These characters do not belong to me. They belong to a cruel, cruel woman who doesn't like well-written romance and the people who publish her.
Due to the fact that my life was a bit more difficult to rebuild than I thought (and certain holidays such as Christmas, New Year's and Boxing Day) I am waaaaay late on getting this story updated. However, I hope to make up for it by the fact that this chapter is waaaaay long. So it balances out, maybe? Anyway, big thanks to everyone for their support about the fire and also to everyone who has stuck with this story despite the fact it hasn't been updated in two months. Portkey readers are the best!
Chapter 11: Something Off His Chest
The soft glow of moonlight filtered in through the window next to his familiar four post bed, allowing Harry just enough light to make his way around in what was otherwise complete darkness. His feet wormed their way into an old, comfortable pair of slippers and he began to creep across the room silently, trying his best not to disturb his slumbering classmates. The attempt turned out to be for naught, however, as his shin made painful contact with an oak writing desk that sat only a few meters from his bed. "Ow!" he exclaimed in spite of himself. "Bloody…"
In the space of a moment, Harry realized a few things. For one, there hadn't ever been a window that close to his four-post bed. For another, there wasn't a large writing desk in the middle of the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, nor did he even own a pair of slippers. A lit wand behind him illuminated the room dimly. "Dorian, izzat you?" a groggy voice called out.
"Go back to sleep, Deimos," he heard his own voice reply. To Harry's great surprise, apparently he was Dorian. What exactly was going on here?
"Blimey, Dorian, it's three o'clock in the morning," Deimos exclaimed in exasperation. "You're not going to work on Slughorn's three foot moonstone essay, are you? We've got all weekend…"
Dorian turned to face Deimos for the first time, revealing a heavyset lad of about fifteen with curled blonde hair and a curious yet bleary expression on his face. "Actually, I sort of finished it already."
Deimos rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?" The blonde boy propped himself up in the bed, leaning on one elbow. "Are you trying out for Keeper again? There's no point, you know. Watson's never going to let you back on the team."
Harry felt his lips form into a thin smile. "Watson's a right git."
"So if it's not Quidditch practice, or homework," Deimos mused aloud. "Oh bloody hell, Dorian, please tell me you're not going to go see her again." Dorian's silence must have been all the confirmation he needed. "For crying out loud, man, she's a ghost. You're a living, breathing wizard. It's not natural!" Deimos lowered his voice. "If this gets around, people will think you've gone completely sack of hammers!"
"Oh, I don't know about that, Lovegood," a haughty voice declared. A young man with long, wavy brown hair stood between Dorian and Deimos, a smirk of superiority plastered on his face. For the first time, Harry could just make out the Ravenclaw colors on the banners around the room. "Some of us have thought Flemingworth was nutters from the moment he came to Hogwarts. Anyone who would willingly befriend you had to be at least a little daft."
"Shut it, Watson," Dorian retorted angrily. "This doesn't concern you."
Watson sneered. "I'm a prefect. A Ravenclaw sneaking out in the middle of the night doing Merlin knows what does concern me." Watson glared coldly into his eyes. "Haven't you lost us enough house points for one year?" Dorian's eyes darted away from the other boy's. "Go back to sleep. In the morning I'll decide whether or not to report this to Headmaster Dumbledore." Satisfied that he had bullied Dorian Flemingworth into submission, Watson returned to his own bed without another word.
"Don't pay any attention to him," Deimos advised in a sulky tone. "He's still sore because you got Ravenclaw's quill and he didn't. It's not enough that he made prefect…"
"I'm not worried about Rupert Watson," Dorian interrupted dismissively. With some reluctance he returned to his bed, removing his slippers and letting his back fall flat against the mattress.
"But you are worried about something," Deimos Lovegood countered. "Don't try to deny it. I've known you for too long." The blonde boy's eyes narrowed. "What are you really doing, spending all of that time in the second floor girls' lavatory? Is it another one of your experiments?"
Just then, a memory flashed through his mind. A soft, hissing voice commanded him to enter the Chamber of Secrets, to find something that was missing. The voice was unmistakably Voldemort's. "It's nothing," Dorian claimed dismissively, although his heart was now racing and his palms were clammy with sweat. In feigned exhaustion, he put his head down on the pillow below it, deliberately turning away from Deimos. "Go to sleep."
"Fine," Deimos replied with a sigh. "Whatever it is, I wish you would let me help you," he muttered under his breath.
A few silent moments passed before Dorian whispered, "You don't understand. I have to do this…"
***
"…alone." Harry spoke the word aloud as he awoke, startling himself in the process. Slightly embarrassed, he turned to see if any of his Gryffindor dorm mates had heard him, but found only empty beds. Instead of the darkness that had permeated the Ravenclaw dormitory in his dream, bright rays of sunshine filled the room. 'I must have overslept,' Harry thought to himself. Rising from his bed and donning his glasses, he grabbed a clean set of robes and rushed off to the showers, grumbling all the way.
Only hours ago, Harry would have been content to return to Hogwarts, secure in the knowledge that Dumbledore's pensieve will had not given him any clues about the location of the remaining horcruxes. After all, the only horcrux Hermione and he were certain about, Ravenclaw's quill, was being kept here. But then they had discovered Professor Quirrell's pensieve will, which had given them the best lead on Hufflepuff's cup that they'd had so far: five years earlier it had been bequeathed to Quirrell's Great Uncle, Mordred. Given that Ravenclaw's quill was likely now under lock and key, courtesy of one Commodus Brinecove, Hufflepuff's cup looked very much like the easier target.
As soon as he thought of Brinecove, a shiver crept up his spine. There was something about the man that he simply didn't trust. Upon discovering them at Gringott's, Professor Brinecove had escorted Harry and Hermione back to the old castle and, although he had seemed quite angry with them, had given them only a single night's detention as punishment. They had spent the previous evening with the relatively light duty of trimming Brinecove's entire collection of candles, and they were also instructed to burn a few whose wicks were too short for use in class. Considering that the Professor had left them alone for most of the detention, the atmosphere in the room was decidedly more romantic than Harry would have otherwise expected.
Harry shook his head quickly. There was no sense in dwelling on thoughts like that. The life he was now living allowed little to no time for romance and, in any case, Hermione obviously didn't feel that way about him. She had been dating Ron, at least before Snape's spell had rendered him comatose, and she had also dropped some not-so-subtle hints that she had fallen in love with Viktor Krum. 'In other words, her love life is every bit as confusing as mine,' Harry thought to himself. 'The last thing I want is to make things more difficult for her.' It would take some time, but he would simply have to get over her.
As Harry exited the Gryffindor common room, he was so lost in his own thoughts that he hardly noticed a voice calling out his name. "Mr. Potter," the formal if decidedly not polite voice of Percy Weasley called out. "I need to speak with you."
"Of course," Harry agreed. He turned to fully face the former Head Boy and current obnoxious prat, a frown of confusion forming on his forehead. What would Percy want to talk to him about that was so important?
A sour look came over Percy's usually impassive face. "Because of Professor Hagrid's extended absence from Hogwarts, I've been named temporary Head of Gryffindor House. Therefore it is my responsibility to give you your class schedule." Harry took the piece of parchment from Percy's hand and found, much to his dismay, that Defense Against the Dark Arts would be his first class of the day. That meant seeing Brinecove again and soon, a fate which he had hoped to avoid.
Hogwarts' new Potions Master looked down at him with a sneer that reminded him very much of the old one, and he didn't mean Slughorn. "Having a bit of a lie in, were you?" Percy asked contemptuously.
"No," Harry answered, his tone indignant. Why was Percy being so snide? "Readjusting to life at Hogwarts is going to take a little getting used to."
Percy's lips pursed. "I would advise you to be careful. Professor Dumbledore isn't here any more to afford you special treatment. You will no longer be able to bend the rules with impunity."
"Thanks for the advice," Harry replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He began to walk away quickly, hoping to avoid any further confrontation with his new Potions instructor, when he suddenly heard Percy's voice inside his head. 'Ron would be here now, if he had just listened to me. If only he had stayed away from Potter.'
Harry had no idea how he had read Percy's mind, but at the moment he was too furious with him to care. Instinctively, he spun around to give the Potions Master a piece of his mind. "Percy!" When the redhead returned his glare, however, the sadness in his eyes gave Harry pause. For some reason, he could not bring himself to show anger toward Percy Weasley. "About Ron…I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry for what happened."
Percy boiled over with rage. "You will address me as Professor Weasley in future, Mr. Potter. I trust I shall not have to warn you again, as I can assure you I will not bother to do so." Haughtily, he spun on his heel and marched down the corridor in the opposite direction from where Harry was headed.
Trying his best to forget all about Professor Percy Weasley, Harry dashed down the stairs (nearly losing his footing a few times as the staircase moved about) and ran breathlessly into the Great Hall. The cavernous room had never felt so large and imposing, and the sight of Professor McGonagall sitting where Dumbledore always had filled him with only depressing thoughts. The raging thunderstorm brewing on the ceiling mirrored Harry's foul mood perfectly.
Harry wasn't here to brood, however. Several burning questions were on his mind and there was only one girl who he hoped could answer them. For once, however, that girl wasn't Hermione Granger. "Luna!" Harry called out to the blonde sixth year, who was sitting all alone at the Ravenclaw table. Luna Lovegood waved back at him almost shyly and then bade him to sit across from her, all the while stirring an odd-looking mixture of oatmeal, egg yolks and sliced baby carrots. "How have you been?"
"I can't complain," Luna answered matter-of-factly. "It's the Festival Day of the Saturnine Klangsnoppers, you know. If you complain before the moon rises, they make gigantic tufts of hair start growing out of your ears. So, of course, everything is wonderful," she finished, running her fingers along each ear to make certain no hair was growing where it shouldn't be. "How are things with you?"
"Er, fine," Harry answered. He suddenly found it very difficult to resist feeling his own ears. "I was just wondering if Headmistress McGonagall had returned Ravenclaw's quill to you."
Luna shook her head no, confirming Harry's suspicions. "Professor Brinecove was very insistent that the quill stay with him. He said that I was too irresponsible to be charged with the upkeep of Hogwarts' property. Naturally, I informed him that the odds of Professor Snape stealing it from me at wandpoint during a Death Eater attack on the Quibbler a second time were infinitesimally small, but he simply wouldn't listen to reason. Not that I'm complaining about that, of course," Luna added hastily as she clapped her hands over her ears.
Harry wasn't at all surprised that Professor Brinecove had not given the quill back to Luna. However, it was much easier to ask her about that than it was to talk to her about his latest dream, which even he didn't fully understand. "Luna, do you, er, happen to know a Deimos Lovegood?" he asked with a hopeful expression on his face.
Luna appeared to ponder this for a moment. "No," she finally answered, "although I do have an uncle named Deimos. Is that who you mean?"
"Yeah, I think so," Harry answered with as straight a face as he could manage. "You've never met him?" he asked curiously.
Luna's head bobbed from side to side, making the miniature broom sticks she wore in her ears seem to swoop and dive. "No. He's older than my father, you know, and their lives took very different paths. To be completely honest with you, Harry, he has a reputation as the family eccentric." She motioned for Harry to lean closer and lowered her voice. "He lives in Portugal," she whispered, as though confessing a shameful family secret.
"I had no idea," Harry replied, trying his best to keep a flummoxed expression from his face. For a moment, he attempted to imagine what someone might have to do to be considered the Lovegood family eccentric. "So I suppose you've never heard of someone named Dorian Flemingworth," Harry continued in a defeated tone of voice.
Luna giggled. "Don't be silly, Harry. Everyone in Ravenclaw House has heard of Deimos and Dorian. They're legendary Hogwarts best mates, rather like you and Ronald, or your father and Stubby Boardman. They were always getting themselves into and out of one scrape or another." Luna quirked one eyebrow and gave Harry an inquisitive look. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason," Harry replied just a little too quickly. Luna shot him a look of disbelief, a rarity from her to be sure. "I just…read somewhere that he was awarded Ravenclaw's quill," he lied lamely.
Luna nodded, and this time one of the broomsticks hanging from her ears shot a miniature quaffle through the hoop holding the other one aloft. "Yes, that's true. In fact, Dorian Flemingworth is said to have written the definitive essay on the quill. I tried to check it out last year, but the essays of former students can only be taken from the library by faculty members." Harry frowned. He had no idea that papers written by students were even kept in the library. "I'm sorry, Harry. Where are my manners? Would you like some pumpkin juice? Or I could have the house elves bring you something else if you'd rather…"
As her hand extended the pitcher of orange liquid toward him, a thought suddenly struck Harry. "Dobby," he whispered suddenly. When the house elf did not immediately appear, Harry repeated himself in a much louder voice. "Dobby!"
In an instant, the small, pitiful-looking house elf with large bulbous eyes appeared before him, looking positively gleeful. "Harry Potter calls for Dobby! What can Dobby be getting you this morning, sir? Porridge? Kippers and eggs? Bangers and mash? Whatever you want, sir, Dobby will be bringing it to you straight away. Nothing is too good for Harry…"
"Dobby, stop," Harry interrupted, his harsh tone immediately making Dobby's expression droop. "I need you to listen to me. Do you know anything about carpe diem potion," Dobby's eyes hit the floor, "being put in my food and drink," his body shrunk down in shame, "all throughout last year?" The house elf's feet shuffled guiltily and his ears went pale and limp.
"Dobby was only doing what he was told," he answered with a sniffle. "Dobby never meant to make Harry Potter angry."
"I'm not angry!" Harry exclaimed unconvincingly. When several Ravenclaws turned to examine him as though he had gone mad, he lowered his voice. "I just wanted to know why."
Dobby had begun to sob, making Harry feel sorry for the house elf, if only just a little. "Dumbledore said that it was for Harry Potter's own good, but he wouldn't tell Dobby why. Dobby swears that if he knew…" The distraught house elf squeaked as Harry felt something pointed strike the back of his head. Snatching it before it hit the ground, he saw that the missile in question was a paper airplane that looked to have been thrown his way from the Slytherin table, at least if the snickering expressions of Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson were any indication. Dobby took the occasion of Harry's distraction to disappear with a quick pop.
Unfolding the paper, Harry saw that it was a sketch of Luna Lovegood and himself, sitting underneath a large tree. Miniature hearts flew around them as Luna's stick figure form leaned over to give stick figure Harry a kiss. Once she had done so, the miniature Harry transformed into a frog. Frog Harry did not seem to be very happy with his new life, despite the fact that the artist had allowed him to keep his glasses and scar.
"They think we're together, don't they?" Luna asked him conversationally, after swallowing a bit of her oatmeal.
"What?" Harry snapped, turning his attention away from the crude drawing quickly. "What do you mean?"
Luna rolled her eyes. "They think I'm your girlfriend." When Harry still looked confused, Luna elaborated. "It was all over the Prophet this summer, after the attack on the Quibbler. And you didn't help matters much by yelling my name and running to sit at the Ravenclaw table before even saying hello to your fellow Gryffindors." Harry snuck a glance at the Gryffindor table, only to see Neville casting him a quick icy glare before turning to say something to Ginny, who was clearly ignoring him.
"It's a perfectly ridiculous notion, of course," Luna continued between bites of her odd-looking breakfast. "When you fancy someone, you're as obvious about it as a shrimp-tailed pondskimmer." At that moment, Hermione entered the Great Hall accompanied by Susan Bones, who was carrying a rather sad-looking Crookshanks in her arms. "For one, you can't stop staring at her." Harry was only barely paying attention to Luna. His eyes were fixed on Hermione, who was laughing at something Susan was saying. "You can't concentrate on anything else when she's around." A first-year Ravenclaw suddenly let out a yelp, turned around and shot him a scathing look. This confused Harry until he realized that he had poured a pitcher full of pumpkin juice on her head instead of in his goblet. "And, the most telling sign of all, you can't stand it when she's with another bloke." Hermione's eyes darted away from Susan suddenly and found those of a tall, dark figure in Auror's robes standing by himself in the corner.
"Luna," Harry asked, barely masking the anger in his voice, "is that Viktor Krum?"
"Hmm?" Luna replied dazedly. "Oh, yes, I suppose it is. He volunteered to serve with the Auror detail protecting Hogwarts this year, although he won't say why. Isn't that strange?" She gave him a coy smile that made him think she understood more about this situation than she was letting on. "I wouldn't worry about it too much, Harry. I'm sure you and Hermione will end up very happy together."
Harry was a little tired of having this conversation. "Hermione and I aren't together. She's dating Ron," he assured her thoughtlessly.
"Oh," Luna replied, her voice suddenly very small. "I didn't know that." Her eyes seemed glassier now, her manner distant and her expression was one of complete disappointment.
Harry felt very much like a heel. "I'm sorry, Luna. I didn't mean for it to come out like that…"
Turnabout was fair play, as Luna was now not paying him the least bit of attention, choosing instead to stare avidly at Hermione. "But why her? They're all wrong for each other. They have nothing in common. They bicker constantly. They say cruel, horrible things to each other."
"That must be their own weird way of saying that they like each other," Harry answered her glumly. "Unresolved romantic tension boiling over or something like that."
Luna gaped at him incredulously. "That's the craziest thing I've ever heard." Blinking rapidly, she threw her things together in a large, brown furry knapsack that Harry could have sworn was growling. "I have to go, Harry. I'll see you around."
"Luna, wait…" Harry began, but before he could finish that thought he caught sight of Hermione crossing the Great Hall, making a beeline for where Viktor Krum was standing. After nearly tripping over the same Ravenclaw first year on whose head he had poured pumpkin juice, Harry half-sprinted, half-hobbled up to Hermione with a goofy grin plastered on his face. "Hermione!" he called out cheerily. Once he was standing in front of her, however, he suddenly realized that he had no idea what he was going to say. "Erm, I see you got Crookshanks back," he tried.
"Yes, I did," Hermione answered him, although her eyes wandered to Viktor Krum "It looks like Susan took very good care of him, even if he does seem a little on the scrawny side." Crookshanks seemed to take offense at that remark and turned his nose up in the air.
"It's good to have him back," Harry supplied vacantly. "I missed him." His eyes looked her over longingly, making it clear to anyone who was paying attention that what he was really saying was "I missed you." He would never have imagined that not having her by his side for one night would have made such a difference, but it had. His bed had felt terribly cold and empty without her in it.
"Me, too," Hermione replied with a warm smile. They stood just like that, their eyes locked on each other for what seemed like an eternity, until the sound of Krum clearing his throat spoiled the moment. "I should probably go, Harry. There was something I wanted to ask Viktor before class…"
"Actually," Harry said, not feeling even a little sorry about interrupting Hermione and Viktor's alone time, "there's something I needed to talk to you about, too. In private."
A familiar look of worry came over Hermione's face, a look that had always told him just how much she cared about his well-being. "Alright," she said and grabbed him by the hand, leading him out of the castle. She brought them to a halt in front of a drab fountain not far from the main entrance marked only by an inscription written in a language Harry couldn't read. "What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice laden with concern.
Harry spent the next several minutes telling Hermione about his dream the night before and informing her of what Luna had told him about Deimos Lovegood and Dorian Flemingworth. Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. "Wasn't it Judy Flemingworth who pulled that stunt with Ravenclaw's quill last year? Charming it so that it copied all of Cho's notes and homework?" she asked, the gears in her mind turning rapidly.
Harry gave it a few seconds' thought. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"
"Do you think they might be…?" Hermione was about to finish that thought, but was interrupted by the chiming of the clock. Her eyes darted back in the direction of the castle. "I'll tell you later, Harry. Right now we need to get to class."
***
Harry and Hermione entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom without books, as apparently Professor Brinecove
had not assigned a DADA textbook for the seventh years. Ordinarily, Harry would have thought this to be quite unusual,
except for the fact that he already thought Brinecove was such an odd duck that nothing about him was really that
surprising anymore. Except, perhaps, for what was sitting on his desk.
A small ebony box, trimmed in gold and covered in Egyptian hieroglyphics, lie on his desk gathering dust. Harry found himself suppressing a groan. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked dispiritedly.
"The Box of Set," Hermione confirmed with a sigh. "I saw a picture of it once in the Daily Prophet." Harry remembered the box from a discussion he'd had with Fred and George at Bill's wedding. The Box of Set was the inspiration for their Reach For Something Strongboxes and had the exact same magical properties, meaning that nothing could be put in or taken out without the willful consent of the owner. "I don't think there's any great mystery about what's inside of it, either."
Harry nodded. "Ravenclaw's quill." He let out a short sigh of exasperation. "We're right back where we started."
"Everyone take your seats," Brinecove instructed disinterestedly from a seated position at his desk, where he was poring over a great deal of paperwork. "Class will begin momentarily."
After casting more than a few dirty looks at their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Harry and Hermione sat down near the front of the classroom, only one desk over from where Neville Longbottom and Susan Bones were chatting quite amicably. As soon as they sat down, Brinecove rose abruptly, his face now a mask of glee rather than indifference. "Hello, my young witches and wizards! Welcome to your seventh and, we all hope, your final year at Hogwarts. I am Commodus Brinecove, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," he announced aloud, his voice exuberant. "Now, let's see what we've learned so far in this class, shall we? Who in here can tell me exactly what it means to defend oneself against the dark arts?" A hand shot into the air. "Yes, Mr. MacMillan."
"Combating dark wizards and unfriendly magical creatures using a wide variety of spells and magical objects," Ernie MacMillan explained in a self-assured voice.
"Yes," Professor Brinecove answered with a wave of his arm, "that is indeed the textbook definition. Five points to Hufflepuff. But is that all there is? Dueling dark wizards and banishing banshees? I submit to you that there is more to Defense Against the Dark Arts than just fighting the 'bad guys'. In this class we will seek to understand the nature of evil itself." Brinecove smiled widely as Hermione raised her hand. "Miss Granger? Would you care to elaborate on that point?"
Hermione cleared her throat and examined Brinecove appraisingly. "In my opinion, 'sir', dark wizards are evil because they think themselves better than others, and thus believe they have the right to do unnatural things to them. Like enslave them, torture them," she said with an anxious gulp, "or kill them."
"Ah, an excellent point," Brinecove replied with a smile. "Ten points to Gryffindor. So if evil finds its origin in our ideas about ourselves, does that mean that only those who follow an ideology of superiority, Death Eaters and the like, are predisposed to be 'evil'?"
"Have you ever met Dolores Umbridge?" Harry muttered under his breath. Hermione shot him a grin that was both supportive and amused. A few of the other students who heard him began to chuckle lightly.
"Mr. Potter," Brinecove called out in a scolding tone, "was there something you wished to share with the class?"
Harry glared irritably at Professor Brinecove for calling attention to him, all the while desperately trying to come up with a cover story. "I was just saying to Hermione that… everyone has evil thoughts, evil inclinations, from time to time. People with the ability to act on them," his mind flashed to a memory of young Tom Riddle, murdering an innocent muggleborn girl and tearing his soul asunder at the age of sixteen, "also have the responsibility to choose whether or not they actually do."
Brinecove's already jovial expression brightened further. "Excellent! Excellent, Mr. Potter. Did everyone hear that?" The Professor stared pointedly at a couple in the back of the classroom. "I'm sorry to impose on you again, Mr. Potter, but I'm afraid a few Hufflepuffs were too busy chattering to themselves to hear what you had to say. Would you mind standing in front of the whole class and repeating what you just said?"
Resisting the urge to throttle his teacher, Harry rose from his seat, descended the stairs and stood next to the smug-looking DADA Professor who was perched behind an overly large wooden podium, looking very much like the cat who ate the canary. Harry tugged at his collar nervously. "Well, erm, what I was saying was…"
"Expelliarmus!" Brinecove yelled suddenly, taking Harry completely by surprise. The Professor's spell hit him squarely in the chest, knocking Harry to the ground and sending his wand flying across the room.
"Harry!" Hermione cried out in horror. In the blink of an eye, she had drawn her wand and aimed a disarming spell of her own at Brinecove.
"Proteus maxima," the DADA Professor incanted. As soon as he spoke the words, a magical barrier formed around Brinecove's lectern, blocking Hermione's spell. "I would appreciate it if you would not interfere in this matter, Miss Granger," he advised in a deceptively calm voice, although his eyes never left Harry's dazed form, "or I shall have to start deducting some of those house points you earned." Brinecove shot a stunner just past Harry's head; a warning shot, if ever he had seen one. "Defend yourself, Mr. Potter."
Harry was almost too stunned to speak. Had Brinecove really attacked him in the middle of a classroom? Or was this all some cruel joke? "I…I don't have my wand."
The older man scoffed. "Is that what you would say to a Death Eater who's out to kill you? That you don't have your wand?" He smiled wickedly. "Reducto!" Harry dodged the Reductor Curse just in time, although splinters from the wooden chair it shattered cut into his leg. "Come now. Think! Improvise! Serpensortia!" A large jungle green anaconda formed from the end of Brinecove's wand. "Oppugno," he called out in a menacing voice. The anaconda began to slowly wrap itself around Harry's torso, binding his arms and legs and crushing his windpipe.
'This one I can handle without a wand,' Harry thought to himself. As he felt the air begin to leave his lungs, however, he added, 'I hope.' "You don't want to hurt me," Harry assured the anaconda in parseltongue. "Release me and attack him," he continued, indicating Brinecove with a nod of his head.
The anaconda seemed confused for a moment, then, after a few final painful squeezes, released Harry, choosing to slither off to the other end of the classroom. The serpent soon disappeared with a quickly spoken "Vipera evanesca" as Brinecove bristled. "I had heard you were a parselmouth, Mr. Potter. I suppose I simply had to see it for myself to believe it."
On the DADA Professor's desk, the Box of Set began to rattle and jump about, as though agitated. "Ignore that," Brinecove ordered a few curious students who began to point at it excitedly. For the first time, their new DADA professor seemed to lose his cool. He glared angrily at Harry and seemed to be steeling himself to do something unpleasant. "Crucio!"
To Harry, everything was happening in slow motion. Brinecove towered over him, wand extended, a maniacal expression etched on his face. He could hear Hermione gasp, Ernie Macmillan swear and Neville moan, even from across the room. He could feel everything around him, the fear, the anxiety and, from somewhere in the room, a sense of hope. It was a warm, familiar feeling. 'What's happening to me?'
Harry watched the Cruciatus Curse coming at him with only casual interest. Intellectually, he knew that the Unforgivable would cause him a great deal of pain, but somehow, almost instinctively, he knew that it wouldn't. Slowly but deliberately, he put his empty hand in front of his face, as though his open palm could stop the spell on its own. "Protego," he said simply. Immediately, a shielding charm formed which deflected the Unforgivable, making it bounce harmlessly across the room.
Brinecove's demeanor changed instantaneously in a way that Harry wouldn't have expected. "Ha! Yes!" The middle-aged man clapped his hands together and whooped like a celebrating child. "Did you see that? Did everyone see that?" He lowered his wand and extended a hand to Harry, a wide grin now dominating his features. "Magnificent, Mr. Potter, truly magnificent! One hundred points to Gryffindor for that brilliant display of magic." Harry only stared at Brinecove with a bemused expression on his face, unwilling to take the other man's hand. "You may return to your seat now, Mr. Potter. The demonstration is over."
"Demonstration?" Harry repeated weakly. His limbs seemed paralyzed, as though he could no longer move on his own power.
"Miss Granger, if you would be so kind as to help Mr. Potter back to his seat?" Hermione glowered angrily at Professor Brinecove, but eventually acquiesced, descending the stairs to offer Harry a hand up. "What Mr. Potter just did, my young witches and wizards, is exactly what I expect you to do by the end of this year."
"What?" demanded the outraged voice of Seamus Finnigan. "Perform wandless magic? You're mad! There's not more than one wizard in a thousand who can do that!"
Professor Brinecove shook his head. "Closer to one wizard in a million, Mr. Finnigan, and no, I was not referring to wandless magic. I'm talking about defending yourself in actual combat." Harry took his seat next to Hermione as Commodus Brinecove continued haranguing his classmates. "Death Eaters are a notoriously cowardly lot. They will not announce their presence before attempting to use an Unforgivable on you. You have to be prepared!"
"Constant vigilance," Neville squeaked from behind him. He was deathly pale, and likely had been ever since Brinecove had tried to use the Cruciatus Curse on Harry.
"This year, Defense Against the Dark Arts will be an entirely practical course. There will be no homework, nor any written examinations. But make no mistake about it: you will be tested." Commodus Brinecove paced about the room anxiously. "You, my young witches and wizards, are preparing to enter the real world. You are about to begin the journey down life's path and none of you yet know where that path will lead you. I consider it my task this year to prepare you not only to face the evil that is now so prevalent in the magical world, but also to conquer the darkness within yourselves. For you see, that is where your battle must begin." Brinecove's previously solemn expression once again turned jovial. "Now, with all of that being said, I don't see any reason why you shouldn't enjoy yourselves in this classroom. I find practical magic to be a lot more fun than learning spells from books, don't you? Why don't we all pick up our wands and…"
"You think this is fun, don't you?" Harry asked quietly. Despite the softness of his voice, the entire classroom turned to look at him. Truth be told, some of them hadn't stopped looking at him since Brinecove had first disarmed him. Everyone was still a little shell shocked.
"I beg your pardon," Brinecove asked with a puzzled expression on his face. "I don't quite understand…"
"No, you wouldn't, would you?" Harry spat back, undaunted. "Fighting Death Eaters isn't fun, Professor. I hope that no one in this classroom ever has to do it. But it's necessary. It's necessary because one sick, twisted wizard decided he wanted to ruin thousands of lives for his own enjoyment." He stood abruptly and gathered his things together, ignoring Hermione's squawk of protest as he threw some of her quills into his bag by accident. "If you want to pretend that learning to protect yourself from deranged killers is fun, go on and do it. Just don't ask me to sit here and act like I enjoy it."
***
Having stormed out of the classroom, Harry had planned on skulking his way back to the Gryffindor common room to lay
low until it was time for his next class. He certainly hadn't expected Hermione to come after him. "Harry,
wait," she called out to him beseechingly, her hand seizing his forearm as she approached him.
"You're not going to tell me I should go back in there, are you?" Harry asked snappishly, although he had already stopped walking away from her. He couldn't pretend that he didn't enjoy her displays of affection, or her concern for his well-being, even if she only cared for him as a friend.
Hermione shook her head sorrowfully. As he turned to face her, Harry noticed that she was near tears. "Oh Harry, of course not. What Professor Brinecove did to you was…unconscionable. I don't know how Headmistress McGonagall could allow it."
"I doubt she had much say in it," Harry offered bitterly. "My guess is Brinecove went over her head, straight to the Minister of Magic." A half-smile formed on his lips, although there was no humor behind it. "What was it he told us at the wedding? That we'd find his curriculum 'a bit more exciting than we're used to?'"
"It was really terrible, Harry," Hermione said, her voice heavy with emotion. "Watching you up there, defenseless, knowing that he could have done anything to you…" Her hand, which had not left his right forearm, squeezed it tightly. "I was so worried." She frowned deeply. "But then you saved yourself, using…"
"Wandless magic," Harry finished for her. "And before you ask, I haven't the foggiest idea how I did it. It just…happened. I can't explain it."
Hermione's hand ran down the length of Harry's arm. "Maybe we could work on it again, when we get back to Grimmauld."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, his eyes making contact with hers in a way that he suspected was more than friendly. At the moment he didn't really care if she noticed. "I think I'd like that." Harry once again began making his way toward the Gryffindor common room, only this time with Hermione walking beside him. "So I reckon that means we'll be leaving Hogwarts soon."
"You two don't stay in one place for very long, do you?" the fatigued voice of Ginny Weasley came from behind him. Ginny appeared flushed and out of breath, as though she had just run a great distance. "Headmistress McGonagall wants to see you in her office." She shot a pointed look at Hermione. "Both of you." Ginny wore a curious look as she turned her attention solely on Harry. "Why weren't you in class? When I asked Professor Brinecove where you had gone, he just got this weird look on his face."
As the three of them began the familiar journey through the halls to the Headmistress' office, Harry and Hermione filled Ginny in on the details of what had happened with Brinecove. His ex-girlfriend looked mildly alarmed, but didn't seem especially surprised by the DADA Professor's actions. "If you ask me, Brinecove's completely off his rocker. On the first day of school, he suspended the entire Slytherin Quidditch team for two months just because of some prank they pulled on the muggleborn first years. Something about mud coming out of the showers…"
Harry grimaced, while Hermione looked affronted. "I'll bet they went crying to their Head of House over that one," Harry guessed.
Ginny shook her head. "Harry, Professor Brinecove is the Head of Slytherin House." A mischievous grin spread over her face. "It was a lucky thing for us, though. Gryffindor's first scheduled match is against Slytherin. They'll probably have to forfeit." Ginny was watching Harry's face closely. "McGonagall made me Quidditch Captain, you know. I'll probably be playing Seeker this year, too. Of course, if you're going to be staying at Hogwarts, I'd be more than happy to…"
"I'm not," Harry interrupted flatly, as he shared a knowing look with Hermione. When they arrived at the entrance to McGonagall's office, he bent down slightly to whisper in her ear. "Would you mind leaving me alone with Ginny for a moment?"
"Of course," Hermione agreed, although her eyes betrayed a hint of sadness. "What's the password?" she asked Ginny, although they did not look each other in the eye.
"Figgy phoenixes," Ginny answered, although she looked up at Harry with an expression of confusion as Hermione ascended the staircase alone. "Harry, what…?"
"I wanted to talk to you for a minute," Harry answered her, trying to keep his tone neutral, "alone."
"This sounds serious," Ginny replied with a forced chuckle. "You're not breaking up with me again, are you?" she joked. When Harry didn't reply immediately, her eyes widened. "Cor. You are."
"I don't think you should wait for me," Harry told her sternly. "What we're doing could take a very long time. Years, even. I don't want you to put your life on hold because of me."
"That's my decision to make, Harry, not yours," Ginny retorted frostily. "What is this really about? Is there someone else?" Her tone softened. "It's not Luna, is it?"
Harry ran his hand through his hair nervously. How was he supposed to answer that? He couldn't very well tell her about his feelings for Hermione when he knew them to be unrequited. All it would do is hurt them both. "No, it's not Luna," he answered truthfully. "Look, I can't promise you that we'll get back together after all this is over; after the war with Voldemort ends."
"I never expected you to promise me anything," Ginny said evenly, although there was a bit of a sulking tone in her voice. "You're really leaving Hogwarts, aren't you?"
Harry nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think we are."
Ginny blanched at his use of the word 'we'. "Then I want to go with you."
"I'm sorry, Ginny," Harry told her somberly. "That isn't going to happen."
"But I've helped you before!" Ginny exclaimed, a whine entering her voice for the first time. "I fought Death Eaters! I went to the Department of Mysteries with you! Don't shut me out now! Not when…"
"Do you remember the Chamber of Secrets?" Harry interrupted her sharply.
"Why did you have to bring that up," Ginny asked, folding her arms and deliberately dodging the question. "I was only eleven, for Merlin's sake."
"Because I'm not talking about Death Eaters, Ginny. This is Voldemort we're dealing with," Harry went on insistently, "and I don't think you're ready to face him again." If Harry had been completely honest with her, he would have admitted that he wasn't even ready himself.
"Oh, and I suppose Hermione is?" Ginny asked acidly, her words coming out as more of a hiss than she had likely intended.
Harry turned away from her, muttered "figgy phoenixes" and watched the staircase leading to Dumbledore's old office reveal itself again. "You're going to have to stop comparing yourself to Hermione, Ginny. It really isn't fair to either one of you." He gave her one last sympathetic glance. "Try and remember what I said about moving on with your life."
As Ginny disappeared from sight, Harry could hear her whispering to herself. "I don't want to move on with my life, Harry. I want to move on with ours."
***
"I'm afraid my hands are tied, Miss Granger," Harry heard Professor McGonagall's Scottish brogue
declare wearily as he entered the Headmistress' office, thoughts of Ginny already fading from his mind. Hermione
stood squarely in front of the imposing Headmistress' desk, eyes blazing with fury. Harry's gaze lingered on
the slumbering portrait of Albus Dumbledore and then eventually fixed on the two women facing off in front of him, both
looking formidable. If it came to blows, however, his money was on Hermione. "The most I could do is reprimand
Professor Brinecove, which, given the current political climate, is barely more than a slap on the wrist. I haven't
the authority to ask the Governors for his removal or, believe me, I would have already done so."
"So that's it? You're just going to allow a teacher to get away with attempting to use an Unforgivable on a student?" Hermione demanded as she placed her hands on her hips in a way that Harry, in spite of himself, found very appealing.
McGonagall regarded her seriously. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but as long as his curriculum is Ministry approved, there isn't much I can do." The elderly woman looked thoughtful for a moment. "Although perhaps I could recommend a pay cut…"
Just as Hermione looked ready to fume again, Harry wisely interjected, "You wanted to see us, Professor?"
Hogwarts' new Headmistress composed herself quickly. "Indeed, Mr. Potter. Sit down, if you would." As they did so, Professor McGonagall removed her reading glasses so that she could look them both straight in the eye. "Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, I have been your instructor and your Head of House for six years now. In that time, it has hardly escaped my notice that you are two of the most exceptional students ever to set foot inside these walls." Hermione blushed bright red at this, while Harry took the time to examine the various items on Professor McGonagall's desk, trying to sort out which were hers and which had been Dumbledore's. "Your extracurricular activities may have been a bit…unorthodox, but I believe, as Albus did, that certain allowances should be made, given Mr. Potter's unique circumstances." She gave them both a warm, almost motherly look. "Furthermore, the two of you work exceptionally well together. Your various strengths seem to compliment each other. I believe you would make an excellent pair."
Harry's brow began to furrow. Was McGonagall suddenly playing matchmaker? Had she somehow picked up on his feelings for Hermione? "What exactly are you saying, Professor?"
The Headmistress smiled thinly. "The Ministry may have taken many of the traditional powers of Hogwarts' Headmistress away from me, but they did not take away my ability to name the Head Boy and Head Girl of my choosing." She quickly reached into a large drawer and removed two badges, placing them on her desk in front of Harry and Hermione. "Congratulations to you both. I would have given you the honor sooner, but given how late Hogwarts was re-opened…"
After a few seconds of pure joy at receiving the news, Hermione's face fell. Harry knew exactly why and the two of them shared a long look of regret. "I'm sorry, Headmistress McGonagall," Harry stated sadly. "I'm afraid we can't accept." Although nothing was spoken between them, it was clear that McGonagall knew they planned on leaving Hogwarts.
Their former Transfiguration teacher began to search through her desk drawers again. Eventually, she withdrew two thick reams of parchment. "These outline your duties as Head Boy and Head Girl rather nicely, I think. I would advise you to read them thoroughly before you make up your mind." A mischievous twinkle suddenly appeared in her eye. "Paragraph 43, line 17 should be of particular interest to you."
Hermione reached that passage before Harry did, which was hardly surprising. "'In the event that a Hogwarts instructor refuses to pursue an academic inquiry assigned them by the Headmaster or Headmistress, the Head Boy and/or Head Girl may pursue said inquiry on their behalf,'" she read aloud. Hermione looked up at Professor McGonagall with a puzzled expression. "I don't think I understand."
McGonagall sat back in her chair, although maintaining her rigid posture. "A certain Ravenclaw prefect has brought an urgent matter to my attention. It seems there are a large number of magical species that have been unfairly excluded from our Care of Magical Creatures curriculum."
Hermione raised one eyebrow curiously. "Really?"
The Headmistress nodded. "I've brought this to the attention of Professor Grubbly-Plank, as she's filling in for Professor Hagrid in his absence, but I'm afraid she has expressed no interest in correcting the situation. Therefore I am handing that particular task to you." Headmistress McGonagall produced two pieces of parchment and handed one to Harry and the other to Hermione. "I would like for you to assess whether or not it would be possible for these creatures to be included in our current course of study."
The two of them looked at the list in disbelief. "'The three-headed Peruvian zorphul,'" Hermione read aloud. "'Fire-breathing ice serpents? The long-haired toobleflitzer?'"
"At least the mammoth tree slug ought to be easy to catch," Harry said to himself with a smirk.
"Actually, Miss Lovegood informs me that the mammoth tree slug can reach speeds upwards of forty kilometers per hour," McGonagall replied with a straight face. "Of course, I will expect you to treat this matter with the seriousness it deserves. The two of you will not return to Hogwarts until it is resolved to my satisfaction."
Harry and Hermione shared a look of befuddlement. "You're…you're sending us away from Hogwarts?" Hermione asked her.
McGonagall leaned forward and once again donned her reading glasses. "I'm sending you on a fact-finding mission. Where this mission takes you and what it requires you to do is no concern of mine." Their former Transfiguration teacher had stopped looking at them, her attention returning to a large stack of paperwork on her desk. "Have I made myself clear?"
"Perfectly," Harry answered with a knowing smile. Professor McGonagall had always been a stern disciplinarian, a strict follower of the rules. She had now gone a long way to bend them for Harry's sake. Perhaps Dumbledore had rubbed off on her a bit.
"Good." McGonagall's quill scratched something on a piece of parchment as she spoke. "I'll fill out the paperwork necessary for you to leave the castle. You can leave tonight if you'd like."
"Headmistress McGonagall," Hermione began, somewhat nervously. "Before we go on this, erm, fact-finding mission, I'd like to ask a favor from you."
***
"A few meters to the left, Potter," the Headmistress instructed, pointing to a scroll of parchment just
beyond Harry's reach. He was currently standing near the top of a rickety wooden ladder, hoping to find Dorian
Flemingworth's essay on Ravenclaw's quill among thousands of other nearly identical parchments, all of which
were stored in various multicolored metallic tubes. Incidentally, he was also rather desperately hoping that he
wouldn't fall to his untimely death in the middle of Hogwarts' library's restricted section.
Harry cursed under his breath as he attempted to steady himself on the ladder. The point of this exercise was gradually becoming lost on him. "If Judy Flemingworth could learn to control Ravenclaw's quill from the information in that essay, maybe we could figure out a way to destroy it without having to take it from Professor Brinecove," Hermione had told him on their way to the library. It had seemed a convincing argument at the time. Of course, that was before Harry was hanging thirty meters in the air from a terribly wobbly piece of wood.
Carefully, Harry used his right foot to push himself along, hoping that he wouldn't break any bookshelves (or, more importantly, limbs) in the process. Unfortunately, he could not use his wand to retrieve the parchment, as that would be far too easy. Also, there were quite a few wards preventing magic from being used in this room. Eventually, his fingers grasped the ancient tube containing the parchment. "Got it!" Harry exclaimed in victory. Descending the ladder quickly (and more quickly than he would have liked in some places) he handed the tube to Hermione, only to watch her open it to reveal…
"Nothing," Hermione remarked with a frown as she peered inside. "It's empty."
"Empty?" Harry asked in a half-whining voice. He was out of breath, sore and bruised in places that he had only previously been aware of after his most brutal Quidditch matches. "How could it be empty?"
"Impossible," the Headmistress agreed in a voice which conveyed her complete astonishment. "No professor ever bothers to read these essays after they put them here! I'd wager that no more than five have even been checked out since I began teaching! How could…?" Her eyes fell upon a ledger that sat near the door, gathering dust. "Oh."
"Oh?" Harry repeated. "What does 'oh' mean?"
"What it means," McGonagall reported grimly as she brushed a mound of dust from the ancient book, "is that Mr. Flemingworth's essay has been removed, and rather recently," Hermione peered over her shoulder curiously, only to scowl once she read what was written there, "by Professor Commodus Brinecove."
***
"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione asked Harry, ending an oppressive silence that had hung over the
room since they had entered it. The two of them were now lying close to each other in Sirius' old bedroom, Harry
completely lost in his thoughts and staring at the wall as Hermione studied his face closely. They had left Hogwarts
just as the sun set over the Scottish highlands, returning to Number 12 Grimmauld Place without incident. They
hadn't spoken much in that time, however, and that appeared to be grating on Hermione's nerves.
"Talk about what?" Harry inquired curiously, making no effort to look at her.
"Whatever it was you said to Ginny," Hermione offered gently. "Dumbledore's pensieve will. The fact that Commodus Brinecove's an enormous git. If you'd like, we can even talk about long-haired toobleflitzers." Harry smiled at that. "Just please talk to me. I hate it when I can't tell what you're thinking."
Harry turned in the bed to lie flat on his back. "If you really want to know, I was thinking about carpe diem potion. About how you said it might cause hallucinations."
Hermione nodded slowly. "In rare cases, yes." Her worried voice was now matched by a knitted brow as she sat up slightly to face him. "You didn't actually have any hallucinations, did you?"
Harry exhaled deeply. "I dunno. I reckon it might explain some of the weird dreams I've been having. And…," he began, a little unsure of what he was about to say next. "Never mind."
"What?" Hermione asked, scooting almost imperceptibly closer to him.
"It's silly," Harry assured her dismissively. "You'll laugh at me."
She shook her head, making her bushy mound of hair bob back and forth majestically. "Oh, Harry, of course I won't. You know you can tell me anything."
Harry's eyes locked on her own. Perhaps he could share this with her. It was Hermione, after all. "Alright, but not a word of this to anyone else." Hermione quickly agreed and Harry began drumming his fingers aimlessly on his shirt. "Last year, when I was around Ginny, whenever I was feeling jealous or possessive, it felt like there was a…a monster in my chest."
"A monster?" Hermione repeated, as if making sure that she'd heard right. "In your chest?"
"Yeah," Harry said with a nervous laugh. "I mean, I was probably just imagining it, but…"
"What kind of a monster?" Hermione asked him, her cheek now resting in the palm of her right hand.
"What do you mean, what kind?" Harry demanded. This wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting from Hermione. "It was just a monster."
"We live in the magical world, Harry," Hermione scolded him lightly. "There's no such thing as 'just a monster'. There are hundreds of species." She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "I wonder if it might have been a Manchurian chest nester. Did it feel like there were eggs hatching in your chest cavity?" she asked him seriously.
"A Manchurian chest nester…?" Harry repeated dumbly. "Blimey, Hermione, you're sounding like Luna Lovegood."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Manchurian chest nesters do exist, Harry. It's very well documented." She began biting her bottom lip. "Although it's unlikely that one could have survived inside of you for more than a few weeks. What about a corpusgeist? Do you think maybe…?"
"I'm sure it was nothing," Harry said as he turned away from Hermione to face the wall again. "I'm sorry I said anything."
"Well, I'm not," Hermione shot back. "This could have been very serious, Harry. Why didn't you tell Dumbledore? Or Madame Pomfrey? Or me?"
"Because I didn't want to complain about something that I only felt when I was around…" Harry began to snap, but as he turned to face Hermione again, he caught her suppressing a grin. "You're having me on, aren't you?"
"No," she claimed indignantly. Harry's stare soon wore her down and she began to laugh. "Alright, yes." At Harry's exasperated look, she went on, "but it was all in fun. I mean, really, Harry, did you seriously think that there was an actual monster in your chest?"
"That was what it felt like," Harry protested with a pout. "I don't know why you think it's so funny. For all we know, it might have been Voldemort, trying to control me again."
As soon as Harry said that, Hermione suddenly sobered. "I…I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't think of that." She was clearly now all business again. "What exactly did this monster do?"
Harry thought it over carefully. "Well, it roared and growled a few times, mostly when Ginny was with Dean. And once it, erm, did the conga."
Hermione burst into fits of laughter again. "I'm sorry, Harry," she apologized breathlessly, "I was just thinking about Lord Voldemort, the most feared evil wizard in the world, leading a conga line."
Harry tried in vain to hold onto his anger and his wounded pride, but found he couldn't do it. "I guess that is a little funny," he admitted with a chuckle. Soon they were both laughing uncontrollably.
"Tell me, Harry," Hermione said between bouts of laughter, "just where in your chest was this monster? Was it up here?" She asked, poking him just above his ribcage. "Or closer to here?" Hermione said as she pointed to a spot just above his navel. Her index finger traced a line along his bare chest, her hand slipping under his shirt without either one of them really noticing.
"Hermione, don't," Harry warned lightly, "I'm very…"
But whatever he was going to say next became completely insignificant, as his hand grabbed her arm, pulling her down slightly. As Hermione had risen to her knees to better examine his chest, this threw her down on top of him rather abruptly. Both of her hands now clutched the bare skin of his chest, and her head had come to rest just below his chin. Their breath intermingled and their eyes met as neither dared move.
Ever since he had started thinking of Hermione in a decidedly more-than-friendly way, Harry had tried to avoid looking her directly in the eye, fearing that his feelings for her, which had been so deliberately obscured, would be carelessly revealed with a single glance. He had never once thought that maybe he would see those same feelings, that same love, reflected in her eyes as she looked back at him. At least not until that moment.
Harry wasn't sure who had started kissing whom, but before he knew it Hermione's lips were pressed closely against his. In only a few moments the kiss deepened considerably, although calling it 'snogging' seemed wrong somehow. Comparing it to kissing his two ex-girlfriends would have been grossly unfair to Cho and Ginny. The only true point of comparison Harry had was, oddly enough, the dementor's kiss. When a dementor began to suck out his soul, all the hope and happiness and love within him had begun to fade from his body, as though it had never really been there at all. Kissing Hermione was the exact opposite; it was as though some part of his soul was being returned to him, a part he had never known was missing.
As she pulled away from him, they continued to stare at each other wordlessly, as though both were mesmerized by what had just happened. Then Hermione said the last thing he would have expected. "Ginny."
Harry felt as though he had been slapped. "Ginny?" he asked confusedly. "Hermione, we just kissed, and all you can say is 'Ginny'?"
Hermione began to move away from him slowly. "She should have come with us. I might have known this would happen." She moved to the edge of the bed and sat up, a look of shame written all over her face as she turned to face the wall.
"You should have known what would happen?" Harry demanded.
"That you would get lonely," Hermione replied sadly. "That you'd need someone to be here for you."
"You're here with me," he reminded her, his voice insistent. "Hermione, I didn't kiss you because I'm lonely and I certainly didn't do it because I wanted to be with Ginny."
Hermione looked skeptical. "You didn't?"
Harry shook his head. "I kissed you because I wanted to show you just how much I wanted to be with you." His hand went to her chin, stroking it gently. "I kissed you because I…I…"
"But I'm not even your type!" Hermione protested weakly as she turned back to face him. "You've only ever been interested in pretty girls who are good at Quidditch."
"That's not true," Harry replied with a soft smile. "Cho was terrible at Quidditch. Seriously, did you ever see her catch the snitch?"
Hermione laughed in spite of herself. "No, I didn't. But then again, I only watched the matches where you played against her." The smile soon fell from her face as the reality of the situation began to sink in. "Harry, what is this?"
Harry's eyebrows rose. "What do you want it to be?"
Hermione sat up on the bed, her knees folded and her arms held together around them. "I…I don't know. I thought I knew what I wanted. I thought I could be happy with Ron, but obviously that didn't work out." Harry brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, caressing it as he did so. "I hoped maybe I could move on, that I could get over…" Her eyes welled up with tears as she suddenly fell silent.
"Viktor," Harry finished with a sigh.
"What?!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise as she blinked away tears. "No, not Viktor. Oh, Harry, didn't you know? Hadn't you figured it out? It was you that I fell in love with." She shot him a perplexed look. "Why would you have ever thought that I loved Viktor Krum?"
Harry mulled that over in his mind for a moment. Why had he assumed that she had meant Viktor and not him? Was it because he had been her only boyfriend before Ron? Or was it because he simply could not picture himself as the object of her affections? "I…I don't know really, I guess I just…figured that…did you say that you were in love with me?"
Hermione looked sheepish all of a sudden. "Yeah, I guess I did." She let out a small roar of frustration. "None of this was supposed to happen."
Harry was having a hard time hiding his complete elation at the idea that Hermione loved him. "What do you mean 'it wasn't supposed to happen'?" he asked. "What was supposed to happen?"
"I was supposed to make things work with Ron," Hermione told him in a harried voice. "This… tension… between us had to mean something, that maybe there was some kind of romantic spark between us, but it never happened. Our relationship didn't go anywhere. And you, you were supposed to be happy with Ginny. Not only had she worshipped you for ages and she was exactly the kind of girl you liked."
"Pretty and good at Quidditch, you mean?" Harry asked with an amused half-smile.
"Yes," Hermione answered matter-of-factly, as though it were perfectly natural to apply logic to relationships. "But now…oh, Harry. We can't get together. It's perfectly impossible."
"Why not?" Harry wondered with a laugh. "You said that you loved me. And I…Hermione, I think I love you, too."
"There are thousands of reasons," Hermione answered, her voice frantic. "There's my relationship with Ron and yours with Ginny and this seemingly never-ending horcrux hunt and Voldemort and the war and the fact that you're the Chosen One, whatever that means, and Dumbledore's death and did you say that you loved me, too?"
Harry's eyes glowed with love, erasing all doubt from her mind. "Yeah, I guess I did."
Hermione looked stunned. "I… Harry, that…" Her eyes left his suddenly and she shook her head. "No, it doesn't matter. If we become involved romantically, it would change everything. It changes our friendship, yours and mine and Ron's. It throws everything off balance." She looked up at him, trying desperately not to show just how vulnerable she felt. "What if we break up? Doesn't that scare you?"
"What if we don't," Harry countered slyly. "Does that scare you?"
"Of course not," she answered, her tone sure but shaky. "You're who I want to be with, there's no doubt about that." Harry moved closer to her, taking her face in both hands, his thumbs moving gently across her chin. "But…maybe we should wait," she whispered as he leaned in to kiss her again.
"Wait," Harry repeated, as though he had just been given a death sentence. "You think we should wait?"
It seemed as though she might change her mind for a moment, then looked up at Harry with a glint of determination in her eye. "Yes. Just for a little while. Until everything's settled between Ron and me, and you don't have the shadow of Voldemort hanging over your head."
"That could be a very long time," Harry told her, his voice half-complaining, half-cautioning.
"I know," Hermione replied with a soft sigh. "But I think it's for the best. For everyone." She began eyeing the door longingly. "I also think I need to find another room to sleep in tonight. Otherwise we might do something we'll both regret."
Harry almost told her that he wouldn't regret anything they did, but stopped himself short of doing so. "Alright, Hermione. If that's what you want." He watched her with unexpressed sorrow as she left the room.
As Harry walked the floor aimlessly, he began to think over what she had said. Perhaps Hermione was right. The best time to start a new relationship was probably not in the middle of a crusade to destroy the hidden pieces of an evil wizard's soul. Also, there were unresolved issues between Ron and Hermione that needed to be worked out and he certainly didn't want to stir up trouble with his best mate. So Hermione was probably right. Waiting was the sensible, practical move.
Then again, since when had Harry ever gone along with what was sensible and practical?
Just as his hand reached for the door, it opened, revealing a visibly distraught Hermione. "Harry, I…" she began with a quiver in her voice, "I don't think I can do it."
Harry gave her a wide grin. "I know I can't." And then they kissed again, falling into each other's arms, the thought of putting their relationship on hold far behind them. For Harry and Hermione, the waiting was over.
Hope you enjoyed! I couldn't tell you when the next chapter will be out, but it will be called "High Tea with Uncle Mordred". All reviews are appreciated, even the death threats.
ITL