Unofficial Portkey Archive

With Malice Aforethought

S. P. Smith

As January wound down to a bitterly freezing close, the Second Wizard War burned hotter than ever. For weeks, the Daily Prophet reported attack after attack, the pictures on the front page showing burning homes, and rescuers consoling the survivors. For weeks the papers paraded the pictures of the handful of scattered Death Eaters caught during the attacks. Chillingly, in the last week, the Daily Prophet was scrubbed clean of any stories about the war, save for short blocks on the back page, bereft of pictures. It was as thought the war did not exist, though that fiction was given lie by the squadron of blue robed Aurors circling the school on Ministry brooms.

Harry ran now through the snow, forgoing entirely the warmer path around the curtain walls. His house mates and professors could find him if he remained too near the castle. Ranging far afield, past Hagrid's cabin and to past the frozen lake afforded him privacy. By transfiguring his clothes as Madam Hooch had shown him, Harry could stay warm even as he stayed out for hours.

By now it was full dark, and from the orange glow from the Great Hall's windows, Harry could tell that supper was in full swing. If he waited just a few more hours, he could make his way back to Gryffindor Tower without meeting anyone. Harry tucked his hands into the hooded sweatshirt he's turned a Weasley jumper into, and thought about the last few weeks.

The Defense Association meetings were functional. The newest students, rather than being scared off by Hermione's meltdown, had come back the next meeting, and were making good progress. Harry figured they'd be ready to work with the old guard of the Defense Association in another month or two. Ron, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Harry's disappearing act was made much easier by the fact that Ron was putting his all into hiding from sight as well. Ginny kept pursuing Harry, trying to pick fights about whatever she could. Harry had spent a month ignoring her attempts to get a rise out of him, and focused on sneaking out whenever possible.

Most difficultly, Hermione was not avoiding Harry or acting mad at him in the least. Far from it, she kept trying to drag him and Ron into the same room at the same time. She was tirelessly friendly, caring, and helpful. She was back to working actively in the Defense Association. Harry was running away from her more than anyone else. He couldn't get it out of his head that she knew he was at least partly to blame for her mother's death because had not faced Voldemort yet.

For now there was something he had to do, and had been delaying for as long as possible. As he looked back at the castle, he saw a dark shape alighting at the window of the north tower. As the window swung open, Harry saw for a second a rider on a broomstick swoop inside, then the window swung shut, and the towered returned to still darkness.

Dumbledore's office was at the apex of the north tower.

Harry sighed, and headed back to the castle. The front entrance was in clear sight of the Great Hall, so that was right out. He ran back through the snow to the south courtyard, and walked carefully up the stairs to the Bell Tower gates. Here he had to be careful, as snow and ice made footing tricky on the uneven flagstones. Harry Silencio'd the gates, and slipped inside, just down the hall from his classmates having their supper. The southern stairwell was deserted, and Harry jogged up them, headed for the first floor halls. Crossing over to the north face of the outer keep, Harry jogged upward to the inner keep, and the north stairwell.

He again found himself facing the giant gargoyle guarding the stairs to the Headmaster's office. It was time to start trying passwords. "Toothflossing Stringmints," he began, and blinked when the gargoyle leaped to one side. He'd never guessed correctly on the first try before.

A gravely, disembodied voice floated out of the darkened stairwell. "Well, Potter, I see I don't have far to travel to find you."

Harry's wand flew into his hand, and he flattened himself against the wall behind the gargoyle. There was a brief rustling sound, and Mad-Eyed Moody's head appeared, floating midair at the foot of the steps. "It's good to see you keeping vigilant, but don't get too twitchy, Potter. It's me."

"Professor Moody!" Harry stepped out from behind the cover of the statue, lowering his wand. "I was just coming-"

"To see Dumbledore," Mad-Eye finished for him, nodding his scarred and lopsided head. "And I was going to bring you to him. So, let's go."

As Harry and Mad-Eye surmounted the tower stairs, Moody shrugged off the Invisibility Cloak he had been wearing. Harry looked up at him. "It's a meeting of the Order tonight?"

Both Moody's normal eye and magical one fixed him with a brief glare. "And how do you know about that."

Harry shrugged. "Someone arrived by broomstick at the window."

Moody muttered grumpily. "War's heating up, and we start dropping basic security. Brilliant."

Moody pushed ahead of Harry, opening the huge door, and stumping into Dumbledore's office, his clawed peg leg thumping with each step. Harry followed.

Scattered throughout the office were the headmaster, Professors McGonagall and Snape, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Nymphadora and Andromeda Tonks, Remus Lupin, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, all seated on squashy armchairs.

Kingsley smiled broadly. "That was fast, even for you Moody."

Moody stomped over to a seat, and dropped into it heavily. "Didn't have far to look. He was already on his way up."

Lupin looked concerned. "Another vision Harry."

"Yeah," Moody snorted. "A vision of Kingsley flying into the window. You all have to remember-"

"Constant vigilance." At least half a dozen voices chorused in.

"Damn youngsters, I'm serious!" Moody slapped the arm of his chair. "We can't go around bollixing security because we can't sneak into a school!"

Dumbledore smile indulgently. "While you do have a point, Alastor, I'm afraid we have a more urgent matter to address tonight. Harry, I would like to ask for your help in the war against Voldemort."

"Oh." Harry blinked, and sat down in surprise. "That's why I was coming to see you, actually. I wanted to know what I could do."

Professor Snape snorted mirthlessly. "Please, Mr. Potter, does your arrogance know no bounds? You've come to offer your help to the Order? Thank you, for deigning to grace us with your presence."

Harry flushed darkly, and ground his teeth.

Dumbledore coughed politely. "Perhaps it would do to remember, Severus, that we were in fact asking for Harry's assistance."

"Harry, dear," Molly Weasley began with a watery smile. "Don't think you have to do anything you don't want to."

That cinched it for Harry. Mrs. Weasley would only be against one of Dumbledore's plans if she thought it was dangerous. And if his Headmaster wanted him to do something dangerous, it was almost certainly worthwhile. "What can I do?"

Arthur spoke up. He looked uncomfortable, and as unable to hide his feelings as his son. "It's about your visions Harry. The one's that link you to... You-Know-Who."

"I haven't been having any, sir." Harry shifted in his seat, seeing the precipice toward which the conversation would inevitably veer. "Not since Sirius died."

"Preposterous," Snape snarled, managing to over-enunciate every syllable. "You are a completely incompetent Occlumens, Potter. And when you don't have that miserable little know-it-all to crib from, a pathetic student in general. I rather doubt you could keep your mind closed, any more than you could keep your mouth shut!"

Harry noticed that Dumbledore was peering at him over his half-moon glasses again. Harry wondered if there was anything he could say that would take Dumbledore by surprise. "I... borrowed a Mirror of Morgraine."

Snape rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically. "And what, asked the Dark Lord very politely to hang onto it for you?"

Harry glowered at Snape, momentarily forgetting his earlier hesitancy. "No. It's hanging over my bed."

There was a gasp and a crash as Molly Weasley dropped her teacup to the floor. The various other order members looked horrified, and began talking in low tones to one another. Only Remus and Dumbledore looked sad and yet somehow understanding. Severus, however, looked even more non-plussed. "You cannot expect anyone to believe you could get your hands on such a dangerous object. Moreover, I am certain your monumental self-absorption would prohibit you from inflicting such a thing upon yourself."

Albus Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Actually, Harry's use of the Mirror came to my attention when certain House Elves found themselves unable to approach his bed."

"Oh, Harry..." Mrs. Weasley looked to be near tears.

Arthur patted her back before turning his attention to Harry. "You'll get rid of that thing at once."

"Mister Weasley," Snape began, and Harry noted that he sounded just as dismissive as when speaking to Ron. "You do realize that having access to that artifact is very likely the only reason your little golden child here isn't a human telegraph to the Dark Lord?"

"Heaven knows how that thing is hurting him, he's got to be rid of it," Molly sobbed.

"Please," Snape drawled. "After six excruciating years the boy finally shows a feeble glimmer of wit, and you want him to desist? This explains, at last, your youngest son."

Molly's tears shut off as though someone had turned a tap. "Severus Snape, you make one more comment about my family, and we'll be finding out if Madam Pomfrey still remembers everything from her healing apprenticeship. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Professor Snape sighed theatrically, but fell silent nonetheless.

Moody spoke up, his gravelly voice positively pleasant after Mrs. Weasley's high pitched screech. "Morgraine's Mirror's a helluva thing to tuck under your pillow like that, but I can't argue with the results."

Tonks spluttered. "What results? He's had it for a few months, and nothing bad's happened yet? Those things squick me to the bone. I'm just saying I don't want to get suited and booted just to bury the kid 'cause of that nasty little thing."

Harry cleared his throat testily. "Don't I get a say in this?"

Snape snorted. "And the glimmer of wit dies."

Harry glared at his former Potions professor, who sneered back. Snape leaned forward in his chair. "Almost uniformly you have made abysmally poor choices all your life. I should think that it would have become painfully obvious to you by now, even with your limited abilities, that for your own good your choices would be best if limited to 'pumpkin or orange juice.'"

"Am I here Professor Dumbledore," Harry asked to the Headmaster without taking his eyes off of Snape, "as a student, or a guest of the Order?"

Albus looked slightly concerned. "This is a meeting of the Order, Harry. Under more ordinary circumstances, I do not think we would ask for a student's presence, even one as... special as yourself."

"Thank you." Harry tipped his head to address Snape directly. "Then sod off, you miserable git!"

The Potions Master snarled. "Detention for a month, you insolent brat! And your House won't have points for a month if I've anything to say about it."

"You don't," Harry responded curtly. "I'm not here as a student, I'm here as a guest of the Order. That means you're not a teacher, you're a spy. And a git."

"Mister Potter!" Professor McGonagall's voice wavered with emotion as she spoke, her lips a thin white line. "Regardless of the status or circumstance, you will show Professor Snape all due courtesy!"

For the first time in his life, Harry found himself snarling at his Head of House. He could almost hear himself from outside his body, and wished he could shut himself up. "I did. I showed him a damn sight more courtesy than he's shown me."

McGonagall waved Professor Dumbledore to silence as he moved to speak. She gathered herself up, glasses fairly trembling upon the tip of her nose. When she spoke, anger had thickened her Scottish brogue. "And this is your new goal, is it Mister Potter? To be just as rude and offensive as your Potions Professor?"

"Minerva!" Snape turned a shocked and sallow face to her. "I can't believe you-"

"What, Severus?" McGonagall turned briefly to look at her colleague. "Noticed your behavior, or commented on it publicly?"

Dumbledore coughed into his beard. "While I do think that many of us assembled here could benefit from a frank and open airing of our feelings, I am afraid the hour grows late, and we still have some business of the Order to attend to."

Snape looked like he was going to protest quite loudly, but was silenced by a simple look from Dumbledore. The aging Headmaster turned his gaze upon Harry next. "I am afraid those of Tom's followers we captured some months ago at the Ministry have escaped."

"And this has to do with my visions?" Harry's eyes narrowed as Dumbledore gave a stately nod. "You want me to have more visions? To find out where they are?"

"Merlin, no," Snape answered flatly. "I can only imagine what kind of trouble you would get us all into by opening yourself up to whatever the Dark Lord chose to throw at you."

Harry was a little bewildered. "Then what...?"

"Legilimancy, Potter." McGonagall was brisk as she explained their request. "It's the difference between being seen and seeking. I trust that's a distinction you are comfortable with?"

When Harry nodded tightly, McGonagall continued. "If you can learn to see into the mind of You-Know-Who, you can tell the Order what he's planning."

Harry thought furiously, trying to piece together the ramifications of all of this. If only Hermione was here, he thought. She'd know what questions to ask. "Isn't there the risk he'll learn everything I know?"

"With certainty, Harry." Dumbledore looked sad as he answered. "Although you must resume your Occlumency lessons, I am afraid this will mean that you cannot be privy to the plans of the Order. The risks to the other members would otherwise be catastrophic."

Harry's bright green eyes narrowed. "Aren't you worried Voldemort would try to possess me again?"

All present shifted in discomfort. Dumbledore nodded. "It is a risk, and one you must chose to accept or decline. For my part, I can say only that I would find your continued usage of Morgraine's Mirror to be... beneficial."

Harry thought for a moment. "I'll do it."

"Thank you, Harry." Professor Dumbledore smiled softly. "Professor Snape has graciously offered to begin teaching you Legilimancy tomorrow. I trust you will pursue this with all due diligence?"

Harry could only nod, the memory of skivving off his Occlumency haunting him. He looked up at Snape's sour expression, and decided that the Potions Master probably hadn't 'offered,' regardless of what the Headmaster was saying.

* * *

Professor Snape's over cloak was folded nearly upon the corner of the huge workbench dominating he front of his Potions classroom, his fitted, high-necked black under robe making him look even more severe than usual in the gloom from the torchlight. With a wave of his ebony wand, Professor Snape threw the door shut behind Harry, and bolted it securely. A second wave, and the high windows were shuttered and latched. The torches guttered as the drafts from the door and shutters slamming closed tossed the flames about, temporarily dropping the room into near darkness. Snape stalked between the scarred desks, very nearly prowling toward Harry, who stood rooted by the now closed and locked doorway out.

"Have you, Mister Potter," Snape asked silkily, "been following what the Daily Prophet is burying upon its' back sheets?"

Harry nodded, and Snape drew up to his full height over him, eyes and buttons glittering blackly. "Then you have read of the attacks, I should assume, the dead and the missing."

Again Harry nodded. Snape glared at him from down the length of his hooked nose. "What you and the rest of the Isles have been spared out of concern for your delicate sensibilities, are those pesky little things we refer to as details. Having seen your execrable performance in my class, I am already aware you are not in the least bit competent when it comes to the details, Mister Potter."

Snape whirled away, a contained anger boiling out of every sharp gesture as he marched back toward the head of the class. "Details, Mister Potter. Although the Cruciatus Curse remains, as ever, a popular entertainment for the followers of the Dark Lord, it is not the only torture inflicted upon those unfortunate enough to be caught. I wonder, Mister Potter, if you are familiar with the distinction between scourging and flaying. No? I thought not. Can you identify the essential characters of a violation or desecration? Were you to view the bodies of these most recent victims, could you identify whether these grotesqueries were performs pre- or post- mortem?"

Harry gaped at his Professor for a long moment. "Why are you asking any of this?"

The answer was a snarl. "You and the Headmaster want to riffle through the Dark Lord's mind? Then you are an arrogant fool, but I assure you, I will do my part to both arm and prepare you for what you will most definitely find there. You will be willingly descending into thoughts Dante himself would not give voice to, a landscape too vile for Bosch. Do you comprehend, or should I find your prissy little know-it-all to translate it into more Gryffindor-friendly monosyllabic words?"

Harry ground his teeth, flushing deeply. After counting to ten, he tried to answer his professor. "I get it, sir. Shall we get started?"

"I do not think you even begin to 'get it,' you broomstick-obsessed simpleton!" Snape barked, his usually oily voice for once harsh. "Teaching you Legilimancy, you will see into my mind. More so than last year, I truly hate to admit. As such, it is very likely that I will be unable to return to my work for the Order. I will be unable to do a thing to stop the Dark Lord."

Snape stepped back, and took a deep breath. Running a hand down his robes to smooth them down more, if such a thing was possible, he continued in a more calm voice. "I am explaining, Potter, that unlike last year, this had better be worth my time."

Harry threw his bag onto a nearby table. "Let's get it over with."

The Potions Master sneered. "The incantation is Probitatis. If you rely upon your wand or you voice, you are failing as miserably as I have come to expect from a Gryffindor. However, in light of your singular ineptitude, I shall this once permit you to fall back upon these crutches.

"We shall take turns asking questions, and following them with a Legilimancy to determine the honesty of the response. Out of deference to the limitations of your world view, we shall limit ourselves to questions answerable with a simple yes or no. You will have succeeded if you can tell when I am lying. You will have surpassed my low expectations when I cannot tell when you are lying.

"Begin!"

* * *

Harry dragged himself into the Gryffindor tower near unto midnight, and his eyes felt raw and painful. His neck was obscenely stiff, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down for four or five days. It was not to be, however, as he walked in to find Hermione siting by a roaring fire in the common room, reading aloud from a stack of Quidditch books.

Harry blinked, rubbing his head as he took in the sight. It didn't make any sense to him. "Hermione, what are you doing?"

"I'm reading up on Snichorking, which is quite a foul in Quidditch. You see, all Locating Charms are disabled on a Quidditch pitch, in order to prohibit Snichorking, or illegally using a charm to help a Seeker find the Golden Snitch." Hermione closed the book she was reading from primly, stood, and stretched. "Post owls use Locating Charms to find their recipients, so as I suspected, that owl shouldn't have wandered onto the field during your last match."

Harry shook his head. "No, I meant 'what are you doing?' You're reading aloud? About Quidditch?"

"Well, yes. I'm keeping him company." Hermione fiddled with her skirt uncertainly, and pointed towards one of the couches. "I realized I couldn't simply Stupefy you and drag you into a room to talk to Ron. I could, however, Petrify Ron..."

Hermione trailed off, and she and Harry stared at one another for several seconds. Harry dropped his book bag, and his jaw. Hermione flushed, but otherwise did not move. After a few seconds more, Harry slowly walked over to the couch, and peered over the back of it. There, prone upon the cushions, was a Petrified and brassed off-looking Ron Weasley. Harry looked up at Hermione in horror, just to catch the tail end of a 'Petrificus Totalus.'

Harry found himself snapping to a frozen and stunned attention before tipping over forward and landing head first in Ron's stomach.

"Oh, dear." Hermione gasped. She darted forward to pull at Harry's feet, trying to pull him onto the sofa alongside Ron. She failed to take into account momentum, and Harry tipped over onto Ron, then rolled off onto the floor, knocking Hermione's legs out from under her. She toppled over onto the two of them, and planted knees and elbows everywhere as she fought to get back upright.

After a long bit of slipping and tripping over her two frozen friends, Hermione struggled back onto her feet, and blew several errant curls back from her face. She paced back and forth before the two boys, sighed a couple of times, before perching on the edge of the table in front of them.

"Hello you two," she said, sounding falsely confident. Hermione tried to straighten her hair and clothes as she spoke. "It's been far too long since I've been able to talk to both of you at once. And I very much miss it. I miss us all being friends. And I can't wake up every morning knowing there's a war going on, and knowing I can't count on the two of you to both be there. So I'm ending your little squabble right here and now."

Hermione smiled tightly. "Harry, I actually have you to thank for this. The way you silenced everyone in the DA, it got me thinking. And Ron, you told me once your mum Petrified Fred and George after they'd terrorized Ginny once when she was six, so I put those two together and thought, 'why not?'"

She cleared her throat, and continued. "I can imagine why not, though. You both might be very mad at me, and never want to speak to me again. Please don't do that. Please. I do need you both very much."

"Right. So let's solve your fight right now." She pointed her wand at Harry's Petrified nose. "You, Harry James Potter, tend to go running off into danger without thinking, and it's second nature for all of us to worry about it for you. Ron was and is justifiably concerned that you'd take Professor Dumbledore's cue, allow into the Defense Association people who aren't trustworthy, and you, I or someone else would get hurt. You may disagree with Ron all you want, but you had better know that he was arguing with you because he cares about you, and because he cares about me. Now, thinking about that, do you really want to stay mad at him?"

"Don't answer that," she added, rather unnecessarily.

"And Ronald Billius Weasley," Hermione continued, now pointing her wand at her boyfriend's freckled nose. "I should hope you realize that Harry is doing exactly what Professor Dumbledore would want of him. We both know Harry's too cavalier with his own safety, but surely you must realize he'd do anything to keep you, I, or Ginny safe. And certainly insulting people loudly and in the middle of a meal isn't very productive. If Harry had followed your 'advice' during your little tête à te over lunch, every Slytherin who wasn't a follower of V-Voldemort would know for certain they couldn't trust Harry or, by proxy, Dumbledore."

Hermione straightened ever so slightly. "Now then, I'm going to take these spells off, and I'm hoping you two will act the adults you are. Finite Incantatem!"

Harry jerked upright just as Ron rolled forward off the sofa. They thunked heads together solidly, and both boys tumbled back over. Harry rolled over onto his hands and knees, glaring at Hermione, who had the graciousness to wince. Harry pushed himself upright a second time, and collided with Ron again.

"Ow!" Ron shoved Harry's shoulder, and Harry shoved back. Ron held a hand over his eye. "Okay, mate, you stand up first."

With more than one glare at Ron to verify that he wasn't about to collide with his best mate again, Harry levered himself upright. Ron tried to push his way out of the deep divan with one hand plastered to his eye. Harry held out a hand to help him up. There was a pause, then Ron grabbed him, and dragged himself upright.

Ron pulled his hand away from his face, and blinked a few times at Harry, who was rubbing his head absently. "Dragons and Death Eaters are fine for us, but my girlfriend just about puts us both in hospital. Can you explain this to me?"

Harry grinned; Ron was joking with him! "Not really, no," was his answer.

Ron turned an unsuccessful frown on Hermione. "And what are you laughing at, Little Miss Hex-Happy?"

Hermione threw an arm around each of their necks, and very nearly pulled the two teens over as she hopped briefly. She puleld away just as quickly, with an embarrassed smile on her face. She looked like she wanted to ask a question, but couldn't quite get it out.

Harry shrugged. "No, Ron and I aren't mad at you, Hermione."

She smiled, and then like mercury her expression melted into a puzzled frown. "Aren't you two..."

"What?" Ron shrugged.

She wrinkled her nose up. "Aren't you going to apologize to each other?"

Harry and Ron turned to look at each other, slightly confused. As one the shrugged and shook their heads. "Naw, not really."

"No."

Ron thumped Harry on the arm before vaulting the sofa. "I don't know about you, but being petrified has me beat. I'm off for a long kip. Coming?"

Harry looked at the confusion on Hermione's face, and thought about how desperate she must have been to get the two of them talking. "You go on ahead. I might have gotten a concussion hitting my head on something that hard; I should probably stay awake for a while. You know, for health reasons."

Ron snickered. "Prat," he called out from the door to the dorms, and disappeared.

Harry turned back to Hermione, and tipped his head to look at her sideways. It was much easier to do this with his contacts than when he'd worn glasses; it seemed so much easier to catch the tiny expressions she didn't want people to see. He cleared his throat. "You want to talk?"

"Talk?" Hermione smiled lightly. "That sounds fun. I've been meaning to borrow some more of your texts. I'd prefer it if you were in the regular classes with Ron and I, but your classes are fascinating."

His brow furrowed. "It's somewhere between cute and disturbing that you think textbooks are fun."

Hermione's nose wrinkled. "You aren't still surprised by that, are you?"

"Not surprising. Just cute and disturbing." Harry smiled as she rolled her eyes.

"Yes, yes, you're very funny." Hermione crossed her arms and tutted at him lightly. "Now, did you want to talk about something in particular, or just mock the fact that I am the only studious person you know."

"Not true," Harry countered. "I know Professor Dumbledore."

Hermione's delicate frown and wrinkled nose came together at this. "I appreciate that he is a brilliant wizard, Harry, but please tell me I don't remind you of our resident bearded quindecigenarian?"

Harry's green eyes danced with a mischief she'd not seen there of late. "And how much trouble would I get in if I said yes?"

Hermione clucked. "Do you remember getting petrified a few minutes ago?"

"Yeah."

Hermione's brown eyes narrowed. "It would be worse, Harry."

Harry grinned back at her. "You wouldn't hex a bloke with glasses on, would you?"

Hermione's retort was playful. "You're wearing contact lenses."

"Ah." Harry shrugged. "In that case, you don't remind me the least bit of Dumbledore. Even if I could picture you wearing those hats of his."

Hermione snorted indelicately. "Never."

Harry shrugged again. "Makes you wonder, though..."

She tilted her head slightly. "Makes you wonder what?"

"How does he have that many coordinated hats and robes?" Harry laughed slightly. "Do you think he doesn't get new robes unless he can find a matching hat? Or does he have these huge collections of robes and hats, all waiting on hangers until he can find them mates?"

"That's just too ridiculous." She covered her mouth as she laughed.

"He's brilliant," Harry conceded, "but this is the wizard who once told me all he wants in the world is a nice pair of woolen socks."

Hermione laughed harder. "Socks?"

"I wanted to tell him he was a little off." Harry smiled. "Couldn't quite figure out how to say that to the Headmaster."

A huge yawn interrupted Hermione's laughter, and she covered her mouth again. It was a refreshing change from Ron, who generally let his roommates examine his tonsils every night around ten. "Harry," Hermione began. "As much as I want to talk about socks, I need to get to bed."

"I'm not the one responsible for the sock conversation." Harry retorted with mock gruffness. "I said I wanted to talk, you started in on textbooks, and somehow we ended up with hats and socks."

Hermione stretched sleepily, and Harry decided to turn his gaze on the fireplace until she was finished. "Well, make it quick then. I really have to be up early tomorrow for double Potions. Which, incidentally, you should be in."

Harry thought hard for a few seconds. "Never mind. Maybe some other time, then. G'night, Hermione."

"Oh no, Harry." Hermione stopped him with a hand on his chest and pushed him backwards until the sofa bumped softly into the backs of his legs. "Don't think for a second I can't tell when you've got something serious to say."

"It's just," Harry said, "I wanted to say something 'cause you looked bothered, but now you're in a good mood, and I don't want to spoil it."

"Oh dear." Hermione frowned. "That definitely sounds serious."

"I'm doing this all wrong. I should just let you go to bed." Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets and kicked at the layered area rugs. "I really shouldn't be saying anything."

"You're not exactly saying anything now, though." Hermione's brows went up as she pointed this out to her friend.

"Fair point. Sorry." Harry sighed, and decided to explain how he ended up trying to have this conversation. "Okay, so here goes. My social worker, Morgan, came by, and I talked to her. She said you might be feeling the same way I am, and maybe you'd want to talk about it."

"Oh," Hermione answered in a small voice.

"Anyway, I know the timing is abysmal, but I wanted to wait until Ron wasn't around, and this isn't exactly the sort of conversation you have in the library..."

"No," she said in the same soft voice. "I wouldn't guess it was."

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I just wanted you to know Hermione, if you want to talk about your mum, I'm here to listen."

Hermione faltered, and sank slowly into a chair. "My mum?"

"I kind of know how it feels. To loose someone." Harry cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "So, if you want to talk about her, I could listen. If you like."

Hermione nodded quietly. Harry pressed ahead. "Do you want to? Talk, I mean?"

Again, Hermione nodded. Harry sat down on the sofa in front of her and waited for her to say something. Seconds passed, but she didn't say a word. Peering into her blank, brown eyes, Harry thought she looked about as shuttered up as he did that summer. The only movement was her lower lip, as she nibbled on it.

Harry decided to try another tack. "When Sirius... when he... when I lost him, I tried to get all of you to stay away from me. I wasn't very nice to any of my friends this past summer"

This roused Hermione from her stupor, and she reached out to pat his hand. "You were trying to protect us, Harry. In a way, it was very sweet."

He hunched his shoulders in an abbreviated shrug, and turned slightly to address the fireplace again. "Partly. But I've been thinking that maybe I was mostly protecting myself. See, I don't have a family, not really. Not anymore. The more I think about it, the more I think that that's why I tried to get everyone to leave me. It's like, if I didn't have any friends, no one else could die and leave me any more alone.

"Does that make any sense to you?" Harry finally pulled himself away from the guttering fire to look at his friend.

"Yes Harry." Hermione blinked rapidly. "You're not alone. You know that, right?"

"Sort of. Anyway," Harry continued, finding it hard to meet her gaze, but doing it anyway. It was important. "Morgan pointed out to me that not everyone thinks like I do. I'm guessing that's why Ron and me fighting bothered you so much. When your mum died, you didn't push everyone away, you wanted everyone close to you, and we weren't, right?"

Hermione gave up blinking, and dropped her head to hide silent tears. Harry wasn't sure that he was helping any, and was worried that he might have made things worse. He shifted on the suddenly uncomfortable sofa. After a long silence, Harry continued. "So, I'm sorry we weren't doing better at being there for you. I'm sorry I wasn't, really."

She didn't move, just kept crying silently. Harry shifted forward a bit. He bent down a little to look up into his friend's face, but it seemed as though she wasn't going to say anything.

Thinking quickly, Harry decided to keep talking. "I know you miss her. I miss Sirius. I... uh, it's odd saying this, but I don't miss him all the time. It's like... a whole day can go by without thinking of him. Then I think of something I want to tell him, or ask him, and it sort of hits me. Then I feel really bad, and try to remember when the last time I'd thought of him was."

Hermione sucked in a breath and looked up with a sudden, jittery nod. Harry waited, and waited, but she didn't say anything.

He blew out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Sometimes it feels like I'm mad all the time. I'm not, but it just seems to pop up a lot. Or when I get upset, I get too upset. Usually, I'm mad at them for killing Sirius, or myself for putting him in danger."

Harry waited for Hermione to respond, knowing full well she wouldn't. He just wanted to make sure she knew she could, if she wanted to. After a respectful pause, he continued. "Sometimes I'm mad at Sirius for abandoning me. Like he had a choice, or something. I know I've got to be an awful person for even thinking it, but still..."

Hermione fought to scrub her cheeks with the heels of her hands, still crying. "Don't. I read that that's normal."

"You read it?" Drawing in great, shaky breathes, Hermione tried to reign in her tears, and nodded. Harry rubbed his raw, red eyes. "You mean, you did research?"

Hermione burst out laughing, crying harder now as she scrubbed at her face. "Would- Would you believe I have- have really good notes?"

She moved quietly over to the sofa beside Harry, and he enveloped her in a tight embrace. He stroked her hair, trying to reassure her that things would eventually be okay. A warm tear hit his hand, and Harry realized that somewhere along the way he'd started crying, too. "I might have to copy your notes, if you don't mind."

Hermione laughed, and buried her head in his shoulder as another sob rolled through her. "I'd bring my- my notes home every year, Har- Harry. Mu- Mum used to tease me about all the ro- rolls of parchment!"

"The clerk at Flourish and Blott's teases you about the rolls of parchment, Hermione. And he knows you by name." Harry was glad she couldn't see his face as he tried to wipe his tears away. He didn't think he should be crying, when he ought to be comforting his friend.

She laughed again, still crying. "Did you know, I remember my mu- mum bringing me my first book?"

"Uh-uh." Harry smiled tightly, and squeezed her a little. "Did you love it."

"Heavens no, it was awful!" Hermione pulled back from him slightly, so she could see his face. "It was all talking animals and rubbish! I asked her if they had any that were real."

Harry smiled. "How old were you?"

"Six, I think." Hermione shuddered a little, and played with Harry's Gryffindor tie, focusing on it. "So she brought me all these books on animals. Real ones. And I read them all as fast as I could, and spent the next weekend camped out in the yard."

"The yard?" Harry couldn't figure out which was stranger; the tidy Hermione Granger camped out somewhere as a precocious little girl, or the fact that she had decided to go from reading to camping.

"Yes. It took her days to explain that I wasn't going to find any lions in the yard, because Africa was too far away for them to walk over."

Harry laughed out loud, as did Hermione. When she started sobbing again, he pulled her back to his chest. "That sounds nice, Hermione. Can you tell me some more?"

They laughed and cried for a while that night.

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