Dedication: This chapter goes out to my awesome best friend Amber. Not only did I steal her last name for a character in this chapter that in no way shape or form actually resembles her, but she also did a quick beta for me.
Something forceful poked Harry in the back of the head. He shifted slightly, trying to get his bearings when something hit him again. "Ouch!" he cried.
There was a muffled. "ARGH!" followed by a large crash.
Harry opened his eyes, squinting across the room. He groped for his glasses, found them lying on Hermione's side and pushed them up his nose. Disentangling himself from Hermione's arms without waking her, he sat up, eyes darting suspiciously around the room. He entered the hospital wing cautiously, anxious to see what all the fuss had been about. At the door to the infirmary he stopped dead in his tracks and hooted with laughter.
Ron was lying in the hallway, rubbing his head and looking very disoriented. "Bloody, enchanted room!" he yelled.
Harry gripped the nearest bed to keep himself from falling over as he roared with laughter.
Ron glared at him. "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! That hurt, you know!"
Harry couldn't speak.
"Fine!" he said crossly, getting up, still rubbing petulantly at his head. "I'm going to see Hermione."
Harry followed him, still grinning. He found Hermione awake, and even sitting up. She smiled when they entered.
"Ron!" she greeted cheerfully.
Ron rubbed at his head. "I don't understand why your room gets all bothered when someone pokes Harry. I mean, it doesn't seem fair that he gets special protection, as well."
Harry burst out laughing again.
Ron shot him an irritated look. "Just keep your mouth shut before I…"
Ron never got the chance to finish as he was thrown bodily out of the room again. He soared through air, yelling, and landed heavily in the hall.
That did it. Harry doubled over. He gripped his sides, unable to breathe.
Ron stomped back, scowling. He shot Harry a murderous glare, but didn't say anything. Still glaring at Harry, he stalked to Hermione's beside. "Suppose that would happen if someone wished me harm?" he muttered.
Hermione was biting her lip. Harry suspected it was because she was trying to keep herself from laughing. "I'm sure it would, Ron," she said, with an admirably straight face.
"Harry, point your wand at me or something."
Harry, finally able to get control of himself, came to stand at his elbow. "C'mon, Ron. I'm not that dense."
Ron's scowl increased. "Maybe we can get Malfoy in here to test it…"
Hermione, looking eager to change the subject, held out her hand. Ron blushed and took it. "Thanks for what you did for me yesterday," she said softly.
Harry watched them, trying very hard not to be (and failing miserably at it) jealous.
Ron's blush increased. "Oh, well, you know… I think quick on my feet."
Harry stared coughing violently to cover up for his snort.
Hermione beamed at him. "Well. Thanks. And for all the homework you guys did. I'm impressed, actually. I didn't know you had it in you."
"It was mostly me," Ron said seriously. "Harry doesn't have the best work ethic. But I said, 'Harry, Mate. Hermione would want us to read all these textbooks aloud to her. You know how she is…'"
Hermione looked pleased. "Really? That's very sweet of you, Ron."
Ron grinned. "Naww… without you here, Harry needed someone to help him keep up."
Hermione squeezed his hand. "I'm glad you were here."
They shared a smile and Ron blushed an even deeper shade of red.
Harry felt very much like killing him. Of course, he was smart enough to realize the room probably would throw him out if he tried any such thing. He tried to squelch his nagging jealousy, because he realized Ron probably needed to make himself feel slightly superior. Harry sighed when Ron began going on about single-handedly trying to stake out Jane Noxon himself to punish her.
"And then," Ron said, "I said to Dumbledore, 'You tell me where she is!' because I couldn't just let her get away with what she'd done to you. Of course, Dumbledore refused to tell me anything. So I had to go about it on my own. I rarely slept, choosing instead to stake out the castle, looking for clues…."
Harry and Hermione shared a look. She rolled her eyes slightly as if to say, 'I'm not completely stupid, but if it makes him feel better, let him go ahead.'
Harry felt slightly relieved. Giving Hermione a slight smile, he wandered idly around the room, waiting for Ron to stop babbling. After pacing around it for the third time he stopped dead. "Jane Noxon!" he whispered.
Ron jumped up. "Where?"
"No…" Harry trailed off, shut his eyes. He opened them, slightly horrified. "I remember where I've heard the name before! The Daily Prophet article. Remember? She was the one who said all those horrible things about you, Hermione."
Hermione stared at him. "Yes, I know. I thought you did, too…"
Ron looked baffled. "You mean the article that was about you and Hermione getting together?"
Harry nodded. "I can't believe it… I should have known… I should have done something…"
"Oh, Harry, honestly!" Hermione said, airily. "What would you have done? You couldn't very well go around attacking Hogwarts students, especially for crimes they hadn't yet committed!"
Harry could admit that she had a point. It didn't make him feel any better, though.
The idea that his and Hermione's entire relationship would be portrayed in the Daily Prophet suddenly disturbed him another level. He hadn't really been paying attention, but Neville told him that the Daily Prophet was updating news about their relationship nearly everyday. At the time he'd been so worried about Hermione that he hadn't really noticed.
When Madam Pomfrey came in with the breakfast tray, Harry glanced at Hermione and Ron (who were still holding hands) and made up his mind. "I'll be right back," he told them, hurrying off.
He went to the Great Hall, where everyone was still in the midst of eating. He jogged over to the staff table, ignoring the looks that most of the students were giving him. Dumbledore looked up at him as he arrived.
"Good morning, Harry," he greeted. "How's Hermione doing?"
Harry shrugged. "She's fine."
Dumbledore peered at him through his glasses. "Something that I can help you with?"
Harry swallowed and nodded. "I was wondering… could I perhaps have a look at Hermione's mail? To, uh, bring it to her…" he added hastily.
Dumbledore looked faintly amused. "Of course," he said, summoning it up with a flick of his hand. Piles and piles of letters appeared on the table and Harry stared at it faintly, his eyes widening. Dumbledore followed his gaze. "Yes, the Prophet has many dedicated readers. I did, however, take the liberty of destroying any howlers that arrived."
Harry nodded, ripping open some of the letters. Some were bad, accusing Hermione of cursing Harry, some were more sympathetic, wishing her a speedy recovery.
Dumbledore watched him in guarded interest as he read through Hermione's mail. "Something bothering you, Harry?"
Harry didn't answer, rifling through Hermione's many Daily Prophets. There was an article about them nearly every day. Most said that she remained unconscious in the hospital, Harry staying obsessively by her side. Harry still felt that the Prophet made it seem an awful lot like she had to curse him to make him so devoted. Thinking about everything Hermione had gone through, Harry clenched the paper tightly in his hands.
"Professor," he said hesitantly. "I have… an idea. But I need your help."
***
"Are you sure about this, Harry?"
Harry looked up, feeling slightly queasy. He met Dumbledore's concerned gaze. He swallowed. "Yes."
There was a knock at Dumbledore's office door. Dumbledore nodded in its direction. "It's your show, Harry."
Harry got up hesitantly and went to open the door. In walked a long, thin woman with smooth, raven hair and sharp blue eyes. She peered at him suspiciously as she entered, her eyes landing immediately on his scar.
"Good. It's you."
Harry's feelings of uneasiness increased. He nodded.
"Madam Snow," she said tersely.
"It's, uh, nice to meet you. I'm Harry-."
"Oh, I know who you are," she interrupted with a wave of her hand. "Let's get started, shall we?" she asked cheerfully.
"Uh… okay…"
Harry led her up the stairs and smirked inwardly when she noticeably deflated seeing Dumbledore sitting serenely at his desk, his hands folded one over the other. "Headmaster Dumbledore," Madam Snow said faintly. "I didn't realize that you would be here."
Dumbledore smiled warmly. "Harry asked me to accompany him during the interview. Who was I to deny him?"
Madam Snow's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Yes… I suppose…"
"Do you have any identification?" Dumbledore asked calmly. Madam Snow frowned. "You understand," Dumbledore continued lightly. "What with Harry's fame, we wouldn't want just anyone coming to ask him questions…"
Madam Snow's frown increased, but she pulled out a small card and held it in front of Dumbledore's eyes. Dumbledore spent quite a few moments adjusting his glasses and leaning forward in order to see it properly. "Ahhh," he said, tapping it. "Madame Christina Snow, from the Daily Prophet. Excellent."
With a slight sniff, Madam Snow returned her card to her pocket. Harry held his sleeve over his mouth to hide his grin. Dumbledore caught his eye, smiling slightly.
With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore summoned up two chairs. "Sit, sit!" he said. "Feel free to use my desk."
Madame Snow sniffed again and put a piece of parchment on Dumbledore's desk. Harry watched suspiciously as a quill hovered above it, reminding him of the one Rita Skeeter had used in their fourth-year.
"Now," Madam Snow said, smiling largely. "Harry… I'll just ask you some questions… and you answer them best you can."
"Um. Okay," he said nervously, watching as her quill danced across the parchment. He strained closer to see what it was saying.
Harry Potter: In Love
An official interview conducted by Christina H. Snow of the Daily Prophet
"How old are you?" she asked in a clipped tone.
"Sixteen."
"Year?"
"Sixth…" Harry trailed off. "Don't you already know that?"
She smiled sweetly. "Just making sure I have my facts straight."
Harry craned his neck to see what she was writing, stomach dropping as he did so.
Harry Potter, only in his sixth-year at Hogwarts, seems convinced that he and his girlfriend are meant to be. Disturbing as this is for a 16-year old…
Harry stopped reading. "No," he said quietly. "That's not what I said."
Madam Snow looked at the parchment, slightly disinterested. "Oh?"
"Yeah. I never said anything like that."
Dumbledore leaned forward in interest, taking the parchment and reading it quietly. Madam Snow sent him a heated look. "Harry is quite right," Dumbledore said quietly. "As a journalist, I'm sure that you appreciate integrity and fact finding in the search for truth."
Madam Snow glared at him. "Fine," she snapped, taking out another roll of parchment. Her eyes flashed back to Harry. "We'll start again, shall we?"
Harry nodded. "Okay."
"So, tell me Harry, these rumors about you having a girlfriend." Her gaze shifted to Dumbledore. "Are they true?"
Harry squirmed uncomfortably. "Yeah, it's true."
"Muggle-born Hermione Granger?"
Harry shifted again. "Yeah, but she's loads brighter than most wizards. She can do almost any spell."
"Hmmm…" Madam Snow said in interest, her quill flying madly over the page. Harry craned his neck to read it, but she pulled it closer to her body, hiding it.
Harry gulped.
She peered at him shrewdly, considering. "You in love with her, Harry?"
Harry felt all the colour drain from his face. He was suddenly afraid that he might slip out of his chair. "Wh… what?"
"It's a simple question. Do you love her?"
Harry's heart thundered in his ears. Did he what? WHAT? He slipped slightly, his palms feeling very sweaty. "I don't… I don't… I can't… what?"
Madam Snow hummed again, her quill scribbling with more persistence.
Feeling a dull roaring in his ears, Harry snatched up her parchment.
Harry Potter's eyes brightened at the thought of his new girlfriend, Miss Hermione Granger. He seems oblivious of the fact that she is Muggle born, as his eyes burst with pride over her talents as a witch. "She's loads brighter than other wizards," he says, his eyes shinning brightly. "She can do anything…"
It's touching to see him so… in love. However, when asked just where his feelings lie for his new girlfriend, Harry Potter seems confused, dazed almost. "Wh… what?" he responds when asked if he loves her. Perhaps things aren't as clear as they seem. Harry said it himself, Hermione Granger is a very bright wizard. Top of her class at Hogwarts. Could it be possible… could she have put a spell on him? She certainly seems smart enough…
Harry paled. "NO! NO! NO!" he shouted. "This isn't RIGHT!"
Dumbledore leaned forward. "Perhaps," he said mildly. "It would be best to leave the question of love out of it for the time being."
Madam Snow glared at him, and snatched her parchment out of Harry's hands. "Very well." Trying to control her voice she said, "This your first relationship Harry?"
Harry felt his insides tighten up. What the bleeding hell did that have to do with anything? "Erm… not really," he stammered, thinking about his complete failure with Cho the year before.
Harry was privy to one of the few times Dumbledore looked surprise. Madam Snow caught his look as well and smiled in a superior fashion. "Perhaps the Headmaster isn't as up to date on his students as he thinks…"
"Hardly," Dumbledore answered, leaning back. "Personal lives are none of my business."
Harry could still see, though, that he looked mildly unsettled.
"And how did that relationship end, Harry?" Madam Snow asked, leaning forward. "Badly? Did Hermione Granger get in the middle?"
"No, of course not," Harry answered crossly. "Things just didn't… work out."
Madam Snow frowned slightly at the news. Harry glanced worriedly at her quill, noticing that it was still scribbling madly. He had a very bad feeling that it was writing a story about how Hermione had stolen him from Cho's clutches the year before.
Harry glared at her, realizing that his plan to make the wizarding world see Hermione in a positive light was failing miserably.
He stood up, snatched the parchment off the table, and ripped it up into three long pieces before handing it to Dumbledore. Madam Snow watched him, eyes furious.
"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped.
"Getting rid of this rubbish!" Harry yelled. "You want your article? Fine. But we're doing things my way. There won't be anything in there about Hermione has cursed me or poisoned me or put me under a spell. You will put down exactly what I tell you to put down. Nothing more, nothing less."
Madam Snow looked both disappointed and furious. "Well, I'd hardly say you were the expert at knowing what sells papers."
"I DON'T CARE ABOUT SELLING PAPERS!" Harry yelled. "I JUST WANT TO HELP HERMIONE!"
At that, Madam Snow's quill began scribbling furiously again. Harry watched it, eyes bulging slightly. "Stop, stop, stop!" He snatched that piece of parchment, too, not even bothering to rip it up before handing if over to Dumbledore.
Madam Snow considered him. "Fine. What is your way, then?"
"I will tell you what I want you to write," Harry said calmly. "Then, only then, will you write it. You will write your entire piece before leaving this room. Dumbledore will read it before you leave. If what appears in tomorrow's paper has even the slightest deviation from that finished product, and I mean one comma or one period is out of place, I'm cutting the Prophet off. You will never, ever write another word about me again, and certainly never get another interview with me."
Madam Snow's eyes narrowed coolly. "Well, then, Potter, what will I be writing about?"
Harry took a breath, suddenly not sure what exactly he wanted to tell Madam Snow. He looked helplessly at Dumbledore, but Dumbledore appeared quite concentrated on his desk and didn't meet his eye. Harry sighed.
"Hermione was attacked because of me." Harry swallowed. "If she hadn't been going out with me… she would be fine right now. She was the best thing to ever happen to me. And she did not have to use a charm, curse, or a potion to get me to like her. I like her because of who she is and how she treats me. There is nothing fake about it. If someone ever attacks her again because they believe she's cursed me… I will hunt them down. I will make them pay… I will make their families pay… and I'll make their families pay and…."
Dumledore coughed lightly.
Harry blinked. "Erm, never mind. I'll just be… really angry about it because Hermione's the last person that deserves that kind of hate."
Madam Snow was practically salivating. "Anything else you can give me, Potter? You ever have unrequited feelings for her? How long have you known you liked her?"
Harry just stared at her. "That's it. I'm not saying anything else. My relationship with Hermione is private. And it will stay that way."
"But… but… you've given me nothing! I can't write a story on a short paragraph like that!"
Harry shrugged. "You're a good writer. You'll find a way."
She glared at him, but, Harry noticed, her quill began scribbling over the parchment. He continued to watch her until she finished. Glaring at him in intense dislike, she held out her final product to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore hummed in interest, taking it and leaning back in his chair. He cleared his throat.
"Harry Potter's eyes are lined with bags. It is clear that he has not slept well in weeks. He is exhausted, the slight task of sitting straight too difficult to perform. Still, his eyes light up slightly when he is asked about his new girlfriend, Hermione Granger. As he talks, the reasons for his exhaustion become painfully obvious. She has been in the hospital wing now for over 10 days and it is clearly putting a strain on young, Harry's already heavy load."
Harry snorted. "What a load of crap!" he cried. "People actually read this? Do you have any idea what people are going to be saying? Ron's going to be bad enough… Malfoy'll probably be having a field day."
Madam Snow hefted her nose in the air. "This is brilliant. You want people to stop attacking your precious Hermione?" She nodded towards her article. "Women are going to weep when they read this…"
Harry felt sick.
Dumbledore continued.
"Harry Potter can barely screw up the courage to speak his next words. His eyes fill with tears and remorse as he says, "Hermione was attacked because of me." The news is a shock, but his next words offer a grim explanation. "If she hadn't been going out with me… she would be fine right now." And therein lies the truth. Harry is deservedly famous, and viscous rumors about the nature of his relationship with Hermione led to her attack.
"She was the best thing to ever happen to me, and she did not have to use a charm, curse, or a potion to get me to like her. I like her because of who she is and how she treats me. There is nothing fake about it," Harry says, staring dreamily off into space.
When reminded of how the Wizarding Community reacted to the first news of his newfound relationship, he scowls, clearly personally insulted. "If ever Hermione is attacked again, on my behalf, I will be furious. Hermione is the last person that deserves that kind of hate." Harry smiles as he ends his interview, determined to keep the rest of their relationship private.
One thing is clear, it seems like the Real Thing has found Harry Potter. While us single (and not so single) ladies may shed a few tears over it, his devotion to Hermione is certainly a beautiful thing to behold."
Dumbledore set the parchment down, and peered down his nose at Madam Snow. "Good," he said, handing it back to her.
"What?" Harry exploded. "Good? Are you mad? I didn't… my eyes never filled with tears!"
Madam Snow eagerly snatched up her article. "Great job, Harry. I look foreword to interviewing you again. Hermione is one lucky girl. I'll just be bringing this in now…" Without so much as a backward glance, Madam Snow took off.
"Wait a minute!" Harry sputtered, shooting Dumbledore a betrayed glance. "She CAN'T print that!"
"Aww, well…" Dumbledore said with a slight smile. "Appears like that may happen."
Harry stared open-mouthed at him. "Professor, I can't believe that you would let her…"
Dumbledore held up a hand. "Harry, what is more important to you, your reputation, or Hermione's safety?"
Harry stared at him glumly, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. "Hermione's safety," he finally muttered.
Dumbledore nodded. "This will ensure it."
"But… but… it's NOT TRUE!"
"She quoted you accurately."
Harry's forehead banged on the desk. "Just kill me now… shoot me… stuff me… mount me…"
Dumbledore chuckled faintly as he stood up. "I'll walk you back to the hospital wing, Harry."
Harry got up slowly. "I'll be a complete and utter laughingstock… I won't ever be able to look Ron in the eye again… my team will stop listening to me at practice… Hermione'll break up with me when she reads it…"
"Oh, I doubt that very much."
Harry followed Dumbledore through the halls, trying very hard not to look anyone straight in the eye. He was pretty sure that people would suddenly know what had just happened. Outside the hospital wing, Dumbledore stopped and turned back to stare at Harry thoughtfully.
"Do you mind me asking, Harry, who you were involved with last year?"
Harry felt his cheeks colouring. "Oh, that. No… it was Cho. Cho Chang. She's in, uh, Ravenclaw…"
"I'm aware of who Cho is, Harry."
Harry nodded, blushing again. "Yeah. That would make sense."
"I never knew at the time," Dumbledore said, studying him.
"Well, Professor, don't take this personally, but you and I weren't exactly seeing a whole lot of each other last year." Harry shrugged. "Besides, nothing ever really happened. I kind of blew it."
"Oh?"
"Yeah," Harry said with a grin. "She was jealous of Hermione. Can you imagine?"