Unofficial Portkey Archive

Act I: Influence

The year's at the spring
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in his Heaven -
All's right with the world!

-- From "Pippa Passes" by Robert Browning.

22-year-old Harry Potter looked up from his monitor when he heard the sound of keys jingling. From the angle he was in, sitting in front of the living room workstation, he could see the main door clearly. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes; after a day and a night of watching the computer screen virtually nonstop, he was suffering from a blinding headache. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, at the very moment the door opened.

Without his glasses he couldn't see very well who it was, but he'd recognize that tall, red-headed blur everywhere: it was his best friend and roommate, Ron Weasley, carrying two large pizza boxes and what seemed to be a Blockbuster bag.

"We're having a movie night?" Harry asked, as Ron walked past him to put the food in the kitchen.

"Yep," Ron answered, coming back to the living room, stopping to stand behind Harry. "Special treat for no-life losers like us, who have no date for this lovely Friday night." With a sigh, he wobbled away from Harry and let himself fall dramatically over the couch.

"As long as it isn't porn," Harry chuckled, fumbling around the desk for his glasses, which seemed to be avoiding him. "Hermione would strangle you."

"Not this time!" Ron quipped, raising his pointer finger as if he were giving a speech. "Just a couple of safe, PG-13 comedies." He seemed to rethink his last statement when Harry turned around in his chair to mock-glare at him. "Ok, maybe not so PG-13... but nothing that would put my life at risk, I assure you." Ron took his first good look at Harry and frowned. "Oy, mate, you look like Mrs. Simmons' rhottweiler dragged you around the neighborhood a good couple of times... What's up? Cyberworld becoming Cyberhell?"

Harry had gotten a degree in Computer Programming barely a year before and was currently working in a small software company, designing custom programs and database systems for other small companies. Due to the nature of his job, he didn't actually need to be present at the company except for a couple of days a week, so he often worked at home, spending hours and hours in front of the computer. This caused his roommates to worry about him constantly, and they kept asking him if he was ok, if he had eaten, how many hours he had slept...

Now Harry sighed, turning off the screen and getting up from the chair. "Nah, nothing that big," he explained, while he stretched his legs. "Remember that software I had to have ready for Wednesday? It won't execute properly, so there must be a logic error somewhere. And I've been checking the code for hours, but I can't find anything..."

Ron held up a hand to stop him before he could go on and on about his little ones and zeros. "Let us pretend I understood that."

Harry glared at him. "I'm guessing your day was great."

Ron grinned. "Yep." Grabbing a cushion from the other end of the couch and fixed it under his head. "Got tickets AND transportation to the Manchester/West Ham match next week. You're free next Saturday, right?"

Ronald, 23, had decided very early that his future was in administration. He majored in business management and had gotten a job pretty easily at a very successful local PR agency. He escalated in the hierarchy of the company fairly quickly (to this day he insisted it was his irresistible good looks what had landed him the position he currently occupied), and now he was assistant to the Sales Manager. He loved his job, especially because his direct superior was like a hundred years old. This was good for him for three reasons: First, it meant that his boss was on the verge of retirement, which meant Ron would of course be the best option to replace him after he left. Second, the guy knew virtually EVERYONE, which meant that Ron got to meet all kinds of important people. And lastly, since his boss was old and didn't like to go out, that meant that all the free stuff he was given, like tickets to events or free meals at fancy restaurants, went to Ron. Could life get any better than that?

"Sure, this thing should be done by then," Harry answered, pointing to the computer. "Oh, by the way, Ginny called you. Said to tell you to call her back as soon as possible."

Ron groaned. "Great! Now that she talked to you I can't ignore her anymore."

Harry arched an eyebrow, curious. "Why are you ignoring your sister?"

"Because she keeps trying to set me up on dates with the ugliest women in London!" the redhead exclaimed desperately. "And she won't take no for an answer!"

"That's because she knows no pretty woman in a right state of mind would date you," Harry replied in a chipper tone, barely keeping from bursting out in laughter.

Ron sat up and glared at his best friend. "Yes, Harry, that was so funny, I'm sure I'll still be laughing about it next week. Next time, leave the comic relief to me, ok?" He stood up and scratched his head, messing up his hair. "And speaking about beauty queens, where's Hermione? Still held hostage in the literary world?"

Their mutual female best friend and third roommate, Hermione granger, also 23 years old, was a woman made for studying. She had entered med school a few years back with the intention of becoming a cardiologist, but she had changed her mind somewhere down the road and was now doing her postgraduate studies in Criminal Psychiatry. She also had minors in History and in Literature, and had gone through several French courses. Ron often joked that Hermione had simply studied everything there was to study. She also worked part-time at a small, cozy bookstore about fifteen minutes from their flat. She often came home after the boys did because of that.

No longer than two seconds after Ron spoke, the sound of keys was heard again and the door opened, revealing their bushy-haired best friend. She was a little startled when she looked up and saw the boys looking expectantly up at her. She was thinking so hard, she hadn't noticed they were there.

"Hi, guys," she greeted them with a smile. "Why are we all in the living room?" she asked, dropping her keys in her bag.

"Movie night!" Ron exclaimed, brilliantly smiling. "Come now," he said, walking up to her and taking her bag and a huge book from her hands. "Forget about Freud for a night, let's just have some fun..."

Hermione sighed. She had wanted to review a little. She had a big exam coming up soon and she didn't feel prepared. But what girl could resist the puppy-eyed looks her two best friends were giving her? "Ok, I'll watch the movies with you. Do we have dinner?"

"Pizza, Ron't treat," Harry answered, immediately walking towards the kitchen to get the food.

"Hey, I never said you didn't have to pay your share!" Ron yelled back to him. He put one of the movies in the DVD player and sat down on the couch again, remote control in hand, stretching his legs to the other side of the seat.

"You're not eating pizza on the couch, Ron," Hermione warned him in a hard tone, from the love seat.

"Yes, I am," Ron threw back, looking at the TV. "You sound more and more like my mother each day, Hermy."

"See, that's what living with you for so long does to us," Hermione replied, standing up when Harry called her to help with the drinks.

They walked out, Harry handing Ron one of the two pizza boxes and a glass filled with Coke. He took his own glass of 7up from Hermione's hand and sat down on the floor, against the love seat, Hermione beside him sipping water from her glass quietly, looking up at the screen. He opened the pizza box that was between them and each grabbed a slice as the cast started appearing on the screen.

She closed the door when she saw his unruly mop of black hair over the pillow, the steady rise and fall of the sheet over his torso meaning that he was sleeping deeply. With a sigh of relief and a smile she continued on her way to the kitchen.

Every day that Harry didn't have to go to work, Hermione would take a peek into his room on her way out, just to check if he was asleep. He had gotten into the habit of staying awake all night sometimes, and it was slowly taking its toll on him. Ron and Hermione would constantly tell him that the lack of sleep would eventually affect his health, and he would usually excuse himself by saying that he had assignments to finish that couldn't wait, but they knew better: it was the nightmares that kept him from sleeping.

Feeling happy that the nightmares seemed to be coming less and less frequently, she walked into the kitchen, where Ron, who was the unofficial cook of the house, was making breakfast.

When the trio moved in, there was a small struggle when they sat down to divide the house chores. Harry had claimed that, after his disastrous childhood, he'd never cook anything, not even be caught dead near a stove, ever again. And Hermione, as smart as she was, didn't seem to be able to cook anything that wouldn't dissolve a bar of metal at contact. Therefore, the task fell onto a very reluctant Ron. In the end, he found out that he was actually quite good at it. Harry and Hermione figured it was a Weasley thing; after all, Molly Weasley, Ron's mother, always made exquisite food.

She sat down at the table and greeted Ron as he put some scrambled eggs and a muffin onto her plate. He did the same for his own plate and sat down, and they both ate silently for a few minutes.

"Say, Hermy, what are we going to do for Harry's birthday?" he asked after a while, with his mouth full of food.

Hermione rolled her eyes at his lack of manners. Would he ever grow up? "I don't know. I was thinking maybe we could go out to a fancy restaurant for dinner or go to an amusement park, you know he loves those. Do you think we should ask him what he wants?"

"Nah. I think this year we should surprise him," Ron said with a grin, giving Hermione his plate so she could wash it. "You know, tell him we'll both be working until late that day and then come back and kidnap him..."

The phone rang and Ron grimaced. It rang a couple more times and Hermione asked if he planned on answering sometime this century. As soon as he heard the beep of the answering machine, he knew who was calling and he knew he didn't want to answer.

Hullo! This is the Big Wanker residence. If you're a friend or family, call back later. If you're calling Harry, make sure you understand binary code, cuz it's the only language he understands. If you're calling Hermione... oh, wait, who would call her? Books don't speak. And if you're part of the Ron Weasley fan club, leave your name, phone number and a physical description after the beep, and you'll surely get a call back. Ron! What an awful message! Change that right no- *beep!*

"Ronald Bilius Weasley! I know you're there! Pick up the phone!"

Hearing his sister's angry voice, Ron turned to Hermione with a "Dearest Best Friend of mine! Help me out, that's what friends are for!" expression. "Hermy, PLEASE," he begged, "could you pick up the phone and tell Gin I'm in- I don't know- Nepal? Or just somewhere far away? I'll even do the dishes for you. Please?"

Hermione glared at him. She didn't like lying, much less to one of her best friends. Ron gave her the puppy-eyed look again. "You know I'd do the same for you."

"I'd never ask you to do anything like this," she grudgingly muttered, but walked towards the phone to pick it up before Ginny's angry tirade could continue.

"...and I know you're always there at this hour, so come on, dammit! Pick the phone up! It's URGENT, you idiot!"

"Ginny?"

"Hermione? Oh, hi. Give the phone to Ron, will you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Ginny, but at the moment Ron must be relieving his agonizing bladder somewhere. Let's hope it's not all over his bed. Again." With another glare she turned to Ron, who had his back to her, as he was washing the dishes, but she saw his ears had gone red. "I'll tell him you called."

Ginny sighed on the other end of the line. "It's not like he'd call me back." Hermione could almost see her annoyed expression. "Listen, it doesn't matter. You'll do. I'll tell you, God knows I should've told Harry when I spoke to him..."

"No, Ginny, I'm sorry," Hermione interrupted her. "I can't talk right now. I'm running late as it is, and if your brother would just HURRY UP," she yelled at Ron, who had stopped washing to listen to the phone conversation, "maybe I'd get to class on time. I'll call you tonight and you can tell me, ok?"

"But Hermio-"

"Bye, Ginny." She hung up.

She turned to Ron, who was drying his hands. "Ready?"

"You forgot all about Nepal, did you?" he muttered, giving her the evil eye. She just smiled at him, innocently.

The area where they lived was rather secluded; there were no main streets nearby. Neither of the two boys were too keen on letting Hermione walk to the bus station alone, so Ron, being the only one of the three who owned a car (a rather old, cheap car, but he seemed to love it more than he did his mother) dropped her off at the station every morning so she could go to her classes. Harry accompanied them whenever he had to go to work. After her classes, one of Hermione's classmates would usually drop her off at the library, and after work she walked home, since it was closer.

That day, though, they seemed to be having bad luck. Two cars had crashed right in the middle of the road a few blocks away from them, and it had caused a huge traffic jam.

"I'm going to be late," Ron whined, rolling down his window to see if there was any progress.

"I was going to be late half an hour ago," Hermione replied, annoyed. "Honestly, Ron, I'd get there faster if I walk."

"Nonsense," Ron quipped. "I have to pass by the station anyway, and if I have to be stuck here, you have to be stuck here too." For effect, he stuck his tongue out at her and she rolled her eyes in response. "I still don't get why you even bother going to that class. You'll only be there like fifteen minutes, and anyway, you already know more than your professor does. You should come with me, do whatever you want for a couple of hours, and then we'll have lunch, and I'll drop you off on time for your next class."

"I'm not skipping class," Hermione stated firmly, for the umpteenth time since they stepped out of their flat. "Mr. Ungermeyer will understand why I'm late."

After a few seconds of silence Hermione turned the radio on. Ron, never a big fan of that kind of music, laid back in his seat and closed his eyes. "I really wish I could fly right now."

Hermione kept her face towards their front, but looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "I thought you adored your car?"

Ron sighed. "I do. But really, there are so much better methods of transportation..."

"Not for you, there aren't," Hermione replied in an odd tone. Ron sighed again.

Some time later, they finally made it to the station. Ron dropped her there and drove off, not without telling her to "skip the goddamn class" once again. She consistently ignored the comment and said goodbye. So there she sat, in a bench at the bus station, waiting for her bus. She had taken a book out of her bag and was reading it without a care in the world.

She was reading a particularly interesting part when she felt a sort of itch on the back of her neck, like when one has the feeling someone's watching him/her. She marked the page she was reading and looked around, but found that nobody was looking back at her.

Chalking it up to paranoia, she continued reading.

When Harry woke up, it was almost noon. He felt much more relaxed than he'd had the previous day. That was the best night's sleep he'd had in quite a few days, he thought with a smile as he made his way to the kitchen.

Someone had come into his bedroom last night or that morning and had wrapped a blanket over him, and he was pretty sure it had been Hermione. She had that habit. Ron also did it sometimes (not that he'd ever admit it since he was a "manly man" and all that), but Harry knew it wasn't him this time around. Some days Harry would come home so tired that he'd forget about his glasses and fall asleep with them on; whenever Ron went in to check on him, he'd take them off his face and, for some bizarre reason that Harry was sure only made sense in Ron's warped mind, he'd put them on the bed beside Harry's pillow. And Harry moved so much while in bed, the glasses would end up on the floor, more often than not broken. He'd had to buy new glasses twice that year, and he kept telling Ron not to do that anymore but he kept doing it.

Anyway, the point was that that morning he'd found his glasses neatly positioned on his bedside table, and that's how he knew it was Hermione who had checked on him that morning. It struck him as funny that he knew his friends so well that he could distinguish them by something as simple as where they put his glasses.

Rummaging through the kitchen for something to eat, he found that Ron had left him his breakfast inside the microwave. There was a note taped to the thing that said "EAT IT! -H & R" in big bold letters, underlined, and with a little doodle of... Harry thought it was him (it had the scar, but those glasses were WAY too big...) on the top right corner. Surely Ron's idea of fun in the morning.

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or sigh. On one hand, it was wonderful that his friends loved him so much that they constantly worried about him. On the other hand, they were starting to act like mother hens and it unnerved him. He had enough of that with Ron's mother and he didn't need three surrogate mothers.

Deciding that he should just smile and take it easy, he finished eating, washed his plate and went upstairs to take a very relaxing shower before going back to work.

He never heard the phone ringing.

Hermione waved goodbye to her last customer (Mrs. Hubert, an old lady who came into the bookstore every night asking Hermione to read to her poodle, Pookie-- she swore it was the only way to lull it to sleep) and proceeded to put everything in order so she could go home. Her boss was out of town for the week, so it was up to her to take care of things and lock up.

She sighed as she put the books kids usually took out in the correct order on the shelves. It had been an unusually busy day. She always complained to Ron and Harry that young people these days didn't appreciate the wonders of books and reading (she was sure her boys had memorized the speech by then, since Ron would start to mimic her behind her back when she so much as murmured something along the lines of "kids these days" and Harry immediately wound up rolling on the floor, laughing his head off like a hyena), but today, she couldn't be happier. A large number of kids and teenagers had come to the store that day and they looked so genuinely happy to be in a bookstore that it made Hermione feel warm and fuzzy inside. She figured it had something to do with the recent publishing of the third Larry Stutter book, Larry Stutter and the Evil Overlord from Outer Space (EOOS for short). Granted, it wasn't the most interesting piece of literature, but the kids loved it and it was the first step towards bigger things.

Unfortunately, more kids reading meant more work for her. There was a reading of Chapter 1 of the Larry book that afternoon... 20 kids had come to hear it, all laughing and yelling and making noise at the same time; she'd had to force her voice and now her throat was sore. She'd had to count and recount and recount the books to make sure nothing was amiss, and let us not speak ever again of the moment she thought they had run out of copies while surrounded by five squealing 15-years-old Larry fan girls. It was NOT pretty.

And besides all that, she still couldn't shake off the feeling that someone was watching her.

She knew it was silly; she worked in a store, of course people would look at her. Yet, she found herself looking over her shoulder every five seconds to reassure herself that nothing suspicious was going on. And even at that very moment she was feeling weird, even if she'd been alone in the store after dark countless times. Deciding to go with her instincts instead of her mind for once (definitely Ron and Harry's influence), she finished everything quickly and walked out. Waving goodbye to Ivan, the security guard, she locked all the doors and began the journey through the few blocks that separated her from her flat.

Ron looked up from the stove and snuck a glance towards the living room where Harry was, yet again, sitting in front of his computer. And the redhead couldn't help himself; he snorted.

He was worried about Hermione too, but Harry was taking "worry" to new levels. He wasn't even pretending to be working anymore, he was just flat out staring at the door, arms crossed, frown in place. Ron blamed Hermione, though; she was rubbing off too much on them. That was something he loved about bickering constantly with her: he always had an excuse to get away from her at least for a few hours until things had cooled down and they could apologize. He did appreciate her, but he didn't want to end up with all her bad (well, most were good but he wouldn't ever tell her that) habits. And if there was a habit in Hermione "Worrywart" Granger, it was worrying, of course. And now Harry was doing a great impersonation of her when she went into that "mode." It was just too hilarious.

The whole thing had started because Hermione was late. Not that she'd never been late, but she'd usually call if things at the store were too hectic. They hadn't heard from her so far, and since Harry had issues, he'd immediately jumped to the conclusion that something had to have happened to her. Ron hoped that was not the case. She'd probably stayed reading some book and lost track of time. Yeah, that sounded like Hermione.

He lowered the flame of the sauce he was preparing and went out to sit on the couch, a few feet away from Harry. "So, is the database working now?"

Harry blinked and dragged his eyes to his best friend. It took him a few seconds to understand what Ron was talking about; then, he looked at the screen in front of him, and back to Ron. His best friend had to smile; poor Harry looked like a cartoon when he did that. "I... don't really know, actually," Harry finally admitted, blinking some more.

Ron smirked. "Harry, she's just a little late. And here you are, waiting at the door like a puppy waiting for its owner with his slippers on its mouth. Give it a rest."

Harry glared at him. "I resent that. And it is VERY late. Do you know the kind of stuff that can happen to her out there? You should be worried too!"

"Come off it, Harry. It's just..." He took a look at his wristwatch and that shut him up.

Maybe he was being heavily influenced by Hermione, as well, because he was starting to think it was very late, too.

Hermione quickened her pace, looking all around her every few seconds. London seemed to be creepier than usual that night. It was the new moon, so everything was dark, not to mention the fact that the light from the posts kept flickering annoyingly. Not a soul was in the streets. Thank god it was summer, she thought; if there had been fog, it would've been the perfect setting for a horror movie. And her flat had never felt so far away from the bookstore as that day, either.

She thought she heard something as she was walking past a dark alley. She stopped for a second but then caught herself and continued walking. She was sure it was just her imagination playing tricks on her, and anyway, in the remote possibility that there WAS something in that alley, she wasn't going to stop like those silly girls did in psycho-killer movies; that'd be suicide.

She felt a huge wave of relief when she saw that she was getting close to the flat. She slowed down a little, taking deep breaths and hoping that Harry and Ron hadn't had dinner without her.

That's when she heard footsteps behind her.

She suppressed a scream. There was no way her imagination could make it sound so real. This was actually happening.

She took off into a run.

The person who was following her did, too.

Her heart beating fast, she kept telling herself to run faster and faster. She was very close; she could almost see the corner she had to take a turn in to get home. And then she'd be safe.

She contemplated for a second how she would open the door as fast as possible, but the she noticed that she could no longer hear anyone behind her. Thinking she'd lost the person, she realized that she'd run so much, her legs couldn't carry her anymore. She couldn't help it, she had to slow down.

She should've known. It had been long, but not that long.

Suddenly the person was beside her, grabbing her forcefully, her scream muffled by a hand covering her mouth.

She tried kicking and biting to get herself free, but even if she was no damsel in distress, she was not trained in self-defense either; at least not in the way she needed at the moment. It was a man, she recognized when he repeatedly told her to shut up. It went on that way for a few seconds, but it was his final "Shut up, Granger!" that made her blood run cold.

She unconsciously stopped moving and he took his chance; he grabbed her roughly by her arm and turned her around to look at him.

Hermione found herself face to face with a pair of steely gray eyes she thought she'd never see again.

author's notes--

hi everyone! it's been the longest time since i've written any HP fics in english. this idea came to me one day and i thought it was pretty original, so i thought i'd write it. BUT! i'll leave it at one chapter for a while. i'm too busy with my classes and i've already got too many unfinished fanfics pending, so i'll deal with those first and then i'll come back to this. hopefully no one will come up with a similar plot before i can complete it. so basically, here you have the first chapter as a teaser; i hope you're liking it so far!

BTW, i'm sorry if most of this seems overly sarcastic... calculus has fried my brain cells, you see, and when i'm stressed, i become overly sarcastic. just ask my friends, i think they've wanted to shoot me everytime i open my mouth these last few weeks. same goes for the abstract description-- i'm weird like that, i always have to have abstract descriptions. and titles. and chapter titles.

also, this hasn't been betaed, and as english is not my mother language and i screw it up from time to time, you might've found a couple of awful mistakes... i'm sorry! i'll correct all of those later when i come back and edit this. please comment! reviews help me de-stress! ^_^

edited on aug 21st, 2007 to adjust the characters' ages so they will comply with the latest canon, after reading HP&DH. sorry guys, it's not a new chapter but i promise i'm working on it as i type this.