Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. This fanfiction is not written to make money. No profit is being generated and no copyright infringement is intended. All events in this story are based on the Harry Potter series.
Chapter Eight
"Welcome home," Harry breathed, as he and Hermione just stood there, taking in the breathtaking view of Hogsmeade and the Hogwarts grounds. They were standing on a patch of elevated ground at the foot of the mountain in whose shadow Hogsmeade lay. This is the same mountain where Sirius had hidden while on the run from the Ministry of Magic.
"Yes, home indeed," Hermione muttered, smiling as they both reminisced the memories of their schooldays at Hogwarts, and their weekend trips to Hogsmeade.
"Well, I believe we didn't come here just to look around, did we?" said Harry, offering a hand to her. She took it, and Harry helped her down the stony path. They climbed over the stile at the end of the High Street, went past Dervish and Banges, Madam Puddifoot's Coffee Shop, the Post Office, Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, and even caught a glimpse of the Hog's Head Inn in its side street.
"Well, shall we go directly to the Closed Doors?" Hermione said as they walked past Zonko's Joke Shop.
"It's still early, but yeah, I think we ought to do that first," Harry agreed, checking his watch, and the two of them continued down the High Street past more shops, houses, and pubs, until they caught sight of the Closed Doors pub, which was situated right beside the Hogsmeade train station, directly across the street from Gladrags' Wizardwear.
It was a rather nice-looking pub, much larger than the Hog's Head, but considerably smaller than the Three Broomsticks.
Harry led the way inside. The bar of the Closed Doors is quite roomy, though as the pub's name suggests, the customers are somewhat ensured of privacy, because there are many private parlors with doors leading from the main room. Even the tables are placed next to the walls or columns, and the main door is designed to announce the arrival of new customers as soon as they touch the doorknob outside. The atmosphere is serene (though this is perhaps due to the scarcity of diners), and the room is quite dark, because the windows are draped with thick maroon curtains. The lights are coming instead from candles standing on elaborately designed candle brackets attached to the walls and the pillars.
"Looks like a perfect place for a hideout," Harry muttered to Hermione as the two of them made their way across the room to the bar.
They each asked for a bottle of butterbeer, and after Harry handed over the silver to the old and bald barman, they proceeded to a table in the left corner, which was placed between the wall and one of the column, and which gave them a good view of the door.
"What do you reckon?" Harry asked Hermione after taking a swig of butterbeer. "Do you think the barman is also the owner of the pub?"
"Seems to be. We won't know for sure unless we ask him," Hermione replied. "Want to do the honors?"
Harry smiled and took a swig of butterbeer.
"Wait here," he said. "I'll be right back."
"Okay, take your time."
Harry took his bottle and went to sit at the bar. The barman went inside a back room and came back moments later, carrying a box of butterbeers.
"How's business?" Harry asked conversationally, as the barman began to arrange the bottles in the shelf.
"Thriving. Not too crowded these days, but we never run out of customers, either."
"Not bad, considering you just opened up a month ago, right?"
"Right. Nice opening day, too. Coincided with a Hogsmeade weekend for Hogwarts students." The barman chuckled. "I nearly lost me marbles when `bout a hundred of `em came bursting in and demanded butterbeers!"
"What's with the name, anyway?"
"Oh, it was my son's idea," said the barman, now cleaning out glasses and arranging them on the rack. "He built and financed this business for me, ya know. Said he wanted me to stay busy and active after I retired from me job as a Ministry Magical Maintenance Crewman. He works at the ministry, too."
"Really? In what department? I'm a Ministry employee, too!"
They carried on with this conversation for at least fifteen minutes, with Harry asking questions, which sounded as simple and innocent to ordinary people, but which generated answers very useful to an experienced Auror like Harry and Hermione. By the time he decided to finish the chat, Harry was convinced that the Closed Doors isn't harboring Willy Widdershins, or any other criminal for that matter. His being a Legilimens helped, of course, and Harry was quite sure that the barman was telling the truth, and that the old man was no Occlumens.
Harry bought two more bottles of butterbeer, and carried them over to the table where Hermione was waiting.
"Hi," he said as he took his seat, and placed one of the bottles in front of Hermione. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting that lo - what's wrong?" Harry stopped mid-sentence when he caught sight of her face; she looked as though someone had died.
"N - nothing," she said, trying and failing to look as though she was just thinking about something. "So - how'd it go?"
"Fine," said Harry, still worried about her. "I'm sure Willy Widdershins isn't hiding here. The information was not true."
"Oh," Hermione said, sounding as though there was something stuck in her throat, and reinforced the impression by snatching up the second butterbeer Harry had bought for her and taking a long swig.
"Hermione, are you sure you're all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine," she said, setting down the bottle on the table. She looked up at him, fussed for a moment with his hair, and said, "There's something in your hair, Harry - there, it's gone now."
Harry couldn't explain it, but he felt something peculiar when Hermione touched his hair, and he was sure it had nothing to do with his newly realized feelings for her. He pushed that thought out of his mind and thanked her.
"No problem," she said. "Well, shall we get going then?"
"Are you sure you don't want to eat here?"
"No, I'd prefer to eat at the Three Broomsticks."
"Okay," said Harry, helping her up, "you're the boss.
As they made their way across the room, Harry tried to look at the other customers, just to make sure Willy Widdershins wasn't lurking around, but Hermione asked him to tell her everything he'd found out while talking to the pub owner - barman. By the time he finished telling her, they were already outside the door of the Tree Broomsticks.
They went inside. They greeted Madam Rosmerta, the pretty and never-aging proprietress. As Hermione made her way towards an empty table, Madam Rosmerta beckoned Harry closer to her.
"There's something wrong with her; she's not at all like her usual self," she said quietly.
"Yeah, I think so, too," said Harry thoughtfully, looking over at Hermione, who had sat down at a table, still looking upset. "Maybe she's not feeling well, but I think it's something else." Harry turned to Madam Rosmerta.
"Is there a private parlor available?"
"Yes. Yes - in fact, all my private parlors are unoccupied. It's because of that new pub, with all their `ensured privacy and security' rubbish!" she said furiously.
Harry laughed, told Madam Rosmerta he'd like a private parlor, and then went over to Hermione.
"Hermione, I'd asked for a private parlor for us," he informed her, and she looked surprised, but rather grateful all the same. She nodded, and went with him. Madam Rosmerta was waiting for them outside one of the parlors. She took their orders, made sure they were comfortable, and took her leave.
Harry watched Hermione intently; she was still looking upset, but seems to be trying her best to look like nothing's wrong.
"Hermione, I know you're trying to conceal it, but there's something wrong."
"I've told you, nothing's wrong, Harry," she said, but not quite meeting his eye. "I'm just hungry."
"Oh come on, Hermione. I'm hungry too, but I know I don't look as though someone had died."
"I'm fine, okay? Nothing's wrong, you're just imagining it," she snapped.
"Hey - whoa! There's no need to get angry, okay? I'm just concerned about you, that's all. I know something's wrong. Tell me."
"For the last time," said Hermione through gritted teeth, "nothing is wrong." She took a deep breath and continued, "So where do you think Willy Widdershins is if he's not hiding out in the Closed - "
"Don't change the topic, okay?" Harry interrupted her, now starting to feel irritated himself. "What we're talking about here is - "
He was interrupted by Madam Rosmerta, who bustled in carrying their lunch. Harry stood up to help to help her set the food on the table.
"Well, just call me if you need anything, okay?" said Madam Rosmerta as she finished setting up the table.
"Yeah, thanks very much, Rosmerta," said Harry. Madam Rosmerta smiled at them and left.
"Okay, let's eat," said Harry, putting liberal amounts of food onto Hermione's plate. They ate in silence - or rather, Harry ate, while Hermione barely touched her food. After about five minutes, Harry couldn't contain himself anymore. He put his fork down and wiped his mouth.
"Hermione, I'm tired of this guessing game, all right?" Harry said sternly. "You said you were hungry, but you're not even touching your food! I know something's wrong, and don't give me that `I'm fine, nothing's wrong' rubbish because I'm not buying it. Now, tell me what's wrong!"
Hermione sighed heavily, put down her fork, and, with tears in her eyes, looked up at Harry, who looked taken aback.
"Hermione, I'm - I'm sorry, I - I didn't mean to -"
"Harry," choked Hermione, tears now streaming down her cheeks, "w - what - what is w - wrong with me?"
"I - what?" said Harry, startled. "No - nothing's wrong with you, why -"
"Am I - am I ugly?" she asked, looking and sounding thoroughly miserable.
"No! No, no, no - you're not ugly, Hermione. You're anything but ugly. In fact, you're very beautif -"
"Then why are they doing this to me?" she yelled, her voice full of anguish. "All of them! They're always hurting me!"
Harry almost jumped out of his seat in surprise. He went around the table to the other side where Hermione was sitting and tried to calm her.
"Hermione, calm down!" he said, putting his arms around her to comfort her. "What are you talking about? Who's - who's hurting you?"
"All of them!" she said shrilly, clinging to him. "Seamus, Robert, Brent, and now Charles, too!"
"Charles? Why, what did he do?"
"He - he's cheating on me!" she sobbed into his chest.
"Shh - it's all right, it's all right. He's not going to hurt you anymore. I - okay, just let it out … you'll feel better afterwards. It's okay…you can hit me if you want, just so you can let your emotions go…."
Hermione cried, and cried, holding on to him, and Harry had had difficulty controlling his emotions as well. That bastard! he thought, how could he do this to Hermione? He wanted to run, and find Charles Davies wherever he is, and pound him to a useless pulp, or better yet, to curse him into oblivion. But he knew he has to be here for Hermione; he knew his priority was to support her in this moment of distress. Charles will have to wait, he thought, and when I get my hands on him, he'll rue the day he dumped Hermione for some slut out in the streets!
After a few minutes (and after a few words of comfort from Harry), Hermione calmed down. She wiped her face with her handkerchief, and disengaged herself from Harry (somewhat to the latter's disappointment).
"Thank you, Harry," she said softly, managing to smile. "And I'm sorry for going to pieces like -"
"Here we go again," Harry interrupted her. "I thought I've already told you not to apologize for being human?"
She smiled weakly, and blew her nose in her hanky.
"Are you all right now?" said Harry, taking her hand in his.
"Yes, I'm fine now, thanks to you," she said, squeezing his hand gently.
Harry squeezed back, peered into her eyes, and said, "Are you sure?"
"Dead sure, Harry," she answered, and he let go of her hand.
"Okay. Now, can you tell me what happened?"
Hermione took a deep breath, then told him everything: About ten minutes after Harry left their table to talk to the pub owner back at the Closed Doors pub, she saw her boyfriend, Charles Davies, enter the pub, hand in hand with none other than Cho Chang.
"Cho Chang?" said Harry. "Well, maybe he's just accompanying her. She's Roger Davies's girlfriend, remember? And Charles and Roger are cousins."
"I thought that too, at first, but then I also remembered that Cho and Roger broke up last week. Ginny told me last Monday."
"What?" said Harry, surprised. "I - okay, so what happened next?"
"Well, they asked the assistant if there was a private parlor available, but she said there wasn't any, so they occupied a table for two in the right corner."
"So that'd explain why there were so few customers in the main parlor…. Okay, so then what did they do?"
"Well, they ordered drinks, and chatted in whispers, all the time holding each other's hands. And then, he kissed her on the lips!"
"What?" said Harry, anger building up inside him. "And you saw all that"
"Yes."
"But they didn't see you?"
"No. For one thing, they were so occupied with each other that they didn't seem to notice much of their surroundings. For another, I modified my appearance so they will not recognize me. After all, Charles knows that I'm supposed to be in London."
"Hang on," Harry said, as he remembered the peculiar feeling he felt when Hermione touched his hair. "And you modified mine as well, didn't you?"
Hermione nodded. "And I kept talking to you until we're out of there. So you won't see them."
"That bastard! I'll make him pay for this!"
Hermione looked alarmed, and she grabbed Harry's arm to restrain him as he actually made to get up.
"Harry, no! You'll only get into trouble. Besides, he's not worth it."
"But he hurt you, Hermione. I'm not going to let him get away with that."
"Yes, but I don't want you to get into trouble!"
"So how are you going to tell him about this? That you know?"
"I don't know…. Maybe I'll just break up with him."
"That's all? No - he'd deserve something more, and I'll teach him a lesson, whether you like it or not!"
"No, Harry! Please, don't get yourself into troub -"
Hermione slumped, unconscious, against him, as Harry bewitched her to lose consciousness. He laid her down gently on the bench, and then, with a whispered apology, went out of the parlor to find Madam Rosmerta.
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