Chapter Sixteen.
Neville's round face appeared in his field of vision. "Harry. You alright?"
"Yeah," he grunted, getting to his feet. "Congratulations, Neville. Looks like you've really got this one covered."
Neville just looked at him, a trifle disapprovingly. "Don't you mean, 'Congratulations, Neville, you managed to disarm me when I wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention and completely ignoring you?"
"Sorry," said Harry grumpily. "D'you have my wand? Thanks." He shook his head to try and clear it. He should have known, he thought, that reforming the D.A. would turn out to be a bad idea. Harry tried to pull himself back from that line of thought. It wasn't a bad idea; it was an idea that was demanding his attention when he wanted to put that attention elsewhere. He glanced gloomily at Ron, wondering how useful it was to try directing attention where it wasn't wanted.
"Come on, Harry," said Neville quietly. "You've been staring at them for the better part of the evening. Even the Slytherins are beginning to notice." At this, the first meeting of the D.A. since its dissolution the previous year, all Houses were represented. It was a good thing, Harry thought, that the Room of Requirement could expand to hold all the new members. Even then, there were still too many to supervise. Lupin had eventually - and reluctantly - restricted membership to the senior students, believing that even with extra training, the juniors were likely to be unable to truly defend themselves against enemies such as Death Eaters.
"It's a matter of practicality, Harry," he had said. "We cannot expect them to be able to master spells that are several years ahead of their abilities. And please don't start with the fact that you and Ron and Hermione were tackling the Dark Arts when you were their age. You three can hardly be taken as representative skill levels. There's just no way an eleven year old can truly hope to challenge a Death Eater - the best we can do for them is to keep them out of harm's way entirely. They're complaining enough at all the extra homework I give them as it is. You cannot ask them to do things that they are incapable of, through no fault of their own. We have to focus on the students who can best be taught to help themselves, and that means seniors."
Even so, not all of the seniors had become members. Many, like Marietta Edgecomb of the previous year, came from families that were reluctant to get involved, and who were still, it appeared, not fully cognisant of the threat that the return of Voldemort brought with it. Many of the students from pureblood families were absent, although surprising amounts of the Slytherins had volunteered to join, including Malfoy. Harry was not impressed at that development, but kept his mouth shut. He could understand Malfoy wanting to pick up some extra protection - even Pansy Parkinson seemed to avoid him now, and Harry began to think that the animosity he had glimpsed being aimed at Malfoy by the other Slytherins was not the result of a single incident. He didn't trust Slytherin House as far as he could throw it, and it appeared to be reverting well and truly to type in its avoidance of anyone associated with the betrayal of their pureblood ideals. Technically, he supposed, Lucius Malfoy hadn't actually betrayed Voldemort - he had merely been sent to Azkaban, the result of the botched operation in the Ministry of Magic. Failure did not seem to be any more palatable than betrayal in the Slytherin code of conduct - and considering that Voldemort's return had been outed to the wizarding world at large, wrecking his plans, Lucius Malfoy and his cohorts had turned out to be very unpopular indeed, and that unpopularity had spread to his son. Guilt by association, Harry assumed. Even paired off by Lupin in the D.A. with Blaise Zabini (who looked none too happy at the prospect, Harry noted), Malfoy was being made the target of sneak attacks by the rest of his Housemates whenever Lupin's back was turned.
Not that this bothered Harry one bit. As far as he was concerned, Malfoy had done his best to make his, Harry's, life hell over the past five years, and had only himself to blame when he found himself at the other end of things. Still, it sickened him slightly to see the Slytherins turn on one of their own so easily - he couldn't imagine hexing a fellow Gryffindor from behind no matter what they had done. Besides, the constant attacks had begun to draw the attention of the rest of the students, who were watching somewhat uncomfortably, but not, Harry noted, interfering. They'd been at the receiving end of some of Malfoy's behaviour as well.
Watching him, Harry saw a particularly vicious bolt from Blaise Zabini, moreover a hex that Lupin certainly would have forbidden had he not been at the other end of the room, instructing a fifth year Hufflepuff girl on the proper wave to give her wand. Malfoy was blasted backwards, near to where Ron and Hermione were practicing against each other. Harry saw him try to rise from the floor and then sink back for an instant. He made no move to help him, and was relieved when he saw Ron stop Hermione from doing so. He was amazed, however, to see Ron offer the Slytherin his hand.
"Get up," said Ron flatly.
"Sod off, Weasley," said Malfoy, gasping and obviously winded. "You don't think I want your filthy hands on me, do you?"
"Leave him be, Weasley," said Zabini in a bored voice. "It's not like he's anything to you, right? A stay in the hospital wing might improve him."
Ron looked faintly sick, Harry thought, and Hermione seemed to be on the verge of tears. The students nearest to them had fallen quiet, and Harry thought he had best intervene before Lupin did. He didn't care about Malfoy, but he didn't want to see the look of disappointment on Lupin's face if he just ignored what was happening. Before he could make his way over there, though, Ron had stepped forward and hauled Malfoy to his feet, by the back of his robes. It was none too careful, but he did it.
"If he's in the hospital wing," said Ron tightly, "Then he's leaving me to do all his ruddy work in Astronomy. No, thank-you." He glared at Zabini. "No-one's going to make me do that, d'you hear?" he added aggressively, before stalking off to the other side of the room, dragging Hermione with him. He passed Harry by without a glance, Hermione looking apologetically at him. Harry saw that he kept shooting glances back at the two Slytherins, however, and Zabini was not unaware of it. He kept his attacks more moderate after that, and shot assessing glances of his own back at Ron and Hermione - and at Harry. It infuriated him to see the smug flatness on the Slytherin's face, the fact that he actually seemed to be enjoying baiting the three of them. Harry didn't like Malfoy at all, and he never had, but at least he knew how to deal with him. Zabini was just as bad, apparently, but in a different way. If only they'd focus on each other, Harry thought, and left me the hell out of it.
He had a feeling that it wouldn't be the case.
"C'mon, Harry," said Neville quietly. "You can't do anything by staring at him. Leave it until after class, eh?"
"I'm not doing anything with Malfoy after class," said Harry with clenched teeth, and Neville looked at him pityingly.
"I didn't mean Malfoy," he said patiently. "I meant Ron. You've been watching him all evening."
"We've…we've had a bit of a fight, actually," said Harry quietly.
"No kidding," said Neville. "Look, you can't do anything about it now. So just try to pay attention, alright? You can't let me go getting your wand like that; it'll ruin your reputation."
Harry glared blackly at him, unable to appreciate the humour in Neville's remark. Things had been cool between him and Ron ever since Hermione's birthday. The whole of Gryffindor Tower had been woken early that day, by a shriek that would have done the Hogwart's Express proud. It had turned out that the goblins had made their decision after all, and an owl had scratched at the window of Hermione's dormitory in the early morning. It had a small package attached to its leg - a set of books minimised for transport which could be magically expanded to normal size. Harry was initially a little miffed to find out that they had ostensibly come from Gringott's Bank, with no mention of him at all, but he came to the conclusion that the goblins had decided that Hermione would probably be more useful if she was beholden to them as the originators of the gift. It was easily explainable due to the transcript she had sent them of the election of Madame Bones to the position of Minister of Magic, and no doubt that was what most of his Housemates were assuming.
"Bloody hell," Seamus had groaned, rubbing his eyes. After wishing Hermione a happy birthday, he had continued under his breath, "They're just books. Who gets excited about those? I'm going back to bed." His reaction was shared by most of the Gryffindors, and Harry realised that most of them didn't realise in the slightest the importance of the goblin histories, and what had occurred to make the goblins share them. Of course, he didn't fully realise himself. He wondered about the discussions that must have taken place, and wished he knew how extreme the opposition had been.
Harry had decided to keep his mouth shut about the books, but he hadn't reckoned on the near phenomenal power of gossip that Hogwarts so excelled at. He had thought that his meeting with Griphook was a fairly private event, but apparently the rumour that he had been visited by one of the goblins from Gringott's not long before had been circulated, and Hermione was never slow to put things together.
"No, really," Harry had protested. "It was them that did it. I might have made a suggestion, but they were the ones who wanted you to have it." That might be a bit of an exaggeration, he thought to himself, but bit his tongue before he could say it out loud. "I can't make them do anything, and they'd never sell them, so I couldn't buy it either. I don't think they'd have sent it to anyone other than you. You made quite an impression with that transcript. It looks like those Quick-Quotes-Quills - or what ever they are - are good for something after all," he finished weakly.
"So it's not really from you?" Ron had asked, in a strange voice.
Harry had shot him a look. Ron had almost sounded relieved. "No," he had said firmly. "Course, I do have something for you," he had said to Hermione. "Er… it's not really wrapped though."
"They never are," said Ginny knowingly. "What? I've got six brothers, if you remember. Presents are never wrapped." The four of them had been the only ones left in the common room, everyone else having headed back to bed.
Things had started to go downhill from there, Harry knew. Hermione had been thrilled with her necklace, a beautiful, antique, and above all, to Harry's mind, plain string of pearls. It had even impressed Ginny, and she had given him a thoroughly approving glance. Ron, on the other hand, with his box of Chocolate Frogs had looked utterly betrayed. "What happened to the book?" he had hissed at Harry when Hermione had gone to get dressed. That evening, the birthday party had only been a success because they had stayed on opposite sides of the room.
Harry had been aware for a long time of Ron's tendency to jealousy, but he couldn't help it that he had money and fame - neither of which he was particularly proud of. It wasn't as if he had earned them himself. And he hadn't set out to make Ron look or feel bad, hadn't even given it a thought, if he was honest with himself. And that's what was upsetting him, almost more than the fact that it had been a week since Hermione's birthday and Ron had been no more than coldly civil to him. Hermione was spending her time running interference between them, and that alone made Harry annoyed enough to not reach out on his own. Did he really have to apologise to Ron for getting her an expensive birthday present? Should he even have to?
Harry landed on his back again. His glasses flew off, and Neville retrieved them with a sigh. "It's hopeless, isn't it?" he observed. "You're not going to pay attention no matter what. And while I'd like to think it's me that's disarming you, it isn't quite the same when I know that you're not paying me any attention."
"Sorry," Harry winced, clambering off the floor. "I don't mean to be so wet. It's just… I can't help but think that…" he trailed off, noticing that the pairs around them were being unusually quiet, and scowled.
"D'you want to talk about it?" asked Neville shyly, and Harry nodded.
"I guess so. Just not here."
"Same place as last time, then," said Neville briskly. "I think Professor Lupin's about ready to call it a night." And indeed it was so. The two boys trailed out after everyone else, and made their way up to the Owlery Tower. They were pleased to find it deserted, and Harry swung himself up onto the balcony, breathing in the cool air that wafted in from over the lake.
"Don't worry about it," said Neville. "He'll get over it eventually."
"Will he?" said Harry. "Look, I know it isn't easy for him. I know he's trying. But what am I supposed to do?" He hesitated. "If I ask you something, will you give me an honest answer? Really, I mean? Even if you think I won't like it?"
Neville regarded him silently for a moment, his round face solemn. "I can do that."
"It's just… before we went to the Department of Mysteries. D'you remember… d'you remember Hermione telling me I had a "saving people thing"?" He took a deep breath. "Neville, is she right?"
"Yes," said Neville bluntly. Harry gaped. "But I don't understand what that's got to do with Ron," he continued.
"It's just something I've been thinking about," said Harry quietly, swinging his feet. "I don't know that I can really explain it."
Neville grinned shyly at him. "You wouldn't have dragged me all the way up here if you couldn't explain it," he pointed out. "Not that I didn't want to come, mind. So come on, Harry, spit it out."
"Alright," said Harry, grinning a bit himself, and feeling unaccountably nervous. "You asked for it. I think… I think she may have been right. But I wonder if it's because I feel like it's my responsibility to do it, or whether it's because doing it gets me more attention. It's just that - What?"
Neville was looking at him oddly. "Look," he said. "I know I'm not the brightest, but you're making no sense whatsoever. Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine," said Harry in exasperation. "There is a point to all this, okay?" Neville just looked at him, disbelievingly.
"Maybe you had better get off that balcony, Harry," he offered, "I might have hit you harder than I thought." He flinched slightly as Harry glared at him.
"Are you going to listen or what? Ron has a habit of reacting this way, but is it because I really am hogging all the attention?"
"It could just be that he's acting like a prat," offered Neville.
"True," Harry admitted. "But I spent the whole of last year being a prat, so I can't fault him for that. Still, it doesn't mean I'm not making it worse. Oh, it's not that I'm trying to, at least not deliberately." He noticed that Neville was still looking at him rather strangely, his eyebrows raised. Harry sighed. "Oh, bugger it. Look Neville, do I always try to be the hero?"
"Harry, you are the hero," said Neville slowly. "That's just the way it is."
"I suppose," said Harry reluctantly. "But… you don't think I'm milking it, do you? Showing off my money and fame and all that?"
"By getting Hermione a nice birthday present, you mean," said Neville, beginning to catch on. He looked relieved. "You mean you want to know if you're acting like a Slytherin."
"Er… yeah," admitted Harry sheepishly.
"No," said Neville simply. "Why would you even think that?"
Harry thumped down from the balcony and turned to lean on it. "I can't help but think about it," he said. "When I first came to Hogwarts, d'you remember how long the Sorting Hat took to make up its mind with me?"
"Wasn't that long really," said Neville. "I think it just seems longer when you're the one under it. I was sure I'd been there for an hour."
"Yeah. Well, it wanted to put me in Slytherin," said Harry quietly, deliberately not looking at his friend. "It said I'd do well there. I just knew that it was the one House I didn't want a bar of, so I begged it to put me into Gryffindor." He shrugged. "Sometimes… sometimes I wonder if it did the right thing. I seem to be as good at making Ron feel bad as Malfoy is."
"Oh, stop it," said Neville, though his voice was a little shaky. "The only way you're like Malfoy is feeling sorry for yourself. You're not making Ron react the way he does - Ron's making Ron do that."
"That's easy for you to say," said Harry gloomily. "He's not your best mate."
There was nothing to say to that. They stood in silence for a while, and then Neville piped up "Slytherin, huh?" Harry was surprised to hear a twinge of repressed amusement in his voice.
"Yeah," he said. "So?"
"Oh, nothing," smirked Neville. "But have you thought? In another life, you might have enjoyed Potions."
Harry snorted. "And Snape as Head of House?" He clutched at his chest dramatically. "Do you think it's too late to change my mind?"
"Sorry," said Neville, unrepentant. "Nothing's going to make him like you now." He looked sideways at Harry. "How's the Occlumency going these days anyway?" he asked in a hushed voice.
Harry winced. "The same. Don't ask. There's nothing I can do about it anyway." Thinking about his Occlumency lessons with Snape gave him a cold feeling in the bottom of his stomach. It wasn't just the taunting about Sirius, which Harry was learning to ignore. At least, he couldn't ignore it or even forget it really, but he was determined not to let Snape see how much it hurt. It gave him a certain grim pleasure. Almost worse was the groping in his mind, coming steadily closer to that awful feeling that lurked in the background, the one that he didn't want to address, or even acknowledge. Harry had wondered briefly if it was the thought of the Prophecy that was at the bottom of it. It certainly made him uncomfortable enough and he didn't want to think about the time when he would have to face Voldemort again. He was also sure that he didn't want Snape knowing about it - if Dumbledore hadn't told him already, he thought bitterly to himself. The Headmaster might have trusted his Potions Master, but Harry was as yet loathe to do the same. Even so, he knew that it wasn't the case. However bad the Prophecy made him feel, he was at least beginning to assimilate the knowledge that it existed. This new, nagging fear that he had had since the beginning of the summer holidays was different, and he was even less inclined to let Snape know about it than he was to let him know about the Prophecy. Harry was certain of that much, and that made him even more nervous. He knew that he was being a coward by not dragging it out into the open, but it was a secret so big that he wasn't prepared to fully acknowledge it to himself yet.
Since his Occlumency lessons had resumed, Harry had worked hard to keep this new unpleasantness far to the back of his mind. It was a fairly nebulous thing anyway, and he had no real idea what it was he was afraid of. It gave him an excuse not to consider it, as if dragging it out to the front of his mind would leave it exposed to Snape. Instead, he secreted it away at the back of his mind, and it gave him the motivation he had so lacked during the previous year. Harry worked hard to clear his mind every night, to block away the strange emotion as if behind a brick wall. He concentrated hard, and built well. As yet, Snape had no idea that Harry was hiding something from him - but Harry was all too well aware that it couldn't last. The Potion Master was also a Master of Occlumency, and nothing Harry knew would be able to be kept hidden forever.
Neville jolted him out of his reverie. "Harry? We'd better get back to the Tower. I don't know about you, but I don't want that Blaise Zabini sneaking up on us again." He frowned. "I don't know about you, but that one gives me the creeps."
"Yeah," said Harry distractedly, still thinking about a comment Neville had made earlier. "You know, I used to think that I'd like to see the Slytherins turn on Malfoy, but I didn't stop to think that what they'd turn into might not be any better. Malfoy's an idiot, but he's easy enough to deal with once you get the hang of him. Zabini doesn't bait as easily. I don't like him either. I wish Hermione hadn't gotten involved with him." He turned to follow Neville as the other boy made for the stairwell.
"Uh, Neville?" he said, before he could stop himself. "What you said before, about having another life… D'you ever wonder what it would be like if you did?" Harry had not intention of telling Neville about the Prophecy, but he couldn't help but wonder at his reaction, couldn't help but feel a kinship to him because of it.
Neville looked at him solemnly, the arch of the stairwell casting strange shadows on his round face. "Yes," he said simply, sadly. "I do wonder. Every day. I wish… I wish I could have gotten to know my parents. But I don't have another life, Harry. We just have to do the best with what we have." For a moment he looked very tired, and then he turned and stumped off down the stairs.
Harry followed him, feeling a little sorry he had asked. He trailed behind Neville all the way back to the common room, dropping into one of the squashy armchairs in front of the fire and watching his friend head up towards the dormitories. The common room was nearly deserted; although Harry was pleased to see that Hermione was still up, sitting on the floor in front of the fire, legs crossed. The pearls shone at her throat, tinted orange by the firelight.
"Here," she said, tossing him up a small bag of sunflower seeds. "You might as well make yourself useful. Could you take the shells off those please, so that I can grind them?" And indeed there was a small mortar and pestle in front of her, with a few seeds already in it. One of the goblin histories, expanded to proper size, was lying open next to one of her knees.
Harry grunted slightly and began trying to shell the seeds. They were small and fiddly, and it was more difficult than he expected. "Where's Ron?"
"Gone to bed," said Hermione briefly. "I don't think he's any happier with me than he is with you at the moment."
"Sorry," said Harry quietly. He stopped shelling and looked at her. "You know, you don't have to wear it if you don't want to. I mean, if it upsets him."
Hermione glared at him. "First of all, Ron doesn't get to tell me what I should do with my birthday present. Second of all, neither do you. I like it and I want to wear it so I will. Third, those seeds won't shell themselves. Got it?"
"Er… right," said Harry, taken aback.
There was silence for a few minutes. "If you didn't want me to wear it you shouldn't have given it to me," said Hermione, a trifle shakily, and Harry felt guilty.
"It's not that," he said instantly, making sure not to neglect the sunflower seeds while he spoke. "I just don't want you to be caught in the middle again."
"This is nothing like fourth year, Harry," Hermione interrupted. "Well, I mean yes, Ron is upset. But he's still your friend. He's still our friend. That isn't going to change just because you've had a fight. Wait and see - I bet you'll have made up before the week is out. "
"I suppose," said Harry. Deep down, he knew the justice of her statement. Still, it made him a bit uncomfortable talking about Ron like this behind his back - he knew his friend wouldn't like it. "Here." He tipped the shelled seeds into Hermione's mortar, and chucked the shells into the fire, where they crackled and spat. "What d'you need them for, anyway?"
"Oh, they're part of the Wolfsbane Potion," said Hermione interestedly. Harry looked puzzled, and she went on to explain. "You see, while a lot of the ingredients are related to the moon, there are also quite a few that are bound to the sun. They help to act as a counter-measure, I think." She scowled slightly, biting her lip. "At least, that's what I understand of it. This is such a complicated Potion. I wonder if we'll ever get it right." She began to grind the seeds. "We have to get them down to powder."
"I'll do it," Harry offered, wanting to help. "Just pass it up here, will you? Thanks." He began grinding, concentrating hard, as much to avoid conversation as to help with the potion. He seemed to be putting his foot in it no matter what these days. There was an awkward silence for a few minutes, and then he looked down at Hermione, and couldn't help chuckling to himself. If Hermione felt awkward, it was taking a different tack. Her eyes kept sliding over to the goblin book, but after half a page or so she kept remembering that she wasn't alone and looking around, obviously casting for something to say, despite the fact that the book kept tempting her attention away.
"What?" she said, hearing him laugh at her.
"Nothing," said Harry, smirking. "Good book, is it?"
"Oh, yes," said Hermione. "It's so interesting. I mean, I know that Professor Binns has told us all about the Goblin Wars, but I never really understood the reasons behind them before. You might like to borrow this when I'm done with it, though I did promise Susan that she could be the one to read it first. She's got one of the other volumes now, but we both really need to read them all first, so we can start working on our project. I hope you don't mind waiting a bit."
"Not at all," said Harry, doing his best to keep a straight face. "Take as long as you want. I'm happy you're enjoying it."
"It's the best present I've ever gotten," said Hermione in satisfaction, and then turned red. "Oh Harry, I'm sorry! The necklace is lovely too, it really is. But…"
"It's alright, Hermione," said Harry. "I know how much you like your books. I'm just sorry that there wasn't a new copy of Hogwarts: a History available. That would've been an easy present to get."
"Ha ha," replied Hermione sarcastically. "Very funny. There's nothing wrong with Hogwarts: a History, as you'd know very well if you ever bothered to read it."
"Why do I need to read it when I've got you?" asked Harry, smirking, knowing that it would annoy her.
"I'm not answering that," said Hermione composedly. "You already know the answer perfectly well."
Harry snorted. It was just too hard to bait her - she knew him too well. Ron, on the other hand, had a seemingly limitless talent for making Hermione react to him. The thought of Ron sobered him up again. It seemed lately that for as long as he could remember there had been an embargo on some subject or another between the three of them. He wished that they could go back to the days when they could all be in the same room without having to try and edit what came out of their mouths. Still, it was no use going back over it all with Hermione again. Either Ron would come around or he wouldn't. Harry fervently hoped that he would, but until then he very much wanted not to fall out with his remaining friend. He felt a quick stab of guilt for feeling that way - he did have other friends, after all. But Ron and Hermione were different, and the thought of falling out with them both was truly horrible.
Hermione was fingering her necklace absently. "Do you really like it?" Harry asked, unable to stop himself. "Because if you don't, you can always exchange it, I suppose." Although I don't know what for, he thought. I don't think she'd appreciate that biting thing.
"I'm not swapping it for anything," Hermione said firmly. "Although I have to say I've wondering why you chose it."
"It looked like the nicest thing there," said Harry truthfully, remembering the rest of the jewellery. He ground the seeds a little harder, not looking at her. "Not that I'm an expert or anything. I just thought they were pretty. And, you know… sort of elegant. Nothing like… nothing like…" he groped for a comparison.
"Nothing like Parvati would wear, you mean?" said Hermione distastefully, remembering the big gold butterflies her fellow Gryffindor like to wear at the end of her long plaits.
"Yeah," said Harry, grinning. "Don't tell her I said that though, eh?"
"As if I would," said Hermione. She rolled a couple of the pearls absently between her fingers. "I do like them. They seem appropriate, somehow." Harry looked at her, surprised, and she tried to explain. "Do you know how pearls are made?" she asked.
"Nope," said Harry. "Well, I think they come from oysters or something. I'm sure you know, though."
Hermione shot him a mock glare. "Knowledge can be a very useful thing," she said primly, before breaking into a smile. "It's like this. A piece of grit, or sand, gets stuck inside the oyster, and to stop it irritating, the oyster coats it with layers and layers of material to form the pearl." She shrugged slightly. "I've always liked the way that happens - the transformation, moving from one thing to another. It's like Transfiguration, really. Just on a much slower scale."
Harry eyed her shrewdly. He thought he knew why the transformation of the pearl had caught her attention. "Talking of Transfiguration," he said quietly. "How's it going?" There was no need for him to elaborate further. They both knew of her Animagus training with McGonagall, although Harry's unspoken disapproval had led to them not talking about it often between themselves. It wasn't that he thought she couldn't do it, but the thought of what she could do with it - might have to do with it eventually - was enough to make him nervous. Ron didn't know about it, under the express orders of McGonagall and Dumbledore, and Hermione was apparently happy to keep it that way. Given the events of the past week or so, Harry couldn't honestly tell her that she had made the wrong choice - although he knew Hermione felt she had no choice at all. She thought it very important to obey their teachers. Privately Harry supposed that someone had to, but he knew that one day Ron would find out, and he wondered whether their friendship would stand the strain of his exclusion. Still, he had to acknowledge that if Ron had known, a strain of a different kind would likely have arisen.
Hermione was looking at him oddly. "I thought you weren't interested," she said quietly. There was no-one with them in the common room, but Harry noticed that they had both dropped their voices anyway. He snorted.
"Come on. Of course I'm interested. I just don't want you doing anything that could get you hurt."
Hermione frowned at him. "I'm capable of doing it," she asserted. "McGonagall wouldn't be teaching me if I weren't. Besides, I've always been good at Transfiguration. You know that."
"That wasn't what I was worried about," said Harry darkly, but noticing the scowl beginning to form on her face he quickly changed the subject. "But how can I not be interested? You've seen me at Transfiguration. I haven't got a hope of ever managing to become an Animagus myself-"
"Your father managed it," Hermione pointed out.
"Yeah," admitted Harry, "But I'm not him. I think he was much better at it than I am." He shrugged slightly. "It's no big deal. It's not something that I've dreamed of doing or anything. Doesn't mean I don't wonder what it's like sometimes, and what you'll turn into." He smirked at her. "It'd be funny to see you with wings. You might end up flying after all." Hermione's reluctance to get up on a broomstick was legendary in Gryffindor House.
"Not on your life," said Hermione, looking momentarily horrified. "The minute I sprout wings is the minute I give it up altogether." She shuddered slightly. "The thought of it! No, Harry, I'm not going to fly. I know that much."
"Do you know what you are going to be?" asked Harry. Despite himself, he was curious. "Is there a way of deciding in advance, or something? Have you managed to change into anything yet?"
"No," said Hermione, a trifle grumpily. "Professor McGonagall won't let me try anything practical yet. She says I need to fully understand the theory behind it first." She brightened. "But to be fair, it's really very involving, and I've only had a few lessons. I don't want to get it wrong and have to be taken to St. Mungo's, after all."
"I should hope not," said Harry fervently. "It's just I don't think that it's a really good idea to spread it around, what you're doing. If you have to go to St. Mungo's, it'll be all over the Prophet next day. You know it will."
"I do know," said Hermione. "It's not so bad, really - the theory, I mean. It's really rather fascinating, actually, although what you actually turn into seems to be a bit vague. I thought at first that it might be linked to the shape of a person's Patronus."
Harry considered. "You'd be an otter. That wouldn't be too bad." He smirked at her. "You could go swimming in the lake with the giant squid."
"I've had enough swimming around that lake, thank-you very much," said Hermione. "Besides, McGonagall says that it's not always the Patronus that shapes the Animagus. She says it's often something that reflects the personality of the witch or wizard." Hermione grimaced slightly. "Look at Wormtail, for instance. A rat suits him perfectly, but apparently his Patronus was something different."
"What was it?" said Harry abruptly.
"McGonagall wouldn't say. Besides… well, really. Do you see me being an otter? Really? I mean I like them and all. Mum… Mum and Dad used to take me to the zoo when I was younger, and the otters were always my favourite. They were always so happy and playful. And so sleek, they practically…What are you laughing at?"
"Nothing," said Harry, as innocently as he could, but he couldn't stop himself from chuckling. "I just don't think that hair will decide what you end up as, that's all."
"I hope not," said Hermione with feeling. "Merlin only knows what I'd end up as. Something that Crookshanks sicked up, I'm sure." She glared at him and whacked him around the knee. "Shut up. And keep grinding."
"Yes, Hermione," said Harry meekly, sniggering to himself.
"Anyway," said Hermione, giving him a hard glare and going on. "McGonagall says that there's no real way to tell what I'll turn into yet." There was a strange tone to her voice as she said it, and it snapped Harry out of his laughter.
"You don't agree with her?" he asked curiously.
"She's the expert, Harry," Hermione pointed out disapprovingly.
"Yeah. But you didn't answer my question," Harry pointed out in turn. He tried to catch her eye, but Hermione was determinedly leafing through the goblin book again. "You do know, don't you," he said wonderingly. "It's no use looking at me like that. You couldn't lie to save your life. Your face gives everything away, you know." He leaned towards her, really curious now. "So what is it?"
"I don't know," said Hermione. "Honestly, I don't."
"But you've got suspicions," Harry confirmed, and Hermione looked up at him.
"I've been having some really funny dreams," she said. "Professor McGonagall has me doing some kind of meditation. It's supposed to put me in touch with the animal I'll end up turning into, but she says that there's no way I'll get results so quickly."
Harry rolled his eyes. "You are the smartest witch in Hogwarts," he pointed out. "You'd think she'd remember that. So what is it?" he asked again.
"I think… I think I'd really rather not say just yet," said Hermione. "The thing is, Harry, I'm really not sure. They could just be your garden variety normal dreams - when I was nine I used to dream about rabbits in straw hats going bathing at Brighton."
"You what?" said Harry.
"I know, I know. So it really could be nothing, or it could be leading to something different. But if I talk about it, it could cement it - the animal - in my mind. You know, like when you're told not to think of something, and suddenly you can't get it out of your mind? Well, McGonagall says that that's really dangerous when it comes to the Animagus spells, because if you get into your head the wrong animal, then the spell doesn't work. Instead, it goes rather badly wrong."
"Really?" said Harry.
"Oh, yes. There's this old story about a wizard from the seventeenth century. I think they use it to scare people. Anyway, this wizard was convinced that he was going to be a lion. Apparently he had all sorts of ideas about how brave and noble he was-"
"When really he wasn't at all," finished Harry. "I think I see where this is going."
"Apparently he just refused to listen to his teachers, and tried it anyway, determined to be a lion. Well, when they found him, transported to the Serengeti and surrounded by a hungry pride, they just barely managed to stop him being killed. It took five months before he was ready to leave St. Mungo's and even then they never could get rid of the mane. It was the only part that worked right." She looked up at Harry. "So you can see why I don't want to get ahead of myself."
"Fair enough," said Harry, leaning back. "But I have to say, I think you've probably got more sense than him, the daft bastard, whoever he was. Come on, Hermione, you know you're not an idiot. Do you really think that you're dreaming something totally irrelevant?"
"Honestly?" said Hermione slowly. "Honestly… I think that I do know what I'll turn into. It just seems so, well, so obvious. Which is why I don't trust it. Not yet, anyway. I want to keep trying. You know, just in case."
"Obvious, huh?" said Harry. "That narrows it down, I suppose. Look, just because you can't tell me yet doesn't mean that I can't have fun guessing." Seeing she was about to argue, he thrust the mortar at her. "See? Done." He couldn't help but notice that she automatically checked the consistency herself. "Good enough, is it?"
"Perfect," said Hermione in satisfaction. "I've got a jar in my room it can go in until we need it again. I just thought that it would be better to start now, get some of the things out of the way before we really need them, you know?"
"Sure," said Harry casually. "Say, you weren't dreaming of a beaver, were you?" he added innocently.
Hermione looked offended. "No! And why would that be the first thing you think of?"
Harry smirked. "Because it's a bit like an otter and I didn't want my first guess to be a ferret."
Hermione's lips twitched. "That's Malfoy," she pointed out, laughing a little despite herself.
"Alright then. Oyster?"
"No! Why would I try and turn into an oyster?"
"You could make your own pearls then," Harry pointed out in satisfaction. He didn't actually believe that she would turn into any of those things - well, he had his doubts about the beaver - but he was happy to have found something to tease her with. Ron wasn't the only one who could, surely?
But Hermione was looking at him seriously, book and bowl tucked under her arms. "I don't need any more," she said. "I like the ones I've got." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, flushing a little. "Goodnight, Harry. And I know I've already said it, but thank-you for my necklace."
Harry raised his hand to his cheek, surprised. She had kissed him before, at King's Cross Station at the end of term, but that didn't seem quite real somehow - more like something girls did as a matter of course to their friends and family when they wouldn't see them for a while. It was different when it was in the Gryffindor common room at Hogwarts. A few moments later, he snapped himself out of it and noticed Hermione disappearing up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Suddenly, he wanted very much to say something that wouldn't make him out to be some idiot boy standing at the bottom of the stairs gaping like, like Roger Davies had whenever he looked at Cho Chang. Of course, it's not the same thing, he thought. It's not as if Hermione's my girlfriend or anything.
"Hey!" he called out, and was grateful that his voice didn't crack. "I bet I'll figure out what you'll be before you do!"
Hermione's voice floated down the stairs. "I bet you don't," she said.