead. The house tables had been pushed to the side, and were filled to the brim with the most delicious looking treats that Harry had ever seen. Balconies were hanging high on the sides, and crimson velvet curtains were hanging from those balconies all the way to the floor, forming small canopies.

What little he could see of the walls, though, amazed him, for they were alive! Scenes from famous stories were playing all around him… Count Dracula holding Mina Harker in his arms, delicately touching her face, even when his eyes were burning with passion… Dr. Frankenstein flicking the switch, lightning crashing over and over against the machine that would bring his “monster” to life… an Egyptian mummy rising from his coffin and walking toward a group of archeologists… a man transforming into a muggle version of a werewolf and howling into the night… the three witches of Macbeth throwing the ingredients of their potion into their bubbling cauldron as they intoned their incantations… and many other scenes from books he did not recognized but was sure Hermione had read before she reached her ninth birthday.

`Love, you have done the impossible… you've outdone yourself.'

There were two grand staircases leading to an elevated stage on what was once been the faculty area, with a grander balcony above the stage. On the stage, a short wizard waved his wand from side to side, directing the orchestra of ghosts that were playing their flutes, oboes, violins, trumpets, cellos and other instruments Harry did not recognized.

On the balcony above stood a good-looking wizard dressed in a muggle-style tuxedo, using what appeared to be a 1940's microphone to sing. Harry laughed out loud when he noticed Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, Madam Pomfrey and Madam Pince standing next to the balcony, clicking their wine glasses to the rhythm of the music, looking at the singer with obvious admiration. Professor Sprout even blushed when he winked at her. Professors Snape looked rather annoyed at their childish behavior, sneering as he sipped his goblet, while Flitwick and Hagrid looked as if they were about to burst into a song and dance duet.

“Harry! About time you came!”

Harry felt a pat on the back and looked down to see Colin grinning widely at him, a lovely Hufflepuff girl by his side. Harry smiled back before returning his attention to the students in front of him.

Merlin, how he wished he had a camera with him! His fellow students were dressed as everything and anything under the sun, from vampies and devils, to werewolves and mummies, to Flobberworms and Blast-Ended Skrewts, from musketeers to jedis, to classical masquerade costumes with peacock feathers and domino masks, and top-hats and cloaks, and… was that a giant bunny rabbit?

A lot of students were crowding the dance floor, swaying from side to side with the rhythm of the music, while others were chatting at the corners or gorging on the delicious food the elves had prepared for them.

A pair dressed completely in black was approaching him, and it took him a few moments to recognize that the girl in the skintight leather outfit and the guy in the full-length leather coat were his two good friends, Ginny and Neville, dressed like the characters of the Matrix. He had fond memories of watching the movie together last summer, when they spent the night at Hermione's house after celebrating Harry's birthday.

“Wow, Ginny… you look… whoa,” Harry said with sincerity, getting a grin from the redhead.

“I know. And doesn't Neville look delicious enough to eat with a spoon?” Ginny replied, turning her eyes to the young man next to her. Neville cough loudly, his ears shining red from embarrassment as he mumbled something that sounded awfully like “not here, love”.

“Hey, where's Ron?” Harry asked, craning his head over the heads of his fellow students. He was actually trying to see if he could spot Hermione on the crowd. Neville and Ginny shared a knowing look and a secret smile before turning their attention back to Harry.

“Want my brother? Just look for the big, white, fluffy thing on the dance floor,” Ginny smirked. Harry frowned, turning his attention back to the dance floor when he recognized Luna, wearing a beautiful white gown, her shiny hair braided with golden thread, her wide blue eyes brimming with laughter. And dancing with Luna was…

The giant bunny rabbit.

Oh, sweet, sweet Ron… what have you done?

Harry looked back at Ginny and Neville with a questioning look, and the pair just nodded in reply, their smiles growing wider. Harry bit his lip, but it was to no avail, and he just burst out laughing. His tummy was aching by the time the laughter subsided, and he was wiping the tears from his eyes by the time he chanced another look at his redheaded best friend.

“Don't worry. I already asked Colin to take a picture… can't wait to show it to the Twins,” joked Ginny. They watched as Luna and Ron stopped dancing and went to the nearby juice table.

“That's our cue,” Neville said, and the three of them made their way toward the big and fluffy white mothball that was Ron. Luna was the first one to spot them, and she grinned widely when she saw who had joined Ginny and Neville.

.

“HARRY!” Luna said with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, hugging him with such force she almost knocked him backwards. Ron positively beamed when he saw his friend, patting him on the back with a furry hand.

“Hiya, guys. And who are you supposed to be, milady?” Harry asked when Luna finally let go of him.

“I am Diana, a famous witch from the Greek and Roman eras. Muggles called Diana the Goddess of Nature and - “ Luna started to explain, but was interrupted by her boyfriend.

“Love, Harry doesn't need a lesson right now,” Ron said sheepishly.

“And you? What does Diana have to do with a rabbit?” Harry asked, biting his lower lip in an attempt to stop from laughing at Ron.

“He's not a rabbit, Harry. He's a gryndybuck… Diana's familiar, now extinct. Goodness, Harry… didn't you read the editorial in the Quibbler last month? A gryndybuck's skeletal remains were found near the black mountains of Romania. Fascinating creature!” Luna said in such a serious manner that the situation only became funnier in Harry's mind. Ron was by now blushing scarlet, but still managed to look dignified in front of his girlfriend.

“Ron does look awfully like a fluffy rabbit,” Neville added, eyeing the redhead critically. That was the last straw for Ron.

“Oh, for Merlin's sake, I am NOT a rabbit! Look at my tail! Does this look like a rabbit's tail to you?” Ron said, turning around. Indeed, his tail looked like a baby dragon's tail, very incongruous against the white fur that covered his derriere. To top things off, he wiggled his buttocks, opening the way for Harry, Ginny and Neville to convulse from laughter.

“Blimey, you are all prats! Love, I'm going to get us some pudding. All that dancing made me hungry,” Ron groaned, kissing his girlfriend's cheek before turning to Harry and saying, “You, come with me.”

The still-snickering Harry followed Ron through the blockade of students toward the other side of hall. “Shut it,” Ron whispered between clenched teeth when they were out of earshot.

“I'm sorry,” Harry smiled, wiping the tears that once again sprung in his eyes, “it's just that... that tail is really menacing Ron.”

“Well, I don't care one bit what you lot think. Wearing this bunny outfit was the only way that Luna would wear hers. I mean, have you seen her legs? They go on forever! And the way her skin glows… man, oh man… I'm so lucky,” said Ron with a goofy smile on his face, “I mean, she looks so good that not even Malfoy has made a comment about my costume. He's been too distracted by her legs, I bet.”

Harry looked toward the doors to find Malfoy had indeed come back. He was standing to the right of the massive oak doors, Crabbe and Goyle standing on each side of him. The Slytherin's face looked unusually serious without his trademarks sneer as he completely ignored Pansy nibbling his earlobe, his gray eyes searching for something or someone in the hall.

What the hell had crawled up his butt and died?

“So… seeing Luna dressed like that makes it all worthwhile?” Harry asked Ron when they finally reached the pastry table.

“You can be sure it,” Ron grinned, taking a big bite out of a pumpkin pie, “And speaking of crazy things we do for those we love… Since you decided to join us… does that mean you are going to speak with Hermione?”

Harry gave Ron a rather nervous smile, but nodded with certainty.

“Merlin, I can wait to know how that turns out,” his friend said, his eyes shining with happiness.

“Are you sure I'm doing the right thing, Ron?” asked Harry, needing his best friend's reassurance.

“Can you really stand the thought of Hermione not knowing how you feel, mate?” Ron asked softly.

Harry could only shake his head.

“Then don't wait a second longer,” Ron cheered, slapping him on the shoulder playfully.

Harry used the chance to ask the question he was both dreading and hoping to ask.

“Do you know where she is?”

“Of course, I know. I always keep an eye out for my best mate's girl,” Ron said, biting into a delicious-looking fudge bonbon. He closed his eyes and smiled dreamily, savoring the sweet treat for so long that Harry lost his patience.

“AND? WHERE IS SHE?” Harry blurted. Ron used his head to nod toward the front of the dance floor. Harry looked in the general direction, and it only took him a few seconds to spot her.

“She looks beautiful, doesn't she?”

Harry barely had enough working neurons to nod absently at Ron as he gazed at the object of his affection.

Hermione's long and shapely legs were inviting to the touch through the slits on the side of the white embroidered gown, which reminded him of the illustrations of Greek goddesses he had seen in books. The hairs in the back of his neck stood on end when he chanced a glance at the low-cut v-line that revealed more of his best friend than he had ever seen, her curves accentuated by the golden pendant she wore around her neck. Her shoulders were bared except for the delicate clamps that held the dress together.

There was a dash of gold and silver glitter on her arms and shoulders, and he could almost imagine how they would feel if he were to run his hands over them, how it would feel to move aside the dress clamp and kiss her bare shoulder.

Harry pushed those thoughts out of his head when his eyes traveled upwards. Oh, how he loved those glorious brown curls! Her hair glowed by the light of the hall, and every strand seemed to be made out of priceless Egyptian silk. Two braids held together behind her head by a pearly clasp framed her face, except for the loose tendrils that rebelled against the confinement. His hands trembled at the thought of burying themselves in those curls, feeling every silky thread under his fingertips.

And her face… oh dear Lord, have mercy on him.

Hermione positively glowed as she smiled up at her dance partner, the most adorable dimples decorating her face, with just a little bit of blush on her cheeks and rosy gloss on her lips. Instead of a domino mask, she had a smattering of glitter around her eyes, adding to her already surrealistic beauty.

How could he have been so blind? How could have spent so many late-nights studying, talking, or just sitting next to this girl and not fully comprehend the extent of her beauty?

`Because you love her for who she is… not for what she looks like.'

“Go get her tiger,” Ron said, giving Harry an encouraging pat on the bum that sent the emerald-eyed boy yelping. He glared at Ron's retreating figure before reaching for a nearby partygoer's glass of pumpkin juice and gulping it down in one go. His mouth felt so dry and heavy he thought he had lost all ability for speech.

Like the Red Seas parting for Moses, the students in the dance floor unconsciously made way to for Harry to reach his goal. It didn't take him long to recognize the Praetorian dancing with Hermione as Roger Davies. Harry didn't know if it was common sense or jealousy, but he thought Roger looked absolutely ridiculous in a skirt.

The song ended, and Hermione and Roger parted to join their fellow students in applause. The singer announced a five-minute break, a break Hermione and her date used to approach one of the snack tables.

Harry just stood there, about one meter away, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers, feeling as nervous as he had felt when she had suggested the moonlight ride, thinking that maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

Hermione certainly seemed to be enjoying the company of Roger. The two were laughing and talking as they sipped the warm butterbeers they had picked up from the table.

`Maybe this was a mistake. I mean… if Hermione wants to have something with Roger, who am I to ruin it?'

`Stop it! Just stop it! You came here to tell her how you felt… Let her decide! You owe her much more than that!'

Before he knew it, Harry found himself standing behind Hermione. He was close enough that the aroma of her lavender shampoo seemed to surround him, and once more he found his mouth was so dry he could hardly open it. But the sound of her familiar voice was somewhat soothing as she spoke with Roger about the enchantments playing on the walls. It was enough to make his brain start working again… somewhat.

`Alright… you've never been in this situation… but you've seen movies about it. You know what to do. Just be cool, calm, collected… suave… charming… and you'll swept her off her feet.'

`As if Hermione would ever be impressed by that.'

`Have a better idea?'

`…'

`I didn't think so. Now, let's get this show on the road,'

Apparently, Roger did not recognized Harry in his getup, judging by the fact that he was completely ignoring the young man standing behind his date. So might as well strike two birds with a stone: introduce himself to Hermione… and piss Roger off.

“Excuse me,” Harry asked, doing his best to smile seductively, “I am looking for my best friend. You see? I promised I would save the first dance for her… and there are girls waiting for their turns.”

Hermione's shoulder had tensed a little at the sound of his voice, and while Roger just looked at him with confusion, Hermione turned around slowly.

Harry's smile… along with his cool, calm, and suave plan… went right out the window.

“Harry?” said Hermione with a grin as she looked up into the masked face of her best friend. Harry could only nod; she looked even lovelier from this distance. Before he knew it, her arms had enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug that he shyly returned by hugging her waist with the lightest of touches.

“Oh, I'm so glad you came,” the young woman whispered in his ear before giving him a small peck on the cheek just under the line of the mask. He was grateful for the disguise, for he was blushing violently by the time she let go and stepped back.

“I'm glad I came too,” Harry whispered hoarsely, before clearing his throat unceremoniously. He forced himself to be polite to Roger and decided to greet him, “Hello, Davies.”

“Hello, Potter. Nice to see you decided to join our little party,” replied Roger with a nod and… was that a real smile? What was up with that?

Hermione gave Roger a nudge on the ribs before turning her caramel eyes back to Harry. Again, Harry experienced the magnetic pull of those eyes, and felt as if he were drowning in the whirling of colors and shapes reflected on them.

“Y-y-y-you look great, Hermione,” stuttered Harry nervously. Hermione just lowered her head shyly, a sudden blush creeping on her cheeks.

“You don't look too bad yourself, Harry,” Hermione said, raising her head, her hands reaching to the bowtie around his neck, straightened it with skill. The boy once again felt the need to clear his throat of an imaginary obstacle while racking his brain for something - anything - he could reply that wouldn't make him look like a complete loser.

An odd silence followed, one that Harry used to look around the hall for his other friends in search of encouragement. He didn't found them where he had left them, but he did find Ron on the stage, speaking to the singer as he pointed at something down below. What was he up to?

Ron's plan became quite evident when the singer turned his eyes toward the dancing students and, looking at where Harry and Hermione were standing, said into the mike, “This next song is dedicated to the most wonderful feeling in the world… love… and to two people in the audience that were lucky enough to have discover it… 4…3…2…1… hit it.”

As soon as the first notes of the song reached their ears, Hermione beamed, her eyes drawn to the stage, “How wonderful! This is one of my favorite songs.” Harry watched from the corner of his eye as Roger looked from Hermione to him and back again before releasing a surprising sigh.

“You know what? I'm a bit knackered. Potter, would you mind terribly dancing with my date? I bet she wouldn't want to miss it,” said Roger, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. Hermione seemed as surprise as Harry was by the suggestion, judging by the way she looked at the Head Boy over her shoulder.

Surprised or not, Harry wasn't about to miss this opportunity.

“It would be my pleasure,”' whispered Harry rather solemnly as he extended his hand toward Hermione. She seemed to hesitate for an instant before placing her hand on his. Giving Roger a fleeting glance over her shoulder, Hermione allowed Harry to guide her toward the middle of the dance floor. The young man didn't know if it was only his nerves, but he thought the beating of his heart could be heard over the beating of the drums of the band.

“What is The Gryndybuck Formerly Known As Ron doing on stage?” Hermione suddenly asked when her eyes noticed the presence of her other friend. Ron seemed to be having a bit of trouble walking through the orchestra, for at the moment he was trying to unhook his tail from the thankfully unused tuba horn. Harry mumbled something that sounded like “no idea” as they reached a spot that allowed them some movement without bumping into the other couples.

“This looks like a good place,” Harry whispered sheepishly as he turned on his heel to stand in front of Hermione. The young woman nodded softly as one of her hands slid over his arm to settle on the back of his shoulder. Delicious shivers traveled up and down Harry's spine as he raised the hand that was still joined with hers to the side before placing the other one on her waist, becoming painfully conscious of the warm skin hiding under the thin material of her gown.

`Remember, Potter… front, back… side to side. You can do it! Just like you did last night… before you fell on top of her and tried to snog her senseless, I mean.'

They started moving to the beat of the song just as the singer pulled the microphone toward him.

Crash…
Would you like me to forget myself
and lose myself
in you?

“Y-y-you really look go-go-gorgeous, Hermione. Who-who are you supposed to be?” Harry whispered.

`Smooth, Potter. As if the sweaty hands, the light shivering, and the spacey expression in your face weren't enough to make her see what a dolt you are.'

“You mean the costume?” she asked, her cheeks slightly flushed by his confession.

Harry nodded.

Push…
Just one push will do
then I'm overboard.
Drowning in you.

“I'm dressed as Helen of Troy,” answered Hermione.

“Helen who?”

“Helen of Troy. Honestly! Don't you remember History of Magic?”

The blank look on Harry's face was the only answer she needed.

“A witch in Ancient Greece, of great beauty and wisdom, who was caught in the middle of a power struggle between two empires,” Hermione said. A strange expression befell on her eyes when she added, “She was said to be `the face men went to war and die for'.”

I hear a whisper slowly and
soon our lips will be near.

“Oh, that Helen of Troy,” ” replied Harry, giving her a small but sincere smile, “Well, I can see the resemblance now”. She looked up at him, her eyes showing both amusement and disbelief.

“Very funny, Harry. I hardly think a man would go to war for me,” she whispered, laughing as she added, “I just wanted to wear a cool dress for once.”

In between the day and night
I step into the blue twilight.

He wasn't laughing. In fact, his expression was so serious it caught her off guard.

Catch me, darling catch me.

How could she doubt herself? How could she not think she was beautiful? But then again, his Hermione had always been insecure about her looks.

If only she could see herself the way he saw her.

As he stared into those drowning pools that she called eyes, Harry said the only thing he could think of that might make her think twice before doubting herself.

“I would go to war for you.”

Hold me back.
I think I'm falling
over you.
What did you do?

`And I would die for you too.'

To say the least, Hermione was so surprised by the simple statement that she was rendered temporarily speechless. He figured she was stunned not only because of the words, but also of the unmistakable sincerity his voice carried.

Help me now.
I'm losing me…
into you.
What did you do?
What did you do?

They gazed at each other's eyes for a few instants that seemed to last an eternity, before Hermione looked away and replied, “Thanks, Harry. That's… that's really sweet of you to say.” She smiled before adding, “Although I don't know if I should trust the opinion of a four-eye that is not wearing his eyeglasses.”

He smiled at that, loving the relative familiarity in the conversation, “Who told you I wasn't wearing them?”

“Disillusionment?” she asked, arching her eyebrow in disbelief. Harry nodded rather smugly. “I'm impressed, Mr. Potter.”

“I aim to please,” replied Harry, his eyes drifting toward the edge of the dance floor. He almost choked when he saw Ron, Luna, Neville and Ginny standing by the stage, making strange hand gestures and mouthing something that he couldn't quite decipher. It took him a few moments to realize his friends were telling him to look at the other couples in the dance floor.

Harry did just that, and was surprised to find Hermione and himself were the only ones that were dancing so far away from each other. The other couples had their arms wrapped around each other, the females around their partner's necks, the guys circling their date's waists, their bodies so close that they touched. Looking back at his friends one last time, now understanding that they were trying to tell him to pull Hermione closer, Harry thought it wasn't such a bad idea himself, for his legs felt as if they were going to give out at any moment, and she could help him with his balance.

Walk.
I walk a line that leads to you…
waiting… anticipating.

With an unusual surge of confidence, Harry guided the hand that was joined with his to the nape of his neck and left it there. Hermione just looked at him, her perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in puzzlement. He didn't trust himself to speak just yet, so he let his eyes do the talking while his hands traveled around her waist slowly, until she was safely wrapped in his arms.

“We don't want to stand out from the others,” Harry whispered huskily, daring to tighten the hold on her waist.

Desire…
has no safety
to lead you on the road.
Going crazy.

“That… we don't,” Hermione murmured, her voice sounding an awful lot like his. She then did the unthinkable and wrapped her arms behind his neck, the distance between them considerably lessened to the point her body was brushing against his.

I hear a whisper slowly and
soon our lips will be neared.

Harry wanted to feel her silky curls against his skin, to bury his face in the crook of her neck and never come out.

Hold me back.
I think I'm falling
over you.
What did you do?

Hermione closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his cheek, not unlike she had done the night before.

Sweet Merlin! If this was what torture felt like, Harry wouldn't have minded being tortured for the remainder of his existence.

“I never did tell you… I absolutely adore your costume,” Hermione said in an attempt to strike a conversation.

Help me now.
I'm losing me…
into you.
What did you do?
What did you do?

“Recognize it?” Harry asked, painfully aware that she was stroking the hairs at the back of his neck with her fingertips.

I hear you whisper slowly… darling.

“Of course,” she laughed.

He couldn't help but smile back as he teased her, “Don't tell me… you read the story when you were ten years old.”

In between the day and night
I step into the blue twilight.

“Seven, but who's counting?” Hermione answered, leaning back just enough to look up into his face and gracing him with a bright smile.

`That's my Hermione.'

Hold me back.
I think I'm falling
over you.
What did you do?

“Did you like it?” Harry asked, feeling his own breath on his lips as it bounced back from her skin.

Help me now.
I'm losing me…
into you.
What did you do?
What did you do?

“Very much,” she whispered. Her gaze lost somewhere in her mind's eye, she added, “Although I was never too fond of the ending.”

What did you do? I think I'm falling.

“Why?” he asked with genuine interest, unaware his fingers were tracing random patterns on her lower back.

What did you do? I think I'm falling.

“Because I could never understand why Christine chose Raoul over The Phantom.'”

Help me now.
I'm losing me…
into you.
What did you do?

“Can you imagine what it like to have someone love you like that? I would give everything to know what that's like,” Hermione finished.

What did you do?

`I do love you like that.'

Harry and Hermione seemed not to notice the song's ending, as judge by the way their arms were still wrapped around each other and they continued to sway from side to side.

Hermione didn't know if it was because she could not see his glasses, or because his face was framed by the delicate white mask, but she thought she had never seen that particular shade of green in Harry's eyes, like the green of a lush mountain just before it gets hit by a storm.

Harry thought that the moment had arrived. He had planned on speaking to her, on explaining his feelings and his intentions, and in asking her for her opinion. But this… the turmoil in her caramel eyes, the way her lips were slightly parted, the gloss glinting by the light of the sphere overhead, tempting him as if she were the Devil himself… her breath, which smelled faintly of pumpkin juice… it was too much.

No sane man could ever resist.

Harry could only start to close the distance between himself and the one he desired.

`This is it.'

… Only to lose his balance when someone knocked into him.

`DAMN IT! NOT AGAIN!'

Harry regained his balance before they could crash on the floor, and helped Hermione do the same. After making sure Hermione was okay and steady on her feet, he quickly turned on his heel to give the person a piece of his mind.

He recognized Goyle's retreating back as he stepped out of the dance floor with his date in tow. Harry was tempted to reach into his pocket, take out his wand and hex the living daylights out of Goyle, but all was forgotten when he felt a familiar hand on his forearm.

“Let it go, Harry,” Hermione whispered soothingly as she took her place by his side, “Don't let that Neanderthal ruin your night.”

Harry looked at her, his hand working on autopilot as he searched for her hand and took it in his own, feeling her squeezing his fingers in support.

“Well, Mr. Potter, I already collected on my first dance,” Hermione said, looking down at their joined hands for a moment before looking back up at him, “You are free to go around the Hall and impress other girls with your skills.”

She winked at him before turning around on her heel and taking two steps toward the tables.

`Oh, I'm not letting you go so easily… not now…'

Before she could go any further, though, she felt his grip tighten on her hand as he pulled her gently back to him. Hermione looked over her shoulder at him, puzzlement written on her face.

“Look, Hermione… I… I have to talk to you… somewhere more quiet,” Harry confessed, feeling once again as if his wobbly knees were about to quit on him.

“Right now?” Hermione asked with a slight frown.

`Yes… because I'm a coward when it comes to you and I don't know if I'll ever get the guts to tell you again.'

Harry nodded.

He breathed a sigh of relief when she finally smiled and said, “Sure. Let me tell Roger.” She turned around and, this time, he did let her walk away as he left the dance floor. He watched from a distance as Hermione reached Roger, who was talking with three good-looking Hufflepuffs dressed like the Witches of Eastwick, and whispered something in his ear.

Hermione's date seemingly searched the hall for something or someone, and Harry couldn't help but frown when Roger's eyes landed on him. He actually felt like squirming under his acute gaze when the Ravenclaw finally turned to Hermione and nodded, giving her a rather strange smile before whispering something in her ear and kissing her cheek with tenderness.

Harry actually wanted to get jealous by that display of affection, but surprisingly, he found he couldn't. There was something odd about the interaction he had witnessed so far between Roger and Hermione, something he had never seen before. Roger seemed more genuine and at ease around her, and she certainly seemed to be enjoying that change in character.

`Does that mean I am too late?'

That single thought plagued his head as he watched Hermione saying goodbye to Roger and walking straight toward him. Harry's eyes burn from not daring to blink, afraid to lose her in the crowd, until he found her standing next to him.

Hermione took him by the hand, squeezing lightly, with a smile that made Harry's heart jumped inside his chest.

“I'm all yours, Harry.”

“W-W-What?” he choked. Thank the heavens he wasn't drinking anything or Hermione would have been soaked from head to toe.

“You wanted to talk… somewhere more quiet,” Hermione quizzed, once again puzzled by his behavior.

“Um… yes… yes.”

“Want to go to the terrace? You look a little pale…” she suggested, her expression changing from puzzled to concerned, “a bit of fresh air might do you good.”

“Yes… let's… let's go,” he whispered, allowing Hermione to guide him by the hand toward the curtains that hid the doors to the East terrace.

The moment of truth had arrived.

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A/N

Hello everyone. This chapter is dedicated to each and everyone of you that have supported me throughout the process of writing this story. Thank you.

Now, about the chapter… There are a lot of very important details in this chapter (aside from finally revealing Ron's adorable costume, that is), so hopefully you had your eyes wide open!

Would love to know what you think!

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A bit of trivia:

1. “He's here… the Phantom of the Opera” is actually part of the lyrics of the song Down Once More from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera musical. As you can see, that was the main inspiration for this chapter.

2. The Great Hall has been enchanted to look like this (Hermione is a bright one, isn't she folks?): http://www.boomspeed.com/anasazi/ball/GreatHall.jpg

3. Harry's costume looks like this (full domino mask instead of a half-mask): http://www.boomspeed.com/anasazi/ball/Harry.jpg

4. Hermione's costume (without the headpiece): (http://www.boomspeed.com/anasazi/ball/Mione.jpg)

5. Ron's (without the vest and bowtie. Isn't Ronniekins adorable folks?): (http://www.boomspeed.com/anasazi/ball/ron.jpg)

6. Luna's (-whistling-): (http://www.boomspeed.com/anasazi/ball/Luna.jpg)

7. In case there's someone in this planet who hasn't seen The Matrix, this is what Neville (http://www.boomspeed.com/anasazi/ball/Neville.jpg) and Ginny's (http://www.boomspeed.com/anasazi/ball/ginny.jpg) costume looks like.

8. Roger (http://www.boomspeed.com/anasazi/ball/Roger.jpg)

9. The singer that sung the song dedicated to Harry and Hermione was Robi Draco Rosa, one of my personal favorites.

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Thanks for the overwhelming support to the last chapter! I am extremely grateful of everybody who dropped me a message.

Well, that's all from me for now! See ya!

Anasazi

-who can't get the mental image of Ron shaking his tush in a bunny suit out of her head.

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Chapter 16: Beneath this Skin

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He was in daze, feeling strangely feverish as Hermione guided him by the hand toward the East terrace. She moved aside one of the wine-colored hanging curtains to reveal the door to the balcony. She looked at him over her shoulder, giving him the softest of smiles, before twisting the doorknob and stepping into the balcony.

Two steps behind her, Harry had no idea why Hermione suddenly stopped and released a surprising gasp, nor he knew why she had released his hand to cross her arms over her chest.

“Ahem,” coughed Hermione rather dramatically, a rather mischievous expression on her face. Harry heard a flutter of movement before he reached her side, only to see Parvati and Dean, with bright cheeks, puffed lips and messed up hairdos, trying to appear as if they hadn't been snogging each other senseless just a few seconds before.

“The party is inside,” she said in her best Head Girl voice, still looking rather amused with the embarrassing situation, “You don't want to miss it”. Parvati just shot her a very nasty look while Dean mumbled his apologies and, straightening their clothes, walked by Harry and Hermione on their way out.

Harry was about to ask Hermione if she had had trouble keeping in check a lot of couples tonight, but was caught short when she placed her finger over his lips and shushed him softly. He barely had time to register her action when, still with that rather cocky grin, Hermione walked toward one of the hanging curtains that decorated the terrace and quickly moved it away to reveal Seamus and Lavender, caught in the same peculiar situation as Dean and Parvati just moments ago.

“Hermione, we… we…” Lavender tried to explain, straightening her dress and standing up from the floor. Seamus was so red he looked like an Irish Weasley as he searched the floor for his discarded bowtie.

“You obviously got lost,” Hermione said with ease, pointing toward the door, “The ball is that way”. Judging by the relieved expression in their faces, they were thinking they had gotten away with it easily. Mumbling things unintelligible to both Harry and Hermione, Seamus grabbed Lavender's hand and started leading her out of the terrace.

“Oh, Seamus,” Hermione called in a singsong voice just before they stepped outside. Both Seamus and Lavender jumped a bit at the sound of his name, but finally looked at Hermione over their shoulders. “Your fly is open,” she added with a serious expression. Seamus' eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of their sockets at any moment while he released Lavender's hand and zoomed into his crotch… only to find his fly zipped all the way up.

“Made you look,” Hermione winked maliciously at the pair, who were so embarrassed they were obviously not going to try anything else tonight. They finally left, allowing Hermione to turn her attention back to Harry.

“That was rather wicked of you,” Harry said, his smile showing both amusement and pride over her. He absolutely loved it when she showed her impish side.

“It works better than a cold shower. Don't you think?” replied Hermione, as she walked toward the door and closed it, drowning out the noise from the party they had left behind.

He didn't know if it was because he was anxious and incredibly nervous, but his heart started beating twice as fast when he heard the door click shut.

“That it does,” mumbled Harry, thinking that a cold shower didn't sound like a bad idea at this moment. He watched in silence as Hermione turned around and reached the balcony's edge, resting her elbows on the rail and looking up into the night.

He followed her until he found himself leaning on the rail next to her. Harry didn't dare to look at her for fear his courage would fail him once more, so he settled in mimicking her movement and looking up into the sky.

“Beautiful night, isn't it?” she whispered softly. Harry took a good look, and couldn't help but agree. There were no clouds to shield the night from their eyes. The sky was filled with stars, some twinkling silver, others with tinges of blue and pink, small compared to the breathtaking full moon that now hovered directly above them.

`But not as beautiful as you.'

“It is,” he sighed, looking down at his hands. They felt unusually cold and clammy at the moment; he resisted the urge to wipe them on his trousers, and settled for slightly drumming his fingers on the rail.

After a long silence, Hermione mumbled, “So… we are here… alone,” turning slightly to her side so she could face him. A shiver ran down his spine when she heard her asked, “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

“Right,” he mumbled, attempting to clear his throat of an imaginary obstacle. He clamped his hands together and leaned all his weight on the rail. “Hermione,” Harry started, hoping the quaking in his voice was noticeable only to him, “… as you know, I've been acting a bit… well, a bit queer this week.”

“Queer? Honestly, Harry!” she replied. He saw out of the corner of his eye as Hermione cocked her eyebrow and, added, “You've been downright mental.” The humor in her voice and the wry grin on her face was enough to get him laughing genuinely. He thought it was a very good sign that he could still laugh in his particular emotional state.

“Alright, I'll admit it. I have been kind of mental,” he said when Hermione nudged him playfully, a dry smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Her wry expression morphed slightly, until her brown eyes shined with sympathy and she whispered comfortingly, “I know there's something on your mind.”

“You ever wondered what it is?” he mumbled, trying to buy time to organize the chaotic thoughts in his head.

`Maybe I should have thought about this a bit better.'

`So you could have talked yourself out of it?'

“Constantly,” she answered with the honesty that so distinguished her, “And I'm constantly hoping that you will tell me when the time is right.”

“Yeah… I…” Harry started saying, when he chanced looking at her. He hadn't been expecting her to be standing so close, to have her penetrating eyes focused solely on him, and it distracted him from his next words. His mind drew blanks over and over again as he tried to recapture his line of thinking.

“You what, Harry?” Hermione urged.

“I-I… and who are you supposed to be?”

Hermione tilted her head to the side, frowning in genuine puzzlement, “You already asked me that.”

`Damn!'

“Right… Right… Helen… beautiful witch… men die for her… right… I knew that…” Harry mumbled rather incoherently, his eyes going back to watching the moon, for staring into the cinnamon pools that were her eyes left him dizzy and helpless.

`Great. Just add a bit of drool and she'll think you are having a stroke.'

All trace of amusement had left Hermione's face. Looking rather worried for her best friend, he heard her ask, “We didn't come here to discuss my costume, did we?”

“No,” he chuckled without humor, for he suddenly realized that his situation would be funny if he weren't in the starring role.

“Harry, what is it?” she pleaded in a whisper, “You know you can trust me with anything, right?”

“I know I can trust you,” Harry nodded, gulping down hard. With a sigh, he added, “I've known it for what feels like… like forever.”

More silence. This was an insanely uncomfortable situation for him. He had never been good with words, and knew he was even worse when it came to feelings. How could he have expected this to go any different?

When he was a child, he came to think his name was “Freak” and that “I love you” was a phrase only used in TV dramas. He had never said to a girl that she was “beautiful” or that she was “nice” or even that he even “liked” her.

How was he supposed to tell his best friend of almost seven years that he thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world, that she was the nicest thing that ever happened to him, and that he liked her as more than friend?

How was he supposed to tell her he loved her?

“Are you okay?” Hermione finally asked when the silence became intolerable to her, leaning a bit closer to him in what he knew was another way of saying that she was there for him.

“Yeah… I'm… fine,” he lied. And he thought all Gryffindors were supposed to be courageous… the Hat had really messed up his sorting.

“Then what's wrong?” the young woman whispered, resting her small hand in his left forearm.

That was the trigger.

His eyes fell on her hand. Like the frames in a movie reel, images started playing in Harry's head, memories of all the times his best friend had done that seemingly unconscious gesture of holding onto him… moments of fear, of courage, of pain, of happiness, of anger, of kindness, of loss, and of hope…

And moments when there was no other reason or motive but to let him know that he wasn't alone.

And he wasn't alone now, for he realized that, no matter what the outcome of this conversation turned out to be, Hermione will always be by his side.

“You are smiling,” she stated plainly, pleasantly surprised by his sudden change in mood.

“I was just… I was thinking about the past,” he whispered, his eyes still locked on her small hand.

“Why don't we start with that? Tell me what you are thinking about,” said Hermione, her thumb now tracing circles on his arm. Absently, he shifted until he was facing her, but his head remained lowered and his eyes locked on his arm and the impression of her hand, a whiter shade of pale against the dark material of his tuxedo.

“I'm thinking… I'm just thinking about the first time I held this hand,” Harry started, his voice sounding strangely calm, as if he were a mere spectator in this terrace, and not the reason why they were here.

“It was the day they found you on the hallway… after your encounter with the basilisk,” he continued. Unconsciously, he reached with his right hand until he touched the back of her hand with his fingertips. “You felt so cold… so still… as if you were carved from stone… as if you were dead.”

His voice shook with his next sentence. “I remember looking at you and feeling scared… terrified really… at the thought of losing you.”

His hand started moving of its own accord, drawing figures over the delicate skin of her hand while he continued, “I remember there was one night… I couldn't sleep. So I took my Invisibility Cloak and decided to wander around the castle. My feet had other plans though, for they took me straight to you. I sat on the bed next to you… and held your hand one more time. And I just started to cry…”

Harry heard her trembling sigh, but it was muted… distant. His own voice sounded distant, for the only immediate thing for him was the soft glowing skin he felt under his fingertips, “I felt so guilty, Hermione… guilty for not being there with you when it happened… felt helpless… helpless because I couldn't do anything about it… and I felt lost, Hermione, so lost… because I thought you weren't there anymore to help me… to guide me.”

She remained silent, but it was a silence that spoke volumes. The way she was holding onto his arm, the way she breathed, the way her hand was trembled… they were all a testament to the emotion his words caused on her.

“And then,” he continued, “I found the answer to the mystery of the Chamber in your hand. You were there with me, Hermione… even if you were petrified… you were my helper… my guide.”

Harry finally seized her hand in his own, “And you've been my guide, Mione… my anchor… ever since. You stood next to me when we thought Sirius was coming after me to kill me… you stood by me when we found out that Pettigrew had betrayed both my parents and Sirius, and was a servant of Voldemort. You were by my side during our fourth year… even when Ron doubted me… even when your friend Viktor was one of the champions competing against me…”

His voice did not sound anymore like the voice of an spectator, for it shook with unconcealed feeling as the words kept coming out, “And you were with me during our fifth year, when I behaved like a stupid brat, angry with the world and everyone in it for the hand that faith had dealt me… even when my own stubbornness led to Sirius' death.”

“Harry, don't say…”

“You help me deal with my guilt, my pain, my anger… even when your own life is in danger… And when you don't agree with something I'm going to do, you try to stop me, and you don't back down even if I am stupid enough to get angry or treat you badly… and even if that doesn't work, you still stand by me… you still guide me.”

In an unintentional gesture, Harry guided her hand to his chest, where it rested flat just above his heart. It felt as if they were touching skin to skin, as if no layer of clothing existed between them. He knew she could feel his heart hammering wildly his chest, and it was comforting to know she didn't pull away. The sensation was so intense his eyes fluttered shut, and for a few moments the only thing he could do was to feel.

That was how he felt with Hermione… how he had always felt with her. With her, there were no pretenses, no hidden secrets, and no lies.

He was naked in front of her. And it didn't make him feel vulnerable, but safe.

“You keep me honest… you keep me alive,” said Harry with solemnity, reveling in the warmth her comforting touch provided him. He rested his hand in top of hers on his chest, his fingers curling around hers, silently wishing never to let go.

“Harry,” Hermione breathed in a trembling voice, “why are you telling me this?”

“Because something happened this week that made me realized something I had refused to acknowledge,” said Harry, drowning in emotions and sensations he never thought he would experience.

“What?” she whispered, her hand caressing his chest absently. The gesture made Harry's insides flare, and he had to stifle the desire to reach and run his fingers through her glorious hair, to touch her lips to see if they were indeed as soft as they looked.

But he didn't want to scare her. What he did do, thanks to his newfound bravery, was something he had not done during the entire course of his confession: he raised his head and allowed his eyes to connect with hers in that mystical bond only the two of them shared.

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, leaving him no doubt that she was as overwhelmed with his words as he was, “That I need you… that if it wasn't for you, I'm not sure I'd be here.”

“Don't say that,” she protested, shaking her head as an errand tear fell down her cheek, the glitter on her skin sparkling brighter than ever before. He used the hand that had been resting over hers to wipe it before it reached the corner of her lips. She lowered her head, and he watched her bite her lower lip in that uniquely Hermione way, trying her best to gain control of her emotions.

“It's true,” whispered Harry, his other hand traveling to her chin, tilting her face up until she could see into his eyes again, “And I have to apologize for taking you for granted…”

“You don't have to apologize for anything, Harry,” she argued, “That's what friends are for.”

“That's just it, Hermione…” Harry breathed deeply before continuing, “… you are not just my friend. You are so… so much more”. His eyes darted back to the sky, and to the memories of the night before, when they had been flying together over the pitch, when she had told him the story of the Moon, when nothing else in the world existed but the girl in his arms and the love he felt for her.

Hermione laughed rather nervously, “Don't be silly, Harry…”

“Last night, you told me a story about the Moon, and how the Moon was lonely because she couldn't get close to the Sun… the one she loved… because he would burn her,” whispered Harry, lost in the memory, his thumb now caressing her jaw line with incredible tenderness, “And you talked about how you understood how the Moon felt. And I remember wondering last night as to who could be so foolish to hurt you… to burn you.”

“… I wondered who could be so foolish to not see how wonderful you are… who could be so dumb to not move earth and sky just to be close to you …”

Harry noticed that she was holding her breath, her eyes shining with wonder and trepidation. He had her undivided attention, for her mouth still hung open from the protest that had died in her throat when he had started speaking about the night before.

“And I realized that maybe… just maybe… the answer was in front of me every time I look at the mirror,” he finished, lowering his head momentarily to hide the sudden rush of blood that had crawled onto his cheeks.

“Harry, what are you - ” Hermione started, but her voice became so constricted she was unable to continue. He raised his head and looked into her eyes one more time.

He was standing on the final threshold. The words that would come out of his mouth next would determine the fate of his friendship with this beautiful woman in front of him. He could just thank her for all the things she's done for him and walk away. His secret would still be his and his alone, his love for her an unknown.

Or he could tell her that she was his oxygen… that he'd live and die for her… that she was the Moon to his Sun… that he wanted nothing more than to bring her closer and never let her go… that he'd rather hear her voice than any other sound in the world… that with her he felt he could reach the skies without the aid of brooms or spells… that she's the first name that comes to mind in the morning and his last thought when he goes to sleep.

And to tell her that she made him believe what he had heard in all those silly love songs.

His heart swelled and stretched to greater heights, and he realized that there really was no choice to make.

He was past the point of no return.

“I… I think I love you.”

His confession was simple, unadorned, but it was enough to elicit a gasp, her hand covering her mouth in surprise. He would be amused by her reaction if he didn't felt as if his knees were going to give up on him at any moment.

“I… don't think,” Harry shook his head, chuckling nervously, “I know, Hermione.”

His voice trembled when he repeated, “I love you.”

A lone tear fell from her eye, only to die in the palm of Harry's hand.

“And I… I'm wondering if you… if maybe you feel the same.”

For what seemed like an eternity, there was nothing but the sounds of her heavy breathing echoing in the terrace. She did not move, and neither did he. Their eyes clung to each other, Harry pouring his entire soul for her to see, and Hermione… he was not sure what he was seeing there. Was that confusion? Hesitation? Fear? Happiness?

He suddenly thought he recognized the expression on her face.

It was the expression of a person that was looking at a stranger.

`Because she has never seen me as more than a friend.'

He felt his heart shatter into a million little pieces.

His arm dropped, and he stuck both his hands inside the pockets of his trousers. His eyes fell on the floor, not wanting Hermione to see him so broken.

So, Ron had been wrong: Hermione obviously didn't love him the same way he loved her. Knowing her as he did, Harry imagined she was probably running in her mind a thousand different ways to tell him “Thanks… but no thanks” without hurting his feelings.

If she only knew that her silence hurt him more than her words ever could.

“You know… you can tell me to go eff myself,” he sighed, “But please, say something.”

“I'm… I'm just… just… I'm just… speechless…” Hermione stammered.

“I guess there really is a first time for everything…” he tried to joke, running his hands through his hair in an attempt to distract himself from the pain that had begun to pulse around his scar.

She either didn't get the joke, or she didn't find it funny… probably the latter.

“Look, Hermione,” he started, biting his lip when he heard his voice breaking, “I'm not expecting anything from you.”

He looked up to see the tears running silently down her cheeks. He ached to see her like this. “I just… I just wanted you to know,” he said truthfully, hoping that would make her feel better, “I thought you deserved to know… just how much you mean to me.”

He watched as a violent shudder ran through her body before she bit her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and looked away, her hands going to her face and covering her reddened eyes. She turned to her side, but he could see her trembling still as she took breath after shaky breath in an unsuccessful attempt to regain control.

“I'm s-s-sorry, H-Harry…”

“It's no big deal,” Harry said, mustering a half-hearted smile, his hand instinctively going to her shoulder. Realizing what he was about to do, he pulled back without touching her, for he knew that touching her would hurt too much.

How ironic that what he wanted was just in the reach of his hand, but a million miles away from his heart.

“I think I've said enough for tonight,” Harry sighed. He had an irresistible urge to just disappear from the face of the Earth, “I'll be in the common room if you need me.”

Harry turned around and started to walk away. With every step, his heart grew heavier, until he could feel the prickling of tears in his eyes. He didn't want her to see him like this, for he knew it would make her feel worse.

Besides, he never should have expected this to go any differently. He never had any proof that Hermione was in love with him, only vague glimpses of something that he couldn't classify.

So why, now that he knew how she felt, did it hurt so much?

`Because I dared to believe.'

He had taken a leap of faith… only to come crashing down into the ground.

His hand had just reached the doorknob when…

“STOP!”

The emotion was still thick in her voice, but her command came out strong, almost defiant.

Harry did stop, but he kept his hand on the door, unwilling to turn around and look at her, for he felt the tears already flowing down his cheeks, and he refused to let her see him cry.

“Turn around.”

He suddenly felt very cold. Why was she doing this? Why couldn't she just let him walk away with at least some of his dignity intact?

“Please.”

He sighed shakily. Who was he trying to fool? Not even in the worst of situations he could deny her.

Like a man about to face the firing squad, Harry let go of the doorknob and slowly turned around. Hermione was still standing by the rail, but this time she was facing him. She shivered; clenching her fists so hard her knuckles were white.

“I'm sorry, Hermione,” Harry whispered softly, “the last thing I wanted to do was to make you…”

He never got to finish the sentence, for in a surprising move Hermione closed the distance between them and threw her arms around his waist. He barely had enough time to process this new development when Hermione buried her head on his chest and started weeping, but not the trailing tears that she had shed before, but raking sobs that emanated deep from within.

He hesitated for just a few moments before placing his arms around her and pulling her closer.

“I'm so sorry, Mione… so sorry…”

His own body was shaking from the force of her cries as his eyes looked up into the night's sky. Damn it! Why had he been so stupid as to take Ron's advice? Since when was his friend a regular Doctor Heart?

Absently, he kissed the top of her head, his hands traveling up and down her back, trying his best to be of comfort. It was torture for him to be so close… to feel her body pressing against his… to bury his nose in her hair… to have his hands on her skin. And yet, Hermione's well-being was his one and only concern.

He rocked her in his arms as he would a small child while whispering only god-knows-what on her ears. And slowly… very slowly…Hermione started to calm down.

“Please, don't be sad,” whispered Harry, “Nothing is going to change between us… nothing.”

A lone teardrop finally escaped the confines of the white mask and landed on the crown of her head. Maybe it was his words, or maybe the wetness of his teardrop, but Hermione finally calmed down enough to raise her head and look into his eyes.

“But Harry,” she whispered, “you don't understand…”

He cupped her face in his hands with unbelievable gentleness, using his thumbs to wipe the wetness from her cheeks.

“I do, Hermione,” interrupted Harry, “I know you don't feel the same way I feel toward you… and I know that you have such a big heart you are now feeling guilty.”

“But Harry…”

“Don't feel bad, Hermione. Please,” he shook his head like a stubborn child, “I just… I want you to be happy. That's all I want. And if that means standing Roger, then I guess I'll have to…”

“Will you shut it and let me speak?”

He cocked an eyebrow in surprised. Hermione sounded rather annoyed and a little exasperated, a complete opposite of the emotional wreck she had been just moments ago. Harry looked into her reddened eyes to find the unmistakable look of determination that was pure Hermione.

“Oh… okay.”

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Hermione disentangled herself from Harry's arms, and with uncharacteristic agitation started pacing in front of him as she spoke, “First of all, haven't I taught you anything about how to deal with girls? Honestly, Harry! You just don't go and tell her “I love you” without warning. And you sure as hell don't walk away afterwards!”

“Err… sorry. I just… I just…”

“Furthermore,” she stopped pacing just when she was in front of him, closer than she would normally be, and said, “Stop assuming.”

“Assuming what?” he asked.

Her eyes darken just before she whispered, “Assuming you know how I feel.”

Harry was too stunned to form coherent words, and could only watch her release a sigh before she turned around and slowly walked toward the rail. Hermione wiped the last of her tears before leaning on the rail and looking up at the moon.

He didn't know for how long they remained silent, but it seemed to last forever. He leaned back against the door and just watched her, his best friend, her hair cascading down her back, her shoulders rising and falling with every breath she took, the moon light reflecting off the glitter in her skin, her gown so white it seemed to shine… like a mirage of an angel.

She was the one who broke the silence, “Remember earlier today? When I told you I couldn't have lunch with you because I needed to meet with Roger?”

Harry nodded, not realizing she couldn't really see him. Of course he remembered; he felt a dagger plunging into his stomach and twisting his insides every time he remembered about the kiss he had witnessed.

“You want to know what we spoke about?” she asked.

“I… I guess,” Harry replied truthfully.

“I told him… that I was going to go to the ball with him tonight… but that I couldn't date him anymore. That it was a mistake to have started in the first place…” she sighed, rubbing her hands together absently, “That I wasn't being truthful to him… or to myself, for that matter.”

That got Harry's undivided attention.

“Harry, I'm in love with someone.”

He felt dizzy and out of breath, as if someone had just thrown a vicious punch to the center of his stomach. He could only rest his weight on the door and close his eyes, as he allowed her words to echo in his head.

`She's in love.'

`She's… in… love…'

“I've been in love with that person for so long that… that I really didn't know any other way to be. But he didn't love me as I loved him,” Hermione continued, her voice soft and melodic and full of emotion.

“I waited… waited for him to wake up one day and see me for what I was… the young girl… not girl… woman… who was willing to give up anything and everything for him… who loved him for who he really is and not for what everybody else wants him to be.”

He opened his eyes, feeling the dampness of tears trailing down under the mask, down his cheeks and chin. Surprisingly, he found he was not embarrassed, for there were too many emotions in his heart to leave space for shame.

“And I waited, Harry… I waited for him for so long that I… I lost hope,” Hermione went on, “I thought it was a lost cause… and I thought I was wasting my youth on a dream that was never to be fulfilled.”

“So on Monday night… after I went to visit you in the hospital wing… and entered my common room only to find Roger was still up and waiting for me, I thought… I thought that this man was offering me something I wouldn't experience any other way… a chance to be loved… not as a friend… not as a sister… but as a woman,” said Hermione, looking down at her hands as if she expected to find something in them.

After a few moments, her eyes went back to the moon as she continued, “So I took the chance, and agreed to start dating Roger, thinking that maybe… just maybe… it would help me to forget about my silly little dream…about a love that was not meant to be.”

Still in a daze, Harry realized that his feet had moved of their own accord, and he was now standing just two feet away from her, spellbound by her words.

“Last night, Harry…. you told me that, for once, I should think with my heart… And I did, Harry… I really did… And I realized I had been wrong… on so many levels… I realized I would never forget about him… I realized I would never forget about my dream…I realized I would never stop loving him…And I realized that it would always be so… even if I had to wait for just one minute… or the rest of forever.”

In the midst of his pain and heartache, Harry smiled. Hermione sounded content with her decision, and if this is what she really wanted… then he would learn to be happy for her.

“If it makes you happy, then I'll be there… I'll help you wait for as long as you want,” said Harry, running a shaky hand through his hair, “And when he does realize, Hermione, because he's bound to wake up and see… tell him I think he's the luckiest man in the world.”

To his surprise, Hermione snorted, shaking her head from side to side in disbelief.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, turning around to look at him. He was taken aback when he saw her sporting such a wide smile as she rested her elbows on the rail, her eyes filled with humor, even if they were still bright with tears.

“You can tell him yourself… tonight” she said, giving Harry a lopsided smile that only served to confuse him more.

Harry started to babble, “So… he's here? In Hogwarts? Mmmm… a Hufflepuff I bet… is it Ernie? I bet he fancies you… or is it Dean? I saw you and him outside of Potions the other day… is not Ron, is it? Please tell me is not Ron!”

“Honestly, Harry!” Hermione grinned at him, “You are the world's greatest man…but sometimes, you can be a bit dense.”

Hermione stood up straight and started to inch her way toward him. He had not been expecting this, and he was rooted to the spot. Had he angered her? Was she disappointed that her best friend had not figured out the identity of the person she loved?

“That night we spent together at Grimmauld Place, you asked me why I had chosen to be there with you. Do you remember?” said Hermione, finally reaching him. She was standing so close the hem of her gown brushed against his knees, looking up at him with a bizarre expression in her face.

Even with her reddened eyes and nose, she was a sight to behold. He could see the golden specks in her chocolate eyes, count every eyelash that framed them, every freckle that kissed her cheeks, even the small scar just over her hairline she got when she was six and fell while playing in the kiddie park.

The last time their faces had been this close on purpose was that night, when they had grieved together for the death of their friend and the beginning of a life without him.

Her nearness now had the same effect on him as her nearness then.

It soothed him. It calmed him. And it gave him strength.

“How can I forget?” he replied, his eyes wandering over her face as if trying to memorize her features. It had been one of the most painful, beautiful and cathartic nights of his life.

Just like tonight.

He wasn't prepared to see her hands reaching up to settle on his face, touching the edge of his mask before pulling it away. The white mask, along with his glasses, fell to the floor with a soft clink, leaving him completely exposed to her peculiar stare.

He felt chills run up and down his arms as her hands started to caress his tear streaked face, gently and without hurry. He drowned in the overwhelming sensations of her fingers tracing the contours of his naked face, first his jaw, then the tip of his nose, his cheekbones, the curve of his eyes… until her hands finally dug into his hair, scratching his scalp lightly as her fingers weaved into his raven locks.

`Why… Why is she doing this to me? Can't she see how much it…'

Unexpectedly, she tilted his head down, until her lips were barely an inch away from her. He didn't have time to wrap his head on what was happening, when he heard uttered those magic words.

“Well, I think you are ready to know the answer.”

Her mouth found his.

`Oh. My. God.'

Harry experienced a moment of pure bliss as he had never experienced before, a moment when nothing else existed but the person standing in front of him. The instant her lips fell on his, Harry's eyes fluttered, and then shut. His own arms snaked around her, one settling in the small of her back, bringing her closer, the other pressing behind her neck, driven by instinct to pull her mouth harder against him.

`Pumpkin… Merlin, her lips taste like Pumpkin…'

Harry sensed a change in her, and he grew afraid that this… whatever this was… was going to end soon. Just when he thought Hermione had realized her mistake and was about to pull away, she opened her mouth to him and deepened the kiss, her tongue claiming him like a proud conqueror. Driven by instinct, he pushed his velvety roughness against Hermione's, and a primitive moan escaped her throat. It was nothing like Harry had heard before.

For a moment Harry thought he might be dreaming, for reality had never been this good to him.

`This is real magic', Harry thought, not the type of magic performed with complicated incantations and wand movements, but a pure, simple and sweet type of magic he'd never known or even suspected could exist in this world.

Her lips, lips that had haunted him, lips that had made him wonder and fantasize and dream and lust after… were simply divine. They were made for him, he thought absently, because there had never been a more perfect fit.

Harry breathed into her mouth, relishing in the sensation of her fingers lightly scratching his scalp and now tangled in his hopelessly wild hair. His own fingers reached inside Hermione's hair, pleasuring in the silkiness of every strand against his roughened palms.

`This is it', he thought. This was the fates' reward for sixteen years of heartache.

`I am the one.'

For finally, Harry Potter realized Hermione Granger, the person he loved like no other on God's green earth, was also in love with him.

In her kiss, he felt himself die… only to be reborn.

His lungs were already burning from the lack of oxygen when he felt her lips pulling away, not a trace of fear remaining in his heart.

When he opened his eyes, Harry found Hermione with her eyes still closed, her cheeks flushed, her breath ragged and her lips slightly parted. It was a sight that had the same effect as her kiss, for it took his breath away.

Hermione opened her eyes and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, giving him a rather shy smile, one that he returned gladly.

“Does that answer your question, Harry?” Hermione said in breathless voice, her eyes glinting with feminine pride.

He rested his forehead on hers and just looked at his reflection on her eyes. His heart felt like it was ready to burst from sheer happiness, and yet he couldn't find the words to let her know how much this meant to him.

“Actually, I was sort of distracted for a moment,” said Harry, giving her a lopsided smile, “would you mind repeating it?”

“Cheeky,” whispered Hermione before her lips settled on the corners of Harry's mouth, teasing him playfully. He couldn't resist the temptation to capture her lower lip and nibble on it. Oh, he will never be able to taste pumpkin pie without thinking of her! Hermione giggled for what was probably the first time in her life, tightening her hold on his hair and kissing him fully on the lips, turning his legs into jelly.

When she pulled away, she looked up at the disarray she had made of his hair and couldn't help but laugh. She ran her fingers through his head in an attempt to smooth it back. “Sorry about that,” Hermione said in a breathlessly, her tone showing she was not really sorry that all.

“Feel free to make a mess of my hair anytime,” Harry laughed, tightening his hold on her waist. He accepted the invitation to lower his head and capture her lips in another sweet kiss.

Sometime later, Hermione laid her forehead on Harry's chin and closed her eyes, a contended sight escaping from her lips. Harry knew exactly how she felt as his hand ran up and down her spine, pressing his nose into her hair, letting her sweet lavender scent intoxicate him.

But there was something he needed to know. Harry was almost afraid to speak for fear of breaking the magic of this moment, and yet, he knew the subject could not be avoided.

“What happens now?” he whispered. With her arms still wrapped around his shoulders, Hermione lean back just enough so she could look him in the eye. And she asked him the question no one had ever asked him before.

“What do you want, Harry?”

“You trust me to make the right choice?” he asked, both in wonder and in disbelief.

“I do,” she nodded softly. She cleared her throat before continuing, “Harry, I cannot kid myself. I know there are more important things out there waiting for you. I know that you have a destiny to fulfill that is bigger than any of us. And I don't want to be a distraction, nor a burden.”

He felt one of her nails tracing the outline of his jaw softly as she said, “So, if we cannot go with this anywhere for now, it will be fine with me. We'll have time to be after the war is over.”

“You would accept that?” he whispered.

“Of course. I know this is a difficult time, and a relationship might be too much on the plate right now,” she explained. Her finger traced the contours of his mouth very slowly, deep in thought. She took a deep breath before saying, “But I tell you what I won't accept.”

“What?” he mumbled.

“I won't accept you turning your back on this out of fear for my safety,” said Hermione.

“I think that is something that should be taken into consideration.”

“Consider this then.” She nibbled on her lower lip before locking her eyes on his and saying, “no matter what happens with this, I'll always remain by your side. I'm already exposed, because this is now my fight as much as it is yours.”

“You are amazing, you know?” he said, managing a small smile.

“I know,” she nodded charmingly, “But you still have to answer my question. What do you want, Harry?”

Harry didn't need to search his soul to know what he wanted. A tiny voice inside his head that sounded an awful lot like his whispered about the dangers Hermione would be facing if Voldemort and his goons found out how Harry felt for her… whispered about the media scrutiny that had plagued him for many years and would surely befall on her… whispered about the Prophecy that loomed over his head, and if it would be fair to her to be involved with a man whom at any moment could go off to fight a battle from which he may never return.

But there was another voice in his head, a voice that was louder and more resolute. It was the same voice that had encouraged him all week to tell Hermione of his feelings… a voice he had been hearing for a while in his head, that had saved him countless of times from doing the wrong thing at the worst of times.

Her voice.

A voice that now was reminding him that he had finally found what he had been looking for… a person that loved him as much as he loved her, a person that was willing to stand by his side through thick and thin, through good and bad.

He had finally found home.

And for the first time in his life, Harry knew no pain, no anger, no fear, no hopelessness, and no guilt.

He knew only his heart's desire.

Harry cupped her face with affection, his thumbs caressing the arches of her cheeks, and lowered his head until he knew she could look him directly in the eyes.

“I want you… to be my girlfriend,” started Harry, planting a feather light kiss on her forehead, his hands delicately traveling from her cheeks to her shoulders.

“I want you… to be my fiancé,” he added, kissing her cheek tenderly, tasting the saltiness of a teardrop that escaped her eye. His hands slowly traveled down her arms, feeling her shiver under his touch.

“I want you… to be my wife,” he whispered on her ear just before landing another kiss on the tip of her nose, his arms circling her waist and pulling her flush against him. Only then his eyes left hers as they traveled down her face and settled over her lips, his body trembling with desire.

“I want you… I want you to be the mother of my children,” he said, claiming her lips with his own, pouring every emotion he felt for her into that kiss as if it were their last.

His lips finally released hers and once again Harry found his eyes locked on hers. Dear Lord, did she know what she did to him when she looked at him like that? Tears were coming freely down Hermione's cheeks, but Harry did not doubt they were tears of happiness, for she was looking up at him with a smile that could brighten the night.

“And if I die, I want to die an old man… with the woman who's shared his whole life by my side,' Harry finished, resting his forehead on hers, shedding the final threads of the mask he had wore over his emotions for as long as he could remember, his eyes screaming how much he loved her and how much he needed her.

Hermione placed her hand over her mouth to stifle a sob, feeling overwhelmingly delirious by the feeling in his eyes and the knowledge that she was indeed the cause.

“So, first things first,” whispered Harry, wiping her tears away with the palm of his hand, “Hermione Granger, will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?”

Hermione gave him a rather cheeky smile, as her hands traveled back to his hair, lacing her fingers into it and pulling him down until their noses touched.

“What do you think?”

Hermione gave him another one of those kisses that Harry thought existed only in movies, pouring her heart and soul with every caress of her lips and touch of her hands.

Merlin, not even in his wildest dreams would he have imagined his Hermione to be so passionate.

`My Hermione.'

She gave him one last butterfly kiss before her eyes fastened on Harry's, her soul bared for him to see. And then, she said the words he had ached to hear all his life.

“I love you, Harry.”

`She loves me.'

`SHE. LOVES. ME.''

His lips descended hungrily on hers as that single thought echoed in his head like a mantra. Her admission didn't surprise him as much as the fact that he believed her.

Oh, if a dementor were to attack now, the bastard was going to be in a surprise, for Harry Potter was the happiest man in the world, and would be able to conjure up a patronus so powerful no one would dare stand against it.

“Thank you,” whispered Harry with honesty as her nails started playing with the hairs in the back of his neck.

“For what?” she breathed against his skin.

“For not giving up on me…” he laughed, “…on us.”

“What can I say? I have a soft spot for green-eyed best friends who are a bit dense and have slightly borderline personalities,” she bantered in good nature.

“Lucky me,” he replied cockily, leaning in and kissing her one more time. Not even he could believe that less than an hour ago he had been a blubbering fool trying to find the right words to tell this girl how he felt, and now he felt more confident than he could remember feeling before.

Just another wonderful side effect from feeling loved.

“I can't believe we're doing this,” said Harry, trailing kisses down her chin all the way to her neck. He heard something that sounded between a moan and a giggle, but didn't know if it came from her or from him, “specially considering you just booted four people out of here from doing the same thing.

“I waited long enough. And besides,” she chuckled throatily, a sound that sent a bolt of electricity throughout his limbs, “what's the fun in being Head Girl if I can't abuse my power from time to time?”

“Amen to that,” he whispered, his lips nipping the flesh of her shoulder. He was addicted to her, and nothing about her would ever be enough for him.

“Harry,” she moaned, a tinge of something that sounded like regret in her voice, “as much as I hate to say this… we have to go back.”

“Why?” he pouted against her skin, “I thought we could stay here for a while… or forever.”

“We've been here for a while,” said Hermione, her hands rebelling against her words as they held him close, “I need to get back to Roger.”

He tensed against his will, more out of habit than out of any real fear. He relaxed in her arms when that little voice in his head reminded him that He was the one she loved, not Roger.

Yet, he couldn't pass the opportunity for a little playful banter, “Oh, going back to your old boyfriend already?”

“Honestly! I'm supposed to be helping him in keeping the students in check,” said Hermione, jokingly punching his shoulder, “Besides, Roger was sweet enough to tell me today that you were already in love with me… you just hadn't quite realized it.”

Harry lean back to look into her eyes, and was pleasantly surprised to see that she was telling him the truth. That would explain why Roger asked him to dance with Hermione, not to mention that strange look he sent Harry's way when she had excused herself from the party.

Wow. Talk about having the wrong impression.

“I'll build him a shrine,” Harry smiled, kissing her forehead tenderly, “but that still doesn't make me want to go back in there when we could stay here and…” He finished the thought by reaching up and caressing her lower lip with his thumb.

She shivered under his touch, but managed to smirk as she said, “We'll have the rest of our lives for that, Mister Potter.”

Now it was his turn to tremble, for her words held promises of enough stolen kisses, fleeting caresses, and whispers of devotion to last a lifetime.

“Now, let's find your glasses and go back to the party. I want to dance with my Phantom again,” Hermione said, using her index finger to wipe the gloss from his lips.

“I'll hold you to that,” Harry quipped, reluctantly disentangling himself from her arms and turning around, his eyes now roaming the floor in search of his glasses. He found his mask by the corner of the terrace, and bend down to pick it up. But he couldn't see his glasses anywhere. Already fearing they might have gone over the rail, he suddenly remembered he had disillusioned them. Chiding himself for his showmanship, he fell on all fours and started patting the floor near the corner to try and feel them.

An appreciative whistle reached his ears, and he looked over his shoulder to see Hermione, one hand on the doorknob, the other one her hip, looking at him with a strange glint in her eyes.

“Just what are you doing over there?” asked Harry, evidently amused by the look on her face.

“Just enjoying the view… and I'm not talking about the starry night,” smirked Hermione.

His hands closed on the frame of his eyeglasses just as her words sank in. He choked nervously as he slowly rose back on his feet. Her good-natured laughter was so contagious he couldn't help but laugh with her.

“I've never seen this side of you, Miss Granger,” said Harry when he turned around and started to walk toward her.

“You'd be surprised at what you have yet to see,” she winked. He took her hand when he reached her side and raised it to his lips, planting a feather light kiss on her knuckles. Her hold tightened on him as Harry continued to stare at her hand, his bright smile shifting to a more contemplative expression. Silence soon followed, but it wasn't uncomfortable anymore. It was natural.

“I'm afraid. I've never been in a relationship,” he confessed, his eyes still holding onto their hands, “I don't want to… I don't want to screw up and lose you… not as a girlfriend… and definitely not as my best friend.”

“I've never been in a relationship either, Harry,” Hermione replied, cupping his cheek tenderly, “but I love you. We'll learn about this… together. And besides, no matter what happens between us…I'll always be your best friend.”

“I love you. And I'll never get tired of telling you,” said Harry, his voice thick with emotion, before kissing her knuckles one more time.

“And I'll never get tired of hearing it,” replied Hermione, leaning in to kiss him one more time.

Yep, he definitely was going to get used to this.

She gave him another pulse-accelerating smile before turning the doorknob and opening the door…

Only to have four bodies fall flat on the floor, one on top of the other. Good for them that the big white fluffy thing was the first to fall… he kind of lessened the impact for the others.

“How long have you four been eavesdropping?” Hermione asked as Neville helped Ginny and Luna to straighten up.

“Long enough to know I am 10 galleons richer!” Ginny said happily as she pushed herself from Ron, who was still face first on the floor. She then went straight to Hermione and Harry and hugged them both with such force she almost knocked them to the floor.

“Does it have anything to do with the bet you made with Lavender and Parvati after Harry broke up with Cho?” said Hermione, arching her eyebrow knowingly when Ginny let go of her.

“You knew about that?” Ginny asked, her ears going red with embarrassment.

“Of course I did,” Hermione nodded, smiling cockily, “And I expect you to donate all proceeds to S.P.E.W.”

“She will,” Neville beamed, throwing his arm over Ginny's slumping shoulder before patting Harry affectionately on the back, “I am going to make an honest woman out of her.”

“You two are no fun,” joked Ginny, sticking her tongue at them. A series of muffled curses reached their ears, and they look down to find Luna struggling to get Ron the White Rabbit off the floor.

“Anybody have a camera?” Harry asked, grinning genuinely, before he and Neville gave Luna a hand.

“FINALLY! Thought you guys were leaving me down there,” Ron said as soon as he was back on his two feet.

“That's what you get for being a busybody,” Hermione quipped, squeezing Ron's nose.

“Ahhhh! Cut it out!” Ron screamed. She gave a final squeeze before releasing him, and he added, “I just wanted to make sure Harry didn't suffer another occurrence of the foot-in-mouth-titis disease he's been having lately.”

“I am happy to inform you that he's recovering,” Hermione said, before Ron leaned in and gave her a wet kiss on the cheek.

“I'm very happy for you,” Ron whispered on her ear when her arms went around his shoulders and hugged him tightly. He had no trouble in returning her hug with earnest.

“And you,” Ron continued, turning his attention to Harry once Hermione released him, “you better remember that being my best friend won't exempt you from getting your arse kicked if you hurt her.”

“I told you before: I wouldn't have it any other way,” Harry smiled, offering his hand to Ron in a handshake. Ron looked at Harry's hand, and finally took it, surprising Harry by pulling him into an affectionate hug.

“You deserve to be loved, mate… remember that,” Ron whispered before letting go of Harry and reaching for Luna.

“This is going to be a night to remember,” Luna said, hugging Harry and Hermione simultaneously.

Harry didn't remember very well what they spoke next. Every voice was muted as he watched his Hermione… his best friend… his girlfriend… speaking animatedly to the two girls. Her eyes had never shone so brightly; her smile had never been so wide. It had been years since the last time he had seen her so cheerful.

“How does it feel?” Ron said, resting his hairy arm on Harry's shoulder.

“Like I died and went to heaven,” replied Harry, giving Ron a brotherly pat.

“Hey, guys. The last act is about to start,” Neville, who had been watching the party by the door, announced.

“Oh, we can't miss this!” Ginny squealed, grabbing Hermione by the hand and pulling her toward the door. Hermione reached for Harry's hand and pulled him with her, giving him a reassuring smile over her shoulder.

Their relationship may be new… but this need to reach out for each other definitely wasn't.

Harry let Hermione guide him back inside the party, a smile etched on the corners of his mouth, as he absently thought that he was returning to the party a different man.

He was no longer nervous. No longer lost. No longer alone.

He had found his missing piece.

He was finally complete.

Little did Harry know that the universe was a system in equilibrium.

That on the magical night his dreams had finally come true…

… so would his horrifying nightmares.

-----------------

Hi, everybody. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know, please?

This chapter is dedicated to a group of very special friends. To Elena, Lidia, Mane, Glendy and Flor, Rafael and Tito… thanks for not giving up on me.

This chapter was particularly hard to write, mainly because I was afraid to disappoint. Hope it worked out on the end.

Thanks to each and every one who commented on the last chapter. I apologize for not answering the reviews personally, but I assure you they mean the world.

Blessings,

Anasazi

PD. “You keep me honest” is one of the greatest phrases from one my H/Hr-like obsessions… The X-Files.

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Chapter 17: Danse Macabre

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As Hermione lead him by the hand back inside the Great Hall, Harry wondered why had he been so scared to reveal his feelings in the first place. Now that they had gone through it… whatever the step that they had just taken was called… he realized that it was just the next natural phase in the evolution of their friendship.

They had already loved each other as only best friends could… now it was time to be in love.

Back inside the hall, Harry barely noticed that all the students had risen from their chairs and were now packed on the dance floor, looking ahead at the stage. The final performance was about to begin, and this was something apparently nobody wanted to miss. The five friends followed Ginny as she tried to find a spot big enough so they could sneak closer to the stage. It was proving to be quite the impossible task.

“About time you came! You've been gone for an hour!” Harry heard a voice called from somewhere to their right. He and Hermione looked simultaneously to find Roger approaching them.

“Sorry,” said Hermione sheepishly, her cheeks showing a hint of pink that was not there before, “time flies.”

“So I see,” Roger replied with a playful grin, his eyes traveling from Harry and Hermione's intertwined hands to their swollen lips. “Especially when you are having fun.” Patting a stunned Harry on the shoulder, Roger ribbed, “Damn it, Potter! When I told Mione you were bound to get your head out of your bum sooner or later and figure out she was the one, I didn't think it was going to be this fast!”

Oh, the calming effects of being happily in love… he didn't feel the need to break each and everyone of Roger's bones when he heard him call her by her pet name.

“Took him long enough,” joked Hermione. Seeing the easiness with which those two treated each other, Harry knew he had underestimated the fact that Hermione could be good friends with others outside their circle. Roger indeed was her friend. “And speaking of fast…” she continued with a playful smirk, “How did it go with the Hufflepuff girls?”

“Already got two dates lined up,” the Ravenclaw answered, wiggling his eyebrows playfully, “It would be a shame if the fact that you broke my heart would stop me from spreading the love to all beautiful women out there.”

“Have they played a song yet?” Luna casually interrupted, nodding toward the stage.

Roger shook his head tiredly. “No. They just got on stage … they are being a little too dramatic for my taste. They should just get on with it and stop with the drama. It's a band, not a theater troupe!” he shouted to no one in particular. Harry looked distractedly toward the stage. Three hooded figures stood there, their heads low, their backs to the audience, dressed in black cloaks that reached all the way to their ankles as an invisible chorus reached the middle verse of “Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi.”

“Well, we might as well stay here,” said Ginny grumpily, crossing her arms over her chest and throwing a very dirty look toward the packed dance floor, “there's no way we'll be able to squeeze in there.”

“Don't worry, Ginny… I promise you front-row seats for their next concert,” Neville offered with an easy smile. His girlfriend squealed, turned toward him, wrapped her arms around his neck and started to sway with the music.

“I'll be more than happy with last row seats if you can get a nice, dark corner where we can…” the little redhead trailed off, planting a small kiss on the corner of Neville's lips.

Neville blushed scarlet, but he didn't turn as red as Ron, who was fighting the urge to slap his sister's hands away from Neville, “For Merlin's sake, Ginny! Stop trying to corrupt him!”

“Your friends are insane,” Roger said to Hermione in a matter-of-fact voice. Hermione just rolled her eyes in a “don't I know it” expression before she started to scan the crowd. Harry noticed the slight frown that appeared on her face while she continued her search of the place. Just when he was about to ask her if something was wrong, she spoke.

“Where are the professors?”

“They all left about ten minutes ago… apparently there was something wrong with the drinks, and they all had to follow Madam Pomfrey to the Infirmary… You should have seen Snape! His was no longer his ghastly shade of grey… he was downright green!”

“Lovely.”

“Anyway, McGonagall said they were coming back later,” Roger said absently, “So, do you take the right side and I'll take the left side?”

“Sure,” answered Hermione, tightening her hold on Harry's hand. Harry squeezed back as he suppressed the urge to grin like a maniac; the fact that Hermione was going to work did not mean he couldn't steal a kiss or two.

“Alright,” Roger nodded, “Just don't let me catch you neglecting your Head Girl duties because you've gone off to snog Potter.” With a teasing wink, the Head Boy walked away.

“You know, Hermione?” I'm beginning to like the insufferable git,” smirked Harry, wrapping his arms around her waist and bringing her closer, ”although I say we risk his wrath and go spend some quality time on the hallway.”

“Maybe later,” Hermione purred, standing on tiptoe and letting her lips graze his cheek. When she pulled back, Harry bit his lower lip to fight the desire to kiss her again; her lips were already swollen and reddened from his previous kisses.

His kisses… just the idea of it felt like a dream… a wondrous dream he still had trouble believing had come true.

“But now, I want to see the show,” she added, twisting around under his arms to face the stage. Harry tightened his hold on her, resting his chin on her shoulder, his head turned slightly so his nose grazed the crook of her neck, drowning in scents and sensations he was already addicted to.

He planted a small kiss on the exposed skin; she released a groan from deep within her throat. “You are distracting me, good sir,” she whispered, resting her hands over his forearms.

“I can't help it… I don't have anything better to do,” he answered, his lips traveling to her shoulder. He was determined to continue his ministrations until he felt a hard pinch in his arm. “Ouch! What was that for?” he complained, pouting childishly in a manner he hoped she found endearing.

Hermione looked at him over her shoulder and suggested, “Watch the performance.” Then, giving him what he will from now on refer to as her naughty smile, she added, “We'll see what happens afterwards.”

And with those kinds of promises of what was to come, Harry decided it wasn't such a bad idea to try and enjoy the show.

His eyes followed Hermione's to the stage, but what he saw was quite unexpected.

The three-cloaked figures were arranged like a pyramid, the two on the side a couple of feet behind the central figure, which was standing with its back to the crowd, the arms raised upwards by the time the song hit crescendo.

And there it was… hovering just above that figure - the prominent object of his dreams… his nightmares… for the last week.

The orb.

His scar burned. Images of what he had lived through for the last few days flashed before his eyes: the pulsing red sphere that swallowed the darkness, the gray cold mist, the voices, the red moon, the rain of blood, the earth that buried him, the globe that consumed him, the bodies of his friends hanging from the ceiling…

His love trapped in a spider's web.

Dead.

Firenze's words echoed in his head.

“It is a very powerful omen… what the heavens have decided to reveal to you, Harry.”

His heart froze. And everything clicked into place.

They hadn't been nightmares.

They had been warnings.

“Something's wrong. We got to get out of here. We have to leave,” he hurriedly whispered, desperately pushing Hermione away so he could search the pockets of his coat for his wand.

Hermione looked over her shoulder, a puzzled expression on her face. She immediately saw the fear behind his green eyes, and that was enough to provoke a tightening of her gut that she always associated with incoming trouble.

“Harry, what is it? What's wrong?” she asked, helplessly watching as he desperately reached into his pockets and returned empty-handed.

“Where's my bloody wand?” he spat, keeping his eyes on the stage while thinking of the quickest way to reach the exit. He was sure he had slipped it into his pocket before coming to the ball. How could he have lost it?

“HARRY! WHAT IS GOING ON?” asked Hermione, scared. There had been many years since she had seen such panic reflected in his viridian eyes.

The music stopped.

There were no teachers to call for help, no swords to wield, no shields to protect and no wands to hex.

Survival instincts took over.

“Come on!” Harry hissed, taking her by the arm and stomping the opposite way, making a beeline toward the exit. There was no time to waste, no time to explain.

His priority was Hermione. After she was saved, he'll worry about everything else.

“Harry! Stop! What is it? What's going on!” his companion asked, struggling against his grip in an attempt to make him stop and calm down. What was going on in his head to make him so afraid?

“Hey! Where are you two going? The party's just started!”

Harry recognized Ron's voice, but didn't lose momentum in trying to explain. Hermione, however, had a different idea.

“Ron! Something's wrong with Harry!” she said, trying to look back at her friend while her boyfriend continued to pull her arm on the opposite direction.

Ron shared a puzzled look with his sister, and both grabbed their respective dates' hands and started running after them.

“What do you mean something's wrong with Harry? What's going on?” asked Ginny worriedly when the four of them reached Hermione.

“He's not explain…”

“THERE'S NO TIME!” Harry finally reacted. He stopped for just one moment, his voice barely above a whisper, and said, “I've seen this, Hermione… that… that sphere… is trouble…”

They had reached the doors. He had just to push it and lead her outside, and she'll be saved.

Or so he thought.

There was a loud squelching sound.

He may not be the brightest bloke at Hogwarts, but he knew enough to know what that sound meant.

A part of him refused to believe it though - that same part that made him think that he could actually change what the future had in store for him. Stubbornly, he pushed at the door, first with his hand and then with his entire body, swallowing the screams he wanted to release.

It was to no avail; they had been magically locked in.

It was only then that he heard her…

She was laughing.

And her laughter didn't fail to provoke in him the same feelings that had arose in him the first time he had heard her laugh.

Fury. Repugnance. Hatred. Terror.

Harry, Hermione and the rest of their friends turned around at the same time, all looking for the source of the laughter and praying to be wrong.

They looked at the stage just in time to see the lead singer lowering her arms while turning around, and finally lifting the hood from her face.

The students gathered in the dance floor gasped in horror, also recognizing the woman standing there.

After all, who could forget the face of one Bellatrix Lestrange?

“Where is everybody going? The party has just begun.”

There was no mistaking the wand she was twirling in her bony hand, nor the fact that, once her two companions lifted their hoods, her two favorite partners in crime, her husband Rodolphus, and her brother-in-law, Rabastan, were revealed.

“Trick or treat”

It was pandemonium.

The students that had been packing the dance floor started running toward the doors, trampling over one another like cattle; the musicians also jumped from the stage, heading for the exit. The three Death Eaters just laughed at them.

The coldness that had started in his stomach had spread to his very flesh and bone. He pulled Hermione to him violently and whispered in her ear, “Do you have your wand with you?”

“No,” she answered breathlessly, “I couldn't… with this dress… Ron?”

“I don't even have pockets! I'm a walking carpet!” replied Ron, doing the very chivalrous but completely pointless act of putting himself between Luna and the stage. “Anybody else?”

The others shook their collective heads. Bellatrix and her gang had definitely caught them with their pants down. “Where's yours, Harry?” asked Luna.

“I know I took it with me, but I can't find it!” replied Harry. The students were now brushing past them, trying to push the doors with their hands or throwing their full weight on it. Like fishes trapped in a net, they pushed and pulled, fighting to escape, refusing to accept their fate.

“Can't we accio our wands?” Neville suggested. Harry didn't registered the fact that Neville's voice was the only one not trembling, and if he had been of sound mind to look at his friend, he would have seen quite a different man.

“That's not going to work,” Hermione went on to explain, “The spell that sealed the doors… it was an imperturbable charm. It's sealed the entire room. No one and nothing can get in our out until it wears off.”

Harry could barely hear her above the screams and cries of the students around them, who were feeding off each other's panic.

“SILENCE!”

Bellatrix hadn't used a spell, but her command was as effective as any enchantment, for an unnatural silence fell on the hall. Screams became hushes, cries nothing above shallow breathing. Some already understood that escape was impossible unless the devil herself granted it.

The cold, dead eyes of the Death Eater scanned the room slowly and purposely, until they finally settled on Harry. She then smiled that easy smile people share over tea and biscuits and said, “Nobody is going to get hurt as long as they stay out of the way. I want one thing and only one thing. And I intend to get it.”

“What is it you want?” a voice from somewhere on the far left asked. Everybody turned to look at however had dared to raise his voice, and Harry was the first one to be surprised by the fact that it had been Roger. He was staring at Bellatrix defiantly, like only someone who had never had the displeasure of crossing her path could.

“Oh, my dear, I thought it was obvious,” she answered, now smiling like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. She then raised a bony finger toward the door and added, “I. want. Him.”

You didn't have to be rocket scientist to know she had come to settle an old score with one Harry James Potter.

“Ron,” whispered Harry urgently, “Take care of Hermione for me. Make sure she's…!”

“NO! You are NOT going to her!” hissed Hermione, grabbing him by the arms with such strength she was sure to leave a mark. For a second, he allowed himself to get lost in those beautiful eyes, wanting nothing more than to tell her everything was going to be okay, that this was just another nightmare, and that as soon as he woke up everything was going back to normal.

It would, of course, be a lie.

“She's got the upper hand, Mione,” said Harry, cupping her cheek tenderly even amidst the bleak situation, “I got to play by her rules.” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Crabbe stand behind Ron and Goyle doing the same with Neville. The difference between them was that Crabbe and Goyle had their wands out and at the ready, and Ron and Neville were unarmed.

“Move it, Potter.”

The voice which belonged to Draco Malfoy came from somewhere behind him. Harry slowly turned his head around to look at the Slytherin over his shoulder. “You,” he hissed.

“I told you to stay away. Didn't I, Potty?” whispered Malfoy, his gray eyes filled with an emotion Harry had never seen before in his nemesis' eyes. Without the slightest hint of amusement, he continued, “She only wants you… as long as your mudblood and the others stay out of the way, they'll be safe.”

Hermione hugged Harry by the waist and buried her face in his chest, mumbling over and over again, “Harry, please… don't… please… don't…”

“Draco…” Bellatrix called in a sing-song voice that was anything but friendly, “I don't have all night. Bring. him. here.”

“You heard her, Potter. Move!” Malfoy spat, prodding Harry's back with his wand.

“Hermione,” whispered Harry softly, “I got to do this.” He raised her head gently with his hands and dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. “Just stay out of the way...” he continued, kissing her lips tenderly, “It'll be okay.”

“NOBODY IS GOING ANYWHERE!”

Harry let go of Hermione and turned around, only to realize that the Head Boy had managed to sneak behind Malfoy and now was pressing the tip of his wand to the back of Malfoy's head. Without taking his eyes off the Slytherin, Roger addressed Bellatrix, “Relinquish your wands or your nephew gets it.”

The only reply he received was a loud chuckle.

“I am serious! Relinquish your wands or else!” screamed Roger. Harry didn't know if the others could tell, but Roger's resolve was diminishing by the second with the realization he was in way over his head.

“Really? What are you planning to do, little boy? Stun him? He'll wake up to find you dead. Bind him? Maybe cast an Unforgivable on him? Oh… that I'll love to see…” Bellatrix said with morbid curiosity. Positively giddy with glee, she finished, “Do it.”

Malfoy was breathing hard, anger etched clearly in his face, but he had not lowered the wand pointing at Harry's chest. Roger's arm began to tremble as he pushed his wand harder against Malfoy's skull, trying to convey his seriousness.

“Do it.”

“Crucio…” Roger mumbled between clenched teeth. As was expected, nothing happened. He pressed the tip of his wand even harder against Malfoy's scalp and repeated more forcefully, “Crucio.” Nothing happened. Taking a deep breath, his blue eyes blazing, he screamed, “CRUCIO!”

And again, nothing happened.

“Boys…” Bellatrix said, turning her head slightly toward the two Death Eaters that accompanied her tonight, “let's show him how it's done.”

“CRUCIO!”

Three distinct rays of light traveled from the Death Eater's wands and converged just before hitting Roger, sending him flying to one side, screaming all the way before his body collided face-first against the edge of one of the tables. His body fell near Seamus and Lavender, who started whimpering “He's dead… he's dead… he's dead…” as she buried her face on Seamus chest.

“Anybody who decides to play the hero will have the same fate befall on him,” Rodolphus announced with eerie calmness.

Harry had thought it was not possible to hate Bellatrix more than he had grown to hate her after what she did to Sirius.

He was wrong.

Hermione's eyes were frozen in an expression of incredulity, fixed on the general direction of Roger's body, unable to see him but already fearing the worst. She was trembling from head to toe, her lips parted with her shallow breathing, and was too stunned to realize Harry had disentangled himself from her arms until he started to walk away. “HARRY! NO!” she screamed, running towards him. She had not taken two steps before Goyle released a vicious punch to her stomach that sent her to the floor, gasping for air.

Harry roared, turning around with the sole intention of pounding Goyle into a bloody pulp. And he would have if it hadn't been for Malfoy, who now pointed his wand at Hermione and whispered, “Don't give us an excuse, Potter.”

Hermione's lungs were still burning for oxygen when she felt Ron's hands grabbed her by the arms. He pulled her up, resting her body on his as he whispered against her ear, “We'll find a way to help him…we'll find a way.”

“Is she okay, Ron?” Harry asked, his eyes jumping from Malfoy to Goyle and back. If he got out of this alive, these two were going to pay dearly.

“I'm fine,” Hermione answered breathlessly, staring straight at Malfoy's unwavering wand. Mentally promising that he was going to torture Goyle for laying a hand on Hermione, Harry turned around and continued to walk toward the stage.

He wondered at the expression on his fellow students' faces as they parted in front of him, making way for him to reach the stage. Some were surprised, others were terrified, others were sad, defeated, others were angry, and others… others looked at Harry as if he was already a dead man.

He was halfway toward the stage when he suddenly heard Dean's voice break the silence.

“He's alive! He's still alive!”

Harry stood still and, speaking directly to Bellatrix, said, “Let somebody help him.”

Bellatrix's eyes slanted angrily as she hissed, “You are in no position to make demands, half-blood.”

“I am if you don't want me to cause any trouble,” he replied, sounding a lot more collected than he felt.

Bellatrix looked visibly ill at the proposal, but finally nodded her head slightly. On the next instant, Harry heard Malfoy's voice say, “You… help him.” Looking over his shoulder, he watched as Hermione cut her way amidst the students toward Roger, followed by Ron, Neville, Ginny and Luna, with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle close behind.

“Don't keep me waiting, little Harry,” commanded Bellatrix, “Draco, keep an eye on Potter's friends.”

And Harry went on his way.

-----------------------------------------------------

Hermione and Ginny crouched next to the body, one on each side of the Head Boy. Dean had been right; Roger was still alive.

His body was twisted in an impossible position; one of his legs was trapped under him, his left arm jerking in an automated bodily response. A soft gurgling sound emerged from his throat with every rise and fall of his chest.

Having learned first aid at the behest of her father, Hermione measured his pulse. She quickly realized he was getting weaker by the second.

“We're losing him,” whimpered Ginny.

“Ron, Neville… straighten him.”

-----------------------------------------------------

Harry slowly walked up the stairs to the stage. He needed to time to think, to try to form an escape plan.

He was coming up with nothing.

With each heavy step he found it more difficult to breath as a heavy weight took residence on his chest and refused to leave. He stripped off the mask that partially covered his face in an attempt to shake that horribly oppressing feeling, but it just got worse.

-----------------------------------------------------

Hermione lowered her ear until it hovered over Roger's lips. She could hear the horrible gurgling sound louder this time. Careful not to move his head for fear of worsening his injuries, she searched his wounded body, until she noticed a purple mark about an inch thick in the right side of his neck. It suddenly became clear to her what was so wrong with Roger.

“His windpipe is crushed,” she explained, “we need to open up a passageway or he'll suffocate.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Ron asked, looking down at the Ravenclaw with pity. He and the others were kneeling around the body, while Malfoy and his goons made a wider circle around them.

“I need a knife,” confirmed Hermione while Ginny and Luna struggled to get Roger's costume chest plate off him.

“Use this.”

-----------------------------------------------------

Harry reached the landing without any idea of what his next step should be. He was unarmed, outnumbered and defenseless. It seemed that the only thing they could do was to play Lestrange's game until the Calvary arrives.

He could see Bellatrix much more clearly now… that black stringy hair, that ghostly pale skin, those taut cheeks, those hollow eyes, those bloodless lips curled in a perpetual sneer…

How he hated her… how he hated her for what she was and for what she had done.

It was only then that Harry noticed that she didn't have one wand, but two, and that the one in her left hand was an eleven-inch holly wand with a phoenix feather core.

His wand.

“Courtesy of Vincent Goyle,” Bellatrix said, twirling Harry's wand in the air, “who's proven to be slightly more resourceful than his father… not that that says a lot.”

He remembered how Goyle had bumped into him while he was dancing with Hermione earlier in the evening. The slimy son-of-a-bitch must have pick pocketed his wand then.

Bellatrix made a dramatic wave on the air with her wand, and a chair appeared in the middle of the stage, just below the hovering orb. But it wasn't like the other chairs found in the Great Hall, for it was metal, with thick leather straps in the front legs, the arms and on the top, secured with strong steel buckles. In fact, at any other time, the chair would have reminded him of the electric chairs used in old prison movies to fry muggles.

“You are the guest of honor in our little party,” said Bellatrix in a low whisper, “so we saved you the best seat in the house.”

Things were taking a turn for the worst.

-----------------------------------------------------

Hermione was looking over her shoulder at the object Draco Malfoy was offering her. It was a silver dagger. She couldn't believe what she was seeing; the same guy that had conspired to bring the Death Eaters into the castle and capture Harry, the same sadist who had not let one opportunity to torture her and her friends go by, was the same person offering to help.

“Why are you doing this?” Hermione hissed, anger blazing in her eyes. Was this another one of his games? How dared he play with Roger's life! With all of their lives!

“Look, mudblood,” sneered Draco, “do you want to save him or not?” Without waiting for answer, he threw the blade in her direction.

She caught it in midair and, not wanting to waste another second, turned toward Ron and said, “I need a tube.”

“A tube?”

“Yes… something narrow, but with a hollow center… like a straw, or a…”

“Got it,” Ron nodded and stood up. Ignoring Crabbe's order to stand still, he ran directly to the table with the Honeydukes sweets, picked a caramel lollipop, and ran back, biting into the candy until only the small plastic tube remained.

“Good idea,” Hermione whispered with as much pride as she could muster in the bleak situation when Ron handed her the tube. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to reassure herself that this was the only way.

Opening her eyes and looking down at Roger, Hermione continued to say, “Luna, I need you to hold Roger's head still … Neville, Ron… you two take the arms… make sure he doesn't move an inch. Ginny, hold this.” She handed Ginny the small tube while the others move into position.

“I'm sorry, Roger,” she said as she unsheathed Malfoy's knife, “but this is the only way.” Ignoring the fear and trepidation she felt, she pressed the tip of the knife against the hollow of Roger's throat and pushed. The blade broke through skin and flesh until blood spurted from the open wound.

“Ginny!” she called. The shaky Ginny immediately handed the tube to her friend, who plunged the tube into the wound. There was a distinct hissing sound, and she tentatively reached with her fingers to the top of the hollow tube, and sighed in relief when she confirmed that air was coming in and out of Roger's lungs.

But she knew it was too early to call victory; Roger needed to get to St. Mungo's and he needed to get there fast.

She looked over her shoulder at Malfoy, who was looking at Roger's wound with a mixture of disgust and awe, and said, “He needs professional medical attention. If you plan to keep us here for long, you'll have to find a way to sent him to St. Mungo's.”

“Don't worry, Granger” replied Malfoy, nodding toward the stage. “This won't take long.”

-----------------------------------------------------

It was ironic that, while Rodolphus and Rabastan were fastening the leather straps to his arms, his legs and his head, Harry was thinking about how in the world the most magical day of his life could have disintegrated into this. Couldn't destiny allow him just one night of true happiness?

Of their own accord, his thoughts went back to the image from his dreams - Hermione trapped in the terrible spider's web.

He was the one now who was trapped in Bellatrix's clutches. Why was Hermione the central figure in his dream? Why was she the one in danger?

Did it have something to do with the awareness of his feelings for her?

Or was there something else… something far more terrible?

-----------------------------------------------------

“We've done everything we can for Roger,” whispered Hermione to her companions, “the question is: what are we going to do for Harry?”

They were huddled over the Head Boy's body. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were so distracted by Bellatrix's show they didn't seem to be paying any attention to them. The knife lay on the floor next to Roger's head, forgotten by both its owner and the girl that had used it to save a life.

“We can't do anything without wands,” Neville replied, not a trace of fear in his dark eyes.

An anxious Ginny started to say, “Why don't we wait for the professors to come? Maybe the Order has already been…”

“They have no way of knowing something's wrong,” answered Hermione. “Dumbledore's out of the castle, the rest of the teachers are sick and in the infirmary… possibly poisoned by Bellatrix… and thinking we are just enjoying the last musical act of the night.” Her voice trembling slightly, she finished, “let's face it… we are on our own.”

“There's no other way,” Ron finally spoke, his eyes locking with those of his best friend, “we have to wait for the chance to take their wands from them.”

-----------------------------------------------------

“Do you know why you are here, little Harry?” asked Bellatrix in a tone that indicated she actually expected him to answer that.

“I assumed it was because of my animal magnetism,” Harry replied dryly, his mind momentarily distracted by the insignificant way the metal buckle dig into his forehead.

“I wouldn't be joking if I were you,” responded Bellatrix, “In fact, if I was you, I would start begging… right about now.”

She smiled. He didn't.

Slowly, almost languidly, the tall woman started to walk in circles around Harry and continued, “You've been a thorn in the Dark Lord's side since you were born. By some twisted stroke of luck, you almost destroyed him when you were just an itsy-bitsy boy.” Her smile grew, her voice heady with pleasure, “But now, the Dark Lord is back, more powerful than ever he was, ready to bring noble Salazar's utopia to life, where mudbloods and their supporters alike will join their beloved muggles in taking their rightful place in the world… as our slaves.”

It played like a scene from a bad movie, where the enemy revealed his villainous plan, giving the hero enough time to devise a masterful plan to stop the nemesis.

But this was no movie, and Harry was no hero. He didn't have a masterful plan to stop her, and he doubted there was a happy ending in store for him.

“And I'm here to make sure history doesn't repeat itself,” Bellatrix finished.

“I've gathered from this little rant that Voldemort sent you to kill me.”

“How dare you say his name!” screamed Bellatrix, taking a step toward him and lowering her head so her face was barely an inch away from his.

He saw many things behind those dark eyes: intelligence, power, devotion, madness… and evil.

He quietly answered, “I don't fear him.”

“You should,” she hissed. It seemed to take a lot of willpower to restrain herself, but she finally took a deep breath and a step back before continuing, “But to answer your question… no, he didn't send me to kill you.”

“How generous of him,” Harry sarcastically mumbled.

“You should know by now, young Potter… there are things far worse than death.” Looking up at the object hovering above their heads, she asked, “Do you know what that is?”

He thought of asking if it was the latest fashion craze for paranoid psychotic witches, but decided it was wiser to keep his mouth shut.

“You should consider yourself lucky,” continued Bellatrix, her voice filled with icy wonder. “Not many have stood in the presence of the Carcer Lamentatio Anima.

-----------------------------------------------------

Ron knew there was something very bad about that thing when he heard Hermione and Luna gasp simultaneously. “What?”

“Do you know what that is?” asked Luna, pointing at the sphere floating over Harry's head.

“I wouldn't ask if I knew!”

“The Carcer Lamentatio Anima…” Hermione whispered with unmistakable fear in her voice, “the Orb of the Wailing Souls.”

Harry… her Harry… dear Lord, this was not happening! It couldn't be happening!

-----------------------------------------------------

“I'm afraid the dramatic revelation has been lost on me,” Harry countered, annoyed at the delighted look on the Death Eaters' face.

“Don't worry…” cooed Bellatrix, reaching up with her hand and tracing one of her nails over Harry's scar, “you'll find out soon enough.”

-----------------------------------------------------

“That… that thing exists?” Neville asked in a whisper.

“Can someone please tell me what the fuck it means?” Ron hissed, annoyed that everyone seemed to know the answer but him.

“When wizards die, their souls… their anima… transcends,” Luna started to explain, “But some… some choose to remain behind… and they become ghosts.”

Ginny hurried, “Skip the part we already know, Luna”

“But what you don't know,” the Ravenclaw continued, “is that some have no choice but to remain behind. They are those wizards whose anger and rage and hatred and pain at the moment of death were so strong that it could not be vanquished. Those are the damned… wraiths whose only pleasure is to inflict suffering upon the living.”

“And you are saying that, because…” Ron pressed, not really liking where this metaphysical trip was taken them.

“Because, according to popular legend, the Dark Wizard Grindewald found a way to imprison the souls of the thousands that fell prey to his hand”. Looking up at the orb now reflected in her pale blue eyes, she finished, “That's what the Carcer Lamentatio Anima is… a prison for the damned.”

-----------------------------------------------------

“Bellatrix,” Rodolphus decided to interrupt his wife's contemplations, “the sealing spell… it - won't last for much…”

“I know that!” she turned around to face him, furious, “Don't ruin this for me!” Outstretching her hand toward her brother-in-law, she called “Rabastan!”

Her follower reached into the pocket of his black robes and pulled out a dark knife made out of obsidian stone.

Eyeing the knife that appeared on the periphery of his vision, Harry said, “I thought you said you weren't going to kill me.”

“I'm will not,” Bellatrix said, looking at him with glee, “but I can't answer for my guests”

“But… how? Why?” Ginny groaned.

“And what is she going to do to Harry with it?” Neville added.

Not so surprisingly, it was Hermione who answered. “They say the souls answer to the call of blood. If they are summoned and blood is shed, then they will swallow their victim… ending with the sacrificed becoming wraiths too.”

“I thought it was a myth,” Neville said, shaking his head as if to clear his mind from the insanity around him.

“You thought wrong,” said Hermione before she turned to Ron and added, “We have to act now!”

Ron was thinking along the same lines, “Okay, here's what we'll do… Ginny, Hermione, you take Malfoy. Neville, Luna… Crabbe… I'll take Goyle. Wait for my signal.”

-----------------------------------------------------

Bellatrix raised the knife over her head, prompting Harry to watch with a mixture of anxiety and detachment how the tip of the blade touched the hovering orb. To his amazement, the material of the sphere gave in slightly, and he absently realized it was not made of crystal, but of an organic membrane, like the wings of a bat. It began to pulse when Bellatrix lowered the blade.

It was only then that he realized that that thing was alive.

“How does it feel, little Harry?” Bellatrix whispered with that smile that could send shivers down a dead man's spine, “How does it feel that - after 17 years of miserable existence - you will finally reunite with your mummy and daddy?”

Securing the knife with one bony hand, she reached down and violently tore open his jacket and dress shirt, exposing his chest and stomach to her assailing eyes. A look that could only be described as filled with lustful perversion appeared on her face.

“My… my… what a shame,” she whispered, letting one of her hands rest on his stomach and raking her nails over his tense muscles. “This is such a waste on a half-blood.”

Somewhere in the back of his awareness he made the connection to Hermione, and how her nails had felt on his skin. The sensations occupied the absolute opposites in the spectrum of emotions, for what once had consumed him with desire and longing, now sickened and repulsed him.

He wanted to make Bellatrix feel as defiled as he did.

Harry spit directly to her face; the gooey spit landing just above her right eyebrow. Her obscene smile twisted into a sneer that would put her nephew's to shame.

“You fool,” she spat. “I'll show you what happens to naughty little boys.”

And with that, the knife started to come down.

-----------------------------------------------------

Bellatrix and her knife had captured Malfoy and his companions' undivided attention, and there was no better time for an offensive than the present.

“NOW!”

It all happened in a flash. Before the Death Eaters knew what was going on, Neville had grabbed Crabbe in a painful headlock, allowing Luna to punch him in the stomach before yanking his wand out of his hand. Ron did the same with Goyle, hitting the young man squarely on the back of his head and sending him face first to the floor, unconscious.

By now, Malfoy had turned toward them and was pointing his wand straight at Hermione, but a vicious tackle coming from Ginny knocked him down. Hermione kicked the wand out of his hand and lunged for it, quickly grabbing it before twisting on the floor and pointing it at the stage.

“INCARCEROUS!”

“STUPEFY!”

“PETRIFICUS TOTALLUS!”

Three different spells shot out of their wands and traveled in an instant toward the stage. Ron's ray hit Rabastan, who was soon tightly wrapped in ropes. The Death Eater lost his balance, and fell to the floor with a muffled thud. Rodolphus was luckier, for he ducked behind a set of drums. The musical instrument was obliterated by Luna's hex, but Lestrange remained unscathed.

Of the three followers of Voldemort, it was Bellatrix that reacted as only the Dark Lord's favorite child could. Before Hermione's spell could hit her, she yelled “Protego!” and a blue magical shield appeared in front of her. The Gryffindor's spell hit the shield, and just as soon Bellatrix countered with a Crucio.

Harry screamed as he watched the spell hit his girl on the chest. She fell on her knees on the floor, screaming and writhing in pain, the wand she had clutched tightly in her hand now sliding to the floor, forgotten. “NO! STOP!” he screamed, feeling more useless than ever before as he watched Malfoy reclaim his wand.

“Hermione!” Ron yelled, readying his wand to attack Bellatrix. He didn't notice that Rodolphus already had Luna in his sights, until he heard his counter spell. Luna's wand quickly flew through the air and landed right in Lestrange's hand.

Bellatrix proved to be faster than Ron, for she yelled “INCARCEROUS!” and hit the redhead before he could attack her. Like Rabastan before him, thick tendrils of rope covered from feet to neck, like an artificial cocoon. Neville and Goyle made a simultaneous run for Ron's discarded wand, but Crabbe thwarted Neville's plan when he met him halfway, delivering a nasty kick to his knee.

“You stupid, stupid children!” Bellatrix hissed, glaring at the students in the hall with such malice that it was enough to make them all fall back toward the doors. Meanwhile, Rodolphus freed his brother from the binding spell. “I told you to behave!” she shrilled, “Why couldn't you just be good for once? You need to be punished! DRACO!”

“Yes?” Malfoy answered in a low voice, his wand trained on the kneeling Hermione. His voice sounded detached, even for him, as if he had decided to emotionally distance himself from the events around him.

“You know… you are the first one that deserves to be punished… you were told to keep the students away, and you failed… The Dark Lord will be very unhappy with your performance… I'll leave your punishment to Him,” said Bellatrix, sounding criminally joyous about the prospect of Malfoy's punishment. “Now, let's move on… that little dog at your feet… is that Potter's friend? The mudblood?” she asked of him.

Draco nodded in reply. His expression was twisted with obvious rage, but at whom he was angry at was not something that was evident at the moment. Luna tried to get near Hermione, who was moaning pitifully, until Goyle pointed his wand at her, and she backtracked, choosing to kneel next to Ron. She trade glances with Ginny, who was struggling to help Neville to his feet.

Bellatrix now turned her attention back to her captive.

“Do you care about her?” she asked Harry. He tried to keep his expression blank, his eyes unemotional as he attempted to recall all he had learned from Snape's Occlumency lessons. He knew that it would be a huge mistake to show this woman how much he really cared about his best friend.

But it was all in vain. “Oh!” The corners of Bellatrix's mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. “Don't bother to answer… I can see it in your eyes. You just don't care about her…” Her eyebrow arched with something close to surprise as she finished, “You love her.”

As if things hadn't been bad enough, Bellatrix had found his Achilles' heel.

“And we all know what happens to the people you love, little Potter.” Bellatrix added. With that, she trade knowing glances with Rodolphus and Rabastan, prompting the three of them to raise their wands and point them straight at Hermione.

“LEAVE HER AL…!”

“CRUCIO!”

“CRUCIO!”

“CRUCIO!”

One after another, Hermione was hit by the cruel spells of the devilish trio. She screamed from the sheer agony, but her cries were mixed with the screaming of Harry, Ron and her friends, who were unable to do anything but watch in horror as Hermione fell on the floor, twisting and turning, trying to fight against the unbearable pain that was now cursing through every limb and every organ and every cell of her body.

“STOP IT! STOP IT! YOU ARE GOING TO KILL HER!”

Harry screamed over and over again, but no one seemed to hear him. He struggled against his bindings, feeling as the material cut through the skin in his wrists and his legs. Blood trailed from his wounds as tears trailed down his cheeks.

He felt like he had felt on his dream, as if he was drowning, and the earth was swallowing his screams and cries for help. He called for anyone and everyone: Dumbledore, Remus, Sirius, Buddah, Jesus, God… but none of them intervened.

“STOP IT! I'LL DO ANYTHING!”

“Do anything?” Bellatrix spat, the ray of energy emanating from her wand still connected to Hermione's body. “There's nothing you can do! You are over! Finished! This is your last night and is going to be a night to remember.”

And in that state of hopeless despair, a thought suddenly occurred to Harry; he knew something the Dark Lord was dying to find out.

“I'LL GIVE YOU THE PROPHECY!”

The Death Eaters' heads snapped in Harry's direction as Rabastan yelled, “You lie!”

“I'M NOT! I'LL GIVE IT TO YOU! JUST LET HER GO!”

It worked.

Bellatrix slowly lowered her wand, and her husband and brother-in-law followed her lead. Harry watched as Hermione's body stopped its violent convulsing, and finally stood still, a twisted heap on the floor. Ginny ran to her, crouching next to her friend's body and touching her face with gentleness. Hermione remained unresponsive. Neville limped toward them while Luna struggled to help Ron reach his fallen friend. The youngest Weasley stifled a sob, fearing the worst, but decided to lower her head and whisper God-knows-what next to Hermione's ear.

Harry finally breathed when he saw her golden brown eyes slowly flutter open, seemingly unable to focus. But she was conscious.

“WELL?” Bellatrix impatiently called his attention back to her. Harry knew he was now holding the upper hand, but conflicting thoughts about the wisdom of this action popped into his head.

“You have to give me your word,” Harry hissed, “that you will leave my friends… and every person in this hall… alone. You will do what you came to do to me, and leave… is that clear?”

“Draco, keep an eye on the whelps. And this time, make sure they don't cause any trouble,” Bellatrix ordered with poisonous sweetness. Turning to Harry once more, she asked, “And you… you would believe my word?” She seemed to be amusedly surprised that he would be so gullible.

And she was right, for he didn't trust her. However, he knew of something these three trespassers were running out of: time. If he could keep them distracted long enough, maybe the room sealing spell will be broken, and help would finally arrive.

“I don't have a choice now, do I?”

“You don't,” said Bellatrix as she slowly walked toward him, “But I was in that room two years ago, Potter… I know the orb with the Prophecy was destroyed.”

“I know what it said,” he replied. Forcing himself to smile tauntingly, he added, “Come on, Lestrange. It's something that involves your boss… something that will make Voldemort extremely pleased to know. So… do we have a deal?”

“Oh, just spit it out!”

Harry had barely opened his mouth to reply before he heard a faint “No” coming from the middle of the hall. His eyes were drawn to Hermione, who had assumed a sitting position thanks to help of Ginny and Luna. She was shaking her head gently, muttering “No” again and again.

`Sorry, Mione. I can't let her hurt you.'

Somewhere in the back of his head he registered that to tell Voldemort about the secret of the Prophecy would be to tell him that the only way the Dark Lord could insure his survival was to see Harry dead. But then, he was in no better position right now. Sooner or later he was going to die, and damned if he let anybody else take the fall for him.

“The one with the Power to vanquish the Dark Lord -”

“HARRY! NO!”

Everyone was stunned that the one who screamed such a forceful order was not Harry's best friend, Ron, nor his girlfriend, Hermione, but the gentle and soft-spoken boy known as Neville. Bellatrix turned her head slowly to face whoever had dared to interrupt.

“Neville,” Harry pleaded, not liking one bit the smile on Bellatrix face at the sight of the boy. “Stay out of this. This is not your…”

“Ah,” she interrupted him, “I see… round-face, not-quite-there gaze… trembling voice… and obvious lack of spine… you must a Longbottom!”

Neville ignored her hurtful taunting. “Harry, you can't do this… you can't let You-know-who know about the Prophecy!”

“You know, your mummy and daddy are old friends of mine… how are they, by the way?”

“If you do that, everything will come to an end.”

“Neville! Just shut up!” Harry screamed at the same time that Ginny tugged at Neville's hand, pleading for him to sit back down.

“You should have seen Alice screaming, “Not my boy! Not my baby boy!” over and over again as she writhed in pain on the floor of that flea-infested house they were hiding in,” Bellatrix continued, “And Frank… poor deluded Frank… he thought that he could fight us all out of the pureness of his heart.”

“We prefer to die now than to let him win! You hear me, Harry?” Neville screamed, his body trembling with determination, “We choose to die if it means he'll be stopped!”

“The Potters had it easy… but not your parents. We took our sweet time… talking… to them…”

“My parents gave their lives to protect the secret, Harry. Don't let their sacrifice be in vain…”

“Maybe I should go to St. Mungo's and pay them a visit… you know? Reminisce on the good old days.”

“FUCK YOU, BITCH!

If people had been surprised before, it was nothing compared to the shock that they felt now as they stared at Neville and Bellatrix. Even she seemed to have been stunned into silence. A deafening hush fell on the room, later broken by the Death Eater's hiss, “What did you say?

“You heard me,” Neville replied coolly, “you are nothing but Voldemort's whore.”

Harry had never heard Neville called the Dark Lord by his name before, but he knew he had never heard that name muttered with such fury before. It had never occurred to Harry that, if there was anyone who might hate Voldemort and Bellatrix as much as he did, it was Neville.

“You pathetic fool!” Bellatrix shrilled, “I'll show you manners! CRUCIO!”

The other two death eaters joined her in the hex and Neville, like Hermione, was hit with the Unforgivable curse with such force that he was literarily knocked off his feet. He flew back over the heads of the students for at least eight meters, until he impacted the oak doors and fell on the floor with a loud thud.

Harry's friends screamed.

Neville didn't.

-----------------------------------------------------

“Help him!” Ron ordered to his stunned companions. Luna helped the now hysterical Ginny to her feet, and the two of them made their way through the students towards Neville.

“Did you see that?” Goyle said with childish excitement.

“He looked like a puppet!” Crabbe joined in.

“Shut up!” Malfoy hissed between clenched teeth, his eyes going from Ron and Hermione toward the stage, biting his lip with uncharacteristic anxiety, his only comfort the knowledge that this will soon be all over.

-----------------------------------------------------

“Now, where were we?” said Bellatrix as casually as if she had just slapped an annoying fly with out of the way.

Harry could hardly breathe; first Roger, then Hermione, and now Neville. How many more will be hurt before she got to him?

-----------------------------------------------------

“Mione,” Ron said, wriggling his way on the floor to get closer to his friend, “tell me you have a plan…”

Hermione forced her eyes to focus on the Boy-She-Loved. Yes, she could see it behind those green eyes… he was lost. Neville's words had left a mark in him. At that same moment, his eyes turned to her and their gazes crossed, and she saw how the thought that another one of them might be hurt because of him was consuming him.

He would rather let the deaths that came before be in vain than to add one more soul to that wretched sum.

It was a burden that never should have fallen on the trembling shoulders of a 17-year-old.

“What are we going to do?” Ron pressed.

It was then that she saw it… just a few feet away from her hand. The smooth surface glinted with the light that came from the orb, like a beacon in a stormy night.

“Mione, talk to me… what are we …”

She didn't answer her friend, but forced her body to roll over, and started to move on all fours toward the shiny object. Malfoy and his consorts were once again distracted by the happenings in the stage, and Hermione found there was no obstacle between her and her goal, as if The-Powers-That-Be agreed with her.

She had a single thought in mind: two years ago, she had sworn she would protect Harry at all costs.

At. all. costs.

Surprisingly, she didn't feel scared, or hesitant, or insecure. The only thing she truly felt was regret; regret that the happiness Harry and she had shared was so short lived.

She just hoped that her beloved would forgive her for once again taking the choice away for him.

-----------------------------------------------------

“Love, we have to hurry,” Rodolphus said, “The room-sealing spell… it's going to vanish in a few minutes. We have to act now!”

“It's not my fault Potter's friends keep sticking their noses in where they don't belong!” she spat at her husband, sending him a look that could sent grown men home to their mothers.

Turning her attention back to Harry, she hissed, “You have one more chance… make it quick!”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but before any word could escape from his lips, he was interrupted by a loud boom came from the direction of the doors. They simultaneously looked back to find that the doors were bending slightly before returning to their closed positions. It did this once, twice, three times before Rabastan yelled, “Someone is trying to break through!”

-----------------------------------------------------

As he watched Hermione slide away, it dawned on Ron that he didn't know what to do anymore. Here they were in an increasingly hopeless situation: his best friend was tied to a chair and being threatened by the right hand of his archenemy, his other best friend was non-responsive, his dorm-mate was seriously injured, maybe even dead, and he was tied in such a way that he couldn't even stand up and assess the situation.

The loud booming sound that came from the doors reached his ears as the last glimmer of hope had started to fade. That sound and the expression of terror on the Death Eater's face could only mean one thing.

The Calvary had arrived.

`Hang on, Harry… just hang on'

He turned his head and searched for the injured Hermione, “They're here! They're…”

A very unexpected sight greeted him.

Hermione had managed to stand up, her shaky legs barely supporting her, and her arms were locked over her head in a position that looked barely possible in her weakened state. But the most unexpected thing was that, in her small hands, Malfoy's knife was clenched.

But what was she going to do with it? Malfoy and his gorillas were too far from her, and anyway, he doubted Bellatrix would care if Hermione took one of them as hostage and tried to bargain for Harry's life. The demoness would kill her own nephew before letting his The-Boy-Who-Lived slipped through her fingers again.

It was then that an almost imperceptible detail clicked in the back of Ron's head: the blade was pointing downwards.

And it was only then that Ron realized what Hermione intended to do.

-----------------------------------------------------

“Sorry, Potter… we'll have to cut our conversation short.”

There was no fear in Harry's spirit; at least, with help just outside the door, the students were safe. His friends were safe.

Hermione was safe.

He didn't know what Bellatrix had in store for him, but he knew it would be nothing compared to the guilt he would feel if one more life was wasted in his name.

Bellatrix once again raised her arms over her head and, looking up at the orb that hovered above them, started to chant.

"O mors aeterna, me audi,
sanguinemque vivum sapi
quem in nomine tuo profundo!"

A strange howling sound started to emanate from the orb. A thunderous chorus of voices screeched so loudly that most of the students being kept hostage covered their ears and dropped to their knees, huddling together as if that would offer any protection.

"Et veni et adroga
hunc animum miserum..."

The look on Bellatrix's face was one of pure and unadulterated madness. Yes, she was finally getting her wish for the last sixteen years: to take down The One who had almost destroyed her Lord.

"...totum devorarent!"

The blade came down, it's intended target the spot just over Harry's heart.

But it never reached its goal.

Instead, Harry heard someone scream something that sounded like “NO! STOP!” over the voices from the orb before a blinding flash of white light inundated the hall.

It took him a few seconds to open his eyes again. He blinked erratically, seeing nothing but blurry shapes and shadows, trying to focus and absently wondering why the blade hadn't struck yet.

To his surprise, he found Bellatrix and her companions in the same state of confusion that he was as they stared up at the orb with frightened expressions.

Finally, Harry managed to focus on the sphere, only to realize that it was now pulsing at a frantic pace, while a gray and formless mist started to trickle from its surface toward the floor.

“THEY ARE COMING!” Rodolphus yelled.

“B-b-but... Potter's blood! It hasn't... hasn't...” Rabastan stammered, his gaze alternating between the orb and the blade on Bellatrix's hand.

“I don't understand,” Harry barely heard the witch mutter, “the spell… it wasn't supposed to be triggered until… until…”

A fourth voice joined those of the Death Eaters with an almost inconspicuous, “God… why" But unlike the voices of Voldemort's followers, Harry felt the unadulterated pain in that voice, the barely contained tears, and the anguish that was ready to explode.

And, to his horror, he realized that the voice belonged to Ron.

“The mudblood…” Rodolphus pointed an accusatory finger at the dance floor, “THE MUDBLOOD! IT WAS SHE! LOOK!”

`Hermione'

Harry's eyes immediately jumped to the middle of the hall, where a lonely figure stood just a few feet away from Malfoy, Ron and the rest of the students. It was Hermione, a grimace on her face as she looked up defiantly at Bellatrix. Her hands were over her stomach, so weak her legs were barely holding her up, but with eyes that burned with determination.

Fearless.

And then, her eyes shifted from Bellatrix to his. And her expression softened.

Such devotion. Such love. Oh, why had he not noticed before?

So much time wasted.

Her lips moved ever so slowly as she mouthed a message meant only for him.

I'm. sorry.

“Hermione… Hermione…” Ron continued to mumble.

The gray mist had reached the floor, and now, like water from a cascade, was pouring down the edge of the stage and into dance floor.

Towards her.

And it was only then that Harry finally understood what had gone so very wrong this time.

He felt as if he was being swallowed by an all-encompassing darkness he would never be free of.

This could not be happening. Not this. Never this.

Hermione returned her attention toward her beloved's tormentor before speaking.

“They are here… for me.”

And before Harry could scream, she sliced the blade she had stuck to the side of her stomach all the way to the opposite side. Blood cascaded from her wound, down her dress and onto the floor, but she kept on going, even when Harry screamed for her to stop, even when Ron begged her to cease, even when Ginny and Luna cried out to a god that seemed to have turned his back on them.

Until… finally… she pulled the blade out of her stomach, spraying Ron and the shocked Malfoy and anybody nearby with her life essence. Her knees gave in, and she collapsed on the floor just as the mist reached her, encircling her as the voices roared.

The doors once again budged, a white flash coming from underneath it. But the seal was not broken yet.

The students screamed and retreated further toward the exist, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the mist when they witnessed as translucent and spectral hands started to appear out of nowhere. These hands began to claw at Hermione, tearing her dress, grabbing her hair, circling closer and closer until Harry could barely see her.

And she didn't fight back. She just let herself be touched and mistreated and punished, taking it all without a complaint. She never once screamed, she never once pleaded, she never once begged. She just knelt there, her eyes barely opened, the rise and fall of her chest becoming more erratic with every breath she took, blood pouring freely from her wound and trickling down the side of her mouth and into her hands.

The same hands he had held for countless of times since they were children. The same hands that had protected him, comforted him, held him, stopped him, hurt him, and caress him.

Now stained with blood… her blood.

Struggling to remain awake, Hermione looked for him. And when her eyes finally found him, she whispered what was an unmistakable “I love you” before succumbing to the dark.

And he knew that, no matter how this night ends, he would be joining her.

“no… No… NO! TAKE HARRY! TAKE THE BOY!” Bellatrix screamed at the wraiths, raging with anger. But the voices didn't hear her, judging by the way they took Hermione in their vaporous hands and raised her over them. The mist carried her as it slowly made its way back to its home.

That's when IT happened.

Harry felt a burst of energy inside of him, a power like he had never felt before, originating from his chest and traveling throughout every limb in his body until it finally was expulsed from within.

Before anybody realized what was happening, the binds that held Harry to the chair caught fire, instantaneously becoming nothing but ash. He stood up with a roar just as Rabastan, who had been standing behind the chair, noticed that he was free. Harry turned around and snatched Rabastan's wand right out of his hand before landing a nasty punch right to the Death Eater's face that rendered him unconscious.

Bellatrix raised her wand at him and screamed “AVAD…” before Harry turned to her and used Rabastan's wand to release a stunning spell that sent her flying through the air and crashing against the chairs of the orchestra.

“TARANTALLEGRA,” Harry screamed, his wand turned toward Rodolphus, whose legs immediately started flailing wildly. He collapsed on the floor, convulsing like a cockroach that had been sprayed with venom.

Harry's eyes searched for Hermione. The mist was still carrying her, her legs held together, her arms perpendicular to her body.

She was beautiful. So pale… so tranquil… so perfect.

And dead.

It was not the time to cry. It was the time to reclaim what was his. It was the time force himself to think about the happiest moment in his short life.

It was easy to find it. It had been less than half an hour ago.

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. In his mind, he saw his Hermione as she had been in the balcony... closing the distance that separated them, tearing down the last barrier in their friendship as she pulled off the mask from his face. He felt the tips of her fingers as they softly caressed his face, tracing the edge of his scar, his nose, his eyelids… he felt her hands weaving into his hair and pulling him down tenderly… and he felt the ghost of her lips on his, sending divine chills to every part of his body.

Making him feel loved.

Making him feel alive.

Yes. This was a memory to hold on to.

He opened his eyes, raised his wand and screamed at the top of his lungs.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

The silver stag materialized in front of him, and immediately stood its ground between Hermione and the orb. The wraiths united their hellish voices in a scream that chilled the others to the very bone, but held no power over the Patronus.

With its powerful antlers, the stag opened his way through the mist, immune to the attacks of the wraiths. Finally, the Patronus reached Hermione and, as he destroyed the souls underneath her body, let her gracefully fall onto his back.

The remaining souls went back to their prison. The sphere flashed once before falling onto the ground with an incongruous clink.

The stag slowly turned around, careful not to drop the girl as it walked back to Harry. When it was standing in front of the boy, it kneeled on its front legs. The body of the girl gently rolled onto the floor and landed at the boy's feet.

Harry's eyes never left Hermione's face. He never noticed that Bellatrix had regained consciousness, and that she had raised his wand at him. He never heard Ron's shout of warning. And he never heard the Death Eater's last words.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

He never saw the flash of green light that hit him squarely on the chest.

He never felt as his feet lost contact with the floor and his body flew backwards.

The doors burst open. But Harry did not hear the explosion, for there was room for only one voice inside his head.

"Books! And cleverness! There are more important things -- friendship and bravery and - “

And love. It took him six years to figure it out, but he finally understood.

“You solved it! You solved it!"

Not this time. This time, he had failed.

"You're going to be fine.”

He fell.

"Harry, you were brilliant! You were amazing! You really were!"

And he continued falling.

"I know you're in there! Will you please come out? I want to talk to you."

And falling.

“There is no me without you, Harry. It is not a matter of choice… I'd die without you.”

Yeah. He definitely knew what that was like.

“I love you.”

Fallen.

Into darkness.

-----------------------------------------------------

A/N

Hi everybody! Long time no see, eh? Well… mea culpa. I have absolutely no excuse for the many months that this chapter has taken except that RL got in the way, plus I wasn't really happy with the first few drafts of this chapter.

First of all, THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER OF THE STORY! There's one more chapter left. So, stay tuned! Now that we got that out of the way...

This chapter was probably the most difficult thing I'll ever write. I know it may be confusing to read, but keep this in mind: the timeframe of the events in this chapter is anywhere between 10 - 12 minutes. I wanted to transmit some of the confusion and anxiety that they experienced in this few minutes, and that's why it's a bit more unstructured.

The Latin incantation Bellatrix intones when she's about to call the spirits roughly translates to this:

“Hear me, eternal death,
Taste the living blood
That in your name I shed.
Come and claim
This wretched soul.
Let your darkness
Swallow him whole.”

Peachy, ain't it? Special thanks to Silvestria for her amazing Latin skills.

I really want to know what you think of this chapter, so, please, leave me a review/constructive criticism if you can spare a few minutes. I want to improve, and you're the ones that can tell me what I have to work on. And to those who think that the events that transpired in this chapter were a bit out of the blue, I invite you to read again the story. You'll be surprised.

Love,

Anasazi

PS. The name of the chapter is taken from the song Danse Macabre, by Camille Saint-Saenz. It translates to Dance of Death. Romantic!

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Chapter 18: Novus Anima

----------------------------

It took him a little while to recognize the sensation that surrounded his body. Water. He was enveloped by water. Warm. From head to toe, his body was experiencing a warmth like he had experienced only once before.

Surprisingly, he wasn't struggling for breath, and found he didn't feel the need to breathe. It was as if he had gained the ability to breathe like the creatures of the sea, or even, as if there was no more need for air.

He didn't remember how long he had been here. He didn't remember how he had reached this place. He didn't even remember his name. But none of that troubled him.

He was like a child inside his mother's womb. Content to just be.

He opened his eyes and looked up. He must have been very deep under the water, for he could not see the surface, and only a trickle of light penetrated the darkness.

But this darkness was nothing to be afraid of.

He raised his hands to his face, and looked at them. He didn't know why, but the idea that these hands were blessed popped into his head. He had held something in these hands that had been precious to him, a treasure, something to be adored, to be revered… but what had it been?

Tentatively, his hands started to travel across his face, over his chin, across his cheeks, over his lips and the lines of his nose, until they reached up, his fingertips caressing the skin across his forehead.

The skin was smooth, silky and simply… perfect. And he suddenly thought something was missing here… something that marked him… something that made him different.

The word `scar' flashed across his mind, but he had nothing to connect it with.

And he allowed himself to just forget.

He curled his legs up, his knees reaching his chest, and drew his arms around them. Like a ball, he closed his eyes and let the soft, gentle underwater currents do with him as they wished, taking him to and fro across the… was it a river? A lake? A sea? An ocean?

It didn't really matter. Nothing did.

Time was something that did not exist in this foreign place.

He really didn't know how long he had allowed himself to just drift aimlessly… until he felt a strange sensation in each of his shoulders. He uncurled his body and opened his eyes.

Even in the dim light, he recognized the shape of two… two like him… each floating on one side of him. One had a long, lean body, with jet-black hair, big gray eyes, a chiseled nose, and a smile that felt utterly familiar.

The other was slightly shorter, a bit stockier, with locks of raven hair and warm hazel eyes that sparkled with their own light. This one was looking at him with an expression he did not comprehended, nor could even identify, but it was enough to provoke a new surge of warmth to spread through each one of his limbs.

He knew these men. He didn't remember their names, their ages, or how they related to him, but it didn't matter.

The one with the gray eyes and the mischievous smile pointed upwards, to the surface of the water, while looking directly at his eyes. He recognized he was being told to go up, toward the light. He looked back at the man with the hazel eyes, who nodded comfortingly. With that, he pushed upwards with his legs and started to swim.

It was a long journey, but he didn't feel the least bit tired. He felt as if he could continue swimming forever as long as he had his two companions by his side.

But with each stroke he took, the light breaking through the surface of the water became brighter and brighter, until he could hardly keep his eyes open.

And only then did he fear.

What awaited him on the other side? Why would he leave this place of bliss for the unknown? Images of pain, of sorrow, of death flashed on his mind, leaving him broken and shaken. Is that what awaited him?

He couldn't swim anymore. His eyes hurt too much. His body ached. He just wanted to go back. Down below. Where it was safe.

Suddenly, two hands cupped his cheeks, the thumbs caressing soothingly the soft skin. He struggled to open his eyes and, after adjusting to the blinding light, recognized the man with the hazel eyes floating in front of him. Slowly, the man came nearer, until he rested his forehead against his.

He heard a soft voice, a voice he had heard before only in his head, whispering to him.

`I know you are afraid… I know what has been your lot on the other side… But you do not belong here. Not yet… You have to leave… You have to return…'

And the man let go of him. He did not understood what he was being told, but surprisingly, he was not afraid anymore.

The two men grasped him by the wrists with gentleness, and the man with the gray eyes proceeded to reach up and touch his eyelids with his fingertips. He understood he was being told to close his eyes and let them guide him to the surface, so he did just that. With remarkable trust, he allowed himself to be enveloped by the light, pulled by these two men, until he felt his head breaking the surface of the water with a splash.

With his eyes still closed, he took a deep breath, although he knew it was not needed. He was tempted to open his eyes and have a look around into this strange new world, but something told him that it would be a dangerous thing to do, for the light seemed to be too powerful to withstand.

His arms were tugged delicately toward the direction of where, he imagined, was the shore, so he followed his two companions across the immense expanse of the waters. After a little while, he felt the sand underneath his feet. Slowly, they began to rise, walking across the receding waters, and leaving them behind.

And then, they just stopped. The men let go of his arms and took a few steps back. He felt the presence of a third person drawing nearer, but he did not dare to open his eyes and look. So he just waited.

A pair of small, delicate hands settled on his shoulders. They traveled upwards, caressing the shape and contours of his face, the tip of his nose, his eyelashes. With every caress, a new and incredible sensation assaulted him.

He felt unbridled power growing deep within his chest, waiting for the right moment to finally break free.

And when he felt he could not take these feelings anymore, he felt her lips on his skin. She kissed him on the forehead with inconceivable tenderness, leaving a shadow of fire where her lips had touched him.

And he cried… he cried not from pain, nor anger, nor fear… but from finally recognizing the feeling that had steadily grown inside him since he awakened in this place.

It was love.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. The light was so intense he was tempted to close them back, but his curiosity got the better of him. Through the moistness of his tears, the figure of the lone woman standing in front of him slowly came into focus.

She was a vision to behold, with flowing red hair that danced with the breeze, cheeks that were kissed by the sun, lips that were full and curled into a bright smile, and magnificent green eyes that shone with divine light.

He understood everything. He saw it all.

He knew who she was even before she spoke. He now knew whom the two men standing by her side were. And most importantly, he knew his own name.

`It is time to wake up, my child… She's already waiting for you… She needs you… They all need you…'

He nodded, and smiled.

They will meet again.

Someday.

----------------------------------

Dazed and confused.

Where was he?

What was he doing here?

Was he dead? Was he in The Afterlife?

Sounds started to penetrate the veil wrapped around his mind. It sounded… it sounded like voices. He knew these; he had heard them plenty of times before. They seem to be… arguing about something.

And slowly, the sounds became words that were intelligible to him.

“And what the hell does this mean? It doesn't make sense!”

`Ron.'

“Ronald, that's the alchemical symbol for Mercury, which combined with Sulfur produces… ”

`Luna.'

“Well, it's all Chinese to me! Whatever compelled me to study Advanced Potions is beyond me!”

“Would you quit complaining, Ron? At least you don't have Trelawney this year.”

`Ginny.'

“I would take Trewlaney over Snape any day.”

`Neville.'

His eyes fluttered opened. They refused to focus for now, but from what little he could see, he was laying on one of the beds of Hogwart's infirmary.

How had he gotten here? How long had he been asleep? His friends were here… but where was Hermione?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Luna lifting her eyes from the heavy book on her lap. She gasped uncharacteristically, closing the book with a start.

Her action was startling enough to capture the attention of her companions, who simultaneously turned their heads in Harry's direction.

Ron jumped from his chair, spilling on the floor the parchment, quill and ink that had been laid on his lap as he rushed to Harry's side. Their gazes locked for a few moments, in silence, until Ron whispered, “Luna, go get Madam Pomfrey… Ginny, go get the Headmaster!”

It came to Harry's attention that he had never seen his freckled best friend so distraught, so haggard. His blue eyes had lost some of their sparkle, and there were dark bags under them that belong to a man far older than he was. But the grin on Ron's face was more than genuine, and it was enough to make the corners of Harry's lips curl up in a smile.

“Hello, mate. How are you feeling?” Ron asked, uncharacteristically grasping Harry's hand on his own.

“Like the whomping willow got frisky with me,” Harry softly replied. His voice sounded incredibly hoarse and throaty, his tongue sticking inside his mouth, as if he hadn't spoken for a long time. “What happened? And where's Hermione?”

Ron's brow creased into frown. “You mean you don't remember?” Harry shook his head. “You don't remember the ball? The Death Eaters? Bellatrix?”

“No” whispered Harry. He felt his breathing sharply quickening. He heard a distant sound in the back of his head: a shriek, a chorus of wails. And that was enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention.

From somewhere to the left, he heard Neville's voice ask, “He doesn't even remember The Orb?”

The Orb. The picture of a glowing sphere of organic membrane hovering over his head came sharply into focus. In his mind's eye, he saw the gray mist surrounding him, a chorus of thousands of imprisoned souls whose only pleasure was to inflict the same pain they felt upon the living.

Coming for him.

And taking her.

The veil was lifted.

He saw everything. The orb… the unsuccessful attempt to flee from the hall… the revelation of the Death Eaters… the attack on Roger… his imprisonment in the chair… his friends' failed effort to save him… Neville being punished with Crucio… his shot at gaining time by revealing the Prophecy… a presence behind the door… and Hermione… Hermione… the knife tearing at her flesh… the clammy and vaporous hands reaching for her.

Dead.

Harry screamed.

No, it couldn't be… Hermione couldn't be… she just couldn't… he was going to be with her… he can't be without… without… she can't be! She just can't!

“HARRY! CALM DOWN!” Ron screamed, grabbing onto Harry's arms and trying to force him to lie back down. “Neville, help me!” he struggled. The next moment, a strong pair of hands grabbed the green-eyed boy's legs and forced him to the bed.

“HERMIONE! HERMIONE!” Harry called over and over again. From far away, he heard the voices of Neville and Ron telling him to calm down, assuring him that everything was going to be all right.

But how could anything be all right? How could… when she… she…

“MISTER POTTER!” the panicked shriek of Madam Pomfrey reached his ears. The next instant, the shadow of the nurse fell on him as she, with the help of Ron, Neville and Luna, forced a vile tasting potion down his throat.

He stopped screaming almost immediately, his limbs desisting in their fight against the people that were trying to stop him from hurting himself. But the calming potion did nothing to appease the ache in his heart. A choked whimper escaped from his throat as his head fell on the pillow.

Ron was looking at him as if he were about to cry, unable to lose the iron grip he had on Harry's arms. Luna's was running her hand through his raven locks, tenderly whispering for him to relax and let the potion work, for he was still very weak from his journey. He had forgotten Neville's presence until he stood behind Ron and asked, “Did you hear us, Harry?”

“Hermione…” was the only word that passed through Harry's lips.

The next words that came out of Ron's mouth were something that sounded right out the most wondrous of dreams.

“Hermione's fine, mate,” he whispered. “She's resting. She's hardly left your side.”

Ron's words slowly started to sink in. Yet, they were still too good to believe. “But I… I saw… the knife… she was… she was…” he stuttered.

“Shhh,” Ron shushed as he would a distraught child, “I know. I can't explain it. But I promise you, she's alive and well.” A small smile crept back into his lips before he added, “She's so fine she already threatened me with taking my broom away if I didn't pass next week's Potion's exam.”

Yeah. That was his Hermione.

`She's okay… she's well… she's alive.'

Harry experienced such a violent sensation of relief that he had to struggle to remain conscious.

“I'll… I'll come back later,” announced Madam Pomfrey, feeling this was a moment too sacred and personal to intrude in.

Ron's hand gripped Harry's arm even tighter, struggling against his own tears. He knew exactly what Harry was feeling, for there was not a day he did not think about what had happened that dreadful night and the miracle that had happened before his very eyes.

“And you?” whispered Harry after a few minutes of silence.

“I'm okay,” Ron smiled. “Although I have to admit… the bunny suit chafed me for days. That was one hell of a rug burn!”

“Bunny? I thought it was a Gryndybuck,” replied Harry, returning his smile. Even Luna laughed as Ron answered with a roll of his blue eyes, a gesture he usually reserved for Hermione. Harry's attention went to Neville and Luna. “And you two?”

They shared a significant look before Luna answered, “We're both fine, Harry. All of us are.”

“Do you want to sit up?” offered Ron, “You must be sore after being in that bed for so long.” Harry nodded, and allowed Ron to help him sit on the bed, while Luna propped a pillow on his back so he could rest more comfortably.

Ron was right; his body ached in all the wrong places. And that prompted Harry's next question, “How long have I been out?”

“Twenty eight days,” an unexpected voice answered.

All four looked in the direction of the curtains that separated Harry's bed from the rest of the infirmary, where Ginny was standing next to two other men, one whom Harry had never seen before… and the other man, dressed in scarlet robes, with inquisitive blue eyes and crooked nose, who had answered his previous question.

“Professor Dumbledore,” nodded Ron, straightening his posture in an involuntary reflex and taking a step back, finally letting go of Harry. The Headmaster smiled at him, and took his place by Harry's bedside. Ginny waved at the patient from the entrance, and he smiled in return. The other wizard, a tall man with dark hair, strong chin, black robes and piercing black eyes, nodded in his direction. He responded in kind.

“How are you feeling?” Dumbledore asked, resting his wrinkled hand on Harry's shoulder, as was his custom. Like Ron, the Headmaster seemed to have aged at least ten years since the last time he saw him. Still, there was that unmistakable sparkle in his eyes that not even those half-moon spectacles could hide, and Harry couldn't help but be surprised at how safe he felt in the Professor's presence.

“I'm fine, sir… just a bit tired…”

“As expected,” the old man replied, “But don't you worry about that. Between Poppy's recuperative potions and a light exercise program, you'll regain your strength in no time.”

“I know,” whispered Harry. The Gryffindor's face had a troubled look, as his mind struggled to grasp some of his chaotic thoughts.

The Headmaster correctly interpreted the expression on Harry's face, and which prompted the old man to take the first step. “What is it you want to know, my boy?”

There were so many questions floating around Harry's head that it felt as if it was ready to explode, even after Madam Pomfrey's calming potion. But he decided to start with something that should be known fact twenty-eight days later.

“What happened at the Ball? How did the Death Eaters enter Hogwarts? Isn't it supposed to be the safest building on the planet? And what was that thing? And… and what happened to Hermione…”

“Let's start from the beginning,” the Headmaster interrupted. Ron seemed to be ready to leave the room as soon as the old man's requested it, but to his surprise Dumbledore started to speak, not only to Harry, but to all of them.

“As you may or may not be aware,” Dumbledore started, “one week before the night of the ball, there was a robbery in the Museum of Berlin. Now, this seems to be a very common occurrence in the muggle world, but there was a new twist to this robbery. The article stolen was of magical origin.”

Luna interrupted him by asking, “How did a magical artifact ended in a muggle museum? Isn't that a breach of the International Statute of Secrecy?” Dumbledore did not seem to mind the interruption; on the contrary, he smiled at the young Ravenclaw, a hint of pride in his eyes.

“I can answer that,” the stranger finally spoke. “My name is Till Lindermann. I work as liaison between England and Germany's Ministries of Magic.” Mr. Lindermann smiled genuinely as he added, “And if I may add… it is an honor to meet not only you, Harry, but your brave friends as well.”

Ron's ears and Neville cheeks were equally flushed; while Luna did not gave any signs that she had even heard Mr. Lindermann and Ginny crossed her arms over her chest smugly.

“Um… sure,” Harry mumbled, uncomfortable, before returning the conversation back to the subject of interest, “What happened with the artifact?”

“Well,” Lindermann cleared his throat before continuing, “Just as there is a liaison between the British and the German Ministries, there is between every Ministry and the muggle government in power. This… ambassador, if you want to call it that way… is a wizard that is chosen to live life among muggles, to follow a life of public service in order to ensure that muggles remain unaware to the existence of our world, and to also make certain that there exists a respectful and helpful relationship between them and us.

Three weeks ago, Germany's current ambassador informed us that the Berlin Museum was planning an exhibition on ancient civilization myths about death and, knowing we possessed some very valuable Egyptian scrolls that describe the process of preparing the body to travel the river Styx into the land of the dead, asked if we could loan them to the exhibition under the name of a fake collector. The Minister didn't saw any harm in this, so he allowed one of the treasure keepers to send the documents to the museum.

After the break-in, and only to assure that these documents were not among the missing articles, two Aurors were sent to investigate. Passing as the fake collector's security detail, they were shown surveillance videos. These videos revealed not only that Mr. Potente, a museum security guard, entered an unauthorized area moments before the articles went missing. But that wasn't the only thing it showed.

We were lucky one of the aurors recognized that among the treasures that were being exhibited was the infamous Orb of the Wailing Souls.

Hours later, an autopsy was performed on the recently found body of Mr. Potente, and it was discovered that he had been dead for at least three days. At that moment we were left with no doubt that that a wizard was behind the robbery of one of the most dangerous dark arts artifacts in existence.

We needed to get it back, and fast. So we asked for the help of the world's most skilled wizards in order to locate the orb.”

“So,” Harry spoke, turning his attention to Dumbledore, “that's why you left Hogwarts. That was the urgent business the Wizengamot had called you for.”

Dumbledore nodded weakly.

Lindermann continued, “We've already arrested our ambassador and three of our guardians for working with the Death Eaters to get the orb out of our vaults and into a place were it could easily disappear.

It was really the perfect plan. They managed to sneak the orb out of the safety of the ministry, steal it, put blame on a muggle, and send us on a wild goose chase to distract us from their real purpose.”

“Which was?” asked Ron.

“To get rid Harry before Voldemort came back to reclaim what he believes is his,” the Headmaster answered.

Neville was the one who asked the next question, “But how… how did Bella-lla… Bellatrix and the others managed to sneak into the castle?”

“By means of a very old - and very ordinary - deception.” The Headmaster's expression turned grim. “A Trojan horse.”

Ginny was the first one to fully understand what he implied, “By Merlin! The attack on the Weird Sisters a in the middle of that week! The three crazed fans! They were the Death Eaters! Right? Right?!”

“Well done, Miss Weasley.”

“But… weren't the three fans arrested afterwards?” Ron wondered.

“Three people were placed under arrest, just not the right three,” the old man answered.

“Polyjuice potion. The aurors arrested the transfigured musicians, and the Death Eaters were left to take their place,” Luna said, her tone of voice as casual as if she were reading the back of a cereal box in the supermarket.

“With a little help of Cruciatus and Obliviate,” Mr. Lindermann added. “The Weird Sisters are still in Saint Petersburg's psychiatric ward recovering from their ordeal.”

“I feel the need to apologize,” the Professor sighed. “It seems that in my wish to make the dance a memorable night for all of you, I didn't fully realize the risks implied in opening my castle to strangers.”

“You had no way of knowing, Headmaster,” said Ginny.

“But… what happened to the other Professors? Only the students and musicians remained in the hall when the doors closed at midnight,” Ron asked.

“Poisoned,” Dumbledore answered. “Somehow, one of the death eaters got close enough to pour a vial of Hellebore extract into the wine the faculty was sharing. It was not enough to kill them, but it was enough to make them very, very sick.”

“But they came back, didn't they?” Harry wondered, “I mean, before I was… knocked down, I guess… I saw the doors bursting open… they captured Bellatrix and the others, didn't they?”

“Actually, that was Professor Dumbledore,” Ron answered.

Dumbledore's voice trembled with unusual emotion as he said, “I entered the hall just in time to see you fall.”

“How did you know you needed return?” Luna asked.

“Hogwarts told me,” the Professor replied. After a long silence, he added, “the connection I share with this school… and its students… is more than skin deep. When the castle felt something as powerful - and as evil - as the orb, it called to me… and I listened.”

Another silence fell as the friends shared looks that ranged from puzzle to awed, until Dumbledore raised his head to look around the room and said, “Can you give us a few moments alone? There's something I need to discuss with Harry.”

“We'll be waiting with Madam Pomfrey” Ron said to Harry, moving the curtain to one side and walking out. Luna, Ginny and Neville, whom Harry now realized was walking with a cane, followed.

Harry's attention returned to the Headmaster. The old man remained silent for a long time before finally asking, “Do you realize that, without knowing, the Death Eaters did exactly the only thing that would allow Voldemort to win?”

“What do you mean?”

“You, Harry… you cannot be destroyed by the hand of another that is not Voldemort… nor can he be destroyed by someone other than you. That is why the Orb of the Wailing Souls was the perfect trap; you would have been unable to fulfill your destiny, and Voldemort would have been free to reign over the world.”

“According to the Prophecy.”

“Yes… according to the interpretation of the Prophecy. It could be wrong, of course, but… evidence seems to be pointing to the contrary.”

“Professor Dumbledore,” Harry asked, biting his lip in an unconscious gesture, “Do you think… do you think Hermione would have done what she did if… if she had known about the Prophecy?”

“You shouldn't dwell on that, Harry,” Dumbledore whispered. “Whether she knew what she was doing or not, the truth is… Miss Granger saved us all.”

“How is she doing? Please, don't lie to me…”

“She was… well, she's fine now. Very healthy. And she has hardly left your side. I believe Madam Pomfrey threatened her with sending her to Saint Mungo unless she got a good couple of hours of sleep in bed, instead of spending the night in a hospital chair.”

He added as an afterthought, “I'm happy to finally see you two together.”

The old man had made that last statement to lighten the mood, but Harry did not hear him. He kept thinking about the moment he had heard Ron's scream, when he had looked toward the dance floor to find her with a knife stuck on her belly, when the blade tore through flesh and organs, when she fell to her knees in a pool of her own blood, when the wraiths grabbed her as if she was nothing more than a ragged doll and started to carry her to their home, and finally, when the last glimmer of life had disappeared from her warm brown eyes.

How could she be okay? She had died! He was sure of it! He had to see her. He just had. He had to make sure they were not lying to him. He had to make sure she was here… with him.

A tear ran down his cheek. He quickly wiped it clean with the back of his hand in an unconscious gesture. But not before Dumbledore saw it. The Headmaster who loved his student more than he should knew exactly what troubled Harry.

“What Miss Granger did was… was an act of bravery worthy of Godric Griffindor himself… but it was not brought on by the desire to be a hero,” whispered Dumbledore, a tone of reverence in his soft voice, “but by love.” His eyes now glinted behind the half-moon spectacles with unshed tears as he added, “In fact, her act was one of such selflessness and devotion that even Fawkes was moved.”

“Fawkes healed her,” the young man whispered.

“He healed her wound,” the Professor clarified, “But something else brought her back.”

“What?”

“That is not an answer I have. By all accounts, Miss Granger died that night…”

Harry's heart sank; he had been right. And Dumbledore himself told him that there was no potion, spell or magical object that could bring someone back from the dead. But then… how did this wonderful miracle come to be?

“That is a mystery to me, my boy,” the Headmaster answered, guessing at Harry's train of thought. He seemed to think deeply about how to word his next sentence.

“I can only theorize that… that Miss Granger herself has a destiny that has yet to be fulfilled.”

Before that statement was allowed to sink fully into the young man's mind, the old man asked, “Harry, do you know how you managed to free yourself?”

It took a few moments for Harry to gather his thoughts to form a coherent answer, “I don't know, Professor… I just… I felt as if… as if something was growing in me… it felt like electricity… like lightning… like fire… like ice… I don't… I don't even know how to describe it, but… it just grew until… until it burst….” Taking a deep breath, he added, “If I did anything to… awaken… this energy, it wasn't conscious.”

When Harry finished speaking, he noticed there was a very unique expression in Dumbledore's face. The old man merely looked back at him, playing with the long hairs of his beard with one hand, while tapping the bed next to Harry's arm with the other. So deep in thought he appeared that Harry wondered if the Professor had even paid attention to his answer.

“Professor Dumbledore?”

“Yes, Harry. I'm just thinking about what you just said,” spoke the Headmaster, his eyes focusing back on the young Gryffindor. “I believe I have a theory about what happened. Care to hear it?”

“Please.”

“Remember your first year at Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asked. Harry nodded. Who could forget something like that? His introduction to the wizarding world, the knowledge of his parents real fate, the beginning of his friendship with Ron and Hermione, the mystery of the philosopher's stone, and the revelation that the Dark Lord was alive and fighting to regain his power.

It had been quite the unforgettable year.

The Professor continued, “When you encountered Voldemort in front of the Mirror of Erised, Professor Quirrel tried to attack you. But he couldn't touch you…”

“Because of my mother's sacrifice.”

Dumbledore nodded, “Because of a sacrifice that came from pure and selfless love.”

The significance of the Professor's words slowly dawned on him, “What Hermione did… it freed that… that energy… in me.”

She had saved him… like she had done countless of times before…

“That's what this old fool thinks anyway,” the Headmaster said, the faintest hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth. It was quickly replaced by a slightly troubled expression, one that Harry did not miss.

“What is it?”

“It's just a hunch… a feeling,” the old man spoke in a soft whisper, “But I feel we haven't seen the full consequences of Miss Granger's valiant act.”

“Does that…” Harry started to ask, feeling his throat tighter than it had been just a few seconds ago, “does that mean she's in danger?”

Another smile crossed over Dumbledore's features, but it was not a smile of amusement, but of resignation, “We are at war, my dear boy. Everybody is in danger.”

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. Dumbledore was right. She was in danger. They all were. But how much more in danger was she now? After all, it didn't take much for Bellatrix to guess the depth of his feelings for his best friend. What if the Death Eater were to escape again? What if Voldemort were to find out?

“Harry,” the Headmaster called, interrupting his thoughts, “this is just a suggestion; after all, the decision is yours to make. But I think the time has arrived for Ron and Hermione to learn about the Prophecy.”

Harry could do nothing but agree. It was not like he had ever doubted his friends' loyalty, but there was no denying just how far they were willing to expose themselves in a war that was not theirs to fight. They had to know that there was a path he had been destined to walk… alone.

There was another thing that troubled him… the visions. During the days preceding the ball, he had been assaulted by dreams that, as he understood it now, were a precursor to the events that transpired that night. But how could he have known? Was he a seer? Had Voldemort regained access to his mind and decided to taunt him by giving him a peek of his plans?

“Is there something else, Harry?”

“Yes… the days before the attack… I saw some things that… that I can't explain.”

“Oh, yes… both Professor McGonagall and Firenze spoke to me about your strange behavior in their classes. And Miss Granger and Mister Weasley filled in some blanks,” Dumbledore replied. Scratching his chin with his left hand, he added, “In fact, it was Mister Weasley himself who told me about a little… potion problem?”

“Err… yes…” admitted the young man, somewhat embarrassed. He remembered with clarity how it had felt to think he was under the influence of a love potion, and the utterly ridiculous behavior it had prompted.

“I believe what you saw beforehand was partially a result of the Potion of Ardent Lucidity,” continued the Headmaster.

Harry frowned; he didn't remember anything like that from the list of side effects read by Luna. “The potion can tell the future?”

Dumbledore shook his head, “Not really. What that particular potion does is open the mind to what is buried in the unconscious.

Now, it is my belief that there's also a global unconscious, a collective that connects every living thing together… outside space… outside time…” With that, the old man took out his wand and muttered something under his breath. A semi-transparent image appeared in front of Harry, something that resembled an eagle's eye picture of a sea sprinkled with masses of land. “You can think of this unconscious as an ocean… there may be thousands and thousands of different islands scattered throughout, but they all exist in the same waters.”

Although the message was beautiful, Harry failed to see the meaning of Dumbledore's words. “What does that have to do with what I saw?”

“If any… disturbance… breaks the surface of the ocean, it will create,” Dumbledore continued, reaching up with his bony hand and touching the illusion he had created with his long index finger, “a ripple. Doesn't matter how big or how small the rock is, the waves of the ripple will - invariable - reach the coasts of every island sitting in that ocean.

And because your… awareness… of that collective unconscious was heightened by the potion's effects… you were able to see the disturbance created by something as unnatural as the Carcer Lamentatio Anima… before its effects could reach its destination.”

“So the visions… it was simply an accident,” Harry mumbled.

“An accident… or fate.”

“Fate?”

“Fate is a capricious mistress, my boy,” the Professor answered rather enigmatically. “She sometimes shows her hand in the most unexpected of ways.”

Firenze's curiously worded warning popped back into Harry's head.

`A vision… a vision of death and destruction… of the past… of the future… maybe of the present… time doesn't mean much to the universe'

One question remained. Had the vision been fulfilled? Or was there something even more terrible lurking in the future for them?

There was one thing he was sure of: that was an answer the Headmaster would not be able to provide.

“I must leave you now,” Dumbledore said, letting his wrinkled hand rest on Harry's shoulder. “There are a few things I still need to discuss with Mister Lindermann, and I don't dare to keep you away from your friends any longer.”

The old man smiled, looking at the night table next to Harry's bed. Only then did the green-eyed boy noticed the fact that it was filled with “Get Well” cards, delicious treats, two teddy bears, and even a small doll dressed in a sexy nurse's outfit that kept moving her hips to the rhythm of a silent song.

Harry had to laugh. It was good to be back in Hogwarts.

Knowing fully well what had captured the Headmaster's attention, Harry nodded toward the table and said, “Help yourself.”

With that, Professor Dumbledore reached for the nearest Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans box and opened it. He bit into a dark jellybean, making a facial gesture of delight. Harry wondered if finally Bertie had been good to Dumbledore.

“Blueberry?”

“Black pepper,” the Headmaster announced. Smiling a bit more widely after seeing Harry's befuddled expression, he added, “Quite a horrible taste… but it works wonders for my allergies.” Giving him a conspiratorial wink, the elderly wizard stepped outside.

Only a few seconds passed before Ron, Luna, Ginny and Neville were back inside and standing next to Harry's bed. This time, Ron reached for a chocolate frog on the table before being swathed on the hand by Luna.

Ron quickly defended himself, “What? He's already awake! He won't mind! Just ask him!”

“It's okay, Luna. I'm used to it,” Harry said, smiling back at his friends and looking around the corner of the curtains for any sign of Hermione.

“We couldn't find her,” Ginny answered before he had a chance to ask, “She wasn't in her room… she probably couldn't get any sleep and… and went for a walk.”

Harry sighed. He had already waited twenty-eight days to see her. He'll just have to wait a few more minutes.

His eyes settled on Neville, who was standing with one arm across Ginny's shoulders and the other one on the head of a cane. The small smile on his face faltered. His friends had also gone through hell that night, and they had the scars to prove it.

“Are you… you guys are really okay? You are not saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“We are, Harry. Don't worry about us,” Luna answered for all.

“I have to thank you,” Harry continued, replaying in his head how they had almost beat the incredible odds against them by disarming Malfoy and attacking the Death Eaters, “I can't even begin to tell you how brave you all were. Thanks for being on my side.”

“Hey, we are a team,” spoke Ron, a playful smile on his face. “Dumbledore's Army, remember?”

Harry nodded. Indeed, they were a team. Such loyalty both scared and fascinated him.

He turned his attention toward the other black haired boy in the room. Harry remembered how Neville - shy, soft-spoken, and sometimes insecure Neville - had stood up against the people that had tortured his parents into insanity, and how in that improbable scenario, The Boy-Who-Was-Almost-Chosen had been the sole voice of reason.

An action that had almost cost his life.

`We prefer to die now than to let him win! You hear me, Harry? We choose to die if it means he'll be stopped!'

And he had meant it. He truly had meant it.

`My parents gave their lives to protect the secret, Harry. Don't let their sacrifice be in vain…'

Oh, yes… Neville definitely knew more than he had originally thought… maybe even more than Harry. It was a conversation for another place, and another time, but one that was inevitable.

“You were simply brilliant, Neville.”

“Wasn't he?” Ginny added, reaching up with her hand and interlocking her fingers with those of her boyfriend. She didn't understand, or maybe just didn't know, the depth of the connection between these two boys, but the expression in Neville's face left no doubt that he did.

“Don't mention it, Harry,” the youngest Longbottom nodded, adding as almost an afterthought, “Besides, I am the one who owes you.”

“Are you crazy? I almost got you killed!” blurted Harry, frustration tight in his voice, with a fresh memory of how the combined curses had hit Neville, sending him flying through the air as if he weighted nothing at all, his unconscious body crashing against the doors.

“Bellatrix…” clarified Neville, “she won't… she won't hurt anyone anymore.”

“She's dead?”

“She wishes,” spoke Ginny with nothing but disdain in her voice, “She's in Saint Mungo… When the Avada bounced off you and hit her… it didn't kill her, but it destroyed what was left of her brain.”

“The healers say she will never recover,” Luna added, her fingers playing with the hairs in the back of Ron's neck.

“Fitting end if you ask me,” the redhead mumbled.

Harry let that particular piece of information sink in; the devil that was Voldemort's right hand… the traitorous woman guilty of the murder of his godfather and countless others… the serpent which had conspired to end Harry's life… was no more.

He was surprised to realize that he didn't felt anything after hearing the good news. There was no happiness at knowing that Sirius was finally avenged… no pride at knowing he had played a part in her demise… nor righteous anger when he thought of all the unspeakable things she had done.

There was nothing but a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him that there were many, many wizards that would gladly take Bellatrix's place at the Dark Lord's side.

The fight was far from over.

Suddenly, a stern voice coming from the other side of the infirmary broke through the curtains and interrupted their conversation.

“MISTER MALFOY! YOU HAVE TO STOP THIS NONSENSE! You need to drink this! NOW!”

Harry couldn't believe his ears. Malfoy? Draco Malfoy was still here? In Hogwarts? After what he had done for his dear aunt? After holding the students hostage at wand-point?

The expression in Ron's eyes was the only answer he needed.

“Harry, please… calm down… listen to…”

But Harry was not listening. Nothing but adrenaline pumped in his veins as he threw the covers aside, jumped from the bed, and stomped barefoot toward the curtains. Luna tried to stop him by holding onto his hand, while Ginny did the same to his shoulder, but he just shook them away and, flipping the curtain, laid eyes on the student Madam Pomfrey was now fussing over.

“YOU!” Harry roared, marching toward Malfoy with just one idea in mind: to beat him into a bloody pulp.

He was the one that had helped the Death Eaters come into the school; he was the one that had HURT Hermione; he was the one who deserved to die!

He didn't hear Madam Pomfrey ordering him to return to bed at once, threatening with calling the Headmaster and with binding him to the bed. Harry just shoved the woman aside as if she were just part of the furniture.

He only saw Draco Malfoy, his head resting against a pillow, his hair… pale and limp, his cheeks… gaunt and hollow, and his gray eyes… dull and lifeless.

He wouldn't have recognized him, except that in those pale lips rested the unmistakable shadow of Malfoy's trademark smirk.

“YOU'RE DEAD”

Harry was now a measly two feet away from the bed, intent on giving the Slytherin the punishment he so rightly deserved.

And he would have if it hadn't been for Ron, who threw himself between his friend and his enemy. Harry's body collided against Ron, who took the opportunity to wrap his arms around Harry in an attempt to restrain him.

“STOP IT, HARRY! JUST STOP IT!”

“LET ME GO!” he screamed. While Ron kept Harry occupied, Ginny and Luna helped the shocked Madam Pomfrey to her feet; the older woman was seemingly petrified by what was happening in her infirmary.

Why were they so intent in protecting Malfoy? He had been in league with Bellatrix! If it were for him, they would all be dead! Why the hell did they care about what happened to Malfoy?

“YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!” Ron screamed back. His blue eyes blazed, but his voice dropped to merely a whisper, “Malfoy has already been punished enough. If you hurt him now, you'll only get in trouble. And I won't have you going to Azkaban for something as stupid as this!”

“Let him go, Weasel.”

It took Harry a few moments to realize that the horribly hoarse voice belonged to the young man he wanted to hurt. Even though the smirk was still present in his face, there was none of the disdain he was used to hearing in Malfoy's voice.

In fact, it was the voice of someone had been utterly and completely defeated.

“If Saint Potter wants to kill me, let him do it.”

Harry grew even angrier, but from that anger a new emotion was born: disbelief.

Disbelief because Harry couldn't bring himself to consider what the little voice inside his head was telling him.

“You really… you really want that. Don't you, you sick fuck?” Harry found himself asking despite already knowing the answer. The smirk on Malfoy's face deepened, but the expression in his eyes darkened. There was now so much hate behind those gray eyes that Harry prayed Malfoy would get out of the bed and strike him, silently begged for something, anything, that would give him an excuse to wrap his hands around Malfoy's neck and watch his life drain away.

But nothing happened. Malfoy remained on his bed, his gray eyes focused, not on Harry, but on something else, something more terrible… something that only the Slytherin could see.

Harry felt his anger retreating slowly, like the ocean's waves after hitting the shore. His body now shook from the exertion and, thoroughly beat, he changed from fighting against Ron's grip, to leaning on him for support. His best friend patted him awkwardly on the back and whispered, “It's okay, Harry… it's okay.” To Madam Pomfrey, he added, “You can put the wand away, ma'am. Everything's alright, now.”

Ginny reached them and, together with her brother, carried Harry back to his bed. He had barely sat down before Madam Pomfrey was back in front of him with a small vial full of gooey white liquid.

“Drink this. You'll feel better,” she instructed. Her voice was still trembling, but she had regained some of her color. This time, Harry did obey, and was pleasantly surprised to find the liquid did not taste as foul as it looked. With that, Madam Pomfrey left them, placing the curtain back in place before returning to check on her other patients.

It must have been a strengthening potion, for in no time, Harry's breathing was back to normal, his body didn't ache as much, and he actually felt he could stand on his own two feet.

“Better?” Neville asked.

Harry nodded. There was something much more pressing to discuss than his health. “What is Malfoy doing here? How come he's not in Azkaban rotting like the other Death Eaters?”

The four friends exchanged hesitant glances, wondering how they could explain this. Ginny was the first one to speak. “Malfoy was found to be… cooperating with his aunt against his will.”

“WHAT?” Harry blurted. He lowered his voice after Ron's facial expression reminded him he wasn't on a Quidditch field. “And who is stupid enough to believe that?” he continued in a whisper.

“Dumbledore and Lindermann… Lupin and the other aurors… and I,” replied Luna.

“What? How could you believe that rat bastard? Cooperating against his will, my ass!” Harry hissed, “He's been a death eater himself since he was in nappies!”

“His mother died,” was Luna's answer.

“So?” Harry blurted. A couple of moments passed for the news to fully sink in, and he found himself frowning in confusion. The last time he had heard of her, Narcissa Malfoy was alive and well, still fighting for the release of her husband, Lucius, from Azkaban, claiming he was being framed by the Ministry.

“Listen to her, Harry,” pleaded Ron. Harry bit back his words and allowed Luna to speak.

“That night, Harry, after what… after what happened, we were ordered to gather all the students in the school and bring them into the Great Hall for a head count. We were to remain there until the castle was inspected for fear that other Death Eaters had managed to sneak inside.

They had already taken the wounded away, and Rodolphus and Rabastan had been taken into custody. Ginny was with Neville in the infirmary, Dumbledore was with you, and Ron refused to leave Hermione's bo… Hermione alone. So I was asked to assist with the first and second years. There, I heard bits and pieces of conversation from the aurors that were searching the castle, and even got a glimpse of Malfoy as he was being taken into a room for interrogation.

He was screaming, thrashing and flinging his arms like a madman as he tried to break free. It took five aurors to finally drag him into the room. Just before the door closed behind them, I distinctly heard Malfoy scream “SAVE HER!”

I thought he was speaking about Hermione… that he had finally snapped… so I didn't give it too much thought.

By now, it was already morning. Just before we cleared the sleeping bags to prepare the hall for breakfast, the owls came with the mail. I saw the black owl bearing the Malfoy's family crest sweep inside, a large, misshapen package hanging from his beak. The owl seemed to search the hall for Malfoy and, not finding him, dropped the package on the place where his master always sits.

Every bone in my body seemed to scream that there was something very wrong with it. So I knocked on the doors and told the auror guarding us that a package had arrived for one of the students accused of conspiring with the Death Eaters, and he in turn went for Lupin. Lupin and Tonks left the room where Malfoy was and came into the Hall. After making sure there were no jinxes or enchantments in the parcel, they opened it.”

Harry was surprised to hear Luna's voice tremble for the first time since they had met. The girl that had watched her mother die in a freak accident now appeared uncharacteristically shaken by whatever she had witnessed in the hall. Harry was not known for being an affectionate boy, but he couldn't help but reach out his hand to the girl he had been annoyed with just a few minutes ago, and squeeze her shoulder tenderly. Ron was holding onto her hand, his thumb caressing her knuckles as he mumbled, “Go on, love.”

Luna breathed deeply, regaining some of her calm composure. “It was horrible… her gray eyes opened, frozen in a frozen expression of horror… her mouth sewn shut… her skin and hair caked with dried blood, chunks of her scalp missing, pulled by the roots… and the smell… that nauseating smell of death… and decay.”

“Narcissa Malfoy,” Harry whispered, feeling nauseated himself.

“Her head, to be more precise,” Ginny added in a whisper. “We heard Lupin telling Dad that Narcissa's tongue was missing, and in its place a crumpled sheet of parchment. A message to Malfoy.”

“I still… I still don't understand,” Harry wondered. So Narcissa Malfoy had died a horrible death, and apparently as a message intended for her son. Who had done this? And why?

“We only know bits and pieces,” Neville continued for her, “but from what we've gathered, the Ministry decided not to press charges because all evidence points to Bellatrix having Narcissa as a hostage to get Malfoy to go along with her plan.”

“Bellatrix? No, you are saying… that… that Bellatrix killed her own sister?” Harry asked with incredulity. To murder your own flesh and blood… how utterly malevolent do you have to be to be able to do that?

“Apparently,” said Ron, sighing. “Malfoy never had a chance; his mother had been dead for at least a couple of days.”

That explained Malfoy's strange behavior during the week; his restraint, his anxiety, the strange looks he shot Harry's way, and that bizarre warning during their fateful encounter outside the doors of the Great Hall on the night of the ball. He knew what was going to happen… and could do… or would do… nothing to stop it.

“I don't understand something. Why would Malfoy need to be bribed into helping his aunt get rid of me? If anything, I would think he would jump at the chance!”

“We don't know. But we are inclined to believe is the truth. Even Hermione thinks so,” Neville said.

“But why?” Harry pressed.

Ron was looking intently at Harry as he answered, “Because Malfoy tried to kill himself after finding out what happened to his mother.”

“I don't believe you,” he mumbled. Malfoy? The Draco Malfoy? The one that had never given a damn for anybody but himself?

“Believe it,” Luna said matter-of-factly. “We were right here when Snape brought him in. Madam Pomfrey managed to stabilize him, but he had to be taken to Saint Mungo for further treatment. He just came back two days ago.”

Guessing his friend's line of reasoning, Ron shook his head and added grimly. “Harry, you know I am not a fan of Draco Malfoy. In fact, I hate the bloody bastard. And I tried to believe he had just done it to claim insanity or something stupid like that… but after seeing it with my own eyes… that was no attempt, Harry. He really was hoping to die.”

The worst headache he had probably experienced in his seventeen years of life was now pounding behind Harry's eyes. This was all too much. He couldn't… he couldn't even begin to absorb all that he had learned since he had awakened. There was only one thing that could help him right now, and that was…

“Hermione…” he called to no one in particular. He needed to see her so badly, to feel her, to have undeniable proof that she was alive and well. It was amazing that, while feeling so physically tired, he could feel so emotionally restless, like a jungle cat that had been kept in a cage for too long.

“You know? I think I have a pretty good idea of where she is.”

Harry had trouble recognizing the gravelly voice that had just spoken, especially since there was nothing in the room to indicate the presence of a sixth person. Ron just grinned wryly and, tilting his head toward the curtain behind him, said “Sorry, mate. Didn't mean to wake you.”

“Really? Because I think the racket Potter just made could have raised the dead.”

A new wave of shame and guilt washed over Harry when he realized he had failed to ask about one more person… a man that had surprised him more than once during the course of that horrible night.

Stunned, Harry's feet touched the cold floor as he walked toward the side curtain of his little cubicle. Pulling the curtain aside, he saw him lying on the bed. He had a steel contraption around his head to prevent him from moving, and thick bandages wrapped around his neck. He had lost some weight, his blonde hair was slightly longer, and, overall, he looked more vulnerable. But there was no mistaking the smile on his face.

Harry had never been so happy to see Roger Davies cocky grin.

“So… Sleeping Beauty has finally awakened. Glad you could join us,” Roger said with some difficulty. The stillness of the Ravenclaw's body was apparent to Harry, and he became aware that his ex-nemesis was paralyzed from his injuries.

“I'm sorry,” was the only thing Harry managed to say. His mind's eye wondered back to Sirius, to Cedric, and his parents. Just how many others would have to suffer in his name?

“Don't be,” Roger quickly answered. “What happened was not your fault. You are just another victim… like the rest of us.”

Harry took a hesitant step toward the bed. The closer he got the more obvious the extent of Roger's injuries became. “How… how are you feeling?”

“I'm not feeling much… which seems to be the problem,” laughed Roger, just a smidge of bitterness crawling into his voice. He quickly cleared it away before adding, “But Madam Pomfrey says I'm getting better. I've already gained back the feeling in my fingers and my toes… and I think someone tickled my feet yesterday. Can't be sure… In a month or so, I'll be transferred to a treatment facility in Switzerland… prospects are looking good for, at least, a partial recuperation.”

“Full!” Ron, Luna, Ginny and even Neville screamed from the other cubicle.

By now, Harry had reached Roger's bedside. He reached with his hand and grasped the blonde's arm candidly before saying, “What you did… what you did was incredibly brave.”

The smile on the Head Boy's face seemed to vanish before he whispered, “Foolish too… but I couldn't just stand aside”. His eyes, which had been focused on Harry's figure, were now lost in the tall ceiling of the infirmary. He breathed deeply for a few moments, and finally added, “You know? I had always wondered what it would be like to be the great Boy-Who-Lived for a day…” His attention returned to Harry. “I guess I got my wish.”

“You should have asked me… I would have saved you the trouble,” answered Harry.

“Too late now…” spoke Roger. His smile seemed to return, and it was that same genuine beam he had seen the night of the ball. “But I quite like an unforeseen consequence of my actions.”

Harry couldn't help but return the smile. Roger's good mood amidst the grim circumstances was definitely contagious. “And what's that?”

Roger whispered in a rather conspiratorial tone, “Sponge baths.”

“Madam Pomfrey's?” Harry grimaced. That was a mental picture he did not need.

“Ewww! No!” Roger laughed, simultaneously grimacing from the effort it took over his weakened body, “Let's just say there are very nice - visitors - who go the extra mile… After all, even Madam Pomfrey has to sleep.” He winked and clicked his tongue, clearing any doubt that he was indeed committed to remain positive.

Harry laughed genuinely before patting Roger's arm, “You know? I can't remember why I hated you so much.”

“Could it have been because I tried to steal your girl?” Roger offered with a rather randy smile on his face.

“So,” replied the Gryffindor, a rather smug smile on his face, “you knew she was my girl, didn't you?”

“Potter, everybody but you knew that.”

Harry felt the heat rising on his face. He looked over his shoulder, only to find Luna, Ron, Ginny and Neville nodding in silent approval. He scratched the back of his head in a sheepish gesture. “Rub it in, why don't you…”

“She's one of a kind, that one,” Roger whispered in a less cheerful tone. The smile was now one of quiet resignation. “You are a lucky man, Potter.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, his voice sounding tight to his own ears.

“Don't mention it. Just be good to her.”

“I will. I promise.”

“And,” said Roger, his voice stronger so that Harry's friends could also hear, “- speaking of girls that dig boys with scars - you want to know what she said her favorite place in all Hogwarts was?”

“The library?” both Harry and Ron answered simultaneously.

Roger couldn't help but roll his eyes and mumble, “Gee… no wonder she gets so frustrated with you two.” By now, Ron was standing next to Harry, waiting for Roger to continue. “Alright, Dumb and Dumber… I'll give you two a clue… what's the one place where Hermione's roots are firmly planted… and entangled with yours?”

Ron frowned, and only waited a few moments before replying, “Roots? What the hell is Madam Pomfrey giving you? Hermione doesn't have ro - ”

Roger interrupted Ron by nodding weakly at Harry, “Look at his face. He knows the answer.”

Harry did know. It was the place whose shadows had watched them grow since their first year at Hogwarts.

“Go to her, Potter.”

*******************

“I still think you should have let me come get her,” Ron mumbled under his breath, looking from side to side as if expecting some new danger to pop out of the earth at any moment.

A slightly paranoid existence was one of the few side effects of being one of Harry Potter's best friends.

“I didn't want her to see me there,” Harry confessed with some difficulty. “And I didn't want to see her with everybody around.” He was a little out of the breath from the walk, and had resorted to using Ron's shoulder as a cane.

They were already on the Hogwarts grounds, making a straight line toward the tree by the lake. It was that beautiful time of the day when the sun had already set behind the mountains, but the renegade rays that refused to believe it was time to say goodbye worked on casting a mystical orange glow over everything they touched.

Luckily, Ron and Harry had not encountered many students on their escapade, and had asked of the few they had met to remain quiet about the news that The Boy Who Lived had finally awakened. Harry had already had enough distractions today to last a lifetime, and didn't feel prepared to deal with the rest of the students.

“Alright,” Ron grumbled. “But could you at least button up Neville's jacket? You are going to catch a cold.”

Harry smiled. It was definitely cold outside, as it usually was by the end of November. And it was very windy, as judged by the way his hair was being tossed all over the place. But since when had Ron become such a worrywart? “You are beginning to sound like your mother,” he replied with humor.

“You would too if…“ Ron sighed. He didn't finish the sentence, but it wasn't necessary for him to do so. Harry understood perfectly well… he would too sound worried if he had seen his two best friends `die.'

His smile lost its strength. He had been too worried about everybody's physical wellness that he hadn't given a thought to the fact that there were wounds - often deep and permanent - that were invisible to the naked eye.

“I'm sorry,” said Harry. He didn't remember the last time he had told Ron he was sorry about anything, but he thought it would never be enough.

“I know,” Ron replied, swallowing hard. Harry could see he was struggling to say something, but the redhead remained silent. He could feel his heart grow heavy. Harry looked away, and saw the shape of the familiar tree barely thirty meters away, strangely surreal against the backdrop of the glittering lake.

He saw a furry ginger ball jumping up and down and running circles around the trunk, and he recognized Hermione's pet, Crookshanks, who seemed to be having a great time trying to catch a red and golden hummingbird. But there was no sign of his friend.

“I can't see her,” Harry said, squinting hard. It didn't help one of the lenses of his glasses had cracked in three when he landed on the floor after Bellatrix's Avada.

“I can… at least her shoes.”

Ron circled the tree from a distance, allowing Harry to spot what he had seen. Slightly blurred, but it was there… the figure of a girl lying on the grass, her head cradled in a nook between the trunk and a particularly thick root, her eyes closed, her arms crossed over her chest, holding what appeared to be a book close to her heart.

Ron stopped walking, and Harry did the same. “Well, there she is,” the redhead announced without need, sounding slightly uncomfortable. After a few moments of silence, he surprised Harry by adding, “I'm the one who's sorry.”

“W-what?”

“I failed, Harry,” his friend spoke, his voice now shaking slightly. “I couldn't… protect her.”

“Ron, there was nothing you…”

Ron continued to speak, ignoring Harry's protests. “When I saw her… with Malfoy's knife… I knew…. I knew what she was about to do… and I couldn't… I couldn't do anything to stop her… just like I couldn't do anything to stop Bellatrix's spell from hurting you…” He momentarily lost his voice as a single, errand tear rolled down the freckled cheek. He quickly wiped it away with the cuff of his jumper, straightening up his posture in a childish attempt to regain control of his emotions.

Harry said nothing. What could he say? There were no words that could make it better. He had been in the exact same position Ron was right now and he knew one thing; deeds, not words, were the only thing that could make a difference. So he did something he had never done before in their six years together: he hugged his best friend. Ron stiffened at the gesture at first, but finally gave in, and returned the hug in earnest.

Some time passed in comfortable silence before Harry heard Ron's dry chuckle. “What is it?” asked Harry, his voice tight, finding it difficult to get the air through the lump in his throat.

Ron was still struggling to bite back his laughter when he added, “I'm just thinking… that if people see us like this… we are going to have a hard time explaining, because you know they are going to reach the wrong conclusions.”

“Don't worry,” Harry smiled. He pushed Ron at arm's length and, still holding onto his shoulders, said, “Redheads are so not my type.”

“Oh, the woes of being a Weasley,” Ron joked. He smiled and, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his trousers, nodded at the tree over Harry's shoulder. “Go get her, tiger.”

Harry took a deep, steadying breath. When he noticed his friend had begun to turn around and seemed ready to walk back into the castle, he said, “Don't go far”.

“You sure you don't want some privacy?” asked Ron.

Harry remembered Dumbledore's advice, and there was no better time for that particular conversation. “I have something to tell you both” And with that, Harry turned around and walked the remaining distance toward the person he had ached to hold since the moment he became aware he was still alive.

For an instant, he saw her as she had been that night… first, as the stunning young woman he had met on the balcony after six years of close friendship… then, as the beauty drenched in her own blood, kneeling on the floor of the Great Hall, embracing a fate of pain, suffering and torment… all in his name.

He had promised her that night that - no matter how it ended - they would be together. And by some unexpected and thoroughly miraculous event, they had both survived the impossible to fulfill the promise.

Harry collapsed on his knees next to her body, his eyes now focusing exclusively on her features. The expression on her face was one of peace, of contentment, as if dreaming of a reality where danger was not waiting for them at every corner. But she had lost some weight, and there were dark circles under her eyes, making her seem older than her nubile eighteen years. He knew it was probably a consequence from spending the last twenty-eight days worrying incessantly for him.

He didn't have the heart to wake her up. So he just knelt next to her, reaching with his hand - but not quite touching - her face. He wanted so badly to rest his head on her chest, to hear that one last bit of undeniable proof that she was indeed alive - the beating of her heart.

He found himself thinking about his first time on the Hogwarts Express, and about the instant when this girl stepped into the compartment he was sharing with Ron, looking for Neville's toad. Who could have guessed that the little bushy-haired, socially awkward little know-it-all would end up being not only one of his best friends, but the most important person in his life?

He could now feel it in every bone in his body… her love for him. It was so palpable he wondered how he could have been so blind. It had always been there… in her embrace and her encouraging words before he went off to fight Professor Quirrell for possession of the stone… in the way she had run toward him screaming `You solved it' after she had woken up from the spell the basilisk had put her under… in how she had risked it all to try and save his godfather from certain execution… in how she had stayed by his side during the Tri-Wizard tournament, suffering ridicule and scorn while helping him with his tasks and struggling to patch his friendship with Ron… in how she refused to distance herself from him when he decided to take out his anger at his fate on everyone… in how she submitted herself to what she knew was certain danger for him. She had fought his inner demons and emerged victorious.

But at what cost?

All those times he had almost lost her… when she had been petrified… when they had gone to the Department of Mysteries in search of Sirius and she had fallen under the hex of a villainous Death Eater… when Bellatrix and her companions had simultaneously cursed her, sending wave and after wave of excruciating pain to every cell of her body… and when she had fallen under the strain of the self-inflicted wound aimed to save Harry from an unfathomable faith.

And by some… some phenomenon nobody could explain… she was still here. With him.

But the question remained… what if she hadn't? What would have happened if he had woken up today only to find that the woman he had pledge his love to was now resting… six feet underground?

He wrapped Neville's cloak around him as far as it would go. He was shivering, although not from the cold. He tried to ignore the sudden lack of air, the anxiety, the tightness around his throat, and the constricting pain in his chest triggered by the thought of how close he was to losing her this time.

He tried to distract himself by thinking about other things, beautiful - heavenly - things… like the first time he had tasted her lips… the first time he had heard her say I love you… the flavor of her skin… the way she whispered his name… how her fingers dug into his hair every time she tried to pull him closer…

But only one thought remained constant in his head… that right at this moment, the laws of the universe dictated he should be standing in front of a slab of marble with the name “Hermione Granger” carved on its surface.

Without realizing it, Harry began to cry… not gut wrenching wails, or racking sobs… but silent and unobtrusive tears that unhurriedly rolled down his cheeks.

And, like in the story of la luna, the third tear Harry shed fell on Hermione's hand. And slowly, but surely, her eyes started to flutter open.

“Arryy?”

It was a mumble rather than a word, but it was enough to capture his attention. He looked up at her face, and couldn't help but smile as he watched her struggling with consciousness, her eyes unable to focus in the figure kneeling next to her. Her hands reached up and she rubbed her eyes, fighting against the heaviness of interrupted slumber, like a child who has been denied five more minutes in bed by her parents.

But everything about her changed the next time she opened her eyes, because it was only then that she truly became aware that she was neither dreaming nor hallucinating, and that he had indeed awakened, and was now here with her.

“HARRY!” she screamed, her face a mixture of shock and utter delight, throwing whatever she had been holding close to her heart aside before sitting upright with a start.

He chuckled, his smile incongruent with the wetness of the tears on his cheeks. He couldn't resist the temptation to say, “What? Expecting another one of your boyfriends?”

She answered him by jumping to her knees and slamming into him in a tight embrace that would have knocked him to the ground had he not been kneeling in the first place. His arms went around her waist and brought her closer still. He dropped kisses into her hair as fresh tears rolled down his cheeks, her body rocking against his. But this time, they were tears of elation, for the young woman in his arms was undeniably alive.

He mistakenly thought she had been laughing until he felt the wetness of her own tears on his skin. She was shaking, and every now and then a sob escaped through her parted lips.

He did the only thing he could do; he held her closer still, until no foreign particle could squeeze between them, his hands running up and down her back soothingly, his lips whispering evanescent declarations of love that were meant only for her.

She started to rain wet kisses on his neck… his chin… the arches of his cheeks… fisting handfuls of his cloak in her hands, as if she were afraid that at any moment he would fade away. He knew exactly how she felt. His hands reached up, her hair tickling his knuckles, before feeling the overwhelming need to see his reflection in those brown pools. Cupping her cheeks, he leaned back just enough so he could see those eyes.

So dark. So passionate. So Hermione.

He watched her chew on her bottom lip, stifling another sob before it had a chance to escape, her eyes searching for his. Her eyes held such intensity that he was sure she could not only see him, but into him, passing through tissue, blood, and organs and reaching his very soul.

And he knew without a doubt that she knew him better than he knew himself.

He thought of a thousand things he could say at this moment. But alas, any words he could come up with would be inadequate to convey all he felt. He was beyond happiness… and beyond fear. There was no other way to describe the ecstasy he was experiencing with the understanding that she was indeed here, indeed real, and the terror he felt with only the memory of being so close to losing her again.

“What you did,” whispered Harry, his voice raspy and tight with emotion, his eyes shining in the dimming afternoon, “was incredibly, incredibly stupid.”

She bit her lip even harder, her chin trembling. Her hands reached up and held onto his forearms, clinging desperately to him. It took her a few moments before she managed to croak, “I'm sorry, Harry… I just … just couldn't….”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

She frowned in genuine puzzlement, an expression that seemed incongruous with the turmoil of emotions behind her eyes.

His thumbs now traced circles on her cheeks, wiping the trail the tears had left in their wake. “You saved me, Hermione… you and you alone…”

She was even more confused by this admission, and that had the positive side effect of calming her. “Saved you? But the Avada… it almost… almost…”

Harry repeated what Dumbledore had told him not an hour before, “When you… when you sacrificed your soul for mine… you gave me the power to fight them.” His voice trembled, but the smile on his lips never wavered, as he finished, “because what you did…you did out of love.”

What he now recognized as Hermione's mischievous smile appeared at the corner of her full lips. `”Well,” she began, her eyebrow arching impishly, “I do think you are sort of cute, but I wouldn't go as far as saying that I…”

Harry silenced her with a kiss to the forehead. He lingered there, feeling the softness of her skin against his parched lips. He felt her shiver, her breath hitching from the chaste contact. He couldn't deny the fact that the thought of something more sent currents of electricity up and down his spine.

“I love you…” he whispered, his lips barely a centimeter from her skin, “so… so much.”

He felt rather than saw her flutter her eyes close, and nuzzle her nose against his chin. “I love you too,” she breathed. Her right hand let go of the grip she had on his arm, and settled over his chest. It snuck between two of the buttons, and settled over his naked skin… right over the spot where the worst of the unforgivable curses had bounced off his body… right over his heart.

“Are you really alright, Harry?” she asked, looking up into his eyes to judge the honesty of his answer.

“I am,” answered Harry with a soft smile. There was something so infinitely intimate and slightly forbidden about her gesture that it made his heart beat twice as fast.

But the smile soon vanished… for he remembered that this same hand that was now so lovingly caressing him was the same one she had used to deliver the fatal blow that had almost taken her away.

“And you…” he asked, tucking an errand curl behind her ear with a shaky hand, “how are you really feeling?”

“I'm fine, Harry,” she smiled quietly, trying to appease his personal daemons. “And now that you are finally awake, I couldn't be any better.”

“But you… you…” he started. He couldn't even finish the sentence.

Not that he needed to. Hermione knew exactly what was going in his head.

“And now I'm not. I'm very much alive, Harry…” she whispered, cupping his cheek with her left hand, “And I've missed you… God, I've missed you so much…”

Harry gulped. There was jus so much tenderness, and devotion, and love reflected in those beautiful brown eyes that it made him feel lightheaded. How could she? After all she had endured for him, how could she still love him so much?

“Promise me…” he begged, his voice barely a whisper, his hands dropping to her shoulders, “just promise me, Mione… that's you'll never - ever - do something as reckless as that…”

Hermione never answered… at least, not with words. What she did do was smile a lazy, soothing smile, the index finger of her right hand trailing from his chest, to the hollow of his neck, the line of his jaw, the tip of his nose, the arches of his cheeks, his eyelashes, the scar on his forehead - that mark that had brought him so much pain and was now the origin of so much pleasure.

Her hand cupped his other cheek, the skin rough from the lack of a proper shave, allowing her thumb to softly caress his lower lip. Harry sighed, trembling, knowing very well she was trying to distract him but finding himself unable to do anything about it.

“Mione… ”

And then, she leaned closer, allowing her lips to descend atop of his.

It was a slow, tender kiss, similar to the one they had shared that first night together on the balcony, and yet, terrifyingly unique, for just the idea that he had almost lost the chance to kiss those lips again made it all the more sweeter.

Harry's eyes fluttered shut against his will, his hands traveling without hurry down her sides, until they found a lovely resting place on her hips. He tried to focus, to grasp what he had been thinking about before this glorious caress, and for one instant, thought he had been successful.

That is, until Hermione's hands inched their way into his hair, her tongue running over Harry's lips. Driven by a sudden and inexplicable hunger, he opened his mouth to her, tasting her for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

For Merlin… she tasted even better than he remembered, a flavor that reminded him of everything he loved… the wind on his face when he was flying on his broomstick… the aroma of ink and parchment that hung around her after a particularly busy day at the library… the feeling of freshly cut grass tickling his hands as they sat side by side under the shadow of this same tree… the sensation of her curls against his cheek whenever she rested her head on his shoulder.

It was those moments - rather ordinary for some people - that made all heartache he had experienced worth it… if only for another chance to experience them again.

Their tongues were frantic, and just a bit on the clumsy side, in their exploration of one another, and yet, he felt as if she was drinking in his soul the same way she seemed to be drinking in the air from his lungs. Her hold on his hair brought him closer still, his hands on her hips traveling to the curve of her round bottom, and pulling her closer, their hips crashing together.

She was fire, and he was begging to be burned. He fed off her moan, devouring her lips, which were soft and yielding against his firm assault. The flames of desire licked and caressed places in him he didn't even know existed, demanding even more. But he forced himself to be gentle, a feat itself due to the sheer magnitude of his desire for her.

He would demand the title “The Happiest Man Who Ever Lived” on his epitaph if only he had a chance to wake up to this always.

But something else was going on.

It was true that he was drowning in the sensations caused by her mouth on his, her hands on his skin, her hips rolling into his.

But there were others sensations as well, sensations he couldn't explain… like the distinct sensation of being underwater… of breaking the surface… of intense sunlight kissing his skin… of a wind that seemed to lift him from the ground and carry him up to the clouds…

Sensations that were as terrifying as they were fascinating.

Hermione must have sensed the change in him, for she abruptly ended the kiss and looked up at him with worry. “What is it, Harry? Did I hurt you? Are you in pain?”

He couldn't help but smile. Here was the greatest gift life had given him… her lips bruised and swollen from his kisses, the skin of her lower back hot and begging to be touched… her eyes full of compassion and understanding… worried that she might be hurting him.

Life sure had a wicked sense of irony.

Taking a page out of her book, Harry lowered his lips on hers again, this time in a slow, sensual kiss. She sighed into his mouth, her eyes fluttering shut, as the now familiar currents of electricity traveled to every corner of his body. Dear Merlin… who could think about prophecies and dark lords and death eaters and unexplainable miracles when this was the alternative?

If life had taught Harry anything, it was that all good things must come to an end.

“That's it! I'm going back to the castle before I go completely bonkers! I'll wait for you two by the doors!”

The kiss ended abruptly when both Harry and Hermione burst out laughing. She gave him one last, lingering kiss at the corner of his mouth as he screamed to the man standing a few meters behind them, “Don't you run off!”

Ron laughed and started to walk toward them. “Only if you two stop swapping spit for a moment! I need time to heal my fragile psyche”. He was now standing next to the kneeling couple, offering each one of his friends a helping hand.

Hermione was the first one to accept his offer, disentangling from Harry's arm and incorporating herself with Ron's help. An instant after letting go of his hand, she slapped him on the shoulder. “Displays of affection are perfectly natural, Ron,” she explained with mock seriousness, grasping Harry's hand. He was still a little weak from all the activity and needed the help of both of them.

“It may be natural for the rest of the school,” Ron huffed as both he and Hermione helped Harry to his feet, “but it's going to take a while for it to be natural for me. For Merlin's sake! It's like watching Fred jamming his tongue down Ginny's throat!”

Hermione's face contorted in a very uncharacteristic expression of disgust. “Ewww! That's beyond gross, Ronald.”

“Which is exactly my point!” Ron continued, both he and Hermione oblivious to the smile on Harry's face. This scene was so familiar to him that he couldn't help but be thankful of coming home. “I mean, don't you realize how disturbing is for me to see Harry pawing at your…?”

Hermione interrupted Ron before he could finish the sentence. Only God knew what she might have done to him if he had dared to complete the thought. “Harry WAS NOT pawing at my… my…”

“Actually, Mione” Harry sighed, his shoulders slumped dramatically as one arm snaked around his girlfriend's waist, “there was a little bit of pawing involved.”

Hermione feigned being annoyed at both of them… something she had had plenty of practice in. She crossed her arms over her chest and said in her best lecturing voice, “The verb pawing implies handling something rudely or clumsily… what you did was more like petting… or slight fondling… or -”

It was Ron's to turn green. “I think I just threw up in my mouth.”

“Good. You deserve it,” Hermione smiled smugly, reaching for Ron's ear and twisting between her fingers as she added. “Next time, don't be such a peeping tom.”

“Ouch!” Ron slapped her hand away at the same time Hermione's arm went around Harry's shoulders. “I can't help it! It's like watching two Quidditch players crashing in midair!” He smiled wryly, adding, “Painful… shocking… but you can't look away!” He ducked before Hermione could punch him in the arm again.

It didn't escape by Harry the fact that the bond of friendship that Hermione and Ron had always shared now seemed to be even stronger than before. Unbreakable. And it was only natural. Only God knew what those two had gone through together during the last few weeks. Harry was almost envious. Almost. He tightened the grip he had on her waist, dropping a sideways kiss on the top of her head.

“You dropped this,” Ron mumbled, crouching on the ground to pick something up. It was the object Hermione had been holding close to her heart while she was sleeping. Harry was curious to see what it was, and he didn't have to wait long, because soon Ron was standing next to Hermione with an easy smile on his face, holding the object for all of them to see.

“Aw, good to know I've always been this good-looking” the redhead joked.

It was a white and black magical photograph, showing three young children, a girl flanked by two boys her age, all three beaming, completely unaware they were being photographed. The look the kids in the picture shared was more meaningful than any words could explain.

Hermione's other arm stretched over Ron's shoulders, unconsciously bringing him closer. None of them noticed, but they now held the same positions as the students in the picture. Her eyes glued to the portrait, she said, “Colin gave me this after the Halloween Ball… it was the End of Term Feast on our Second Year. Remember?”

“How could I forget?” Ron whispered. “Ginny was safe. You had just woken up from being petrified. And Hagrid had just been released from Azkaban.”

Harry felt the now familiar knot tightening his throat.

Five years ago… it seemed like an eternity had passed since that happy day. But there they were… Ron… with his freckled cheeks, his ginger hair, and that patented Weasley smile… Harry… thin, scraggly Harry, with those old eyeglasses that were too big and too round for his head, grinning at the girl that stood in the middle… his Hermione, with her bushy hair, warm brown eyes and proud toothy smile, looking with nothing but affection from one friend to the other.

Harry's eyes moved from the portrait to the people standing next to him. There they were… just as they had been five years ago… by his side.

The time had arrived for a conversation seventeen months in the making.

“Ron, Hermione… there's something you need to know.”

The gravity in his voice was obvious, and both Ron and Hermione looked up from the picture with worried expressions in their faces. “What is it, mate?” asked Ron, while she just squeezed Harry's shoulder in a gesture of support.

“Please… sit…” Harry sighed, gesturing toward the tree. Both Ron and Hermione shared another anxious look before letting go of Harry and taking their respective sitting places over the roots.

She didn't fail to notice the fact that the lake had suddenly attracted Harry's attention. “What's wrong?” she asked in a hushed voice.

Her beloved remained quiet for a long time, just looking at the reflection of the moon over the surface of the water. He couldn't explain what he was feeling to his friends, nor could he understand it himself.

The lake… it called to him.

A shiver ran up his arms when he felt two transparent hands grasping him by the wrist, and the ghost of feminine lips over his scar.

Crookshanks, who had stayed away from Harry, approached him silently. The cat caressed Harry's leg with his hairy head, a gesture that woke Harry up from his stupor.

He blinked once, twice, trying to shift his focus to the task at hand. He greeted the pet with a loving scratch behind the ears before taking a seat on a protruding rock, facing his two friends, feeling very tired, very weak. “Do you remember,” Harry began, licking his dehydrated lips, “the… the Prophecy in the Department of Mysteries? The one about me and…”

“Of course we remember,” Hermione interrupted, nodding almost imperceptibly. “You told Bellatrix you knew what the prophecy said…”

“That lie bought us some time,” Ron said.

“It wasn't exactly a lie,” Harry sighed. “I know what it said.”

“But… but how? The Prophecy sphere… you told us it had been destroyed before you got a chance to hear what it had to say,” Hermione rationalized.

Harry nodded. “It's true. And although the sphere was the only written record of the prophecy, the person that recorded it in the first place is still alive.”

“Dumbledore,” she quickly inferred. Ron shot her a “how-do-you-know” look like the one he often sent her way during Advanced Potions, while Harry managed to answer with a small nod.

“After… after Sirius death… Dumbledore took me into his office and… and he told me all about the prophecy.”

“What did it say?” Ron and Hermione asked simultaneously.

He had committed the words to memory, repeating them over and over again in his head during all those days spent locked up in Buckbeak's room, neglecting hygiene and sustenance in exchange for punishment for the death of his godfather. But even he was surprised with the ease with which he shared his dark secret.

“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.”

A heavy silence befell over them. Ron's face was one of pure concentration, processing the words over and over in his mind, while Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes drifting toward the lake, rubbing her hands together, struggling for warmth to fight the shivers that had suddenly crept over her.

Harry was slightly startled when Ron broke the eerie silence, “Wait! That's why Bellatrix's Unforgivable couldn't kill you. When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named tried to kill you when you were a baby, he marked you as his equal! That means you are indestructible!”

Harry would have paid attention to Ron if he hadn't been worried about Hermione. For one, she didn't seem to share Ron's positive interpretation of the sibylline message. In fact, she had gone absolutely still, her eyes still fixed over the dark waters. If it hadn't been for the soft rise and fall of her chest, Harry would have feared she had been petrified.

“Hermione, are you okay?” he whispered with worry.

When Hermione turned to face him, he noticed there were fresh tears in the pools of her eyes. In contrast, her face shone with a strength he had seen only a few times before. Their gazes met. “It can only end like that, can it?”

“Like what?” Ron asked her.

With her eyes still fixed on Harry, Hermione said, “Either Harry kills Voldemort… or Voldemort kills Harry.”

“But that means…”

“That the worst is yet to come,” she whispered, looking away just as crystalline tear fell down her cheek. She quickly wiped it with the cuff of her jersey, trying hard not to cry again by biting on her bottom lip. Ron, who seemed to be having a hard time accepting the significance of the prophecy himself, absently placed his hand on top of Hermione's knee and squeezed softly, sharing in her distraught.

“Look,” Harry said with a tired sigh, “I am not… I'm not telling you this so as to worry you.”

“What did you expect from us, Harry?” Ron answered with a frown.

“I expect you to accept…” Harry explained, “I'm telling you this because you need to have fair warning. You have never left my side, but there will be a time when I will have to fight alone. There's nothing you can do to help me.”

Hermione turned to face him and, very quietly, but with the fierceness he had come to associate with her, said, “I refuse to believe that.”

“Me too, mate,” nodded Ron.

The Boy-Who-Lived closed his eyes, releasing a loud groan. Count on his friends to always take the difficult path to everything. He finally mumbled between clenched teeth, “It's not like I have a say in this.”

He heard her stretch as she stood up, the sound of the grass crushing underneath the soles of her shoes a clear signal that she was approaching him. He didn't dare open his eyes, for he knew he would lose this battle before ever getting a fighting chance. She stopped and kneeled between his legs.

“Harry, look at me.”

Why did she have to say that? Didn't she know he was incapable of saying no to her? And didn't she know he was saying this for their own good?

Her hands cupped his cheeks tenderly, and she was so close that he felt the wisps of air from her parted lips lick his skin when she commanded, “Harry… look at me.”

He opened his eyes and saw her… the young woman he had discovered he loved more than he loved himself. And just behind her shoulder, the redheaded young man who had shared in his misadventures since they met on a train station so many years ago.

“Just today,” Hermione continued to speak, “you told me that my love had saved you… that it had given you the strength to fight Bellatrix. Were you lying?”

Harry blinked twice in confusion, not really grasping the logic behind her question. “Of course I wasn't lying… but that's not the point…”

“That's exactly the point,” she softly smiled. “I love you now more than I loved you before.” She caressed his cheek with kindness. “And Ron loves you too.”

Ron needlessly clarified, “In a manly, heterosexual way, of course.”

Hermione continued, “And I'm sure that love… the thing Voldemort knows least about this world… and about you, Harry… is what's going to help you defeat him… once and for all.”

He took a really good look at his two best friends. They were still both visibly shaken by the truth of the Prophecy. And yet, the expressions on their faces were of strength, acceptance, and unwavering determination.

Theirs were the faces of two people who wouldn't be denied what they had accepted as their own destiny.

And Harry Potter finally understood. “You would go with me till the very end. Wouldn't you?”

“See, Hermione? After six years, he finally notices!” Ron chuckled. He quickly stood up and walked toward them. Placing one hand on Hermione's shoulder and the other on Harry's, he joked, “Your boyfriend is a bit thick if you ask me.”

“You don't have to tell me, Ronald,” Hermione said, looking up at him, “I already know.”

“Hey,” Harry's lips curled into a smile, “I'm still here you know!” Hermione just smiled a bit wider, and used her grip on his face to draw him nearer, kissing him very softly on the lips.

Harry could hear Ron's disgusted groan, and thought that a joke was sure on its way. But to his surprise, the only sound that reached his ears was the screaming of a very disgruntled school nurse.

“MISTER LONGBOTTOM! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING IN THAT BED?”

Hermione frowned, looking at her two friends as if she just knew they had something to do with that. “I don't want to know what happened… but I'm guessing Harry has to go back to the infirmary. Am I right?”

“You are always right, Hermione,” Ron mumbled, giving her a hand to help her up. “And I sure hope to be there on the day you are finally proven wrong.”

“Don't bet on it,” she replied with a smug grin as they both helped Harry back to his feet. He was a bit unsteady, a problem which Hermione quickly solved by draping his arm over her shoulders to support some of his weight, placing her own arm around his waist to keep him close.

“Do you need any help?” Ron asked her with a tinge of worry. She just smiled and shook her head. And with that, Ron started to walk back to the castle, with the photograph safely tucked under his arm and Harry and Hermione just a few paces behind.

“What are you going to do now?” asked Harry, twirling a lock of brown hair absently between his fingers.

“Me? Oh, I have lots of homework to catch up to. Haven't been in the mood lately,” she answered, quickly adding, “I'll take my things to the infirmary, of course. You too need to catch up on your homework.” Harry was very grateful she had decided to ignore the look of repulsion in his face. But Ron's presence gave Harry a better idea.

Nodding in Ron's direction and making sure Hermione saw it, Harry replied with a smile, “I've got a better idea. I mean, since you are going to be in the infirmary, maybe you could help me with my sponge bath…”

They couldn't hold in their laughter when they saw Ron clamp his hands over his ears and run away, screaming “La-la-la-la-la” over and over again like a madman.

“I'm going to have so much fun teasing him,” she admitted, tightening her hold on his waist.

Harry released a contended sigh, a curious thought sneaking into his head. “And to think this all started with Snape's…”

“What?”

“Never mind,” he mumbled apologetically. He was certainly not in the mood right now to share that particular part of the story.

“Wait,” Hermione said as she stopped their walk back to the castle. She reached into the back pocket of her jeans and produced her wand. Harry smiled as she stood up in front of him, knowing exactly where this was heading. “You know? I would have guessed that after almost seven years in Hogwarts you would have learned to repair your glass.”

“But then, it wouldn't be the same,” he winked.

“True,” she agreed with a rather satisfied grin. She waved her wand around before tapping his eyeglasses and whispering, “Oculus Reparo.” The cracked lens was no more.

Harry hugged her to him, resting his chin on the crown of her head. Warmth spread to every limb in his body when he felt her arms go around him. He breathed in her scent, serene in the realization that she was there with him. “What would I ever do without you?” he mumbled into her hair.

She leaned her head back just enough so she could look him in the eye. “I promise, Harry… I won't let you find out the answer to that question.”

And she kissed him one more time.

In that instant, the future became clear… he would achieve his destiny… he would destroy the Dark Lord… and he would get a chance to live the life he's always wanted… with her.

Together, they continued their journey back to their shared home, a ginger bundle of fur bouncing around just a few steps behind.

“You know,” said Harry, finally reaching the doors to the castle, the smile on his lips incongruous with the redness of his cheeks, “I wasn't completely kidding when I suggested that sponge bath.”

Hermione gave him one of those looks that told him she didn't know whether to kiss him or punch him.

Or both.

“Don't push your luck, Mister,” she replied, a smile that was equal amounts of shyness and mischief grazing the corners of her lips.

It was a smile that he hoped he would be able to see for the rest of his life.

Little did they know that their love - as insignificant as a pebble breaking the surface of an endless ocean - would ultimately decide the fate of everyone caught in the web of existence.

----------------------------------

Hey everybody,

First of all, a big thanks to Mileya for beta-ing this chapter. Gracias, mi reina. Te debo una grande. Also, humongous thanks to the incredibly talented Stefy, who drew a beautiful depiction of Harry and Hermione's encounter in the infirmary on Chapter 3: A Walking Contradiction. Go to this link http://gallery.portkey.org/galleryView.php?viewDetails=624&page=1#viewComments and drop a message to remind her just how good she is at this! Again, thanks Stefy!!!

Well, a lot has happened since the last update, hasn't it? First, the release of HBP and the now infamous interview given by JKR to Mugglenet and TLC. I won't talk about any of those things here because I don't want to waste another moment on JKR and her obvious disregard for her fans. I went through a lot of emotions after discovering that: heartbreak, disbelief, anger. I had made the decision that I wasn't going to waste any more time on this story, or in anything else that had to do with the HP fandom.

That didn't last long, because I discovered that I like being delusional. In the words of Peter Pan, I do believe in fairies, and no one and nothing will ever change that. Besides, I'm very thankful that my ship didn't happen in cannon, because someone who has so little regard for the things that matter to me, like friendship, loyalty, responsibility, and love, could only ruin it by writing about them.

So that's why you are reading the last chapter of this story. What did you think of it? Be sure to let me know. And I bet you have a few questions that have been left unanswered. Want to know why? Caught in a Web was in fact designed to be the first chapter in a trilogy. But because it took me such a long time to finish it, I'm not sure anymore if I have the time or the energy to go onto the second part. So until I figure that one out, I have a proposition: you can leave me a review with any questions you might have about the story so far. I will answer all the questions posted IF THE ANSWER DOES NOT COMPROMISE THE SEQUEL. So ask away people.

For comments on this chapter and the story overall, you can use the Review page. But if you want to discuss the story a bit more deeply with me or to ask any questions, you can also use the Recommendations forum the good people at Portkey have provided. The link to access the forum thread is here: http://talk.portkey.org/index.php?act=ST&f=28&t=10549

I have to apologize also for taking so long to write this last chapter. I went through a lot of stuff, including illness, accident, and work problems that often made me stay away from the computer for weeks. I thank you for your patience.

Last but certainly not least, this story is dedicated to a group of girls- whom I will not mention because they know very well who they are- that I met thanks to this story. You mean the world to me. You are my friends, my confidantes, my biggest supporters and my sisters. Las quiero con todo mi corazón.

And to all those who took the time to drop me a message, I could have never completed this story without you. I am very, very, very thankful for your support.

Dream on until your dreams come true,

Anasazi

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