Corrupting the Innocents
Title: Corrupting the Innocents
Author name: Romulus Lupin
Author email: galigad@yahoo.com
Category: Romance
Sub Category: Angst
Keywords: H/Hr
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Books 1-4
Summary: A sequel of sorts to Dream Chasing. Why
did Erin say that Harry and Hermione are 'corrupting the innocents'? Who are the
'innocents'? And why are they being corrupted?
And … are all the 'innocents' really innocent?
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. "The Witch-Wife" is from 'Renascence and Other Poems' by Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950) No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Dedicated to Nightfall, a wonderful writer who has been absent from the fandom for some time, in the hope that she will find the time, the energy and the inspiration to grace us once again with her presence.
And to everyone who has reviewed this and my other works, my deepest gratitude … especially for your patience. Thanks especially to two of my favorite writers, Golasgil Sindar (for the gentle reminder to update this - my apologies for not having responded sooner to your owl) and Paracelsus (welcome to Portkey, Bruce!)
And without further ado…
Chapter 4. The Witch Wife
He's staring at her again, heedless of everyone around watching him … in the same way that she is unaware that we watch her when she is the one staring at him in the same way that he is looking at her.
I want to turn away from the sight before me-but I cannot.
I cannot help but watch as she continues her revision: hair covering her face, slim fingers gripping quill…I knew her lips would be moving as she argues with herself about every word Carolyn had written, seeking the right phrase, aiming for that singular moment that would change an essay written in grudging compliance for a requirement into an academic masterpiece that would help another young girl get high marks in her class-
In the same way that she had spent hours drilling us in Potions and Transfiguration and Charms… mumbling and whispering instructions to me as I try to concentrate while Snape glares at me and Malfoy snickers and sniggers in an effort to distract me and cause another disaster-
Does he know how lucky he is?
To have her as his friend and something more … to have her waiting for him in the mornings, to walk with her from the tower to the Great Hall for meals, from the Great Hall to our classes in the castle or in the greenhouses or out on the grounds with Hagrid…to have her hand on his arm as she whispers, "Ignore them, ignore them" every time Malfoy and his sorry clique of wannabe Death Eaters try to insult him or her every time they pass by-
To simply have her by his side for as many minutes that each busy day can give them.
Does he know how lucky he is?
To have her in the stands for every Quidditch match, watching his every move like a hawk-alternately screaming his name as she cheered, and clutching herself in fear every time he dives for the Snitch or she sees Bludgers headed his way. I know my heart is in my throat every time I see him in his fearless dives- How much more does she feel? How much more is her fear every time he mounts his broomstick before a game?
How can she stand it? How can her heart take all the pain and abuse that his yearly games bring to her? She hasn't had an easy time of it-first year, he was almost thrown off a hexed broomstick; second year, the mad Bludger that went after him as if tied to him by a string; third year, falling almost fifty or more feet, unconscious, because of the Dementors around us … fourth year-no Quidditch but he had the Hungarian Horntail to deal with.
Does he even know how she feels? Does he know the fear and pain that every game brings to her as he flies around on his broomstick, the way she bites down on her lip as she watches the Bludgers heading his way, the way her hands clench as he goes into the Wonky-Faint-deathly scared to look but forcing herself to watch to make sure that he doesn't end up with his face six feet into the ground-
Does he even think about her when he's flying around up there, looking for the Snitch while she is down there with us in the stands, ignoring us and everything else around, so focused is she on watching him-except for the moments when she'd be gripping our arms or hands so tightly that bruises would form.
We'd learned to stay away from her whenever Harry is playing-even Cindy and Carolyn know better now than to stand close to her during Harry's games.
Why does she do it? What is it about him that makes her act that way-to forget everything that she has ever said about following the rules, about studying in preparation for O.W.L.s or even the end-of-term tests-
She has done so much for him-cheered him at his games, nearly bought out Honeydukes during our first Hogsmeade visit so she could bring him something when we got back, ignored the snubs and jeers of three Houses when his name came out of the Goblet of Fire-spent so much time with him in the library and empty classrooms all over the castle to prepare for the First Task-
Only to flick her eyes towards him when I asked her to be my date for the Yule Ball-and I knew then that there would be no hope for me to ever have her as more than a friend, more than a classmate, more than a fellow Gryffindor. There was no need for her profuse apologies, no need for her to even make an effort not to make me feel bad … I knew that she had been hoping, holding out for what was best rather than what was second-best and I allowed her rambling explanation that she had already agreed to go with someone else to go over my head.
Like everyone else, I thought she really didn't have a date to the Ball since I knew that Harry hadn't invited her. I had watched her narrowed eyes and clenched jaw whenever some girl approached Harry or tried to get him to notice them-and now, I force my hands to relax their grip on the book in my lap as my mind replayed the laughter of Ron when he told Harry that I had asked Hermione to be my date.
I shudder as I tried to control my anger… he was one to talk! They both were-they'd been her best friends for the better part of four years, and neither one even thought of asking her to the Ball! They never even thought to look beyond the bushy hair and brown eyes, those thick eyebrows and lashes-
I force my tense hands to relax, and found the effort to take calm and even breaths difficult-simply because I was fighting a snigger that wanted to erupt from my throat. They hadn't noticed that I was in the Common Room then, sitting in a quiet corner by myself and it was all I could do to keep from hexing them when they started laughing at my gall at asking her to the Ball.
I so wanted to curse them for laughing at her and at me-but then she came in and I shrank back in my corner, but I almost lost it again when Ron told her, "Neville's right-you are a girl!"
Idiot.
Yeah, Ron-and it took you only four years to realize the fact. You've been her friend for all those years, you often bicker with her as if you were an old married couple, you wouldn't even talk to her in third year when she turned in Harry's Firebolt and you thought her cat ate your rat… and all those years, you never thought of her as a girl.
I watched as Ron continued placing his big feet into his even bigger mouth, insulting her by saying that she didn't really have a date, insulting me by saying that she didn't want to go with me, and I kept myself from jumping up and following her as she walked away from the stupid git.
But Harry-
My hands stopped mangling the book in my lap as I nearly choked from the struggle to hold down my laughter. That was one of the few times that I wished I had Colin's camera immediately to hand… I wondered then and even now if that was how I looked when a Potions lesson finally made itself clear… when I finally grasped the workings of a Charm cast by Flitwick… when I was able to Transfigure something to McGonagall's satisfaction.
He never said a word all throughout as Ron's mouth ran away with him, he never even moved as she stormed out of the room and Ginny left them both alone… he never uttered one single word the whole time but I watched his face move from surprise and realization to pain and sorrow and finally, acceptance and determination as Lavender and Parvati came in, and he stood up and asked Parvati to be his date for the ball.
No questions, no hesitation, no doubts.
He was presented with a problem, and he did what he thought he had to do to get it over and done with. He'd lost his chance to ask her to the Ball but he didn't let that problem stop him from accomplishing his Task.
As he hadn't let anything or anyone stop him from looking for her when the troll came into the castle that Halloween night in our first year.
I watch her tuck a curl behind her ear, eyes still locked on the parchment in front of her and I knew that his eyes would be following her every move.
Had he been following her every move even then? Ron told us later that they'd overheard Parvati and Lavender talking about Hermione crying in the girl's bathroom, but it was Harry who remembered that she hadn't shown up for dinner, Harry who'd thought of looking for her, Harry who'd jumped on the troll's back to ram his wand up its nose-
Was that what it was all about?
I hear a soft sigh passing through the room, and I knew that she had looked up from her work and was smiling at him, the same smile that she gave no one else but him, the same smile that I had often wanted to see her giving me, but knowing it was a lost cause….
They were looking at each other now, smiling in a way that we all envied, but I cannot help but wonder…what was behind those smiles and their silent conversation? Were they thinking of the troll in first year? Or the basilisk in second-and Hermione slamming into him for a fierce hug before Dumbledore and everyone else in the Hall? Were they thinking about the end of third year, the night Sirius Black was captured and escaped and-so the rumours said-they were found out on the grounds, unconscious and one inch away from a Dementor's Kiss…
I slump back in my chair, the book forgotten in my lap as my mind went back. The Dementors had left the school soon after, but the rumours persisted: that the three of them had gone out to try and capture Sirius Black; that they had almost succeeded until Professor Lupin transformed into a werewolf; that Harry, Hermione and Sirius Black were able to distract the werewolf from Ron and Professor Snape until they were felled by Dementors; that something-or some one-had been able to drive back the Dementors…
The question was…who?
Snape was out there, but he never claimed anything more than capturing Sirius Black and finding them unconscious on the grounds. Ron had been with them, but said that he'd been knocked unconscious when Lupin transformed into a werewolf. Hermione, when asked, always said that she was also oblivious when the Dementors surrounded them…
And Harry-
I blinked as I watched them looking at each other. It always seemed to be from her to him; it always seemed to be her who was giving him something-his Broomstick Servicing Kit, the sweets from Honeydukes, the time she spent coaching him in hexes, charms and everything else-
But he'd saved her life.
Not just the one time that we all knew about in our first year, or even the time a few weeks back when they were both knocked senseless for a week, but were there other times, other things that only they knew about?
Was that the reason behind their silent communication? The way they could look at each other and know what the other was thinking? The way they would walk down the corridors, talking about this or that-and automatically move one way or another, never missing a step, never having to stop to think about where to go, what to do, what to say…
It always seemed to be from Hermione to Harry, but that was what we could see. We do not know what it was that Harry had given Hermione… those moments that only they know about for which they had no need to share with anyone else because it was something that only they would know and understand.
I shake my head at the thought, and look down on the book in my lap-wondering again why, of the thousands of books in the library, I had to pick this particular book, knowing that no one-not even me-would understand.
On impulse, I close my eyes and open the book, jamming a finger randomly on a page and reading the first thing I found there:
She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun 'tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of colored beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.
I blink and look up, wondering why-of all the things I could find in this book-this passage would be the one to leap to my eyes. It described her perfectly-the young girl with the bushy hair and prominent teeth who'd helped me look for Trevor during our first trip on the Hogwarts Express; the brilliant classmate whose voice was in my ear as she whispered instructions and encouragement in Potions, in Charms, in Transfiguration; the young lady that I had worked up the courage to approach to ask for a date to the Yule Ball-
I turn back to the book in my lap, the title of the poem vaguely registering in my mind ('The Witch-Wife'? How appropriate!) and started reading it from the top:
"SHE is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.
She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun 'tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of colored beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.
She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine."
I feel my teeth grinding once again, knew that my hands were turning white as they gripped the book, wondering who was this writer that could so perfectly describe me and her-
No.
I lower my head and wipe at my eyes as the words mock me. No matter the time she spent tutoring me, no matter the hours I spent with her in classes and walking around the castle, following her with my eyes, no matter the small tokens of friendship and affection she has shown me, 'she will never be all mine.'
But it wasn't that she wasn't made for any man…she was made for Harry Potter, not for me-and I saw the page blurring as I fought back the painful realization found in that poem.
"What's that you're reading, Neville?" I nearly jumped out of my skin when the voice broke through my befuddled mind-looking up, I thought I was going to have a heart attack as my eyes met hers, only to realize in the next moment that it wasn't Hermione in front of me but her "twin sister," Joyce.
"Nothing, nothing," I croaked as I closed the book, placing a finger within to keep my place. From somewhere deep within, I blurted out something I'd heard her use before: "Just a little bit of light reading," and I felt the blood rushing to my face as I tried to hide the book from her upraised eyebrow.
Her eyes fell on the cover and she smiled, and I braced myself for the teasing that was bound to follow at being caught like a pouf with a book of-
"I'll tell her that you're enjoying the book, Neville-I'm sure she'll be thrilled."
My face must have been something to see as I tried to force words out of my suddenly dry mouth; before I could utter anything, however, Joyce Cohen tapped the book's cover as she continued, "The book's editor? She's a friend of mine… she'd asked our help to look for things to put in the book…in fact, she was nice enough to include something I wrote-"
I glanced down at the cover as her explanation washed over me: "Nightfall's Anthology of Wizarding Prose and Poetry."
"Uhm, Joyce?" She stopped and looked at me curiously as I continued, while looking nervously around me, "Uh…would you mind keeping this between us? You know…people may not understand-"
She smiled at me then, the same sort of smile that I could always count on Hermione for: warm, sympathetic, understanding-and she nodded. I watched as she turned away from me and called out to her friends, reminding them that it was close to curfew and that they had better start moving back to their own dormitories. I joined in with those waving to Joyce and her friends, wishing them a good night as I made a mental note to look for whatever it was that Joyce that Nightfall-whoever she is--had included in the book in my hand.
I turn back to the book as the portrait-hole closed on them-and noticed something that I hadn't seen the first time I laid my eyes on the page.
It was a drawing of a Valentine's heart-but a broken Valentine's heart, jagged edges right down the middle, a tear showing from the strength exerted when the drawing was made: a strength that was born of anger, and frustration, and annoyance. Curious, I stared at it and realized that there were letters within each half of the broken heart: "V-K"
Who is V-K, I wonder? Or perhaps, who is V and who is K? What had happened to him or to them, that they would have taken a quill to this book and this page, and mark it with the universal sign of a broken heart? What had happened to him or to them…what was the story behind this broken heart and why was it here, on this page and this poem?
"Hey, Neville!" I look up at Ron who was on his way up to our room, apparently unwilling to remain in the Common Room now that Nic had left for her own dorm. "You comin' up?"
"Sure, Ron," I replied as I started to put my things together; shoving my book into my bag so that no one would know that I had it there. "I'll be right up."
Ron was about to say something but stopped; with an amused grin, he turned away and went up the stairs, shaking his head at the same time. I glanced around and smiled: Harry and Hermione were sitting next to each other, both apparently engrossed in their books but with Harry's head resting on Hermione's shoulders … Cindy and Carolyn on either side of them, reading their own books but sneaking glances at their mentors and giggling to themselves.
I shake my head and start walking towards the stairs, and my mind ponders again the mystery of the broken heart and whoever had scratched it on the page and that poem.
One thing for sure, I thought… I wasn't alone.