Hi Guys
I am so sorry that you had to wait for a very long time. I had exams and Uni work to finish so once that was out of the way I concentrated on this. This chapter, although there are some parts that I am a bit iffy about took several weeks to write. There were several re-writes of the very first page in fact…
So, for me this is an accomplishment in itself as I managed to complete this chapter to my liking and it's 17 pages long so…
I do hope you enjoy this chapter.
Rachel
**Special thanks to my beta reader, Katie, who has waited patiently for this chapter and took her time to filter through it…***
Chapter Eight
The sound of Hermione muttering echoed upstairs and into his small bedroom before he opened an eyelid. Ron was still sound asleep, his snores loud enough to keep a dragon at bay. Gingerly, Harry slid on his glasses from his bedside table and dragged his still sleep-deprived body downstairs to see what Hermione was doing at this hour.
It was 11:45pm and he knew that sooner or later they had to get going before his mother's spell wore off but that didn't mean they couldn't sleep for a little bit more. They've spent the last three days thoroughly searching for tidbits and information about R.A.B and Voldemort's horcruxs. Nothing came out of it but helped occupy their minds for a while instead of waking up everyday and seeing a new name on the M.B.V list. (Murdered by Voldemort).
It was a sight for sore eyes. Hermione, her pink jacket draped over her dropped shoulders, a royal blue headscarf rested on top of her dark bushy hair, shielding her pale and sleep-deprived face. She was hunched over the kitchen table, surrounded by her notes and books, muttering disjointed phrases as she made little notes here and there.
"Err. Hermione…"Harry whispered. He wanted to say something but the sight of her fretting over something; the deep crease in her brow bathed in sweat was for some reason, amusing.
Upon hearing her name she looked up and squealed, drawing back her hands so quickly that the sheer force and speed of it caused her quill to push the uncorked ink bottle and…
SMASH!!
The plastic lilac and pink flowered floor, one of Miss Petunia's favourite floors was now covered in angry slashes of ink with bits feather from Hermione's now broken quill.
.
Bringing her ink covered hands to her face she fettered. Not in the least bit concerned of her appearance but the damage and mess she just caused.
"Oh…I'm so sorry Harry," the tone was most familiar to Harry, having heard it once or twice when she did something wrong.
Harry lifted up his hand and shushed it off. He couldn't care less what kind of mess she made. He was more concerned over her haggard and sleep-depraved face he kept seeing ever since Bill's wedding.
He wanted to ask what was wrong. In fact, it was on the tip of his tongue but in doing so he would have to speak as well and he knew that ever since bill's wedding he was withdrawn as well.
Instead he stretched out his arms and drew her to him, smelling her flowery-scented shampoo with a hint of ink he whispered.
"No, really, it's okay," he wasn't paying attention to what he was saying, so his words were muffled and heavy with sleep but hearing her sigh in his arms made him, for one moment, at peace.
"I've tried," She mumbled into his chest, the wet touch of her lips caused unknown feelings to surge inside him. He tried, as usual, to push them away but Harry was tired and for one moment he allowed himself to be selfish and enjoy the feelings only she caused.
"I've tried so many times" She sighed, her arms wrapped around underneath his, clutching him so close he could feel her breathe into him. "But…I'm so tired…I'm so tried Harry…"
He felt an immense pain swallow him at the sound her of broken voice. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to do something, anything to make her feel better but he had no clue, what ills her so? Was it Voldemort? Was it….
Was it Ron?
No, he told himself, pushing himself not to feel the pangs of jealously and hugged her tighter.
..It's okay Mione," He brushed his check against her thick hair, the silky touch of her blue scarf caressed his skin and felt something warm inside his heart. It was almost painful to think about it but he couldn't stop the feelings that she caused.
"No…no….it's not 'arry..." She mumbled, shaking her head into his chest, sniffling she cranked her face upwards until they were inches apart. He could feel the puffs of breath on his cheeks. Her lips, red and swollen, eyes, wide open and filled with sorrow. He had no idea what to do.
"I can't take this anymore," She whispered. Her eyes became watery and a single tear leaked from her left eye. He used his left thumb to brush it away before cupping her face with both hands.
He grunted, words escaped him…"What…" he leaned closer, finding himself edging closer to her magnificent cinnamon eyes.
"Not knowing…not feeling…." Her lips barely grazed against his and he shuddered at the feelings it caused.
A loud, creaky moan interrupted his thoughts and he quickly darted to the stairs. Leaving her side for just a moment he picked up his wand from his right pocket pointed its tip to every dark corner in the room.
He couldn't see anything but that didn't stop him from gazing at ever corner and entrance way, in case he missed a whisper of dark shred robes and the silver glint of a death eater's mask.
He could hear her breathing behind him, "It's just the staircase," She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, "It does that from time to time,"
Taking one last look around the kitchen he slid his wand into his pocket, feeling his shoulders droop he sighed.
He felt two small hands cup his cheek, grazing over his stubble. He looked into her eyes as she whispered, "'its okay Harry," She stood up on her tip topes to graze her lips against his scar and he could feel his whole body melt and turn into her touch. Slowly, his hands grazed her small waist and travelled upwards, feeling her shiver he matched her hands on her soft cheek, caress her cheekbones, he kissed the tip of her nose, the arch of her eye brows before looking into her eyes. He wondered how a woman like her had ever come into his life. How she, above everyone else remained at his side?
The kitchen cuckoo clock began to coo.
<Cuckoo>
< Cuckoo>
< Cuckoo>
He looked up and saw that it was midnight! Where had the time gone? He knew the answer but now was not the time to think about it. He had to get out of the house now before it was too late.
"So it's true then?" a loud, raspy voice said.
He turned and found Ron, standing at the end of the stairwell, arms crossed and gazing at their embrace. Harry dropped his hands and took a step back. The clock continued to chime and although he felt somewhat guilty, considering it was universal knowledge that Ron and Hermione were dating ( although no public confirmation yet) he didn't regret what happened, even though he had no idea what transpired between Him and Hermione but he knew that if Ron didn't come downstairs he would've found out.
"Ron…" Hermione's voice was calm but strong, her face was emotionless, the kind he saw when in the midst of battle. Go Hermione, he thought.
"No…not another word…my mother was right…" Ron was doing it again. He had his arms crossed; nostrils flaring but this time his eyes were no longer half-lidded (as they always were when they argued) but wide open so that he could see the blue of his irises and feel them shatter.
"What are you talking about?" He had no idea what Ron was harping on about. All that transpired was a friend comforting another…wasn't it?
Yeah, he heard himself thinking. Keep telling yourself that…
Ron wasn't listening; he was lumbering down the narrow halfway towards the front door.
"No," he whispered. If Ron left now….he didn't want to think of the outcome. In five minutes Professor Lupin was going to meet them and together they were heading to Godric's hollow, his parent's house. Ron had to remain inside before the last dregs of his mother protection dissipated.
"Ron," He rushed over to the door, but his limbs weren't fast enough. Ron's hand was on the doorknob and already half-twisted.
"Piss off," He shouted back at him and open the door to find a tall, billowing creature with moth-eaten robes and a gleaming silver mask obscuring half of his face.
No, he found the world around him to be in slow motion before a burst of searing pain erupted within.
"Ah…Mr Potter," A high raspy voice spoke behind him and he half turned to face Voldemort, gracefully walking around the Kitchen and a few inches from Hermione.
He found enough strength to turn around and glare at Voldemort, at the same time glancing over at Hermione who was flanked by two Death Eaters.
"Don't you dare…"he hissed in Parseltongue, snake language that only he and Voldemort understand. He added a couple of hisses and words that couldn't be expressed in English but enough to see the gleam in Voldemort's red cat eyes subside before Voldemort grinned.
Harry gulped at the sight of a cheeky grin planted on the strained wax-like skin that was Voldemorts form.
"Oh…but I will…" He found his mind unfocused and a strong surge of sickness surged within him, unfurling like a ball of string it travelled through his body before he lapsed into unconscious.
Another memory washed over him. Not images but words vibrated across his mind.
"Some events are meant to occur, remember that Harry. Some things can not change,"
"Do you think ...Mione is watching over me?" he heard his own voice whispered. Apart of him remembered that day. He was lying across Hermione's gravesite when Luna came by, her long dirty-blonde hair whipping against the warm wind.
"Yes Harry. Death will not separate you. This is what I fear" She looked crestfallen as she looked at the heavens.
What was it that you feared Luna? His mind asked as he felt himself opening his eyes.
The next ten seconds happened on instinct.
He saw a flutter of dark shaggy hair…
At his own accord Harry reached out and used all his strength and held the stranger's hands behind his back as Harry's knee jutted into the back of the stranger's neck. One more push and Harry would feel the stranger's neck brake. Months of training taught him how to be on guard.
"A-rry???" He heard the distinct gasp of his godfather-Sirius underneath his knee. Realising what he was about to do Harry quickly untangled himself. Ignoring the bile rising in his throat at the thought of murdering his godfather he turned his attention to his surroundings.
The four decaying walls and mustard smell told him he was inside the formidable shrieking shack.
The arch windows were boarded up so only beams of light cascaded onto the wooden floor but it gave him enough light to see the outline of his godfather, whom was rubbing with neck with vigour, and swearing under his breath.
"You got quite a grip there," Sirius mumbled, looking up at him.
Harry told himself to breathe.
Just focus on the minuscule movements his lungs made when they breathed.
This was the first meeting, Harry realised, for his Godfather that is. His godfather didn't realise that Harry hasn't seen him in less than four years. Not a night goes by that he dreamt of holding his godfather, imagining silly fantasies of building a house by the lake, of glorious views of wheat and big blue skies to gaze upon as Sirius and he flew around on broomsticks.
As the war pressed on, there was nothing more that he wanted than a normal life. A life of a young boy and his godfather, playing pranks to anyone that crossed their way.
He had to keep composure. He had to remain calm and not brake down, latch onto his godfather and hold on for dear life. That was silly, mundane and weak. Yet, he wished he could. He wished that he could let his guard down but he had to keep a cool head. He had to be calm and explain everything that has happened without confusing him or scaring him. Harry hoped that he wouldn't freak his godfather out.
"I guess years of training can cause you to be like Mad Eye Moony," Harry smiled jokingly but he could tell by the prolonged silence that he failed. His father----his godfather, Harry corrected, was leaning against the wall, his leg spread apart with his right hand on top of a small knapsack.
Sirius had the most peculiar look on his face, one Harry had never seen before but it looked like he was looking at him as if he was sad or …
"A Young girl, by the name of Luna told me the most bizarre tale tonight." Sirius breathed out, his eyes were trained in front of him, arms by his side. Sirius wouldn't look at him.
"She was sitting by the fountain…."he whispered, his voice raw with fatigue, it hurt Harry to hear his father---godfather----like this.
"She said that a young warrior has come to save the past." He chuckled. "Totally bullocks if I say so…sounded a bit like-"he stopped, shook himself and then said. "She said that you risked your life in order to go back in time." He turned and looked down at him, absently rubbing his throat he added, "Going back through time is impossible…let alone a soul going back…which means…" Harry saw him thinking for a moment, his eyes glazing at an answer before sighing, "That you are very powerful…or will be…"
Harry was lost for words, he scratched his forehead, tender from his scar prickling (which he was so used to that it became a dull buzzing) and sat up until he matched Sirius slouched appearance, bit his lower lip and allowed the silence to fill the room.
"I didn't believe it but now, the look of death in your eyes and the physical display of malice I have to go on faith and believe that what she said was true…."
"Sirius…."He whispered. "What she said was true,"
He searched for some kind of reaction from him. A smile, a gasp or maybe a cheeky grin he always wore before he ruffled his hair. Instead he was slapped in the face.
Rubbing his left cheek in shock he looked at his godfather. Never in his life had Sirius laid a single hand on him. That was something Uncle Vernon would do.
Sirius seemed to have the same mind frame, his gaze lost in his quivering hand (the one that two seconds ago slapped Harry across the face)
"Sirius," He whispered, leaning closer to lay a hand on his shoulder.
Sirius, seeing what Harry was about to do stood up and began pacing back and forth. Harry stood up and watched as his godfather walked back and forth with his arms crossed, every few seconds he would steal a glance before huffing and continued his tense walking.
"How could you," He whispered, glancing at him quickly as he paced back and forth, "…didn't you even think" he added, then growled, "…stupid boy…did you not think of the consequences…"
Consequences? How could his godfather say something like that to him? He had four fucking years of thinking and pondering about his consequences, his actions and choices that he made.
An image of Mione's pale face came to mind. Her withering body was in his arms as blood spurted from his mouth.
"Harry," She whispered, eyes never leaving his, her body continued to thrust and wither around as she coughed up more blood.
He shook his head. Enough of this…
"I did…" he spat. "I made my choice and it was the right-"
"No matter how bad..." Sirius shot back.
Harry laughed. How bad? Oh please…"You don't know the half of it…." He warned. No one did. No one knew what he went through ever since his godfather went through that veil, when Snape murdered Dumbledore (Snape always protested that he was under Dumbledore's orders but he never bought it) and when Hermione, the most innocent, caring and vivacious woman he ever met died in his arms. The training, the malice he created with his bare hands, the murders he performed...
"Well…um …" his Godfather seemed to be at a loss for words. Good, he thought. Serves you right….he felt an angry flush in his face and he knew that he had to control his anger but after hearing what Sirius said, his own godfather, the one he thought would understand…everything just spurted out.
"She's dead…." He screamed. Seeing her mangled body fresh in his mind, her blood soaking his clothes. It was as if he was experiencing it all over again, "Hermione...my Mione," He whispered. "Ron, You, Dumbledore…everyone is dead," he chuckled, "…dead….dead….dead…." he felt the world swirl around him as the deaths of his friends and loved ones swarmed and consumed him. It was his fault, he knew that and that is why he risked his life to come back…couldn't Sirius see that?
"Harry,"
"No you listen," he pointed to himself, 'I lost my powers…I couldn't stop it…it was the only way…..I had to…" I had to come back, Harry told himself. I couldn't take it anymore…
…
"I'm here to change things for the better…" He added. He was going to, one way or another murder that sonofabitch that calls himself Voldemort.
"It's selfish Harry…you'd think," Sirius spat, his voice rising, " that everyone who lost someone they cared about…or if something didn't go their way….if everyone could go back in time…do you think it will make everything better??" Sirius shook his head, "…no….it wouldn't"
Harry, for the second time felt like he was slapped in the face.
He stood there, facing his godfather and mourned the loss of their first meeting. The first meeting in which, instead of goading him and blaming him, he was smiling and…glad to be his godfather. Did Sirius still think ….was he still happy to be his godfather?
Although the question seemed out there once the thought entered his mind he couldn't stop thinking about it and the flash of pain it brought continued to torture him while he gazed at his Godfather reserved stance.
"There will be dire consequences Harry…some....I dare not dream…what you have done is utterly foolish and selfish…" He sighed, picking up his knapsack.
"Keep your nose clean and remember my words Harry,"
Harry watched him transform into a scruffy black dog and scanter away, the knapsack barred in his teeth, leaving Harry alone and the feeling of abandonment consume him.
__
What was his godfather thinking? Leaving him there? And alone of all things? Harry bit his lower lip and he made his way back to the common room, still clad in his red bathrobe and slippers he received quite a few looks from his classmates as he hiked upstairs but he didn't care. In fact, he wasn't paying attention to what people were saying that he bumped into someone halfway up the stairs.
"Hey, Harry,"Ron beamed.
"Hey," Harry replied. He knew that, according to Ron that they were the best of friends but it was hard for him to remember when Harry always thought of Draco as his partner in crime. Ron killed himself over Hermione's death and even though Harry had to remember that he was in another time he couldn't forget that, and there was even a small part of him that couldn't forgive Ron for committing suicide.
"Blimey Harry, where have you been?" Ron's arm snaked across his shoulders and guided him upstairs. "Me and Dean have been lookin' everywhere for you, we've got loads of stuff to tell you and oh…we also bought some chocolate frogs..."
"That's nice," Harry replied, not paying attention to what Ron was saying. "Look. I'm going to take a shower and head down to the common room. So I'll meet you there," He left Ron at the top of the stairs and headed for the showers, he could feel his heart clenching at the way he was with Ron, almost Malfoy like but he couldn't forgive and forget with Ron. No, he did that in the past and tried to help his best friend but Ron made his choice anyway. Even though, this Ron didn't know, Harry did, and he could never be as close as he once was ever since that night when she died and the selfish way Ron took his own life.
_ _ _
After arriving back from Hogesmeade Hermione got changed into a pair of loose denims and a loose short sleeved white shirt and spent the next half an hour propped with her books to find any information that would reveal the meaning behind the mysterious grooves in the form of a dragon taking flighton her pendant.
So far she learnt that Dragons were mostly associated with protection of one's soul against evil. Another story bared a similar symbol to the one of her necklace on a Flag owned by Sir Galliard of Cornwall. It was of the story about a young knight named Galliard and how his friendship with the Dragon of the West saved his beloved from the clutches of hell. However, as useful as these stories were none made direct references to the pendant that was now around her neck. She made a mental note to ask Professor Dumbledore about it when she caught sight of Ron's flaming red hair and saw him, along with Dean and Neville lounge their way to a couple of sofas across from where she sat.
"Hey guys," She said, placing her worn out quill to one side, she wanted to ask them if they had seen Harry. She wanted to speak with him, see his ruffled hair and apologise for her actions. She was stubborn and she did promise to help bring back his powers. (She still had her lessons plans and notes in her knapsack just in case).
Seeing their glum faces Hermione somehow knew it was linked to her best friend, Harry Potter.
He wasn't around anymore and that caused quite a stir considering the infamous Sirius Black was on the loose.
But wait, Hermione thought, as she picked up her quill, didn't Harry say that he was innocent.
She nipped the end of her quill and made a note to think about it later. Right now, she had to see Harry.
As if thinking about him she saw him amble down stairs, dressed in a loose pair of Dudley-hand me-down jeans and dark blue shirt peaked underneatha baggy black hoodie she found her face heating up at the sight of his ice-green eyes glancing around the room until his gaze settled on hers.
She fought the urge to look down at the sight of his eyes boring into hers. Instead, she dropped her things, stood up and headed towards him.
Ron, seeing this, stood up and followed.
"Hey Harry, took a while in the shower…Dean, Neville and I are thinking of playing a round of exploding snap,"
Hermione watched Harry to see some kind of reaction but he seemed lost, or deep in thought. She didn't know but it pained her to see him like this. She was about to say something when Harry beat her to it, "Actually, Hermione has promised me to help me with some homework…" he then added, as an afterthought, "Perhaps later".
Her mouth lay half open as she followed Harry down the stairs from the common room and down the hallway. She followed him until she suddenly found herself in front of a wooden door that had emerged from the stone wall. She was at the entrance of the room of requirement.
"We need to talk," He said.
Hermione nodded in agreement and as she grasped the handle she imagined a room in which she and Harry could talk calmly without anymore mishaps.
She gasped at the sight before her. They were standing in the middle of a large wooden gondola, painted red with three small steps leading down a hill to a small meadow and a pond. A large tree, covered in bright autumn colours shielded the small blue pond and bits of leaves fell and swept up with the wind, landing in spits and spats around the small garden. The grass was high and thin and the same colour of jade, bright blue forget-me-nots' littered the garden around the red gondola. On the outskirts, as far as she can see were towering green hedges that seem to block off any intruders and isolate them inside this small garden.
A small bench to her left caught her eye and she saw Harry take a seat and admire the view.
She followed suit and rubbed her hands to calm her nerves. She had no idea how to begin, how to explain in words for the way she spoke to him, blamed him and in her stubbornness refused to speak with him.
"Harry," she whispered.
He looked up and she gazed into the young face of her best friend. To her, he looked the same. Except his eyes. They had death in them. This Harry had seen horror that she has scarcely read about. How was she supposed to console him when she knew nothing about his life before he came here?
"I'm sorry," He whispered, "I'm sorry for the way I treated you…I was stubborn..."
She softly smiled and admired his bravery to admit his wrongs. "Me too".
They sat in silence, she had no idea what to say next but the uncomfortable silence that slowly crept up started to bug her. She clenched her fingers into the palms of hands, distracting herself from his gaze and from the energy buzzing within her that the silence had caused.
She had to do something; she couldn't handle this feeling, whatever it was to consume her for much longer.
"Harry," she whispered, her voice was hoarse and she couldn't believe her inability to say anything when he looked at her. Her stomach continued to do flip-flops as his gaze never left hers.
She was amazed at the beauty of his white skin (his stark black hair making it even whiter) even in the half light it seemed to glow with power.
"Hermione," He whispered. There was a flicker of something in his green eyes. She saw him edge closer.
Her body tensed at the sound of her name from his lips. She hated nicknames, she had a few and even her name was mispronounced…always Her-myion-nee…or hi-mon-ni but when Harry spoke her name it dripped like cream from his lips and she felt this warmth pulse between her legs. Blushing at her bodily reaction to her name being whispered from Harry she wondered what would happen if he…
Stop right there, she told herself. That's dangerous territory
She shook her head, stood up and put some distance between herself and Harry. She needed to clear her mind a bit.
Silence still continuing she looked between the magnificent view the room of requirement had created from their minds to Harry sitting on the bench, looking at her intently…almost studying her…she didn't know if she should be grateful or nerved at his visual ministrations.
"I know what I said earlier was a bit out of line but…."
She heard Harry chuckle, she stopped, glared at him before continuing, "I stand by my point as I….." She felt words escape as she felt his intense gaze upon her, yet again. What was he thinking? Why such sadness in his eyes? How can I help?
"-do…I do believe that your powers are still there…you just fallen off the bicycle and your mind hasn't recovered," She felt a bit better, known she was on familiar ground and Harry had stopped gazing at her, "…you just need a little faith…and a little encouragement which I should've given before," She bowed her head. Okay, that's the easy part. Now, comes the hard part. She read a few techniques that have helped other patients like him in the past and muggle teens with a low self-esteem. She knew that Harry wasn't down in the dumps but if she could just open his eyes then…somehow…everything would be okay.
__ __ _
"Okay…um…if you could stand up please?"
She looked so unhinged that he didn't know what to say.
"Er…Hermione-"he grimaced and arched his left eyebrow.
He knew that they were on shaky ground and if he said something or did something wrong he could well lose her forever…
No…he whispered, a ghost of a pale face echoed in his mind. I will not let it happen again...
Lost in his own thoughts he didn't hear her voice until he felt her gaze upon his.
"If you stand up I can show you that you…still have your powers…" She waited until Harry made up his mind and let out a gasp once he stood up and went over to lean against the wooden railings.
"Okay," She said. "I want you to close your eyes and listen to the world around you,"
"Hermione…are you...." his back was facing her and he wondered if he would feel comfortable to be in this position?
To feel her tiny hands against his chest…he knew that this girl was only fourteen and despite him being a year younger physically his mind still thought about her as a nineteen year old.
His hands itched to weave though her curly tresses, to trace the curves of her young body to….
"Just trust me," she walked up behind him and slipped her arms through his and brought his arms to hang in mid air along with hers. He arched his back and felt like a complete idiot, standing there with his arms outstretched…he dare not think about the touch of her body against his and how he wished he could turn around and lose himself in…
Don't even think about it….Harry told himself…Hermione and Ron are dating…or are to…he didn't know but he knew how happy the Weasley family, especially Molly was when they discovered that Hermione liked Ron during sixth year. Of course the confirmation of their relationship never occurred because of Dumbledore and….her death….
A lone white peacock feather fluttered down to rest upon the tips of the grass. He distracted himself by gazing upon the fluffy white feathers and light green colour it gave off.
"You see the feather there Harry," he could feel her breath tickle the back of his neck.
He grunted in response. Not trusting his own words as he was too focused on the way her arms would move just briefly against his stomach.
"I want you to close your eyes for a moment,"
He did.
"Now, picture that feather in your mind."
He pictured the long thin feather, about knee high with light speckles of lime green reflecting in every single feather.
When she spoke, she sounded so far away that he almost jumped at her words.
"I want you to picture yourself performing the Wingardium Leviosa incantation. Where's your wand Harry?"
"In my right pocket," he found himself saying.
"Right" She whispered.
The next thing he knew he felt her right hand slide from his, down his chest, the side of his hipbone and inside his right pocket, grasping around for his wand. He forced himself to think about something else, the toad-like face of Professor Umbridge or the smell of butterbeer.
Anything but the feel of her hand inches from something else that wasn't his wand.
He didn't stop thinking about horrible images until he felt the coarse wood slide into his grasp with Hermione's help.
"Try it," She whispered.
"Huh..." he whispered, his mind hadn't quite grasped at what was he doing. His body, on the other hand was pressing against hers and he could feel the two soft mounds of her breasts pressed against his back. How could she expect him to concentrate when she was so close? The flower-book smell enveloped his senses and he imagined other things, blurred images of their bodies merging as one.
"Harry," She whispered.
Oh….he did it again. He shook himself out of revive.
"When you perform the incantation I want you to picture in your mind what happens when you perform the Wingardium Leviosa,"
Simple enough and he knew that he didn't want to disappoint her when it didn't work but he tried for her sake and promised himself he would comfort her afterwards.
He twirled his wand and whispered the words, "Wingardium Leviosa," and pictured the feather slowly cascaded up, much like what happened when Hermione performed the spell in their 1st year.
Even then he knew she was someone special.
He pictured the way the white feather would slowly flutter up and down, almost sea-saw like in the air.
"Harry," She squealed.
"What?" He said, opening his eyes. Right in front of him was the same feather he imagined, fluttering according to the twirls of his wand.
"Now, gently put it back down," She whispered.
It wasn't him. He wasn't doing it.
"Please," She whispered. The sound of her voice caused him to do it. He couldn't explain it in words but her voice urged him to try.
As a conductor controls music he turned his wand down and imagined in the back of his mind.
He could feel his face burn and a lump rise in his throat when the feathered obeyed his commands and fluttered down until it touched the earth.
I did it. I made the feather go up and down…
He slid his wand back into his pocket, turned and crossed his arms, breaking the contact that lulled him so.
She buried her hands in her pockets and looked to the ground briefly before looking up at him.
"You did it," she gushed, blushing Harry looked down at the floor.
"Not without you, Hermione," He grinned. He couldn't believe it…he had his powers back….maybe she was right…maybe…because he went back through time his powers were not locked like they were before. This opens a lot of possibilities and he felt somewhat relieved that he had his power back. Now, all he had to do was destroy the horcruxs and kill Voldemort.
"I…I have some lessons…um…plans and stuff that might help you improve your magical concentration. From what I've guessed you haven't used your powers for one year?"
"Two years," he corrected. Two very long years. "But I learned other things to get by," Stuff that he hoped he wouldn't have to use ever again.
"Well…,"She sighed. Her eyes seemed to be darting all over the place. Not at him though, he felt his heart accelerate. Did he do something…did he say something...
"If you…have…learned..." Hermione began and Harry suddenly realised what he had implied.
"No…I mean…of course Hermione..."
Seeing her blush made him smile and he wondered if he ....for a moment…if he could hold her and forget for a while…but then….the haunting image of Hermione's, pale and ashen face fluttered into his mind. He could still hear her screaming his name as she died.
No….he had to go on…for the other Hermione…or as he now referred to as 'Mione. 'Mione risked everything for him and it was his fault that she died. He needed to avenge her death, with the help of her younger self and in some way seek forgiveness.
"Just because I have found my magical abilities don't mean that I'm all powerful" He always hated the names people would call him… "Chosen one" or when he lost his powers... "The weak one"
"I doubt that I am but," He looked down at her face; he could see the faint echo of what she would become, a bright, intelligent and beautiful woman. He would not allow her to die at his hands again.
"…I need you…I need you to help me…" he whispered and he gazed into her warm brown cinnamon eyes and felt his heart beat rapidly when she said.
"Yes,"