Disclaimer: Not mine, as if you lived under a rock and thought it was.
PART II: The Interim
Chapter Four: Quidditch and Conspiracies
Harry's face turned a brilliant shade of glowing red as the applause swelled and resounded in the Great Hall, washing over him in a ripple of sound. He exchanged a rueful glance with Ron and Hermione, who were flanking him on either side, and limped carefully into the large room, his hands clenched tightly around the crossbars of Muggle crutches. There were narrow silver bands above and below each knee, powering a portable restraint field, which kept his legs slightly bent and immobile much like braces would.
It hadn't been three weeks, but over five before he'd been allowed to leave the hospital, and even then, he was required to return once a week for a therapy session, something that had resulted in the Gryffindor Head common room being hooked up to the Floo network. McGonagall had figured that the three of them might as well stay there, and so they had settled into their private suite eagerly.
The applause continued, punctuated by cheers, shouts, and whistles, as Harry hobbled slowly up to their normal spots at the Gryffindor table. He handed Ron the crutches, as Hermione helped him sit. His face was radiant, as the clapping didn't stop, even after he sat down.
He looked around, trying to smile, but looking obviously and incredibly self-conscious. To his horror, there was a scraping of wood against stone, as his fellow students stood to their feet almost as one. The teachers at the staff table stood too; he saw Lupin, who, he had been informed by Hermione and Ron, had taken the D.A.D.A. post, which had remained unfilled up until the re-opening of Hogwarts. The applause seemed interminable.
"Dear God," he murmured through clenched teeth to Hermione and Ron, as they smiled innocently at him, and stood as well, applauding with their classmates.
Somewhere, a camera flashed, leaving Harry starry-eyed. Through the blue spots in his vision, he could see a wide grin and wildly waving arm. "Hi, Colin," he said, with a wry look.
At length, the noise dwindled away, and a loud murmur filled the Hall as the students tucked in to their dinner. Harry could still feel eyes on him, and he knew that the noisy and excited conversations probably had him as their chief subject.
Hermione and Ron were still grinning giddily at each other, at the success of their triumphal entry.
"Traitors," Harry muttered darkly at them, stabbing a piece of chicken and dumping it unceremoniously on his plate. He could feel Hermione's concerned eyes on him, as he filled his plate. The Amplitude potion had given him a rough time, not for a couple of days, but for over a week. She had been alarmed at the rate at which his weight had dropped. Even now, he was pale and thin, with virtually permanent shadows under his eyes. He looked less like a conquering hero than someone who was recovering from a protracted and serious illness.
"Come on, Harry!" Ron said, unintimidated. "Would you really have wanted us to sit here all sulky like Malfoy, instead of standing and cheering for you?" The Slytherin had neither stood nor applauded with the other students, along with a significant portion of his house.
Harry craned his neck, with interest, toward the Slytherin table. "So they've let him come back then?"
"He arrived yesterday," Hermione told him, following his gaze. Draco Malfoy looked more sullenly arrogant than ever, seated at one end of the table, putting food on his plate without meeting anyone's gaze. His housemates were seated around him, but he did not seem to be surrounding by groupies and lackeys, as was his wont.
"He owes it to you," Ron said, sounding gleeful. "And he knows it…and it totally pisses him off."
"He…he didn't really do anything…" Harry drew out slowly. "He couldn't go through with the plot to kill Dumbledore. He did aid our side at Hogsmeade, by taking me to Voldemort, instead of letting people continue to fight and die." He shrugged. "All I did was tell the truth."
"Do you think Malfoy would have told the truth if he was faced with an opportunity to put you away for good?" Ron asked bluntly. Harry had to admit he had a point.
"My gran was furious," Neville put in, from where he'd been quietly listening to their conversation. "She couldn't believe that they let him come back to Hogwarts, after he let Death Eaters into the school."
"It was McGonagall's doing. She said Dumbledore would have wanted him to have another chance. But the board of governors did put him on probation," Hermione observed. "If he puts one toe out of line this year…" Ron smiled into his potatoes, evidently picturing what would happen if Draco got into trouble.
"He never actually became a Death Eater," Harry continued, uncertain as to exactly why he was defending Malfoy. "I think it pissed Voldemort off that he - that he - "
"Skived off of his assignment, and Snape had to save his pathetic arse?" Ron finished for him, stuffing a roll into his mouth theatrically.
"At least they put Snape in Azkaban," Neville said with some relief, even though the former professor wouldn't have been present this year to make his life a misery.
"He killed Dumbledore!" Ron said, his voice starting out loudly, but hushing around the former headmaster's name. "Doesn't matter why he did it. Of course they put him in Azkaban."
That was exactly what the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot had said, Harry reflected grimly. The Wizengamot does not and cannot condone murder. Harry's testimony had mitigated Snape's sentence, but it would still be many years before he got out of Azkaban. He shivered as he remembered the hearings in that dank courtroom in the Ministry basement, as he sat before a row of venerable and solemn wizards and witches, recounting in every detail what had happened that night. He wondered if anyone would ever let him forget it.
"Then I should be in Azkaban as well," Harry said quietly, yet still effectively killing the conversation. Hermione noted that he was wiping his left hand against the leg of his jeans, something he had continued to do absent-mindedly, even after the hallucinations had stopped.
"Harry, what you did and what Snape did are not the same thing…at all," Hermione said firmly, her tone brooking no argument. Ron looked slightly taken aback at Harry's reactions to his words, and was nodding emphatically along with Hermione's statement.
"I know that, Hermione," Harry replied, with a somewhat bitter smile. "I'm not actually in Azkaban, now am I?" He shifted at the table, and reached behind him where his crutches were propped, coming to his feet with more than a little bit of struggling.
Neville watched in disbelief, as Hermione and Ron did not move to help him. He started to stand, but Hermione put her hand out, and shook her head subtly in warning. Neville complied, but watched her without comprehension. The first time Hermione and Ron had observed his unaided efforts to stand, and rushed to help him, he'd sworn a blue streak at them, and pitched a thorough fit. He'd felt helpless and awkward, and that made him embarrassed, and his embarrassment made him angry. Some things he didn't mind, such as Hermione's discreet hand on his arm, as they sat down to dinner, but this would have been a display that he abhorred, and his mood was already souring.
"Harry, you haven't eaten," Hermione said softly, looking at his untouched plate. Harry looked at it too, emotionlessly.
"I'm not hungry," he said. "I'm going back to the common room."
"Can you - " make it up the stairs? Hermione was going to ask, but Harry cut her off.
"I'll be fine, Hermione," Harry said in a tired voice, and limped toward the double doors. He felt the conversations cease as he passed by, and the stares felt like physical weights pressing into his back and shoulders. Hermione could see the tense lines of his spine and neck, and knew that he was trying to keep himself under control.
When the doors thudded shut behind him, Hermione let her head drop briefly into her hands.
"Hermione?" Neville asked, watching curiously, not understanding the undercurrents that were flowing between the Trio. Hermione let out a long and gusty sigh.
"He's not letting me in again. He lets me close and then pushes me away, walls himself up." Ron eyed her sympathetically. They had had this conversation before. As difficult as it was being the best mate of the Boy Who Lived, Ron couldn't imagine what Hermione was going through.
"He feels guilty," Ron said succinctly.
"For killing Voldemort?" Neville asked, his tone incredulous.
"For killing anybody at all," Hermione answered. "For being alive, when other people are dead. For being angry at being handicapped, when he should be grateful he's alive. He thinks that Ron and I are `taking care of him', and that makes him annoyed and frustrated, and he feels guilty some more for cramping our style…or some such nonsense. Not to mention that he still thinks I'd be better off without him." Neville's eyes had been flitting back and forth from Hermione to Ron during her speech.
"Are - are you and Harry…?" he stammered, gesticulating with one hand. Hermione blushed a little, and Ron became very interested in his food. She nodded tersely. Neville didn't say anything else on the subject, but his eyes wandered down the table to where Ginny was sitting, obvious questions in his eyes.
There was a strained silence at the table, and Neville was left to wonder if he'd said something wrong. Hermione toyed with her food for a moment, before slamming her fork down in frustration, and rising noisily from the table.
"I'm going to go find him," she said shortly. Ron nodded, but did not look up from his plate, until she'd gone.
When she got out in the Great Hall, she was relieved to find that he had not tried the stairs by himself after all. The large doors that served as Hogwarts' main entrance were slightly ajar, and moonlight streamed bluely through the crack. She pushed it open softly, enough to slip between the doors, and saw him sitting on a stone step, his legs splayed awkwardly out in front of him, as the restraint fields prevented him from flexing them much. His crutches lay nearby, though far away enough that she wondered if he'd thrown them down in anger.
Her foot barely made a sound on the stone stairs, but Harry said, "Hermione, go away," without turning around. She hesitated, her foot hovering over the next step down.
"I won't," she said clearly, finishing her step, and continuing down to sit beside him. He turned abruptly toward her with a frustration born of fury and despair.
"I just want to be left alone. Why can't you leave me alone?" he said. The night was chilly, and his breath puffed from his mouth and nose in small clouds. He tried not to notice the way the moon reflected in her eyes.
"Because I love you," she answered quietly.
"You shouldn't," he replied, more calmly. "I'm - I'm a wreck, I - "
"Harry, with all you've been through - " she said hastily, trying to placate him.
"Don't make excuses for me. I'm tired of everyone making excuses for me. Poor crippled Harry; he's gone barking mad, you know."
"You are not mad!" Hermione cried, laying one hand on his arm, trying to force him to look at her. Her chin trembled mutinously. "Please don't ever say that again."
"What if I am, Hermione?" And he sounded scared. "I still hear him, you know."
"Harry, the medication's…" she began.
"Side effects wore off weeks ago," he finished for her. "I'm not talking about the hallucinations. I can hear his voice, in my head. Telling me I'm not good enough, telling me that I've failed in every way that really matters, telling me that I'm just like him…a murderer…telling me that he's going to kill you…and make me watch." The last words were said so quietly that Hermione thought she'd heard wrong. His eyes darted over to hers, and she saw real fear there.
"Harry, it's - " she began, but he headed her off, knowing what she was going to say.
"If it's not real, then I'm going mad," he said decisively. He lowered his hands from his lap to the stairs, bracing himself against them. Hermione noted that his hands were trembling. She laid one hand on top of his, and even as upset as they both were, the touch still shot through them both like an electric current.
"Harry, you had a - a link with Voldemort. This could be perfectly normal….an - an aftereffect of that link, an echo." He reached his other hand up to absently touch his forehead.
"My scar?" he asked. Hermione shrugged, looking at him with hopeful eyes.
"It's possible," she replied. Then she bracketed his face with both hands, and turned him to face her. "You are not crazy, Harry. You've gone through something traumatic, and you aren't going to come out of it unscathed. But you are not mad." She enunciated her words clearly. "You've more baggage than most, perhaps. But that doesn't mean I love you any less."
His gaze held hers for a long moment.
"Maybe you're the one who's mad," he observed; he did not smile, but traces of humor glinted in his green eyes. "I do love you, Hermione," he said in a low, meaningful voice. She saw desperate apology stamped on his face, and she knew that he meant it, that he loved her, even when he was pushing her away in spite of himself. She felt her eyes slide shut in something like gratitude, and she shivered when his lips touched hers. "You're cold," he realized, drawing away from her.
She shook her head, and pulled him back toward her, lacing her fingers through his hair and around to the nape of his neck.
"Not when you're here, Harry. Not anymore," she whispered as he kissed her again.
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"I still think this is a bad idea," Ron muttered in a foreboding tone. "Have you any idea how moody
he's been lately? I'm afraid to say two words to him."
"Nonsense," Ginny said briskly, throwing her Quidditch robes around her shoulders, and fastening them. "It's a perfectly brilliant idea, Hermione."
"I still think it might make him feel worse," Ron muttered, slipping his hands into his gloves.
"It will make him feel worse if you go around moping like your best mate just died," Hermione snapped. "Are you all doing this out of pity? He cannot think that you're doing this out of pity."
"No, Hermione," Jimmy Peakes said, twiddling his bat around in his hands, nervously. "He was a great captain… we won the Cup last year, didn't we?"
"After last night…" Ron began, recalling the scene at dinner.
"It has to be now, Ron," Hermione said insistently. "Gryffindor's first game is next week. You'll have to have time to practice."
"It's Slytherin, Hermione," Ron protested. "Three of their team members have parents in Azkaban now. And Malfoy isn't exactly winning popularity contests there anymore. They're bound to be demoralized."
Hermione opened her mouth for a biting rebuttal, but she whirled toward the locker room entrance suddenly, her curly hair arcing outward behind her. "He's coming. Is everything ready?"
Ginny had been placing his boots in front of the Quidditch uniform that was draped prominently over a chair. On the seat of the chair was the black playbook, which had practically been Oliver Wood's Bible, and had been passed down to every Gryffindor captain since who knew when. She looked up at Hermione and nodded in satisfaction.
"I'll be right back," Hermione hissed, and she darted through the doors, flying through them so quickly that the sunlight was no more than a flash of brilliance that was gone again almost immediately.
Harry was already in a foul mood.
"Why'd you have me come all the way down here, Hermione?" He had struggled laboriously down to the pitch on his crutches, and was already hot and tired, even though the day was not overly warm.
"I thought it'd be a nice change. We could walk round the pitch, and then you could undo the restraints and exercise your legs. I'll help you." She kept her voice neutral, and watched him, wondering if he was going to acquiesce to her suggestion.
He lifted his head toward the brisk breeze that blew around the field and closed his eyes, as it ruffled his hair. "It is nice out here," he admitted. She watched his eyes open again, and drift slowly around the pitch, taking in the empty seats, the announcer's booth, and both sets of hoops. Something a little forlorn flickered behind his eyes.
"The first game is next week, isn't it?" he asked, as his gaze zigzagged over the field, mentally replaying his flights to the Snitch. Hermione nodded, and he sighed. "I miss Quidditch."
"We were hoping you would say that," came Ron's voice suddenly, and Harry pivoted in the direction of the locker room, as the Gryffindor Quidditch team spilled out onto the pitch in full practice regalia. "Your uniform's in there," he added, inclining his head back toward the door that they had just exited.
"I can't -" Harry stammered, but Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had already seen the excitement flare up in his green eyes. His eyes tripped over the faces; there were Coote and Peakes back as Beaters, Dean Thomas as a chaser, replacing the graduated Katie Bell, along with Demelza and Ginny, and then… "Dennis?" Harry said incredulously, looking at the impossibly skinny Creevey brother with ears too big for his head.
"He was wicked fast at trials, Harry," Ron said, looking a trifle apologetic at having to hold trials at all, in Harry's absence. "And he flew pretty well with Dean. Ginny's the Seeker."
"You might not be able to play," Ginny said, biting her lip a little shyly, speaking in the first real conversation she'd had with him since he got out of the hospital. "But there's nothing in the rule book that says you can't still be our captain." Harry turned toward Hermione, a growing look of cautious optimism on his face.
"Really?" he asked. Hermione nodded, and tossed him something small and stretchy that she'd been holding in her hand.
"Fred and George gave me these," she said. "They're kind of a version of the Extendable Ear. If you have one and Ron has the other, you can sit in the stands, and give Ron the plays."
Harry disentangled the elastic strands from each other, and tossed the second object to Ron. "Hermione, that's bloody brilliant," Ron said.
Hermione shrugged. "They're your brothers." Harry slipped one end into his ear, and the long part swirled around in a prehensile way like it had a mind of its own, finally curving along the length of his jaw, and settling into place near his mouth. Ron did the same.
"Can you hear me, mate?" Ron asked, and Harry heard his tinny voice through the earpiece. A real grin spread across Harry's face, and Hermione's heart turned somersaults at the sight of it.
"Fred and George are brilliant." Harry acknowledged.
"Go on, then," Ron said, gesturing toward the locker room. Harry thought it was slightly odd to be hearing Ron in stereo, in real time and through the Extendable Ear. Harry nodded, and Hermione thought she saw a hint of nervousness return to his eyes, as he began picking his way slowly and carefully down the ramp to the locker room.
When he returned, Hermione saw that he had not bothered with the uniform pants, instead leaving on his jeans, and just putting on the jersey, robes, and gloves. He had not bothered with the boots either. Hermione remembered that he had admitted to her, embarrassed, that Ron had been helping him put his shoes on every morning, as he could not bend his knees enough to even reach his feet.
Still, he managed to look every inch the Quidditch champion, even on crutches, with his Gryffindor robes swirling out behind him in red and gold folds and the battered black playbook tugged snugly under one arm. Hermione felt her cheeks warm just from looking at him.
"I couldn't manage my broom with these," he admitted, gesturing toward his crutches. Ron went to retrieve the Firebolt for him, as the smile quickly toppled off of Hermione's face.
"Harry, nobody said anything about flying." He had put the Extendable Ear carefully into his pocket.
"I'm not going to fly like I'm playing, Hermione," he replied. "Surely if we adjust the restraint field, I can at least hover about on a broom, and coach the practice."
"But - but the Bludgers - " she protested.
"This will be the perfect test for Peakes and Coote then, won't it?" he asked her blandly, his eyes going to the two Gryffindor Beaters, who exchanged glances of trepidation. If a Bludger got by them and walloped the great Harry Potter, then there was no doubt in either of their minds that Hermione Granger would kill them both…in the most painful manner possible, most likely, leaving neither evidence nor witnesses.
Hermione stood there, tense and motionless. She didn't like it at all, but was loath to say so in front of the Gryffindor team. Undermining him now could do even more damage, perhaps irreparable, to his confidence and their still-fledgling relationship. The other Quidditch players tried to act like they could not feel the tension crackling between the two seventh years.
After a long appraising look at Hermione, Harry hobbled over to the first row of bleachers, sitting down carefully to adjust the restraint fields, as Ron returned from the locker room with the Firebolt.
"You should do something," Hermione hissed at Ron, as he passed by. Ron eyed her curiously, with a "who, me?" look on his face.
"He needs to know he can do this," Ron shot back, sotto voce.
"It's just a game!" Hermione seethed, and Ron looked quite offended.
"It's Quidditch! And he'll be fine." He approached Harry with the beloved broomstick, and Hermione watched as Ron directed him to hover, while he realigned the restraint fields. She watched him wince, as Ron pushed his knees into as bent a position as they could achieve, and realized she was wincing in tandem with him, while anxiety creased her forehead.
He couldn't very well kick off from the ground, so Ron got ready to give him a hand up. Hermione appeared to be in battle with herself, but she finally trotted over beside him, laying a hand on the handle of the Firebolt, in a gesture for Ron to wait.
"Please be careful?" she asked in a questioning tone. He nodded, his lips pressed together, and spoke quietly.
"Thank you for understanding." She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, as he turned his head toward her, and they ended up kissing on the lips. It lingered slightly longer than either of them meant for it to.
When they looked up, they noticed that most of the team was trying in vain to pretend they weren't there. Ron's face was a bright shade of scarlet, and Ginny had gone very pale. Harry's eyes slid shut, and he mentally cursed at himself.
"Sonorus?" he asked Hermione, and she complied. His magical reserves had risen dramatically, but he had still been asked not to perform magic unless absolutely necessary, until his strength had fully returned. She aimed her wand at his throat and complied.
Within moments, he had the Chasers practicing formations, while Ron guarded the hoops. The youngest Weasley son seemed a little flustered and out of practice at first, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if it had been because of the kiss, but Ron soon calmed down and was blocking nearly everything the Chasers sent at him. Coote and Peakes were amusing each other by playing a sort of a racquetball game with the bludgers, but Harry figured it was good practice for both their flying and their aim. Ginny circled the pitch above the rest of the action, looking intently for the Snitch.
Hermione watched from the stands, her heart swelling with pride, as she watched him make rounds to all the team members, giving them pointers and suggestions. She watched as the Gryffindor team drank in his advice thirstily, even Ron, and marveled at what a natural gift he seemed to have for the captaincy.
Harry grabbed her attention again, as he flew up to join Ginny.
"How's it going?" he asked in a friendly tone.
"The sun's too bright. I keep thinking I see it, but it's the sun reflecting off of things," she complained.
"Get a pair of Quidditch goggles and tint them," Harry suggested with a shrug. "Like the ones I used in the rain, that Hermione Impervius-ed." Ginny seemed to grow stiff and uncomfortable with the mention of Hermione.
"Ginny?" Harry said, reaching out and placing a hand on her arm. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Harry," she said in a high-pitched voice, as her gaze darted around nervously. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"I just wanted to make -" Harry began, but he stopped when Ginny grew suddenly alert. He followed her gaze, and saw it, glinting brightly in the sunshine, just under the shortest hoop on the opposite side of the field.
She leaned forward over her broomstick, going into a steep dive, and, without knowing why he did it, Harry followed. They corkscrewed around each other, each trying to outmaneuver the other, both accelerating rapidly, as they raced across the field for the elusive golden ball. Harry felt his knees start to ache, as the restraint fields struggled to fight against the pressure of gravity, and he finally had to pull up, but was only a meter or two behind Ginny when she closed her fingers around the Snitch.
Ginny's cheeks were windblown and pink, and she looked amazed when she turned around to find Harry just behind her.
"Good show, Ginny!" Harry said sincerely.
"That was some impressive flying you did yourself, Potter," Ginny said, with a jocular note in her voice.
"I'm out of practice," Harry said, teasing her back and nudging her in the ribs. "Or I would have beat you." Ginny cocked one eyebrow at him, as if to say, "Oh, really?" But then her smile faded, and her gaze drifted over Harry's shoulder.
"Uh oh," she gulped. Harry turned the Firebolt back towards the pitch, and saw Hermione, clearly furious, marching out onto the pitch from the stands where she had been sitting.
"Dammit!" Harry swore, and headed down towards her.
"Harry - !" Hermione began, obviously prepared to go on for quite some time about recklessness and irresponsibility. The other team members were watching curiously, save Ron, Dean, and Ginny, who looked more than a little discomfited.
"Can - can we - can we please not do this here?" Harry mumbled, beginning to get angry himself.
"By all means," Hermione hissed, waving her arm toward the locker room. "Be my guest." Rather than gathering up his crutches, Harry simply flew his Firebolt directly into the locker room, leaving Hermione to retrieve the crutches and follow him, muttering angrily all the way.
"Finish up, will you, Ron?" Harry called out.
"What's going to happen?" Coote asked worriedly.
"Harry's going to get his arse handed to him," Dean observed in a wise tone. Ginny was watching the closed locker room carefully.
"She needs to lay off," Ginny said. "Or she's going to lose him." Ron did a lazy loop-the-loop and brought his broom up next to Ginny's.
"I guess it's a good thing we didn't tell Hermione that we had to make him the reserve Seeker for him to stay Captain."
Ginny looked grim. "I just won't get hurt."
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"What were you thinking, Harry?" Hermione said as soon as the doors closed behind them, in a voice that managed to be angry and pleading at the same time.
"I wasn't thinking, Hermione!" Harry retorted. "Is that what pisses you off so badly? I was just having fun."
"You could've been killed."
"I could take a bad step off a trick stair and get killed," Harry said sarcastically, and Hermione flinched. "If there's one thing I know, it's how to fly. Why do you think Ginny caught the Snitch? Because I knew when I needed to stop!"
"I - I thought you let her catch it," she admitted softly, and Harry turned abruptly to look at her.
"Why are you really angry?" he asked perceptively. Hermione hesitated. She really didn't want to tell him what seeing him and Ginny flying formation around each other, laughing and racing, with his mood more buoyant that she'd seen it in quite a while, had done to the pit of her stomach.
"I'm angry because your foolhardy behavior is going to hamper your recovery," she said haughtily, but it did not sound convincing to Harry's ears.
"Why are you really angry?" he repeated again, in a voice that was disarmingly soft. He limped across the room on one crutch, favoring his right knee visibly, and stored his Firebolt in the broom locker. He then reached for the other crutch, and picked his way back to her, sitting down on one of the benches.
Hermione jutted out her jaw mutinously. "What's wrong with wanting you to be careful? I'm worried about you, Harry. You're not getting better as quickly as you should be. The Amplitude potion bothered you for a lot longer than Healer Munson said it would. Your reserves aren't going up as fast as they should. You're still losing weight. And - and you forgot to put up a silencing charm in your room last night."
Harry had been mostly rolling his eyes during her speech, but at the last statement he straightened up, and eyed her warily.
"What did you hear?" he asked evenly.
"Just you thrashing about, and saying `No, no!' a few times. I was about to come in your room, but you quieted down." She picked nervously at the sleeve of her robes. "How long have you been having nightmares?"
His gaze seemed to drift over her shoulder and darken, as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "I always have them. They've never stopped."
"Are they still about - about your parents? About Sirius? Or are they - ?"
"About things that are actually happening?" He completed her sentence grimly, as the events from their fifth year played through their minds. "I don't think so. They're about the Final Battle - only it doesn't always end…the way it's supposed to."
He trailed off, not wanting to tell her any details, but the haunted shadows in his green eyes gave him away.
The sword slid through the heart of the ruby amulet with a faintly gelatinous noise. Harry looked up in triumph, as he felt the weapon pierce human flesh as well, and then his gaze filled with horror.
It was Hermione, not Voldemort, standing in front of him, looking down at the sword protruding from her chest, without comprehension. Her mouth moved, forming the word "Harry", but without sound. Her hands groped uselessly at the sword.
Harry staggered away from her, eyes wide, muttering, "No…no! It can't be - it was an accident. No, no…Hermione!"
"Harry, what have you done?" Hermione asked, and he looked down to see his hands and arms stained dark with her blood.
Somewhere in the recesses of the shadowy Chamber, a high, thin laugh rang out maniacally.
He stepped backwards, unable to tear his eyes from hers, even as she collapsed. His foot stepped in something wet, soaking his pants up to his ankles.
It was blood. The Chamber of Secrets was awash in it. Even as he stared, it lapped at Hermione's body. The sword began to hiss and shimmer and fade from sight, almost as if it was being dissolved by some nefarious means. A snake wound itself over Hermione's body, twining itself up the vanishing blade.
"See what you've done," an unseen voice hissed, dripping with malice. "See what you've done!"
Sometimes the dream varied. Sometimes it was Ron on the end of the sword. Sometimes it was as if he was looking into a mirror when he drove the sword home. Sometimes Voldemort was victorious, and he had to watch as everyone was killed in front of him, wondering why Voldemort wouldn't just let him die.
Sometimes he was on the Astronomy tower, watching Dumbledore plunge over the battlements, as he calmly asked Harry why he did nothing. Or Sirius went through the veil again and again, while Harry stood by, frozen, an ineffectual failure.
And all the while, the laughter rang in his ears.
"Harry, it's over," Hermione said gently, forgetting her anger and snapping him out of his reverie. "You've got to let it go."
"What about you?" Harry said. "You aren't letting it go either." Hermione's brow crinkled with confusion.
"What are you talking about?" she asked. He leaned forward, gripping her arms above the elbows, pulling her toward him, until she sat on a bench just across from him, their knees nearly touching.
"Hermione," he said, in a voice just above a whisper. "I know my limitations. I know how far and how fast I can and cannot fly. I am seventeen years old." His face was very close to hers. "And I don't need a mum." The last statement was barely audible.
Hermione thought her heart was going to burst out of her ribcage, it was hammering so rapidly in her chest.
"Harry, I'm not trying to be - " she began, but he just whispered,
"Good," as his mouth closed over hers. His hands gripped her upper arms insistently, pulling at her, until she was no longer sitting on the bench, but kneeling in front of him, between his knees.
When he broke the kiss, she was breathless, boneless, slumped against his chest, wondering if she'd ever have the strength to stand again.
"Harry…" she gasped, and he tipped her chin up to look into her eyes.
"I love you, Hermione Granger," he said, looking as serious as she'd ever seen him. A smile trembled on her lips.
"I love you too," she said softly.
"I've been horrible to you these last few weeks. I know that. I don't know why you've stuck around, but I'm glad you did." He ran his fingers across her jawline and into her hair. "I'm going to be better. I want to be your boyfriend…a real boyfriend, not someone you feel you have to babysit."
"Harry, I don't think - " she tried to protest.
"Will you let me?" he said, before she could finish.
"I'll let go, if you will," she promised in a whisper. "But - but Harry, will you tell someone about the dreams…please? Healer Munson…or Madame Pomfrey?" Harry looked as if he really didn't want to do anything of the sort, but he sighed and nodded.
"Can we try something first?" he said, seeming ill at ease and nearly stammering. "Will you - would you - consider staying with me…tonight?"
"In your bed?" Hermione said incredulously, trying to laugh a little, even as the heat flooded her face.
"Well, yes - no - I mean, not for that, but just - I thought maybe if you were - if you were there, then I wouldn't have those dreams." Harry looked as embarrassed as Hermione felt. "It sounds like I'm just trying to - to - doesn't it?"
Hermione smiled, and the smile was at once impish and tender. "I wouldn't mind if you were," she said, almost breathing into his mouth, before kissing him once again. The kiss was long and lingering and full of promise, and she felt her heart skip a beat, as he gathered her more fully into his arms.
"Someday I'm going to hold you to that, Hermione Granger," he whispered.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione flitted up to her room after dinner, as soon as the Trio arrived back in their common room. Harry's eyes followed her up the stairs almost hungrily, but he said nothing and did not follow her. Instead, he looked at Ron, who was settling himself into one of the wing chairs by the fire.
"Ron?" Harry ventured, after a moment, limping over to the sofa, and sitting down.
"You want a game?" Ron asked nonchalantly, gesturing toward the chessboard on a small table nearby. Harry shrugged.
"I reckon," he said, neither eagerly nor reluctantly. Ron always beat him anyway, but Harry had been able to elicit the compliment of at least being good practice for him, recently.
Ron moved the pieces into their starting positions, while Harry's chessmen moaned and wailed and generally made dark comments about their future. Harry tried to ignore them.
"Ron, I wanted to ask you -" Harry began, while Ron moved his pawn. "I mean, I know you and Hermione have talked, but - but we haven't - and -"
"You mean, how do I feel about that display on the Quidditch pitch?" Ron asked, genially, his eyebrows rising into his hair. If you think that was a display, you should have seen what went on inside the locker room, Harry thought, but nodded. Ron shrugged. "It's a little weird. You two are my best friends…and now you're…snogging." Ron shook his head as if trying to dispel a mental image.
"And Ginny?" Harry asked. Ron rolled his eyes.
"Don't ask me to understand her. She was pretty upset, but … I don't know. Did you know she was going to Hogsmeade this weekend with Dean Thomas?"
"Dean? Again?" Harry was surprised. Ron cocked his head in a "go figure" gesture. Harry's knight protested as Harry moved him right into the path of Ron's bishop.
"Are you going to Hogsmeade?" Ron asked curiously, as his bishop decimated Harry's knight.
"I thought we were all going," Harry said. "I mean, we won't be moving very fast, but…"
"You're not going to go with Hermione?" Ron's face was very bland.
"Well, we certainly wouldn't leave you out, Ron. You know you're always - what the hell?" Harry said, as he looked at the massacre occurring on the chessboard. He was playing with even less concentration than normal. He kept thinking of Hermione…upstairs. His other knight shook his tiny fist at Harry, while the horse whinnied shrilly.
"Well…you don't have to worry about me," Ron hedged, and Harry looked at him with suspicion.
"You want to go with someone," he said with certainty, an almost accusing tone in his voice.
"She asked me!" Ron blurted defensively. Harry couldn't keep a grin from spreading across his features, even as his queen was smashed to bits.
"Who is it?" he asked with avid curiosity. Ron looked slightly abashed.
"Luna," he mumbled. "What?" he asked, upon seeing Harry's broad smile.
"Mate, I think it's brilliant."
"This doesn't mean I - well, I still - Luna's just fun to hang around with, that's all."
"You deserve it, Ron," Harry said, meeting Ron's eyes sincerely.
"Checkmate," Ron said, looking annoyingly superior. Harry's remaining pawns and lone bishop shrieked vile insults at him. Harry sighed.
"I'm going to bed," he said, tiredly, while Ron scraped the debris off of the chessboard.
"You need any help?" Ron asked off-handedly.
No, Hermione's up there. Hermione's going to be in my room…in my bed…Harry thought, and the idea filled him with anticipation, even though they would be sleeping together in only the most literal sense of the word.
He hopped up the stairs, and rounded the corner to his room. He could see Hermione's door already closed. Ron's door was ajar, with a sleeve to a shirt trailing out of the door. He opened his door, and stopped stock still, shock stamped clearly on his face.
Hermione was sitting on his bed, already dressed in her pajamas, looking uncertain as Harry stood in the doorway and gaped. He wondered how on earth she could make a knit shirt and flannel pants look so incredibly sexy.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her hand going self-consciously up to her hair.
"Nothing, you're perfect," he blurted without thinking, and then flushed when she laughed. "I guess I'll go get ready for bed," he said, chucking his thumb toward the bathroom door, but still watching her. Finally, he was able to wrest his gaze from hers, grab his pajamas, and disappear behind the door, wondering all the while if this was really such a brilliant idea after all.
It took him a good amount of time to get ready for bed, but Hermione heard splashing water and shuffling noises, and figured that he would call if he needed anything. At length, he limped out of the bathroom, propping his crutches nearby where he could reach them if necessary, sat on the edge of the bed, and slid himself onto it with his arms. Without being asked, Hermione reached down to adjust the restraint fields, to allow him to sleep with his legs fully extended.
Hesitantly, she curled up beside him, as he lay back on his pillows, laying her head in the crook of his shoulder, and smiling shyly at him, as color crept up to her cheeks.
"Thanks for staying…Hermione," he whispered, his eyes fluttering closed in spite of themselves. She watched him for a moment almost maternally; she had been a little worried at first, at the hunger that had flashed ferally into his eyes when he saw her sitting on his bed, but he had been so badly hurt…and still tired so easily… She snuggled closer to his comforting warmth, and let her eyes shut as well.
The Chamber was dark and damp, and smelled vaguely and vilely of stagnant water. The skeleton of the Basilisk was gone; Harry could only assume Dumbledore had somehow had it removed. His footfalls echoed harshly on the wet stone, scuffing with a slight splashing noise.
Suddenly Voldemort stood in front of him, and the ever-present laughter began to resound shrilly off of the walls and ceiling. Harry wanted to clap his hands over his ears. When Voldemort's gaze met his, the vertically-slitted eyes seemed to give off a fell red light. Harry felt a searing pain in his forehead, as if his very skull had split open.
He reached up to his head, and to his horror, found that it had split open. Something thick and sinewy protruded from his head; blood was streaming down his face; he heard something hiss sibilantly.
It was a snake. A snake was coming out of his head. The pain was incredible. Harry dropped to his knees and vomited onto the damp stone. Voldemort had not stopped laughing, but when he looked up through the red haze of his vision, it was Hermione standing there in a flowing gown, billowed by an unfelt wind.
The look in her eyes was cold, contemptuous, and Harry felt suddenly ashamed of his ruined face, the grotesque gaping hole in his skull. The snake writhed and hissed on the floor just below him.
"You!" she said, and the one word was laden with loathing. He saw something sparkle at the edge of his vision, and realized that she held the sword of Godric Gryffindor in her hand. She raised it, and the blade flashed in the dim light.
"Hermione, wait!" he said, trying to put up a placating hand. The snake began to wind its way up his other arm, twining itself around the limb. Harry recoiled, and tried to push the snake away, but it would not yield.
"See the very evil that springs from inside of you," she said in a ringing, haughty voice. "You are the birthplace. You must be destroyed." His eyes were round with horror, his mouth open in a soundless scream for her to stop.
She drove the sword into him, and all the air left his lungs. He looked at the stained blade protruding from him, wondering why he felt no pain. Then he looked at Hermione, at her cold, distant eyes, and the pain hit him with all the force of a blow.
He sat up, suddenly, exhaling forcefully and then gasping, "Hermione!" She was instantly awake, and her eyes were luminous in the low light streaming in from the window.
"Did you have another dream?" she asked, sounding a little sad that she had not been able to prevent it. He reached up a trembling hand to his forehead, feeling for a hole that was not there.
"There was a snake…in my head. It - it - you killed me…" his eyes were vague and troubled. The dream was slipping away from him; it was as if he were trying to grasp vapor with his hands. "I - I can't remember - you - and - he was laughing."
"Ssshhhh," Hermione soothed, stroking her hands through his ruffled hair. Their gazes locked in the darkness, and Harry felt his breath hitch in his chest. He brought his hand hesitantly up to her face, and drew his fingers down her cheek and along her jawline, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
"I'm glad you're here," he whispered. She only nodded, her eyes never leaving his, as his mouth lowered to hers. He gathered her up in his arms, pulling her as close to him as he could, as they deepened the kiss, and Hermione felt a moan vibrate deep in her throat. Without thinking, she hooked one leg over his, and then they both froze, staring at each other, becoming aware of the precipice they were standing on the edge of.
"Hermione…" Harry began, clearing his throat. "I don't - as much as I want - we - I can't - " He stammered, gesturing down at his mostly useless legs.
"Do you want this?" she whispered huskily. Her face was so close to his, and he felt his blood rush away south.
"I want you," he admitted, in a throaty voice that made Hermione's stomach jump. Without breaking eye contact, she moved so that she was straddling his midsection, bearing most of her weight on her knees, with one on either side of him. She leaned down to kiss him in a deep, hungry way that left no doubt as to her intentions.
"I'm sure we can work something out…" she said softly.
TBC
Yeah, I'm not so much for writing of the actual smut, so you may use your imaginations as you see fit! I know nothing much happened in this chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it.
Leave a review on the way out if you like!
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