The Calypso Charm. by LoseYourMind Rating: G Ship: Harry & Hermione Canon: Books 1 - 5 Genre: Action/Adventure, Romance Status: Paused Length: 5,245 words in 2 chapters Published: 6 Nov 2004 Last updated: 29 Nov 2004 In which Dumbledore is eccentric, Snape wears pink bunny slippers, Hermione isn't a transformed butterfly, and the writer quotes Real Genius. From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/3234/ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 1. Sweet dreams are made of these. I do not own, nor profit from anything relating to Harry Potter. J.K.Rowling.. that magical genius is owed all credit. 1. Where Harry Does His Homework. The lazy air enveloping Number Four Privet drive in the afternoon was turned to a fine mist as the night approached. In the smallest bedroom, in the furthermost corner of the room laid a reading figure. Holding a small flashlight between his teeth, nearly sixteen years of age with black, unruly hair and tired green eyes was Harry Potter. And he was attempting to do his homework for the summer. “Dimmerhall had, in the latter part of the fifteenth century, developed many simple charms for various purposes. Many are still in use today and have led wizarding to what it is today. Though the afore mentioned charms were a great contribution, it has been said that his theories on wand-less magic are Dimmerhall’s greatest feat.” There were only a few weeks left before September the first arrived, and Harry went back to school. In terms of homework, Harry had saved the two scrolls assigned by the ghostly Professor Binns for the last of his work. History of Magic was what one might call dull in most other wizarding schools. But with a sleep inducing voice, and novel-like notes, it was hard not to be bored. He had almost finished when he began to nod off. It was slow, but his eyelids were almost reluctant to open, becoming heavier and more and more difficult blink. His eyes had started to lose focus from the page, circles of bluish-black that had ringed his eyes since his return became more prominent on his pale face. Sleepless nights of study, and hard labor in the day had started to take it’s toll. The moonlight fell over the landscape softly, those silver rays cascading down and over the green hills and making shadows of the valleys. They gently grazed over the ancient trees of the forbidden forest, and the smooth waters of the lake. It produced the effect of two moons, one above the earth and one below. Her hair shone from it, a deep fiery red that mingled with the silvery light of the moon giving off an eerie effect. The multitude of curls flowed down her back. Her head was thrown back, the curve of her neck graceful. She was laughing, a tinkling fairy laugh that he wanted never to end. Her face turned to meet his and- Loud knocking had woken Harry from his dream. It had been of his mother he thought, trying to recall. His Aunt Petunia’s pounding was growing louder. “I’m up!” Harry called, weary and impatient. Wrenching his eyes open, Harry could see bright daylight starting to creep into his room. He glared at it as if to challenge it to approach him further. He blinked for a few moments, then pulled himself up. Rubbing his face with his hands, Harry sat on the edge of his bed- recalling the dream he had been awoken from. It was like trying to cup water in his fingers, much as he tried to hold on, it slipped slowly away. Grasping for memories that would not return, Harry began to brood. The events of the earlier months before summer came crashing back to him, a small boy still; amidst a sea of memories. He was no match. They consumed him, feeding on every scrap of him they could find, pulling at his mind. Harry had, on his return become almost immune to emotion, almost. Trudging his way downstairs ten minutes later, Harry found a note on the kitchen table. “Went out on errands. Miss Figg has been informed you’ll be staying there today.” Harry sighed. He had been doing yard work for the batty old lady and the work was intensely difficult and hot. He could almost feel his muscles begin to ache. He crumpled the note, and put it in the wastepaper basket on his way out. After four hours of working, Harry was given a midday meal. Sitting at the old woman’s table for tea was almost as bad as hearing about the numerous cats she’d had, past and present. Pictures of the cats were spread all over the table, and from nowhere Harry had the urge to jump onto his chair, and throw his tea over the pictures, laughing hysterically as the papers were stained. Keeping this picture in mind, he chuckled to himself. As he was devouring the sandwiches she placed in front of him that smelled suspiciously of cabbage, but tasted fine, nonetheless, Miss Figg kept up a steady stream of talking. Half way through his third sandwich, Harry almost gagged, glad he hadn’t thrown his tea on the stacks of photos. A Daily Prophet peaked out from under one of the photos. “Another murder by You-Know-Who?” The title read. Hoping to attract as little attention as possible, Harry slid the picture out from underneath it’s hiding place. Folding it quietly, he slid it in his back pocket. Luckily for him, Dudley’s hand-me-downs allowed him to hide the paper. “Listen Miss Figgs, I really must go..” He quickly added “I’m already late.” Hoping this would convince her he really had to leave. She stopped her chattering, interrupted. Her hands fluttered about the gray bun atop her head. “But my dear boy! Your aunt informed me that you would be here until well past dinner!” She exclaimed, surprised. Harry shook his head, already standing up. “There must have been a mistake then, I’m terribly sorry!” He left quickly, closing the door quietly behind him, considering how fast he was running. He ran almost all the way to Privet drive. As he neared Number Four, he failed to notice that behind him was trailing a familiar tabby cat. The house was quiet, and empty. He skipped steps in his haste to reach the privacy of his room. Throwing himself onto the bed, Harry read the front page. At an undisclosed location last night, a brutal attack took place. The wizarding world was shaken this morning to hear the news. Officials at the Ministry confirmed they had no idea that any attack was coming so soon. Harry, at this point snorted, and muttered under his breath. Two unidentified muggles and three wizards were killed. ‘A very faint dark mark hung in the air above the bodies.’ Reports one of the first Aurors on the scene. Could this, and the other three attacks the wizarding world has seen in the past few months be the work of You-Know-Who?” The article continued, and some of it was highlighted, but Harry read no further. His mind toyed with the thought of the ‘three attacks’ mentioned. But with no further information, he quickly scanned the rest of the paper. He found know signs of Rita Skeeter being mentioned, for which he was glad. But things had been happening. Why didn’t he know about it? Why hadn’t he felt anything from his scar. For an absurd second, he thought it might have some how ‘broken’. But numerous theories raced through his brain, questions sprang forth from other questions, and he was left with a web of those tangled and confused thoughts until the Dursleys returned home many hours later. 2. In which Harry has a birthday, and is bewildered. A few days after finding the news about the attack, Harry received a letter. It was in the early morning, and he rushed to Hedwig who was hooting quite loudly. “Here girl, there you go.” He gave her an owl treat, and some water. Untying the note as she drank was difficult, but finally he untied it. The parchment ws blank The letters appeared on the page before Harry threw it out, thinking it to be just a blank piece of paper. The ink formed into Ron’s chicken scrawl. “H- I’m not even supposed to be sending this. I only have a few hundred unsent letters for you. Dumbledore doesn’t want anything other than completely necessary sent. So, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! (‘Be careful!’ was written in Hermione’s neat handwriting)See you soon!” There were many blocks of text that had been blacked out by another hand. Obviously Ron’s idea of ‘completely necessary’ didn’t meet the headmaster’s. Harry didn’t even care if it had already been read by anyone else. He was happy just to have gotten a letter. Hermione’s insert made him grin foolishly. In the back of his mind, Harry dimly remembered it was his birthday, and yet he was not surprised to find that the Dursleys conveniently forgot. As night was approaching, Harry began to feel a growing headache spreading from his scar. And faintly remembering a lesson from divination, Harry broke a law. “Professor?” He called out timidly with his mind. It was a type of communication, he remembered, that used bits of magic to call out with the mind. Without proper training though, it was not a guaranteed secure connection. “Harry? This is quite an unexpected surprise. But unless you happen to know how to protect yourself, this will be a short conversation.” Dumbledore’s call was stronger, and Harry noted that he sent an impression of surprise. “No, sir I’m sorry. It’s just that.. it’s my scar-” Suddenly, the connection was broken. Harry was confused. He’d done everything properly, hadn’t he? But at that moment a tired, haggard looking elder Weasley appeared in his room. “What the -?!” Harry almost shouted. It was hard to tell in the semidarkness before the streetlights came on just who exactly had entered his room. Breathing a sigh of relief, he smiled. “Mr. Weasley?” Harry asked, slightly stunned; yet happy. “Hullo Harry. I won’t ask how you are right now, but I’ve come to get you.” His voice was raspy and yet still kind. The stoop of his shoulders was more pronounced, as well as gray in his hair that had never been there before. “Er.. Okay.” Harry said, still more than a little confused. “Get all of your things quickly, we have very little time at our command.” Said Mr. Weasley, quickly, quietly. So while Harry packed what little items he had into his trunk, Arthur Weasley shifted the curtains, muttering, and looking out the window as if he expected to find giant hairy spiders running down the street in yellow raincoats(Mr. Weasley had about as much fondness for arachnids as his son did.) It took only a few moments for Harry to gather his things, but as he went for Hedwigs cage, Mr. Weasley stopped him. “No, there’s no room. Let her fly.” Most owls, as we now know aren’t the brightest bulb in the socket. But Hedwig, who was a wizard’s owl, was not so. Any owl bought in the wizarding world holds a connection to their owner, and so can find them when even tracking spells can not. Harry, not knowing this; began to argue that she knew where he was going just about as much as HE did himself, when a ball of yarn was handed to him. Harry stopped speaking and stared at the rainbow colored yarn. He was beginning to think that his best friend’s father was going maybe a tad bit mad when he explained “It’s a portkey Harry. And it’s almost time.” Harry looked up at Arthur, tilted his head in question. With a familiar tug of the nostril, the image quickly blurred. 3. Where the Headmaster compliments footwear. Well young Harry, that should make you a bit happier. Mused the Headmaster of Hogwarts. He sat in canary yellow dressing robes, and a purple and maroon duster. Around him were books over a thousand years old. The delved into many things, including “everything ending in ‘ology” Albus liked to boast. So many that even he sometimes got ‘Agnoiology’ and ‘Axiology’ confused. He was sitting in an old leather chair. In fact, he believed the chair quite liked him, since the Headmaster was a few years younger than it, and quite protective of him. Fawkes chirruped in his sleep, and Dumbledore laughed silently, shaking his head. His laughter quickly faded. Such dormant power I have not see in one so young in a very long time.. Thought he, long fingers steepled, he was soon deep in thought. “ALBUS!” Roared a voice, which was soon followed by a door being pushed viciously open, a very angry looking Severus Snape, and an exasperated Minerva McGonnagle. Albus Dumbledore held up his hands. “Before you being Severus, let me take this moment to compliment your admirable taste in footwear.” For under the table, Dumbledore was wearing the exact same pair of pink bunny slippers. 4. Where Harry is pinched many times, and doesn’t wake up. “Happy Birthday Harry!” Following that was a chorus of hellos that greeted the already slightly befuddled Harry when he landed, seconds later in the Burrow. Harry, poor thing, was getting more confused by the minute. His headache had, since the last time he remembered gotten somewhat better. “What?” Was all he could manage when he saw the Weasley family, including Hermione; standing in the kitchen. “What do you mean ‘what?’.. It’s your birthday you dolt!” Ron said, hugging Harry. Molly Weasley glared disapprovingly at her son. “Harry dear, we wanted you to have a proper celebration for your birthday.” Everyone was smiling and nodding. Fred and George started loudly singing “Happy Birthday” to the tune of the Chudley Cannons f(l)ight song. Everyone else joined in, each with their own tune. It reminded Harry oddly of the Hogwarts school song. By the time they were done singing, Harry was seated, and in from of him was a massive chocolate cake. On top of it floated the words “Happy Birthday Harry!” In faux fairy lights. He looked around, knowing he was supposed to be doing something. But the twinkling lights, false as they were, looked nice on the cake, he thought. “Well! Make a wish, blow the lights out!” Said Mrs. Weasley. “Haven’t you ever had a birthday cake silly?” She did it without thinking; with laughter in her voice, and didn’t seem to realize what she had said. Harry looked down and blushed. He wished she hadn’t said that, but blew out the fairy lights all the same. After the lights were charmed back on, a breath escaped him that he didn’t know he held. All around Harry chairs were scraping the floor, silverware was clinking against plates as people dug into their cake. Harry was hesitant, blinking a few times. He didn’t know if time had passed without him realizing it, or things were just taking it slow with him today. Having the honorary first piece didn’t help him. He’d barely begun with his second bite when everyone else was half way done. “Oo’ ‘ust unders’and ‘Arry. ‘Ee’ve been smelling ‘dis cake since ‘lis ‘oorning.” Through his mouthfuls, Fred said this. “Yeah. But we haven’t been able to convince Mum to make us two of our own.” Added George, quite put out by this fact. Harry laughed, and looked at the cake. They had done a magnificent job of putting a dent in it, but there was still a large portion left unfinished. Mrs. Weasley’s eye caught Harry’s “Special recipe” She mouthed, winking. It was very good Harry thought, but could eat no more than half of it. Soon everyone had digested enough, and it was time for presents to be given. Ginny, being the youngest by tradition gave the first gift. It was an edition of Quidditch Monthly Magazine. “Thanks Gin!” Harry said, smiling. She grinned happily. Ron went next, and Harry excitedly ripped open the package to find.. “Socks, Ron?” The red head blushed. “Sorry.. Must’ve given you Dobby’s first.” Harry took a second look at the socks. They were an odd orange color, and very globular. Ron’s gift was a small box, no bigger than a thumb nail. “It’s enchanted to grow or shrink according to what you need and it’s weight stays the same.” He explained to Harry’s expression. Harry’s grin was growing broader with every present. Hermione’s was next. It was a necklace in the shape of a flying snitch. It was of clear glass, filled with an amber liquid. There were shapes inside of it, but squinting as he might, Harry couldn’t tell what they were. On a note, Hermione had written; Harry, Keep this with you. It’s a protection globe. It also has other uses. When you’re alone, take it off, and pull on the right snitch wing. I made it myself. All my love, Hermione. “Wow.” He said, softly. “Thank you.” It was a statement. Green eyes met brown, and silently they understood. At that moment, a voice called “I’m home!” “Oh, Arthur! You’re home already?” Mrs. Weasley bustled into the kitchen. Fred and George quickly handed harry an envelope, and a Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes deluxe Hogwarts set while their Mother was occupied. Harry grinned broadly, and quickly stashed it behind him, fearing her return. And finally, when she did come back, Mrs. Weasley gave him a black folder. In red ink were his initials; H.J.P. He looked puzzled. Inside were all of Harry’s records. Also, Mr. Arthur Weasley, and Mrs. Molly Weasley’s signatures, along with Albus Dumbledore’s one paper made Harry’s guardianship belong to the Weasley’s. From where he was sitting on the floor, Harry looked up at Molly. “We weren’t sure it-” She said slowly, trying to read his expression with a talent only mothers had. “So, I’m free from the Dursleys.. to stay.. here?” This was said with equal slowness, but for fear of misunderstanding, or waking from a very nice dream. Harry sat on the floor, looking from the paper to Molly. They had told no one about what they had done not even Ron, it was obvious. “Is this a dream?” He asked. “Someone pinch me, please.” Harry received several pinches, and laughter again flowed. It would be later when he found out what the piece of parchment was the twins gave him, what type of socks Dobby had made him exactly, and how Hermione’s necklace worked. He hadn’t expected much, and on his birthday, Harry was pleasantly surprised. --Ah, Real Genius.. How I love that movie. The slippers quote came indirectly from it. Also, Ella Enchanted(the book) was used for the box idea..In the next chapter: Dumbledore reveals plot ideas, and Hermione returns from gorgeous Paris. Stay tuned! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 2. Midnight musing. 5. In which the Headmaster answers a few questions. At that moment, Albus began to examine his very tattered pair of bunny slippers to allow time for the potions master to calm down. He was beginning to count the threads on his duster when Snape exploded with; “It seems” he started harshly “that you have no wish to protect the boy. I made some of those charms you took him from so blithely. This is not ‘happily ever after’ Albus. For our sake, and his, he must be returned to the muggles!” Panting, and quite red in the face, Snape glowered. An awkward silence followed, in which there was much interest in the floor. It was not often Albus Dumbledore found himself without words, or challenged in his decision. And so, instead of a suspension, or firing Dumbledore smiled for the first time in many months. Many students thought him insane, or slightly mad, but most just found him genius. It is said, a philosopher wrote in a tiny hut many miles from anywhere, that ‘genius and insanity run hand in hand. Or rather, they frolic with a dreamy smile on their preverbal faces.’ “Harry does not need their protection any longer. Any charms set up have long been exhausted, and he will not gain anything from being there. I have not seen any place worse for any child than the Dursley’s.” Albus said quietly, a serious expression chiseled into his features. “Serveus. Please try to understand. We can not have a champion if he dies of starvation. The ‘boy’ as you call him has his own protection.” McGonnagle huffed. “I tried to explain-” “Yes, Minerva, I know.” He glanced down at his thin, steepled hands. Suddenly, he leaned forward in an excited manner, blue eyes twinkling in the candlelight. “Do you not see? This could all be over before we ever thought it would! Before anyone could have expected!” “But Headmaster, we cannot push Harry. Remember what happened to Venipar the Powerful?” McGonnagle said quietly. “Yes. I know. His powers consumed him. I taught Tom Riddle, if you’ll recall.” ” His voice had lost its enthusiasm, and grew quiet. After a few moments Dumbledore said simply “Thank you, I had quite gotten ahead of myself.” “We all have.” She threw a glance to Snape. He bowed, saying “I bid you good night.” Saying that, he was gone with a slight swirl of his cloak. The deputy headmistress left with a tilt of her head. The candlelight in the room grew dimmer, and the sky outside grew lighter. 6. Where Hermione speaks french, and makes a charm. “Bonjour. Vous desirez?” The waitress asked swiftly. “Une glace, s’il vous plait.” Hermione replied, barely glancing up from her book. An old wizard had sold her Hogwarts, a History. First edition for a very reasonable price. Only after testing her knowledge on all other editions, and random facts did she earn the book though. He was a kindly man, and Hermione wished her parents dentist conference had lasted longer. Finishing her ice-cream, she stood and stretched. At that moment, a small furry object collided with her chest. “Pig!” She exclaimed happily. “H- How’s Paris? Dad is planning on getting Harry tomorrow. See you then. Ron.” Hermione carefully folded the bit of parchment, and smiled. Placing it in her pocket, she began to walk towards the hotel. The attendant at the desk smiled and handed her an envelope. “Miss Granger, After speaking with Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, we have been assured that your are performing magic under his instruction. He will be held accountable for anything that might go wrong. Having said that, at three o’clock this afternoon until four, your magical restrictions shall be lifted. Jean-Luc DeMendiant Head of Foreign Magic.” Hermione read quickly, a smile growing on her face. She ran up the stairs, not bothering with an elevator. Half an hour later, Hermione poured all of herself into the charm. The memories of teas and blood she had shed for Harry, every happy memory she had, and even some she borrowed, every one for him. Exhausted, she examined the charm she had made. It was perfect, a rather ordinary sphere, somewhere at the heart of the amber liquid a light shone pulsing. Still pleased with herself the next morning, Hermione quickly packed her things, and said goodbye to her parents. She flooed the the Burrow where she would remain for the rest of the summer. 7. Where Harry remembers, and the summer continues. The night went on, but Harry felt as if he were in a dream. Yawing to the third time, he heard his jaw crack. Apparently so did Mrs. Weasley. “Time for bed, I think.” Harry had never heard more intelligent words. And so, when everyone had settled in, and the lights were all off, Harry couldn’t sleep. He rolled over quite a bit and sighed a great many times, yet still he could not sleep. He pulled out his necklace and held it between his fingertips. They objects he had seen earlier had settled, yet the odd amber glow still pulsed dimly. What had the note said? He thought. The right snitch wing. Gently, with great care Harry sat up. Pulling the tiny wing, he almost gasped. A beam of light hat shot out from the globe. It whirred softly and began to spin slowly. Images of him, a small frightened pale boy, a taller red head, images of Hogwarts, small scenes he could vaguely recall. And then, memories from someone else: the three of them sitting on the edge of the lake, laughing. At some of the images, Harry laughed silently, others made a look of melancholy cross his. When the images reached the beginning, Harry was again smiling. The light dimmed and the charm returned to it’s normal state. Harry was then able to sleep. The next morning, Harry awoke to a very excited Pig, and a rather disgruntled snowy owl. She hooted at him. “Hey girl.” He said happily. Well, he would have anyway. It came out more sounding like “Mfay groel.” Breakfast had come and gone while Harry slept, and he found Hermione at the kitchen table. “Good morning Harry, sleep well?” Hermione asked, looking up from her book. “Morning.” He muttered sleepily, nodding in response to her question. He sat down heavily in an ancient wooden chair, his hands folded in his lap. “Hungry.” He said, almost hopeful. She laughed, and handed him a bowl from the middle of the table. “Mrs. Weasley put a heating charm on it for you.” Harry accepted it gratefully. “Thank you.” Was all he could get out before he started eating. Hermione observed him as he ate. She noted his quick manner, rather like a god who expects his food to be taken. She also noted the light blue circles around his eyes. “Harry?” She said tentatively. “Hmm?” He said, still concentrating his efforts on the rapidly disappearing porridge. “Did you try out your gift?” She asked, anxious to hear his reply, yet at the same time fearing his rejection. “Yes.” He said slowly. “And?” She said, somewhat more persistent now. He pushed his bowl away and looked at her. Food seemed to help. His coloring had gone from white, to a faint pink tinge on his cheeks. “I very much enjoyed it, thank you. I will treasure it forever.” He said honestly. It was a rather picturesque moment. Harry in his pajamas, large and gray, with hair more tousled than normal and slightly askew glasses. He sat with an air of uncertainty, as if he didn’t know whether to be comfortable or ready to spring up at any moment. And Hermione, sitting relaxed in a nice blouse and loose corduroy pants. Both of them sitting at the table, on a bright summer morning, with sunlight streaming in. A ray of sunlight danced across the table. All at once though, that solace was shattered by four arguing red heads. Hermione smiled at him from across the table, and closed her book. “I don’t think so Gin.” One of the twins said. “No one wants your tomato sandwiches anyway!” Ron said amiably. The bickering over what they were having for lunch continued until Molly Weasley appeared from the depths of the house to make grilled cheese for everyone. Quidditch was played, and Harry was relieved to find he fell into place easily. The days continued and Harry found, as every year that he had only a few days remaining until term started. 8. In which the summer ends with a kiss. When everyone had gone to bed, Harry slipped quietly outside. He loved to watch the landscape at night, and the sky lighten before dawn. He felt someone lower beside him. “Hey.” He said, not averting his gaze. “Why do you say ‘hey’ like that?” She asked, curious. “Like what?” He replied. “Like you know it’s me?” “Well. It is you.” He turned to her, and smiled. His face and hers oddly pale in the moonlight. She put her arms around her knees. “Why aren’t you asleep?” She questioned, after a moment of silence. “I could ask you the same.” Harry countered. She grinned. “Ah, but I asked first.” Hermione said, arms hugging her knees. After a moment, he replied.. though not the answer Hermione was expecting. “I have bad dreams. Nightmares, I suppose.” He said this barely above a whisper. His words were so child like, his expression so vulnerable that she couldn’t stop herself from giving him a hug. It was an awkward hug, sideways. “What are they.” It was not a question. Hermione felt that would be too demanding. They sat on the edge of the night for a few moments. Moonlight fell over the surrounding hills, to their backs was the kitchen window that was still letting out soft light. Harry leaned back, into the yellow glow of the kitchen’s light. “I see my parents. Young, happy. But every time I reach out for them they slip away. Like trying to hold water in your hands, they slip away. I see Voldemort. Faces of the people he murdered.” “Oh Harry.” Hermione said after a moment. His head dropped, running his hands through his hair he said “They always go away.” Uncertain she reached out, her hand stroking his hair. He was cool to the touch, and she instinctively drew closer to him. They sat this way for many minutes until suddenly he looked up. The sky had gone from a dark purple to a light slate blue. Tinges of pink were starting to appear in the sky. They stood at the same time, and turned to each other. “Good night Hermione.” He said softly, his face eerily pale again in the light. She kissed his cheek. “Good night Harry.” They embraced, and noiselessly made their way to bed, respectively. It surprised Hermione in the morning how much had changed, and how little everything had changed at the same time. In the sunlight everything was different. Their little chat in the moonlight seemed like a dream to Hermione. The tired lines on Harry’s face, and the slight sunburn Hermione had gotten the day before had gone unnoticed in the night. They said nothing to each other about the night before, yet each understood the other. It was a silent communication that everyone in the household seemed to understand. 9. Where Ron is confused. A conversation took place between Ginny and Ron a day before they left for school. “Doesn’t it bother you?” The youngest Weasley asked, almost frustrated. “Doesn’t what bother me?” Ron replied with vague interest. He was attempting to repair a muggle radio with a WD-I-Y(Wizard’s Do it Yourself.) “Harry and Hermione!” She said as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. “I was one of Hermione’s friends, I thought. Yet I can’t understand what they are.” The latter sentence was added with a someone saddened air. “Oh. That.” Ron stood up, wiping his hands on his already dirty pants. “Gin, Harry and Hermione have always been just that. Harry and Hermione. They weren’t fated to be together, there was no prophecy. They just are. And I.. love them for that.” He had surprised her. His blue eyes were frank, truthful. Although the last sentence was said a bit hesitantly, Ginny blinked a few time, hugged Ron and ran out of the dark tool shop. She left behind a very baffled Ron. A/N: Aw.. I love Ron. I think people underestimate him! Also.. Dumbledore isn’t ancient..wanted to point that out. I couldn’t resist putting the scene of Hermione in. It wasn’t really needed.. and I wasn’t sure about having it there.. but.. PARIS! Oh, and sorry if the french is grammatically incorrect.. Been a while since French one(Which is sad.. I’m in French three.) Er, I have a question for whoever leaves a review; why do Hermione’s parents let her stay at the Burrow in the books? They sure are lenient. Anyway.. Until next time..STAY TUNED!