Author's notes: Here it is! It's one of those "boring" chapters, but hopefully, the ending will make up for that.
It's been a weird two days. I just got called a basher in the forums. Moi? A basher??? That hurts! Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm an insensitive git who didn't express my opinion in a manner they consider congenial. Nobody loves me. Everybody hates me. I'm going to eat some worms. :P Thank goodness I've got dragon hide.
Thank you so much to Lady Diamond who caught a bunch of errors in this chapter, and then some! You're awesome.
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter rating: R
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Chapter Twenty-Second: Teach
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Hermione was surprised to find herself in Grimmauld Place when next she lifted the lid off her casket. She had been under the impression that she would be up and about by the time Harry decided to head on back from Hogwarts.
She sat up, the flicker of torchlight bouncing off the shiny finish of her black coffin.
She wondered momentarily whether Harry had done the time-change on purpose. Obviously, he had suddenly become wary of Lucien and Solomon, in spite of having thought so well of them. Perhaps she shouldn't feel miserable that he doubted her Shadow Kin's loyalty.
Not like his approval of them is essential or anything like that…
She scowled at herself, muttering under her breath. "Who the hell am I kidding? Hermione Granger, you're utterly and completely losing sight of your objectives." This is why I made a conscious decision to swear off sex. "Sex is a drug, and just like any drug, it's not good for you. Sex is bad. Sex is-"
"And you said Lucien and I talk about sex too much…" came a voice from the cavern archway.
It was always embarrassing to get caught talking to one's self. She blushed but was not entirely chagrined.
"It's too early for this, Sol," she said in a singsong voice as she hopped to the floor. She began to gather her things for her bath.
He was dressed and ready to go out. He had always been an early riser; sometimes he rose early enough to see the last glow of sunlight in the sky. Hermione wasn't sure if it was a vamp power, but it was certainly one better than his peers. Vampires didn't usually gain the ability of early rising until much later in their immortal lives. That Solomon could do it this young was a phenomenon in itself.
He scoffed. "Not like you need a shot of caffeine to wake up. Quit complaining and hurry along. I'm hungry."
"Fine. Give me a few minutes." She made for the showers. He followed close behind.
"So, how have you been getting along with Harry? I saw him follow you into the restricted section yesterday night. Had a nice little talk?"
At the mention of the restricted section, Hermione's stomach knotted, the memory of what Harry had asked of her pulling the knot tighter. "It wasn't that kind of talk." She said before she could consider her words.
But then she paused, and she did consider what she had just said. She realized that what she told Solomon wasn't necessarily accurate. It had been that kind of talk, the muck of Order and Coven obligations aside. Somewhere during that encounter, she and Harry had unraveled something of each other, and she had a feeling she had unraveled more than was good for her. The only upside to it was that she trusted Harry unconditionally; that he would keep safe whatever she had told him. She wasn't sure what possessed her, anyway, to tell him those truths. Maybe she didn't want him thinking that she had some kind of unfair advantage over him; that she wanted to even the odds, just so that when it came to the reckoning, neither of them would have an excuse to back down or move forward under false pretenses.
Still, it had felt… nice to have him reassure her of whatever it was he seemed to think she needed reassuring of. Maybe Harry had more magic than even he realized.
The dynamics Harry's magic had taken over the years was nothing short of amazing, and she had to wonder if indeed it was something he could learn to harness or whether it was better off beyond anyone's control, even Harry's. Incredible as the power was, it was also a bit frightening. It was almost as if…
As if Harry had become part of magic, itself.
It was the only way she could fathom Hogwarts 'letting' him apparate within its protective wards. She wasn't so sure if it was so much that Hogwarts was letting him apparate. It just didn't work that way. Hogwarts didn't make exceptions for any wizard, no matter who they were. So Harry should have done something to convince Hogwarts that he wasn't such a corporeal form. She could only suppose that while the magic of Hogwarts could be bent from within, it couldn't be forced to comply with even a magical entity to enter or leave outright.
It was all still speculation on her part, anyway. Whatever it was, Harry had the potential to be either powerfully capable or dangerously self-destructive. If her theory was anywhere near feasible, Harry's corporeal form could disintegrate and he could become-
Don't even think it! she thought, cutting the thread midway.
"Er… Hermione?"
She blinked, staring back into Solomon's anxious eyes. "Yes! I mean-what were you saying again?"
"I wasn't saying anything. You just sort of… spaced out. Are you alright?"
She frowned. "Just fine. Where's Lucien?"
"He's still in his coffin. Lazy. Should I get him for you?"
"N-No. I'll talk to him later. Sol, I have something I need to ask you and I'm only going to ask it once. Whatever you tell me now, I'll believe you, so…"
His eyebrow arched. "Soooo you're asking me to tell the complete and terrible truth, yes?"
She nodded gravely. "This is important, and whatever it is you tell me, we'll-we'll work it out, alright? Because I can never believe that you'd ever do anything so-so…" She groped for words frantically.
"Just spit it out."
She pursed her lips nervously before she began to speak again. "After Harry told us we were going to Hogwarts that evening we left, did you-did you say anything to anybody-anybody at all-that might have given away our travel plans?"
A look of utter hurt passed his face. "Hermione…"
She caught his arm firmly and didn't remove her gaze. "I know you wouldn't betray us, Sol. I know you wouldn't, but sometimes, we can slip with a seemingly harmless word, or gesture, or-anything, with the wrong people. Did you come in contact with anyone that might have inferred anything from whatever you might have said that night we fed?"
His brows knotted.
"I have to ask," she said. "I have to. Harry's right. The three of us were the only ones who knew about the trip long enough to have told someone who would have use for the information, and we left the house."
"Somehow, I don't see Harry accusing you of treachery."
"He didn't, but I thought long and hard whether I might have given it away to someone, somewhere. Sol, please… someone died on that train, and if we hadn't been there, everyone might have died-"
"That's right. If we hadn't been there-"
"Just tell me, Sol. Just tell me-"
"I didn't tell anyone anything," hissed Solomon. "We went to Tirgoviste, we said hello to Henry and he got us blood donors. That was it. I asked my blood donor's name and she said her name was Wendy. We went through the usual motions and after I'd taken her blood, I gave her the potion, tipped her and we went our separate ways. We didn't talk beyond the routine flirting."
"Can you tell me exactly what you said to one another?"
She saw his jaw harden, but he began to tell her and she listened intently. There was nothing out of the ordinary. She didn't doubt either that Solomon was telling the truth.
When he was done, he said, "Do you want to confirm what I said? You can look into my mind. Check off the images."
"I don't need to do that," she said, her tone softening. "I trust you. You know I do, but Harry had his doubts, and he could've gone straight to you; could've interrogated you himself. He went to me first because he respects what you and Lucien are to me. He asked a lot from me telling me to ask you these questions but I prefer it far more than him having gone behind my back. Do you understand?"
His gaze lowered before he nodded. "If you didn't do it, he would."
"Yes. I'd trust Harry with my life. I'd even trust Harry with yours, but I won't let him question you like that. He probably won't shoot garlic bullets into you, but if I let him interrogate you, then I'd have been a bad alpha."
Solomon took in this last statement before his shoulders sagged in resignation. "It still hurts."
"I know. I'm sorry. You don't have to forgive me today. Just… so long as you forgive me eventually… good Lord, I'm piling up my trespasses, aren't I? You, Ron, Harry… all because I love my boys. I haven't even ask Lucien yet…"
At that thought, her stomach practically twisted in itself. If it hadn't been Solomon…
Please don't let it be Lucien. Please, please, please…
"He'll tell me the truth, won't he?" she asked plaintively, giving in to a moment of insecurity. "Lucien, I mean? He won't ever lie to me…"
"He won't," Solomon said without hesitation. "He thinks the world of you. He'd rather have his you-know-what cut off than do anything to hurt you."
She sneered. "Goodness, Sol, this is hardly the time for vulgarity."
"Vulgarity? I was talking about his hair! What were you thinking?"
She laughed in spite of herself. "You were not thinking about his hair, git!"
He grinned. "Well, then, tell me what I was thinking."
She rolled her eyes. "You just want to hear me say a naughty word. Well, I won't, just to be contrary." She stuck her tongue out at him just before she retreated to the bathroom.
She took a quick shower, dressed and checked to see if Lucien was up and about yet. He wasn't in his coffin and Solomon had left the dungeons.
As she got to the first floor, she felt the familiar presence of humans nearby. Two she knew belonged to Remus and Draco while the other two were auras she couldn't quite place. Furtively, she made her way to the kitchen. She peered through the opening and almost gasped upon seeing Ginny. Beside her was Dean Thomas, holding her hand.
Ginny was a lovely woman of twenty-one. She radiated life and health; her fiery red hair glowing in spite of its short, feminine bob. She was tall, too; a good match for Dean who was taller than Harry but shorter than Ron.
She was speaking animatedly at Remus while Dean and Draco sneered at one another aside. Old animosities died hard.
It was only a matter of time before Remus turned to notice Hermione, and when he did, Ginny stopped speaking and Dean looked like his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets.
"Just missed your boyfriend, Sunshine," said Draco, getting up from his seat to go to the chillbox.
"Hermione?" Ginny gasped. "Y-You're here!"
Draco scoffed. "The Weasley intellect never ceases to amaze me."
"Fuck here, try alive!" cried Dean. "Oh, my God!"
"Somehow, I'm not surprised Ron didn't tell you I'm back, Ginny," Hermione said. "Hello, Dean. I'm fine, thanks. Well… relatively."
Dean whipped his gaze to Ginny. "You knew she wasn't dead and you didn't tell me?"
Ginny shot him a look. "We'll talk about it later, Dean. Remus, you could've warned me, you know!"
Remus shrugged. "Well, Harry didn't want the word to spread too quickly. You know how he gets. Dean, I'll ask you not to-well, talk about it too much, if you can?"
"Seamus knows, the git! I knew he was hiding something!"
"It's not his fault. Seamus was bound by his auror duties to keep mum about it."
Ginny sighed irritably, leaving the two to discuss while she accosted Hermione by the hand.
Hermione was just the tiniest bit shocked by this and couldn't help but let the redhead drag her off into the hallway. She could hear Dean calling after Ginny in a rather alarmed tone, no doubt having just been told that Hermione was a vampire. She could actually smell his fear.
But Merlin, I'm hungry…
"I can't believe you're back," said Ginny in a half-excited, half-scolding tone. "Do you have any idea what sort of catastrophe your disappearance caused? Harry stopped talking for more than two weeks, Ron and mum went spare worrying about him and McGonagall was worried you had been taken by force, that some Death Eater forced you to write those words in your letter to Ron!"
Hermione had to wrap her mind around the fact that McGonagall had gone soap opera-ish on them all. "You didn't happen to read Harry's letter, did you?"
Ginny frowned. "Why would I? It was his letter."
"He certainly didn't think so," Hermione muttered, more to herself.
"What?"
"Nothing. Listen, Ginny, are you going to stick around for a while? I have something I have to do. Do some things with my… companions. I'll be back in an hour or so-"
"Well, Dean and I were supposed to catch one of those muggle movies of his, and I don't mind saying I enjoy them, but tonight, I found something more interesting than four cute, furry footed men gone on a quest to save middle Earth."
"Somehow, I'm feeling a bit… unsettled by what you said."
"You better believe I'm going to let you have it, Granger."
"Tell me this is all my lesbian fantasies come true," came Draco's voice from the archway.
Dean appeared behind him, nudging him forcefully aside. "Ginny, can you just-oh, I don't know-stand around where I can see you?"
Ginny went to him, leaving Hermione standing in the hallway. "Oh, don't be silly, Dean. Harry let her stay here. Do you honestly think he'd risk the lives of other people if it wasn't safe?"
"The Boy's mental, if you ask me…"
Draco sneered. "Boy's randy is what I think."
Hermione glared at Draco, her old instinct to defend Harry rearing unexpectedly. "Goes to show what you know about human emotion, Draco. And frankly, if a vampire has to tell you what human beings ought to be feeling, then you're seriously demented from the inside out." She was growing agitated, and the smell of Draco's blood called to her. It would be such an easy thing to sweep Draco off to some corner in the house, drink his blood and leave him to recover by himself. Ample punishment, perhaps, for all those years of soul sucking he'd done living off Harry's sense of honor and compassion.
"That's the difference between you and me, Granger. You had to get turned to have a killer instinct. I was born with it," said Draco without the slightest hint of remorse.
She gritted her teeth, staring at him with her ringed eyes. "Oh, but what I would give to wipe that arrogance off your face with my fangs-"
"Hermione," came a voice from behind her.
The voice pulled her gently back from her building outrage. She turned and saw Solomon, Lucien behind him.
It was enough to calm her down and when she turned to look at Draco again, she saw that Ginny and Dean were looking a little pale, themselves. It was the first time either of them had seen her grow angry. It probably wasn't a very comforting sight. Lucien's eerie good looks coupled with the slave collar at his neck probably didn't help things along, either.
Her Shadow Kin came up behind her. She didn't bother to introduce them.
"We better go," Solomon told her gently from behind her.
She nodded, eyeing Draco malevolently. While the Malfoy heir had grown pastier than usual, he stared back at her stubbornly. She held his gaze until he looked away first.
"I'll talk to you later, Ginny," Hermione said. Then thinking better of it, she added, "If you're still around when I get back."
Ginny reddened but held her composure. "I will be."
Hermione gave brief goodbyes to Dean and Remus before leaving the house with her Shadow Kin.
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Hermione didn't have time to talk to Lucien while they were out feeding and she certainly couldn't find the time when they got back to Grimmauld Place. Ginny had, as promised, stayed to wait for her, and as soon as Hermione stepped back into the house, she was accosted by the tall redhead and brought to the first floor drawing room, a cup of tea for Ginny and a small bowl of chocolates for Hermione.
Ginny then took a good half hour ripping into her with the most Molly-like scolding Hermione had ever heard. Even Molly hadn't ever scolded her that way. Ginny had sat down to get the record straight, and it was a long list of Accounts Payable that Hermione had to answer for. And when Ginny was done chastising her, Ginny gave Hermione a dire, immensely painful account of Harry's dating mishaps, milestones and misses, all designed to make Hermione think that she had made the mistake of leaving behind the one man no witch should ever think of abandoning, the way she did.
Hermione was certain that Ginny would end the tirade with an explosion of sorts, telling her in a no-nonsense way that Harry had half-a-dozen love children while she was gone.
It wasn't entirely far-fetched, as this had been the fate of one of her ex-boyfriends when last they parted ways.
"Mum felt worse about Harry and Cho breaking up than Harry did, I'd wager," Ginny confessed. "Couldn't entirely blame Harry. It's not happiness to find one's face on the front pages of the Daily Prophet because your ex-girlfriend stormed angrily out of a café after dumping a cup full of hot tea on your lap."
Hermione scoffed. "What a bitch."
"I wasn't a big fan of Cho, but Harry deserved what he got that time. Cho was a really sweet girlfriend. She made it a point to make Harry feel wanted and remembered. She baked him stuff and bought him those funny shirts whenever she went shopping by herself, and she always insisted on playing his team during pick-up Quidditch games. She deserved better than getting broken up with for a supposedly dead ex-girlfriend."
Hermione sniffed, feeling a deep ache in her heart. She looked down at her hands as she fingered a chocolate truffle between her fingers. "Yes, well, the plan was for me to disappear and have Harry find someone like Cho to care for him. It wasn't my intention to have him break up with anyone for me."
Ginny sighed, sipping her tea calmly before speaking again, her tone grown suddenly gentle. "That's really the only thing that makes sense to me, Hermione. That you left them for their own good, and not just because you were afraid."
Hermione managed a plaintive smile. "You don't hate me?"
"Believe me when I say I had more hate for you when I first saw you and Harry snogging."
A smirk formed on Hermione's lips. "You and Harry never tried again?"
Ginny blushed a bit. "He didn't want to, I think. I think he was afraid he'd end up hurting me. He had so much baggage. And so he ended up hurting Cho. Ron rallied to get us together, for a while, but Harry wouldn't bite. Ultimately, I'm glad it turned out this way. Dean and I are very happy. I'll be moving into his flat next week."
"Ron'll have a fit."
"He could bloody well throw a spectacular tantrum. He still treats Dean like Dean was the big, bad boyfriend taking advantage of the little sister."
"Typical of Ron. He's always very protective of the ones he considers his responsibility."
Ginny smiled. "He's sweet that way… listen, if he's being mean to you, he's just like that because he cares about Harry…"
Hermione waved Ginny's explanation away nonchalantly, though she was acutely aware of the fact that Ron considered her apart from the three of them, now. "I know that. And we talked a bit about it. We decided we'd have a truce, for Harry's sake."
"Like old times."
"Yes, well… it's not exactly like before. Ron made me swear that when I leave to go back to Albania, I'd sit Harry down and tell him straight up what my plans are in the foreseeable future…"
Ginny frowned. "When you leave?"
"Yes. It's just a matter of time, really."
The young redhead shook her head disapprovingly. "So you're not even going to consider sticking around for Harry?"
"That's for me and Harry to talk about."
They stared at one another at that, and after a while, Ginny nodded, quite satisfied.
Ginny then fell to talking about everyone else. The youngest Weasley filled Hermione in on all their Hogwarts friends, who was married to who; who had children, who would stay single forever, who were involved, who were Death Eaters, and who had passed on…
Hermione felt a mild melancholy over all of it. In spite of having existed and done things in the last five years, she felt like the world had passed her by. The simple truth of it was, while she had made herself believe that she belonged to a world apart from Harry and Ron and Ginny, she still felt that a part of her belonged to what was once Hogwarts, and Wizards and Witches.
It was a good three and half hours since she first sat with Ginny before the drawing room doors opened to reveal Harry smudged with soot, dirt and blood.
Both Ginny and Hermione stood from their seats in shock.
"Harry!" Hermione cried before Ginny could say a word. "Are you al-"
"Most of the blood's not mine," he said. "Just came to say hello, Gin. Remus said you've come to call."
Ginny was about to say something when a ripple of pure magic drew Hermione's attention. It was the kind of magic that made a patronus potently painful to her kind, but without the harmful effects. It was followed by the rustle of wings, and in a bright spray of red and gold, a familiar phoenix swooped into the room once and around before settling primly on corner coat rack.
Ginny's beautiful brown eyes bulged at the sight.
"F-Fawkes?" gasped Hermione. "What in the-"
"Followed me from Hogwarts," Harry explained. "I don't know why, but come to think of it, it hardly matters. Fawkes is Fawkes. The only thing I can't figure is what to feed him. Don't even ask me what Hedwig thinks of it. She has refused to look at me since Fawkes arrived."
Fawkes is Fawkes! thought Hermione indignantly. It was just so typical of Harry not to make a big deal out of it, even if it was. Phoenixes didn't just show up on one's doorstep asking to be adopted. Phoenixes didn't think like most creatures. They had reasons bordering on the divine. Whatever Fawkes had in mind pledging himself to Harry, it wasn't for birdseeds.
"Harry!" she squeaked.
He paid her little mind. "We've some nice cold sandwiches downstairs, Ginny. Did Remus offer you those?"
"Y-Yes… Harry, are you sure you're alright? That shoulder looks like it needs tending."
"It's fine. I'll see to it in a while-"
"Fine, is it?" hissed Hermione, getting a tad annoyed at being ignored and incensed that Harry was lying to them about his injury. The sharp smell of his blood was potent. His shoulder wound might not be fatal, but it was deep enough that it needed tending to immediately. Why the mediwizards at the auror department hadn't seen to it was a mystery, or maybe it wasn't, because knowing Harry, he had probably fended them all off with a wave of his wand. "I can smell the wound. It's still bleeding."
Before Harry could say something, Ginny interjected. "Um, I think I'll go downstairs and have some of those sandwiches. Is Dean back yet? He said he'll come by to fetch me."
"Downstairs with Tonks," said Harry.
Hermione seethed and Ginny was not immune to the tension.
Ginny said a hasty farewell, telling them that it was rather late and that she had to go. She promised to come back some time soon, and with that, she left in a hurry.
Hermione glared at Harry and Fawkes by turns. The phoenix had started preening its beautiful feathers and a shimmer of magic surrounded it briefly. She stifled her temper as she looked at Harry. "What are you doing home so early, anyway?"
He shrugged his good shoulder. "I told Shacklebolt there was something important that needed doing; for the Order. It's true, isn't it? We have to start training so I could get that last horcrux."
"Not on that shoulder, you're not," she hissed.
He sighed. "It's fine, really. I've had worse. See, even Fawkes doesn't think it needs healing. He usually volunteers his tears when I need patching up. He's just sitting there right now…"
She gave it a brief thought, wondering whether she should launch herself in a tirade about how careless he was with himself when he had no right to be thinking these things wouldn't catch up on him. She decided that it would be a useless lecture, considering it was what she'd been telling him since they became friends in Hogwarts. She eyed the magical creature as it sat on its perch. It shuddered, poofing its feathers before letting them settle back against him.
Fawkes turned his head and eyed her with a strange kind of certainty, like he was waiting for her to do something. She glared at him, but there seemed to be no intimidating a phoenix. "Fawkes can do what he wants, and I won't even begin to try to fathom his reasons, but I'll decide whether you're fit or not. Is your first aid kit still in the bathroom?"
He scowled, turning to leave. "I can take care of myself, you know."
She followed after him. "Sure you can. What was it this time? Raid in an abandoned warehouse? Ambush in a small wizarding town?"
"Raid in the basement of a suspected Death Eater station. No vamps and wolves. Took a reducto to the back. Wasn't able to temper it quite as well as I'd hoped."
She frowned. "Took it to shield someone, I'd wager."
Harry didn't reply.
"Humph. Typical of you, Potter. Earn you another Ministry Plaque, will it?"
He remained silent, leading her to his room.
She stifled a scoff. It wasn't something to scorn. What Harry did was true to his nature. He did it because he felt it his duty, not because he got commendation for it. If he didn't have that kind of drive, he would have let the whole Wizarding world rot in hell under the shadow of Voldemort.
His room looked slightly different from the time she'd left it. Five years ago, his room looked barely lived in. He had spent a lot of his time in her room, and what possessions he brought to Grimmauld Place were still neatly stored in his trunk. Now the room looked like his own. It was neat and clean, with the bed made up and everything, but there were signs of him all over. The Quidditch equipment in one corner, the books and parchment on his desk, the cologne and men's grooming kit on his dresser; there was even a record album of a wizarding punk-rock band laid out on top of two neatly arranged record cases.
She never thought Harry would be punk rock, but on hindsight, it seemed like the ideal choice for his personality. He certainly didn't dress like he listened to opera, hip-hop, r&b or jazz.
Harry went straight for the armoire, opening it to reveal what looked like the personality that kicked vampire, werewolf and Dark Wizard ass. The armoire contained weapons and modern-wizard body armor. They were neatly arranged on hooks and mounts. There were crossbows and dubious looking potions; there were silver knuckles and wrist braces and holsters and all things that brought to mind the words "armed to the fang."
He then pulled open a drawer at the bottom and produced a good sized box. He plopped it on his bed and snapped the case open. It contained all the first-aid materials and potions Madame Pomfrey would've assembled herself. "Do you even know how to apply first aid? Not like vamps need to know."
She smiled slightly. "We have humans in the Coven. You know that. And sometimes, they get into trouble, too. Now are you going to let me look at that shoulder?"
"I can do it myself."
"I won't bite." And she meant it both figuratively and literally.
He scoffed softly but pulled up his desk chair by the bed. He turned around to straddle it so that she could be sitting on the bed to attend to him. He tried to pull his shirt off but she could see the tensing on his shoulders from the effort. The wound was hurting him.
Gently, she helped him out of his shirt.
Whatever she had expected, it hadn't been the deadly attractiveness of his lined body. Just as she first thought, he wasn't quite the big and brawny type, bulging at the seams. He was lithe; his muscles were definitely there, pulled and fine tuned to make him look lovely rather than strong, but strong he was; she had seen it, and felt it, especially when they had sparred; especially when he lay atop her, kissing her like the world had been at his fingertips but had relinquished his possession of it for her. The low ride of his jeans showed the garter of his boxers, but perhaps because the jeans were now his and not handed down from lumpy elder cousins, the fit of the drooping waist and peeping boxers was pleasing, especially with his killer abs. The chained pendulum hanging from his neck and dipping down to his abdomen only served to make the image more appealing.
Merlin, but doesn't he just look dead sexy?
Resisting the urge to slip her hand down his front, she sat behind him and assessed her subject in as clinical a manner as she could.
There were new scars here and there over the surface of his skin, but most interesting of all was the preening Hungarian Horntail drawn artfully on the back of his left shoulder. It reared its head and breathed fire.
She couldn't help but laugh softly and touch it, gingerly avoiding the bleeding gash that curved around it. The wound glowed ever so slightly from the residual effects of the hex, but she'd seen enough blood and gore to be unbothered by it in the face of an amusing tattoo. Besides, she was a vampire; blood had its strange quality of beauty for her.
"Precious," she said. "Hungarian Horntail?"
He half turned his head. "You were expecting a Hippogriff?"
She chuckled as the dragon breathed fire again.
"It shows off when there are women to see it," he said.
Her smile withered a bit. The dragon, apparently, was no stranger to feminine spectators. "Oh, does it? Well, we couldn't let the injury cramp its style, could we?" She peered into the first-aid kit and plucked out some cleaning agents. There were cotton pads and strips of linen. In spite of the sting of his words, she was very careful not to hurt him.
She could see the muscles around his wound tense just as the dragon's wings fluttered agitatedly, but Harry didn't flinch so much. Still, it didn't mean he wasn't hurting a lot. She plucked her wand from her boot and waved a numbing charm around the injury. Visibly, he relaxed and she continued her work more quickly.
"You're quite good at this," he said after a long silence.
"Haven't you figured it out? I'm good at everything."
He cocked a smile. "Can you sing?"
"Except for that. Couldn't, to save my life. Sound like a wounded blast-ended skrewt, I do. Hold still."
He seemed to find that greatly amusing. He started to laugh and wheedle her to sing something.
She blatantly ignored him as she finished cleaning the wound and was confident that most of the residual hex magic had been cleaned off by her ministrations. She pinched the wound close and secured it with old-fashioned muggle butterfly tape. She took a healing salve from the stock and found one of the heavier-duty potions in ample supply. Industrial, she called it. It was just like Madame Pomfrey to make it available. The stuff stung like fire and no numbing charm could temper it, but it worked wonders, unlike those painless ones that were only good for curing playtime cuts and scratches.
"This is going to hurt," she warned. "So suck it in."
He chuckled. "Great bedside manner, doc."
She shot him a wry grimace, keeping in mind that his amusing little dragon tattoo had a penchant for showing off to women, probably just like its bearer. She slapped on a smear of the ointment rather indelicately.
He lost all manner of mirth, hissing and cursing under his breath while the dragon turned circles, snapping its maw at her. She resisted the urge to poke it.
The compound acted quickly. The bleeding stopped and the wound began to knit back together a bit. It would be sore underneath the skin, and still relatively raw, but having cleaned it properly, it was in no danger of getting terribly infected. She muttered a more potent numbing charm just before she began to wrap the wound with linens. The dragon was going to be out of commission for a bit, and it protested this indignity by scrambling halfway from behind the bandages and blowing out balls of fire at the strips of cloth. It made a roaring motion in her direction and she was unable to resist sticking her tongue at it, amusing herself with the idea that Harry had no idea this was going on behind him.
When she was done, she leaned back a bit and saw the contrast of her hands against his back; saw how pale and lifeless her skin looked compared to the pinkish white of his body. A deep sadness overcame her and she remembered that night she first realized that she had begun the steady loss of her humanity, and perhaps she knew the inevitability of having to give him up. It was the night she came home from hospital after her turning. They had just made love and he had asked her if she would be there when he woke. It still ached, the memory.
She looked up at the realization that they were sitting that way for a few moments now, neither of them saying anything. She could see some part of his face, and his eyes had a dazed quality to them, almost as if he was sad about something, too.
"There," she said gently to break the silence. "All done."
He blinked for a bit, as if snapping out of his own thoughts, before he nodded and gingerly left his seat. "Thank you." He looked for his shirt.
She had tossed the bloodied and ruined shirt on the floor at her feet and she took it to toss it in a nearby clothes hamper. "I'll get you a fresh one. Why don't you go clean up a bit? You're filthy." She said this with a bit of a grin and he returned it.
He plucked a towel from a hook on the wall as he went straight to the connecting bathroom. She listened for running water before she went to the drawers to the side of the room to search through them.
The inside of his clothes drawer was as neat as the room was. She was pleased to note that he had gathered an ample collection of clothing and that many of the pieces looked like new. She found one of the more comfortable looking ones and couldn't resist opening the nearby closet. She peered in and examined the articles of clothing.
His pants were all hung up the right way and she could see how most of them were cut. A lot of them were loose and casual fit, but she saw a few pieces that she imagined would look nice and snug around his hips and flattering to the rest of his legs. There weren't a lot of them, but they weren't grouped to one side as if he never used them. They were scattered throughout the rack, which told her he liked to look more put together more often than it seemed. He had a row of button up shirts and long sleeved blouses. The prints were simple and masculine if they weren't plain and serviceable, and underneath the blouses was a low table, neatly stacked with folded jumpers and long sleeved shirts. There was no sign of shoes.
He must have them somewhere else, she thought, which was a damn shame. She wanted to see if he owned more than those mangy trainers of his.
The water stopped and she quickly closed the closet door. He emerged looking cleaner. Strands of his hair were wet and he ran his towel over it once before dropping the towel in the hamper.
Hermione tried not to stare at his nicely cut body so much; at least not so she would be too obvious. She would help him into his shirt and she could use those few seconds to stare all she wanted.
"Had a good long gander?" he asked.
Heat rose in her cheeks. "Erm… what?"
"At my closet."
"Oh." She was too relieved that he hadn't been talking about getting caught staring at his pecs to come up with a wittier response. "I wasn't looking into your closet."
He smirked. "What do you think of it? Did I pass the test?"
"I saw your clothes drawers…"
He chuckled. "And?"
"Well, it's nice and neat, and I approve of a lot of the clothes if not all of them. Umm, what test are you talking about?" She went to him, gingerly slipping the shirtsleeve through the limb of his injured side before holding out the other sleeve for his good arm.
He shrugged, slipping easily into the shirt as he spoke. "Whatever you women test us for when you look through blokes' closets."
"I said, I wasn't-" She took a nice long look at his body as she slipped the shirt over his head. She could see the gentle line of muscles rippling. Hmm. Not too much. Not too little. Just right. She recomposed herself. "I wasn't looking into your chest-closet."
She pulled the edges of his shirt down securely around him, smoothing down the fabric and hoping he hadn't noticed her little slip-up. Besides distracting him from the myriad little details of what she had said, it was an excellent opportunity to feel him up. She was aware of how naughty she was being, but it was hard to resist faced with something so appealing.
Feels really nice…
She paused. Those hadn't been her thoughts. Those were Harry's, and he had projected his thoughts at her, yet again. She looked up and he was staring down at her with blatant adoration. She didn't even realize he was holding her by the hips until he ran his hands slowly up and down her sides.
She didn't know if he realized he was sending out his thoughts to her, or that if he even knew she could hear him. She hoped he only did it with her, and only because she was a highly receptive telepath in the first place. It wouldn't do if he sent out his thoughts to just anybody. He would have to learn how to control it.
He leaned over, and she only had time to turn her lips away in slight panic. She felt his lips on the side of her neck, gentle and cherishing.
"Thank you," he whispered.
She tried not to squirm and show that it bothered her. His touch felt so wonderful, but she simply couldn't let on that she felt that way. "You already said that."
"Not quite this way." His lips pressed again and she felt a slightly moist suction.
A shudder threatened to run down her back.
When, oh when did Harry become so good at this?
Resisting the urge to close her eyes and thereby give him the go signal to do with her as he pleased (which was promising to be a delightfully erotic experience), she stepped back and grabbed his hand, dragging him to the door.
She felt his silent protest, his hand trying to gently yank her back into his arms, but she pretended she hadn't realized his intentions. "Your shoulder's going to need some rest," she said. It was a deliberate slant at forbidding all sorts of physical activity for the moment. "So we're going to train your mind, Harry. Simple mental exercises to start. I've a thorough understanding of effective meditative techniques thanks to Adrian."
She had mentioned the name deliberately hoping to kill the mood he was in with regard to her.
It seemed to work if the instant frown on his face was any indication.
She continued on this thread. "The Coven already gave me a good education on it, to start, but I'm fairly confident that Adrian's tutoring was invaluable. He was a qualified Zen master, after all. I've only been practicing the more advanced techniques in the last few months, but judging by your mental control, I have a lot to teach you in that respect. I already know why your legilimens is so raw. Your thoughts are scattered. You have no focus…"
He was scowling by the time they got to the fifth floor gym and when she sat him down on the practice mats, she had to think of a way to wind him down from his indignation.
She summoned her Zen kit from the dungeons, all the while going in instructional detail about the finer points of meditation and focus.
Half an hour later, she had calmed Harry enough to get him to be more receptive to her instruction.
She had to admit, she was having a difficult time focusing, herself. She already knew she was dreadfully attracted to him, and he was completely comfortable about letting his attraction for her show, but if they were going to get anywhere, one of them had to insist on relinquishing all unnecessary thought.
Those lips are terribly kissable when they're so bossy like that. I just want to run my tongue…
She lost her train of thought and got a bit derailed from her discussion. Harry's thoughts were powerfully distracting. "Um, we should try-"
"You heard that, didn't you?" he asked all of a sudden.
She blinked and realized there was no use denying it. "Did you want me to hear it?"
"Absolutely."
She shot him a momentary glare before replying. "Good. So you do know how to project thought."
"Only because you're receptive to it. I don't think that has ever happened with anybody else, not without a great bit of effort on my part, and even then, I only do it when I have to. My legilimens is too raw to try on just anybody. I don't want to liquefy anyone's mind."
"You're in no danger of liquefying my mind, at least. Part of that notoriously-hard-to-kill-vampires thing. I can help you control your legilimens in more ways than any human could. You'll have to let me, though. Stop resisting. I'm here to help."
He stared at her a moment. "How long have you known about your powers? Hearing thoughts, I mean?"
If this was what he needed, to be at ease with her, then she would oblige him answers. "I think I've always been receptive. Back then, when we-when I was human and we would make love, I could hear your thoughts when they were most unguarded. When I became a vampire, I became more receptive. My mental awareness was sensitive to all those who had telepathy, so Cicero and Yasmin could always access my thoughts. When we were in the forest at Ireland-you remember? That night Janus attacked us, Yasmin was already communicating with me, telling me to stall Janus until she could get there on time to rescue us. I knew then I could receive thoughts and actively shield them from anyone else. It was the first skill the Coven trained me to develop. I'm dead good at reading and catching images and memories, but I could only hear thoughts that are directed at me. I have a solid grasp of putting up mental blocks against intruders, except maybe for Yasmin. She has a way around my walls, which I couldn't figure out. Ultimately, it doesn't matter. She could spot a liar ten paces away, anyway, with or without her mental powers."
"So you can teach me legilimens," said Harry, his tone ponderous.
She nodded. "I can. You're in desperate need of an instructor, and I'm not bad at it. I'm at least a gentler teacher than Snape."
Harry winced at the memories that accompanied the mention of the name.
"So are you willing to let me teach you, Harry?" she asked. "Frankly speaking, you have nothing to lose, and you can look into my mind. See my deepest, darkest secrets."
She meant to make a joke of it, but she realized with growing horror that her words were just too true.
He seemed to realize this as well. "Are you sure that's what you want?"
"It's not, but the point of this exercise is to resist your efforts while you learn to break through mine systematically. I'll make excellent practice."
He tilted a sad smile. "What dark secrets do you have, anyway?"
She pondered this. "Honestly, I'm not sure, but I never stopped to consider them. I'm always too scared to find out how horrible they are. So if you see them and think them too awful for words, I don't want to know what they are."
"I don't think you can have too horrible thoughts."
"I didn't think I could hurt anyone excessively for information, either, but lo and behold."
His hand slid into hers and she knew he had something potentially upsetting to say. She noticed that this was his technique, that when he was going to say something that might put her off, he held her. Whether it was to secure her from walking out on him or whether it was to keep her from erecting her sturdy, emotional barriers, she wasn't sure, but he made contact on purpose, and she hated to admit that his technique worked to a certain extent.
"Have you talked to your Shadow Kin, yet?" he asked. "About the trip to Hogwarts."
She swallowed. She should've known this was coming. "Just Solomon. I haven't had time to ask Lucien."
"What did Solomon say?"
"It wasn't him. He didn't say anything to anybody, not even by accident."
"And now you're afraid of Lucien's answers."
"Yes. I mean-" she retracted, flustered. "No. I'm not-he would never betray me. I'm sure of it. I know he won't."
His eyes were very kind as he stared at her. There was no judgment, and he wasn't patronizing, either. "I've began an investigation on everyone in that train the night of the attack. Everyone. Passengers, aurors and train staff. Even if none of them had advanced knowledge of the trip, the aurors and the passengers were still told fifteen minutes ahead of time. In hindsight, maybe fifteen minutes is enough for someone who really wanted to lay siege on the train."
A powerful wave of appreciation washed over her at Harry's efforts.
"I still would've asked you about your Shadow Kin, you understand," he said gently. "It's imperative I cover all bases, but I want you to know that I just really need to find out what's going on. I respect you, Hermione, and I respect the relationship you have with them. Don't ever think that I'm not trying hard enough to make things fit into the reality of our situation."
She clamped her lips shut at her instinctive response. She had been on the brink of telling him that she thought such conversations as these were supposed to be for when they agreed they would "talk about them," but seeing the earnest look in his eyes, she found that she really was a fraud when it came to "cold, vicious Hermione." Instead, she managed to turn her lips up into a wearied smile. "I've never doubted your intensity, Harry. If there's one thing I could always count on with you, it's your ability to put your entire soul into something once you got it into your head to do it. So no, I wouldn't ever doubt you for a second."
His eyebrow arched. "But?"
She shrugged and braced for the onslaught that would inevitably be caused by what she was going to say. "You know me, Harry… I don't always think you know what's good for you."
It didn't seem to upset him quite as badly as she thought it would. "I'm twenty two years old, you know, and I've actually managed to live without you in the last five years. Don't you think it's about time you realized that I do know what's good for me? You may be immortal, but right now, you've only lived as long as I have, give or take a few months. I've seen about as much horrors as any man can take, and perhaps the experiences were worse for me, because unlike vampires, I'm not built to take these things in stride, but I've coped, and that's saying something. So can you honestly say you know better than I do when it comes to knowing what's good for myself?"
Hearing it so calmly stated from his lips, she did realize how high-handed she had sounded. Since she first became friends with Harry and Ron during the troll incident, she had gotten used to being the one with the best ideas, or the one pursuing the wisest course. She was their conscience and their voice of reason. She was the one who had all the answers. Sometimes, this all-knowing role translated into knowing how they felt, how their emotions worked for a given circumstance. Having Solomon and Lucien leaning on her like a couple of children who turned to her for answers probably didn't help much in the humility department, either. It got to be a habit. It was something she was used to. She failed to realize that while that sort of thing worked for a couple of seventeen year old boys (and two needy vampires), it wouldn't necessarily apply to a couple of twenty-two year old men who had been fighting a war, and has so far survived it, for five straight years.
"Old habits," she said contritely, blushing. "I'll stop doing that. I suppose I like to fancy myself needed. It has always been my drug of choice. When I realize people don't need me, I get thrown in a pit of turmoil coming to terms with it. So you understand how devastating it was for me when I realized that I was becoming… harmful to you. It was the antithesis of being needed. It was my world turned to hell."
He reached up, touching her hair. "I'll always need you," he said softly. "Always, and not because you're useful to me, but because I love you. You need people you love, even if it's just to be with them. Even if it's just to sit around, saying nothing."
She wasn't quite capable of forming a proper response to that. He had already told her before what his feelings for her were, but she still wasn't quite sure how she was going to handle it. In the past, she simply had to snog him senseless and hope he understood that he was entirely welcome to do more, but now she didn't have that luxury. That's what she thought, at least. Harry would obviously beg to differ. If there was any point to her being back in Grimmauld Place, risking more heartbreak, she should be useful and keep her desires in check, if she couldn't do away with it completely.
"That's-um… nice to know," she rambled in a hurry. "You haven't answered my question."
His eyebrow arched, his lips on the brink of a grin. He seemed half-tolerant and half-amused at her little evasions.
It looked like she was slowly losing the ability to put him off, almost as if he was on to her, which was equal parts aggravating and exhilarating.
"What question?" he asked.
"The one about the legilimens. Will you let me help you or not?"
"Well, it's hardly an offer I can refuse. Of course I'll accept your help."
"Good. We'll concentrate on legilimens while your shoulder is healing, and when your healer tells me your shoulder is all better, we can alternate fight training with the legilimens."
"What, do I have to bring a note from my healer?"
"Yes, actually. And no forgeries, Potter. I'd know. You're talking to the witch who hexed the D.A. contract and everyone who signed it. You better believe Marietta hasn't forgotten that."
He grinned. "And it's still one of the most brilliant schemes ever. Better than most of the things Fred and George have cooked up."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, you know."
"Everywhere?"
"Well… maybe not everywhere. But it puts me in a good mood. Just so we're clear, that note better be real!"
He smiled fondly. "Have I ever lied to you?"
"Erm… yes? To skive off homework, you have."
"I mean about important things."
She glared at him. "Now you just want to piss me off."
He chuckled, perhaps realizing his mistake but not feeling the least bit sorry for it. "You know what I mean."
"Yes, I do, which is why I know you'd lie about your shoulder feeling better so we can begin fight training. So I'm warning you. I'll kick your arse if I catch you lying."
"Will you tend to my hurts like you did a while ago?"
"I'll let Lucien tend your hurts, and I promise you that he's not half as gentle. Show him pain and he'll get an erection. He gets off on things like that."
Harry plugged his ears and began to sing tunelessly. "Lalala… I didn't just hear her talk about some other bloke's penis…"
She couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, stop it, Harry. And here I thought you were more self-assured than that."
"I am! I just don't want to hear about other blokes' bits. It's not something I'm interested in. Most assuredly, in fact. We should change the subject right about… now."
"Fine. I'm nothing if I'm not reasonable. Are you ready to start the meditation exercises again?"
"Yes."
She handed him a set of Mala beads and relit a stick of incense. The thin line of white smoke rose and swirled lazily in the air.
He crossed and re-crossed his fingers over the beads. "How do you fly this thing, again?"
With utmost patience, she repeated hear earlier explanation, expanding a bit more since he seemed serious about it now. He became more receptive when he probably realized that the exercises weren't as kooky as he likely thought.
Half an hour later, Harry was better focused, and little by little, she taught Harry how to sharpen and harness the abilities of his mind.
Under systematic tutelage, his progress was relatively swift. And gradually, she introduced more complex techniques. His main difficulty was maintaining focus and keeping the power gentle enough to go undetected. The moment his focus slipped, his magic would clatter about and he would be caught, blocked out and possibly even beaten back with mental hexes.
Admirable as his advancements were, Hermione realized that he was exerting too much effort than was good for him, and it wasn't that he was flawed; it was quite possible that the there was something wrong with the technique, or perhaps even the approach. She would have to discover what could sharpen his focus without putting unnecessary strain on him. She needed to do an assessment.
"Try to get through my barriers," she told him. "Do what you have to do to focus it. Never mind if you're making a racket in my head. We'll work on stealth later. Don't be afraid to hurt me. You can't."
She felt him attempt to poke into her mind. His powers were indeed a force to be reckoned with, but legilimens was a tool meant for refinement. It was best when used with laser-like precision. Right now, Harry's forceful use of his mind magic was like using a Death Cannon to zero in on an ant. She thrust her powers against his, their mental projections clashing explosively against each other. His magic rattled her brain, and for a split heartbeat, she believed she voided-out. It was like falling in and zooming out of a black hole.
Next thing she knew, Harry was cradling her against him and she was recovering from a blinding headache. The pain was ebbing fast, but Harry looked like he was going to have a coronary.
"Good God!" he cried. "Hermione, speak to me!"
She blinked to clear the haze and scowled, prying herself away from the grip of his arm. "For feck's sake, Harry, calm down. I'm perfectly fine. Got winded there for a bit-"
"Winded! A bit!" he squeaked half-hysterically. "You're bleeding from the eyes!"
She stared at him in mild surprise and brought her hands up to her cheek. It came away with blood. She winced. "Oh, dear. I must look a fright. Did my mascara run?"
"What!"
Okay, he's not in the mood for wisecracks. "It was a joke, Harry. But Lord, you're strung quite tight. I think you need a bit more Zen."
His mouth hung open for a few seconds before it closed to a thin line. He looked furious, though she didn't think he was furious at her. "We're not doing this again. This was a bad idea."
He began to get up.
"Oh for-" she began, grabbing his arm and dragging him back down on the mat. "Harry, sit your arse back down-"
"I knew it!" he muttered. "I'm a menace! What if-what if I blew your entire head off-oh, GOD! I don't even want to think about it! I could've killed-"
"Cease and desist all negative thoughts. Close your eyes, Harry," she coaxed, gently kneading his shoulders. "And take deep, cleansing breaths."
He did as he was told, breathing in and out.
"That's it. Keep doing that." She took out a handkerchief, wet it with a swift water spell and wiped the blood off her face.
When next he opened his eyes, the blood was gone and he seemed to calm even further as he stared at her.
She waited until she was sure they were both settled before she began to speak. "All of magic is tied to emotions, Harry. Even the worse curses draw on hate to work properly. But given that spells and hexes rely on specific basic emotions, there are always unique emotions that drive individual wizards. You have to identify what that unique emotion is when you're casting legilimens."
He sighed. "I just want to use it properly without getting anyone killed."
She thought this over. "That reason's a given. Search deeper. What other reason could you possibly have?"
He looked frustrated, but he paused to think. "I feel I need to succeed. I have to learn how to use legilimens because I think it would really help in the war, especially if I could look into Voldemort's head and find out what his plans are. It's imperative. It's my responsibility to try everything I can to make it work."
She nodded. "Good. Nice and specific. It also flags a possible source of your failure. You want it too much. You want to learn this quickly. You have to tell yourself that mastering the skill requires a gradual, careful process."
"There's no time for gradual!"
"There is every time for gradual, especially if you can explode heads with your magic. Maybe we should just hone that. Blow Voldemort's brains out. That should end the war right quick."
He laughed bitterly. "Tried that. No go. He's got ironclad barriers. I may as well beat his walls with a wooden stick."
"Iron rusts…" she said cryptically.
"Yes, well, not his…"
She smirked. "It can't be completely closed off. A person has to be able to access his own mind, so there's a door there. We just have to find that door and know how to open it. You won't be able to find Voldemort's door thrashing about like a troll. You have to sneak in there like a thief if you want to find anything out."
He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with his palm then he leaned back on the heels of his hands, mostly on his good right side, and looked at her tiredly. "Merlin, you scared me," he said in a subdued tone, like he was too weary to speak of it but had to talk about it anyway. "Like straight out of a muggle horror movie."
"It would make a great Halloween prank."
"That's not funny, Granger. You know how I get whenever something happens to you…"
She did the kind thing and didn't mock him for it. She leaned back, too, mirroring his posture. "I'm much stronger now, Harry. You don't ever have to worry about me. You just concentrate on the important things."
"You are the 'important things'."
"You have to get your priorities straight."
He chuckled wearily, stretching out to lie back on the mat, his knees bent. He rubbed his face with his hands. "You're impossible."
She watched him for a moment. "Harry, why do you think Fawkes finally decided to come out of hiding, after all this time, and take up with you?"
"I don't know. Why did you decide to come out of hiding, after all this time, and take up with me?"
She grinned. "Because Yasmin forced me to. Now, don't change the subject. Answer my question about Fawkes."
He sighed. "Maybe he thought I'd buy him the good birdseeds."
"Harry…"
"Well, what do you think?"
She had to mull her answer over for a few seconds. "Many things. I've read about as much of phoenixes as I can get my hands on and the things related to them. One thing that's consistent is that phoenixes choose their owners, never the other way around, and usually, the reasons behind their choice fall beyond human understanding. Naturally, that little tidbit never sat well with me. I looked back on history and myth, and it might surprise you to know that Fawkes has had an illustrious career in owner choosing. I have reason to believe that before you, Fawkes had three distinguished owners, the most recent one being Dumbledore, obviously. The one before him was Druidess Cliodna, a rather powerful witch who had the honor of being chosen by three phoenixes. She was a healer, and perhaps that appealed to the phoenixes' sense of benevolence. At any rate, she was famous for bringing life where sickness and death had all but won. Fawkes's first owner, or maybe just the oldest documented one, was none other than Godric Gryffindor."
Harry raised his head in mild surprise. "Documented?"
"Well… maybe not documented, but there's some written evidence to strongly suggest it. Interestingly enough, Fawkes incidentally bears Gryffindor House's colors."
"Huh. That is interesting. But this all means what, to me?"
"Seems to me that Fawkes is a kind of Kingmaker. Don't you agree? Sure, he may not have literally made kings of his owners, but they somehow find themselves leading some great cause or another, usually tied to catalysts that significantly shaped the future. Gryffindor's legacy wasn't just Hogwarts, he also set in stone the very ideals that form wizarding society today: Magic for all. Magic as one. Druidess Cliodna delivered generations from death and sickness, perhaps letting live hundreds of wizards and witches who bore heroes and dark wizards and great minds. Albus Dumbledore saved the wizarding world from Grindelwald then formed the Order of the Phoenix to fight the growing threat of Voldemort. Now Fawkes has taken up with you."
Harry sneered. "Presumably to beat my head with a stick regarding the Chosen One issue. I get it, already."
"I don't think you do… not all of it, at least. The Order has been without a leader for quite some time…"
He leaned up on his elbows and scowled. "It does have a leader. Five, in fact."
"But even the five has to have one-"
"No, that's not necessarily right. In fact, that's a fallacy. There doesn't have to be just one-"
"Fawkes seems to think otherwise."
"Hermione, I think I might have liquefied your brains worse than I thought."
"Look, Harry, it makes sense. Fawkes didn't show up until now. Back then, you were too young; perhaps incapable of leading the Order by yourself. You needed guidance and development, which you got in the last five years. Now everyone's clamoring for a piece of you: Voldemort, Yasmin and the Order, all of which want you alive, mind you. And don't think I don't know that the signatures for the contract came right after you signed it. I might have been asleep at the time, but I checked the contract's magical signature. I could tell which signature came first and last and in what interval. They were waiting for you to sign it, because they believe you would know best-"
"Now, that's just pure speculation on your part."
"Maybe, but my reasoning is sound. You, out of all of them, know vampires best, so they needed your unequivocal go-signal to trust us. But even if it's your vampire expertise that drove them to follow you this time, it still means that they're already trusting you to lead them. It has to start somewhere, Harry, and from where I'm standing, it has already begun."
He was staring at her, bug-eyed. "I can't lead the Order!"
Hermione was growing the teensiest bit annoyed. "Of course you can! Most of the captains defer to you already, anyway. Do you think they only do it because they think you're 'kewl'? They do it because they trust you with their lives, Harry. And apparently, Arthur, Remus, Shacklebolt and McGonagall trust you, too. It's no small thing to say: 'Hey, I think I'll let vamps fight on our side. Never mind that it's their nature to suck the blood of the living.' Essentially, that's what they're saying by signing that contract."
Harry frowned. "Put on a skimpy cheerleading costume, jump around and say 'Go, Leader!Harry!', and maybe I'll think you're cute, but right now, I just think you're blowing things way out of proportion. Lead the Order like Dumbledore? The idea!"
She gave a frustrated growl. "What is so horrible about the idea of you leading, anyway? You're of sound mind and integrity, you have incredible magical capabilities and you've got an army of inspired followers behind you! I don't know why you don't think this all makes sense!"
"Humph. If I didn't disagree with you so badly on this, I'd kiss you. Shame on you for flattering me."
That was it. Hermione hated nothing more than someone who refused to use his God-given genius to effect worthy changes. She didn't know yet what sort of worthy changes Harry could make, but she knew they were there. She rose to her feet. "You know what you can kiss? My arse, that's what!" With that, she stalked out of the room.
She was halfway down the hall when Harry caught up with her. She realized that she could have very well used her vamp speed to get away, but she didn't. Perhaps she had been hoping Harry would follow.
She looked up at him fiercely, arms crossed over her chest.
He stared down at her contritely. "I'm not laughing at you, you know. I just think you're… look, you always thought I could lead, and I really appreciate that, but I think you're thinking a bit too much of me-"
"Argh! If you're just going to repeat what you said in the gym, then get away from me. I don't want to see you right now." She was already turning to go.
He held her gently by the arm. "What are you so annoyed about, anyway? So I don't think I could lead the Order. Big deal. Why are you so teed off?"
Why, indeed? It was a question worth reexamining, and when she realized what her true answer was, she was so much more surprised at how much sense it made to her. "We never talked about the prophecy, did we, Harry?"
His eyebrow arched. "No… but what's there to talk about? I kill him or he kills me. Simple, really."
She shook her head. "I mean I never told you how I felt about it. My feelings about it had never seemed important. But maybe… maybe it was. When you told us about the prophecy, I was never more frightened in my life. That prophecy drilled the fact that yes, there was an evil Dark Lord and that yes, he was out to kill you. Suddenly, nothing was simple. Everything was fragile. I could lose you, therefore I could lose everything I lived for in one fell swoop. It wasn't just a momentary realization, Harry. I fought it and denied it and refused to think that was the way things were. I closed my eyes to that reality for a full year, forcing myself to think everything was normal, that I was just a teenage girl who only had school and boys and myself to worry about. But in the end… in the end it only caused me to fail you, and Dumbledore died, and the fantasy around me just-I don't know-folded up upon itself, I suppose, like some stage backdrop. The reality was still there. I hadn't chased it away. I had to face the same fears: losing you and losing everything. But the fact remained, there was no running away from it, and the moment I accepted this, I swore I wouldn't fail you again, and I went to Privet Drive to help you in every way I can. That certainly worked better than I'd hoped. But the main thing that gave me the strength to face my fears was you. You're unstoppable when you put your mind to it, so I believed in you. I had to. I kept telling myself you were powerful enough; intelligent enough; capable enough, and the proof of it came from you, Harry. You know me. I'm a creature of thought; of logic. If I didn't see it in you, then no amount of my belief can make it true. It had to exist, and I could see that it did. Which is why-which is why I get angry or panicked when you say you can't, or you won't or if by some twist of fate I… I wasn't good for you anymore, because the only thing that could stand between you and imminent death is your faith in yourself. If you can't believe in yourself, you can't defeat Voldemort, and if you can't defeat Voldemort, you'll die, and I'll lose you, and… and…"
She didn't know when he started kissing her. All she knew was she had lost the ability to speak and the space between them had closed. He held her tightly in his arms, their lips and tongues pressing and brushing against each other in a languorous, tender cadence.
There was no escaping the fact that she did love him so deeply still, but she had been well aware of the fact that letting him love her would bring a whole new world of pain. Her heartache would affect no one; his heartache could devastate wizarding-kind.
But his touch right now was like heartsease, a calming draught to the turmoil of her emotions. Protected in his arms, she could almost hear the whispered assurances that everything was going to be alright; that things were not going to be as horrible as she thought; that love was more powerful than the bitterest reality.
It was nothing like the intense passion of their kissing in the Room of Requirement. There was desire, but it didn't distract from the true message of the kiss.
She allowed herself this moment of escape, savoring the feel of him for however long it would last.
The moment passed in a gentle trickle, simmering until they finally separated, breathless.
The fantasy was over. The grim truth grew more palpable as the sound of his heartbeat slowed to a steady rhythm.
She felt compelled to speak.
He shook his head, brushing his finger on her bottom-lip with feather-like pressure. "We don't have to say anything, do we?"
She stared up at him. The reasonable part of her brain screaming to disagree, demanding her to speak of the foolishness of giving in to their instincts ("We shouldn't have done that."), urging her to shatter the moment with hurtful, cold words ("We just got caught in the heat of the moment. Nothing to make a big deal about."), or maybe even just to break the profundity of the moment with careless levity ("Ron's going to kill me…"), but she said nothing.
We don't have to say anything.
That was the beauty of it, after all. No words. Nothing to ruin it. Nothing to color it. Just the kiss. Just their own emotions.
Wordlessly, she nodded. She felt her cheeks flushing, but that was understandable. There were far too many things in the kiss to let it pass without the slightest blush, so she would let herself without having to explain. She had an inkling anyway, that whatever she said would make the situation worse, then again, she had to define "worse" first.
He smiled and she felt that "worse" was what would happen if she didn't say something mean or off-putting. The romantic haze got sucked out of her and the pressing need to put things back in logical perspective clamored to burst out of her.
To hell with not saying something! I have plenty to say!
"Harry-"
"You're about to say something that I probably don't want to hear," he said giddily. It was like he had gotten a shot of narcotics. Nothing was going to ruin his mood.
She scowled. "Well, can I say it, anyway?"
He made a gesture that somehow communicated, "Not like I could stop you."
"You caught me completely off-guard and if I had my wits about me at all, I would not have let that happen," she said loftily. "But it did, and it was one of those date-movie, squeal-with-your-girl-friends-as-you-tell-them-about-it kind of kiss."
"You squeal?"
"Over my dead body, I do. But the point is, it was that kind of kiss. If you ever do that without my permission again-"
He laughed. "Permission?"
"Yes! Permission! I'll clock you one! Do you understand, Harry? You can't go around doing that to me!"
"Honest to God, it's not like I planned it. You were just so… well, I had to. What you said needed a proper kiss. You should've told me about your issues with the prophecy before, you know. You told Ron about it. I remember it distinctly because I was upset you told him and not me."
She felt heat rise in her cheeks again. "It was easier with Ron… you had enough problems with the prophecy being about you, and Ron sort of felt the same way I did."
"He did?"
"Does. You don't have to kiss him if you don't want to, though."
"So long as I can if I want to."
"Well, of course. Totally your call."
"Good to know! Can I kiss you again?"
She scowled. "I'm warning you, Harry!"
"Well, you said I could ask your permission!"
"No, I said-oh, forget it. Just stay away from me for a few hours. You've been in my personal space all night! Don't think I haven't noticed, Potter."
"And here I was, thinking you didn't. Ever the clever witch."
She glared at him just before turning to leave.
"So-um-" Harry called after her, "how many hours are we talking about here? Two? One? Half? Maybe a tenth of an hour?"
"A tenth of an hour is six minutes, Harry."
"Semantics."
She sighed and rolled her eyes, not even bothering to look back at him. "I'll let you know!" was all she said, and hurrying away, she went in search of Lucien.
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One thing about meditation, Harry realized, was that it was terribly handy for relaxation. About an hour after trying to apply what Hermione had so far taught him, by himself, he was sprawled out on his bed, fast asleep.
He was perhaps more tired than he realized. After all, he hadn't had a decent amount of sleep since before Hermione came back.
So it was a damn shame that right in the middle of a very, very pleasant dream, he was jolted out of sleep by the explosive opening of his bedroom door.
Harry sat up with practiced alertness, wand whipping out just as Hermione fell upon him, her eyes blazing with outrage and her fangs considerably elongated.
"Put your wand away," she hissed as the holly's tip pressed against her throat.
Harry drew back his wand with a gasp of relief. "D-Don't do that! Incidentally, I'd ask you which wand you want me to put away-"
"This is no time for dirty jokes, Harry. It's Lucien. He's run away."
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A/N: Hope that last bit made up for the boring stuff. Chapter 23 is well underway.