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Here With Me

Chapter 16

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Hermione was in Arithmancy when the little second year Gryffindor girl made her way breathlessly to Professor Vector's desk bearing a note from Professor McGonagall.

"Miss Granger, Professor McGonagall requires your presence immediately in the entry hall," Vector informed her.

She gathered up her books and began returning them neatly into her bag when she had a faint sense of foreboding, as if an ill wind had blown swiftly by her. She looked up at the messenger leaning against the door to wait for her, catching her breath. She thrust the remainder in helter-skelter and made for the hallway.

"I'm not a prefect any longer," she told the girl as they hurried along. "Are you sure Professor McGonagall wanted me in particular?"

"It's Harry Potter," the girl told her, eyes enormous. Hermione noticed a thin layer of dust or fine grit coated the child's robes and hair. "He's made a great big bit of the wall come down in the entry hall."

Hermione couldn't believe the sight that met her eyes as they descended the stairs. A cloud of stone mortar particles hung in the air like a descending fog. Everything in sight was covered with a layer of gritty pulverized stone. Chunks of rock from fist size to small boulders were strewn about. In the middle of it all was Harry, crouched down on the balls of his feet with his head buried in his arms, gently rocking. Dumbledore and McGonagall stood at the foot of the stairs, neither making any obvious attempt to approach him.

"Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall greeted her. "You may go," she told the second year. "Please remind Mr. Filch that no one is to come this way until Professor Dumbledore sends word."

"What… what happened?" Hermione asked. "Is Harry alright?"

"We can not at the moment safely ascertain that, Miss Granger," Dumbledore told her. "We were rather hoping you might help us toward that end. He does not seem to want either Professor McGonagall or myself near, and I would not wish to … upset him, unless there was no other option."

She looked wonderingly from Harry's hunched form to where the two professors stood. He seemed oblivious of their presence, what could they mean he wouldn't… She moved past them to the end of the staircase but as soon as she set her foot on the floor of the entry hall she could feel it. The Muggle part of her mind likened it to a live electrical wire fallen into a puddle after a violent storm; a current of magical energy unlike anything she had even experienced crackled threateningly across the floor. It seemed to be coming from Harry.

Was it Harry? Or was it Voldemort?

She took another step further onto the floor and felt the magic lick and flare around her like flames. She stood still and let it flow around her, hoping against hope that it was Harry, that he would recognize her, know that she wanted to reach him. She took another step, and then another. The energy pulsed and then seemed almost to caress her, sweeping softly from her feet to her head and back down again.

"Harry?"

He stopped rocking and she heard Professor McGonagall's breath catch; when she looked back toward the staircase she saw Dumbledore's wand was raised. She realized with a shock that it was a sight she had never seen before; Dumbledore never openly carried a wand in the school and seemed not to need it for the mostly trick-magic he did before the students. She frowned and shook her head, but his stance and expression remained unchanged.

"Hermione?" she heard, but when she turned back to him his head was still buried in his arms.

"Harry, are you okay? You're scaring us, can we help? What's the safe word? Please say it, show me it's just you."

She heard a gasping that sounded like strangled tears.

"Look at me Harry. Please." she pleaded.

"I can't. Hermione, there's something wrong with me. It's not Voldemort, it's me. Can't you feel it? I can't take anymore. I can't stand one more thing."

She glanced over at Dumbledore and McGonagall to get their take on his words and realized with a start that she was hearing him inside herself. The hall was silent.

"Please look at me, Harry. I need to see you. Whatever it is I'll help you, we'll figure it out. Please trust me."

"I do trust you. Can you still trust in me?"

He raised his head and met her gaze at last.

She was so relieved that it took her a moment to realize something was different. The face she loved, lined with worry but undeniably Harry's, the wild black hair, the jagged scar. All were the same, except…

His eyes had changed. They were the pale silvery gray color she knew so well from a face she utterly loathed.

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"Say it, Harry," she said, backing away from him, voice shaking. She looked down at the floor, back at Dumbledore and McGonagall, anywhere but at the perversion of Malfoy eyes in Harry's face. Professor McGonagall appeared shocked; never a good sign. It wasn't easy to ruffle the transfiguration teachers' fur, she'd had years of practice masking her own rather strong emotions from her students. Heading Gryffindor House was a volatile occupation after all. Dumbledore's eyes were narrowed and distinctly un-twinkley.

"What?" his voice was anguished and it shook her. She knew her backing away might frighten or hurt him, but the real Harry would understand, would want her to be cautious. She sure hoped so, anyway.

"The safe word. What is it?"

"Chocolate Frog." She turned back to him, but had to drop her eyes again. As she did so she saw him pass a shaking hand over his face as if feeling for what she couldn't bear to see. He doesn't know! She thought. But then what was he talking about, asking if she could trust him? What in the world was going on? Was it really Harry?

"Tell me something only you would know," she said softly. She still couldn't look at his face. She realized how the line of unspoken communication she had developed with him over the years relied heavily on his eyes as a window to his thoughts.

"Why? Hermione, why won't you look at me?"

"Just do it. Tell me. Anything. Something Malfoy wouldn't know," she added pointedly.

The name certainly brought a reaction, she was almost certain she had heard him growl. "You smile in your sleep. You always braid the left side of your hair first. You keep your wand in the bed hangings…"

"Harry," she cut him off. "Harry, what's wrong with your eyes?"

She heard footsteps, found McGonagall and Dumbledore beside her. Harry climbed slowly to his feet.

"My eyes? Hermione, I just lost complete control of my magic and blew a hole in the wall. The hall was full of little kids and I couldn't stop it. I was terrified I'd killed someone. Why are you on about my eyes?"

McGonagall transfigured the pendant around her neck into a mirror and held it up before him. Harry peered into it and a look of horror joined the strangers' eyes on his face. His fingers rose, shaking, then began almost convulsively to claw at them.

It was Dumbledore who swiftly caught his hands and held them away. "Harry, don't. I think that I have a good idea of what may have happened. You'll only hurt yourself. Professor McGonagall, may we use your office? It is considerably closer than my own and I think we all need to sit down."

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When they reached Professor McGonagall's office Dumbledore motioned for Harry to sit in the chair before her desk and conjured another for Hermione.

"Harry, close your eyes. Empty your mind, as if we were about to embark on one of your Occlumency lessons. Take your time, please. I'm sure there's quite a bit to shut the door on."

Once his eyes closed Hermione found she could look on his face quite comfortably again. It would seem to relax then suddenly tense with the flicker of an eyebrow or quiver of a lip as his thoughts struggled back. The ticking of McGonagall's clock was the only sound in the room as they sat silently, waiting. When he had been quite still for several minutes she saw Dumbledore stare at him intently for a moment and guessed that he was probing to see if Harry had managed what he requested. It both fascinated and repulsed her; she found that she did not morally believe in Legilimency but still could not stop herself from thinking of more then a few ways it would come in handy.

"Picture your own eyes, as you have always seen them. Color, shape and size. Picture them in your own countenance, as if you were looking not into a mirror, but out of one."

She saw his eyes move under pale lids, swiftly back and forth, the way they had the morning he had dreamed of the snitch.

"Open them now, Harry."

They were green again. She noticed other slight differences that she had missed when she couldn't make herself look. Their shape was quite different; Harry's pupils were larger than Malfoys and his eyes now bore the slightly-out-of-focus look that meant he was wondering what he'd done with his glasses. She realized he'd not had them on in the hall.

"Albus, do you really think it could be...." Professor McGonagall asked, her own eyes thoughtfully examining Harry's.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I think there were quite a few forces at work here, and only time will truly tell. I would say that it is most likely an excellent time for Harry to begin his animagus work with you, however."

"What," Harry asked pointedly, "was that all about?"

"Before I answer your question, Harry, I must ask you one of my own. Where were you before you entered the castle? What were you doing, and who, if anyone, was with you?"

"That's three questions, actually, Professor," Hermione said before she could stop herself. She blushed.

"Too right, Hermione. I'm afraid I must still ask, however."

"I was talking to Ginny Weasley on the path to the lake," Harry told them. Hermione saw his fingers begin to worry at the wood of the chair between his knees.

Dumbledore looked almost disappointed, as if a promising theory had been disproved.

"What were you talking about?"

"I'd, erm, rather not say." Harry said without looking up.

"Perhaps if Miss Granger and I were to…" started Professor McGonagall.

That brought his head up with a snap. "It's not like that at all. It's got nothing to do with… I want Hermione to stay. There's nothing I couldn't tell you in front of her."

Hermione felt a small, fierce tug at her heart and she smiled at him. He seemed to see that she had and she could see him try to return it, a half-hearted effort at best. It dawned on her suddenly what he must have been talking to Ginny about. Equally suddenly a suspicion bloomed in her gut about where Dumbledore had been going.

"You thought he had been fighting with Malfoy!" she said to Dumbledore. "Why? How would that affect what happened?"

"It appears I was wrong in my deductions, Hermione."

"Maybe not. What if he were talking about Draco with someone else, or thinking about something to do with him? Would that still have worked in your hypothesis? What do you think happened?"

"Really, Miss Granger, you have no business questioning Professor Dumbledore, let alone in that tone," Professor McGonagall cautioned her.

"Never mind, Minerva. I think perhaps Hermione is on to the heart of the matter, and I am sure it is not her intention to be rude. She is simply trying to assist Harry. My hypothesis, as you call it, is nothing more than this: Harry experienced a power surge of sorts. Nothing new, we know that he has had them before, primarily before he came to Hogwarts and found an outlet for his magic. I believe there was an incident with your cousin and a boa constrictor just before you arrived if I'm not mistaken, Harry, a little parseltongue and a disappearing window, wasn't it? And third year I do believe you blew up your Aunt."

Harry nodded numbly, his eyes on Hermione. "This was worse though. By far."

"This is proving to be another rather intense period of time for you, Harry, is it not? You have survived a serious poisoning, been physically possessed by your greatest enemy and forced to bear the fear of your fellow students. I'm quite sure it is no secret to Hermione that your defense training has taken on a rather different aspect this year; I suspect that she would be quite impressed if she knew the half of what you have mastered these last few weeks. And then there is Hermione herself. Delightful though the emotions of one's first love may be they are none the less powerful or complex for being so pleasing. Combine those facts with your age in general and your natural predisposition to do nothing by halves and you have the perfect recipe for a magical…eruption."

Dumbledore eyed Professor McGonagall's ginger newt tin longingly and she took the hint, opening the lid and passing it to him. He extracted one, munched thoughtfully a moment and continued. "You have quite a bit of unusual magical energy in you, Harry. You told me once about your failed haircuts as a boy. Your father taught himself to become an animagus when he was just your age, wasn't it? And you've met Nymphadora Tonks, I know. She was a true rarity displaying Metamorphmagus abilities as young as she did. These things happen occasionally, and perhaps the best we can expect from you for awhile is the unexpected."

"So you think that Harry basically tripped a magical circuit after talking with Ginny and when the energy got away from him part of him unknowingly acted like a metamorphmagus and took on a characteristic of the person he was upset about."

"That sums it up rather concisely, although I must confess my… curiosity as to the connection between Miss Weasley and Mr. Malfoy in Harry's subconscious. Yes, Hermione, that is my suspicion. Once he provided you with the safe word - and may I also say that I was quite relieved you were familiar with it, I was certain we were going to have to send for Mr. Weasely - it seemed clear that it was a physical change in Harry rather than an incomplete change in someone else."

Harry squirmed in his seat and exhaled softly. "Professor Dumbledore, there's something I… something Hermione and I need to tell you." He stole a look at Hermione and she nodded encouragingly. If Dumbledore already suspected there was nothing to be gained from attempting to deceive him, and everything to lose.

"Hermione knew the safe word because she's been my dream keeper, Sir. We all talked about it and she wanted to, and Ron was nervous about it, and I just feel… safer that it's her."

"It was very dangerous not to inform Professor Dumbledore or myself that you three had made such a change. What if something had happened when Ron wasn't there and no one knew to send for Miss Granger to release you? A foolhardy risk indeed!" Professor McGonagall remonstrated.

"Unlikely, Minerva," Dumbledore said mildly. "Once the potion is ingested the enchantment requires the dream keeper to allow sleep and then wake the sleeper. My guess is that Miss Granger has been spending rather a lot of time in the sixth year boy's dormitory of late."

McGonagall's mouth fluttered open and closed again, aghast. She looked a bit like Ron, and Harry had to look away quickly to keep that thought to himself, stifling a smile.

Hermione was finding nothing the least bit funny. "As a matter of fact, I have. And it's a good thing, too, because Ron slept like a baby last night while Voldemort tried to kill Harry! If I hadn't been there he would have laid there paralyzed while that evil thing did whatever he wanted to him. He broke Harry's arm. It could just as easily have been his neck!" She had built up a sense of righteous indignation as she went along and by the time she reached the part about his neck she was well and truly crying, tears streaming unnoticed down her cheeks. Harry wished desperately for some means to comfort her but felt pinned to his chair by Dumbledore and McGonagall's dismayed expressions.

McGonagall turned on him. "Madam Pomfrey reported that she had you in for a broken arm this morning, but she said you started a fight with Malfoy. I've had Professor Snape after me all day to settle punishment for you."

"Malfoy lied," Harry admitted. "I went along with him because… because he was being a Malfoy. He's playing one of his nasty mind games on someone I don't want hurt, and probably on the rest of us as well. He knows things he shouldn't, I don't know how, but I just want it to stop. He said he knew that Hermione was sleeping… well, that she was in my room. It's bad enough dealing with Voldemort right now, but I'm starting to think that Malfoy held off on the dark mark just to make himself more useful as a spy as well. I don't want him to have any more ammunition against Hermione or Ron."

"But Voldemort actually physically possessed you last night, here in Hogwarts itself?" Dumbledore asked dispiritedly.

Harry nodded, avoiding his Headmaster's gaze. He hated it when Dumbledore seemed diminished and merely human, hated it more when he himself was the cause. It frightened him, made him realize anew how much of the responsibility for Voldemort's ultimate end was passing on to him.

"Did he make any specific threats? Did he manage to get to the Prophecy?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I'm certain. I'm much stronger with the Occlumency now, and he was distracted fairly quickly."

"By what, may I enquire?" Dumbledore asked.

"Erm… Hermione. He was very upset to find her there."

"What exactly did he say, Harry. Do you remember?"

Harry almost wished Voldemort would possess him now and get him the hell out of McGonagall's office before he got himself in any deeper. He had so wanted to explain all this to Hermione without the Headmaster and their Head of House joining in… "He, unh, said…" Harry sighed. "He said '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! ' And that's how I broke my arm, fighting him off."

Shocked didn't begin to describe the three around him. Appalled, aghast, sickened, revolted, dismayed; a whole thesaurus of emotion lapped the room like an angry tide.

"You never said…" Hermione whispered, still streaming. He pressed his hands beneath his knees; they ached to wipe her tears away.

"I couldn't, could I? I should have before you put me back to sleep but I was so tired and then I chickened out and lost my chance. You always have to run out in the mornings or I would have told you then. I meant to, I did, Hermione. I would have."

But Hermione seemed positively approachable compared to Dumbledore. He was so livid Harry wondered for a moment what would happen if Dumbledore lost control of his magic. It appeared that perhaps Dumbledore were considering the same thing.

"I will not have that in this castle. I will NOT have that evil amongst these children. I WILL NOT have those words spoken here," he intoned in a voice Harry had heard only once before, when he had seen him square off against Voldemort in the Ministry of Magic last year. "Voldemort should not be able to enter this school in any form."

"Albus!" warned McGonagall shakily, and he seemed to come back to himself.

"Harry, Hermione, forgive me, please." He sighed deeply and seemed to be lost in thought for a brief moment.

"It seems I have made a grievous error in underestimating you both. My prideful protection has been less than useless to you; indeed it has exposed you to things I would willing have laid down my own life to keep from you, and for that I am truly sorry. There is something I must take care of now; it will clearly wait no longer. I will have to keep odd hours in and out of the castle for a day or two. Fawkes will always be able to reach me; I am going to ask you to keep him with you each night, Harry. Do not hesitate to enlist his aid.

Hermione, you have my express permission to be out of your own room as necessary during the night. The appropriate authorities will be informed as to your location. Notice I say you; and I mean you. Harry himself is to be tucked up tight in the sixth year boys by the usual curfew hour. I will leave the rest in Professor McGonagall's capable hands.

Minerva, I regret to have to do this, but please do not challenge Professor Snape in regard to Harry and Draco's supposed altercation. I do not wish Mr. Malfoy to have any more idea of what is going on than he may already have. If you believe the punishment to be dangerous or unreasonable send Fawkes for me. And lastly, Harry, I am going to ask you to keep on with your special defense lessons, but I will send Tonks to you tomorrow as well. You are most likely not a metamorphmagus as she is, but she has had to learn to control a tremendously strong magical force from a very young age and I'm sure she can give you some insight with your difficulties in that regard."

Just when Harry thought mercy had finally found him and the whole strange incident was drawing to a close there came a sharp knock on Professor McGonagall's door. She opened it to reveal Filch, Mrs. Norris tucked under his arm and his usual glare intact but somewhat subverted by another emotion Harry couldn't place. The way things were going, however, it was hardly likely to mean good news for him.

"Started to clean up the mess Potter made of the hall before the little beasts will be coming through it for their dinner. Had that seventh year Hufflepuff to help me, the one I caught…"

"Yes, Mr. Filch, I know just who you mean. Was there a problem?"

"Had him putting the wall back together while I started on the dust. Potter should be down there on his hands and knees if you ask me, I could give him a good switching while he cleaned up his own sodding mess."

"The problem, Argus?" McGonagall asked sharply.

"Wouldn't go back together, would it. Nothing doing. No Merlin, that Hufflepuff boy, but he must've tried twenty spells if he tried one and the stones just weren't going back. Then the last one he tried, bang. The rest dropped out and, well, see for yourself why don't you?"

Exchanging looks of concern McGonagall and Dumbledore filed out after Filch. Dumbledore turned briefly in the doorway and indicated Harry and Hermione should follow. Harry felt for Hermione's hand as they passed through the door and was hugely relieved when it slid willingly into his grasp; he moved close beside her so that their joining was engulfed by their robes. He could still clearly see the tracks of her tears although they seemed to have ceased.

Filch led them to the top of the staircase down to the entry hall and stopped. There, high in the wall where Harry's errant magic had blasted quite a number of stones loose of their mortar was a larger, circular hole. The castle walls were quite thick but in the dark shadows of the hole a darker form was revealed spanning out like… spokes on a wheel. Harry felt Hermione tighten her own grasp on his fingers. Good Lord but she was strong when she was excited.

"Mr. Filch, please go outside and make certain that there are no students in the courtyard. Come back inside and tell me when you are quite sure all is clear." Dumbledore requested. Filch grumbled his way down the stairs as the Headmaster turned to Harry and Hermione. Harry saw that he appeared quite hopeful now, some of the gloom of the confessions in McGonagall's office lifted.

"It appears that Hermione may indeed have been correct in her guess about the 'rose that never dies,'' he said. It struck Harry how alike Dumbledore and Hermione were at that moment, joined by their mutual excitement of an abstract possibility proved true. Harry himself really felt like a nap, he was dropping, and he felt no excitement whatsoever about uncovering any part of the barmy old riddle after all that had occurred. A flare of pessimism reminded him that like everything else it was unlikely to end up positive for him, it probably revealed him being blasted into smithereens by a laughing Voldemort. A least Ron would be happy about the return of their Hogsmeade privileges.

Filch reappeared in the doorway and gave the all-clear sign. Dumbledore motioned him to the other end of the hall toward the entrance to the dungeons.

"Let no one through," he boomed, then raised his wand. A complicated series of movements and muttered spells ensued, and slowly, with a great crashing and smashing from outside the castle, the hole began to grow lighter and brighter. Several grating rumblings later a weak beam of light shone through. Dumbledore renewed his efforts; McGonagall wordlessly lifted her wand and began assisting him. The light broke through at an increased pace, bringing a rainbow of colors with it. It took almost a quarter hour of ceaseless effort between the two to uncover the whole thing, but when they had finished an enormous round window with delicate stone and lead tracery forming a center and two rows of outwardly spiraling petal forms was revealed. The colors were glorious; brilliant cobalt, deep ambers, lush greens, royal purples and blood reds lit with an unearthly light. It was breathtaking, a truly beautiful thing.

There were, however, no recognizable pictures at all within its design. The leaded shapes of glass were as random as the brilliant bits of a kaleidoscope.

As disappointment flooded the faces around him Harry felt an odd surge of relief.

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They received permission to skip the evening meal from Dumbledore. They found Ron and went to the kitchens to scrounge food from Dobby, then took the enormous basket the little house elf gave them to the Room of Requirement, pacing back and forth three times before the door. They didn't talk about what they thought they needed; Harry himself envisioned a refuge. He simply wanted, no craved, a safe haven to sit alone with his friends for an hour or two. Or two hundred, if it were up to him… He had no real desire to wrestle any meaning from the days events, if given the chance he would ask for a time to ignore them, let them fade a bit first. He accepted, however, that Hermione would find the very idea an anathema and that what remained of his life was going to hold a certain amount of sucking it up.

Worth it, after all.

The room when it admitted them bore some resemblance to its DA configuration; shelves of books for Hermione, a thick pile of cushions on the floor probably supplied by Ron, who immediately flopped down on them. Harry could see no immediate evidence of his own wishes, then realized as Hermione shut the door and he set Dobbys' basket down beside the cushions that all he needed was already there. Hermione and Ron.

They ate first. Even Hermione seemed famished. Their conversation over the food was desultory, secondary to their hunger. Harry realized that he had eaten neither breakfast nor lunch, which explained a lot, really. Ron's happy babbling covered up quite a bit for Harry's silence and he was grateful just to listen to him bicker mildly with Hermione about a Transfiguration assignment he'd forgotten and would have to finish by nights' end. Harry realized thankfully he'd done the assignment with Hermione the other night after Quidditch practice when Ron had fallen asleep. He'd never felt less like having to deal with school work.

Finally satiated, they settled back against the cushions. The basket contentedly repacked itself and popped back to the kitchen, happy to report its depleted condition to the house elves. Harry was wondering idly the best method of sussing out Hermione's mood when she crawled across the cushions and settled herself beside him, her hand rising to the back of his neck. Her fingers kneaded gently at the taught muscles and his head drooped forward as he shut his eyes, relinquishing himself. The room was quiet behind his closed eyelids; he figured Ron must be happily digesting if he wasn't making retching noises or suggestive comments about Hermione's blessed administrations.

"What happened in the infirmary this morning?" she asked. There was an almost dreamy quality to her voice. Soothing him seemed to be working for her as well. Harry waited, hoping Ron would answer her.

"Effing Malfoy!" Ron exclaimed, his own post-meal somnolence shattered by the memory. "We were waiting for Madam Pomfrey and he admitted that Ginny had popped him one, but as soon as Pomfrey came over to check him out he had a story all ready about how Harry punched him in the eye and he'd broken Harry's arm with a curse because REAL wizards don't use their hands. He's so full of crap it's mind boggling."

"Anything else?" she pursued.

Ron seemed puzzled. "What do you mean? What else?"

Harry fervently hoped the fingers currently working magic on his neck didn't change their minds and start to strangle him.

"I told him I wasn't going to play his little game anymore," he told her. "So he started in on you. He called you my bed buddy and as good as said he knew what you were doing there. Only, there was no way he could know that unless Dean or Seamus ratted us, which I don't believe, or he was in contact somehow with Voldemort. I can't figure where he's going with any of this. Wouldn't the jinx you put on the paper he signed be activated if it was Voldemort?"

"I've been worried about that," she admitted slowly. "I don't think I was evil enough considering the possibilities, Harry. The jinx was all about Draco feeding information about what any of us was doing to Voldemort; it wasn't designed to activate if Voldemort was the one providing Draco with ammunition. I didn't realize how far it could go. Draco could seriously undermine you with the other students if he wanted to. So far it's just been his usual poking-your-wound type of thing, but if he takes Cho's Great Hall approach and comes up with something really damning about Voldemort's ability to possess you, if they worked in tandem somehow and proved what he can do to you, the parents really would be after the Ministry to have you carted off to Azkaban. For your own good, of course."

"You know, I kind of don't mind that you couldn't get your mind down into to Malfoy's sewer, Hermione," Harry told her quietly. "Hardly a failure when you consider it. Ginny said…" he stopped and gazed at Ron.

"You haven't seen her, have you?"

"Ginny? Not since yesterday dinner, no. Sounds as if she's been busy, popping Malfoy and winding you up. Is someone finally going to tell me what's going on?"

Harry straightened up reluctantly. Hermione's fingers had stilled against his neck and he knew he needed a good view of Ron's face to broach the subject safely.

"Ron, I didn't know how to tell you before. I didn't want to see you hurt and I thought it was a family thing, really, none of my business. I mean, I've never had a family or a sister. But if I did, I do know I wouldn't want her messing around with Malfoy."

"Fairly safe intuition. Who would?"

"Erm, Ron, I'm trying to tell you that your sister is messing round with Malfoy."

Ron's eyes grew wary. "Harry, exactly what are you on about?"

"Do the math, Ron. Remember when Malfoy told you he quite liked red hair, that it was the temperament that got him, one moment they loved you and the next they socked you in the face? Sound familiar? Like someone you know? He was speaking from experience there."

"Shut up! " Ron stormed, but his face gave him away. He was indeed doing the math and not liking the outcome of the equation at all. "Why? How could she? You must have it wrong, Harry."

"She thinks she's in love, Ron," Hermione said from beside Harry. He could feel her shoulder against him well below his own, solid and comforting. "She honestly believes she loves him, she thinks he loves her. She thinks she can save him, change him. She believes every word that he says. She's every bit as possessed by him as she was by Tom Riddle, just in a different way. Don't be mad at Harry, he's only just found out. I've known for awhile, she told me herself. I couldn't figure whether to tell you at all at first, then how to tell you once I hadn't. I still don't know what's right. Maybe she does love him, maybe she can change him. Maybe she's meant to save the world from him. How do we know, and who are we to judge?"

"I'm her BROTHER Hermione. I'm her older brother. It's supposed to be a part of what I am to not let this happen!"

"Isn't that just a bit of a stereotype, Ron?" Harry said slowly. "Does Ginny really need you to come rushing in to save her? She's not stupid, she's not helpless and she's got a heck of hex when she wants to."

"He must have used a potion or a charm on her if she actually thinks she's… she's…"

"If we can find out that he has, I'll be the first to try and help you break it," Hermione told him. "But if you talk to her you'll find she has a fairly well thought out defense of her feelings. Because they're just that, Ron. Feelings. Hers, not yours or Fred or George or Bill or Charlie's. The heart isn't always rational. The human race couldn't go on if it was."

"What the hell defense could you have for having any sort of feelings for Malfoy?" Ron asked, agonized.

Hermione glanced sideways at Harry and he knew that Ginny had told her some version of what she had finally confessed to him.

"Ron," she said gently, "Ginny told me she had really strong feelings for someone who didn't feel the same for her. She was desperately unhappy and she tried to hide it by not telling anyone and trying to forget about it with other boys, like Michael and Dean. It didn't work for her. I never heard the exact story about how or when she started to get to know Draco better, but she isn't blind to him. I do think he manipulates her feelings to his advantage, probably lies to her, but there is something between them. Can you imagine even for a second what it would feel like to love someone with all your heart who doesn't love you, and then when you finally get over them find that it's with someone no one wants you to be with?"

"No," said Ron, positively.

Harry tried. What if Ron had told him to keep his hands off Hermione or risk losing their friendship? What if Hermione were Pansy Parkinson's best friend in Slytherin? Feeling what he felt now, he reckoned he'd go through anything for her. But he felt what he did in great part because of all they had been through together, he felt as if he'd come to love her bit by bit, drawn deeper and deeper as his knowledge of the sort of person she was had grown. It was like something she had said; he hadn't looked across a crowded room and somehow chosen her; she'd taken up residence in his heart before he'd even known she was there. None of that could have started; it wouldn't have grown if they'd had to change themselves too much to fit along the way. There was no way Ginny could feel the same for Malfoy. Or could she? He was hardly expert in the area of human affections.

But even if she didn't, was it really up to him to judge her? He wished desperately that she too had a safe word, that she could just tell them all to go chocolate frog themselves and fight her own battles. If she chose to go down clinging to Malfoy, it was her life after all.

Except it was his fault, because he didn't love her.

"Harry, stop trying to pull your hair out. It's not your fault." Hermione said softly. "Not everything is."

He turned to her and clung to her blindly, finding her lips with his and kissing her like he never had before, not in comfort but in an overwhelming need to affirm his connection to her, to imprint himself on her in some permanent way that would settle the matter for all time.

"Fucking hormones! That's all any of this is, all of you," Ron raged. "Get a room. Better yet, have this one." He rose to his feet and stomped out, slamming the door.

Harry knew that it was a hopelessly insensitive thing to do to his best friend, especially when his best friend had just found out that his sister was in love with Malfoy. But if it wasn't his fault, if not everything was, then for perhaps the first time in his life Harry was going to come first.

Well, actually, he knew that he was supposed to at least try and make sure that Hermione did, but he wasn't going to fight about it either way. He was done talking, done arguing, done fighting, done feeling guilty for awhile. He slid down onto his back and drew Hermione on to him with a small, helpless surge of glee. She seemed equally happy to be there and smiled down at him. She lifted her wand and murmured Colloportus at the door.

"Close your eyes, Hermione."

"Why? I want to see everything. I have no intention of going into this with my eyes closed."

"Just for a minute. Have you noticed where you are? I know you like to umm… keep things under control. Just let me do one thing for you and then I'm yours to do whatever you want, okay?"

"Okay." She obediently closed her eyes. He didn't seem to move, other than the hand that had been gently running up and down her spine as they spoke. She didn't hear anything at first other than the sound of their breathing, both faster than usual. There was a faint chirp first, and then a soft flutter of wings.

"Keep them closed, just another moment."

Now she could hear more and more sounds, growing slowly more distinct. Running water, the soft sigh of tree branches. The repetitive chirrup of some sort of insect. She felt a breeze against her skin and shivered, not from cold. She knew what he'd done.

"You can open them now."

The room was transformed, unrecognizable as the Room of Requirement from before but a perfect duplication of Firenze's enchanted woodland.

"You were listening to me."

"I'll always listen to you. I promise. I learned my lesson fifth year. I may not like that my conscience sounds like you, but I know what it means."

She kissed the tip of his nose, ran her fingers freely through his hair, and laughed.

"What?"

"There really is something going on with you, Harry. When you were pulling on your hair with all your troubles, it grew." She took his hand and showed him.

"Should I try and make it go back?" he asked, faintly nervous.

"Oh, no. I like it. More to hold on to. I just thought you should know."

The room chirped and gurgled around them as they kissed again, reveling in the sheer friendly aloneness of finally being together.

Hermione found that Harry had meant what he said; he seemed perfectly agreeable to let her take the initiative and explore. Research was good. Knowledge was power, and it didn't take her long to figure out what pleased him. He appeared to thoroughly enjoy soft kisses to his closed eyelids, his ears were ticklish, and exploring the little hollows beneath his jaw with her tongue earned her her first lovely little groan of appreciation. She found she liked that quite a bit, the sound produced a portkeyish flutter inside her and she loved that she seemed to have been able to coax it out of him quite despite himself. Repeated experimentation produced a similar result. Her confidence surged exponentially.

She ran her hands up under his shirt and felt the scurrying thump of his excited heart. It occurred to her that clothes were supposed to come off. It seemed at once a really good idea. She sat up, straddling his hips and pulled her robes over her head. As they came off she saw for the first time the inky black sky above them, the brilliant pinpricks of the stars.

"Harry, it's just beautiful."

He sat up as well; drawing her onto his lap and helping her free her hair from the neck of her robe. They began to undo each other's ties, eyes level.

"That's all credit to Firenze. I just tried for a duplicate. You know how Centaurs watch the stars for everything."

She was faster than he was with buttons; she'd finished his while he was only halfway done hers. She stilled his hands, pulling the shirt down over his shoulders and off. She finished the rest of her own buttons herself, and pulled the shirt off. She unhooked her bra, feeling the first shyness start. Uncharted territory. She shrugged her shoulders and let it slip down her arms.

There was a moments' silence and then his eyes met hers, equally shy but shining.

"Brilliant," was all he managed, but Hermione had never felt as beautiful in all her life.

"You're not so bad yourself," she whispered back, and they slid together to the enchanted forest floor. She could feel his warmth everywhere through her own skin, infinitely different than touching with hands. And yet the feel of his hands was delicious too, she loved the brush of his broomstick calloused fingers against her, the way they explored slowly, tracking across her ribs and down beneath the itchy waistband of her skirt. And there. Right there. She really loved the way they felt right there.

She let her own hands travel as well, tracing the contours of her best friend's chest and marveling that she could possibly have missed - or resisted - this all that time. It was amazing, but it was more amazing still that it was Harry beneath her fingers, Harry whom she knew so well and with whom she yet had so much still to learn. She fumbled with the button of his trousers and then the zip. They were touching each other, eyes fixed on each others' expressions, searching.

He was lovely there; there was no other word in Hermione's mind. She knew if she were to say it aloud she should probably come up with some more reassuringly masculine expression for it, but what she felt was lovely, she had a distinct and instinctive fondness for the feel of this part of himself she had never shared before.

It seemed to like her, too.

"Hi there," she said, unable to hide her grin.

"Hi back," he said, and did something with his fingers that made her eyes roll back in her head.

She surprised herself with her own responses; how in the world had she suddenly ended up on her back with her legs hooked round his waist? His pants had to go, and the boxers as well. Her skirt had rucked up around her but it was still in the way.

"Time out," she requested breathlessly, tugging at his trousers.

"I will if you will," he gasped back. "On the count of three."

Their remaining clothes were shoved heedlessly aside.

Much better. Except now the look in his eyes had grown more serious somehow. A good serious, intent and unquestionably interested, but she missed the delight in the little-boy grin.

"You are beyond beautiful. Beyond words," he told her, and suddenly serious proved to be better. When they kissed again she let her tongue run against the delicate ridges along the roof of his mouth and she got to taste that delicious little moan, sweet against her lips. His breath was definitely coming faster now, the movement of his hips against hers more insistent. Words were running through her head and she suddenly realized they were all about getting him inside her. It was time, past time, right now was definitely the right time. Right now.

"Harry?" she said softly, and knew it was all she needed to say. Loved that it was all she needed, that this was Harry and nobody else, and he knew her. She felt him reach over her shoulder, fumbling amongst their clothes for a moment until he came up with his wand.

Duh, Hermione. "And they say I'm the smart one. Thank you," she told him gratefully.

"Thank Bill Weasley," he replied somewhat cryptically, and muttered the charm. She heard the wand roll away again across the floor.

"Help me," he asked softly, still shy but growing surer. "Show me what you want; I don't ever want to hurt you. I do love you, Hermione."

She took hold of him, unfamiliar and enticing in her hand, and helped him find the way. The discovery in Harry's familiar green eyes far out weighed the discomfort of their joining; the sweetness and gratitude in his first kiss while inside her brought tears she fought desperately, not wanting him to think for a moment that he had hurt her when what she felt was exactly what she had wanted; him. There. Absolutely perfectly right, as if something long lost was returned to her.

She was glad at first of his stillness as she adjusted to him…but if he didn't move soon she'd surely die of wanting him to. Never mind, then. She drew her arms closer around him and arched up against him, startling him from his reverie. He quickly got the idea, picking up the rhythm of her need and filling her with it. At some point he grabbed her hand, threading his fingers through hers and she wondered how they could be doing this and yet that familiar touch of a hand she'd known since she was eleven could still seem so important. He was her lover now. They were holding hands while he loved her. She felt her muscles contract at the thought like an involuntary shiver and heard his swift intake of breath. He likes that. She experimented, tightening, squeezed and held. He let out a strangled gasp that sounded like 'again' and went from serious to rapt, focused entirely on her. She sensed his perception drift from the simple wonder of her body to the knowledge that she too could influence and control his pleasure. He shifted his weight, changing their joining just enough that his next movement brought Hermione to a sweet rush of stars behind her heavy lidded eyes. She wondered what the Centaurs would make of these… she predicted that if he could make her see them on any sort of a regular basis she'd never in her lifetime get enough of Harry. The thought made her hold tightly to him, more determined than ever that he would survive, if nothing else than by the sheer force of her love and will. The onslaught of him left her boneless, unable to do more than hold on until he buried his head into the crook of her neck with a single sharp cry of her name. She felt him shudder into her.

And he was hers. Intellectually, little was different. Intellect simply meant little at that moment to Hermione. Her heart told her that she had sealed a promise and received one in return, and she meant to keep it for the rest of their lives together. Whatever that might bring.

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