Unofficial Portkey Archive

Rating: R for language, imagery, emotional angst, fantasy violence/combat, and adult themes.

Title: Harry Potter and the Black Society

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred. Additionally, locations in and around the United Kingdom are used as a basis for "historical reality" or in a purely fictitious manner.

The characters of Melora Lilasmorte, Petr Auct, Edmund Paisot, in addition to other original characters / members / creatures of Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, the Ministry of Magic, and the Muggle world, as presented in the story published herein, are the creation of M.L. Stone under the Portkey author name of carondelet. This story was authored by M.L. Stone and posted at Portkey under the author name of carondelet. Any reproduction without the express written consent of the author is strictly prohibited.

Spoiler Alert: This fic contains spoilers to Books 1-5. If you haven't read any of the books or have at least seen the films...right, then. Ah, yes, if you should have an H/Hr aversion, please know that this fic is H/Hr. It will be mostly fluff, when there is any, but it is H/Hr, even though you may not initially think so. There have been a few "squee" moments, with more to come, I assure you. Now that we've gotten the warnings et al in the open…

Summary: (It may or may not be considered AU; it does use elements that J.K. Rowling has only given cursory attention to in the novels.)

The Second Wizard War has since begun. After each new conflict, the barriers placed between the Wizarding world and the Muggle world yield just a little more. Forsaken pacts are made fresh and new allies are revealed as the war finally tears not only into the Muggle world, but into the sanctuary of Hogwarts itself. Harry Potter soon realizes that his wish for a life close to ordinary will take him as far away from normal as is magically or humanly possible...

Pairings: Harry/Hermione

Author's Notes: Another thanks to RONIN10 for the review of "Advanced Muggle Studies". I've yet to reply to your notes, but I shall. This is still my first and only piece of Harry Potter fan fiction. And yes, gentle reader, this remains a long form piece; meaning, it has been planned and time lined to be novel-length. Therefore it will feel at times that events are moving slowly. Though hinted at in the early chapters, the H/Hr ship does not set sail until nearly the end. MacGuffins are to be found, so if you aren't one to put up with all of that, you might want to consider reading one of several of the fine works posted at Portkey.

Though this is not my favourite chapter, as it's been cleaved into one piece from bits of the preceding and the proceeding chapters, I am posting it nonetheless. There are parts that are okay and there are parts that are weak, but ever so often you get to the point where you just can't stare at the words any longer. Being a Frankenstein chapter, it's not too bad. Just not one that I particularly care for.

With the preamble out of the way, it's time to carry on.

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HARRY POTTER AND THE BLACK SOCIETY

[] CHAPTER FOUR: YESTERDAY, TOMORROW

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Harry walked the grounds for sometime, moving from floor to floor of the school, walking to the Quidditch pitch, to the lake, wandering the area in general. Seventh years had the most liberties of any of the students, and as he was now a seventh year and a prefect, he was taking full advantage. Regardless of his status, he really didn't care if he did get into trouble for being outside the castle at night. After what had happened during Announcements, he felt as though he didn't care about anything.

I can't stop thinking, but I can't remember what it is that I've thought about. I don't know why that's so bothersome to me now, but it is. It's not as though this hasn't happened before, especially in class. I know my brain is working, and that I'm full of thoughts and emotions, but it's as though my body isn't listening to any of it and is just moving of its own accord. I've no idea of where I am going or why…and I don't really care, either. I just don't. I recognise that I should, but I just…don't. What in the hell is my problem?

Before long, Harry found himself at Hagrid's home. He stood before it, staring, for what could have been ages. At one point he idly considered going inside to have a cup of tea with Hagrid, perhaps one of his scones, the ones that could double as doorstops. Then he decided against it and continued on his pointless amble. When Harry came out of his reverie, he had since strayed past the edge of the Forbidden Forest, past the Whomping Willow, and was at the covered bridge leading to the school.

The moon was full and bright and the sky above was quite clear. He stood on the bridge, leaned against the wooden railing, and watched the wisps of fog move along the ridge below. The last time he had stood on that bridge was with Lupin. He was stunned to realize that he had not stood on the bridge like this since that time. He had been back and forth across that bridge many times, but hadn't paused even once. Not since Lupin taught at Hogwarts. It was back then that Lupin told him about his father and his mother. About being in Hogwarts together. Harry became conscious of how much he missed Lupin at Hogwarts. It was all well and good that Lupin was in the Order, but Hogwarts still didn't seem quite right without him. He had been a fine teacher and a good friend. Harry wished that Lupin could come back as the DADA teacher, no offence to the winking Auct Plum. Even more so, at that very moment, he wished that Lupin were simply at Hogwarts. Merely being on the grounds would be good enough. Then he could talk to Lupin, ask him about what he was feeling, if it was normal, just a phase or other, or if it was a matter of Harry Is Just Being An Ignorant Git, which seemed to be usual for him nowadays. If he were perhaps even just over in Hogsmeade, then he could… On second thought, it was a full moon. Lupin, and everyone else, for that matter, would be better off if he were locked in the Shrieking Shack.

Full moon or not, Harry felt he needed someone like Lupin. Professor Dumbledore was wonderful, but…Lupin was the same age as his father would have been. And with Sirius…gone...Harry wished, with something close to desperation, that his parents and his godfather were still alive. He wanted a family. He wanted something normal. For once. Finally. Something resembling normal. He had the briefest taste of it when Sirius was alive, and then again, his last month with Aunt Petunia. He needed something close to normal.

Is that too damn much to want for?

He felt the footsteps on the bridge long before he heard them. He closed his eyes as the sound drew closer. The rhythm had an even cadence. The steps were slow and careful, but not cautious. Simply, they were measured, assured. They were the footsteps of someone who did not waste movement. It was one of the many things that Lupin had taught him during his brief tenure as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, gauging an opponent through the use of a single sense alone. It was also something that, without realising it, he'd had years of practice at living with the Dursleys. He could tell Uncle Vernon's mood based on his movements through the house, Dudley's as well. It served to help him get out of the way of the odd "just for" beating.

Hit "just for" being that Potter boy.

The rustling of fabric, layers of fabric, the faint jingling of metal, and a light scent carried by the breeze…it was some kind of flowering herb. He could remember that much, but Harry wasn't certain what it was.

He was certain, however, that his company was distinctly feminine.

"Mr. Potter."

His eyes remained closed, his face toward the mists. "Professor Lilasmorte."

He felt her lean against the railing, heard her garments move against the wood. "Very good, Mr. Potter. Professor Lupin taught you well. Either that or I should reconsider wearing these boots."

Her voice was low in tone and slightly grainy. It was huskier than he expected for someone as young as her. Then again, she was a good ten years his senior. Her voice held a faint lilt to it as well. The way she coached her voice, it sounded as though she were suppressing something, either her original accent or perhaps a lisp. He had learned a great deal in a short amount of time from Lupin. He finally opened his eyes and cast a sideways glance at her. "Do you know Professor Lupin?" He was careful to avoid eye contact.

She nodded, choosing to stare ahead at the moonlit fog. Her gloved hands were folded in front of her. "I've met him on several occasions."

Her response was neither an affirmative nor a negative, Harry noted. It was definitely in keeping with being a member of the Hogwarts faculty. "You were up for his old position." Harry made it as a statement and not a question.

"Yes, I was."

"Why didn't you get it?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore felt that Professor Auct was a better candidate, being an Auror."

At this Harry frowned. "An Auror?"

She nodded and smiled. "I'm sorry; thought you knew that Plummy is an Auror. He's supposed to be a rather good hunter of Voldemort's fan club. I do believe that he's sent a few would be assassins of yours to Azkaban."

He nearly smiled at that. He liked that she had a touch of irreverence. And, that she didn't seem to have a problem in saying Voldemort's name and that she shared something about Auct Plum's acts on his behalf. "Then Professor Auct would be a good candidate for DADA," Harry stated quietly. "I suppose I should thank him at some point."

"I should think that he would like that," she replied in a soft voice. They stood in silence for a moment, and then Professor Lilasmorte spoke. "Are you inspecting the bridge, Mr. Potter?"

He frowned, but he didn't let her see this. "Why?"

"It's late, even for a seventh year, even for a prefect, even for a seventh year prefect…and I was of the impression that you weren't to wander the grounds alone."

"Was I wandering, then?" He made his voice sound as innocent as he could.

Harry heard Lilasmorte laugh quietly. "Ah, unless that was a bit of cunning misdirection in your travels, it did look a bit like wandering."

"You were following me?" He wasn't sure if he should feel relieved or affronted. There was something about the new professor that was profoundly off-putting, never mind the occurrence in the Great Hall. Who was she to follow him around? She was teaching Advanced Muggle Studies of all things. Was this going to happen all of the time? Professors popping up all over the place, waiting for something dire to happen? This is just what I need my last year at Hogwarts, a bloody death watch on parade after me. Profs gathering in my wake like a murder of crows. "What did you do that for? And how long did you follow me? I didn't notice you."

"No offence, Mr. Potter, but you wouldn't have noticed a small brigade of Death Eaters bearing down on you on Twigger 90s in the state you were in. And I followed you for a good while. It's something I'm told I've a talent for."

"Really? Being a sneak is a talent, is it?" he muttered through a scowl.

"Sometimes. Mostly it's called Going Around Unnoticed." By the sound of her voice, Lilasmorte was not put out in the least by his comment.

Harry sighed loudly and asked, "Right. You've been following me. So, you know about it, then?" He continued to stare out into the surrounding mist. He wasn't quite ready to look at the professor again.

She laughed, a sound that was not unpleasant. "Hmm, yes. It would be hard not too. You are famous, Mr. Potter."

It was his turn. Harry snorted at that, a short derisive laugh. "Yeah. I'm The Boy-Who-Lived. Poor dearie, that Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived. Poor soul. Poor little boy. Poor sod. Yeah, that's me all right."

"You're not quite the little boy, Mr. Potter. I dunno about your being a sod. I'd like to reserve judgement on that. I would say that you are the young man who lives time and time again, it seems." She made the assertion with a slightly wry tone to her voice.

Harry did smile this time. "Despite Voldemort."

"I should think it is more along the lines of in spite of."

He nodded, conceding the point. The conversation fell into silence. They stood still and faced the fog, quietly assessing one another, or so it felt to Harry. He was still taken aback at the fact that he had been followed. That was nearly as galling as the fact that he hadn't even noticed that she had been trailing him. A thought occurred to Harry. "Are you a member of the Order?" he asked suddenly.

"No, I'm afraid not," she replied.

Harry didn't quite like that answer. "You're not an Auror, are you?"

She shook her head and added, "No again."

Harry liked that even less. And yet you followed me across the school grounds... "Hmm. I suppose that's why you lost the DADA job."

"And I would suppose that you would not be far wrong in your assessment."

"You are also fairly young to be a professor," he continued. "You're only ten years older than me."

She chuckled and said, "Very good. But it's eight years, Mr. Potter. Only eight."

"Eight years, then." Eight years. That would make her twenty-five. That was still very young to be a professor at Hogwarts.

There was another period of silence. It was a companionable silence, Harry found. It was, in a way, relaxing after their little exchange. They both stared out at the scenery, motionless, still. It was Harry who broke the calm yet again. "What were you trying to remind me of, Professor?"

"How's that?"

Harry turned and looked directly at Lilasmorte for the first time since the Great Hall. "You were trying to remind me of something during Announcements, when Professor Dumbledore introduced you. What was it?" He kept his tone even, but allowed his resolve to come through.

She turned and faced him. The yellowish tint of her glasses seemed to fade in the moonlight. "That," she began slowly, "was an accident."

"An accident?" Harry frowned and took a step toward her. She didn't move; she scarcely blinked. "You cast an enchantment on me in front of the entire school, Professor Dumbledore included, and you mean to tell me that it was an accident?" He allowed his infuriation to reflect itself in his manner.

"And that would be the truth, Mr. Potter." A smile flickered across Lilasmorte's face. "It was an unfortunate coincidence, an unlikely combination of factors. I apologize for any inadvertent enchantment. It was not deliberate."

Her answer was quite unsatisfactory and he was starting to lose what little patience he had. "But it was as though you were trying to remind me of something important," Harry pressed. He took another step toward her. She still did not move away.

"Perhaps there is something important, tucked away in the depths of your recollection, that I unintentionally triggered." She titled her head at him. "Serendipitous, yes. Purposeful, no. I don't know what it is that is nagging at your memory, Mr. Potter. I'm sorry that I don't have the answers that you seek."

She sounded too much like Dumbledore with that response. He was getting tired of receiving non-answers from everyone, the Headmaster in particular. As much as he liked and respected the man, Dumbledore's answers by way of puzzles and aphorisms, once charming, were now galling. Why can't anyone in the Wizarding world answer a damn question directly? Harry took yet another step toward Lilasmorte. He was now close enough so that his school robes were touching hers. "Then you can at least tell me how you bewitched me."

She narrowed a glance at him through her tinted spectacles and leaned in close to him. Harry was taken aback at how close she was, but did not move away. He was taller than her, just tall enough. He had not noticed that previously. The distance between them was now intimate, but he wasn't uncomfortable. Not entirely. "Are you always this forward with your instructors, Mr. Potter?"

It occurred to him that she was wearing lavender. That was the scent he had perceived earlier but could not name.

He stared at her from above his eyeglass frames, his green eyes wide and defiant. "Only with the ones who enchant me on the first day of school," he replied coolly.

She arched an eyebrow as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Such spirit. It will be interesting having you in my class, Mr. Potter."

Her tone was sarcastic, yet Harry had the feeling that she was merely acting flippant. He wasn't certain why he had the impression, but he was sure that he wasn't wrong. "I think you will find me to be quite interesting, Professor Lilasmorte." He purposefully stressed her title, feeling a bit glib himself.

There were footsteps on the bridge, the sound of running, multiple footfalls. Both Harry and Lilasmorte turned to face the source of the commotion, moving away from one another.

"Harry!" shouted Ron and Hermione in unison. They ran over to him, both obviously relieved to have found Harry at last. Closely following behind them was the black robed figure of Professor Snape.

Harry smiled at them and visibly stiffened at the sight of the Potions Master. "What are you doing here?" His question was directed more toward Snape than to his friends. He felt a swell of anger rise inside of him. It was intense and it was burning and it was surprising. He wasn't sure why he was so angry, but suddenly, he was, and he clenched his hands into fists.

"We were worried about you, you damn bloody idiot," exclaimed Ron, oblivious to Harry's change in demeanour.

Snape cocked his head to the side. "Indeed, Mr. Potter," he said. His voice was uncharacteristically bereft of disdain, startling Harry. "Your friends were quite worried about you." He looked to Lilasmorte. "You appear to be fine." He spoke to Harry but kept his gaze upon the professor.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked him, casting wary glances at Lilasmorte in between looking him over for visible signs of damage. She didn't appear to notice his shift in manner either.

Harry forced a laugh for her sake and nodded. "I'm fine. Really, I am. I don't know what all of the fuss is about." He managed to unclench his hands and shoved them into his pockets roughly. Might as well go all the way with the pretence of being casual and happy to see Snivellus... Harry felt Professor Lilasmorte look at him just then. He didn't return the glance and instead watched the exchange between Ron and Hermione.

"You don't know? Bloody hell, Harry, you were acting a right loon after orientation. You scared Hermione."

"I wasn't frightened, Ronald, I was concerned for Harry."

"Concerned, scared, you weren't acting yourself, Harry." Ron shook his head. "It was as though you were in a trance."

"As though you were enchanted," Hermione added darkly, directing an accusatory glance at Professor Lilasmorte.

The woman merely blinked in return. From her manner, Harry thought that she would have gone so far as to add a yawn as an insult - he could well see her doing that, just to wind up Hermione. He nearly laughed at the thought. A yawn would have certainly raise Hermione's hackles.

Snape looked the students over and said, "Well, now that we've located your errant Mr. Potter, perhaps you children should return to Gryffindor." That was said with some of Snape's trademark sarcasm. "It is drawing late in the evening, and even prefects and Head Girls are not allowed to wander about the grounds at all hours of the night. Besides which, we are all familiar with Mr. Potter's particular circumstance and he especially should not be roaming without either a care or an escort." With that Snape brusquely nodded toward the other side of the bridge. His attention, Harry noticed, was still on Lilasmorte.

The moon was rising higher in the sky, casting its unearthly glow on the school grounds. Harry almost didn't want to leave; it was an eerily beautiful night. But Hermione stepped around Snape and took Potter by the hand. "Come along, Harry." She clasped his hand firmly and led him down the covered bridge away from the two teachers.

"Yeah, you must be tired after the journey and that feast, not to mention all of the walking you must have done. Took us ages to find you."

For some reason, Harry felt as though he needed to humour his friends. "You're right, Ron, I am a little tired now." Harry glanced over his shoulder at Snape and Lilasmorte and gave them both a look; one that he knew was a mix of warning, questioning, and distrust. He then continued toward the school with his friends.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It felt like hours. It had to have been hours. He had been lying in bed, staring at the red velvet curtains for too long. Hours must have passed. It simply had to be dawn soon. There was just no way that he could be awake for so long and it not be near sunrise.

He lay back and thought on his first day back at Hogwarts. Hermione had been surprisingly reserved and aloof with him upon their arrival at Gryffindor Tower. She instructed Ron to take Harry on rounds with him, and then left them to make her own rounds, saying very little to Harry in the process. Although he had not been so concerned with Hermione on the bridge, back in the tower he was a bit put off that she had abandoned him. It was very unlike Hermione. He knew that she must be angry with him. After the way that he'd left her in the hall…and then, to roam the school without a member of the Order knowing where he was, that should have had Hermione livid. She should have been furious with him. But she hadn't said a word on it. In the very least, she usually wanted to talk things through, to get answers. She must have questions about everything that was happening. He knew that he had questions. He really needed Hermione to help him think things through, to make sense of what was occurring. But she had left him with Ron and didn't even speak of what happened that evening. He didn't see her after he and Ron finished their rounds either.

First some person visits Aunt Petunia and makes her…love me. Love me! After fifteen, sixteen years, a sit down makes her love me? Then, during Announcements, I get a wink from the Headmaster and Auct Plum. Since Plummy is an Auror, is he a member of the Order? Is that what the winking was about? What about Lilasmorte? She enchants me in front of everyone and then she follows me as I wander the entire bloody school. Why do that if she's not a member of the Order or even an Auror? What does she know? What do they all know? Probably everything, as usual, and I will be the last to know, as usual. Bloody typical. I'm of age, I'm seventeen, and I'm the one in the damn prophecy. Why can't they tell me what in the hell is going on, just once? And Hermione… Hermione…you just left…when I need you, you leave…why?

After their conversation on the Hogwarts Express, he was left even more confused by Hermione's behaviour. She seemed so worried about him on the train, on the bridge…and then she simply…wasn't. Harry didn't understand that at all.

Ron hadn't seemed to notice; or, he at least pretended not to notice. Ron had never been very comfortable with emotionally charged matters, and Hermione's coldness would not have been any different for him. Ron usually feigned ignorance in order to avoid having to deal with an overly emotional issue. At any rate, feigned ignorance or no, Harry couldn't really speak to Ron about it. Ron was a great friend, one of his best friends, but there were certain areas that were Ron's domain and other areas that were Hermione's.

And then there were those areas, such as Hermione's odd coldness to him, that were no one's domain. Or should have been the purview of his mother and father. Or Sirius. Or Remus. He rubbed a hand across his eyes and sighed heavily. He didn't have anyone he could talk to about that, about his feelings, about Hermione's strange behaviour. Harry was all alone in that regard.

Harry reached across his chest, rolling onto his side slightly, to pick up his wristwatch. He squinted at it. Then, cursed softly under his breath as he remembered that his Dudley hand-me-down digital watch didn't work at Hogwarts.

He rolled over with a loud sigh and a soft thump. Through a gap in the curtains, he could see as Hedwig shifted on her perch and turned her snowy white head toward him, yellow eyes glistening in the moonlight. "I know, Hedwig," he whispered to her. "Sorry." She blinked at him, and then turned away.

Harry shifted position to lie on his side. He could see through one of the windows from his new position. He refused to put on his eyeglasses, as the act would signify a defeat against in the pursuit of the sleep that eluded him. He narrowed his eyes at the window. He could see that the moon was still high in the night sky. So, little time had passed at all. Damn it. The bloody insomnia was starting to wear on him greatly. With everything that was happening…Harry was fairly certain that he had not had a good night's sleep since his second year at Hogwarts. The only time he seemed to fall asleep readily was when he was crying himself to sleep. He would have gladly looked over his treasure of photos again, but he had already been told off, first by Seamus, then by Dean. After Seamus got on him, Harry smartened up and pulled the drapes to a close, hiding the Lumos glow of his wand. That was of little help when the photographed Marauders took to trying to make him laugh, causing Dean to shush him.

He heaved another sigh and wondered if he ever was going to fall asleep this evening. He loathed the time when he would see the sun's rays creeping into their dormitory. The thought pained him and he closed his eyes tightly against it. It was simply unfair. If and when he did fall asleep, his dreams would surely wake him well before dawn. Despite what he leaned of Occlumency under the tutelage of Professor Dumbledore, he still suffered from nightmares. They were nightmares of his own mind's creation, though, and not the ones that Voldemort had been feeding him since fifth year. Not that the change in source made the dreams any better. He could hear Ron turning and shifting in his sleep. Harry cast a glance over his shoulder. Ron always thrashed about a bit; he was a loud sleeper and an even louder dreamer. Tonight was no different as his arms and legs were flailing about underneath and above the bed sheets and Ron was muttering to himself. Harry parted the curtains on that side so he could see the inevitable outburst.

He wasn't left waiting for long. Ron suddenly sat bolt upright in bed, his blue eyes wide. "Stupid toad faced bat," he croaked.

Harry snickered. Ron was funny enough awake…his middle of the night rants while asleep tended to be most amusing. "How's that again, Ron?" he asked him in a soft voice.

"Bloody Useless Umbridge. Stupid toad faced kettle. Put the bat on and mind the gap." Then he plopped back down into his bed and started snoring noisily.

Harry rolled over, trying not to laugh too loudly. There were many times that he envied his friend and this was no exception. Not only was Ron asleep, but he seemed to be having another dandy of a dream. "You are a lucky man, Ron," he breathed. Harry lay back in his bed, staring at the canopy, and closed his eyes shut tightly. He would will himself to sleep. It would work this time. He would make it work.

After what was perhaps fifteen minutes, Harry gave up. He slid open the curtains on his bed and took a look round the dormitory. He looked to his right, at Seamus' bed. He was draped across his bed, face down in his pillow, Wizard and Muggle magazines spread across the coverlet. Next to him was Neville. He was sleeping quite soundly. Neville was such the sound sleeper that from time to time Harry and his friends would do things to him. It was never anything truly awful, just normal prankster level things like Spellotaping rope candy to Neville's ears or, a Muggle favourite that Dean had taught them, the art of shaving cream and an owl feather. Next to Neville was Dean himself, splayed beneath his West Ham poster and bits of sketching and doodling, arms and legs akimbo, his mouth slightly open. And then, rounding the dormitory, laying to Harry's left, was his best friend Ron Weasley, head tilted back, mouth open, and snoring loudly.

You bastards. You lucky bastards. Wish I could sleep like you.

At that, Harry put on his glasses, pulled on a jumper, grabbed his box of photographs and his wand, and made his way downstairs to the Common Room. He had forsaken his shoes in an effort to be quiet and he immediately regretted it. The stone floor was cold, like ice, and he found himself hopping across the room on his toes. Harry ran down the staircase as quickly as he could barefooted, and sighed as his feet touched the large rug of the Common Room.

There was a fire still burning in the fireplace. Harry thought that to be odd, considering that every student was supposed to be in bed. He scanned the room. He didn't see an occupant and it didn't appear as though anyone had recently been there. Though it was his first day as a prefect, he did feel a jab of responsibility. It was the duty of the prefects to ensure that the House was as secure as possible and that the students were safe. Meanwhile, someone had left a fire to burn in his tower his first day on the job.

Harry came round the sofa, and was surprised to see Hermione there, seated on the floor just before the fire. She had a book in her lap, Hogwarts: A History, but she appeared to be ignoring it and was instead staring at the flames. He didn't expect to see her awake so late in the evening. Though he had no real idea of what time it was, he knew that it was late, past midnight. He never expected to see her ignoring her favourite book.

"Hermione?" he said gently. When she didn't move, he took a few steps toward the fireplace. "Hermione?" he said again, a bit louder this time. She gasped and turned quickly, the tome sliding from her lap onto the floor. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Oh, Harry…" She appeared to be slightly flustered and clumsily attempted to pick up her book and stand simultaneously. She nearly toppled over. Harry threw everything that he was carrying onto the couch and grabbed her wrist to keep her from falling. Hermione's grip on Hogwarts, A History loosened and she spun around and careened into Harry, knocking his glasses off. His spectacles fell to the stone floor with a loud clatter and Harry heard a high-pitched chink as one of the lenses cracked from the contact. But, as Hermione was now pressed against him, he didn't really care about that. "I'm sorry," she murmured. She stared up at him and blinked, very slowly.

Harry drew in a quick breath and said, "No, it's okay. I'm - I'm - Are you all right?" He found that he had difficulty in speaking. His hand was still around her wrist. His other hand was held in front of him, hovering just over her left shoulder. Her free hand was barely resting on his chest. Despite the loss of his glasses, Hermione was close enough for him to see her very clearly. He couldn't quite remember her being that close to him, not ever. "You…were going to…fall."

"Yes. I was." She was breathing rapidly; he could tell from the hesitation in her speech and from the way her chest rose and fell against his.

He opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped as he realised that he had completely forgotten what it was he had meant to say. Then he asked again, "Are you all right?"

She nodded. She continued to stare at him. Her eyes were wide and dark as the main source of light in the Common Room came from the fireplace. He could still see the brown of her eyes, highlighted cinnamon by the fire. Did her eyes always look like this? Not really brown, but this sparkling shade of… He noticed that she was saying something to him. What? "I'm okay," she said again.

He nodded mutely, as his mouth had run dry. They awkwardly separated and stood before one another, Hermione with her hands clasped together. Harry ran a hand through his already unruly hair. "Um," he began, then stopped. That had come out little better than a croak. He cleared his throat and began again. "Um, I am sorry about earlier, Hermione." He flicked a glance at her.

She looked from the rug to him and then back down again. "It's all right. I mean, Professor Lilasmorte did something to you. You weren't quite yourself." She fidgeted, knitting her fingers together. He remembered that Hermione did that when she was nervous.

"I still…I mean…I should have said something more…than I did." Harry ran a hand through his hair again and bit his bottom lip. "Definitely a case of Harry Is Just Being An Ignorant Git," he murmured with a crooked smile.

He heard Hermione laugh and was relieved to see a smile on her face. "What's that?"

"Something I was thinking about during my travels," he grinned.

She appeared to relax, and folded her arms across her chest as she regarded him. "That you're an ignorant git?" She laughed again. "That was quite a walk. I wonder what revelation will come from the next one."

"That Harry Is Also An Egoistic Jackass?" he offered with another grin. She laughed again, which is what he had hoped for, and shook her head. Her pigtails swung back and forth and she stepped around him. He rather liked her in pigtails. She had started wearing her hair like that for bed in their third year. It helped to tame her formerly bushy hair. Her hair was still curly, but he liked that as well. A light golden brown with nice, gentle, curls…

Hermione knelt behind him and stood up, holding his glasses in her hand. "I'm sorry about your glasses, Harry." She gingerly handed them over to him. There was a fracture on one lens, running through the middle of the glass and spanning the breadth. He shrugged and slipped the glasses onto the bridge of his nose. Then, with a bit of a smile on his face, he sat down in the wing chair to the right of the couch and waited.

Hermione looked down at him, a look on her face that Harry knew was the Exasperated With Harry expression. "You're just going to wear broken spectacles, are you?"

He grinned broadly and replied, "No, because I know you are going to fix them for me."

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly. She placed her hands on her hips and asked, "What makes you think that, Mr. Potter?"

He grinned again. "Because, Miss Granger, you always do."

Despite the pout she wore, Harry knew that in actuality Hermione was trying not to smile at him. She screwed up her face even more and sat on the edge of the couch. "What makes you even think I've my wand with me?"

It was his turn to pout. "As a once proud co-founder of Dumbledore's Army, in addition to being Head Girl, I should think you would have your wand with you at all times."

She sighed and chuckled. She reached into her pyjama pocket and withdrew her wand. "Oculus Reparum," she said with a smile, and waved her wand at his glasses. There was a soft tinkling of glass as the magic repaired the damage. "Are you ever going to learn that spell? It's rather basic, you know."

"Why should I, when you'll always be there for me?" Although Harry was grinning as he said it, he didn't mean it as frivolously as he hoped it sounded.

Hermione looked back at the fire, an expression on her face that Harry couldn't quite read, and then turned her attention to her lost book. "What are you doing up, Harry? Not more nightmares, I hope?" There was genuine concern in her voice as she lightly stepped over to retrieve Hogwarts, A History. She took a seat on the edge of the couch, further down, toward the window.

"I just couldn't get to sleep. What about you? Why are you up?"

"I couldn't sleep either. I kept…thinking about what happened to you during Announcements. There is something about Professor Lilasmorte that bothers me." Hermione held the book against her chest and wrapped her arms around it. "There is something off putting about that woman."

Harry nodded. He had to agree with Hermione, there was something strange about the newest professor. "We'll have to find out more about her. She knows something. She followed me, Hermione, and I didn't even notice her. I only picked up on her presence on the bridge, but I think that is because she wanted me to know she was there."

"She followed you? Through the school, across the grounds…?"

"Yes, that's what she told me. I don't have any reason to believe that she wasn't telling the truth. I asked her if she was a member of the Order or an Auror and she told me no. I don't know why she would have followed me like that if she's not either."

Hermione frowned at him. "I don't like that, Harry."

He nodded. "Believe me, Hermione, I don't like that."

"But Dumbledore wouldn't have hired her if she was a threat to you."

Harry shrugged at that. "I don't think that he would. But I can't rightly say what I think about what Dumbledore does anymore…I'm never told anything, so…"

"He would never let anything happen to you while at Hogwarts, Harry."

"Lilasmorte enchanted me in the Great Hall in front of every student and every faculty member, Headmaster included. Care to make the statement again?" He had spoken more bitterly than he had intended to, but Harry didn't regret it. It was true.

Hermione pursed her lips and frowned again. "Snape noticed."

At this, Harry laughed. "Ah, yes, Professor Snape. Is that why you and Ron dragged him along? Is that what made you think to fetch him?"

"Snape is still a member of the Order, and as he was the only one to have noticed anything awry during Announcements, yes, that is what made me think to fetch him," Hermione glowered. "If Lilasmorte had further plans for you, he might have been able to stop her. In the very least, we were certain that he would take our concerns seriously." She snorted in disrespect and turned away from him.

Harry felt a pang of regret at that. Hermione had only done what she thought was right to protect him. If Lilasmorte were there to attack him, just Hermione and Ron might not have been enough to fight Lilasmorte off, especially if she was a Death Eater that had somehow slipped past Dumbledore. With Snape being the only teacher and Order-member to make note of what occurred in the Great Hall, it would have fallen to him to be the one to act. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"That's the third time you've said that."

"I'm sorry?"

"Now that's the fourth." Hermione turned round to face him, and he saw that she was grinning. "You've been through a great deal, Harry," she said as the smile faded slightly. "It's understandable that…well, it's too much, isn't it? It's just too much." The latter came out as little more than a whisper.

Harry was at a loss. He knew that he had been a terror to be around in recent months…no, not months, the past few years, ever since the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Cedric Diggory's murder, and the return of Voldemort, Harry knew that he had been nearly impossible to deal with on occasion. Those occasions were becoming increasingly frequent. And Ron and Hermione, especially Hermione, had bore the brunt of his temperamental behaviour. "I'm sorry," he said again, his voice hushed.

"Five," she mumbled with a soft giggle.

Now he laughed, took the pillow from behind him on the wing chair, and tossed it lightly at Hermione. "Will you stop that? Why are you counting what we're saying? Is this a Head Girl thing?"

She gracefully deflected the pillow onto the couch. "It's just…I'm just…being silly." She grinned at him, and partially covered her mouth with her hand. Harry had to laugh, and they both sat, giggling, for a little while. Hermione's gaze wandered down to the couch and she said to him, "Oh, Harry, your photos."

"What's that?" He looked at the couch and saw that, when he had first moved to keep Hermione from falling, when he flung what he was carrying onto the couch the photo box had opened and the contents had spilled. Photos were spread across the couch, and the cushion that he had flung at Hermione had landed in the middle of the spill. He rose and knelt on the rug in front of the couch. "It's all right. No harm done, I think." He started to sort through the photographs.

"Here, let me help you." Hermione put her book in the arm chair by the window and slid onto the rug next to Harry. She had knelt close to him, but still maintained a bit of a distance.

Harry felt some disappointment at that.

"I, ah, didn't really have them sorted in any fashion," he said to her.

"You should. You need an album for these."

"I was thinking about adding some to the album that Hagrid gave me first year. There is still a bit of room in there."

"That would be nice. You still need another album, though. There are loads of pictures." Hermione was gathering them into neat piles, and seemed to be sorting the photos according to activity. He noticed that she had a bit of a Quidditch stack building.

He grinned and gave a nod at the stack. "I guess my dad liked Quidditch."

Hermione laughed. "Do you really think so?" She paused in the sorting and held a larger photo before her. "Look, it's a photo of his old Gryffindor team."

"Really? Anyone we know in the photo?" he asked jokingly, as he tended to his own stacks.

When she didn't answer him immediately, Harry turned to look at her.

Hermione was staring at the photo, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "Harry…" She moved the photo over a little, so that the fire illuminated it better. Harry moved closer to her and looked at the group shot.

He saw his father dressed in his Gryffindor Quidditch robes, nonchalantly leaning against his broom, grinning at the camera. Surrounding him were his team mates. They all looked like a decent group, mostly men. There was one girl with light blonde hair and a pretty smile. He scanned the faces of the rest of the team. He smiled at the various grins that the team sported, and then froze.

Winking at him, in the photo, was a sandy haired and blue-eyed Auct Plum.

"Auct?" Harry looked into Hermione's eyes. There was no mistaking it. It was him. "Auct Plum knew my father?"

She nodded slowly. "It's definitely him. He looks pretty much the same, except for the hair and the purple eyes, but that is Professor Auct."

"Maybe that's why he winked at me," he breathed.

"He winked at you?" She sounded aghast.

"Yes, just like he's doing now. Dumbledore winked at me, and then Auct winked at me during introductions."

"I didn't see that."

Harry smiled at her. 'Hermione, I think I was the only person to make eye contact with Auct. You and everyone else avoided looking at him."

Her cheeks flushed with colour. "I was not avoiding him." She held the photo closely before her and stared at it.

"You were." Harry suppressed a laugh.

"Think what you like, Harry." She flipped the photo over and made a noise that sounded like a gasp. "Harry! He wrote their names on the back!"

"My dad wrote something?" He felt his heart jump at that. He had never before seen his father's handwriting. Hermione handed him the photo and Harry eagerly scanned the back. Though a bit faded, the handwriting was still clear. It was a little poor, but his father had written his team mates' names in block lettering, so it was legible. It was plain that it was his father's handwriting for the inscription he made for himself: PRONGS, SEEKER (ME!). He used nicknames instead of their true names. There was a Stick, who was a Beater, and a Striker, who was the Keeper. His father had written the names on the back of the photo in the same place as the figures on the opposite side stood, so Harry knew who Stick and Striker were. There was a Roddy, who was another Beater. Auct, who was a Chaser, was called Rocks during his school days. "Rocks?" Harry said aloud. The other Chaser was called Lily.

"Lily?" echoed Hermione. She had been following along with Harry. "That's not a reference to your mother, is it? Is that the girl on the team?"

"No, she is the -" Harry turned the photo over. "-the Chaser over here. Her nickname was Nike." Harry pulled a face. "Not the -"

"No, I think rather the Greek goddess of victory. She was born before the Olympians and was often in the company of Athene."

Harry slid a glance at her. "You are amazing," he murmured.

"Pardon?" Hermione looked at him and blinked.

Harry hurriedly turned back to the photo. "Erm, so, that means Lily is…him?" He pointed at a smiling face in the photo. He was standing between Rocks and Prongs and occasionally put two fingers behind Rocks' head to mimic rabbit ears. He was of the same height as his father and Professor Auct and had dark hair and blue eyes. He looked to be about the same age as Auct, both appearing to be older than his father. For some reason, he looked familiar, but Harry wasn't certain as to why.

"He looks familiar," said Hermione. Again, she had followed right along with him. "There's something about his face…I'm not sure what it is."

"You're right. Maybe it will come to us at some point." Harry frowned at the Gryffindor team photo one last time before placing it in the box. "Are there any more pictures of Auct and my dad?"

Hermione moved the stack between them and they started to search the photos, placing the ones with Auct into a pile. Soon they had gathered a short stack of Auct-related photos. In many of those photos, Lily the Chaser was present as well. Hermione took one of the Auct photos in her hand and considered it. "Rocks and Lily," she said softly. "There is just something so familiar about Lily…"

Harry took half of the stack and sat on the floor, his back against the couch. He idly flipped through the photos. "Auct knew my father. What does that mean to me?" He sighed. What did it mean to him, if anything? Was it simply coincidence or was there something else at work in his life yet again?

Hermione joined him. She slid onto the rug next to him, right next to him, to his surprise. She leaned her head on his shoulder, to his greater surprise. "It could mean that he's someone you could talk to." She watched as he continued to rearrange the photos in his hand. "You could find out a bit more about your father. Professor Lupin has been so busy with the Order that you haven't been able to really speak in ages. Professor Auct is here, now, so you could have the entire term to learn more about your dad."

"He doesn't look like a dear friend, not judging by these photos. Just a mate he played Quidditch with." Harry fought the urge to place his head atop hers. He very much wanted to do that. Instead, he forced himself to look at the photos again.

"Does he have to be a dear friend?" she asked him quietly. "Wouldn't something, anything, about your dad be nice to know? He might have been friends with your mother for all we can tell from the photos. I don't think it would hurt to talk to him about it."

Harry smiled. This was the Hermione he knew, the Hermione who could cut through the heart of his problems and present him with the solution. The Hermione who was always there for him, unfailingly. The Hermione who just wasn't herself earlier in the evening, the same way that he wasn't himself earlier in the evening. "You're right," he told her. "I will mention something to him tomorrow, after class. We're scheduled for the afternoon?"

"Yes, after Advanced Potions."

"Bugger."

She giggled. He felt her body move against his as she laughed. "You'll survive."

"Snape mightn't," he replied darkly.

"Harry Potter, you wouldn't dare…"

He smirked and put on a casual air. "I am in need of some duelling practise. Work on my hexes and curses. What do you think Snape would make of a Balbutio curse?"

Hermione pulled away from him and hit him in the shoulder. "You wouldn't!"

"Ouch! Are Head Girls allowed to attack prefects like that?" He rubbed his shoulder, putting on a wince.

"Yes." Then she hit him again, just above his hand.

He stopped rubbing his shoulder and glared at her. The effect was lessened by the grin on his face. "I fear that Ron and I have truly become a bad influence on you," he announced.

Hermione cocked a smirk at him, one that he had never quite seen before on her, rustled his hair, and stood up. "You have no idea." She took the rest of the photos on the couch and placed them into the box, then picked up her copy of Hogwarts, A History and headed for the staircase to the girls' dormitory. "You need to get some sleep, Mr. Potter. You will have rounds in the morning." Harry rolled his eyes and then pouted. "No. It's simply of no use. Go on then. Off to bed with you."

He heaved a weighty sigh and stood up. "Yes, Miss Granger," he said in a monotone. He rolled his eyes at her again.

She smiled brightly at him. "That's better. Good night, Harry." She turned and ascended the staircase.

Harry watched her, and didn't move until she had disappeared from sight. He stood immobile for a while, then collected his things and slowly climbed the staircase to his room and to another restless night. "Good night, Hermione…"

∞