Official Fine Print: Nope. Not mine. The brainchildren of the mighty pen of JK Rowling. Just playing with them. Honest.
Here With Me
Chapter 14
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Draco stormed into the library Sunday afternoon and strode purposefully to the table where Ron, Harry and Hermione were seated, each buried in a book. Hermione was actually reading hers; Ron and Harry were both struggling to keep upright, with mixed success. Harry seemed to detect Malfoy's sudden presence from behind his drooping eyelids and came instantly, instinctually on guard. He elbowed Ron, who mumbled "Piss off, Fred. Mum already said it was breakfast," but opened one bleary eye anyway.
"You just couldn't let it go, could you?" Malfoy snarled. "It wasn't enough that I saved your pitiful life out there, scarface, you just had to drag me in to this stupid riddle business." His eyes slid from Harry to Hermione beside him. "Nice nose, Granger. Purple and green really bring out the mud brown color of your eyes. Oh, and Weasel, in case your friends have failed to inform you, I'm OW! Sweet mother of Merlin!"
Harry had defensively dropped Hogwarts, A History on Malfoy's foot.
All four were promptly requested to remove themselves from the vicinity of the library immediately. Malfoy limped and whined all the way to an empty classroom down the hall.
"First of all, I didn't drag you anywhere," Harry spat as soon as the door was closed. "You got the same punishment as the rest of us and I fail to see how that's my fault. Second, I seem to remember you telling me that you 'needed' me alive to further one your own twisted little games. You made the choice. Live with it. Third, you just made a major mistake coaching Cho and Corner. Watch your back. All it takes is one good chance."
"Ooooh, Potter. I'm shaking. One good chance to what?"
"Stick your wand so far up your…" Ron started, incensed.
"Keep guessing," Harry cut in. "Aren't surprises really more fun in the end?"
"Listen, I don't know what you three imbeciles have planned for this afternoon but it better have an intelligible point and get us a whole lot closer to solving this pathetic joke or you, Potter, are going to be the one with a magical arsehole."
"Speaking of arses, how are you going to manage that without Crabbe and Goyle to help you out? Had a lover's quarrel, have you?"
Hermione had been about to cut in and point out that they were both being really juvenile and that the afternoon would have had an intelligible point until they had to leave the library and all of the books they needed, but Draco's flicker of discomfort at Harry's mention of his two cohorts made her pause.
"Crabbe and Goyle are none of your business, Potter." Draco said flatly. Hermione itched to pursue the matter; clearly there had been a rift, or a very good imitation of one. Were they aware of his refusal to accept the dark mark? Was not accepting it just an act to place him in a better position to spy for Voldemort or was he actually intent on not becoming a Death Eater? She knew that Dumbledore was watching Malfoy carefully, but did he know what he was looking for?
Hermione had an idea.
"If you really aren't taking the dark mark, Draco," she asked innocently, "Then you'd have no problem taking one from the other side, right?"
"What are you on about now, Granger?" He looked directly at her, but his body stiffened slightly and she had the distinct impression he was ill at ease. "Has Dumbledore started branding his little band of infidels then? Where's yours, Potter? Weasel?"
"No one's ever questioned Harry's loyalty, or Ron's."
"You must be joking," he sneered. "Where were you forth year? Thanks to scarface Voldemort's got a functional body again. Fifth year? Heard a rumor Dumbledore could have taken him out if he'd just taken Potter with him. Certainly would have ended the whole problem the way I see it. And how about a few days ago when Cho pointed out to the entire Great Hall that Potter's closer to Voldemort than my beloved Father in his wildest, wettest dreams?"
"Fourth year I was portkeyed against my will, tied to a gravestone and had my blood stolen, Malfoy. I would have begged Dumbledore to kill me in the Ministry, but unfortunately I wasn't the one who happened to have control of my mouth at that particular moment. And you were there in that cave. Stop acting like it had nothing to do with you. You saw what happened, you had to know how hard I fought to get rid of him; it was you he was after. Or was that just a little arrangement between the two of you?"
"You were there, too. What do you think?"
There was the rub, though Hermione in frustration. Harry genuinely seemed to believe Voldemort had wanted to kill Malfoy. But did that really exonerate him?
"Remember Marietta Edgecombe, Malfoy?" she asked.
"Cho's friend with the pustulent 'SNEAK' on her face? The one who gave your little Dumbledore's Army game away to Umbridge, wasn't she?"
"She signed a list of names swearing she would keep a secret. She didn't. The jinx just revealed her true intent."
"Are you saying, Granger," he asked her, incredulity sharpening his voice, "That you want me to…."
"Perfect!" enthused Ron, who had just grasped the idea. "I can't wait to see TRAITOR actually spelled out on your forehead, ferret boy."
"If your intentions are good and you have nothing to hide, why not?" Hermione inquired simply.
The gears were clearly turning a mile a minute behind Malfoy's pale eyes; Hermione half expected steam to escape his ears. Her own mind was fairly racing as well. She had to shape the jinx exactly right; specific, but wide enough to cover a whole range of possibilities. It would only work if Malfoy consciously violated one of the parameters and a Slytherin conscience was a slippery thing to catch in the act.
He had two real options: to refuse, knowing they would reveal him to Dumbledore, or to accept and either keep his word or find a way to counter Hermione's jinx.
"Fine. I'll do it. But it's an absolute secret between the four of us. No one else knows" he said at last.
"You're the one who always blabs," Ron pointed out. "Don't worry about us."
"How can I not? This has 'tragic Gryffindor mistake' written all over it. Lord, all I want to do is be done with this bloody riddle and be able to go to Hogsmeade again. Is that really so much to ask?"
"You might try actually doing some of the work then." Harry said. "Maybe we should run through what we all already know and decide who's going to cover what, okay?"
"No," Ron surprised them all, mulishly. "I don't think we should go any further until Hermione makes up that parchment for Malfoy to put his name to. I'm not passing along anything I know about a riddle with your future tied up in it to him until he signs."
"And I'm sure your contribution to the combined knowledge of this endeavor will prove earth shattering, Weasel." Malfoy sniped back. "Fine. Let me know when you've got it ready, Granger. And tell Dumbledore I did my bit today. I don't need yet another power hungry old git on my back." He spun around and left the classroom.
"Well," said Harry rubbing his eyes as if to erase a painful image, "that was pleasant and productive. Ron's right though, Hermione. Brilliant idea to set him up for a jinx if he betrays us."
"If you love us at all, please have it involve his painfully shriveled bits." Ron requested. "Anything else is just too good for him."
Hermione and Harry eyed each other worriedly. It had certainly seemed as if Malfoy had been about to confess something about whatever was going on with Ginny in the library and neither of them had any idea why or what. There was a definite sense of dancing round a ticking time bomb.
"On the bright side," Ron said extending an arm around both their shoulders and steering them toward the door without seeming to notice their consternation, "it is now officially time for dinner."
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Harry and Ron were playing wizard hangman when Hermione had her revelation. It was during History of Magic the
following morning, and Binns's relentless droning was little more than white noise in the back of Harry's brain
while he feebly attempted to guess where Ron was going with
_ A _ I S _ A W _ A _ O _ S _ I . Harry's dangling wizard needed only one more hand and another foot to be swinging
from the gallows in earnest and it was waving its single little fist at him furiously and mouthing commentary in regard
to Harry's innate intelligence. Ron had had to put a silencing charm on the paper.
"T" whispered Harry.
Ron drew a second foot on the hanging wizard who began kicking it at once.
"…restitution of Muggle property and extensive memory reversal charms were required to eradicate the knowledge that the path of the battle had moved directly through the northwestern quadrant of the city. While a few spontaneous fires could be explained away the implosion of all of the cathedrals' stained glass, especially the famed wheel window in the nave, would have been impossible to disguise. Interestingly enough, while the Wizard's Council, the direct predecessor to the Ministry of Magic, managed to piece all the windows together they inadvertently swapped the heads of Fate and Destiny in the wheel window. To this day no Muggle scholar has ever noticed the mistake."
Hermione made a small noise that sounded like "eep" and began writing furiously along the margin of her notes.
Ron caught Harry's eye and raised his eyebrows. Harry shrugged and turned toward Hermione on his other side to try and read her notes. Her handwriting was cramped by the small space available and written mostly sideways so he couldn't make out a single word of it. She seemed to feel his scrutiny and looked up, her eyes aglow. It struck him how the moments when Hermione's true beauty was most obvious were nearly always ones of discovery; clearly she was on to something now. She leaned over her parchment another moment then turned it toward him. Large legible letters at the top of the page read, "I think I've got it! Tell Ron to meet us in the Library after Muggle Studies."
Harry wrote. "She thinks she's on to something about the riddle. Meet in the Library after MS, okay?" on the top of his own parchment and tipped it toward Ron.
Ron nodded his agreement. The little stick wizard gestured rudely in Harry's direction, the tip of his pointed hat wiggling in indignation.
"Z" Harry whispered. That should teach the little beggar.
Ron actually filled a "Z" in the first space of the second word. _ A _ I S _ A W Z A _ O _ S _ I . Wait a minute… this was Ron. Ron Weasley, the one who'd asked him how to spell 'extinguish' just the other night in the library with a dictionary right in front of him. This had to be about Quidditch, then.
"Ladislaw Zamojski," Harry guessed softly. "The Polish International Chaser."
Ron groaned and filled in the blanks. The angry little stick wizard pried the noose off his head with his single hand, hopped down off the gallows and disappeared round the back of Ron's parchment mouthing something that looked suspiciously like "took you long enough".
Harry leaned over and filled in "ungr_teful w_nker" just in case he came back later.
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When Ron and Harry reached the library after their afternoon classes Hermione was already there with an enormous text on the table before her and an even more enormous smile on her face.
"I think I've found it!" she said as they sat across from her. "A rose that never dies!"
"Good on you if you have," Ron said. "Neville couldn't think of anything, Professor Sprout thought we were loony and Hagrid didn't have a clue."
"This fits almost perfectly," she told them, and turned the book around. Harry and Ron saw a picture of the dim interior of a stone building that looked a great deal like Hogwarts with a round stained glass window set high in one wall. The dimness of the building and bright exterior light from behind the window made its colors seem to glow with an unearthly brilliance. "Professor Binns was talking about how the Wizard's Council had to piece together the wheel window of a Muggle Cathedral. Wheel windows are also known as Rose windows because the spoke framework makes the glass inside appear like the petals of a rose. Long ago stained glass was used to keep stories alive for people who couldn't read or couldn't afford books. In thirteenth and fourteenth century windows the narratives were almost more important than the decorations, and rose windows were favored because they allowed for events to be recorded in compartmented sequences. Sometimes there were several rings of petals surrounding the center, each petal like a page or chapters in a book. Think about it! The perfect pageless story!"
"Brilliant, Hermione! Err, except for one, small detail," Harry pointed out. Don't hex me, don't hex me, please don't hex me… "Hogwarts doesn't have a rose window. And the stained glass in the Great Hall and the library is just plain colored glass, no pictures or stories."
"We don't know for sure Hogwarts doesn't have one. We've just never seen one. There could well be one here somewhere. As well as we know it, we've still probably only seen half of the rooms in this castle."
"Knowing Hogwarts," groaned Ron, "It rolls around and you can only catch it in certain rooms every forty years on some barmy old wizard's birthday at dawn."
The scary thing was he was probably not far off. And now they'd have to find it.
"I think we should tell Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said decisively. "He might know of one and just never have connected the idea with the riddle."
"I'll ask if we can see him after dinner," Harry agreed. "What about Malfoy? We should probably include him in the meeting. Otherwise it'll just look like we're trying to get him into trouble. Have you had any time to work on the parchment for him to sign?"
"It's all set," Hermione smiled. "I finished my Arithmancy test early, so I used the extra time to come up with the jinx. It was probably the most complex one I ever worked on. He'll regret the day he was born if he so much as thinks of betraying us to Voldemort."
"If? I think the question is when," Ron grinned.
"I'll get us in to talk to Dumbledore," Harry promised.
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They arrived outside the Headmaster's office early in order to be ahead of Malfoy. Hermione had the parchment and a quill waiting. The wording was quite simple (I, Draco Malfoy, do solemnly swear that I will not use any information discovered or revealed to me during the course of my assigned detention to in any way harm, injure, discredit or betray Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Albus Dumbledore or the staff or students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.) The underlying jinx was far more complex and covered as wide a range of possibilities as Hermione could envision. If Malfoy was going to untangle himself from it, he would at least have to expend an awful lot of time and energy to do so.
When Draco arrived he seemed impatient somehow, uncharacteristically distracted and rushed.
"Fine," he snapped when Hermione showed him the parchment, "whatever. Just show me where to sign."
She pointed and he signed with a flourish. His own name, correctly spelled, using her quill. She had him. This just had to work…
They gave the password and mounted the moving staircase.
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"Fascinating. An absolutely intriguing idea, Miss Granger. It certainly fits the riddle, doesn't it? Even historically, for as you point out such windows were used during the darkest of Muggle ages when learning or the lack of it was used to control others by those seeking power. I for one do not know of such a window at Hogwarts, but that certainly does not preclude there being one somewhere about. I will question the portraits when they awake in the morning to see if any of the earlier headmasters had experience of one. I would caution you not to accept this as the only possibility to the extent you close yourselves off to others, but it does seem most hopeful," Dumbledore told them. "You have my permission to be about the castle 'at break of day' as necessary for your search, but please do be careful. Dawn may be the beginning of the day, but it is still the ebb of night as well. How goes the dream keeper potion, Harry? I trust it has proved successful."
"I don't honestly know," Harry said. "I don't think he's tried. Maybe he can't when I'm in the castle itself, or maybe he just hasn't been interested. I haven't had any real sense that he's been particularly happy or angry the last few days either, though, and we know he can do that wherever I am."
"Things have indeed been quiet from that direction," Dumbledore said gravely. "But alas, I do not believe we can expect it to remain so. As Alistor is so fond of telling us, we must not let slip our constant vigilance no matter how safe we believe ourselves to be."
That was the first time Hermione had a vague, uneasy feeling that there was something she had forgotten.
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Harry was actually quite enjoying his "remedial" DADA with Bill Weasely. Bill worked him harder than any of his other "guest" instructors, but Harry felt stretched at the end instead of beaten down. The whole mood of the lessons were different, they seemed to be the one time that Harry could truly duel or practice tactics without a constant, suffocating sense of doom. He attempted to convey this to Bill along with his gratitude as the second week of Bill's two week recuperation at Hogwarts drew to a close. They were both sitting on the floor at the time, backs to the wall, trying to regain their breath.
"Thanks, Harry. It's been a good break for me as well, to be honest. You're a right handful now, you know; you've sharpened me up no end. I've told Dumbledore I'd be happy to fit into the rota anytime the Order can spare me. I'll ask him to throw Tonks in soon, shall I? She's tricky to duel and she'll always give you a laugh in the bargain. You could use it, I'm sure."
"Thanks. I could," Harry admitted. "Do you know who's coming next?"
"I hate to be the one to tell you, but you've got two weeks of your least favorite greasy-haired git. Once Dumbledore saw for himself how good you are with the more physical stuff we've been working on he decided it was time for you to go on to the mental side of it. He told me you've gotten well along with your occlumency and Snape would be the best we have to show you how the dark side thinks. It's not easy to wrap your mind around that stuff, Harry. I know I'd just as soon leave well enough alone, but you don't have that option. Just be careful and tread easy around him. He'll be making it his personal mission to shake you up as much as he's able."
Fan-bloody-tastic. With the permutations of his schedule that made for Snape every day. Harry groaned.
"On a slightly happier note, I hope," Bill asked with a grin, "How're things going with you and Hermione?"
Harry felt an answering grin infiltrate his Snape-induced gloom. "Alright," he admitted, re-tying a lace on the trainers he favored for working with Bill. "Okay, amazing, actually. I keep waiting for the hex to hit or for me to completely screw it up, but so far so good."
"Ron said she's been spending rather a lot of time in your dorm room. Most of it night time."
Harry felt Bill's eyes on him right through the top of his head and lifted his own from his feet. Uh oh. He'd had to have learned that look from his mum…
"Ron's got a rather large mouth for the size of his brain sometimes, doesn't he?" Bill continued with an even wider grin, and Harry felt certain bits of his anatomy stop trying to crawl into hiding.
"It's not what it sounds, really," he tried.
"Maybe not yet, but it will be." Bill said. "Nothing wrong with it, you know. Just don't let it get all twisted up with the rest of this, though. She deserves better than that - you both do. Ask yourself what you'd do if Voldemort wasn't after you. And never forget your contraceptive charms, regardless of what you think she's doing. They don't cancel each other out, you know, and the last thing you need now is to complicate life any more."
"Thanks," Harry said, finding that despite his embarrassment he was actually grateful for Bill's advice.
"No problem. You're an honorary Weasley brother, you know. If you've got any questions you only need to ask. I'm sure I'll be telling Ron the same once he decides girls really don't have cooties. Oh, and Harry?" Bill rose to his feet and extended a hand.
"Yeah?" Harry took it and felt himself hauled to his feet.
"It's meant to be fun. Designed that way, actually Don't forget to enjoy yourselves."
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Harry wondered later how Dumbledore knew. Or was it Harry's fault, had he somehow laid down a challenge, wondering if Voldemort couldn't reach him in Hogwarts? It was different than in the cave, perhaps the result of Snape's potion. It started as the usual dream, the sort Voldemort used to demoralize him. He was ensnared, tied up, not back at the graveyard but somewhere else, he wasn't sure where. He couldn't move… he had to move; he ached with the struggle to try and free himself. Nagini slithered up his leg, around his waist, steadily on towards his neck. She was preparing to bite him, but she was like a fly, a distraction from his real peril. Voldemort was shooting bolts of orange light from his wand; each time one struck him the affected limb glowed and went numb, useless. Harry jerked helplessly away from a blast directed at his right arm and Nagini struck, sinking her fangs deep into his neck. He could feel her poison seeping through his veins, moving inexorably deeper inside him with each beat of his heart. Voldemort approached him, raised his hand, red eyes glowing.
Slap.
He awoke from the dream within his nightmare. He was aware of being in his own bed, arms stretched over his head in the same position as the dream. He was paralyzed, utterly unable to move a muscle. He was not alone. His scar seared, his head felt too full, there just wasn't room for both of them in there.
Hello, Potter.
Harry closed his eyes again, every muscle in his body strained to expel the horror within him. Get out! Get OUT of me.
He felt his eyes struggle open against his will, felt them sweep the room. He could feel Voldemort sizing him up, trying on his body for size. He seemed to swim through his veins, to force himself into every limb. Harry could feel himself shuddering against the intrusion.
What's the matter, Potter? Why don't you move?
He constructed a barrier around the knowledge of Snape's potion, felt Voldemort immediately slink to it and begin testing its strength.
Move Potter. Sit up. NOW!
The pain of Voldemort trying to force his stupefied body to move made his eyes water. His breathing began to change to gasps and harsh pants as the battle raged.
Call out for help, Potter. Cat got your tongue?
His own tongue began to try to force its way down his throat. He choked, fought back with what little control he had. He could hear the horrible gagging and retching of it and realized too late that the noise would wake…
"Harry?"
He could feel Voldemort cease his torments and listen to her voice.
"Lumos. Harry? Are you alright?" Her eyes were almost more than he could stand, so familiar, so comforting, so safe. He wanted to lose himself in her, but he was one with this horrible sickening thing.
Voldemort didn't like that thought.
"Mudblood! Filthy Mudblood in your bed! We can't have that, Potter. Kill her. Put your hands around that scrawny neck and squeeze. Throttle her! DO IT! I COMMAND YOU!
His arms were quivering with Voldemort's desire to move them. He braced himself against the effects of the potion. Sweat was pouring off him now. He felt something in his forearm snap and howled somewhere deep within himself. Hermione heard the sound and recoiled in horror. He could see the realization dawn on her that this wasn't a dream.
Against every instinct she had to run, Hermione stretched out her hand and touched Harry's. He could see her realize that the potion was working. He could also feel Voldemort flee from contact with her; it was as if he withdrew from Harry's hand somehow.
Her hand slid gently up his arm toward his elbow as if testing the strength of the paralysis. Voldemort withdrew to his shoulder on that side, but redoubled his efforts to reach for her throat with Harry's other hand. Harry was torn between the fear that he would break his other arm and the fear that if he didn't resist he wouldn't and Voldemort just might be strong enough to break through the effect of the potion. Please don't make me choose…
Hermione took his other hand. She was murmuring something now, her eyes intent on him.
Filthy slut. Undeserving. Destroying everything. Mugglestained whore. Kill her, echoed through his head.
Shut up! Harry cried within his own mind. Shut up. You are the filth, you are the corruption. You poison everything you touch. Just shut up!
Her other hand slid to his other elbow, then his shoulder. She was trying to get his attention, to comfort him, but she was also unconsciously gaining territory over Voldemort and Harry found himself desperate for her to continue. He thought fleetingly of the night she had told him how he had underestimated his friendship with Ron, how he had communicated with her then. Was it safe? He wouldn't enter her mind, just leave her the idea… And expose her to this? If there was even a chance he couldn't. Ever.
Lower, he begged with his eyes, More, everywhere, touch me, you're driving him out…
Her eyes met his, she was trying to understand, he knew. He could have wept with frustration. Voldemort was trying to spit at her; Harry was swallowing desperately.
She kissed him. After a moment pressed against his lips he felt the sweet tip of her tongue slip between them. The Dark Lord fled so fast Harry thought for a moment he'd taken the back of his head off with him. The withdrawal was almost as painful as the initial invasion; he let himself drown instead in the lovely, lifesaving sensation that was Hermione.
So lovely, so lifesaving that if he couldn't move soon, he was really going to die. He had to touch her.
"Chocolate Frog," he gasped.
She drew her head back and gazed at him uncertainly. "Harry?"
"It's me. Please let me go."
"Are you sure it's okay?"
"Did it feel like you were kissing Voldemort? It's me, Hermione. Please."
"What form does your patronus take?"
"That's useless. Everyone's heard about mine by now. Yours is an otter."
She touched her wand to his forehead and gave the incantation that released him. As his muscles relaxed from the paralysis the pain of the broken forearm hit him and he gasped.
"I think I heard it crack," she said. "Can you make it to the Hospital wing or do you want me to wake up Ron to get Madam Pomfrey?"
"I'll go in the morning. It's okay now; it was just the spell wearing off."
"I can't heal it, but I can make it hurt less," she told him. She helped him position it comfortably with a pillow and murmured a charm. "Just keep it still, okay?"
"Not a problem. Honest."
Her eyes leveled on his, full of questions but full of compassion as well, and the touch of her fingers in his sweat-soaked hair was almost unbelievably good. After years of indifference, that someone cared so about his condition was heady stuff.
"I'm not going to ask you about it now," she said softly. "I can tell it was bad, even without whatever happened to your arm. I'm going to put you back under the sleep charm now, but I want to hear every single detail in the morning, Harry James Potter. Do we understand each other?"
He nodded gratefully, and hoped morning was a long time coming. When she had returned her wand to the pocket in the curtains and settled back down beside him beneath the blankets, warm and solid and safe, careful not to jostle his arm but not too hesitant to slip her own around him, he reflected that it might not be a bad thing if morning never came at all. He'd happily stay just like this forever.
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