Official Fine Print: Nope. Not mine. The brainchildren of the mighty pen of JK Rowling. Just playing with them. Honest.
Here With Me
Chapter 11
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The spells were coming at him fast and furious, from every side. He was trying to keep up, but he couldn't; he managed to shield himself, to dodge and duck, but he could do nothing to attack back. His brain seemed to be moving too slow, always a moment or two after the action. He thought of the appropriate counter-curse only after the curse itself had passed or ricocheted off whatever he could find to hide behind. He was a mouse to the Death Eaters' cats, scurrying and hiding. He'd never get anywhere this way; he had to fight back, to take control. 'Wait,' his tired brain shouted. 'Hang on! Time Out!'
'This isn't Quidditch, baby Potter,' Bellatrix hissed, appearing suddenly around the pillar he was hiding behind. 'No Time Outs for you. Crucio!'
And she meant it. She must have been saving up a whole backlog of hatred and resentment just for the occasion. Harry felt it hit him like a thousand knives piercing him at every nerve point. He tried to scream but the sound was trapped in his throat, gagging him. He fell back, driven by the blades of pain. He fell, and kept falling and falling, never reaching the floor. He was weightless, floating. He wanted to go down, away from Bellatrix and the pain but knew somehow the way out was up, safety was above him. He fought back through the knives, kicking and flailing as if towards the surface of water, bursting through, sucking air into his pierced, empty lungs.
Awake. He hit the floor with a solid thud that knocked the hard-won air right out of him.
Hermione's wand was pointed at him and her eyes were frightened. He realized he was moving and she was prepared to stun him, convinced the potion hadn't worked.
"Chocolate Frog," he croaked. "Hermione, it's only me."
Her relief was instant and apparent; she lowered her wand, hand shaking. "What happened? Why weren't you… I don't think it's working, Harry."
"Just a dream," he told her betweens great gasps of air. "Not him."
"That was a dream? Just a dream? Is that really how you dream when he's not making you?" she asked. She looked stricken and he felt suddenly shamed, the odd boy out again.
"I was losing the battle. I couldn't remember the right spells; I was just running and hiding like a little kid. I thought if they would just stop for a minute, just one minute, I could get my head together, do something. The scary part was how stupid and useless I was. And yes, that's how I dream when he's not controlling me," he said, pushing himself slowly up from the floor.
"Oh, Harry, I… That's…" she started.
"Don't," he told her fiercely from his hands and knees, afraid to look at her face. "Please. I don't need your pity. I hate that."
"I don't pity you, Harry. I love you. There's a difference, you know," she said. She reached out and took his hand as he rose, gently pulling him toward the sofa. "You're in trouble now. You may get to snog me, but I get to feel bad for you. That's the way it works."
She scooted on to her knees, threaded her arms around his neck and kissed him once, softly and chastely, catching the corner of his mouth. "That's because I'm sorry," she said simply. And then she kissed him again. It didn't take him long to notice the difference; this time was full speed ahead, lips against his, fingers splayed through his hair, wait-I-have-to-breathe-oh!- never-mind nice. Her tongue slipped smoothly over his and he felt his jaw relax of its own accord. He brought his own arms around her and felt her hands slide round to rest against his chest. They felt lovely and warm through his t shirt, but so small somehow. He covered one with his own, larger, longer fingered and rougher. When exactly had that happened? When exactly had she grown so lovely, so soft, so… different? This was Hermione, he'd spent almost every day with her for a good three-quarters of the year since they were eleven. How could he have missed this? He wanted a time turner, to go back already knowing what he was learning now and to watch it happen. Her other hand began to slide down from his chest, setting off a sort of portkey sensation in his stomach and a distinct straining in his groin. He shifted his hips toward her helpfully, renewed the intensity of the kiss with his own tongue and…
"See what I mean? I knew that this whole thing was just a giant snog plot." Ron's voice came from behind them over the sofa. "You'd better get a move on unless you want to scare the firsties."
Hermione surfaced abruptly, eyes flying open. "Oh my gosh, we've got Potions!" She scrambled off him and flew up the stairs towards the girls rooms, leaving Harry feeling cold wherever her warmth had been. He let his head fall back against the arm of the sofa, trying to catch his breath.
"Hop it, mate. Breakfast is calling," his red-headed room mate told him, refusing to meet his eyes.
Harry found that he was actually feeling quite hungry for a change.
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Breakfast was okay. No one accused Harry of anything untoward and none of the first years cried when he walked past. Hermione was quietly happy, humming tunelessly as she perused the Daily Prophet and Ron warmed up considerably when Harry pointed out that one of Ravenclaw's new beaters seemed to have had a close encounter with a bludger. "Brilliant!" he enthused, eying the third year's multi-colored bruising. "That will slow them up a bit. He'll be cringing every time anyone swings!"
Hermione mumbled something about good sportsmanship and three year olds into her paper, but only Harry heard her.
Potions was never okay, and Snape was not feeling particularly well disposed toward Harry after the previous evenings' exchange.
"Today we will be working on determining antidotes. Quite often when dealing with cases of magical poisoning speed is of the essence. Time in which to aid the victim may sometimes be extended by concocting a bridging antidote that halts or slows the worst of the symptoms until the full or proper antidotes may be administered. Bridging antidotes may be made of some very common ingredients under hurried circumstances. An excellent example could be made of the potion Mr. Malfoy concocted when Mr. Potter made the first years' mistake of tangling with a loaded Centaur."
Harry heard a small whistling sound, like a tea kettle beginning to boil. It seemed to be coming from somewhere inside his head.
"Tell us, Mr. Malfoy, how did you determine which ingredients you would use?"
Malfoy smiled silkily. "I remembered you teaching us some of the properties of the poison the Centaurs' favor. I knew that the effect was to kill the half wit, er, victim through muscle convulsions leading to strangulation. The peculiarity to the poison was that any modulating potion or antidote has to be given through the wound to follow the poison's path into the blood stream. You can't use anything that would coagulate the blood or cause the wound to heal over, or the antidote ingredients would then become useless. Clever on the Centaur's part, because the wizard who uses a healing charm on himself signs his own death warrant. My personal opinion is we should just eradicate the beasts. Anyway, given the probable symptoms and the ingredients readily available in the pouring rain in Centaur infested woods in the dark, the choice was easy."
"Twenty points to Slytherin. Mr. Longbottom, what common ingredient in the Forbidden Forest would act as a binder without causing an undue degree of blood coagulation?"
Neville blushed and stammered out, "St. John's Wort root would work, but using the leaves or stems in quantity would cause the victim to bleed to death."
Snape sneered. "A pedestrian choice as always, Longbottom. Mr. Malfoy used willow as an anticoagulant agent and wild valerian for its anticonvulsive properties …
"But it was a mistake to risk using valerian on Harry! The delivery through the wound increases the risk of paralysis or weakened heart rhythm. Why would you when you'd have Arisaema rhizome all over the place? Jack in the Pulpit. If the root is cooked it's analgesic, only mildly sedative and a powerful anticonvulsive. Unless of course you wanted your victim in pain and as helpless as possible to leave him a sitting duck for You Know Who."
There was a full moments' stunned silence. Even Neville seemed shocked.
"I said that out loud, didn't I?" he squeaked.
Snape's black eyes glittered. "Are you insinuating, Mr. Longbottom, that Mr. Malfoy tried to…"
"Hurt Harry to make it easier for You Know Who to get at him? Sounds like a Malfoy move to me." Dean Thomas volunteered, eyeing the Slytherin darkly.
Harry's eyes met Hermione's. He shook his head. She nudged him with her foot. He closed his eyes and let his forehead slump to the desk.
"I shall start with twenty points from Gryffindor for Mr. Longbottoms' technically correct but libelous suggestion that …"
Nudge!
Son of a…
"He was, unh, genuinely doing his best to keep me alive, Neville. Dean. Really." Harry sighed.
"Keep out of it, scarhead!" Draco sneered. "What do you know? You couldn't have brewed that potion if it came in a bottle."
Okay, so did the slimy bastard want Harry to defend him to the Gryffindors while condemning him to every Voldemort supporting Slytherin in the room, or did he want him to make him out as the evil git he usually was, pleasing the Slytherins and pissing off the Gryffindors? How the hell was he supposed to know? Well Malfoy could just bloody well sink or swim on his own then. Jerk.
"To be followed by another twenty points for Mr. Thomas' pointless but equally slanderous rejoinder," Snape continued.
"Draco, why did you make that potion? Wouldn't it have been better to just let it die in the woods?" Pansy Parkinson asked, her dark eyes on Harry from across the room. He could feel her total disdain; to dislike him she would have to admit he was human first.
"I had my reasons," Malfoy said mysteriously, but Harry could have sworn he heard a tinge of panic in his voice.
"Ohhhhh," Pansy said with deliberate understanding.
"Which one was it, that you're a total prat, or a total liar?" Hermione asked conversationally.
"Twenty more points for Miss Granger's outrageous audacity," Snape added.
'Don't you mean outrageous stating of the truth?' Harry hurled silently and mentally at Snape. 'Whose side are you on here? Whose side are you ever on? Do you even know?'
"And a final twenty points for Mr. Potter's insolence!" Snape snarled.
"Harry never said a word!" Pavarti broke in, outraged. "You can't take twenty house points when he never said anything! That's unfair even from you!"
"Very well, Miss Patil," Snape turned on her. "The twenty points can be for you… for defending Potter. And unless anyone has anything else both relevant and intelligent to say about antidotes or bridging potions you will SHUT your mouths for the remainder of the class period. Understood?"
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"Eighty house points! Eighty! In one class!" McGonagall said, her voice shaking with thinly suppressed outrage. "No, I don't want to hear your reasons, Mr. Thomas. No matter what they are, they do not justify the kind of behavior that costs your house mates eighty house points. All I can say is that had better be one impressive Quidditch game tomorrow. Goodness!" She huffed off to the teachers table, leaving the Gryffindors to their lunches.
"Bloody Snape. And Malfoy, useless leach. I've never been so glad I didn't exceed expectations on the Potions O.W.L." Ron groaned, "I can't believe we have to spend three hours with him tonight."
"He probably won't show. He said he wasn't going to do it," Hermione pointed out.
"Dumbledore seemed fairly serious about it." Harry said gloomily. "He'll be there. It would hardly be a punishment without him. Admit it, Hermione, a part of your brain has been working away at it ever since last night. Have you worked it out yet?"
"I have a few ideas," she said airily. "This is only my second detention ever, and I fully intend to get to the bottom of this riddle."
"They don't give Head Girl points for best detention, Hermione." Harry told her with a grin.
"I've handed over my prefects' badge after breaking no less than thirteen school rules with you and Malfoy. You do realize my only other detention was because of you and Malfoy also? First year, Norbert the dragon, traipsing through the Forbidden Forest? Have we learned nothing? Remember how Filch told us he missed hanging students from chains in his office? The way we're going he'll get his wish to bring that back even without Umbridge running things. I'm probably going to break at least another twenty or thirty as your dream keeper, Harry. I'm hardly in the running for Head Girl anymore," she sighed.
Harry felt for her hand beneath the table's edge and twined his fingers tentatively with hers.
"Sorry about that," he said softly.
She shook her head and smiled faintly. "I told you in the infirmary, Harry. It's okay. I think I'm ready for more important things. It just doesn't matter so much anymore."
"Did I just hear Hermione 'killed - or worse, expelled!' Granger say being Head Girl didn't really matter?" Ron asked, dumbfounded.
"Yes, Ron. You did. But I still think getting to class on time is important, so you and I had best get going to DADA. We'll see you at dinner, Harry. Be careful." And for the first time ever, yet with an air of nonchalance as if she'd been doing it for years, she kissed him as she left the table. Nothing more than fingers steadying his chin and a soft brush of her lips against his, but he realized from the surreptitious looks passed along the rest of the Gryffindor table that the cat was irrevocably out of the bag. And it felt bloody alright. He tried to keep the silly grin from his face as he finished his lunch but it kept coming back whenever his thoughts came back to her. He almost didn't notice Ginny sit down beside him. She waved a hand before his eyes.
"Oh. Hey, Gin."
"What are you so happy about? I heard we lost eighty house points to Snape this morning, I didn't expect to find you quite so chipper," she replied, setting in to her lunch.
"Useless wanker," Harry said, shrugging. "Doesn't matter what I do anymore, he'll find a way to take points for it. Reckon I could come up with a new formula for the Sorcerer's Stone and he'd still dock me points."
"That's Professor Useless Wanker to you, but you're probably right. So," she continued briskly, "what's up with you and Hermione, if I may be so bold as to ask?"
"You may. And as Ron's little sister I'll tell you nothing."
"What about as one of your many admirers?"
"As my own little-sister-I-never-had I find that equally out of the question."
"Gods, Harry, the last thing I need is another brother."
"No," he said. "The last thing you need is Draco Malfoy."
She froze for a moment, the blink of an eye, but Harry noticed.
"What are you on about now?"
"You heard me."
"She just couldn't keep her mouth shut, could she," Ginny said angrily, two spots of red staining her fair Weasley cheeks.
"She could. Don't go blaming Hermione. He couldn't. Quite full of himself, actually. I don't remember it all so well, but a few things stand right out."
"You get shot by a Centaur's arrow, nearly die from the poison, find yourself possessed by Voldemort and the thing you remember about the experience is that Draco Malfoy doesn't actually despise a Weasley? You really are a little strange Harry."
'Doesn't actually despise'? What the hell did that mean given what Malfoy was hinting at? What had he done to her?
It was the end of the lunch hour; the Great Hall had mostly emptied. Harry's special DADA instruction didn't start for another half an hour. "What class do you have now?" he asked, realizing with regret that his good mood had mostly evaporated.
"I have a free period. I do double Herbology after this. Why?"
"Let's take this outside, okay?"
"Why?" she asked again, mulishly this time.
"Because it's safer. Because I don't want to talk about it in here."
"What if I don't want to talk to you about it at all, Harry. In here or out there. Anywhere as a matter of fact."
He breathed deeply and raised his eyes to the ceiling, staring for a moment at the enchanted sky.
"Fine. It's your line to draw, I guess. Just don't expect me to support you or cover for you with Ron when you won't even talk to me. I'd just as soon forget the whole thing myself, it makes me ill to think about, but he's my best friend, your whole family has been so good to me. I'd never betray them, and I think that potentially you are."
"How dare you!" she hissed at him.
"See, this is why I want to do this outside. You can take a swing at me and call me names and then maybe we can get to the bottom of it."
"I'm starting to see what he means about you!" she said quietly, not looking at him.
He grabbed his book bag and stood up. He was seeing red, and it wasn't her hair. "After everything we've… after…" he stopped, unable to believe what he was hearing. He pushed down the never-too-far image of her lying, dieing on the Chamber floor, and what he'd had to do to save her. "Fine, Ginny. It's your life. Do what you want." He left without looking back, heading blindly for his next class.
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Advanced level DADA at Hogwarts this year was being taught by a rotating draft of teachers. There were many cracks about no one wanting to take the accursed position, but after the Umbridge debacle the Ministry was only too happy to let Dumbledore do what he wanted with the job. Teaching in shifts, Dumbledore assured the Board, would be the quickest way to make up lost ground from Umbridges' open book classes, allowing the students to work with a range of teaching styles. In reality, it allowed the Headmaster to fulfill his promise to Harry of practical instruction in advanced defense - and by default, offense - by rigorous, exhaustive dueling practice with a variety of opponents. It also ensured that he had experience with those on the forefront of the movement without removing them from their positions for long; members of the Order of the Phoenix and a number of Aurors, both active and retired were signed on in shifts. Some taught regular classes, others quietly taught only Harry in a tightly warded classroom off the hallway to Dumbledore's office. The general assumption all the way round was that Dumbledore wanted to keep Harry's progress a secret; the only debate was whether it was because he was strengthening, or because he wasn't.
Harry's opponent this afternoon turned out to be a surprise. He was expecting Mad Eye, who often came to work with Harry but avoided the regular DADA classes ("They all look at me like I'm about to turn into Barty Jr. again. They lose their concentration then and it's too easy to stun the little buggers. Someone needs to teach them about constant vigilance, but it's not gonna be me.") Harry found instead Bill Weasley waiting for him outside the door to the classroom. His long red ponytail was singed at the bottom and an ugly red welt ran up his right forearm from wrist to elbow.
"Hullo, Harry," he said with a grin.
"Bill!" Harry wasn't entirely sure whether to be happy (he admired Bill greatly and dueling with him would be the real deal; while not an Auror, Bill had had some pretty wild experiences as a Gringott's Curse Breaker and was a full fledged member of the Order of the Phoenix) or disconcerted (yet another Weasley brother to keep the Ginny problem from, and Ginny's favorite no less...)
"I saw a bit too much action and they've given me a few weeks off." Bill told him. "I just arrived this afternoon. How's Ron doing?"
"Erm, okay."
"Dumbledore told me about your… well, about what happened in the Forest."
"Pretty dumb, I know," Harry admitted, ducking his head.
Bill opened the door to the classroom and led the way inside.
"I heard that Crabbe and Goyle told you that they'd left Hermione in the Forest."
"They drew a picture. A kind of cartoon with her tied to a tree calling my name."
Bill shut the door. "Well, I would have gone. Who's gonna take that chance? What was up with the Dark Wanker possessing you?"
Maybe it was gratitude left over from his appearance just when Harry needed him at the Dursleys' over the summer. Maybe it was because Harry thought Bill was, for lack of a better description, cool. Maybe it was just because Bill occupied the territory between true adults like Arthur and Molly or Dumbledore and the painful neverland of sixteen when seventeen was the age of independence. Whatever it was, Harry found himself spilling the whole story, not just seeking out Voldemort's altered state to slow his own poisoning but the realizations about Hermione as well, the possibility that he was meant to renew the protection his mother had given him by loving someone else.
"I don't know what I'm doing, but she seems okay with it - so far," Harry ended.
"Hermione's nobody's fool, Harry. She's not going to like the implication that you love her enough to die for her if you have to, but you can only do what's up to you. She'll do what she thinks is right in the end. With luck the two will have something in common."
"Yeah," Harry said. "I guess. So are we going to duel?"
Bill laughed. "Oh yeah. No holds barred and all that. No going easy on an old man, okay? What are you working on?"
"Blasting Curses."
"On second thought, go easy on the old man for a couple of days yet, okay? Flabra or Abiciectum?"
"Abiciectum, actually."
"On three then?"
Harry nodded.
Bill counted to three and felt himself flung against the far wall of the classroom with a blast that would have blown apart the Death Eater who'd slashed his arm. His own spell was still stumbling off his lips. "Alright, then," he said, climbing stiffly to his feet. "This time I'm not going to go so easy on you!"
Harry grinned.
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