Official Fine Print: Nope. Not mine. The brainchildren of the mighty pen of JK Rowling. Just playing with them. Honest.
Here With Me
Chapter 13
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A/N: Before anyone comments, I know I have taken huge liberties with the Hogwarts Quidditch schedule and that Ravenclaw vs. Gryffindor is traditionally the last game of the season. Sorry! I really needed to, and I apologize to any Quidditch purists offended by that. Slytherin was allowed to change the schedule once - if Draco can do it, so can I!
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Breakfast that morning was a rowdy, noisy meal with predictions of the outcome of the match circulating fast and furiously around the Great Hall. The fine fall day seemed to have put the whole school in the mood for Quidditch, although Hermione had her own suspicions that more than a few were looking forward to seeing Harry have to have a go against Cho, seeker for the Ravenclaw team. The whole Ravenclaw table was sporting badges depicting a soaring blue eagle with a struggling golden lion dangling from its talons. The lion wore familiar round national health spectacles with tape wound around the bridge.
"Cheap shot mate. Hermione's kept yours in good shape since first year," Ron comforted Harry when they first noticed them. Hermione rather thought Ron was just pleased the lion wasn't wearing a crown.
Ron always ate an especially enormous breakfast before matches, under the premise that one never knew how long a Quidditch match would last and it could in theory be a full day or more until his next meal. Harry had a tendency to pick, choking down only toast, and Hermione knew he would be ravenous afterwards… assuming he managed to stay clear of the Hospital Wing, anyway. A short way down the table Ginny wore all the signs of a girl whose secrets were overtaking her, eating and laughing one moment but watchful and uncertain the next. A quick glance at the Slytherin table provided one possible answer; Draco's silvery eyes were following her every move, while Crabbe and Goyle's piggy ones were following his.
Katie Bell, in her final year and having put down Auror as her career choice, was rather desperately trying to eat and work on a transfiguration paper at the same time, utterly unconcerned by the imminent game. Vicki Frobisher, (who had narrowly lost the keeper spot to Ron the year before by admitting that her position as the head of charms club would take precedence over Quidditch practices) had been convinced to play chaser this year. Ron had decided rearranging a couple of practices was quite probably worth it to have someone with half decent broom skills as their third chaser; there was some good up and coming talent amongst the third and fourth years but no one he felt quite safe putting out on the pitch just yet. Vicki took a distinctly practical view toward Quidditch, it was just another item on her "to do" list for the day. Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper were another story altogether. Kirke was a truly sickening shade of green and Sloper had already dropped, knocked over or spilt so many things that the seats on either side and across from him had been vacated. Gryffindor, Hermione realized, would be fielding a somewhat rough side today.
Ron at last decided that he was fully fueled and called for the team to head down to the pitch. Harry seemed almost to shoot out of his chair in relief, his nerves always quieted once he was in the air. Hermione thought he was going to forget about her altogether in his distraction, but he stepped aside to let Ron pass him and crouched down beside her. For a moment he looked as if he was going to ask her something, but he seemed to lose some inner struggle and simply leaned forward as if he was whispering a last minute bit of information and kissed her warmly beneath her ear instead. She began to move her hands toward his neck but suddenly became acutely aware of being watched and looked over his shoulder to find Dumbledore's eyes on her own. He did not appear in any way angry, but she was sharply reminded of the constraints of the situation and dropped her hands to her lap. There were school rules regarding PDA and although Hermione had never thought to concern herself with them other than writing up infractions as a prefect, the Great Hall at breakfast before the first Quidditch game of the season was unfortunately a no-go zone even if you'd turned in your badge. She dropped her eyes to Harry's and realized he had been aware all along of Dumbledore's observation.
"Don't forget your promise," he said quietly, and grinned. She couldn't help a matching grin as he rose to follow the others, disappearing through the door behind Ron.
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Hermione never truly enjoyed watching Quidditch matches. While she didn't understand Ron's rabid enthusiasm for it, as sports went it was an interesting enough game to watch. In fact, if Harry had been in the stands watching with her rather than playing one of the more exposed positions she might have actually quite liked it now and again. Unfortunately, however, Hermione had picked up Brutus Scrimgeour's The Beaters' Bible in Flourish and Blots second year, only to put it down again rather hastily after noticing its first cardinal rule of advice was 'Take out the opposing Seeker.' She hadn't watched a match with the same degree of comfort since.
Now she sat beside Lavender and Parvati and Seamus, watching as the two teams appeared on the field; Gryffindor in scarlet and Ravenclaw in bright blue. The colors stood out brilliantly against the pewter autumn sky. Both teams gathered across from their opposing sides before Madam Hooch and the trunk that held the Quidditch balls. The snitch and bludgers were set free. She appeared to say something to which Ron and Roger Davies as captains both agreed; then blew her silver whistle and tossed up the quaffle. Fifteen brooms took to the air, rising high above the stadium. For better or worse, they were off.
Hermione brought her omnoculars to her eyes and found Harry circling high above the stadium, the wind giving his already disordered hair a true life of its own. He was keeping a good distance between himself and Cho but still observing warily her every move. Hermione tried desperately not to mind ('It's a game, idiot, he has to watch her. He can't possibly have any feelings left for her after that!') She redirected her gaze to Ron, who was playing much more authoritatively this year now that he was Captain and out from Fred and George's rather long shadows. Unfortunately, the Ravenclaw chasers faked him out and got one through the hoop almost as soon as she focused on him.
"That's one for Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw takes the lead 10 to 0," Dean Thomas announced. He had succeeded Lee Jordon as Quidditch announcer and proved to have both the same flare and lack of impartiality. "Ginny Weasley with the quaffle now, lovely pass to Katie Bell, that would have made Angelina and Alicia proud you two! Katie's in position to score and … oh nice try Katie, but that was a super save by keeper Su Li for Ravenclaw."
The game proved to be an exciting one, closely matched. There were remarkably few fouls and both teams played true to form; Ravenclaw relying primarily on strategy, attempting to out-think their opponents and Gryffindor falling back on nail-biting maneuvers, often flying in the face of logic but managing to score in the end.
The three Gryffindor chasers in particular were playing really well considering support from their beaters was such a mixed bag. Kirke had a tendency to duck the bludger rather than send it back off offensively while Sloper, brave to the point of foolhardiness, bat them all but was just as likely to send it toward his own team as the Ravenclaws. Hermione found herself wondering whether glasses might help him as well. Ron had moments of breathtaking brilliance interspersed with some real cringers. Harry was biding his time; Hermione couldn't tell if he was tracking the snitch yet but she knew that he wouldn't bring it in even if he was until Ron gave him the okay. She had decided the plus side of Cho seeking for Ravenclaw was that the race to the snitch was unlikely to prove nearly as rough as it did when Harry and Malfoy both took off after the little golden ball. If only Kirke and Sloper managed to intercept the bludgers while his eye was on the snitch he might actually get out of this game unscathed…
About fifty minutes into the game she heard Ron suddenly shout "Go for it, Harry!" an unsubtle but effective indication that he had seen Harry lock on the snitch. The score was 110 - 90 to Ravenclaw's advantage, there was no point in holding off. Harry took off like a bullet with Cho shouting something into the wind and homing in on him at equal speed.
It was at exactly that point when Hermione's world exploded. One moment she was watching Harry tearing after the snitch, the next she felt as if she'd been clubbed in the face by a troll. She heard a whistle and cries of "Foul!" and "Bumphing! Bumphing! That was a deliberate Bumph!" amidst Lavender and Parvati's squeals as blood from Hermione's nose spattered them both. She slowly took in that she had been hit by a bludger sent purposefully into the stands.
Time seemed to creep, as if she were still looking through the omnoculars and had slowed down the action. She brought her hands up to her face and felt her rapidly swelling nose, tried to clear the red haze from her eyes. She blinked and saw Professor McGonagall making her way through the stand toward her, outrage written in every line of her set expression. A quick peek at the field revealed Harry changing course and zooming toward her with an expression on his face she had never seen there before, one that seemed to provoke an entirely new physical response within her that actually almost offset the damage to her nose rather nicely for a minute or two.
So that's what love looked like on Harry.
He appeared torn between an anxious protectiveness and seething rage on her behalf. She also noticed Cho, however, still single-mindedly tracking the snitch. While she couldn't catch it during the foul period, she would have the advantage of knowing exactly where it was when play began again. It became abundantly clear to Hermione in that moment what was going on, and much as she'd love to explore what Harry's protective side felt like, she wasn't letting Cho get away with that. She rose to her feet.
"I'b all wight, Habby! Don' stwop pwaying! She's twying to distwact you!" she yelled to him, waving her hands wildly and causing the dribble of blood from her nose to gush in a most unhelpful manner. Lavender thrust a handkerchief into her hand from one side while Professor McGonagall tried to get her to sit back down in her seat on the other.
Harry drew up close to the stands, hovering before her and ready to throw himself from his broom.
"Habby, don't. I'b fine, I'b okay. Don't wet them use be to gwet to you!"
Green eyes met hers, enormous and conflicted.
"Wemember owr bargain, Habby Botter!. I'b fine. GWET THABT SBITCH!"
That seemed to work. He wheeled around and headed back out over the pitch as the whistle indicating resume of play sounded.
There were some advantages to a broken nose after all. Professor McGonagall didn't bat an eyelash at the "sbitch" and no one else was about to ask if she meant the little golden ball, or Cho.
"That's a bumphing foul on Ravenclaw, Katie Bell to take the shot. Go Katie… YES! Score is at 110 to 100 now with Ravenclaw still in the lead, the lousy cheaters; think they're all so smart," Dean announced rather undiplomatically.
"Thomas!" McGonagall rapped out. "You are our announcer, NOT the referee!" She turned back to Hermione. "Miss Granger, I'm afraid this means a trip to the Hospital Wing for you. I can stop the bleeding here, but Madam Pomfrey is much better at healing noses without that tell-tale bump than I." She brought out her wand and leveled it at Hermione's nose. Hermione felt the dribbling flow of blood slow and then stop altogether. Her eyes watered with the sharply repressed need to sneeze.
"Please, Probessor. I beed to bee the bend of the gamb." Hermione begged, her eyes riveted to the Ravenclaw end of the pitch where Harry and Cho were maneuvering.
"Really, Miss Granger, I think it best if…" Professor McGonagall trailed off, caught up in the play herself.
There was a brief flicker of gold low between two of the Ravenclaw hoops. Harry and Cho both dove after it, coming from opposite directions, Cho a bit closer at the start of the dive. The cheering of the crowd fell off abruptly as it became clear that the two seekers were on a collision course with each other as well as the snitch.
He's not going to stop! Hermione thought in horror. And neither is she! There was more then just the snitch between those two now.
At the very last moment before they would impact, Harry dropped into a quick sloth-roll, hanging below his broom and passing just under Cho, his back scraping the ground. Harry's robe ripped free and fluttered past them; concealing as it did that both had a hand outstretched for the snitch and both seemed to grasp it at the exact same moment. When it fell clear it appeared that Cho had successfully wrested it from Harry's grasp by angling her broom upwards just as the tip of Harry's broomstick jarred off the goal hoop post. The force of his collision wrenched him free of her grip and sent Cho cartwheeling off her broom. She landed upright on her bum, facing the goal. Harry hit the ground as well, sliding along on his back until the next pole caught his shoulder and brought him to an abrupt halt. He lay still a moment and she held her breath until his arm rose, albeit somewhat shakily, to reveal the snitch fluttering in his glove.
Ron's shout of triumph led the roar from the Gryffindor stands.
Harry rolled over to his knees and climbed slowly to his feet, walking over to Cho. Hermione watched, amazed and suddenly fiercely proud as he offered her a hand to help her to her feet as well. Cho seemed to consider his outstretched hand for a rather long moment before she accepted it and allowed him to help her up. Hermione could see him say something to her, his face pained, but she turned away without appearing to answer just as the rest of the Gryffindor team dropped down to surround him.
"Well, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall reclaimed her attention. She still seemed upset, but considerably less so then a few moments before. "Shall we go now? I believe Madam Hooch will insist Mr. Potter be checked out after hitting that goal post, so he'll have no trouble finding you."
Remarkable power that little snitch has! Hermione thought. But those bludgers hurt like hell. Stupid sport!
She followed Professor McGonagall from the stands
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It struck Hermione as almost surreal to be the one sitting on the bed submitting to Madam Pomfrey's administrations while Harry and Ron hovered anxiously close by.
"You're next, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey informed him as she cast the last straightening charm on Hermione's nose. "Remove your shirt and hop up on that bed," Hermione heard a faint 'pop' and it suddenly become much easier to inhale. "That's going to be rather tender for a few days Miss Granger, but it looks quite alright, I assure you."
"Actually, I think she's made it even straighter than it was before," Ron said, assessing it critically as he peered over Madam Pomfrey's shoulder.
"I'll have you know there was nothing wrong with my nose, Ronald Weasley."
"I didn't say there was, I just said she'd made it even better."
Hermione turned around just in time to see Harry rather desperately drawing his finger across his neck in the international symbol for 'shut up while you're ahead.' He smiled at her sheepishly.
"I'm really glad you're okay," he told her while Madam Pomfrey busily scourgified her hands between patients. "It looked awf, erm, there was an awful lot of blood."
"Head wounds always bleed a great deal, the nose is no exception," Madam Pomfrey said briskly. "You on the other hand seem to have ground rather a lot of sand into yourself, Mr. Potter. Exactly why is that?"
"The snitch was hiding under the Ravenclaw goal post?" Harry offered.
"Hmph," was the best she could manage in response to such an excuse. "Well, the good news is you don't seem to have done any lasting damage to your shoulder, but the bad news is I'm going to have to flush the sand out of those scrapes and there's really no magical method any more effective than old fashioned scrubbing and antiseptic. You may want to run along to dinner, dears," she said to Ron and Hermione. "There's either going to be tears or bad language for the next bit. You can retrieve him after if you like. Oh and bring along some clean clothes please, Mr. Weasley, these are filthy through and through."
"Can I stay?" Hermione asked quickly. "I've been considering what you said, about becoming a healer…"
"Of course!" Madam Pomfrey said delightedly. "This will be an excellent little test to see if you can stomach some noise without it being at all serious for the patient."
"Dinner calls. Gotta run! Nice game mate. I'll bring you some clean stuff after," Ron stammered and fled.
Harry hissed and snorted through the start of Madam Pomfrey's administrations but he remained resolutely quiet when Hermione took over, determined not to make her feel as if she were hurting him. The surprise was that she didn't - or significantly less than Madam Pomfrey, anyway. It took her longer to finish her bit, but she had a very light touch and careful, methodical approach. His eyes watered a little when the antiseptic potion was applied, but Hermione did something with her wand while Madam Pomfrey emptied the sandy basin and the stinging mercifully stopped.
"What was that?" he whispered.
"Just a little localized pain-muffling charm. Madam Pomfrey doesn't bother with them because they don't really last and they're only good for shallow scrapes or burns, but I thought it might help."
"Hermione, I know I haven't told you yet today, but I really do love you," he said softly and gratefully. "You're amazing. I'm so sorry that they did that to you. It almost stopped my heart; all I could see was the blood everywhere. I asked Cho if she was the one who called the play, but she wouldn't say."
"Miss Chang and Mr. Corner have admitted to discussing bumphing together without Mr. Davies knowledge prior to the start of the match," said a voice from beyond the curtain at the end of Harry's bed, and Dumbledore appeared. He seemed to be quietly excited about something. "One of the Ravenclaw chasers came forward and said he heard them discussing something earlier this morning. According to Mr. Bradley, they were both of the mind that directing a bludger toward Miss Granger would serve as quite a distraction to you, Harry. Perhaps enough to allow Miss Chang to secure the snitch for Ravenclaw. Once confronted with his confession they too confessed. They claim they had no intention of injuring you, Miss Granger, simply of scaring you. Obviously their aim was as flawed as their intent."
"I can't believe she admitted it!" Hermione exclaimed. "Couldn't that put them off the team?"
"Indeed, it will." Dumbledore said as he made his way to the end of the bed. "I think losing their positions on the team seemed a small consequence compared to the alternative."
"Professor Dumbledore? What was the alternative?" Harry asked uneasily.
"Miss Chang admitted to me that Ravenclaw though she may be, the origins of the plan were not her own. While the idea that Hermione could be used to hurt you is hardly a novel one considering your longstanding friendship, Harry, the timing of the attempt given recent … events, shall we say, seemed more than coincidental. She told me that the idea originated with Mr. Malfoy."
"Son of a b… ouch!" Harry said as Hermione prodded him in the back with her wand. "Sorry. Sir."
"My feelings exactly, Harry. I don't know what game Draco is playing at, but I confess to being rather concerned. His intentions before me have all rung true; I haven't sensed anything off while he is in my presence but his behavior is failing to support them when he is on his own. Confounding indeed, but it only makes me twice as proud of you both today."
"Proud of us?" Hermione questioned.
"Indeed. It has hardly gone unnoticed by the school that you have become somewhat better friends since your sojourn in the Forbidden Forest. Today, however, the groundwork was laid to support the notion that you are both powerful in your own right, that you will not allow yourselves, either of you, to be used against the other. You, Hermione, did not require Harry to forfeit the game to prove his devotion to you, and you, Harry, proved how much you trust and admire Hermione's judgment by acceding to her wishes that you might avenge her best through the game. While it will be very much harder to translate those responses to a situation that could threaten one or both of your lives, it did plant the idea that you might very firmly in some important places. And for that, I am very proud of you both."
Harry lifted his eyes to Hermione's to find them glowing with pride. The feeling washed over him again of how very lucky he was that she had made up that mind to love him.
"I can rather imagine this is an exciting and yet somewhat frustrating time for you both. It is not easy to change the footing of any relationship with the eyes of the whole school upon you. I can do little more than wish you both well, but if I can be of any appropriate assistance, I hope you will come to me."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said.
"Yes, thank you, Professor," Hermione added.
Dumbledore smiled gently and rose to leave, then paused. "Tell me, how is your assignment coming? Have you made any headway yet?"
"No, sir. Not exactly," Harry admitted. "Hermione's got us organized to do all the research but we haven't turned up anything that makes any sense yet."
"No matter. Keep at it. Some secrets Hogwarts seems most adept at keeping just that."
"Professor Dumbledore, Malfoy hasn't shown up to help out, or take on any of the investigation at all." Hermione knew that Harry and Ron were happy not to have to put up with him but after today she'd be damned if he didn't do his part.
"I see. Are you meeting this evening?"
Harry could see where this was leading, and he wasn't following. "No, sir," he said firmly. "Tomorrow afternoon." Sundays were quiet in the library; there'd be no one to hear the ferret scream.
"Very well, then. I assure you, Mr. Malfoy will be there. Ahh, Mr. Weasley. It appears Harry and Hermione have missed their evening meal. Perhaps you would be so good as to take them both down to the kitchens and ask the house elves if they might rectify the situation? I rather imagine you could do with a second helping as well. Shepard's pie, I believe, wasn't it?"
Ron nodded happily. "Absolutely, Professor!"
Dumbledore made his way off as Ron threw a bundle of clothes into Harry's lap.
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It was a difficult evening for Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Harry, who liked to sleep on his back, was forced to lie on his stomach. Hermione, who loved to snuggle her face into her pillow, had to sleep on her back. There was little left to do but comfort each other. Unfortunately Harry's gentlest attempt to reach Hermione's lips never quite managed to avoid some contact with her nose, and Hermione's instinctive response to Harry was to draw him closer with her arms around his back.
"Do you expect this is what Dumbledore meant by exciting and yet somewhat frustrating?" Hermione mused finally.
"Oh, Merlin, I hope not. I'm really a little queasy with the whole Dumbledore/us in bed thing, Hermione."
"I think he meant it in a genuinely paternal kind of way Harry. He does care about you."
"He's also manipulated a lot of my life for the better good of wizardkind. I get the concept; I'm just never sure which he's after."
"How does being nice and giving the two of us what amounts to his blessing of our relationship do anything at all for wizardkind, Harry?"
He hesitated. She was the smart one, and it wasn't bothering her. But what if…?
"What if he already knows what I think I felt that night in the cave? He's already told me that love is a power Voldemort has forgotten, or forsaken. What if he's encouraging us just because he thinks that you can help me somehow?"
"What if he is? I want to help you Harry."
"And I want your help, I honestly do. Your help. Not what Dumbledore might think you need to do to help me. Do you see the difference? I admire him, I'm grateful to him. But he scares me sometimes, Hermione."
She was silent a moment, thinking through what he had said. She loved that he let her think, that he didn't jump all over her thoughts the way Ron sometimes did. She could see his point, and realized that his perception of Dumbledore was quite a bit different from her own. She thought of him most as the omniscient Headmaster who always knew what to do, but he was also the most powerful wizard in their world and the only one that Voldemort truly feared. Power did powerful things even to those who sought to use it for good. It multiplied mistakes, divided loyalties. Harry was right to feel the way he did. She shivered, feeling as if another layer of safety had been stripped from her life. She felt his hand, warm and comforting, slip over her shoulder and stroke slowly down her spine, bringing a shiver of an entirely different kind.
Rather reluctantly she retrieved her wand from the bed hangings and said the words to ensure his safe sleeping.
"So tell me," he said with a yawn as she settled back down against the pillows after retiring her wand.
"Tell you what?" She was startled to realize that after only two nights as his dreamkeeper it already struck her as wrong that he was setting off to sleep on his stomach. His head was pillowed on one of his arms and she could barely see one green eye peeking through his fringe.
"You know, where you…?"
"Oh! That."
"Yeah."
Hermione was in a bit of a quandary. When she had imagined things it had been within the realm of fantasy and with a remote, unobtainable Harry. She had once placed them, for example, on a veranda overlooking a secluded beach. (The beach itself was too sandy for her taste, the idea abrasive even with lots of blankets and towels. Sand always stuck so when you were wet. Ugh.)
Now that fate had made her a nightly visitor to Harry's own bed, the goal posts had moved significantly. If she told him she had always imagined their first time to be on a beach, knowing Harry he just might wait until he could take her to one and Hermione was quite certain at this point that she wasn't going to make it that long without jumping him first. It was one thing to know she at last had his undivided attention around the school, and quite another to feel his implicit trust as he relinquished control of himself to her each evening.
She had no desire to be dishonest with him but she had every desire to do just about everything else with him. It was growing stronger by the day - and even stronger by the night as she settled beside his warm, hard length and wondered curiously about his other one. She could sense his watchfulness; he responded eagerly to her every touch but she knew he would not initiate anything himself no matter what his desires might be. Harry was nothing if not the consummate gentleman - an eternal surprise considering how he was raised - but even if he were not his guilt about placing her in this compromising position in the first place would have held him off.
Still, all things considered she wasn't quite desperate enough to want Ron in the next bed over while they made love for the first time, at least not yet. The astronomy tower was cold and hard and a little too popular. She loved it down by the lake, but it would cut their chances down significantly and the weather was starting to close in with the fall, making outdoors unpredictable at best. There was something a bit outdoorsy about Harry, though; he struck her as being altogether more comfortable there than in, say, silk sheets on a massive mahogany bedstead. Outdoorsy, but comfortable. Hmmm.
"You know the classroom Firenze enchanted on the first floor for divination last year?"
"Umm hmmm."
Rats! He was almost asleep!
"I want you to take me there."
"Okay," he mumbled. His eyes were closed, lashes dark against his cheeks. She could not help thinking that he was… beautiful. He might be uncomfortable with her choice of words, but there it was. Her heart seemed to swell with tenderness until it had nowhere to go but a kiss; she pressed her lips gently to his forehead. His fringe fell away to reveal the scar and she found herself wondering for a moment that if when Voldemort was gone the scar might go with him. Power of positive thinking, she assured herself. The vile, loathsome, evil thing that Voldemort was now couldn't possibly take Harry from this world now that he loved her back. It was simply Not Possible. She would find a way to make sure it was so.
But first she had to find a way to make him stay awake long enough to hear about her plans for the enchanted forest classroom.
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