The Unfinished Light of Heaven

Author’s note: This started as a one shot inspired by the great Kallysten’s better-titled “Heaven’s Key” and immediately grew into a won’t-end-no-matter-what-I-do pain in the arse.

By the by: the first part is mostly Hr and D friendship, so if you don’t like fluffy, redeemy-dreamy Malfoy, then best scroll on to better fics. You’ve been warned. This means YOU LoupDeNoir.

Hogwarts, summer to sixth year. H/H, Hr&D, R/Lav, D/Luna. PG13

The Unfinished Light of Heaven

Hermione was going to leave her bedroom. That was the resolution for the day, which wouldn’t be hard seeing how there wasn’t much of a room to leave. It certainly didn’t look like her formerly habitable Muggle sanctuary. Evidence of her growing melancholia, more like. Books and papers were strewn everywhere, with everything from pencils to torn tissues marking the more interesting chapters in the spellbooks she’d come across. Scraps of paper were tacked up on walls, tabbed with cross references pointing to and away from them in a web of markings that had long ago ceased to make any discernable sense.

Her unmade bed was covered with mnemonics tricks and schedules she’d drawn up for the NEWT level spells. They were sure to give her the most trouble, so she’d set a timeline for learning them. Several timelines actually. Timelines that were revised daily so she could never be sure of the progress she made.

She hadn’t intended to spend the summer in such a Howard-Hughes-like state. But the passing afternoons played a conspicuously small part in her summer plans. Almost as conspicuous as the absence of a certain raven-haired hero.

“Harry,” Hermione sighed and shut her Reflections On All Things Nonsensical textbook. Her thoughts once again drifted to the Perils of Potter as she reached over to reread Harry’s latest letter.

She had been hoping for something other than his admitted boredom away from Hogwarts or his deserved contempt for those beastly Dursleys, but was again disappointed. All his letters struck her as penned afterthoughts. Something obligatory. Not intentionally cold, but, dear gods, a girl could only take a rephrased “I’m fine, how are you’ so many times…

Hey, Mione…glad to hear from you…don’t worry about me…promise to read up on (fill in blank)…will be useful in (insert subject here)…can’t wait to go to the Burrow…

A little confidence wouldn’t be too much to hope for, would it? After five years of friendship and a sort of one-sided love… well apparently it is… she thought with a sigh.

She’d owled him a few times. Less often than she’d like. Each letter was perfectly polite and to the point, oddly lacking the insistence and urgency of last summers’ manic few.

Hey Harry…I’m so glad that your summer’s going well. I hope the Dursleys aren’t being too terrible. Be sure to read up on (insert topic here). Having a fine time at home, did (something- something) yesterday. Hopefully will (do something) again.

Every time her treacherous hand began penning phrases like “be sure to write Dumbledore” or “practice your Occlumency,” she had a sudden image of Harry tossing her letter aside and reaching for the nearest Quidditch book.

She hated that she was constantly questioning her place in his life, worrying over her “right” to nag and mother him. It was Harry after all. Her Harry. Her best friend and… well, she wasn’t sure what else he was to her, but he was definitely hers. Brave, strong, handsome, um, that is to say, not so much handsome as capable. “Definitely capable,” she muttered.

She found herself reading over her expressionless reply, trying to find any potential pitfalls or “girlish” statements that would drive him away. Once upon a time she wouldn’t have thought twice about admitting her all encompassing concern for him, but things had changed. Many things.

Somehow, between her falling in the DM and her waking up in the hospital, she realized something. Something that made it physically painful leaving his letters unanswered and not worrying about him and not speaking to him and not getting him out of that God-forsaken-suburban-hellhole…

She’d realized that she was in love with her best friend. Yes, she, Hermione Jane Granger, loved Harry James Potter. Melodramatic? Maybe. Inconvenient? Of course. But she realized years ago her sense of timing would never be her most endearing characteristic.

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What do you mean “…and you were right”?

Ha Ha. Very funny.

Now, if you don’t mind, I’d just as soon tell this story without your interruptions.

As I was saying, the school year had ended as it always did, with Harry coming out of traction and my getting ready for another vacation I’d guilted my parents into.

Then of course, Dumbledore summoned me to his office…well, you know the rest.

Explain? Well, there’s nothing to explain. Dumbledore, aka Mr Vague and Unhelpful Until After the Fact, asked me to his office two days before summer break. I took a chair at an appropriately round table, seated at which were several members of the Order: Moody, Tonks, Lupin, Snape, McGonagall, Hagrid, Arthur Weasley…surprisingly enough, Bill Weasley, a few others… do I have to name them all? No…good. Because my spelling’s not fantastic at the moment. Are there one or two l’s in ‘Bellatrix’?

Anyway, from what I understood, and the explanation was long in coming, what with Snape’s minute-long sneers and Lupin’s eternal sniveling (well, he does snivel), my injury in the Department of Mysteries had left me “marked” like Harry. I was “bonded” to the escaped henchman Dolohov and would suffer and prosper as my counterpart suffered and prospered. Of course how a mute Deatheater could prosper, I’d no idea.

And apparently neither did Snape. “But,” he said with a sly smile, “until we do Miss Granger, you can look forward to vivid nightmares and the occasional blinding pain of your wound.” He motioned towards my still-healing sides and front with a look of grim satisfaction. Git.

The seriousness of my DM injury would be the first thing I’d lie to Harry about that summer. The first of many things. As June progressed, I began leaving more and more things out of my letters. Like how I’d canceled my trip to sunny Greece so I could lock myself in my room and dig through old textbooks; or how I’d forgone any study plan and was instead hunting and pecking for offensive and defensive dueling tactics; or how my injury pulsed and throbbed painfully until I was popping Tylenol and pacing at all hours of the night.

The truth? Why would I tell him the truth? This was Harry. My Harry. The man was sporting a sense of responsibility the size of the Gobi desert. He’d blame himself for my injury then try to ‘avenge’ it by doing something brash and ultimately useless, most likely endangering himself and others in the process.

Scary how well I knew him, huh?

Anyhow, the summer before seventh year found me at home. I wanted to stay in England in case Harry needed me. Needed me? Ha. I’d proven myself rather useless on the daring-rescue front. Failing at the ministry, falling in a dead faint during Sirius’s death, sleeping through Voldemort’s appearance…

So I spent my time researching dueling and defensive charms. I had a strange idea of finding a way to block the Avada Kadavra curse. Sort of an after-the-fact compensation for my fall at the DM. I was so engrossed in my obsessive, er, non obsessive, completely organized search on everything Avada Kadavra related, that I nearly missed the Hogwarts letter left on my windowsill.

Chapter 2 “Letters and Sweaters”

Hermione shook off her usual grim thoughts as she readied to go to the Muggle library. Nowadays, crowds made her nervous, so what little time she was outdoors was passed in quiet, secluded spots. She was pulling on some jeans when she noticed a Hogwarts envelope resting on her windowsill.

She approached it carefully, the fruits of her self-instructed training taking effect. She looked for foreign markings and strange creases as she opened her window and Leviosaed it to the desk. She opened it with a Revelio spell and braced for any sudden changes.

The letter lay open and harmless on the desk.

She rolled her eyes and smiled self-consciously. “Okay,” she thought, “maybe I am a touch paranoid, but honestly…” she trailed off as she began to read the flashing gold inlay under the Hogwarts seal.

Dear Miss Granger:

Due to your outstanding achievements in the field of The Defense Against the Dark Arts, I’m pleased to offer you the position of assistant to our new DADA professor, Warren Gravel.

Professor Gravel, as you may know, was made famous for his practical use of the Consordium Consordius. We would like to extend you an invitation to aid Professor Gravel with the accelerated coursework and NEWT level spells expected in this year’s curriculum.

With your level of mastery and firsthand experience, we’re sure you will prove most satisfactory, and we anxiously await your reply.

Should you choose to accept, your training and assistantship will begin June 20.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

“Ha,” Hermione chuckled bitterly. “Firsthand experience? Firsthand experience meaning my getting petrified by a basilisk or knocked unconscious by a Deatheater?”

She set the letter carefully on the table and skimmed the pile of books beside her. She carefully removed Hrothgar’s Guide to Hexes and leafed through the chapter on “Spellbound Someones.”

“The Honorable Warren Gravel, Adreal Auror-First Class came to fame when he bravely defended Azkaban from a frontal attack by You-Know-Who, defeating twelve Deatheaters during the attempted liberation of the infamous seer Edmund Goneril.”

Twelve death eaters. Twelve. She pictured a raw Auror, barely of Apparating age, surrounded by a closing circle of dark-robbed figures, only his training and his hope standing in their way…

She gave a secret smile and immediately began composing her acceptance letter. Great Germanus, she may’ve become unbalanced since sixth year, but she wasn’t mad enough to turn down an assistantship, especially from the likes of Warren Gravel, self-loathing be damned.

Gods, she took it as a sign of Dumbledore’s faith, despite her failing at the DM. She ignored the Harry-sounding voice murmuring about how she obviously needed all the help she could get and who better than Gravel to train the incompetent-in-the-field confidant of Harry Potter…

Chewing the end of her pen, she considered her response. Something pleasantly flattered-sounding. Not gushy… just grateful. And don’t mention your obsessive search for offensive tactics, Harry’s voice added. Compulsive preparation for one-on-one combat may not be the prerequisite they had in mind.

“Quiet, you” Hermione replied evenly as she penned her response. A summer at Hogwarts may do her good. Orfeo knows, things couldn’t get any worse.

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A Week Later At Hogwarts…

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Hey Harry

Really, really glad to hear from you. I’ve been dreadfully worried. Hope you’re having a not-too terrible time at the Durselys. Just think, only a few more weeks and you’ll be back at the Burrow! I’m sure they miss you. Ron and Ginny will probably have you doing Quidditch drills morning, noon, and night. I’m exhausted just thinking about it.

Things are great here at Hogwarts. I just arrived this morning. I met Gravel and, wow, you’re going to love him! I’ll tell you all about him tomorrow. Right now we’re going to look at our offices. Write me when you can.

Always,

Hermione

Hermione scanned the letter and rolled her eyes. “Falling back to formula are we?” She thought with a sigh.

Hermione tucked the letter into an envelope and handed it to Hedwig, who was perched on the windowsill. The white owl flapped a bit and turned her beak up at having to deliver the half-hearted correspondence.

“Come on girl…” Hermione pleaded. “It’s not Harry’s fault, it’s mine.”

Hedwig’s head tilted in response.

”I’m just writing what he wants to hear...”

Hedwig bristled a bit and turned away.

“No, I’m not lying to him….” She trailed off as Hedwig blinked blankly at her.

Hermione gave a put-up sigh, “Well what did you expect? I can’t tell him about my injury. I can’t tell him about my, um, feeling, um, things. So what can I write about besides required reading and the weather?”

Hedwig looked back, no doubt pitying the high-maintenance human in front of her. With a sigh, she let Hermione tie the letter to her leg and pet her a bit before she began the long flight back to the Dursley’s.

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In truth, Hermione had been having quite a time since arriving at Hogwarts…

“Well, come along Miss Granger.” McGonagall turned on her heel and strode down the corridor, leaving Hermione to trail after her with her bags.

“We’ll see to your room later. Right now,” McGonagall turned towards Hermione, who skidded to a stop, barely avoiding a collision with her Head of House. “Right now,” McGonagall continued unfazed, “you’ll be meeting the other student assistant.”

”Another assistant?” Hermione asked, not a little disappointed at the news.

McGonagall smiled, holding back an indulgent laugh as Hermione attempted to hide her dampened ambition.

“Yes, Miss Granger. Although I’m sure you alone would’ve proven more than satisfactory, we felt that a student from another house would provide the proper, diversity, that Professor Gravel will encounter in upcoming year.”

“Oh…right,” Hermione said blankly and nodded. Who was she to argue with McGonagall? Besides, there might be something in that. Diversity that is…

McGonagall opened a heavy door and motioned her inside.

Hermione found herself in a bright square room with large windows overlooking the green hilltops. As Hermione’s eyes adjusted to the light, she noticed an outlined figure leaning against the glass, his familiar, merciless eyes studying her intently.

“Granger…Fancy meeting you here,” Malfoy said smugly.

“Fancy?” She echoed. Not really the word she’d use. How about ‘un-bloody-believable.’ So this is what happens to the children of Deatheaters: honored assistantships and summers at Hogwarts. The poor guy…

Of course Hermione had heard, and pointedly ignored, rumors of Malfoy’s defection to the Order. And obviously that’s worked out well. Go ahead smarty pants, try and ignore it now.

She turned back to McGonagall, awaiting an explanation, or an apology, or both. Normally she wouldn’t think to question the Head Mistress…

Normally? Alright, fine, ‘never,’ she thought. But this…this being paired with that son of a Deatheater Malfoy was just too…Appropriate? She sighed. After all, Lucius Malfoy is in Voldemort’s inner circle, and now that you’ve been “bonded” to that Deatheater Dolohov…you’re practically family.”

The realization hit her hard: Warren Gravel, scourge of Deatheaters everywhere, had been given charge of her and Malfoy … two powerful young wizards with ties to Voldemort. That’s why she was here. Not for some supposed assistantship, but for some babysitting detail…Babysitting nothing. Most nannies don’t Crucio their charges at the end of the term.

“Well,” she replied silently, “at least the good ones don’t…”

She found herself wishing, not for the first time that summer, that Harry was with her. At least he’d reassure her. Look at her with something other than pity like McGonagall, or contempt like Malfoy. Besides, it’d make for a nice change from the hell the Order was apparently intent on putting her through. Yes, her injury had left her a danger to herself and others, but couldn’t they at least let her have her summer in peace?

”Gods of course not...” she sighed wistfully. And to think she could’ve been in Greece…

“Not what Granger?” Malfoy asked with a smirk, enjoying the play of emotions across her face.

Oops, she’d said something aloud again. She turned to him, noting the change in his appearance. Something was different. Sure, he was pale and thin, even for Malfoy, but something else too. He looked stronger, more steeled, and less likely to run to those blithering idiots he called friends. Not that he could anymore anyway.

She was secretly pleased at the change. Siding with the Order must’ve earned him a backbone. He’d bloody need one if they were going to help Professor Gravel.

”Um….working together,” she stammered a reply. “We’re not working together.” She paused, looking back towards McGonagall. “Are we?”

McGonagall nodded matter-of-factly. “Yes, Miss Granger. You and Mr. Malfoy have been chosen to assist Professor Gravel for the rest of the summer and the upcoming year.”

Malfoy and Hermione looked at each other wearily. Gods, what had she done to deserve this?

Gotten hit with a water-down Crucio curse and let Sirious die an agonizing death?

“Besides that,” she grumbled.

“What was that Miss Granger?” McGonagall asked.

“I said ‘when do we start?’” Oh, nice save.

“You start today Miss Granger…. Professor Gravel,” she motioned behind them, “I’d like to introduce you to your new assistants.”

Hermione turned and found herself face-to-face with Adreal Auror of the First Class, Warren Gravel.

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Warren Gravel awkwardly stuck out his hand, which Hermione immediately shook. She gripped the careworn palms and took in his appearance: mid forties, youngish-looking, light brown hair, dark eyes…

“Miss Granger,” he said with a soft smile. She nodded back with a bit of shyness. Suddenly standing next to a man who’d defeated twelve Deatheaters offered a pretty exciting set of possibilities.

“Least he’ll keep me in line,” she thought with a sigh. A strange feeling came over her as he released her hand. A sort of…relief. At least with Gravel around, she’d pose no threat to a certain Boy Whose Friends Repeatedly Endangered Him.

“Mr. Malfoy” Gravel nodded to his other assistant with the same guileless friendliness. To her surprise, Malfoy unhesitatingly took the offered hand. For someone whose father decorated his den with Auror scalps, Malfoy didn’t look the least bit uncomfortable. In fact, he looked a bit deferential. Apparently he’d learned some manners with his newfound humility, and she couldn’t help but think how it suited him.

She shook off the momentary admiration for Malfoy’s sure-to-be temporary courtesy. This was Malfoy after all. Malfoy, who wasn’t trustworthy or helpful. In. Any. Way.

Right. So then, why is he here, helping the cofounder of Dumbledore’s Army get the new DADA instructor up to speed?

“Ummm. Good question,” she replied silently.

“Miss Granger?” Gravel was looking at her, apparently amused.

“Sorry Professor…” she started.

”Call me Graves.”

”What?” She shook her head, puzzled.

He and Mcgonigal laughed a bit, and even Malfoy managed a chuckle.

”As I was just telling Mr. Malfoy here, I’ll have none of this Professor this, and ‘sir’ that. Please, just call me ‘Graves.’ That way I’ll feel less like the phony I already am.”

Hermione snuck a glance at Malfoy who looked back at her with raised eyebrows.

“I’m not really a professor.” Graves leaned forward and lowered his voice. “In fact, I barely passed my NEWTs.”

“Graves,” McGonagall interrupted, “now really, this isn’t necessary, nobody…”

”I know, I know Mini,” he answered affectionately.

Malfoy nudged Hermione. “Mini?” he mouthed as she turned to him.

She felt a reluctant sense of comradery as she held back the laughter bubbling up at the nickname.

“I’ve no doubt that Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy will see to their duties,” Graves continued. “ Regardless of my credentials, or any lack there of,” he added with wink. He then took Mini…er, Professor McGonagall, by the arm and led her down the hallway, chatting merrily about the weather and architecture and so forth. Malfoy and Hermione trailed silently behind, lost in the long shadows of the gathering evening.

Hermione studied the two figures and smiled. Funny how Prof…er, um, ‘Graves’ reminded her a bit of Lupin. She stopped dead in her tracks and shuttered at that, wondering what dark secret this DA instructor was hiding. With Hogwart’s track record, he was probably some debauched seer planning to brainwash his students and start some mandrake-worshiping cult.

She shook off the ominous thoughts and trotted to catch up with her summer family. “Still,” she muttered as she paused at the training room door, “could be worse.”

“Wager on it?” Malfoy offered grimly, appearing out of nowhere. He held the door open and motioned her inside.

Hermione rolled her eyes and went through the door, bracing herself for the long summer ahead.

Author’s note: I stole the name “The Grinning Spoons” from JanieB, but only because I love her.

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Chapter 3 “Bars and Stars”

Those first few weeks at Hogwarts held little of the excitement expected. Most of my time was spent filing Graves’ vast correspondence and cross checking his lesson plans. But the work went by quickly. Malfoy and I worked silently side by side, with only an occasional “pass me an envelope” or “hand me that quill” to break the silence.

By the third week we’d finished the bulk of our clerical duties, so our office hours only kept us for an hour or two a day. I spent the rest of my time in the library while Draco did Quidditch maneuvers on the grounds.

Sensing his student’s boredom, Graves stopped by one afternoon and gave us a list of spells, saying something about their needing ‘a dry run.’ He laughed as Draco and I stared at each other with evil grins and raced outdoors. Malfoy cracked his knuckles and I cocked my eyebrows as we squared off on the grounds. Oh, yes, this would get interesting…

For some reason I found it strangely cathartic leveling curses at Drake.

‘Strangely’? Right. More like ‘bloody brilliant,’ to quote a certain redhead.

I’d like to say that I kept my distance from Drake. That I was cold and forbidding and in no-way friendly.

But then of course I’d be lying. We became friends. I, Hermione “Mudblood” Granger and Draco “Death-to-All-Muggles” Malfoy were fast friends. Coworkers, peers, fellows...

Truth was, I felt better when I was with him. Harry’s bitter voice stopped ringing in my ears and, horrible death-eater legacy not-withstanding, Malfoy was a pretty decent dueling partner, who even had a healthy sense of humor once you got past that destroy-all-mudbloods air about him.

Maybe we were both looking for allies for the upcoming year. He had his new loyalties to the Order, and I had that ridiculous curse to worry about, so I suppose we just needed each other to balance out the changes in our lives.

And, okay, maybe we still had to iron out some problems. Weeks into our training and we were still too eager in our attacks, and, I must say, Drake’s little celebratory chicken-dance jig was getting old fast. His congratulatory two-steps usually lasted longer than the duels, but somehow I like to think he was only doing it to cheer me up after my (rare) losses.

Yeah right.

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“Gods he’s good…” Hermione muttered, as she got to her feet after being knocked flat by a stunning Atter spell.

She looked back towards her flaying counterpart. Whether his body was twitching like that from exhaustion or from a non existent sense of rhythm, she couldn’t say. “Yeah, he’s good.” She shook her head and stared at him. “Not so much with dancing though.”

Hermione knew she had a good ten seconds before he’d be finished with celebratory jig #59, so she slowly summoned an Ambergris counter-curse of her own, getting a warm, fuzzy feeling as he dove face-first out of the way.

“What are you smiling at Granger?” Draco said as he got to his feet, shaking the dust off his robe.

She gave slow shrug “….your pitiful attempt at an Atter spell?”

“Pitiful?” He asked, scandalized. “I’ll have you know that spell was perfect.”

”Perfect?” She laughed, “Is that why it fizzled halfway before it landed?” She shook her head. “If you’d learn a little patience, your spells would last longer.”

“Patience?” He grinned. “Coming from the girl who used three Avavior curses in a row?

Oh, right. “Well,” she kicked at the ground a bit, “that was more of a plan B.”

He cocked his eyebrows and looked at her questioningly.

“Myselnspelscroked,” she said sheepishly.

”What?” He asked with a sly smile.

“My. Selnor. Spells. Have. Gone. Crooked. Again.” There, are you happy, git? Gods he could make her mad. She didn’t act that smug when he couldn’t muster a Sonorus spell. Well, she thought, at least not to his face.

He didn’t answer. He just stared at her, all gloating and smirking-like.

“Stop. Smiling,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I’m not smiling,” he said with an impossibly wider grin.

She held up her wand and motioned towards him. “Stop. It,” she spat, struggling to keep from laughing herself. Her get-intimidated face really needed work.

He winked at her. “You know what you need love?”

She raised her eyebrows and shook her head. Gods, is that all he thinks about?

“No, not that Granger,” he answered, rolling his eyes. “Well,” he added, “besides that…you need to get out. Go crazy. Go to Hogsmeade. Have some fun…”

“…watching the World Cup?” She finished for him, unimpressed.

Draco nodded eagerly, and she gave a put-upon sigh.

”Fine, great…wonderful…Football. Oh boy am I stoked,” she said half-heartedly, repeating a phrase she’d heard an annoying Muggle commentator use. She regretted ever introducing Draco to the darned sport. He was now a borderline fanatic, and often dragged her to the Debauched Monk to watch games on the only television in the county.

Although, she’d later admit there was something terribly nice and, almost, cozy about the whole thing. Well, cozy, that is, until Draco started in on the drinking games. Then things usually devolved into a sad college comedy.

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(Later, at Hogsmeade)

“Come on Hermes,” Draco prompted. Gods she hated when he called her that. “Just have a widdle drinkie.” He waved the glass under Hermione’s nose by way of invitation. He let out a hey-I’m-not-drunk-even-though-I-sound-like-a-hyena laugh, and, in her eternal Gryffindor stupidity, she snatched the shot from his hand.

As per usual, the one drink soon turned into two, and after a truly stupid drinking game involving I-spy and some sort of bet about the house band, The Grinning Spoons, they were slacking drunk.

Hermione’d never admit it, but when they went out like this, she didn’t feel the self-doubt and borderline depression that’d plagued her all summer. Maybe because she couldn’t feel anything. Especially her legs. Gods that stuff was strong.

“You, Drake…” she pointed at him, forgetting that a shot was still in her hand. The firewhiskey went all over the table and, of course that was the most hysterical thing they’d ever seen. Draco fell over laughing, and Hermione’s hands were shaking too hard to pour another.

“Drake, you’re the best,” she said whole-heartedly as she finally managed to get some of the yummy liquid into the glass. “This is the best place. I love this place.”

”I love this place,” he agreed. “I love you sweets,” he added with a stupid grin.

“I love you too.” she said, looking equally stupid.

“You’re like the homely sister I never wanted to shag.”

“Hey! …wait, as opposed to the lovely sister you’re desperate to shag?” she asked, honestly puzzled. Wow. Talking would be easier without the room spinning. Stupid room.

“Noooo.” He slurred. “Just… never will want to shag you…”

”Oh…” Hermione whined with an exaggerated moan. Denial aside, that was just so…mean. “Never? Never ever?”

”Nope,” he grinned. “Never.”

”What if….” Gryffindor girl power and whatnot, she couldn’t let him have the last word. ”What if I were twins?” she answered brightly.

Draco was about to object, when he paused and gave a rakish grin. “Okay, yeah.” He nodded. “Then I’d consider it.”

“Well, don’t do twin-me any favors,” she said haughtily, taking another sip.

“Okay, fine. I would definitely shag you if you were twins.”

”Soooo, it’s not quite never-ever,” she said smugly.

“Yeah…not quite. But…” he leaned forward and added, “you know if I did, Harry’d kill me.”

”Harry would never kill you Drake,” she said solemnly. He narrowed his eyes and gravely nodded. They took a moment to appreciate the endless goodness and saintliness that was Harry James Potter.

Of course that didn’t last long and they burst out laughing.

“Harry doesn’t need an excuse to kill me.” Draco said darkly, after regaining control over himself and pouring another glass. “His being bored’s reason enough.”

“Maybe if you turned into twins and shagged him he’d rethink it.” Mmmmmm. Twin Drakes. Twin Harrys. Wow, she was drunk.

Sometime later, he’d won another round of I-spy and the Grinning Spoons were starting to pack it in.

“We need a name,” he said suddenly.

“A name?” Hermione asked, lifting her suddenly heavy head off the table.

“A team name. Team ‘Something.’ Team Us. We need one.”

Hmmmm. Team name. “It would create a sense of unity,” she said matter-of-factly. Why did that sound familiar?

“Team name…yes. Team name, how about…The Grinning Spoons?” Draco answered brightly.

”No, that’s the band’s name,” she shook her head and pointed at the stage.

He looked over, as if noticing them for the first time. “Oh,” he said with a tinge of regret. “’is a good name.”

“Yes, but it’s taken. We don’t want to confuse people now do we? How about…?” She was really racking what she could of her brains. “How about…Team Rocket.”

”Team Rocket?” He blinked at her, puzzled.

”Yeah. Team Rocket.”

“Wha’s that?” He asked.

“It’s Pok-e-mon.” She said carefully. That sure was a hard word after six shots of firewhiskey. She smiled at her ability to pronounce it and took another shot to celebrate.

“Wha’s that?” Drake asked, furrowing his brow.

Of course Hermione had read all about the sinister form of Muggle mind control known as Pokemon. Developed by a wizard looking to sell his horrible video games, it involved an ensnaring charm and a clever campaign of market saturation to accomplish his nefarious commercial ends. The Ministry had spent millions in trying to contain the craze and land its creator in Azkaban.

“It’s a game Muggles play,” Hermione explained. “They capture cuddly little animals and force them to fight to the death.”

Drake brightened at that. “Yeah, I like that. Let’s do that…I’ll go find some kittens,” he began to get out of his chair, but found slouching back into the booth to be easier.

”Noooo.” She shook her head. “It’s a met-a-phor. It’s symbolic. Of us. How we’re pawns to the greater good, and how we’re supposed to be cuddly animals and live in peace with rainbow waterfalls and gumdrop houses…” she trailed off, motioning around the room with her half-empty shot, trying to find proof of their potential passiveness.

”I’m not cuddly,” he shook his head firmly.

”Well, neither am I, ” she answered.

”And I’m not a pa-wn,” he added, slurring the last word.

”What’s ‘alpown’?” She asked confused.

“A pa-wn…” he repeated

“Alpawn?” “A pawn…” “Alpawn?” They began chanting back and forth, trying to figure out what the other was saying.

“Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger…” They turned to find Professor Gravel standing over their table. “What are you doing?”

”We’re being pa-wns,” Drake smiled absently and suddenly collapsed in the booth.

“What’s alpa-wns?” Graves asked as he grunted and lifted the now-passed out Draco from his chair.

She would have answered him if that darned floor hadn’t stopped her. Stupid floor, she thought as she drifted off. Sleep good…

She woke up the next morning, sounding and looking like Moaning Murtle. Of course, she wasn’t the only one. Draco came in to Grave’s office with red eyes and spiky hair, saluting her before collapsing into his chair.

They went to work, or tried to at least. Every now and Drake would whisper, “pa-wn, pass me the envelope…” or “pass the quill, pa-wn,” causing Hermione to laugh and then rub her head from the pain. Stupid running joke…Stupid floor. She gingerly felt her bruise from the fall, swearing to never drink again. Unless, of course, Drake went with her, and then only in moderation.

Stupid floor.

Chapter 4

The rest of the summer went by quickly. Drake and I split our time between dueling on the Quidditch pitch and working in Graves’ office. I was surprised at enjoying myself so much with someone who wasn’t Harry. Not that he was ever far from my thoughts. But thinking about Harry meant thinking about Voldemort which meant thinking about the curse which led to all sorts of broody and unhealthy thoughts…

Although my repression had some rather interesting ramifications.

------------

Hermione woke up curled against a very-masculine chest. She gently stirred and pushed away, wondering if this was some part of Dolohov’s botched Crucio curse. Waking up next to Voldemort wasn’t exactly a day-dreamy ending to her Saturday night fever.

How does one chew one’s arm off? She thought as she slowly opened her eyes.

She tilted her head, and found herself staring at a sleeping Harry. Oh…it’s Harry. Well, that makes even less sense…

“…’is nice though,” she muttered sleepily as she dozed. Hardly the first time she dreamed about Harry, although usually he was awake and more, um, enthusiastic about seeing her. But hey, she was a love-starved, young witch with a curse hanging over her head. Beggars…choosers.

Harry stirred against her and gathered her in his arms. She murmured her assent and cuddled closer before opening her eyes. “That’s strange,” she thought, looking around. They were in the attic at the Burrow, lying on a sleeping bag and a Spiderman pillow. The sky was still dark and moonlight poured through the cloudy, stained glass windows. Well, not exactly romantic, she thought. And he’s asleep. Wow, I’m getting complacent with my fantasies…

She watched Harry sleep awhile, smiling as he hummed a bit and rested his hand on her hip. She reached out and gently ruffled his hair. His eyes slowly opened, and he smiled back at her.

“Hello Mione,” he sighed, apparently not surprised in the least to see her.

Gods I love his voice, she thought, a lovely tenor. Never realized how much I missed it…

“Hello Harry,” she said softly as she scooted up til they were eye level, Spiderman’s web now a halo for each. She ran a hand along his arm until it settled on his shoulders.

“Harry?” She asked softly as their eyes drifted shut.

“Yes love?”

“Why are you sleeping in the attic?”

He gave a weak laugh. “Ron snores,” he answered with a sizable yawn.

“Really?” She listened to the soft hum coming from beneath them. “That’s Ron? Goodness, I thought it was that flying Volkswagen.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “No. The car didn’t sound like it was dying.”

“Poor thing.” She ran her hand through his hair again. Not so much for his comfort as her own. After all, it was her dream and, dammit, she deserved a little reward after such a rough summer. Mmmmm. Rough. Yes, nice and rough. Utterly wicked and up to no good and gods he smells good, like clover and rain and ink and…

‘Miss you love,” he said as his eyes closed.

“Miss you too.” She rested her head on his chest and drifted off to sleep.

She felt an unfamiliar pull and heard a faint crack and opened her eyes to find herself back in her dorm. She sat up, staring at the empty space beside her. Funny, she thought as she wrapped the blankets around her and fell back against the pillow, I can still smell him. She spent the rest of the night, curled up in Harry smelling blankets, hoping such sweet dreams would find her again.

------------------

Yes, I remember waking up and wishing, not for the first time, that I were a sounder sleeper.

Still, it was a strange dream. Strange but sweet. Sleeping in the attic, really only something Harry would do. I wondered if he’d actually tried it during the summer, and suddenly I felt guilty for not writing him. Will do it today, I reminded myself as I climbed out of my warm, Harry-smelling bed. Then I realized it wasn’t the bed that smelled like Harry, it was me. Gods that was strange.

Chapter 5 “Quidditch”

Aside from occasionally staggering back from the Debauched Monk on our nights off, Draco and I behaved ourselves. No more manipulating the weather or summoning the plagues of Egypt (which was completely his idea…especially the part where it didn’t work).

I’d never admit it, but, yeah, I had fun.

---------

“I’m not doing it Drake.”

”Come on love. You’ll like it.” He wriggled his eyebrows and licked his lips by way of invitation.

She laughed and shook her head. Biblical plagues were one thing, playing Quidditch was quite another.

“Come on,” he said with an exaggerated whine. “How can I humiliate you Gryffindors if I don’t practice?”

”I don’t know Drake. I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” she smiled indulgently and patted his shoulder.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course I will, but just help me now…please.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sorry Drake, House pride and all. Go Team Gryffindor.” She hummed a few unenthusiastic bars of “Weasley is our King” for good measure. Rah-bloody-rah…

”Look Granger, all you have to do is toss a few bludgers at me. That’s it. Who knows, you might even maim me.”

“Maim you? I don’t want to maim you.” She shuddered. “No thank you. I’ve seen Harry fall to his death too many times for that, and I’m not going through it in the off season.”

Draco, however, was too surprised to enjoy her recounting Harry’s numerous close-calls. He just stared back at her. “You…You don’t want to hurt me?” He swallowed back a tremor in his voice. “Granger…I’m touched.”

“Not yet you’re not,” she muttered, envisioning a random bludger hitting his temple, knocking him off his broom, and sending him flying into the press box. For some reason the press box invariably exploded on impact, incinerating Draco in a blaze of gut wrenching agony. Alright, yes, she did tend to mother her male friends, but, luckily it didn’t present much of a problem: she didn’t have many male friends, and she’d just as soon keep the few she did have.

“Granger, please.” He gave her his big watery I’m-so-unloved-and-therefore-adorable eyes, and she found herself melting under their sickening cuteness. Wow, she thought. He’s good. Thank gods he’s on our side. Grevious curse nothing, I wouldn’t stand a chance against those puppies on the field.

“Okay, fine,” she sighed.

He smiled smugly at her, puppy eyes long gone. He punched her on the shoulder strode down the hall towards the Quidditch pitch.

“But I’m not going to hit you,” she called, trotting after him. “In fact, I’m going to try to and not hit you. I’ll be the anti-bludger-er guy, or whatever. Point is…no one’s having fun here. So you can just stop enjoying yourself right now Drake.”

She opened the pitch gate and found him holding two brooms over an opened trunk of Quidditch supplies.

“So…” he started, “just how much do you know about the game?”

She looked at him skeptically. What exactly did he think she was doing during the dozens of matches she’d sat through? Knitting? What? Well, I wasn’t, she muttered feebly.

“Okay, okay. Fine, you know the basics. This,” he held up a bludger, “is what you’ll be hitting. Just follow it around the field and bat it towards me. It’s an older one, so it’s slower.”

”Shouldn’t it follow you by itself?” She asked.

“Yes, but with only one player, it gets confused and won’t stay airborn.”

“So I attract it, bat it towards you, and…what? All this time you’ll be trying to catch the snitch?” She shook her head. “Pretty cushy position you got there Draco. Maybe I should be the seeker and you could chase after the zig-zagging bludgers.”

He tossed a broom at her, not going to dignify that with an answer. He then threw the snitch as he rose above the stands. Hermione took that as her cue to do the same. She gingerly took two of the bludgers from the trunk. They were reddish and a little homely, so she named the bigger one George and the one with the stitches Fred. Once in the air, George and Fred looped towards Draco but then took off towards the far end of the field.

“Thanks guys,” she murmured as she picked up a beater and gave a put-upon sigh, “helpful as ever.” She settled on the broom, gripping the handle and rising from the ground at a painfully slow pace.

“Today Granger,” Draco called from several yards above her. “What? You call yourself a witch? And a Gryffindor at that…pathetic.”

Where’s that bloody bludger when you need it? “I’m coming Drake. Just working up the will to kill you,” she said with a shaky voice. Wow we’re high…

He blew her a kiss and winked before darting after the snitch.

Show off, she thought. She hovered a bit, actually enjoying the view. Contrary to popular belief, she liked flying. Well, maybe ‘liked’ was too cheerful a word. She tolerated flying. Flying and Hermione weren’t friends, they were amiable neighbors that kept off each other’s lawns.

She watched Draco fly around after the snitch and suddenly remembered her task. She looked around to find George making loop de loops at the opposite end of the field. Rolling her eyes, she took off towards it. “Okay,” she muttered, “no different from tennis, just hit the stupid squash-shaped thing with the bat, er, the stick, and yeah…we’re all going to die.”

The bludger then started slowly towards her and she swung at it with a half-hearted whack.

To her surprise it went soaring towards Draco. He managed to dodge it before it got too terribly close, and it began its slow boomerang back.

She then noticed Fred lying motionless on the ground. Sighing at her insultingly easy task, she went to fetch it. She landed and picked Fred up, shaking him a bit, trying to find signs of life. “Poor little thing,” she thought. It looked like a shriveled prune. Pitiful. Honestly, maybe she was new at this, but Draco was just being insulting having her face off against this thing.

She tossed it into the air and followed it as it took off. She gently batted Fred towards the darting Draco, who easily dodged it and waved his thanks. She hated to admit it, but, yeah, she was having fun. Without the impending doom of Harry’s death hanging over the field, Quidditch was actually a pretty pleasant sport.

Hermione was surprised at how quickly the day went by. She became pretty consistent with her hits, once nearly knocking Draco off his broom. She wanted to end the practice right then, but he seemed so happy about it that they went for a few more rounds.

She met Draco up in the dorms after he put the equipment back.

“Get Debauched tonight love?” He asked as he tossed his towel on an armchair.

“Only if you shower first…for my sake.”

He looked at his sweat-covered shirt and turned back to her with a sick grin on his face. “I am a mess,” he said slyly as her eyes widened with fear. He took a step towards her as she slowly backed away.

“Don’t you dare…” she gave a high-pitched squeak as the stupid sod dove at her, trying to lock her in a greasy, sweaty hug.

“Come on sweets,” he cooed as he reached for her, “friends and all, right?” He nearly caught her arm as she put the couch between them, looking for a way to get to the Gryffindor girl’s dorms. “Hermes, please. I just want to thank you for helping me practice…”

He leapt over the couch and, laughing, she sprinted for the door. “Just one hug love, honestly, you’re the best friend…” he suddenly caught her to him and wrapped his arms around her.

She was laughing too hard to curse him as he shook his head and flicked sweat onto her. “Drake, that’s disgusting, stop it…” she cried. Of course he didn’t, instead he started humming “Singing in the Rain” while grinning in a ridiculous way. She was having a hard time standing, what with trying not to laugh and trying to push him away, so she fell against him and swore her revenge into his sweaty collar.

Suddenly, his grip loosened and he pushed her away. Hermione looked up to see what was wrong. He couldn’t have stopped because I’d yelled at him. That would just be too cooperative on his part…

”Drake?” She asked, tilting her head to look up at him. His eyes were riveted behind her and she turned and followed his gaze.

“Harry?” She whispered, recognizing her raven-haired hero standing in the doorway.

Dear gods…

---------------

“Harry…” Hermione said gently, never taking her eyes off him. Harry didn’t answer, he just stared grimly at the pair in front of him. Draco was frozen, still holding her shoulders, looking all-too comfortable doing so…

“Drake,” Hermione said softly. Harry cringed at the nickname, pet name, whatever…His fists began shaking as she gently laid her hand on Draco’s arm and pushed him away, motioning towards the back staircase. Draco looked at Harry then back to Hermione, asking with a look whether she’d be all right alone with the enraged Gryffindor. She nodded and smiled, trying to reassure him. She thought it funny that Draco Malfoy was afraid to leave Hermione Granger alone with Harry Potter. Tragically funny, but still funny.

Drake left, shooting a last, warning glance over his shoulder at Harry. Harry, however, missed the bravado, his steely gaze still fixed on Hermione.

Hermione watched Draco climb the stairs and turned back to face her best friend.

She took a breath, “Harry,” she was surprised at her own calm, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” He echoed absently.

She nodded. “I should’ve told you…”

He held his hand up, and she fell silent as he shook his head gravely.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he answered darkly. “I don’t care what happened.” He turned and strode towards the door, muttering under his breath, “I don’t care what you do anymore Hermione.”

-----------------

I remember Harry standing there, frozen to the spot, staring at us with burning eyes, looking betrayed and hurt and…well Harry always looked betrayed and hurt, but especially so then. I remember Harry’s knuckles were white as he gripped his wand. His breathing was ragged and hard, which was actually a good thing since it’d prevent him from cursing me to hezpah and back. Not that he was going to.

What? You’re saying he was thinking about it?

Really?

Wow. Who knew?

Anyhow, I had no idea what to say to Harry. Although, my friendship with Drake should be the least of his worries, but I knew an apology was in order.

I wish now I had said something brilliant and insightful, something that was reassuring and heartfelt and healing. Something that would’ve made him see and understand… But all I could manage was that one apology… I couldn’t grovel. I couldn’t snivel and sob, or clutch at his leg and beg and cry and plead for his forgiveness.

I couldn’t run after him. I just couldn’t.

Because I expected him to trust me. To at least let me explain.

Apparently a little trust was too much to ask for after five years of friendship. Five years of a completely one-sided love. He refused my apology. He looked at me like I was something disgusting and turned on his heel and left. I heard his footsteps echo down the hall and felt, rather than heard, the great doors slam shut. Then I was alone.

Yeah. Pathetic I know. Push the people you love away…cling to your righteous and lofty notions…use your Deatheater injury as a buffer for human contact.

I’m talking about Harry of course, not me.

Needless to say that was hardly the highpoint in my relationship with the Boy Who Was An Ungrateful Prat.

No, thank you, I doubt I’ll “feel better if I talk about it.”

I’m sorry, but no…What did I just say? It hurts. A lot…especially when I talk about it.

Fine. Fine. No need to get snappish. All right! I said I’d tell you.

I did write to Harry afterwards. None of the heartfelt “I’m sorry” rubbish though. Stuck strictly to script: how are you, I’m fine, super duper… I haven’t envisioned your death for three whole days, that’s probably a good thing…Study this…read that…thought much about (insert topic here)?…

And so forth.

Not that he’d read them.

That little episode started the darker days of our friendship. The Trio became the Twosome or whatever ridiculous nickname the house thought up, and I was left to my assistantship with Graves.

What? Miss him? Of course I missed Harry. I missed his voice and his warm eyes and his lovely hands and the way he made me feel when he walked into a room and the way he smelled and smiled and…

I just missed him. But I really couldn’t help but feel angry and betrayed for my own part. It wasn’t a matter of choosing Drake over Harry. It was a matter of Harry trusting me. Which he obviously didn’t.

I don’t think I could’ve left Harry the way he’d left me. In fact, I know I couldn’t.

And so began my self-imposed exile from All-Things-Harry.

Summer went on much the same as it did (BP) before Potter. Draco and I spent most of our days together, finding ways to fill the time.

We received our owl scores in August. Draco, of course, snatched mine before I could read it and made me chase him around the bloody castle before he gave it back. Prick.

Twelve Owls. Twelve Blasted Owls. Of course I was pleased. To a point. Owls like that could open a lot of doors. It’d just be a matter of living long enough to walk through them.

And when classes started (like proper threats to the softly snoring schoolchildren) Draco and I were given our own private prefet rooms, although I had since relinquished my duties and Draco just ignored his.

I spent most of my time in the library, researching lesson plans for Graves and reading the early volumes of Defenses Against Unlikely Attacks. Sixteen in total. Lovely thick books that took two to carry. Mmmmmm. Of course I wasn’t making much progress in the way of Avada Kadavra, but I kept at it.

And although SPEW never made it to the official clubs roster, I did organize an elf newsletter “Dust and Drabbles.” Simin, took charge of it after a while. I think the proudest moment of my short career as an elf-rights advocator was when he told me he didn’t want a witch heading “his people’s” paper.

So, no, I didn’t see much of the common room or the dining hall. The only time I caught a glimpse of Harry was during DA meetings, which, of course, had changed as well.

Chapter 6 “DA Meeting and Dune”

Everyone, well everyone excepting a certain raven haired Boy Who Lived, had long since realized the DA’s intended purpose, i.e to fight for Harry. I had wanted a worthy group of trained wizards that, if I failed (failed again that is), would be behind him with field experience. Next time…next time would be different. I’d fight, and I’d fall fighting, and not because I was distracted or worried or not looking, and not on account of some conveniently watered-down Crucio curse.

Drake, Luna, and I normally stayed towards the back during the meetings, never really welcomed among the mostly Gryffindor members. Drake helped Luna, and I usually paired with Neville, who was coming along but still needed more help than most.

The spells we practiced were simple. Too simple really, and it became obvious that Ron and Harry were spending more time practicing Quidditch than planning the weekly agendas. However Ron scowled whenever I got near him and Harry couldn’t be bothered to ignore me, so Drake and I contended ourselves to studying the more advanced spells on our own time.

---------

“Is this right, Hermione?” Neville asked over his shoulder as Hermione stood behind him, positioning his arms. The group was practicing a basic Protego block, and Neville, as usual, was struggling to keep up.

“Uh-huh,” she said absently, too busy watching Draco and Luna to notice Neville’s awkward stance.

Draco was turning an uncharacteristic shade of red as he stood behind Luna, helping her with her delivery. Luna was looking back over her shoulder, smiling at something he’s said. Luna uttered something in return, and Draco looked…What? Abashed?

Hermione clasped her hands over her mouth, trying to hold back the giggles that were bubbling up at the oh-so-sweet moment. Drake was flirting. Flirting with a girl. A girl that was Luna. Hermione gripped her sides and turned away, silently laughing at the thought of the delicious teasing in store.

After properly recovering, Hermione turned back to watch the rest of the tutorial.

Drake was still holding Luna by the waist, however, their wands were lowered and instead of practicing, they were speaking in low tones. Their twin blond heads were bowed, partially veiled by Luna’s long, wavy locks.

Hermione, lowered her eyes, suddenly feeling like she was intruding on something intensely personal.

Yeah, it’s called affection Granger. Remember affection?

“Yes, I do, thank you very much.,” she answered stubbornly, crossing her arms. She rolled her eyes. Talking to ourselves again are we? What’s next? Staking out the library. Burying yourself in your books until you’re starved and cross-eyed? Well, if we’re reverting to basics, better bring a sandwich, and a tall drink. Maybe a few tranquilizers…

She brushed away the thought. She wasn’t going back that Howard Hughes state. She turned back towards Draco and Luna, who were now standing apart but still stealing sideways glances at each other. Hermione smiled mischievously as she walked towards Draco.

“Drake?” She asked softly.

Draco didn’t answer her, too intent on staring at Luna, who was across the room talking to Lavender.

“Drake?” she repeated. Suppressing a smile she gave a put-upon sigh and tapped his shoulder. “What? Don’t tell me I need to be blonde to get your attention?”

Oh, yeah, he definitely heard that, she thought as he turned towards her with raised eyebrows.

She continued blithely, enjoying the interesting combination of embarrassment, confusion, and impatience playing across his face. Manna from heaven. “Well,” she sighed, “if that’s what it’ll take for you to work on your Ambergris curse, wait here, I’ll go bleach my hair and divine your aura.”

Drake gave her a grim look, which of course only encouraged her. She started calmly humming some schoolyard taunt about Draco “hav-ing a girl-friend.”

“Granger…” he trailed off, for some reason the thought of her immediate dismemberment and painful death was stubbornly sticking in his mind. Calm down. Remember your training. Don’t kill her…try not to think about killing her…try harder.

Wow, he’s angry Hermione thought. Best tread carefully… She nudged him lightly, signaling that it was all in good humor, but then spent the rest of the DA’s time tapping that stupid schoolyard tune with her quill and ignoring the I’m-going-to-kill-you painfully motion he kept making across his throat.

----------

So, Draco and Luna? Who knew?

Drake and Looney.

Of course their children will be albinos…

I did like Luna though. She was sweet. Kind. Calming. Just what Drake needed. No unnecessary angst in the match either. Slytherins happily dipped into the Ravenclaw sisterhood when their quills went dry.

Yeah, I know it’s an inappropriate metaphor…Fine, I’m sorry. I’m simply saying that the school wasn’t shocked by the pair.

Was I shocked? Well “shocked” is too strong a word. I was surprised.

No, of course I wasn’t jealous. I wasn’t. I was just reminded, again, of what I couldn’t have. No, not Draco: affection, understanding, caring…the finer emotions of an untroubled conscience.

Besides, it was Team Rocket, not team I’m-Endearingly-Passive…then again we could’ve changed it to ‘Team Unnaturally Blonde.’ But they couldn’t have written songs about us then. TUB doesn’t sound exactly heroic when it’s being chanted by a bunch of first years.

And so I found myself a part of a different kind of Golden Trio. At one point I did consider dying my hair blonde, just to make the other sixth-years happy. Two Golden Trios in a single graduating class. What were the odds?

And I wasn’t too hard on Draco. In fact I’d like to think I was extra nice to the sappy git.

What do you mean, “no you weren’t”?

Well, I meant to be in any case.

Chapter 7 “Duel”

Meanwhile, October found most of the students settling into their respective niches. I’d had higher hopes for the DA than some glorified charms workshop, but, of course, Harry was never one for lesson plans. He’d always left that to me, and now…

Well, luckily Graves’ class more than made up for it.

------------------

In DADA, Draco and Hermione usually sat towards the back, apart from the other students. Not that anyone complained. Drake’s Slytherin status branded him an outcast and Hermione’s break with Ron and Harry had left her, at best, in a sort of social limbo.

“Miss Granger,” Graves motioned for Hermione to come to the front of the class. She swallowed hard before she rose from her seat and followed Harry down the aisle. Graves had just asked Harry to help with a Priso Pretego demonstration and Hermione had volunteered earlier that day, not realizing who she’d be partnered with. Not that she was complaining.

Even though they stood an awkwardly apart on the room’s central stage, it was the closest they’d been since that summer day.

Draco winked and shot her an encouraging Team Rocket thumbs-up. She turned away with a smile, which turned grim when she noticed Harry’s dark look. She decided to focus on Grave’s words instead of Harry’s nearness, hoping to get through the demonstration quickly and quietly.

“Mr. Potter,” Graves’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “I’d like you to do a simple Protego blocking spell. Miss Granger, I want you to use the Stupify-Ambergris combination.” He paused a beat before adding, “Oh, and Miss Granger, try not to break any windows this time. Mr. Malfoy may find that endlessly amusing, but I’m sure Filch will be less than thrilled.”

She nodded shyly before turning to Harry with a blank, all-business stare. Hermione took a breath and made sure Harry was ready be leveling the requested spells.

“Stupify!” “Ambergris!” She shouted as two streaks of light flew across the room.

Harry blocked both easily and, without a word to Hermione, waited for Graves’ response.

“Again Miss Granger.” Graves said with a nod. “Only this time, use your own combination.”

Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated.

“Serpensortia!” She shouted as a long, black cobra appeared from her wand. It landed in a tangle on the floor, stretching a bit before it lazily wound its way towards a frozen Harry.

Harry stared at the snake for a moment, realizing where he’d seen it last and who she’d probably learned it from. He cringed at the thought of Draco’s arms around her, positioning her hands, helping her perfect the blasted snake curse he’d used during the second year duel.

Not realizing Harry’s distraction, Hermione summoned the second part of the spell, a stunning Ambergris curse that struck Harry above the shoulder and sent him flying across the room.

“Harry!” she screamed as he landed with a painful-sounding thud on the stone floor. She ran to Harry as the class got to its feet. She was shaking so hard she nearly dropped her wand as she knelt at his side.

“Oh gods, Harry,” Hermione felt the tears welling in her eyes. She put her hand over her mouth to suppress a cry. Gods, why didn’t he block me, I wasn’t even trying to hit him…

Draco held Hermione back they both followed Graves and the leviosaed-Harry to the infirmary.

“It was a nice shot though, love,” Draco muttered as they approached the hospital wing. She elbowed him the ribs without looking up.

“Well, it was…” he trailed off. We could’ve used her in Slytherin, he thought with a smile. Damn spell didn’t work out nearly so well when I used it.

Nurse Pomfrey fussed over the unconscious Harry in her usual way, shooing Hermione and Draco out of the ward after Graves left.

“I’m staying here, Drake,” Hermione murmured as the doors closed behind them. Poor Harry…gods I’m sorry…

“What for?” Ron’s voice rang out behind them.

Draco and Hermione turned to find the seething red-head glaring at them.

Hermione took a breath as she stepped forward, determined to handle this gracefully.

“Piss off Weasley,” Draco sneered before she could speak.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Okay. So much for diplomacy. Now on to Plan B.

“Ron, we’re just here…” she started.

“To what?” Ron interrupted. “To finish him off? I knew you were hanging around Malfoy, but jeez, I didn’t think megalomania was contagious.”

“What? As opposed pathological stupidity?” Draco shot back.

Hermione nudged him. “You’re not helping Drake,” she said sternly.

“Well neither is he,” Draco hissed.

She shook her head and gave a long-suffering sigh. “I’m staying Ron, and that’s final.”

“You’re not a prefet Hermione,” Ron replied stubbornly.

“No,” Hermione agreed slowly. “We’re assistants to Professor Graves, and we’re overseeing an injury that took place during class.”

”Yeah, an injury that you caused.”

“All the more reason,” Drake said smugly, fondly remembering Harry’s fall. “So why don’t you just toddle off to class and let the adults do their job?”

Ron glared at the pair of them before he uttered something about her being a ‘traitor’ and strode down the hall.

“Oh my,” Hermione sighed, rubbing her forehead. And to think, bickering with Ron used to be fun. Those were the days…

“You want me to stay on a bit love?” Draco asked gently.

She shook her head.

“Come on…” he went on with a smile. “Where’s your Team Rocket sportsmanship? I want to spell him back under when he wakes up.”

She swatted at him and he held his arms up in a mock surrender.

“S’not fair,” he pouted. “You have all the fun. All right. Next time, I stun Potter, and you deal with the Weasley git.” He saluted her and strode down the corridor humming that stupid ‘Draco’s-got-a-girl-friend’ tune.

Hermione shook her head and sunk onto a bench across from the ward door. Yep…those were the days…

------

Harry lay awake in the cot, thinking about that afternoon’s events. All right, yes, it was the first tangible proof of the Trio’s estrangement since the summer, but still, no reason to be discouraged just because you blew the best bloody thing that’d ever happened to you you stupid stubborn git…

Harry sat up and stretched, pointedly ignoring the Hermione sounding voice that was berating him. Pomfrey came over with some foul-smelling potions, which he took without cringing, and he waved his thanks before gathering his things.

At least he’d only lost a few hours. He’d even be in time for dinner if he hurried. Harry opened the ward’s doors and turned, ready to race to the dining hall, when he noticed Hermione, curled up on a bench across the hallway.

Puzzled, he approached her quietly, concern clouding his features. Gods, did she get hit too? He looked her over but couldn’t find any signs of injury.

“Hermione?” he said softly.

Hermione stirred a bit and sat up startled.

“Harry?” She asked, blinking a bit. Realizing it was in fact Harry, who was, in fact, not dead, she leapt to her feet. “Harry!” She cried as she threw herself into his arms. Harry went rigid at first but then relaxed into the familiar hug.

Hermione smiled against his shoulder. Goddess it felt good to hold him. Just like the countless hugs they’d shared since first year. She savored it, enjoying herself far too much before it ended.

“Are you all right?” She asked, blushing a bit as she took a step back.

“All right?” He repeated, still stunned from the crushing hug. Gods she smells good…

“I’m sorry I hit you…I didn’t…” she stopped herself. Hermione didn’t want to insult his dueling, but dear gods, how could she apologize for his missing an easy block?

“No,” he interrupted. “It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Hermione leveled her best Head-Girl-in-the-making gaze at him. “What? Why not?” If he was like this against her then he’d be no match for Voldemort. He’d be Sitting Duck Potter. Even more so than usual.

Harry gave her a sad smile. “That last spell, the Serpensortia. I remember it from second year.” He shrugged. “I’m just surprised Draco taught it to you…” and that you’d use it on me.

Hermione stared at him a moment before sighing. “Harry,” she shook her head, “I wasn’t trying to surprise you.” She forced a laugh. “That was the point. I wanted to use a spell you’d already seen.”

“You…what?” Harry asked, relieved, confused, and, well, mostly confused. Understanding Hermione’s proactive steps to preserve his wellbeing was never his talent.

“And besides,” she added softly. “Draco didn’t teach me that.” She gathered her books with a sigh. “I learned it by watching you.” She turned away, missing the play of emotions across Harry’s face.

“I was always watching you,” she added sadly before disappearing down the darkening corridor, leaving Harry to wonder what in the hezpah just happened.

------------

No, I didn’t feel better if that’s what you’re thinking. All in all it was just more fodder for Harry’s Hermione’s-gone-crazy cannon. Besides, he wouldn’t recognize a declaration of love if it sat on him. Mmmmm. Now there’s a nice visual. Anyhow, I left Harry at the infirmary and the Great Schism continued. Time passed, tests were taken, Quidditch rivalries raged…

…and Harry and I remained Harry and I. We had several classes together but always managed to keep a tactful distance apart. In DADA he paired up with Ron or Dean and I kept to Drake or Lavender. The split was accepted in the house…and with Harry’s Quidditch schedule and my own study tract, well, I won’t say I didn’t feel the loss, but I can say I was kept too busy to regret it.

The old Trio was now more of a Duo…really the way it was supposed to be from the start. Ginny looked ready to step in as Harry’s gal-Friday, but got caught up with Quidditch and her own fifth-year circle of friends. Then, for a while, it looked like Ron’s steady girlfriend Lavender might prove an acceptable alternative, but rumor had it that Ron really didn’t want Lav doting on The Boy Who Lived like I did.

Depressing? What, waiting for some clever, prettier, low maintenance girl to take your place in the single most important thing you’ve ever been a part of? To wait until my Harry found someone more capable and less likely to get hit with a Crucio curse and damn his godfather to a painful death? Depressing?

No, not really.

Well, maybe. But I was too busy screaming into my pillow every night to worry about whether or not I was depressed.

Chapter 8 “Firelight”

Great Schism or no, Voldemort’s forces were on the rise. His Deatheaters were gaining grounds in Serbia, so whom I sat with at lunch proved pretty trivial.

I know I know. Harry was more than some schoolyard chum. He was my other half. The best part of me. The part that I wanted to keep alive and thrive after I was gone, so yeah, I busied myself with my training and helped Graves and worked with the DA, all so he could survive the onslaught that was coming. My search for a way to block the Avada Kadavra was going not-so-swimmingly, but, then, I was failing where so many wizards had before…

So excuse me if I refuse to feel guilty for not being there to help him with his homework or go to his Quidditch matches or hold his hand after a rough day.

Stop looking at me like that.

Stop. It.

All right…fine. So I missed him. Terribly. It tore at my heart until the thought of death seemed a comfort. But I didn’t feel guilty darn it. I was beyond feeling guilty. I was beyond feeling anything. I’d taken a lesson from a page of Potter and had decided to lock myself in my own tower with a hippogriff. There. Happy now? Idiot…

No, not you…me.

Anyhow, the nightmares had begun during the first week of classes. My frantic search for spells, the feverish worry and panic over my injury at the start of June was a picnic compared the dreams that assaulted my senses in September and October. Death, devouring, dark towers with pitch-black basements. Families forced to watch each other assaulted and killed. I woke up screaming more times than I can count. Good thing I’d left Crookshanks at home, else he would’ve smothered me in my sleep to get a good night’s rest. Gods was that what Harry went through last year? I remember bothering him about reading assignments, all the while he was dreaming about genocide. I wanted to smack myself. But in all fairness, it’s not like I enjoyed nagging him. Well, not much.

So one night I found myself in the common room. Normally I just paced around my room, willing the images and voices and screams to go away, go anywhere, just gods, leave me in peace. The dreams were unusually violent that night though. Something about two Deatheaters locking a man’s daughter inside a shack and burning it to the ground while he helplessly looked on.

Rough night? Yeah…“rough.” That’s a word for it…

----------

Hermione took a seat in the common room, recalling Snape’s half-hearted Occlumency lessons. They helped with the worst of the nightmares in focusing her thoughts and giving her some semblance of control. However, while Harry was encouraged to channel soothing memories, Hermione found that recalling the worst possible images worked best. Images that she was used to, and therefore, could control. A car crash she’d seen from the playground at her kindergarten; her mother falling overboard from the family’s sailboat; pretty much the whole of fifth year…

She curled up on the couch and uttered an Infernos incantation, a bit of wandless magic she’d picked up over the summer. NEWT level, but simple enough with a little practice. As the flames roared to life she was reminded of the time Sirious spoke to her and Harry last year.

Oh, right, and the look on Harry’s face whenever Sirious was mentioned. That was another Occulmalcy trick she’d picked up. Worked better than the car crash.

She knew Harry blamed himself for Sirious’s death. That he didn’t understand how the war and sacrifice and bloodshed wasn’t just about the Boy Who Lived. It just occurred in his proximity.

Hermione knew Harry’d get over Sirious’s death. Harry’d have Dumbledore and Lupin and the Weaslys and Moody, well, not so much Moody, but he’d have The Order. That perennial League of Overqualified Yet Strangely Rag-Tag Gentlemen whose cloak and dagger tactics thus far only managed to kill the godfather of the very Boy they were protecting.

Still, obvious shortcomings aside, they were his friends. They were a sort of foster family, and they’d be there to help him. Sirious would die and Harry’d live on and love and thrive since any alternative would be unacceptable. “Unthinkable,” she muttered as she curled up, willing the Deatheaters to take a blasted break already. No doubt they’d filled their evil-doings quota for the night. Must be Miller Time somewhere.

A few dreamless hours later she opened her eyes to find Harry standing at the foot of the couch.

“Harry” she smiled absently. Nice dream…nice change she nodded against the arm of the sofa. She was reminded of the one at the Burrow when Harry had held her for a bit. “Best dream,” she muttered.

Harry shook his head. What was she muttering about, and why was she sleeping in the common room? Probably studying, said a voice that sounded remarkably like Hermione. Remember that Potter, what it’s like to S-T-U-D-Y?

He rolled his eyes. Unhelpful voice, was, again, being a nuisance. “Hermione?” Harry asked softly.

Hermione’s eyes flew open and, realizing it was in fact, no dream, she sat up, pulling her robes tightly around her. “Harry?” She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the firelight. “What are, um…” she trailed off, searching Harry’s empty expression for any recognizable emotion. Gods this used to be so easy, she thought.

Right…since when has knowing Harry EVER been easy?

“Good point,” she said reluctantly.

“What’s a good point?” Harry asked, surprised she was bothering to talk to him. Yeah, you’re lucky that’s all she’s doing to you, you stupid sodding git…

Of course he regretted the way he’d acted that day. Just leaving her in the middle of the common room so he could sulk off all self-righteous-like. He spent the rest of the summer refusing any news of her, tossing her letters in the fire, out the window, into the wastebasket. All that time, of course, assuming they were groveling apologies or teary confessions or wedding invitations…

In the end he told Ginny to stop letting Hermione use Pig else he’d blind the sodding bird.

He’d spent the earlier part of the summer pining…no not pining… worrying over Hermione’s being alone at Hogwarts with some burnt-out Moody in the making. And then, gods, Harry’d heard Arthur and Molly discussing Draco’s being there.

Harry had immediately flooed to Hogsmeade to see if it was true. As he made his way to Hogwarts, he was sure, positive, willing to bet his life, that his Hermione was alone, most likely miserable from missing him. He imagined their having a laugh over it, after she’d nagged about his leaving without telling anyone, of course. They’d spend the rest of the time catching up, talking, touching…friendly like, until one of his keepers came to fetch him. Then they’d hug a bit and reaffirm their friendship before he flooed back to his summer without her…

Of course all that changed when he’d come into the common room to find her smiling and playfully groping Malfoy, laughing like she couldn’t stop.

It was that bloody laugh that did it. Set him right over the edge. She never laughed like that around him. The rare times she did manage a half-hearted chuckle was when Ron or Ginny said something typically funny. Sure, she smiled whenever he came into a room and was always watching him and knew what he was thinking and feeling before anyone else, but great gods, Malfoy had his hands all over her And. She. Just. Kept. Laughing.

So he ran away. That’s what he always did. After all, the best way to stop feeling something was to stop feeling anything and everything.

The rest of the summer had passed in a blue-gray blur. He and Ron flew their arses off playing Quidditch. He’d collapse on his mattress in the attic, too tired to dream and too tired to wonder what Hermione and Draco were doing while he was screaming at himself to close his eyes and go to sleep.

He’d arrived at Hogwarts, and, for the first time, regretted being there. He dreaded having to watch Drake and Hermione act their little Romeo and Juliet drama out between classes. Admittedly, it proved less sneaking off for snogging and more researching curses and doing reading assignments.

Apparently they were, he swallowed back a bit of bile, friends, and now Draco was dating Luna Lovegood, with Hermione’s blessing no less.

And then, when he’d come out of the hospital, she’d told him…what? Something about her always watching him?

“Gods, maybe I did overreact,” he thought as Hermione looked at him expectantly.

Maybe? Hermione-sounding voice piped in. ‘Maybe’s’ a bit of an understatement Potter. The girl stood by you for five years, risked her life more times than you’d care to count, and you wouldn’t let her explain what’d happened. Let her explain, ha. She didn’t need to explain. You should have trusted her like she trusted you. Like she let you lead her into an obvious trap at the DM. Like she got cursed for you, put in the hospital, never so much as mentioned it, and would do it again just to keep you alive that much longer…

“All right….enough,” he said firmly. Unhelpful voice tended to sound off whenever the topic of Hermione came up.

“Enough what?” Hermione asked, surprised he was talking to her. She was enjoying the play of emotions across his face though. Anything was better than that blank-dead look that usually clouded his brilliant eyes. Gods she missed those eyes. Couldn’t find that color green anywhere. She tried.

“Oh, um,” he stammered, “what are you doing down…here?” He motioned around before realizing it wasn’t any of his business. Still, he just couldn’t right come out and grovel. Or could he? He was considering it when she answered.

“Why?” She asked.

“What?” He shook his head.

“Why do you want to know?” She repeated slowly, honestly confused.

Really, that had been the last thing he’d expected her to say. What? You thought she’d apologize to you again Potter? Oh, I can just hear it now: ‘Harry, I sure am sorry you’re a jealous, stubborn, self-righteous prat whose dedication to his oft misunderstood duty comes from a sense of steadily growing entitlement.”

Wow. Unhelpful voice was on a roll. Nothing that little frontal lobotomy couldn’t cure. Or maybe a drink. Of course, right now he’d settle for hitting himself over the head with the empty bottle. Yeah, neither would she you self-righteous prat.

”You already called me that,” he reminded the voice.

Yeah…well…I meant it.

“Harry are you all right?” She asked, concern momentarily clouding her features as he stood there, wordlessly staring at her.

“Yeah, fine,” he answered distantly.

She shrugged and looked back into the fire. Once upon a time she’d press for a better answer. Now, she didn’t have the right to. Not that I ever did…

“So Harry?” She sighed. “Just what are you doing here? Off on some unforeseeably dangerous, boy-will-be-boys adventure?”

He smiled darkly at that. “No.” He studied her as she watched the logs crackled and burn in the fireplace. He tried to think of something more meaningful to say, failing miserably of course. Come on Potter. Focus. Try and ignore the fact that she’s wearing a lacy nightgown under her robe. Ugh. Try harder. Potter! Come on man…

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, interrupting his musings. “I’m sorry for not telling you about Draco.”

“Sorry?” Harry echoed absently.

And just like that they were back in the common room on that summer day. Draco had just gone up the back staircase and Hermione and Harry were, once again, left facing each other.

Chapter 9 “Firelight Continued”

“Tell me about him?” Harry ignored the Hermione-sounding voice now muffled by his rising anger. “His hands were all over you. Since when would Draco Malfoy stoop to touch you?”

”Harry, he’s…changed. He’s not like that anymore.” She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

“What?” Harry spat. “He’s changed? A new man? Good job Hermione. And all it took was a shag over summer break.” He could hear Hermione’s voice banging its imaginary forehead against an imaginary wall. Oh, good one Potter.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed as she got to her feet. “Harry, you will apologize for that.”

He took a step towards her, now an arm’s length away from her. “What? It’s not true? Isn’t he the reason you’ve given up every bloody thing you’ve ever cared about. SPEW, being a prefect, and what about Ron and me?

“Harry, you’re the one…

He didn’t let her finish. “You lied to me all summer.”

”No, Harry. I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you… things.” You’d think you’d be used to that by now. She sighed and started again, “there were things I couldn’t tell you Harry…” Gods I’m starting to sound like Dumbledore.

“You sure as hell could tell him.”

”Harry,” she said. She took a step towards him, her voice strangely even. “It wasn’t a matter of ‘could’…and it’s not as though you haven’t kept things from me.” She started counting on her fingers. “Umbridge, your nightmares, the Occlumency. In fact, the recurring theme of last year was ‘gee, what can I not tell Hermione today.’”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “And yes Harry, I’m willing to work with Draco, Fudge, and the Slytherin beaters if it’ll keep you alive. I’ll even knock you about if I have to. And you know I can. I’m more than match for you Harry.”

He shook his head. “My match…” he trailed off, sighing defeatedly. Some match, he sighed as he took a step back. The Girl Who Had Everything and the Boy Going Off to Certain Doom.

He stared out over her shoulders. The soft light streamed behind her, affecting his ability to concentrate, what with all that fire making her robes transparent and her hair glowing-like. Focus Potter… he told himself. You’re finally talking to her… don’t blow this…

“Good gods Harry,” she shook her head sadly. “And you’re jealous of Draco! Do you honestly think anyone could mean as much to me as you do?”

Harry narrowed his eyes at the name “Draco,” but went still at that last bit about how ‘anyone could mean as much to me as you do.’

“What?” he whispered, stunned. Did she just…wait…what…

Hermione gathered her Gryffindor courage and went on. “Harry,” she said matter-of-factly. “Caring about you is a horrible ghastly, gut-wrenching, stomach churning nightmare where I get to wake up everyday and pray that you’ll not put yourself in avoidable danger, which, ha ha, during Quidditch season is every afternoon and twice on weekends.”

She took a breath before continuing, ignoring Harry’s ‘huh-what’ look.

“Feeling this much for someone is like tearing yourself in half. You can only do it the one time. And gods when it does happen to you, I just hope it’s not the butt of some joke. Some sick, sick joke,” she motioned towards the fireplace, “some hey-lets-pot-around-with-Hermione’s-mind-because-we-can Dolohov joke, which, I might add is not funny…no matter what Snape says…”

Harry had no idea what Hermione was talking about, so he took that as his cue to step forward and enfold her in a hug.

“Gods I missed you Mione,” he said as he gathered her to him, breathing in her lovely clover scent and nestling her honey locks. “I don’t know what you’re on about, but I missed you…”

Of course, it would take months of separation for him to initiate a bloody hug, she thought as she gave a muffled cry and clung to him. He left a few frantic kisses on her cheek until he relaxed against her, whispering about oh gods how sorry and so stupid such a stupid sod he was. She began her own trail of feathery kisses against his neck and said the three words she’d wanted to say all semester: “I know Harry.”

-----------

Er. Not exactly the three words I wanted, but yeah…

So, it wasn’t my finest moment of Gryffindor bravery. What I should’ve said was “me too Harry ,” or “marry me you handsome git.” But hey, ours is not to reason why…

Even I can admit that the things got better, much better after that. Yes, I loved having Harry back in my life, and boy howdy was he back in. With couple Dune and couple Mauve out and about, Harry and I were left to ourselves and…no, wipe that sick grin off your face…we were friends. Sure, I wanted to tackle him into dark corners every time he looked at me or talked to me or touched me, and yes I did run my fingers through his hair more often than I used to, and sure the hugs were longer and there were countless lingering kisses on the face and forehead and… all right. Maybe if things were back to normal, well, OUR sort of normal, I would’ve been Mrs. Potter by now.

But they weren’t. Harry had his recurrent problems with Voldemort, and I had that ridiculous Deatheater injury (honestly, the Marx brothers were filling in for the Powers that Be with that one).

Wait, they weren’t were they? Oh, thank goodness. That gives me some semblance of self respect. I mean, mute henchman aside, a mysterious connection to a Deatheater is just plain… mean.

Anyhow, helping Harry proved easier now that we were on speaking terms. We even took Occlumency from Snape together. Not that I needed any more training, but Harry did. His connection to Voldemort was that much stronger. Apparently my nightmares were nothing compared to his; not that he’d ever find out about them. Or any of this Dolohov Deatheater nonsense. He had more important things to worry about, his own skin for example .

Author’s note: Bit of light foolery…thanks to those who reviewed the standalone.

Chapter 10 Confessions of a Boggart

As expected, Graves gave his not-so-anticipated review on Boggarts late that November.

Least we’ll know to watch out for any full moons, Hermione thought as several students lined up with forced smiles, awaiting their turn at the Freudian cupboard. Luckily, there weren’t too many surprises this year. Draco’s Boggart had turned into his father and Ron’s into another spider. Luna, who’d come on “official” permission by Draco, stood up calmly and Riddikulused away a little frog-shaped, hairy glob.

“What was that?” Draco asked as she took her seat.

“A Larkin Larbuck,” Luna said solemnly. “It’s the most ill-tempered creature on the planet. One look can turn a man to mud.”

Draco snickered and leaned over to Hermione, “Hey Granger, maybe you and the Larbuck could start a club.”

”That’s… not…. funny,” Hermione said without looking up from on her parchment.

“With matching t-shirts,” he went on blithely.

“I’m trying to take notes…”

“And get a newsletter going …hey!” Hermione elbowed him hard on the shoulder and went seamlessly back to her note taking, pointedly ignoring Draco’s muttering about his at least not being turned to mud.

After the review, which lacked the Conga line, carefree air of third year’s session, Hermione stayed behind, gathering her books and sorting through her piles of notes. As she fastened her bag, she heard the cupboard door creak open and turned just in time to see Harry’s broken body tumble onto the floor. She hurried over, her hands over her mouth as she took in Harry’s crumpled form, broken and pale against the blood that was pooling beneath him on the stone floor.

“Just…great.” She shook her head and gave a put-upon sigh, surprisingly unfazed at the escaped Boggart. It wasn’t the worst vision of Harry’s death she’d had. Her nightmares were much more creative. At least they were set to a score of his screaming and begging.

Besides, she wasn’t surprised at her worst fear’s form.

“Yeah, you and half the school,” she muttered, running her hand through her hair.

Now, she thought as she set her bag on a nearby desk, just how do you make this funny?

She studied pseudo-Harry, noting the immense lack of humor in the pooling blood, the broken arms, the twisted legs, the bruised face….

“Maybe I could pretend it’s Deloris Umbridge,” she murmured.

Finding that didn’t work, she took a seat and stared at the Boggart intensely. Seeing this Harry, knowing that the real one was safe in the Gryffindor common room, (not studying no doubt) but still far from the avoidable danger he usually put himself in, was somehow cathartic.

She was having strange ideas about Fred and George selling Boggarts for trauma therapy when she heard the door open behind her.

“Hermione?”

Then, of course they could always sell them as humiliating pranks…

She turned to find her Harry staring wide-eyed at travel-sized Harry. He was looking back and forth, confusion clouding his features as he strode toward her.

Oh. My. Gods, she thought, burying her face in her hands. It was eternally embarrassing, and unsettlingly intimate, having Harry suddenly discover her greatest fear involved his death and dismemberment.

So, that in mind, she tried the laugh it off.

”Hide the body in a classroom… what was I thinking?” She shook her head and forced a chuckle, trying desperately to think of ways to Riddikulus it out of sight. Stupid body… get funny and go away…

“What is…?” Harry trailed off, his gaze still fixed on the bludgeoned version of himself.

“It’s nothing Harry,” Hermione said, waving him away. “One of the Boggarts got out. Good thing I found it else we’d have two Snapes running around.” She paused and corrected herself. “Well, unless Ron saw it, then there’d be a dancing spider or a giant brain on the loose…”

He didn’t answer. He just looked at her oddly as a heavy silence settled between them.

“You…” she started slowly, “you can leave now Harry…”

But of course Harry wasn’t leaving, apparently morbidly fascinated by pieces-of-himself-Harry on the floor. Right, he’s the morbid one. Granger, her ever unhelpful, Harry-sounding voice piped in. It’s your vision love…

In a moment of inspiration, she turned back to the Boggart, closed her eyes and concentrated. Real-Harry watched as the body, the blood, and the bruises disappeared in a flash of light.

Hermione then quickly gathered her books, and pushed past him, disappearing out the door and down the corridor before still-intact Harry could call her back.

He turned to follow her, all the while trying to suss out what he’d just seen, when he caught a flash of movement in the corner of the classroom.

“Do you want to know how she got rid of it Potter?” Draco’s voice stopped Harry in his tracks. Of course, only Malfoy would be lurking in the shadows in the middle of the bloody afternoon. Apparently he’d been watching the whole thing from his spot in the shaded corner. Enjoying it too, if Harry wasn’t mistaken, which he wasn’t.

Draco stepped out of the shadows and repeated the offer, slowly this time. “Well… do you want to know?”

Harry didn’t answer, so Malfoy took that as an ‘oh gods yes.’

“She pretended she didn’t care,” Malfoy said with a smirk.

Harry narrowed his eyes and shook his head, not really wanting to hear about Hermione according to the Book of Malfoy, but apparently helpless against doing so.

Draco rolled his eyes, pitying the now-puzzled Gryffindor. Use small words.

“She pretended she didn’t care Potter, because that’s bloody ridiculous.”

Malfoy then turned and strode down the corridor, his robes billowing dramatically behind him. But for once he was too busy smiling at the thought of Bogart-Harry to notice his own impressive exit. It’d been strangely cathartic seeing broken-Harry on the floor. He decided to bring a pensieve with him next time Hermione brushed up on her Boggarts.

Draco then went off to find Luna. Seeing Potter nearly decapitated had gotten him all worked up in the right way. “Too bad she’s in class,” he muttered as he turned towards the greenhouse. “Pity to have to drag her out of Herbology…”

Yep, he thought. Today’s going to be a good day…

Chapter 11 “The Beginning of the End”

December came quietly in its snowy and sleepy way. I decided not to go home for winter break, having too much coursework to catch up on. Besides, there was that whole-I’m-a danger-to-myself-and-others Dolohov curse hanging over my head, and I just as well not put my parents through that over the holidays. Though, now I think better of it. I wish I had gone home. Or at least planned to. Would’ve been a nice parting gesture from the world’s most negligent daughter.

My friendship with Ron was meanwhile on the road to repair. Maybe because he’d matured into an extra emotion or two (maybe even the facial expressions to go with them). Or maybe he realized the inevitability of the upcoming war. Or maybe Lav had threatened to withhold sex unless he started speaking to me. Seems she needed help with her Muggle History course and thought playing the mediator would curry favor. I appreciated the gesture but told her that Ron would come around on his own. Which, of course he didn’t, only managing a quick “hey how are you” at the height of his sexual frustration.

So things seemed close to fine by the weekend before break. Couple Dune and couple Mauve let Harry and I tag along to the Three Broomsticks for the last Hogsmeade trip. We shared a booth, playing the happy little circle of friends, drinking butterbeers and laughing like old times.

All right…maybe it wasn’t so difficult to pretend things were going well. I had Harry’s friendship, Ron was nice enough, and Drake and Luna were, well, Drake and Luna. I remember drinking and merrily discussing our holiday plans. Drake was staying on with me at Hogwarts, but Luna and Lav were visiting their families, and Harry and Ron were off to the Burrow.

--------------

“Is Ginny going home too?” Hermione asked as Harry handed her a butterbeer.

“Yep,” said Ron, as he slipped an arm over Lavender’s shoulders. “Be the first time I get to see her off the Quidditch pitch for more than five minutes. Wonder if I’ll recognize her.”

“Well,” Lavender chuckled, “if it helps, she’ll be the only other girl besides your mother.”

“Hmm,” said Ron as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “that should make it easier.”

“Why are you staying behind Granger?” Draco asked. “Frighten your parents into taking a second honeymoon?”

“What?” Hermione replied, “Instead of just frightening everyone around me like a certain Slytherin?” She rolled her eyes and took a sip of her drink, trying to ignore the fact that her shoulder was brushing against Harry’s.

“Granger, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Draco said with a dreamy look he’d obviously picked up from Luna.

Hermione shook her head. “I did say I didn’t want to maim you that one time during Quidditch.”

”Oh, yes,” Draco put his hand over his heart and sighed. “Heaven…”

“You played Quidditch?” Harry asked, casually shrugging an arm behind her chair. He shifted in his seat as thoughts of a windswept Hermione darting around the field flitted through his mind. Whoa, down boy…er…and littler boy…

“Yeah,” Draco answered for her. “Granger’s not half bad. Might’ve recruited her for a Beater if she weren’t stuck in Gryffindor.”

”You’d probably do more than recruit her,” Lav said with a smile and a wink.

Draco ignored Harry’s dark look and replied with a flashing smile. “You know it love.” He returned the wink before turning to Luna, who was shaking her head and grinning.

“Hey, there would be no recruiting of any kind,” Hermione said, motioning for Ron to defend her, or just wipe that sick grin off his face.

“Sorry Hermes,” Ron said, nuzzling Lav, “I like it when she talks dirty about other girls…hey!” He yelped as Lavender elbowed him in the ribs. He pouted a bit as he rubbed his side. “Well, I do…”

“Yeah,” said Draco, “I like it too.” He wiggled his eyebrows and took a swig from his drink.

“Luna?” Lavendar gave a put-upon sigh and turned to quiet blonde. “How do you put up with him?”

Luna smiled sweetly and patted Draco’s cheek. “He’s pretty.”

“Awwwww.” Everyone at the table gave a sentimental moan and laughed at the reddening Draco. Bar goers turned round to see what the noise was and shook their heads at the youngsters in the booth.

“Pretty obnoxious,” Ron corrected with a grin.

Lavendar groaned at his insult.

“Boo,” Hermione said, giving him a thumbs-down.

“Pretty… pathetic?” Lav offered.

Hermione and Harry looked at each other and shrugged.

“Better,” Harry nodded.

“What?” Draco motioned towards Lavender, “As opposed to being pretty clingy and high maintenance?” Ron spit his butterbeer across the table as he burst out laughing.

“Ron!” Hermione cried, wiping away his mouthful of butterbeer from her shirt.

“Hey!” said the offended Lav to her insensitive beau, “you are not allowed to laugh at that.” Ron, however, was too busy coughing to answer.

“Come on Hermione,” Harry took the sputtering Hermione’s hand and led her away. He reached into his pocket for his wand and uttered a quick cleansing spell as they neared an empty corner of the bar.

“I can’t believe I have Ron’s spittle on my shirt,” Hermione moaned.

”Yeah,” Harry smiled. “People might start mistaking you for Lavender.”

”Oh, gods…” she said shaking that rather disturbing visual from her thoughts. She rolled her eyes. “I should’ve known by now not to eat or drink anywhere near Ron.”

“Yes,” Harry said mournfully, “yet another casualty to his table manners.”

“Hardly the way a Griffindor should go,” she agreed knowingly.

“Such a shame…” He sighed. “Oh well, she’ll be missed.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” she said lightly. “Completely replaceable, wouldn’t lose a beat in the conversation if she…” Hermione trailed off as she felt Harry grip her hand.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, concerned. Things were going so well and now, gods what did I do…

Harry lowered his eyes and forced a chuckle. “Nothing’s wrong. I…I just wouldn’t say that Mione,” he said as he tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear.

“What?” Merlin we’re close, she thought as Harry’s hand brushed her cheek. Just a little closer and our noses would be touching. Mmmmm, she bit back a sigh. Touching Harry.

”You’re not replaceable,” he whispered as he closed the distance between them. “Quite the opposite in fact.”

He awkwardly pulled her to him, pausing to read her reaction. But uneasy hand placement and bumped noses aside, she thought it the sweetest, most romantic kiss she’d had in, well, ever. Sure, maybe it wasn’t what she’d had in mind when he offered to dry her off, but who cares? Gods it felt so bloody good to finally hold him… like that dream she’d had of the Burrow. She leaned forward, melting against him, her mouth moving under his as he gathered her tightly to him.

Something was building between them; pain pleasure, burning and rising. It started in her sides and rose to her chest as he nipped and bit her lips and held her to him like she’d break if he let her go. Which was fine since for the first time in months, it felt like she wasn’t being torn in half. Gods, it’s like he was healing her just by holding her.

He broke away and started a trail of whispered kisses along her neck, his hands moving on her and over her as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into the old cloak room behind them.

She found herself pinned against the far wall by Harry’s welcomed weight, moaning his name while leaving open kisses along his neck. Don’t stop oh please oh my Harry was all she could manage as his hands found their way under her shirt and along the soft skin of her back.

As if Harry could stop. She was killing him. There was no doubt about that as she hooked a leg over his hip. Not that he’d mind. He’d gladly face death as long as she kept doing those amazing things with her tongue and pressing the soft planes of her stomach against his now not-so-softer parts.

Hermione groaned and brought him impossibly closer. He lifted her and she wrapped her other leg around him as he they began moving against each other, desperate for friction and release and each other.

That strange feeling was again rising and falling, but had now settled down into her chest. The sensation suddenly became a sharp pain that made her cry out and push Harry away.

“Harry, I-I…” She doubled over from the pain and clutched her throbbing DM wound, waiting for the waves of agony to pass. She uttered a luminous spell and glanced down at her now blood-stained shirt. Her wound was reopening and gods she nearly screamed then.

She looked up at Harry, only to find him holding a hand to his bloody forehead, his face twisted in a similar pain. He drew her to him, his bloodstained hand covering his own as he held her tightly and whispered assurance in her ear. But she knew what was happening. It was coming. The war had started. Voldemort had become human and was taking Hogwarts by storm.

Chapter 12 “Later…”

“Draco,” Hermione whispered as she snapped a fallen Deatheater’s wand. “Apparate. Go get the Order…” they were crouched beside the stone wall surrounding Hogwarts, just having fought their way through an easy ambush outside of Hogsmeade.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Draco said firmly, snapping two wands for good measure.

“I can’t leave,” Hermione begged. “I. Can’t. Leave.” She lowered her voice. “I swear Drake. I swear I’ll keep Luna alive. Just go now while you still can…”

Draco, for once, did as she asked, pausing only to run a finger under Luna’s chin, promising with a touch what he couldn’t with words.

“Hey,” Ron said. “He can’t Apparate, it’s…”

Then, as if to mock the open-mouthed Weasley, Draco vanished with a flourish.

“It’s… apparently entirely possible,” Ron finished, staring after the departed Draco.

-------

After winding through the dark passages that led under the gates, the group crawled through a hidden panel and into the Great Hall. The entire school was dark and eerily silent as they crept along the far wall towards Dumbledore’s office, praying they were in time to stop the onslaught.

Hermione drew her wand to the ready as the lanterns that lined the hall suddenly lit. Gods what’s happening? Where’s Dumbledore? She let go of Luna’s shaky hand and stood beside Harry, who was staring at the shifting shadows of the stairwell.

------

“Voldemort,” Luna whispered, bracing herself for the battle to come.

“Ron, get them out of here,” Harry said evenly, never taking his eyes off at the dark figure ahead. “Ron!” Harry repeated harshly when Ron didn’t answer. “Get. Them. Out.”

”Harry, I-I…” Ron trailed off.

“Go Ron.” Harry gripped his wand and listened to their retreating footsteps and felt, rather than heard, the door close behind him

“Hermione?” Harry asked wearily, praying that she wasn’t there to answer.

“Yes Harry?” She replied with a false calm. Harry heard her swallow as she stepped forward.

Harry bit back a groan. Was she always this stubborn? “Get out,” he replied coldly.

“No Harry. I can’t leave. I found it.”

”Found what?” he asked through gritted teeth as he advanced towards the shadows.

“A way to stop it. The Avada Kadavra. I found it.”

“How?” He asked impatiently. He didn’t care. He just wanted her to leave. Stubborn, stubborn girl…

Hermione stayed in stride with him. “Trust me Harry.”

-------

Hermione watched as Voldemort readied his wand. His face was obscured by shadow, but his feral eyes burned into hers. He won’t bother with me, she thought as Voldemort began the familiar incantation. The very curse she’d been researching since that damned Dolohov. She closed her eyes, gathering her Gryffindor courage.

She took a deep breath and a last look at Harry.

And to think that Lily Potter had it right all those years ago. There’s only one thing strong enough to stop the Avada Kadavra…nothing.

Hermione bit back a cry as a green light suddenly streaked towards Harry. She didn’t think twice before diving in its path.

She landed hard as a blinding pain tore through her. “Harry,” she sighed as everything went dark. “Harry…”

-----------

After a reign of fire and light, darkness settled over the hall. Only Harry remained standing as the room fell silent. The shadows in the stairwell were gone and wouldn’t return, but, like many wizards, Harry wouldn’t waste another moment thinking about the dark legacy of Voldemort.

“Hermione?” Harry asked as he knelt beside her. He gently turned her over and gathered her to him, brushing a few strands of hair away from her pale face.

“Love?” His hands were shaking as he traced her features with his fingertips. “No gods, don’t so sorry love, no,” he muttered over and over as he kissed her lifeless lips. He searched for signs of life, holding her close, praying that she would hold him back.

“Dear gods no,” he whispered as he nuzzled and stroked her cheeks with his own.

Days later he wouldn’t remember the Order’s belated entrance, or Ron and Draco pulling him away, or the recently freed Dumbledore spelling him under when he tried to claw his way back to her. The only thing he’d remember was her tiny, crumpled form, lying alone on the cold stone floor.

----------

I don’t remember much after Hermione fell. One minute she was standing beside me, being the lovely, stubborn girl that she was, and the next she was on the floor, writhing in agony. I thought I heard her say my name. I thought a lot of things though. I’d thought I’d see her again. Hold her. Have her hold me back.

I wish now I had said something. Anything. Tried to…I don’t know. Do something. I couldn’t have stopped her though. I couldn’t stop her from doing anything when she set her mind to it. Never could.

Voldemort was easy to finish off after that. The Ava…the curse had taken a lot out of him. It’d taken a lot out of me too. My love, my life, my bloody soul. Gods I remember kneeling next to her, shaking her, trying to wake her. Lovely, stubborn girl she was, she wouldn’t have it. She was just pale and cold, and I was helpless to bring her back.

I stroked her cheeks, begging her to open her eyes. I couldn’t say how long I stayed there beside her. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t get help. If I left her…I couldn’t leave her.

Ron said they dragged me away. He said I called her name and nearly tore Draco in half trying to get back to her. Someone spelled me under, and I woke up in Dumbledore’s office. Not that I cared. Hermione wasn’t there, that’s all I knew. She wasn’t there. She’d fallen, and I’d left her. I’d left her again. Just like that summer day.

A part of me died then I think. I remember thinking how I’d felt so close to her that night. How she let me touch her, hold her. How she whispered my name and wrapped her arms around me. How she was mine. For a handful of seconds she was mine.

And then she was gone. She was gone and I was alone. No, I was worse than alone. I was alone because I’d lost her.

Chapter 13 “Curtain Call”

Yes, I fell. I fell, but with both eyes open, and not on account of some conveniently watered-down Crucio curse.

I saved his life. I saved Harry. Whatever else, I can look back and smile because of that, with no thoughts or regrets. Well, except one: that I missed the battle. I bet it was a fantastic fight.

And in the end, he was still the Boy Who Lived. Thanks in part to me.

Harry will live on and love and thrive because any alternative would be unacceptable. Unthinkable. I can only hope he’ll come to realize that. Maybe even laugh at my oft misguided attempts in making sure it came about.

And I’ll never admit this to anyone else (well obviously), but I was wrong. Wrong about Sirious anyway. He hadn’t died for some great cause like defeating Voldemort or defending the rights of the Muggle-born or for helping house elfs or for any unnamable, untouchable dream. He fought for Harry. Like I did. I wasn’t ready to die at the hands of a troll in first year, or by some Basilisk, or in the Department of Mysteries. But when it came to a clear-cut choice between Harry’s life and my own… I didn’t have a second thought.

And of course I’ll miss him. I’ll miss his hands and his voice and his lovely eyes. I’ll miss his moods and his smile and everything and anything that was Harry. Gods I can even see him now. I can even smell him, all clover and ink and rain. I can hear him. I loved that voice, a lovely tenor…and, wait, I really can hear him…he’s talking to Pomfrey…

…and what’s Pomfrey doing here?

Oh.

Apparently, I’m in the hospital ward.

Chapter 14 “Last Bit”

Dumbledore was in his office with a very pale Boy Hero, who, far from looking like the savior of the known wizarding world, was barely able to keep his head up. He was tired of life and loss and just wanted to get back to his vigil over an unconscious Hermione in the infirmary.

Dumbledore, however, was oblivious to Harry’s weariness and merrily droned on about how Hermione’s bond to the Deatheater Dolohov had actually been her saving grace. Apparently Voldemort’s inner circle had some sort of resistance to his spells and…well, as is so often the case at Hogwarts, what had so nearly killed her had apparently saved her life.

In short, it proved a profound and important speech, and Dumbledore was nearly finished with the half-hour explanation of why he couldn’t have revealed all this before the battle when a series of cries and shouts from stairwell interrupted him.

“Stop, don’t, I…wait, he’s with Dumbledore…I told you to stop young lady…”

Harry rose from his chair, wand at the ready, as the study door flew open and a frantic Madame Pomfrey and a struggling Hermione burst in.

“I’m so sorry Headmaster,” said Pomfrey, taking hold of one of the blankets Hermione was wrapped in, “but she wouldn’t…I tried to…”

Hermione freed herself from Pomfrey’s grip before the nurse could finish her halting explanation. She shot Pomfrey an impatient look which quickly vanished as she caught sight of the shaken Boy hero before her.

“Harry?” Hermione asked with wide, watery eyes.

“Hermione?” Harry slowly lowered his wand and gripped the chair behind him. A heavy silence descended on the room as the two student stared at each other.

It took Fawke’s sudden combustion to snap Harry out of his stupor. In two strides he’d snatched Hermione up in his arms and spun her around in a desperate hug. They both sank to the floor, not able to stand, and not really caring to, clinging to and clutching at each other and all the while ignoring the teachers in their midst.

“Harry,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he gathered her against him. “Harry, are you…” she didn’t get a chance to finish before Harry had cut her off with a frantic kiss.

“Dear gods, oh sweets,” he murmured, running his lips over her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, any skin he could possibly find, afraid to touch her but unable to help himself. “Are you...? Does it hurt?”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head against the crook of his neck, now near tears as she clung to him. It didn’t hurt. Not really, now that he was holding her.

“Oh love, if you ever do that again I’ll…” he swallowed back a tremor in his voice. “I don’t know what I’ll do, but gods….” He resumed his caresses and whispers, unaware of the silent departure of Dumbledore and a protesting Pomfrey.

“If you do that again…” Harry started again. Gods he couldn’t even say it. Seeing her fall like that, and him helpless to do anything about it. He’d rather face a thousand Voldemorts than go through that again.

Hermione, meanwhile, wanted to say something healing and helpful. Something that would reassure him and resolve their already mucked up trust issues. However, in her eternal Gryffindor stupidity, she settled for the truth.

“Better me than you,” she whispered against his collar.

“Better…what?” Harry shook his head. Did she just say…

“Hermione, look at me,” he said sternly. He tried to pull away, but she held fast to him, refusing to meet his eyes, scared of what she might see there. “Hermione, love. Please look at me.” He sighed defeatedly as she buried herself against his shoulder. Stubborn girl…“Hermione, if you hadn’t have woken up…I don’t know what I would done.”

He ran his hands through her hair and held her impossibly closer. “You mean more to me than anything. Anything. Should’ve told you months ago…” and when I think I almost lost you…

He closed his eyes, willing the grim thoughts away. She was here now and that’s all that mattered. Focus Potter…

“And I’m just grateful,” he continued, “so bloody grateful I can tell you that.”

She shook her head against his shoulder, not willing to believe it.

“Look at me,” he said. She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears that were threatening to escape.

“Hermione,” he insisted, “look at me.” He nuzzled the side of her cheek...lovely perfect stubborn girl… and planted feathery kisses along her jaw. “Look at me, darling, love, please,” he repeated.

She gripped his shoulders as he whispered assurances in her ear; sweet words that drifted through her as he began raining soft kisses across her face. Hermione, lost to the delicious sensations he was creating, pressed her lips to his neck, planting kisses on his soft skin.

He ran his hands along her healing sides, whispering and begging over and over again. “Look at me love sweets look please Hermes please.”

She pulled back a bit and gazed into his brilliant green eyes. For the first time in months, she recognized the perfectly-open, purely Harry expression. She swallowed back a sob and pulled him into a hard, heartbreaking kiss, hoping to show him everything she couldn’t say.

“I’m not sorry Harry,” she said as she broke away with a gasp. “Don’t ask me to be.”

“Won’t.” He muttered as he nestled her honey locks. “Just don’t leave me. Don’t go anywhere where I can’t find you. Where I can’t get to you.”

She shook her head against his shoulder. “Wherever I am, you’ll have me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “No matter what Harry, you’ll have me. You always did.”

And there, under the unfinished light of the evening, with injuries both fresh and fading, they began the long and arduous task of healing each other.

The End