Ties of Blood and Water

To say that seventh year was not the most stellar that Pansy Parkinson had ever endured would be an understatement.

Actually, it wouldn’t be an understatement. To say that something was understated would mean that there was an aspect of truth to the original intent of the statement itself. This year hadn’t come close to anything resembling good, fun, decent or fulfilling.

It had all started the previous summer. The Dark Lord had been cast down, his power broken and the champion of the light standing victorious over him. A barely seventeen year old boy, who wore glasses too thick for him and rags that looked as if they were made for someone three times the size of his skinny, and (in her view) runtish frame. With their master defeated, his followers had scattered, daring only to form the smallest of networks between each other. The ensuing witch hunt, led by the Ministry, and the casting of Lucius Malfoy through the Veil had been incentive enough for the Death Eaters to renounce their allegiance to the Dark Lord, to claim Imperius, blackmail, or just straight-faced deny it.

Pansy and her father had been some of the lucky ones. Tests by the Ministry had proven that he had, in fact, been under Imperius for an extended amount of time. What they didn’t know is that it was intentional. The Dark Lord had sent him on an errand he didn’t trust anyone but himself to do, yet needed to remain hidden until the right moment. Thus, with a combination of possession and the Unforgivables, he’d guided Elphias Parkinson through the stages of his mission personally.

Luckily, this simply registered as an extreme form of mental abuse to the Unspeakables, her father being released with a full apology, and compensation money from the repossessed Macnair and Bullstrode estates (which, of course, had been filtered immediately through their illicit network of finance and relation back to its original owners or heirs). They hadn’t even thought to look at ‘little’ Pansy Parkinson, barely on the cusp of seventeen at the time of the Dark Lord’s fall. The victory of Harry Potter was inconvenient for many, devastating for others. Pansy had found herself in something of a quandary. She’d always assumed that she would graduate from Hogwarts, her NEWTS at a respectable level, and immediately enter into the Dark Lord’s service, as her father had planned for her since before her birth. Yes, she would be a faithful Death Eater, and she would take special pleasure in the Muggle-baiting, the torture, and the sheer power that came with such a position, being the strong arm of the Dark Lord, the emissary of his wishes…

But of course, that was all impossible now. No, perfect little Potter, his blood-traitor lapdog and that mudblood whore had seen to that. They’d taken her future away from her, taken most of her friends (well, to say friends was a stretch, associates perhaps), and taken her self-respect. It was no secret amongst the student populace that she was a blood supremacist, nor was it a secret that she was an ardent supporter of the Dark Lord. The humiliation that had followed his fall was…excruciating. Timid little Hufflepuffs and bookish, snobby Ravenclaws that wouldn’t have even dared look in her direction before were flooding out of the woodwork, taunting her in the corridors and suddenly developing a backbone, now that their families weren’t in danger. Racist, inbred, crup-herder, scum sucker…all of these were just labels, mere words. She’d developed a thick skin this year, and now they just bounced off her like spells off dragonhide.

No, she couldn’t care less what some nobody from a useless, reject House thought of her, let alone blood traitors with no family history, no pride in themselves or their Heritage as wizards. There were larger things in motion, other events that made her sick and angry to her core, made her tap into that darkness that resides inside everyone, that pure feeling of hurt and righteous fury that allows you access to parts of you that you never thought existed. That lets you do terrible things without remorse, because it feels right.

The first blow that had weakened her came just after the school year had begun. Her year was empty, nearly. Shockingly so in fact, those who’d been proven as being Death Eaters or Pledges having been rooted out and expelled, their wands snapped in what was rapidly becoming known amongst Pureblood circles as ‘The Great Betrayal’. The old families were dwindling; no longer was there a Bullstrode at Hogwarts, nor a Crabbe, a Goyle, a Zabini or a Black. Their year had been cut down the middle, those who had been bullied and coerced by the stronger members now found themselves in a position of pre-eminence. They found themselves being able to exact the vengeance they had wanted for so long, but been afraid to take for fear of reprisal. It was rare that Pansy got a decent night’s sleep these days. The only shining light in all of this; was that despite the loss of her compatriots, there was still a Malfoy at Hogwarts.

Draco Malfoy. Even now, the name made her shiver. He had been the paragon of their ideals. Well-bred, educated, physically impressive…he’d been the dream of every Slytherin girl, whether they admitted it or not. And Pansy Parkinson had him, she was the envy of everyone, although the other girls found themselves far too intimidated to hex or insult her.

She had thought that this year wouldn’t be so bad with Draco by her side, that she would endure this one year of Hell because they would be together, able to keep the Old Ideals alive in their love.

That had been shattered at 10.48 pm, Saturday 3^rd December.

Despite the faculty’s mistrust of her, and (she assumed) against their better judgement, she had retained her Prefect’s badge. For all the things that may have been said about her, and her House, let it never be said that once she was given a task she didn’t see it through. She patrolled her assigned area with diligence, and never missed a shift. Of course, it was more to get out of the dormitories and her common room than anything, but she still took the position seriously. Even if that old Muggle-loving fool, Dumbledore, had bestowed it upon her.

So, it was that she found herself on the last leg of her patrol for the evening that cold Saturday, the halls quiet around her except for the light click of her own heels. She liked the castle at night. It was silent; it was empty and tranquil. There were no jeers, no taunts, no legs for her to ‘accidentally’ trip over…no food to be thrown at her, no insults for her to be forced to shrug off.

It was bliss. And tonight, she decided, was the night. She would confront Draco, his avoidance of her since term had started becoming increasingly unsettling, as well as his absence from the common room at peculiar hours.

She also had questions for him, questions about where he’d been when the Dark Lord had fell, where he had been afterwards, why he had not come to the Parkinsons’ aid…why he’d let his father be executed in such an undignified and dishonourable manner…

But none of that was particularly important, right now. The main thing that she was going to do when she found him, was to tell him that she was ready. That she wanted him, that she loved him, that he was a perfect match for her and that their joining would benefit both their families. They’d keep the traditions of Blood alive, leave it undiluted with the filthy mud water of Muggles and the unclean Half-Bloods. They would sanctify their union that very night, with her giving her body to him, her prize, her virtue. He would take her, they would be together…and it would all be so perfect…

Of course, it wouldn’t be perfect that night. Nothing would ever be again after what she had found as she rounded the corner by the tapestry of Siobhan the Stern.

At later times in her life, she would look back on that moment and wonder if that was the point where she had truly died, where the last, twisted remains of a teenage girl that had lingered within her were finally crushed, as her heart leapt with excitement at the sight of his blonde locks, his broad shoulders.

And promptly shattered into a thousand tiny, sharp pieces as she noticed his hand threading through that cursed, unmistakeable red hair, pulling another girl to him with a passionate fervour that made her feel as if he’d stabbed her very soul, crushed her hopes and dreams with a single, fell blow. With a kiss that was meant for her…but was received, no, stolen, by Ginevra Weasley.

And it hurt. Oh god, it hurt so badly.

The ache permeated her senses, the numb shock slowly giving way to a feeling she’d never quite experienced before. It was a peculiar thing, a mix of horror, pain, revulsion, obsession, love, bitter hate, confusion and realisation. It was something she found herself unable to escape. It clawed at her, pulling her stomach into an icy pit and sending the pieces of her heart scattering to strike every nerve ending in her body, making the pain physical and so, so real.

She never knew how she managed to make it back to her dormitory that night. She was living a half-life at that point, frozen from feelings, sight, and sensation. She didn’t feel as a thrown inkpot smashed against the side of her head, knocking her to the floor. She didn’t feel the dull throb from where it had impacted; the warmth of the blood that leaked from the small laceration didn’t transmit. She couldn’t hear the derisive laughter that slowly died down as she didn’t react, nor did she comprehend the uneasy silence that followed in the common room as she picked herself up, turned to the occupants, and said in an even, indifferent, cold voice.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

She missed the stunned silence as she retreated to her room, stepping inside and closing the door with a soft click. The only thing she remembered was murmuring the colloportus spell, and sliding gently down the wooden frame. Her body began to convulse before the tears spilled out, the only sounds that echoed throughout the room for the rest of the night being her gentle, muffled sobs and quiet sniffs as she wept, broken hearted and alone.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

Of course, that hadn’t been the end of it. Not by a long shot. Now not only did she have to put up with the taunts and insults from the other students, she had to deal with the knowledge that she wasn’t good enough for Draco. That she wasn’t pretty enough somehow, that she didn’t deserve him. That he’d chosen that blood-traitor bitch over her, a woman of fine stock and class. That for some reason…he didn’t love her like she loved him…

With days and weeks of brooding, the despair and loss she felt over the incident slowly changed into resentment and distaste, as these things do if left to turn around on their own. She began to despise where she hadn’t cared before, began to hate with a passion that had rivalled what she thought was her ardour for Draco. She took vengeance on those that cursed her from behind, that threw heavy inkpots and books at her head. She threw herself into her studies as a form of escape. She knew all the defensive and offensive magic she would ever need already. Her father had seen fit to school her in that from a very, very early age, her magical development now so firmly rooted in the Dark Arts that it was impossible to separate where she ended and they began. And she used this to her advantage. She cast insomnambulus spells on herself to keep her awake during the endless nights of studying, she learned how to cast wandless glamours that reflected her moods, her features changing subtly to make her seem serene when she was busy, or purely terrifying when she was angry. She cast attraction spells on the men in her dorm, and delighted in turning them away, getting a perverse satisfaction out of inflicting even a fraction of the hurt that she felt onto other people. Let them suffer, she thought, let them see what it’s like to feel this cold.

It was this way of life that got her through Christmas. She thought that she even scared her father when she went home, so cold and detached, and obviously up to her ears in the Dark Arts that he barely recognised her. He feigned delight, of course, but she could tell he was lying.

The fact was, she didn’t care. Despite her forays into things that should stay hidden, the extra studying was paying off in a big way. Her grades had risen from the middling level they were at before, to Outstandings on nearly every assignment. Her practical work improved the best in solitary classes such as Potions, Herbology and Transfiguration, whilst her work in Defence suffered accordingly. Defence, she nearly spat the name. I don’t need defending from what makes me powerful, what makes me beautiful for people.

So it was that she turned her obsession onto her Academic work, striving to be the best with the same energy that she once held striving to be with Draco. And for a time, it was working. It was all going so perfectly…

Of course, she should have known that wouldn’t last. There was always one obstacle in her path now, always someone who got that fraction of a percent more than her, that person whose hand always shot up an instant before hers.

Smart, bookish, pretty, intelligent, teacher’s pet and mudblood Hermione Granger. The little bitch had been an annoyance to her since First Year, but now she was more than that…she was a rival. Pansy Parkinson didn’t take kindly to having a rival in anything.

And once again, the situation came to a head in a manner and setting that she never, in a million years, dreamed it would have happened.

1.45 pm, January 28^th, Potions Classroom. That was when she’d heard those words that she’d come to doubly associate with failure, words that still haunted her to this day.

“An excellent improvisation on a flawed ingredient list, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor.” Snape had pronounced, leaning over the mudblood’s cauldron and peering into its sapphire contents, the smoke rising in lazy wisps around his hooked nose, somehow avoiding his dark, beady eyes.

Ten points to Gryffindor.

In her many years of knowing Professor Severus Snape, both as a Potions Master and her Head of House, she had never once known him to give points to Gryffindor, let alone be pleasant or civil to that little dirty-blooded whore. And it angered her. It filled her with a rage that seemed unreasonable in its depth, simmering just beneath boiling point inside of her.

Snape glanced at her cauldron as he passed, and she held her breath. Her mixture wasn’t quite as distinctly coloured as Granger’s, but the smoke was curling in the right manner. If only she’d added that Beezleroot when it had turned peach…but he wouldn’t hold that again her, would he? A member of his own House?

With an appraising ‘hmm’, and a slight rising of his eyebrow, Snape passed on. She glanced over at Granger, who still seemed to be in shock at having received points from the loathed Potions Master. Her mouth opened and closed stupidly, her expression of shock turning to the deepest blush as Potter whispered something in her ear. She noticed him take her hand, giving it a squeeze that caused the Head Girl (Pansy still found that highly amusing) to turn an even darker shade of crimson.

She hated her. She hated her so much, and she was going to pay.

With a quick glance at Granger’s ingredients list on the station across from her, she picked out the gist of what she’d added. Powdered Asphodel, Beezleroot (bitch), Essence of Newt, stirred, counter-stirred, Gumtree Bark…oh yes, she thought to herself with a smug, slightly manic gleam in her eyes. Oh yes mudblood, I know what you’ve been doing. Let’s see what happens if this gets…accidentally thrown into the mix, shall we?

With a soft sigh of laughter, she picked up the vial that contained her liquidised Doxy wings, moving as if to access the store cupboard. The store cupboard that, conveniently, Granger and the Boy-Who-Infuriatingly-Still-Lived were sitting right next to. She could stumble; it wouldn’t seem that out of place. People were so used to seeing her get hexed or tripped now that they barely took any notice.

So she did. She fell deliberately forwards, masking her actions as much as possible as the vial…slipped…out of her grasp, spinning, spinning.

Oh mudblood, let’s see how that pretty face looks when it’s covered in acid solution, shall we?

Once again though, it was not to be. Potter plucked the vial out of the air with a deftness that must have been borne from Quidditch. In a second, Snape was there, snatching it out of his hand and examining it before turning slowly to face Pansy, who was now lying on her back on the floor.

“Get up, Parkinson.” Snape spat, his voice unnaturally cold. She complied, standing up and fighting the urge to shrink from the anger she saw reflected in his black orbs. They were silent for a few moments as the activity in the rest of the class came to a halt, some people stopping mid-stir.

“Tell me, Miss Parkinson.” Snape asked, his oily voice cutting through the air and sending a shiver down her spine as he continued to look into her eyes with that penetrating gaze of his. “What would happen if I were to introduce Doxy Wing to a solution of Restorative Draught?”

“I…” She stammered, unsure of how to respond. He knew, he knew, and he was sticking up for her! WHY?

“You’d end up with an Acidic Dissolution Solution.” Potter’s voice suddenly came from her left. Forcing her face to remain an impassive mask, she turned her cool, grey eyes to glance at him, and actually did take a step backwards this time. His hands were trembling at his side, his viridian eyes sparking with barely-contained rage. He looked positively incandescent with fury.

The rest of the lesson passed in something of a blur. Snape had lost his patience and yelled at her, repeatedly, for a solid five minutes. Words about responsibility, desecration of a noble art, how he’d never seen a seventh year behave like this and how she was very lucky not to be expelled for attempting to kill (kill? She only meant to maim, although killing did seem to have its benefits…) the mudblood. His tirade had ended with Slytherin being docked a hundred points, setting them right back down into fourth place (his own house, he made a special point of emphasising) and she had received a month’s worth of detentions (with various teachers, since apparently he was too disgusted to even look at her right now).

She’d accepted this with nods, and appropriately sycophantic, monotone responses. Eventually he’d told her to get out of his sight, and she’d left the Potions classroom.

But not before she’d thought of something else she could do. Some way to get back on all of them for putting her in this position.

She found herself moving towards the greenhouses. She’d have to act now, if not, he’d never give her the time of day after what had happened in Potions. In fact, she wasn’t sure if he would now, but that was beside the point. She wasn’t looking to make friends; she was looking to ruin them.

“Weasley!” She called out, her voice commanding and authoritative as she saw the shock of red hair moving off with that Longbottom boy, useless lump that he was.

“What do you want?” He asked; his eyes narrowing as he turned to face her. His companion turned too, his hand reaching inside his robes inconspicuously…or so he assumed.

Please, she thought, rolling her eyes.

“To think you could even hit the arse end of an elephant, let alone me is offensive, Longbottom.” She drawled, piercing him with a cold gaze. “Put it away.”

“Yeah? Well I find your face pretty offensive as well Parkinson, but you’re making no effort to hide that either.” Weasley retorted, taking a step forward as his friend flushed red. “What do you want?” He repeated, shifting his bag up.

“I’ve found out something I think you’d be…interested in.” She replied, keeping her expression both detached and disinterested.

“What makes you think I have any interest in what you have to say?” He spat at her, making to turn away.

“Oh, and I thought we were getting on so well.” She replied sarcastically, her voice taking on an airy, almost sing-song tone.

“The day the devil learns to ice-skate will be the day I get on with you, Parkinson.” He muttered, tapping Longbottom on the shoulder.

“Winter games in the fiery depths aside, I think you’ll be interested in this.” She pressed. “Ever wonder where your sister goes after lights out, Weasley? Wonder why she comes back at late hours, well after curfew and any assigned prefect rounds?” Weasley turned back then, throwing his bag to the floor as he marched straight up to her, his face inches from hers. A crowd had somehow gathered around them. Hogwarts students, never ones to miss any spats or fights, seemed to particularly enjoy the Gryffindor/Slytherin altercations. It was a school tradition, to be honest.

“I don’t know what you think you know, but I can assure you, you go anywhere near my sister and I will kill you. You know nothing about her, or about us.” He growled in a low voice that only she could hear. It was controlled, calm, but she could almost taste the anger behind his threats, feel his conviction in what he said.

It was delicious. He’d have made a fine Death Eater, if he’d only tap into it more. She smirked in his face, batting her eyelids unconcernedly.

“So you’re telling me you know that she’s secretly meeting Draco Malfoy, fucking him in broom closets up and down the castle every night?” She finished triumphantly, feeling her resolve bolster at a few scattered gasps from the crowd. Obviously, this was not common knowledge.

Her bravado was suddenly smashed as he let out a sharp laugh, sounding more like a bark than anything.

“That’s what you’ve got to tell me? That’s your big secret, your bombshell?” He mocked, grinning widely.

“You…you know?” She stammered, losing her confidence for the first time. She fixed her with a glare.

“Of course I fucking know, you silly little cow. She’s my sister.” He replied, as if it were self-evident that he was ominiscient as to the goings-on involving her.

“But…but you hate Malfoy!” She screamed; realising that this was the first time in six years she’d called him by his last name. The irony of this whole situation was not lost on her.

“Maybe.” He conceded. “But the way he helped us last year, he’s a damn sight better than some of her other boyfriends. Not that it’s any of your business of course. In fact…” He looked her up and down appraisingly, his nose wrinkling as if she were a bad smell. “Why are you still here?” he asked coldly, folding his arms over his chest. She picked up her bag then and stormed off, the ringing sound of laughter surrounding her bruised, battered and mocked sense of dignity.

It was then that she decided she had nothing left to lose, then that she knew she had to go to extreme measures to get her revenge.

It was then she knew she’d stop at nothing.

It had taken her several sleepless days and nights, finishing detention first with McGonagall (that had been a lesson in patience), then Vector (she still couldn’t remember much about it, she assumed she’d fallen asleep marking third year papers) and then retreating to the sanctity of her room. She had sole occupancy now, her former dorm mates either in Azkaban, expelled or alienated from her. But that suited her fine, especially that fateful night when she’d finally come across what she’d been looking for in ‘A Tome Moste Darke’.

The Separatum Curse

In this we describe a most wicked curse, designed for those whose hearts have been torn asunder, and seek vengeance to mend the split, or those who have been humiliated and require recompense for their shame.

The Separatum Curse is a form of the Malleus Maleficarum family of hexes and curses, their nature being distantly derived from that of the most evil of dominating magicks, the Imperius. It creates a bond between the victims, slaving their wills and emotions to each other so that if one feels, the other is compelled to experience it also. If the distance between the two objects is of too severe a length, they are overcome with a pain not far removed from that of the Cruciatus, wickedest of torture curses.

The heart of the spell lies in the key to its undoing. Even if the objects become aware that they have been slaved, and learn of this curse, the price of speaking it to their hearts’ desires is eternal bondage to its will. If they are able to resist and hold their tongues for the cycle of seven nights, it will be undone.

The wand movement…

Pansy allowed herself a small, cold grin of triumph. This was it.

She had her chance the next day at breakfast, after practicing on rats the night before, endlessly, until she had the curse mastered. It was a silent incantation, thankfully, and an invisible one, its roots of course lying in that of the Imperius and the Cruciatus. With a small quiver of anticipation, the first real sensation of the sort that she’d had since that terrible December night, she watched as the mudblood and the blood-traitor Gryffin-whore sat across from each other. Perfect. The curse required that the persons to be slaved were making eye contact at the time of casting, and being situated no more than twelve feet away.

With a thrill that coursed through her, causing her heart to beat faster, but strangely also making her feel slightly ill, as if a cold, clammy hand had touched her shoulder, she cast.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

“You alright?” The words, although softly spoken, startled Hermione to such an extent that she jumped in her seat, blinking rapidly as she readjusted to where she was. “Hermione?” The voice came again, from her side.

“Huh?” She asked stupidly, still…for want of a better word…waking up. She looked up to see Harry staring at her concernedly, his brow furrowed, green eyes piercing through her from behind his thin-rimmed glasses. With one hand he scratched the back of his neck, eventually turning into a rubbing motion before he dropped it.

She loved it when he did that.

“You sort of…phased out.” He replied, his worried gaze not dropping from her for a second. “You okay?”

“Oh, did I?” She asked, waving it off as if it were nothing. She had lost her concentration for a moment, but she was just daydreaming. “Must not have slept very well is all.” He smiled slightly at her then, his face relaxing. It sent a little thrill through her to know he cared so much, that his attention could be focused on her and her alone in the tumultuous hustle and bustle that was the Gryffindor table. She shyly returned his little grin, before attacking her plate of bacon and egg with renewed vigour.

“What in the…” Harry said suddenly. She immediately looked back over, and followed his gaze across the table to where Ginny was sat, her hand in mid air and her mouth hanging slightly open where she was about to take a bite of the sausage speared on the end of her fork. “Ginny! Snap out of it.” He said sharply, causing her to jolt awake and sending a small rush of adrenaline through Hermione as well. Harry looked between the two of them suspiciously, before he sighed and shook his head, reaching for a slice of toast. “Must be something in the water…” He muttered, earning him a sharp ‘Oi’ from Ginny, and a noise of indignation from Hermione.

“You get away with that one Potter.” She cast in his direction, narrowing her eyes in fake annoyance as she reached over and plucked a rasher of bacon from his plate. “For you have given me tribute, and I am a kindly god.” Across from Harry, sat next to his sister, Ron began to laugh. The sound would have normally warmed her, were it not for the rather large chunk of hash brown that flew from his mouth and landed right in the middle of her pirated food.

“Oh, RON!” Ginny chastised sharply, before glancing with disdain at Hermione’s plate. The two of them made eye contact and shuddered at the same time, a wave of revulsion washing over them both.

“That was really nasty, man…” Harry agreed, picking the offending article off of her plate and flicking it at his friend’s face, grinning as it bounced off of his forehead. “Here,” He said, lifting his remaining rashers and placing them next to her tomatoes. “I’ve had enough anyway.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She replied graciously, giving him a beaming smile and a wink before tucking in. Lord, she was never normally this hungry. As she was eating, she glanced up briefly whilst she chewed, catching the eye of someone on the far end of the Hall. Or to be more precise, catching the cool, grey eyes of someone across the Hall who was watching her intently.

“What does she want?” Harry broke in suddenly, with barely-contained anger in his voice as he followed her gaze and glared over as Pansy Parkinson. The incident in Potions had happened only a few days ago, as well as Ron’s confrontation with her in the corridor, and Harry was still liable to hex her at any point. All of them were, actually. Hermione suddenly felt a surge of anger as she remembered the Slytherin’s attempt to come between Ron and Ginny as well, the feeling only intensifying as she spared a quick glance for her friend. The girl’s eyes were slits, the fists clutching her knife and fork whitening dangerously at the knuckles. As she looked back, Parkinson smiled coldly, raising her goblet to them ever-so-slightly before looking away in that disdainful manner that only a real snob can truly master.

“Bitch.” Ginny muttered, the grunts that came from the two boys signifying their agreement.

“Oh, ignore her Ginny.” Hermione replied, still not taking her eyes off the girl who now seemed to be pointedly ignoring them, absorbed in her Herbology text. “It’s what she wants, a reaction.”

“You’re right…” The other girl replied distantly, picking at her food idly with her fork. “I just wish…things with Draco are…we could have done without that, anyway.”

“If he dumps you over that,” Ron growled threateningly, “I’ll beat his pasty white face to a pulp.”

“Ron,” Ginny snapped, her voice so short and stern that Hermione had a sudden, startling reminder of Mrs. Weasley. “Has anyone told you that this over-protective big-brother thing isn’t endearing, it’s annoying?”

“She is sixteen Ronald, and Malf…Draco…oh do stop making that face, Harry, has more than proven himself trustworthy.” Hermione joined in, feeling unaccountably irritable as well. Ginny flashed her a quick look of gratitude, before turning her glare back onto her brother.

“He’ll always be a bloody ferret in my book…” Ron muttered mutinously, glaring back at his sister, who simply rolled her eyes

“What have you got now, Hermione?” She asked, changing the subject away from her boyfriend and onto more neutral territory. Hermione took a sip of her tea, feeling a pleasant tingle as the sweet liquid warmed her from the inside before replying.

“Harry and I have double Transfiguration first, I think.” She replied, glancing at the dark-haired boy for confirmation. Although, she thought to herself, judging by the way his cheekbones as so defined now, and that slight shadow that covers his jaw today, and how his robe hangs so nicely off his shoulders…maybe boy isn’t the right word. Ginny suddenly coughed loudly and Hermione looked over, both of them blushing for some reason as Ginny stared at her, slightly open-mouthed.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, slightly oblivious to the exchange as he apprehensively watched Colin Creevey retrieve his camera from the depths of his school satchel, casting around for another…model. His eyes glanced back to find the two girls looking at each other intently, brows furrowed as if having a battle of wills.

“What has gotten in to you two today?” He asked, looking back and forth between them once again.

“Nothing…nothing…” Hermione replied distractedly. “What did you say you had, Gin?”

“Defence.” Ginny replied in the same manner, her voice suggesting she was only really half there. Harry shook his head in confusion again, a voice that sounded remarkably like Ron’s saying ‘Mental’ in his head.

“Come on then,” He said, getting up. “Ten minutes now, and Ginny you’re on the floor below, so we’ll walk you there. Ron?” He said, glancing at his other best friend.

“Hah, free period, you poor, poor souls.” He grinned, folding his arms over his chest in a smug manner. Harry stared blankly at him, blinking for a few seconds before turning and leaving without saying another word. Hermione stifled a smirk, and gave a quick wave to Ron before hurrying off after him, Ginny in pursuit.

“So, when are you meeting Draco?” Hermione half-whispered to her friend, loud enough for Harry to hear her use of Malfoy’s first name, and getting a little bit of a kick out of seeing him grimace. Feeling a slight twinge of elation as well, Ginny smiled.

“Tonight,” She whispered conspiratorially, “In the Room of Requirement. But enough about my love life, what was that all about at breakfast?” She teased, stifling a giggle at Hermione’s blush.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She replied in a quiet voice, glancing worriedly up at Harry. Being somewhat afflicted by the condition known as masculinity, he’d walked ahead without really noticing they’d fallen behind.

“Oh come on Hermione, you’ve been in love with each other for like, years, and neither of you has said anything! When are you going to tell him? You know you have those nice, cosy Head quarters now…”

“Ginevra Anne Weasley, I have no idea where you get these ideas from, or who you’re even talking about, but…”

“Harry, you dolt. Don’t play stupid with me, it doesn’t become you.”

“Harry is my best friend.”

“You love him.”

“Well, yes of course, but…”

“You’re in love with him.”

“I most certainly am n…”

“And he’s in love with you.” Ginny finished pointedly, staring her in the eyes with a ‘don’t-bullshit-me-madam’ glare.

“He doesn’t…” She whispered, breaking their locked gazes and looking down at the floor, before suddenly looking back up, a little glint in her eyes that for some reason caused a feeling of hope to blossom in Ginny’s chest. “Really?” She was about to answer, when she saw the subject of their discussion suddenly fall back in step with them.

“Hey, what’re you talking about?” He asked amicably, throwing a companionable arm around Hermione that she involuntarily leant into, blushing as soon she realised what she’d down. Ginny felt an inward cringe. No, you fool. Go with it!

“Nothing,” Ginny replied dismissively. “Girl talk.” She’d learned over the years, that if there were any two words in the English language more likely to dissuade a boy from prying into conversations, it was to use the girl talk excuse. And just as she predicted, Harry blanched ever so slightly before changing the subject.

“Right…er…Hermione, I was wondering, could you help me tonight with my Transfiguration homework? I’m going to ask McGonagall about it in class today, but I can’t quite get the difference between a waxing Animagus transformation and a waning one. I’m sure she said something about it, but…”

“Of course,” Hermione replied cheerfully, “although you know, she did set this essay two weeks ago.” Harry gave a long-suffering sigh in response.

“I know, but since when have I ever been organised?” He asked rhetorically. Hermione grinned as she chose to answer anyway.

“Good point. Alright, the difference between a waning and a waxing transformation occurs when the Pentecostal…” She began, only to be cut off by Ginny.

“Er, not that I don’t care about advanced transfiguration and…wax pedestals and the like. Because I do, you know, but this is my stop.” She grinned impishly at the other girl’s irritated glance, knowing instinctively somehow that she wasn’t really disgruntled. “So I’ll see you after Defence?” She asked the pair.

“Yep, Library.” Harry sighed resignedly, ignoring the look Hermione threw him.

“Cool.” Ginny shifted her bag up, giving them both a little wave as she set off down the corridor. “See you in a bit.”

“Bye, Ginny.” They both called out, before ascending the staircase that would take them to Advanced Transfiguration. Hermione clutched several books to her chest as they walked idly, both of them slightly early, but wanting to get in before the first and second year Hufflepuffs filtered out of their common room.

“So, tonight alright for you then?” Harry asked after a few moments, one hand clutching the strap of his bag and another stuffed firmly inside his trouser pocket. She glanced over at him out of the corner of her eye, smiling involuntarily as she did so.

She’d been doing that a lot, lately.

“Yeah, fine.” She replied. “Although, you know, I’ll have to check my busy social calendar.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry asked, a smirk lighting his features and reaching his eyes. She loved it when they lit up like that. “Illegal raves in Hogsmeade, Miss Granger?”

“Oh quite.” She responded dryly. “After that, a little heavy drinking and moonlight skinny dipping with the Giant Squid might be in order, you’ll be coming?” To his credit, Harry didn’t blush, much.

“I’m Head Boy I’ll have you know, miss. Such things are below me now. Although the prospect of a pretty girl all wet and naked…” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Hermione laughed, perhaps a little too loudly to be normal.

“Not now, not ever.” She lied through her teeth. “In with you.” With a gentle, cajoling push to his shoulder, they entered the room.

“Mister Potter, Miss Granger.” McGonagall greeted, tapping her wand on the blackboard as she finished setting up her classroom for the lesson.

“Professor,” They both replied, taking their usual seats in the centre. McGonagall’s lips pursed slightly.

“How many times must I tell you, Mister Potter? We fill in from the front.” With a sharp flick of her wrist, the chair underneath Harry disappeared, causing him to clutch onto Hermione suddenly for support. She couldn’t help but laugh as he slipped anyway, falling to the floor with a resounding thump.

“Ow…” He murmured faintly. The Professor merely looked at him, the slight crinkling in the corners of her eyes giving away her amusement.

“And let that be a lesson to you. Front and centre, please!” She commanded imperiously, before turning back to her blackboard. Harry stood up, rubbing his backside tenderly as he made his way to the front.

Hermione tried her best not rub it comfortingly.

Author's Note:

Hello again all,

I've started this fic in response to the challenge "Bound Together" on the PK forums, located at http://talk.portkey.org/index.php?showtopic=11422. It was set by Paladin3030 a couple of years back, so hopefully he'll see it here ;)

Anyway, I'm not sure how long this will be. A lot longer than "Non Sequitur", probably five to six chapters. I just wanted to say thank you for the response I got to NS, actually, it was more popular than I thought it would be. Hopefully you'll enjoy Ties, even though it's darker, and a lot less light-hearted. So yeah, if you read it, please review! It gives me all kind of happy, and I reply to each one I get.

- Castledown.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

A/N: This might get a bit heavy on the curse theory as it goes on, just to warn you.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

This was hell, she was sure of it. Another flick, a wave, a whispered transmodus and the mouse (rather alarmingly) transformed into an alarm clock. She’d been able to do this for the best part of a year, why were they going over it again?

These two hours had probably been the most boring of her life. Including that old fraud Trelawney’s lessons.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered out of the corner of his mouth once McGonagall had moved across the room to inspect Neville’s attempts. The boy had only just managed to transmogrify his mouse’s ears into bells, giving the poor creature a migraine every time it moved.

“Yeah?” She replied half-heartedly, flicking her wrist again as her alarm clock turned back into its original form. She could have sworn it glared balefully at her.

“What’s the matter with you today?” He pressed, successfully transforming his animal again. “I know this is dull, but it’s not like you to completely switch off.” She looked downwards at the desk, he was right. No matter how boring she found a lesson, she always paid attention, always tried her hardest to find some spark of interest in it.

“I’m just tired, Harry.” She sighed. “I haven’t been sleeping too well recently.”

“Nightmares?” He asked, looking at her directly. She felt his hand intertwine with hers on top of the surface, a gesture of support that made her lips curve upwards.

“No, just general insomnia, I suppose. I’m not used to sleeping on my own…I think Parvati and Lavender conditioned me to rest with noise.” She squeezed his hand lightly.

“Yeah, I understand that.” Harry agreed sagely. He still hadn’t let go. “It’s something I’ll never forgive Ron for, my inability to have a quiet night’s rest.” She chuckled softly, surreptitiously glancing at him, thinking it peculiar how his face always seemed to light up with her laugh.

“I’m okay Harry, honestly. My mind is just wandering today.” As if proving a point she yawned lightly, using the back of her other hand to cover her mouth as she did so. He was quiet for a moment, as if deep in thought. Her thoughts, on the other hand, were wholly fixated on how he was running the pad of his thumb back and forth over her captive hand subconsciously.

“Alright, well, I’ll make the notes in our free periods, okay?” He said finally, her eyes meeting his. Her heart almost melted from the care that she saw there, the concern he had for her well-being.

She wondered how long this could carry on, really, before she imploded.

“You go back up to our rooms,” Our rooms! “Get an hour’s kip.” The look he gave her clearly brokered no argument, and to be honest, she was feeling slightly drained. It was peculiar, they were only two periods into the day, but she felt like she’d written a hundred essays…drained, to tell the truth. She smiled, placing her other hand on top of his, using her thumb this time to lightly stroke his skin.

“Thank you.” She said, giving him a small, grateful smile, nearly laughing as he seemed to inflate with pride.

“Any time.” He replied courteously, giving her one last grin before removing his hand. She felt a sudden, fleeting sadness at the loss of contact between them then, but McGonagall diverted her attention almost immediately.

“That will be enough for today, class. Please revert your transmogrifications back to their initial forms, and bring them to the front desk. You may go, after that.”

A few wand flicks and incantations later, the class was rising to their feet. Hermione swung her bag onto her shoulder, bending to pick her mouse up, when Harry beat her to it.

“May as well take yours back, I have to see her anyway.” He explained, nodding his head in the direction of the front desk.”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed, adjusting the strap of her satchel on her shoulder. “I’ll see you in a bit then?” His eyes narrowed, as he put on a mock-stern voice.

“I mean it, Miss Granger. If I see you before lunchtime, I’ll be most displeased.” She smiled, folding her hands in front of her.

“I wouldn’t want to upset the Head Boy now, would I?” She said jokingly, glancing up at the desk. McGonagall had her back to them, clearing the markings and instructions off of the board, wiping it clean for her next class. She didn’t know what possessed her to do what she did next, really. On impulse, she leaned forward, placing a soft, gentle kiss on his cheek, lingering for a fraction of a second more than necessary before pulling back. “Thank you, Harry.” She said, smiling at his blush.

“Er…no problem, Hermione.” He replied in a small voice, not meeting her gaze.

“I’ll see you later,” She whispered, before leaving the room, and a thoroughly flustered Harry in her wake. Elation flooded her suddenly, not least because of what she’d just dared to do (and she couldn’t believe she’d just done that, in front of a teacher no less!), but also, oddly, as the other students began pouring out of the classrooms around her. As she made her way through the crowd, weaving and winding rather than telling people to stay to one side as usual, she spied a familiar head of red hair waiting for her by the stairs. With a smile, she waved to attract Ginny’s attention, standing next to a suit of armour as the girl made her way over.

“Hey,” she said by way of greeting, adjusting her bag yet again (she was seriously considering a cushioning charm on the strap). Ginny winked in response.

“Hey, how was Transfiguration?” She asked, as the pair began to walk off together automatically, Ginny wrapping her arms protectively around her Defence texts as they made their way towards the Prefect’s staircase.

“Dull.” She replied; rolling her eyes at the gasp her friend gave out. “Yes, yes, I know. Hermione Granger, finding education boring. I’ve already had the shock and awe speech from Harry, thank you.” Ginny simply laughed in response.

“If it’s any consolation, mine was exceedingly dull.” She said conversationally, smiling at a fifth-year prefect who held the door open for them as they passed through.

“I thought you liked Defence?” Hermione asked as they began to ascend the staircase towards the fourth floor.

“Oh I do…but Patroni just seem so…”

“Old hat?” She offered, the other girl nodding in response.

“Yeah, doesn’t feel like we’re really stretching ourselves after…well, you know.”

“Yeah…” Hermione agreed half-heartedly. The sooner they were off the topic of Voldemort, the better. There were many things about last year she’d much rather forget, truth be told.

“So…” Ginny said, after they reached the top of the second set of stairs. “Following on from our previous conversation…” At Hermione’s groan, she arched an eyebrow. “I don’t remember you being so reluctant earlier, missy.” She scolded, batting her eyelids and putting on a falsetto, “Reaaallly?”

“Oh, shut up.” Hermione grinned bashfully. “I don’t deserve this incessant teasing.”

“We haven’t even got started yet, sweetie.” Ginny replied airily as they passed through the double doors that led onto the library level. “Speaking of Harry, where is he?”

“He’s just seeing McGonagall about…oh bugger.” She trailed off, remembering her promise to Harry that she’d go to bed rather than go to the library. Where she was now.

“Hermione Granger!” Ginny remarked in a scandalous tone. “Doth mine ears deceive me?” A look from Hermione caused her to laugh again. “What’s the matter?”

“I promised Harry I’d get some rest instead of going to the library.” She replied grumpily, kicking at the floor with the toe of her shoe. “He’s going to kill me.”

“Oh well,” The other girl said, pushing the doors of the library open with one hand as they walked through, talking over her shoulder to Hermione. “That’ll have to wait. Girly time is far more important.” She added simply, by means of explanation.

“Not in my library, Miss Weasley, Miss Granger.” The sharp, authoritarian voice of Madam Pince sounded as soon as they stepped in. “This is a place of reading, and contemplative silence. Not…boy talk. Miss Granger, I expected more of you.”

“Sorry Madam Pince.” They both mumbled apologetically, waiting until she turned back to her desk with a huff, indicating they could enter.

“Just because we’re getting more action than you’ve had in sixty years…” Ginny whispered under her breath mutinously, glaring at the Librarian, who looked up immediately.

“What was that?” She asked, her eyes narrowing over the tops of her glasses; perched precariously over her small nose.

“Nothing Madam Pince, a question about homework.” Ginny replied, the white lie rolling off her tongue as if by second nature. Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing, the mirth building between the two and threatening to bubble over at any moment. With a dismissive wave of her hand, the two girls rounded the corner, waiting until they were well back in the stacks before allowing themselves to giggle out loud, turning into outright laughter as Ginny inadvertently snorted.

“Oh, very ladylike.” Hermione commented, earning her a light slap on the arm from the other girl.

“Be quiet, you.” Ginny countered as they both took a seat around a study table. “So anyway, what happened?” She asked, moving her forgotten books over to one side.

“What do you mean?” Hermione replied cautiously, looking pointedly at the books the other girl had shunted to her right.

“We can study in a minute. You, my dear, look like the Kneazle that swallowed the Owl, and I want to know why.” There were a few moments of silence as Hermione blushed deeply, looking intently at her folded hands before replying.

“IkindofkissedHarry.” She half-whispered, half-murmured.

“Try saying that at less than thirty thousand miles an hour.” Ginny replied, arching an eyebrow as she struggled to piece together what she’d said. “Wait…you KISSED Harry?” Her eyes widened, mirrored by Hermione’s as the older girl looked around desperately.

“Ginny! Shhh!” She whispered frantically. “On the cheek!”

“Where?” She asked, giving Hermione her full and undivided attention now, her chin resting on the flat of her palm; that in turn propped up by her elbow.

“In Transfiguration.” Hermione mumbled again, wishing to whatever powers were listening that the ground would just open her up and swallow her whole. Honestly, where was a Death Eater when you needed one?

“You kissed HARRY in front of McGONAGALL?” Ginny nearly shrieked; clamping a hand over her mouth at the look of pure irritation the other girl sent her.

“Ginny!”

“Sorry.” They were quiet for another few moments. “So what did he do?”

“What do you mean, what did he do?”

“What did he say? Actually, hell with that, what did McGonagall say?”

“She didn’t actually see it, her back was turned…” Hermione trailed off at the look of glee that crossed Ginny’s face. “Oh, do stop it Ginny. I’m not a…a brazen harlot or anything. It was just a friendly kiss on the cheek, for him doing me a favour.”

“A favour I see you’ve ignored.” A familiar, deep voice came from right next to them.

“Harry!” Ginny squeaked, rapidly gathering her books to her in an abortive attempt to look like she’d been doing something productive. “How are you? Wait…how long have you been standing there?” Harry ignored her, his piercing gaze fixed on Hermione. She tried to meet it, before sighing.

“Oh, alright.” She said resignedly. “I’ll go.” Ginny just grinned unashamedly as she watched the two of them, chewing the end of her quill absent-mindedly.

“You need some rest.” Harry said strictly.

“Yes I know, Harry. I’m going, alright?” She snapped, regretting it almost as soon as she said it. Hurt flashed in his green eyes for a second, before she instinctively took his hand. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m irritable.”

“It’s okay.” He smiled, before they both looked down at their linked hands, dropping them suddenly as they realised Ginny was still there, highly amused. Harry cleared his throat a little more loudly than necessary.

“Yes, well…”

“Right, I’ll just be…”

“Yeah. See you…”

“…at lunch, yes Harry.” She replied, flashing him a smile and giving a small wave to Ginny, who winked in reply before she shouldered her bag once more and made for the library doors. Just as she rounded the edges of the stacks, she felt a small flicker of…wickedness? Or something to that effect as Ginny’s voice floated over to her.

“I believe we need to have a few words, Mr. Potter.”

Grinning to herself, despite the brief flash of annoyance and panic she felt, she pushed through the Library doors, ignoring Madam Pince’s muttered comment that this wasn’t a common room as she strode down the hallway towards Gryffindor Tower.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

She was near to the Head suites when it happened. She’d been feeling steadily more and more unwell as she’d made her way through the castle, putting it down to either overtiredness, or other…more feminine problems, even though she wasn’t due for a while. The cramps had become more and more insistent as she ascended the stairs, having to stop every flight just to regain her breath before carrying on. Something was wrong, she knew. The pain intensified, spreading from her womb to her stomach, to her head and her chest, spiking outwards with a sharper intensity after every step that she took. As she rounded the corner by the Suites, she decided enough was enough, and it was time she took herself to the infirmary.

She never got further than the adjacent corridor, before a burst of pain sliced through her like a white-hot knife. It burned; it set her senses on fire. God, she’d never experienced anything quite like this. It was agony, it was like she was on fire, it was like she was being stabbed in a hundred different places, her skin flayed and peeled as she lay on the floor, screaming in pain as she curled protectively, shuddering. With a tremendous effort, she began to pull herself forward. She didn’t know what direction she was travelling in, any way would be fine, anything to escape this sheer agony. After a few weak, feeble heaves, the pain abated slightly, the intensity faded back to the severe cramps that had almost debilitated her earlier. It hurt, god it hurt more than anything, but it was bliss compared to what she’d just experienced. Dimly, she wondered if that was what the Cruciatus felt like. Tears came unbidden then, a dam broken somewhere as the thought of Harry experiencing that compounded the agony she felt as she sobbed into the floor.

She didn’t know how long she was there, crying her soul into the cold stone before she felt rather than heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. As she phased in and out of a hazy, dreamlike state, punctuated by the sharp, sickening stabs of the pain that wracked her body, as if someone were withdrawing a dagger only to plunge it in elsewhere, she heard parts of a conversation, people talking over her.

“…found her just like this Professorhead, screaming all kinds o’ murder…”

“She was laying right here Peeves, you’re certain?”

“…no Mister Dumbledore sir…Peevesy swears he found her further up…”

“…Granger…Ger…Miss Granger, can you hear me?”

Through bleary eyes, she looked up and moaned, the all-consuming pain in her head making even such a simple movement a moment of pure torture.

“Miss Granger?” The voice asked. Without thinking on what she was doing, she nodded shakily once, twice. As she laid her head down, pain flashed white-hot through her again and she cried out, clutching at her stomach instinctively, though it was her entire body that hurt. He was talking again, the person. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he sounded familiar. Soothing, comforting, safe. She liked safe, maybe he could stop this. Harry would stop it, Harry would help her.

“Harry?” She managed as she felt herself be moved upwards, gathered into strong arms.

“Not quite, Hermione.” The soft voice came again, though she couldn’t place it. They were moving, it seemed. She risked opening her eyes to find herself pressed against blue satin and white, soft hair. With a superhuman effort, she managed to crane her head slightly upwards, to see two worried, light blue eyes staring down at her from beneath a very familiar pointed hat.

“Professor Dumbledore?” She asked weakly. His gaze softened for a second, as he nodded.

“Yes, Miss Granger. You remember?” He asked quietly, taking care to steer her safely through a door. Vaguely, she was aware of several smaller figures moving around beneath her, but she couldn’t see that way, so she let it slide from her mind. The pain was becoming less intense anyway, the stabbing sensation slowing in frequency and amplitude as he carried her further, through twisting hallways and stairs.

“Your…hat…” She murmured, allowing her eyes to close once more as her head lolled back. She felt Dumbledore’s chest vibrate slightly as (she assumed) he chuckled.

“Yes, it is rather distinctive, isn’t it? And to think, it sat in Madam Malkins for thirty years before I purchased it.” Hermione tried to laugh, tried to do anything, but the exertion had taken so much out of her that even the dull ache that permeated her body seemed too intense to deal with.

With a small sigh, she slipped into blessed unconsciousness.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

“You must be mistaken, Poppy.”

“I assure you Severus, my methods are quite accurate.”

“Of course, I meant no offence. But…the Separatus curse?”

“It is quite a shock, I do agree. Poppy, can they be helped?”

“I’ve given Granger and Weasley both several doses of Conforto Solution.”

“That is generally used for Cruciatus victims, not for-“

“The effects in this case were essentially the same. Miss Granger must have tested the utmost limits of the proximity charm.”

Hermione opened her eyes slowly at the sound of voices around her, the dull, throbbing ache in her head making her wince against the light of the room she was in. Mentally, she tried to take stock of her situation. She was on a bed, which indicated the Hospital Wing. She could move her fingers and toes, which was good. As the blurry images that greeted her came into focus, she found the red blur coalesced slowly into the image of Ginny, her eyes open and staring. As she shifted, the other girl’s attention came to her.

“Hey,” She said softly, giving her a small smile.

“Hey…” Hermione murmured. “Are you alright?” Ginny just shrugged.

“If you count feeling like you’ve been dragged naked through a field of razor wire as alright, yeah.”

“Tell me about it.” Hermione groaned, moving so she was on her back.

“I suppose there’s little point in asking how you feel then?” The matronly voice of Madam Pomfrey reached her ears from her left, but as she turned her head to look in that direction, the nurse was already standing over her, running her wand steadily up and down Hermione’s slight frame.

“I’m okay…” Hermione breathed, the aching in her head making her feel like someone had used an engorgio charm on her brain.

“You most certainly are not.” Madam Pomfrey replied brusquely. “You have just undergone severe trauma to your nervous system, and were it up to me…” She broke off at this point and glared at something behind her. Hermione’s unspoken question was answered as Dumbledore stepped into view, flanked by Snape. “…I can assure you that you would not be leaving this bed for a week!” She clucked her tongue, rummaging in her pharmaceutical tray for a moment, before retrieving an ornately decorated flask. Popping the stopper, she thrust it under the girl’s nose. “Here, drink. I daresay it’ll alleviate the headache and muscle cramp.” Hermione took the flask obediently, glancing quickly at Ginny who made a gagging face.

Oh, good.

Still, if anything would get rid of this damn migraine…without another thought she tipped the contents into her mouth, swallowing as quickly as she could in order to avoid the taste before she drained it.

“Blegh.” Was all she managed to say, after a moment, followed by a brief hiccup. Madam Pomfrey sniffed as she took the flask off her.

“Well, I’m sorry it couldn’t be up to the standards of House Elf cuisine, but I daresay it’s better for you than a slice of pumpkin pie right now.”

“I don’t know about that…” Hermione grimaced. She was right though; the pressure behind her eyes began to subside, as if a cloud had obscured an oppressively hot sun from view, its cooling rain refreshing everything around and inside her. She allowed herself a few moments then to close her eyes, letting the magically induced relaxation wash over her, sighing as she felt herself sink into the mattress. When she opened her eyes again, the light was far less oppressive, her vision clearer and her head much less muddled. The amused face of Albus Dumbledore greeted her.

“Better?” He asked softly, smiling benignly, but for the first time that she could remember, it failed to reach his eyes.

“Professor…” She said, attempting to push herself up on the bed, but giving up at a severe look from Madam Pomfrey. “What…what happened?”

“What’s the last thing you remember, Hermione?” He asked gently, glancing questioningly at the foot of her bed. She nodded hurriedly and shifted slightly, allowing him room to perch on the edge, looking thoughtfully down at her over his half-moon spectacles.

“I…I remember leaving the Library…” She began, a faint smile clouding her features as she recalled holding Harry’s hand, their awkward exchange that had done more to affirm Ginny’s declaration in her mind than anything today. “I was going back to my room, and I started feeling uncomfortable…”

“Did the feeling worsen, the farther you travelled from the Library?” Dumbledore asked softly. She nodded in response.

“When I reached my quarters I…I’ve never felt anything like it…” She trailed off quietly, closing her eyes against the brief flashes of memory that assailed her. She never wanted to remember that feeling again.

“It’s alright, Hermione.” Dumbledore said, the use of her first name sounding slightly unnatural, but comforting all the same.

“Wait…why is Ginny here?” She asked, looking over at the red-haired girl, who smiled sadly.

“Because the same thing happened to me, I assume, the further away you got.” She sighed, her eyes slightly glassy.

“Oh, Gin…” Hermione breathed.

“Miss Weasley is quite correct in her assumption.” Dumbledore broke in, interrupting the silent communication of apology and questioning that was transmitted between the two. “It seems, the further that you two travelled from each other, the more intense your symptoms became, until…”

“…Until we suffered the equivalent of a Cruciatus curse.” She finished for him softly. Dumbledore merely gazed at her, his eyes seemingly filled with sorrow. “There must have been a proximity charm, perhaps a delayed-release curse set to go off when we were far enough away from each other to prevent someone getting to us at the same time…”

“Hermione,” The ancient wizard cut in, “You are correct in those assumptions, but we already know what the curse is.” There was a few moments pause, before Hermione spoke up impatiently.

“And?”

“I wonder, Miss Granger.” Snape’s silken voice jumped in. “Have you ever heard of the Separatus curse?” Hermione shook her head, glancing at Ginny, who looked just as confused. Snape in turn glanced at the Headmaster, who nodded at him to continue.

“Please, I want to know.” Ginny said quietly from her bed. The Potions Master seemed to sag slightly, before beginning.

“It is a blended form of a proximity charm, a dependency curse…” He trailed off, looking both of them in the eye before continuing. “…And the Imperius and Cruciatus curses.” Both the girls gasped, and Madam Pomfrey looked away, busying herself with her potions rack. Hermione could have sworn she saw a tear glistening on her cheek.

“Why would someone make something so vile?” Ginny whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

“The same logic applies to those that created the Unforgivables, the enslavement of magical creatures, the strictures of laws that remain oppressive to this day.” Snape replied dismissively. “Motives aside, you need to know what it is you’re dealing with, and you need to be prepared.” He paused for a few moments then, daring them to interrupt. Hermione felt a flare of indignation then, but she was sure it wasn’t coming from her. She glanced at Ginny, the girl’s dislike of their Potions Master etched on her face, and suddenly, she understood.

She understood everything.

The ups and downs of her moods, and her inattentiveness in class could be put down to it so easily. God, even her boldness in kissing Harry on the cheek. It hadn’t even been her…

She knew what he was going to say before his mouth opened, knew the words before they appeared on his tongue.

“The Separatus curse employs these different branches of hex and curse, and is thus named because of its primary usage, back when the spell itself was new and practiced. It is of course, now, highly illegal. Knowledge of its existence is tightly controlled and restricted only to Unspeakables, and those engaged actively in research with them.” He walked around to the foot of Ginny’s bed, glancing down the row of cots as if searching for some inscrutable meaning in the daylight filtering through the large windows. “Its use was most markedly recorded during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, its primary function being a tool of vengeance against unfaithful lovers, or retribution against humiliation suffered. The curse binds two people in what is essentially an emotional symbiosis, an empathic bond if you will. Their emotions travel freely through this channel between the two people. You will have noticed already, I’m sure, behaviour that doesn’t seem like your own. Moments of excitement perhaps whilst performing an otherwise mundane task?”

“I remember elation…as I was climbing the Great Staircase…” Ginny murmured thoughtfully. “I just assumed I was loving the architecture…” At Hermione’s legs, Dumbledore chuckled lightly.

“Yes, quite. I’m sure Miss Granger has had similar experiences.” Hermione felt her face warm slightly as she felt Ginny’s eyes on her, willing her to just look away. “This lateral bleed of emotion, whilst hazardous and…distracting enough in itself, is not the most dangerous aspect of the curse.”

“The proximity charm.” Hermione murmured, silencing everyone in the room. “It must have been employed…against an adulterous couple say…they could never be apart from each other, or it would kill them. Ironic.” She glanced up then, at the slightly horrified gaze that Snape was giving her. “Erm…” She stammered quickly, “Sadistic, of course, and utterly sociopathic really does go without saying…”

“Regardless,” Snape cut in coldly. “You two are now…bonded, for lack of a better word. The pain you felt earlier was Miss Granger testing the boundaries of how far the curse will permit you to travel alone.”

“Can nothing be done?” Hermione asked quietly. Dumbledore shifted, standing then as the eyes in the room fell on him.

“I am…exploring different avenues, Miss Granger.” He replied, his voice soft, but commanding. “ We are fortunate, however, that we have one aspect on our side. The creation of curses demands balance, always and forever, as you know. The Cruciatus curse, for instance, saps the caster’s own life energy to produce the immense overload of the nervous system that is symptomatic of its effect. The Avada Kedavra, whilst an effective killing tool, expends its enormous energy at the price of fracturing the caster’s soul piece by piece every time it is utilised. You have seen, yes, how many Death Eaters appeared wholly immoral, inhumanly numb at times?” Hermione nodded thoughtfully.

“So the extended use of the Imperius…?” She started, finally seeing that familiar twinkle return ever so slightly to her Headmaster’s eyes.

“…eventually saps the self, the ego and the id of the caster, you are quite right. It will leave them hollow, with no real personal will of their own, just a mindless drive to dominate. You yourself saw how Tom Riddle used those three curses almost exclusively on a daily basis. He lost not only his own personality, that charismatic charm he used to build himself a following in the first place, but his sense of morality, and his own precious life force. It explained his deformities, and how he appeared less and less human every time I met him. In the end, all that he had left was his cruel will to dominate, a hatred for himself and the life he’d chosen to lead.”

“So what you’re saying is…” Hermione chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Although this curse creates a link, and a physical need to be close to each other, it also has…what…a limit on how much it can affect you with no caster to draw constant strength from? The spell will degrade, after time?”

“As always, Miss Granger, I am humbled by your astounding insight and intellect.” He smiled then, as the girl blushed deeply. Snape looked slightly ill. “You are correct on both counts. Since the spell is finite, by which I mean, it is cast and does not require constant concentration from the one who initially performed it; it has no source from which to draw the tremendous energies required to maintain the Imperius and Cruciatus functions. That is to say, the penalty for exceeding the limitations of the proximity charm, and the opening of one mind to another through the empathic link you now share.”

“So how long will it take?” Ginny asked, having been surprisingly quiet as she absorbed the information pouring from the three other occupants of the room, not counting Madam Pomfrey of course.

“We do not know.” Snape replied. “Judging by the Arithmantic calculations that the Headmaster and I have been theorising, it could be anywhere from between three to seven days. I suggest assuming it is the higher end of the scale.”

“Ever the optimist, Severus.” Madam Pomfrey observed quietly from her potions cabinet, having listened intently to every word.

“Ever the pragmatist, Poppy.” Snape corrected, his expression and manner as unflappable as ever.

“I agree with Professor Snape,” Dumbledore interjected gently. “You must prepare for the worst case scenario, which is, as has been said, a week. Theoretically.”

“Theoretically?” Ginny asked, as her voice rose slightly in pitch. “You mean you don’t know?”

“If you care to look over our equations, please, feel free Miss Weasley.” Snape said coolly. “I daresay the Headmaster and I have overlooked details that are well within the capabilities a sixth year who does not even take the subject to spot.”

“That will do, Severus.” Dumbledore commanded, his voice never raising a decibel in volume, but ringing with authority.

“Headmaster.” Snape deferred, slinking back to the far wall.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione began, feeling the confidence to continue when his ice-blue eyes focused in on her, giving her his complete attention. “You once told us that curses such as the Avada Kedavra, the Cruciatus and the Imperius operate off of base emotions...”

“That is correct, Miss Granger.” He agreed, his head inclining.

“Indeed.” Snape also concurred. “The base emotion of the Killing Curse is of course hatred, a desire to destroy, to burn and sack. To utter annihilate. It requires a darkness of a certain calibre to utilise effectively.”

“Yes sir…” Hermione replied nervously, slightly sickened by the way in which such a vile emotion was described almost lovingly by the man. “And the Cruciatus?” She wasn’t sure she even wanted an answer, but felt it was appropriate to defer, in this case.

“That, Miss Granger, is fuelled by anger. Many people mistake the base emotion as hatred, but it is not true. To want to torture, to want to maintain that agony, prolong it for a length of your choosing, you must feel pure anger towards someone. Not hatred, because the Cruciatus is a subtle device, not as blunt as the Avada Kedavra nor as impersonal. You must want to hurt, but not to kill.”

Ginny looked like Hermione felt.

“I see…” She said, breathing slightly irregularly as she recovered. “So technically speaking, if the Separatus curse operates off of those…negative…emotions, then surely their polar opposites would have a completely different effect?”

“I’m not sure I follow you,” Madam Pomfrey said, she herself looking less than impressed with Snape’s…slightly too authoritative and personal explanation of the Unforgivables.

“What Miss Granger is saying, I believe,” Dumbledore started, his eyes still focused on hers, as the twinkle seemed to return full scale. “Is that by utilising the mirror image of the emotions which fuel the two most powerful components of the curse, the Cruciatus and Imperius, you will in fact serve to weaken the power base of the spell even further, degrading the magical hold it has on you at an accelerated rate.” Hermione simply nodded in response, her head still whirling from all the information she had absorbed…some of it not entirely willingly, if the vaguely disgusted feeling she felt at the moment wasn’t just her own.

“I believe that tampering with these curses is unwise, let alone challenging their power.” Snape said uneasily. “We have managed to alter the proximity charm to allow a much farther distance to be maintained, the length of the castle and slightly beyond, but that is all that we have attempted in good conscience.”

“Nevertheless, Professor Snape, it does bear mentioning to our…consultants, does it not?” Dumbledore said gently.

“Of course, Headmaster.”

“This, I believe, brings us on to the final and most important aspect of the curse.” Dumbledore said, fixing both of them with his gaze. “Since it was designed specifically for unfaithful couples it should not surprise you, but you must not inform the one for whom you feel romantic affection, or anything surpassing the connection of friendship, of this condition until it passes. To do so would cement the link between you, making it impossible to break. In its infantile stage right now, there is a possibility we can break it sooner, or it will, as you have so cleverly surmised, degrade over time. Feed its existence, break the incantation however, and you will trap yourselves under its effects.”

“Therefore, Miss Weasley, under no circumstances are you to inform Mr. Malfoy of the events that have taken place here today. Likewise, Miss Granger, you are not to inform Mr. P-“

“Yes Headmaster,” Hermione said quickly, blushing horribly not only at the implication of what he was about to say, but also at her rudeness in cutting the Professor off. With a grateful glance to Ginny for lending her the famed Weasley temperament, if only for a moment, she smiled slightly at Dumbledore’s amused glance.

“Very well. You both understand what is to be done?”

“Yes, Professor.” The two girls chimed.

“Good. Severus, I believe we must let Poppy tend to her patients. Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, good day to you. My door is always open.” As Madam Pomfrey fussed over the two of them with muscle relaxant potions, pepper-ups and all manner of strange concoctions, the two men left without another word, leaving Hermione and Ginny alone, and deeply, deeply troubled.

Within the hour, and under (as she kept mentioning every ten minutes) extreme objection from Madam Pomfrey, the two girls were released, having been dosed up more than either could remember in their life. The walk back towards Gryffindor tower was quiet, both of them reeling slightly from the revelations of the day.

“Who do you think it was?” Ginny suddenly asked, her voice subdued and quiet as they made their way through the corridor. Hermione sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if the answer would be written there amongst the stone.

“I don’t know.” She answered simply. To tell the truth, the list was rather extensive. It wouldn’t have taken much for a Death Eater to have cast the Imperius upon a student, have them curse Ginny and herself at breakfast…and now that she thought back; that was where it had all started.

“Hermione, I…” Ginny began, but was cut off by the older girl’s hand being raised.

“Don’t, Ginny.” She replied softly. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” The other girl acquiesced, and the silence fell over them once more as they made their way through the castle. After several long minutes, however, she spoke up again. “Look, Hermione, I need to ask you something.” They stopped in the corridor, the youngest Weasley slightly shocked to see tears glistening in her friend’s eyes. The surprise must have registered through their link, because her body suddenly convulsed involuntarily with a sob, as Ginny’s arms went around her.

“Oh, honey…” She cooed softly, rubbing the girl’s back and stroking her hair as she cried into her shoulder. It was hard not to cry herself; she felt how upset her friend was, how sad and how angry through their connection, the damn thing acting like a funnel for their most guarded feelings. After a while, Hermione’s sobs began to slow, eventually ceasing as she pulled back, wiping her eyes.

“I know what you’re going to ask, and it’s fine.” Hermione said, sniffing slightly. “Go, see him tonight.”

“But…our link…” Ginny began, but was cut off once more.

“Is best fought with the kind of things that make you happy. He makes you happy, therefore, it’s a good thing.” She smiled then, giving her eyes one final wipe with the back of her sleeve. “Besides,” she sniffed, through a slightly congested-sounding voice. “Now the boys can’t ever say you’re not really in love, eh? I know for sure.”

Neither of them knew what it was that made them lose it at that point. Perhaps it was desperation, perhaps it was sheer exhaustion. Maybe it was a mix of the two, but they laughed. Not just amicable giggling, but full-pelt, ribcage-holding, side-splitting laughter. As it began to hurt, they slowed, until they were eventually gasping for breath against the wall, eyes streaming.

“God…” Hermione breathed, panting like she’d run a marathon in five minutes. “Never do that again.”

“What?”

”Make me laugh.”

“Right.” Ginny replied wearily, leaning back against the cool stonework of the corridor. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Helping Harry with his…” She trailed off, eyes growing wide. Ginny jumped up as a stab of panic shot through her also.

“What? What is it?”

“Harry! Oh, he’s going to be so worried! What do I tell him? I can’t tell him the truth about this!”

“Oh?” Ginny said slowly, grinning. “And why’s that?” Hermione frowned, placing her hands on her hips.

“This is no time for that, Ginevra.”

“Hmm, I’ve got two words for you, Hermione. Two words that’ll stop him prying into anything you don’t want him to, when he asks what you were doing.”

“What’s that?”

“Girl talk.”

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

Author’s Note:

Here’s the second chapter then. It was slightly dialogue heavy, I know, and I hope you didn’t get too bored with my exploration of the spellwork, but I thought it was a necessary part.

So, what’s next? Ginny meets Malfoy, and we see what effect that has on Hermione through their connection, Pansy admires her handiwork, Dumbledore talks to an old friend and Transfiguration homework takes an unexpected turn.

Now, if you read, I ask simply that you review :) Even if it’s just a comment, it’s nice to see some feedback. A special thank you to Heather11483 (check out her fics here) and Tank03 for their in-depth opinions on the first chapter.

Take care,

- Castledown.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

“If you don’t sit down, I’m going to nail you to your chair.”

“Something’s not right, I’m telling you.”

“Harry,” Ron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re giving me a headache, just sit still.” His friend glared at him briefly, before finally complying and sitting on the edge of a desk. He glanced absently around the empty classroom, exhaling heavily before looking back up at the other boy.

“So,” Ron said slowly, leaning against the desk opposite him. “Start again, what happened?”

“I was in the Library with Ginny, I’d just sent Hermione back to her room.” Harry began patiently. “I went over to the Herbology section to look up a text on the Mimbulus Mimbletonia, and by the time I came back, she was gone but her books were still there.”

“Right.” He replied, scratching his head. “And you haven’t seen her since?”

“No!” Harry exclaimed. “And I haven’t seen Hermione either, she’s not in her room and they weren’t at lunch.”

“You’re overreacting.” Ron said bluntly, crossing his arms. “You know what girls are like, she probably went back to get something from the tower and ended up chatting to Hermione. You yourself said she’d got distracted between leaving Transfiguration and meeting Ginny, to the point where she’d forgotten to go get some sleep.”

“Hmm,” Harry grunted, apparently not convinced in the slightest.

“Oh come on, Harry.” Ron exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “You know what they’re like. Look at them this morning, they were acting completely mental!” Ron sighed, before turning to face the wall. “I’m sure nothing’s wrong.” He said finally.

“Yeah,” Harry conceded, his voice sounding resigned. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right.” Ron grinned, before slapping him on the back.

“Come on, let’s go back to your study.”

“What? Why can’t we go to the common room?” Harry asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Lunchtime, sprogs, need I say more?” Ron replied as they left the room, closing the door behind them. “Besides, yours is more comfortable.” He looked pensively towards the staircase. “If only I’d bothered with being a prefect, I’d have a nice king sized bed too.”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, “And duties until midnight, meetings ten times a day, irritating little third years trying to get a lucky shot off at you when you’re not looking…”

“Cheer up, grumpy.” Ron smiled, “I’m sure Hermione will be very touched by how concerned you were about her.

“Oh don’t start this again.” He snapped irritably, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Why is everyone so convinced we have a…”

“A what?” Ron asked innocently.

“You know…” Harry made a frantic hand movement, to which Ron raised an eyebrow.

“You have gesticulation?” He asked, confusion creeping into his voice.

“Don’t be a twat, Ron. A thing!” He sighed exasperatedly, eventually giving up the gesturing and returning his hands to their rightful place inside his trouser pockets. They were quiet for a few moments as they trudged on, seeing only the occasional student in the corridors. There was still fifteen minutes until the end of lunch, and most people were in the Great Hall. Harry had waited there for Ron at the beginning after Ginny had vanished, and dragged him into that classroom almost immediately, much to the other boy’s chagrin. “I’m getting so sick of the constant comments.”

“Well, for god’s sake Harry, maybe they’re observations.” Ron said a little sharply, the irritation creeping into his voice. Harry stopped in mid-stride, his friend catching on a second later, turning to see why. “What?”

“What are you talking about?” He asked, looking at Ron as if he’d grown a second head.

“Come on, you’re not an idiot mate, don’t pretend you are one.” The taller boy rolled his eyes, as if bored of the conversation.

“No, really. Explain, before I get irritated.” Harry said stiffly, now glaring.

“Oi,” Ron replied, his own eyes narrowing. “Just because you and her have this massive bloody hang up about your feelings for each other, don’t think you can have a go at me, alright?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Harry replied coldly, moving off again past Ron.

“Oh, of course not. My mistake, it’s not like you told me you had a crush on her in fifth year or anything, was it?”

“That was two years ago.” He retorted brusquely, glaring at a fourth year who (wisely) darted out of his way to the other side of the corridor.

“Yeah…and it never really went away, did it?” Ron pressed, jogging slightly to catch up with his friend’s brisk pace. “Did it, Harry?” Harry stopped again, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What makes you think you can tell me that? Eh? How do you know how I feel?” He almost spat at the other boy, who refused to flinch in the face of his angry tone.

“I’m your best friend.” He answered coolly. “I think I know you a little better than you give me credit.” Harry simply sighed in frustration before banging through the doors that led to the Gryffindor Corridor. He stalked on ahead, with Ron keeping pace unyieldingly beside him, even thought he’d much rather have stopped to catch his breath.

“Why do you care, anyway?” Harry asked suddenly as they veered off from the portrait of the Fat Lady towards the Head access.

“Because I hate seeing you two do this to each other, and if you don’t start facing up and taking some fucking responsibility for your feelings, it’s gonna be gone, Harry! Too late!” He replied angrily, throwing the doors open himself this time. “Besides, I’m getting pissed off with the amount of tension between you. It makes me never want to have sex again.”

“What tension?” Harry scoffed, barking his password (Nimbus!) at the portrait of Wendelina the Wise, and without breaking stride, stepping through.

“Those little touches, the hand-holding, the private smiles, the non-verbal communication…” Ron listed, punctuating each point by unfolding a different finger from his clenched fist. “It’s all rather sickening, really.” Harry lobbed his bag in the corner, before throwing himself down on the sofa, rubbing his eyes with one hand while the other massaged the back of his neck. Ron took a seat next to him, allowing the silence to stretch. Harry would speak when he was ready.

“Alright, fine.” He muttered after a good few minutes. “So what if I never did stop liking her? What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Tell her!” Ron cried, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“It’s not that simple Ron!” Harry replied, his voice having risen in volume again.

“Why not?” The other boy asked, folding his arms obstinately. “Give me one good reason why not.”

“She doesn’t like me in that way.”

“Bollocks!”

“Ron-“

“No, Harry. Shut up.” He suddenly burst out, poking a finger in Harry direction. “You and I both know that’s utter crap, so how about you stop bullshitting me and tell the truth?” They stared at each other for another few moments, the tension levels back up to what they were before. Eventually, however, Harry exhaled, seemingly deflating in front of him.

“Alright, she does.” He admitted, glaring at Ron as the boy gave him a triumphant smirk. “But I mean, say I do tell her, what do I say? ‘Hi Hermione, how was your day? Guess what, I’ve been ridiculously in love with you for well over two years, probably longer, and I thought that now would be a good time to tell you because I have a feeling you might think the same?’”

Ron merely shrugged.

“Sounds good.”

“She was right, you know.” Harry replied slowly. “You do have the emotional range of a teaspoon.”

“Har har.” He shot back sardonically, “It’s Hermione, mate. You know fancy lines and stuff aren’t gonna work with her.”

“Yeah, I know.” He agreed miserably, falling forward so his head was in his hands.

“Oh dear,” Ron observed dramatically. “Pull yourself together man, you know she feels the same way.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one who has to stake seven years of friendship on a conversation.”

“Look at it this way – if she does like you and you tell her, great. If you tell her and, by some unbelievably slim chance she says no, then you’ve been mates for too long to just stop seeing each other like that.” They were silent again, the moments passing until Ron reached inside his bag, retrieving what was left of a bar of Honeydukes chocolate. He broke it in half, tossing one piece onto Harry’s lap before biting into his own.

“How did you manage to deal with it?” Harry asked suddenly, biting the corner off of his chunk.

“Deal with what?” Ron asked suspiciously.

“You know…your…oh bollocks to it, your crush on her?” He asked; staring at Ron with what he hoped was a searching gaze. Ron merely blinked, before breaking out in a sharp laugh that rang off the walls.

“You’re kidding me? You think I liked her?” He asked, chuckling to himself.

“Well…yeah…” Replied a very bemused Harry. “I mean, you got so pissed off with her over that Yule Ball thing, and there was all that bickering…”

“You seriously think Hermione and me would have a long, stable relationship, mate?” He asked, grinning widely. “We can barely be in the same room for longer than a few hours without trying to kill each other.”

“But I thought…”

“Alright, listen to me Harry.” Ron replied, setting down his chocolate. “I’m going to get very, very gay with you here, and I want you to appreciate it, because it’s going to hurt.”

Harry stared at him in horror.

“Love, Harry, is not about superficial things like bickering, offending each other, and arguing all the time. That’s what you do when you’re five, and you decide to show someone you like them by hitting them in the face.” He paused, waiting for Harry’s breathing to return to normal. “It’s about understanding someone, about going out of your way to accommodate them, about being nice to them for no reason other than you can’t conceive hurting them, and about feeling terrible when you do. It’s about being able to chat about your problems without inhibition and it’s about loving the differences you have with each other, as well as the similarities.”

“You’re right…” Harry said slowly, after a few moments. “That was really gay.” Ron, to his credit, merely shrugged.

“Your choice whether or not to take it onboard, mate.”

They were silent again, the only sounds being the occasional snap of a piece of chocolate breaking off, and chewing, the tranquillity comfortable but noticeable at the same time.

“What’ve you got next?”

“Potions. You?”

“Charms.”

“Right…shall we go?”

“Let’s.”

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

Pansy could barely control the huge, wide grin that tugged at her mouth and required considerable effort to subdue as she strode into the Potions dungeon that afternoon. She’d taken her ingredients out of her bag as usual, setting up her lone cauldron in the corner as the rest of the class filed in. Snape had avoided speaking to her, and to be honest, that was just fine in her books. She didn’t need his support anyway, her casting of the Separatum curse this morning had gone off without a hitch, and nobody was any the wiser.

Or so she thought, until the rest of the class was seated. As she scanned the room, her heart leapt as she saw Potter sitting on his own at his usual workstation, looking around in much the same way that she was, albeit with a more lost, concerned look on his face.

She wasn’t there.

Hermione Granger never missed a lesson. The little bitch never missed one!

She could barely control her laughter; the feeling of glee that spread from somewhere deep inside of her filling her nerve endings with delight. She must have tested the boundaries of the curse, she must have! There was no other explanation.

Did it hurt, little mudblood? She mused, staring at the empty seat with a detached, distant look in her eyes. Anybody who cared to glance over would have thought she was simply daydreaming, but she was completely alert. Her senses were primed, she took in everything as the adrenaline pumped through her blood stream, firing her synapses and making her feel more…alive…than she had in a long time. The thought that the mudblood was writhing in pain somewhere, nobody to help her, because of her was euphoric, addictive. And, with a thrill that coursed through her like electricity, she reminded herself that that blood-traitor whore Weasley would be as well. You may have had Draco, she smirked inwardly, but he can’t help you now, can he? Idly, she examined her fingernails as she allowed the smallest of grins to cross her features. That’s what you get for being a little SLUT, isn’t it? For touching things that aren’t yours, taking things that don’t belong to you!

“If you would kindly bring your attention back to the land of reality, Miss Parkinson.” The now-hated, oily voice cut through her reverie, causing her eyes to narrow irritably as her thoughts were derailed.

“Yes, sir.” She replied in a flat tone, careful not to betray her quivers of excitement. The game, she decided, that she would play with these two was a patient one. She very much doubted that they would suffer for too long, the school was too populated for nobody to notice their…screams. The Headmaster would also, undoubtedly, discover the curse she’d placed upon them, although she’d taken pains to mask her magical signature the night before, performing so many cloaking and altering spells that it would be impossible to determine who had cast it in the first place without examining her wand. She’d then done so many innocuous and menial spells after breakfast that even the Prior Incantato spell would be ineffective.

However, the curse would be discovered, the two girls informed of its effects. It didn’t mean they could do anything about it, though, and Pansy intended to play the little bond she’d thrust upon Granger and Weasley to its full advantage.

She’d had her chance later that period. Either through sheer luck, or (she was more certain) a propensity on Snape’s part to assume that legwork was a punishment, she was ordered to retrieve extra supplies of Fundlewhip tail from his supply cupboard. No student other than a Slytherin would have been permitted to fetch it, of course, and since she was the only member of the class working solo (Potter had teamed up with Finnigan and Patil), she had been sent.

At first, she had been angry. Her Adficium Solution had been going so well, the steps described in her book exactly how they were appearing in front of her, even down to the peculiar swirls of lilac in the green mixture. It was ruined now, of course, despite Snape’s insistence that he would monitor it. She didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him these days, and she highly doubted if she could even lift him. Another ruined potion, and on the day when that know-it-all wasn’t even in class, the day her efforts finally paid off. She cursed angrily, kicking at the floor as she made her way towards the store cupboard, pausing suddenly as she heard two quiet voices. Two very familiar, quiet voices, their dulcet tones having haunted her dreams for weeks. With silent steps, she made her way to the corner, and peered around slowly.

She couldn’t believe her luck. There, walking with a slightly dazed air, were the two girls she hated most at this point in her life, the girls that had occupied her mind for so long.

With a quick silencio to the soles of her shoes, she followed stealthily behind, desperately trying to pick up whatever she could from the exchanges between them. Finally, with a twinge of victory and satisfaction, she saw Granger stop, Pansy barely ducking out of the way before the girl turned around and began crying loudly in the corridor.

She didn’t think she’d ever grinned so much in one day. She drank in her sorrow, delighting in every shuddering gasp, every little noise that was made as Weasley comforted her, rubbed her back gently. How very sisterly. If she weren’t so pleased, she’d probably have vomited. Too soon, the stifled sobs slowed though, the crying quietened. She rolled her eyes at the cooing sounds that Weasley made.

Pathetic.

As the murmur of their voices resumed, Pansy strained her ears to catch what was being said.

“I know what you’re going to ask, and it’s fine.” Hermione said, sniffing slightly. “Go, see him tonight.”

“But…our link…” Ginny began, but was cut off once more.

“Is best fought with the kind of things that make you happy. He makes you happy, therefore, it’s a good thing.” She smiled then, giving her eyes one final wipe with the back of her sleeve. “Besides,” she sniffed, through a slightly congested-sounding voice. “Now the boys can’t ever say you’re not really in love, eh? I know for sure.”

Oh good lord, she really was going to be ill. And now what…they were laughing? She set her jaw, before stalking off back down the corridor, thankful for the silencing spell on her shoes that would have otherwise given her away. With a vicious tug, she yanked the door of the store cupboard open, retrieving the items Snape asked her to get, before kicking it closed with a violent snap of her foot.

So, they found this amusing did they? Thought it was a joke? Thought it wasn’t serious? She’d show them the price of mocking her efforts. There was absolutely no shadow of a doubt in her mind who “He” was. The little whore was going to be throwing herself at Draco again tonight, was she? Well, since the mudblood would be with Potter, it gave her plenty of opportunity for exploiting the fruits of her earlier labours.

Storming angrily back towards the dungeons, an idea formed inside of her mind that made her dark countenance twist into an ugly smile.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

Ginny threw the sofa cushion across the room in frustration, causing Hermione’s grip around her cup of tea to tighten dangerously.

“Ginny.” She said patiently, but shortly. “You have to empty your mind, control your emotions rather than let them control you.” She took a sip of the soothing liquid, still feeling a twinge of her own irritation mixing with the girl’s “For a change.” She muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ginny demanded, placing her hands on her hips. Hermione felt a flash of anger course through her briefly, before she closed her eyes, exhaling heavily and allowing herself to calm before looking the girl directly in the eye.

“This is getting us nowhere.” She said evenly, in a controlled voice. “You need to learn to empty your mind. Getting angry won’t help either of us, you know.” Ginny looked as if she was ready to argue the point for a few moments, before she shook her head and sighed as well.

“I know,” She said resignedly. “I just wish it were easier than this.” Hermione smiled sympathetically. “Kind of gives you a whole new level of respect for Harry, doesn’t it?” Ginny asked, referring to his mastery of Occlumency last year. Hermione, after thinking through the various options available to them, had decided that the Occlumentic meditation exercises of purging your mind of thoughts, clearing your body of controlling emotions were the best way to maintain command of their faculties, both physical and mental. If they were going to be spending at least a week essentially sharing a body, they had to learn to filter it somehow. Otherwise the emotional bleed would probably drive them both crazy.

“Hmm,” Hermione agreed, blowing lightly on her tea.

“You alright?” Ginny asked softly, coming over to rest an arm on her shoulder. The older girl looked up, smiling gratefully as she felt her concern through their connection.

“I’m okay.” She said, pulling her legs up to her chest so her friend could sit with her. “I just…these emotions…your emotions, they’re so foreign.”

“I know.” Ginny agreed. “I just wish I knew what to do. I wish I could…”

“…tell Draco?” Hermione smiled wistfully. She’d been thinking the same regarding her boys, although to do so would be disastrous.

“Yeah.” She replied, staring at the grandfather clock in the corner as if it were as interesting as a gold-plated statue. “He just has this…this way of calming me, you know? Like I feel everything’s going to be alright, just because he tells me it will be.”

“I know.” Hermione said gently, staring sadly at the floor. She felt terrible that she didn’t have Harry to share this with, that she couldn’t look into his eyes and find the compassion and understanding that had helped her through so much in the past. Ginny stroked her hair softly, understanding what she was thinking.

“It’ll be okay, Hermione.” She whispered, just as the portrait door swung open. Her hand dropped suddenly as her head whipped around.

“There you are!” Came Ron’s loud voice as he climbed through. “Where the hell have you been? Harry’s been all manner of frantic all day.” Despite the gravity of her situation, Hermione turned and smiled at the dark-haired boy as he entered, feeling a wave of affection for him that she could be sure was her own.

“You were worried about me?” She asked softly, meeting his gaze with a small, slight smile. Her looked away slightly bashfully.

“Well, er, of course. You weren’t in Potions and I…” He trailed off. “Wait a minute, where in the hell have you been? Ginny! What happened to you in the library?” He regained his composure, coming to stand next to Ron. They both faced the two girls down, standing with their arms crossed, looking stern. She couldn’t help but reciprocate the flicker of amusement that Ginny felt, and they both grinned slightly.

“Well?” Ron asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Daphne Greengrass had a fall in the stacks next to me while you were off in the Herbology section, Harry. I had to take her to the hospital wing.”

“Right,” Harry narrowed his eyes. “And you had to stay there all afternoon? Both of you?” He didn’t sound convinced.

“Honestly Harry, she is a senior prefect, and I’m Head Girl. It’s not like we were plotting to take over the world.” He sighed, seeming to accept their cover story as a wave of relief washed over Hermione.

“I guess.” He said resignedly, nodding gratefully at Ginny as she stood up from the sofa, letting him sit down.

“You alright?” Hermione asked, a touch of concern entering her tone as she furrowed her brow. He looked tired, slightly peaky, and even though she’d done nothing wrong she felt instantly guilty for adding to his stress levels.

“I’m fine, it’s just been a long afternoon. Especially with Pansy bloody Parkinson spilling her Adficio Solution all over my robes.” He threw a hand towards the affected area irritably, where it had stained the black wool, bleaching it slightly.

“That girl is foul.” Ginny muttered, a dark look crossing her face. Ron snorted.

“You’re telling us? We have to put up with her in lessons and outside of them.”

“More’s the pity for you.” She replied offhandedly. “I’m gonna go back, Hermione, you’ll be okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine Gin.” She replied, giving the girl an encouraging smile. “Have a good evening.”

“You too.” The other girl winked, before snapping her fingers at her older brother. “Come on, Ron.” The boy glared at her for a moment, before rolling his eyes.

“See you later mate, ta ra Hermione.” He said by way of farewell. They both half-heartedly waved as he made his way towards the portrait hole. “I’ll come and get you for practice in the morning, Harry. Make sure you’re up.”

“I will be. Make sure you’ve eaten.”

“Ha bloody ha,” Ron replied, about to make another retort before the closing of the portrait swiftly silenced him. The quiet immediately following was relaxing, soothing. They sat on the sofa, wrapped in their own thoughts. Hermione could feel the anticipation building from Ginny, her excitement at seeing Draco pouring into her, making her leg twitch nervously. Harry glanced over at the second or third time she did it, raising an eyebrow.

“Erm. Hermione?” He asked, looking pointedly at her foot.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” She replied quietly, attempting to brush it off. “Just cramp…hey, wait, what are you doing?” She exclaimed, as he reached down and picked her leg up, swivelling her on the spot so that her calf muscle lay over him.

“Shush.” He said simply, as his hands drifted to her right foot. Instantly, despite the fact that there wasn’t actually any cramp, she felt the muscles relax as he began to knead it gently. She closed her eyes at the sensation and let her head fall back to the arm of the sofa. “Better?” He asked gently, laughing as she murmured.

“Mmm.” Suddenly, the fabulous pressure stopped, the wonderful things he was doing to her ceasing as his fingers stopped moving. With a sharp look, she brought her head back up, glaring at him. “Don’t stop.” She ordered, allowing herself to smile and fall back to her previous position as he carried on.

“Are you still okay to study with me tonight?” He asked hopefully, making her smile grow ever so slightly

“Of course,” She murmured. “After dinner. Massage now.”

“Yes’m.” he joked. Hermione sighed against as the back of her shins began to relax…when had his hands moved up there? She loved the feel of them against her skin, parts of them soft; parts calloused from Quidditch, the combination utterly delightful. Always though, he pressed with the most tender of touches, hitting her nerve points with a pinpoint accuracy she wouldn’t have thought he’d possess.

“Where did you learn to do this?” She groaned, shifting to allow him better access to her leg as he continued to half-caress, half-massage her muscles. She could practically hear him grinning as he responded.

“Would it be weird if I said Oliver Wood?” He replied. She cracked an eye open.

“Yes. Very. Explain?” She replied in a stern voice, the possibilities racing through her mind at a rather perverse pace.

Ginny would be shocked. Probably is, come to think of it.

“He used to make us exercise physically, as well as in the air.” Harry began, screwing up his face as he imitated his old Captain’s thick, Scottish accent “Fit on the ground, fit in the air”, he paused to chuckle, glancing at Hermione as she smiled. “After a run in the morning, he’d make us stretch. Sometimes we’d get cramp.” He shrugged. “Katie and Angelina taught us all how to massage it out of our muscles, saved a lot of time and pain.”

“Remind me to send them a Christmas card next year.” She murmured. Harry simply grinned.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

“And you’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“There can be no room for error, Professor Dumbledore.”

“I assure you, Mr. Chang, there is not.”

“Please, Professor, refer to me by my rank on an open floo.”

“My distinct apologies.”

“You must know that very few of us are licensed to study the Separatus curse in detail. It is a banned subject, even within my Department. To hear of its use in a school…well…it is a revelation that will shock many. Not least, in how instructions on its operation came into the hands of the caster.”

“I agree, it is most worrying, especially since I believe it was cast under our very noses, during breakfast in the Great Hall.”

“Shocking.”

“Quite. So what is your answer, Unspeakable? Have you any findings or research that may be of use to us?”

“I might. It will take me several hours to compile and sort recent additions. Perhaps I could schedule an appointment for the day after tomorrow?”

“As soon as you can, these students are only sixteen and seventeen, after all.”

“I shall be as quick as possible. We will speak soon.” The floo connection closed then, with an abrupt flaring of emerald green flame. Dumbledore sighed before straightening up, walking with a grace and ease that belied his age back to his desk. He had barely managed to pop an Acid Drop into his mouth, before several sharp raps resounded through his office, emanating from the mahogany wood of his door.

“Come in, Severus.” Dumbledore answered, waiting only a moment before the dark, imposing figure of his Potions Master swept into the room, the door closing itself behind him. Instantly, one of the silver instruments on his desk whirred and puffed, emitting a faintly argentine wisp of smoke. Snape glared at it.

“Satisfied that I am, in fact, myself?” He asked sarcastically.

“Oh yes, quite.” The older man replied. “Take no offence, Severus.”

“None has been taken.” He replied shortly, before sparing a final glance for the instrument and continuing. “I have completed my examination of the Great Hall, Albus.”

“And did you find a signature?” Dumbledore asked, leaning back in his chair to look over his glasses at Snape.

“No,” He replied. “Whoever did it was clever enough to mask their output multiple times, and set off a volley of innocuous spellwork at various locations. It was hard enough to pinpoint the area from which the curse had been delivered.”

“Which was?”

“The Slytherin table.” Snape said, with some distaste. “I have ordered the House Elves to begin Imperius detection charms at night, while the students sleep. And…I feel I must apologise. It is my House, and my responsibility.” He added, the anger clear inside his voice.

“It is nobody’s fault but the person who cast it.” Dumbledore said gently. “There is no blame to apportion, especially not to yourself.”

“Thank you, Albus. Did you make any progress with the Department of Mysteries?” Snape reclined in his chair also, one hand scratching his wiry goatee thoughtfully.

“I did, they are dispatching an Unspeakable to us, who will arrive the day after tomorrow.” He reported, his eyes unreadable as he stared into the smouldering embers of the fire, the glow illuminating the area immediately around the fireplace with a soft, orange luminescence.

“And that is the soonest they can arrive? Surely they understand the gravity of the situation?” Snape asked, a note of indignation creeping into his voice.

“Rather better than us, I daresay.” Dumbledore replied. “You must understand, this curse has not been heard of for hundreds of years. As Unspeakable Chang remarked, for it to be used in a school, at a meal time…it’s…”

“Unspeakable?” Snape finished for him, in an exceedingly rare pun.

“Quite.” The Headmaster stood then, moving over to the dying fire. With a wave of his hand, it ignited again, burning as fiercely as if it had never dwindled. “The wards are in place?”

“Yes, we will be able to register any spell performed in the Great Hall, including the caster and the wand.”

“Excellent.” With a clap of his hands, he turned back towards the door. “Then let us go down. All of this nasty business has made me rather peckish.”

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

The Astronomy Tower was cold, but Pansy didn’t care as she lurked, invisible, under Zabini’s old Cloak. She swung her legs idly, having perched herself atop one of the battlements whilst waiting for her to arrive. He was already there, the moonlight reflecting dully off of his flowing, near-white locks as he stood with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, looking out over the grounds as a General would inspect his troops. Despite all that she had suffered at his hands over the last few months, the sheer agony of dealing with her heartache every day, she still felt a small flutter inside her chest at the sight of him. She could taste his scent on the air, admiring his movements as he sometimes paced. They were calm, measured, strong…and there was a fluid sort of grace to them that leant an almost…feline quality to him. With a slight twinge of despair inside her chest, she thought on how good they would have been together. How their children would have inherited poise and etiquette from her, those sharp good looks and noble blood from him.

They would have been beautiful. And now, they wouldn’t exist.

The only consolation for her in this miserable, painful series of events was the small measure of revenge she’d visit upon Potter. She’d seen the looks that the mudblood had given him, how he’d returned them, their love so mournfully unrequited, and tragically unrealised. Well, she thought to herself, a wicked grin flashing across her features and seemingly lighting her eyes for a moment before the dead, cold mask returned. Not after tonight, not anymore.

“Draco?” The hated voice came from her side, as her head snapped in that direction. There she was. The vixen, the scarlet woman, the whore. Pansy watched with a detached hatred as she ran to Draco, throwing her arms around his neck, her delight plain for anyone to see. She stared without reaction as he kissed her deeply, watching with impassiveness as she laid her head onto his chest.

She ignored the emotions rolling within her as he lifted her chin tenderly, lowering his mouth to hers with a softness she thought impossible, unnatural. She pretended that she didn’t care as the girl smiled against his lips, biting his lower one playfully. She told herself she didn’t notice the small grin he gave her back, a look in his eyes that spoke volumes on pure love, plain devotion.

No, she lied to herself that she felt nothing, even as the last remnant of her humanity snapped within her, as she unwittingly took steps towards the stairs. She was numb, yes, that was why she was opening the door silently. That was why she was turning, creating a bubble of silence around her with nonverbal incantations, before she pointed her wand at the two, wrapped in their tender embrace of passion.

“Amortensus.” She said, calmly, watching as the faint pink light lanced towards the couple, striking them both without them noticing or even breaking stride. Their kiss increased in fervour, arms coming around each other as Draco’s head dipped to her neck.

“Amortensus,” She said again, although much more hoarsely this time around, her voice cracking on the third syllable. Her hand began to shake as she felt emotions she’d tried desperately to bury return full-swing at the sight of the couple becoming more frantic in their passions, their attentions to each other. Hands roamed, gasps were elicited, skin was pressed against skin…

She felt her soul breaking, over and over again.

“Amor…amor…” She gasped, fighting back the tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes. “AMORTENSUS!” She finally managed to rasp out, before turning, and fleeing down the staircase, leaving the blood-traitor and the man she loved in each other’s arms, running wildly under the Cloak, though it couldn’t hide the shame and sadness she felt in her heart.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

Dinner had been a subdued affair. Harry and Hermione had sat with Ron, Ginny and Neville at the Gryffindor table, idly chatting over a course of stew and treacle tart. They’d invited Ron back to their quarters afterwards, but he’d deferred, saying he had work to do in the library. Ginny, of course, had gone to meet Malfoy (much to Ron and Harry’s annoyance), and so the two had retreated back to the warmth of their study.

“Look, I’m sorry, I just don’t get it.” Harry said, rubbing his temples as if it would alleviate the oncoming headache he was sure would hit him at any moment. “I know it’s something to do with the order of the transformation, but I just don’t understand why it’s important.” He exhaled loudly, throwing his quill down in frustration and ignoring the reproving look Hermione sent him.

“If you’re not going to try, I won’t bother either Harry.” She said sharply, frowning at him as she shifted across the sofa and away. He looked from her face to the table a few times, before sighing and sliding closer to her, putting an arm over the back of the settee as he glanced down at her book.

“You’re right, I’m being a child about this.” He said apologetically, fighting a grimace at what he saw on the page. Even the citations seemed to have footnotes.

“I’m glad you admit it.” She sniffed, before giving him a small, barely-there smile that he returned with one of his own. “Ready to try again?” At his nod, she began her explanation once more. “Okay, essentially, it all links back to the order in which the Animagus transforms, whether he does it from the bottom up, known as a “waxing transformation”, or from the top down, known as a “waning transformation”. You still with me?” She asked.

“Yeah. Up and down, got it.” He answered, shifting slightly closer as she pointed out the diagrams to him. “So how does this affect the transformation?”

“In a number of ways, actually. It’s been studied over the years that smaller, land animal forms such as felines, canines and other four legged beasts prefer waning transformations, as the mind finds it easier to adjust with shrinkage and the simulation of falling onto four legs rather than growth…”

“…thus allowing the animal instincts to be suppressed more easily.” Harry finished, blushing at the beaming smile she gave him.

“Com…Totally correct.” She recovered, ignoring the swooping feeling of elation that swept through her and caused her to stumble over her words. Ginny, she thought irritably. Not now. She cleared her throat before continuing. “Now, the waxing transformations, those are generally favoured by avian forms, and more human-forms such as apes or monkeys. For example, there was a case in Burma, where…”

“Err…Hermione…?” Harry cut in suddenly, earning him an irritated glance from the girl.

“What, Harry? Do you want me to carry on?” She asked sharply.

“Erm…heh, that depends what you mean carrying on with…” He replied awkwardly, and it was in that moment that she glanced down at her hand, realising where she’d placed it, tracing lazy circles on the inside of his thigh. Not, however, near his knee, as if it weren’t bad enough already.

“Ohmy!” She jumped, pulling her hand away, before glancing guiltily at Harry.

Which was when it hit her.

She didn’t think that in all her life she’d ever been more attracted to him than in that moment. The soft light of their fire played on his skin beautifully, making his eyes glitter with an inner emerald light that was enticing and mesmerising in equal measure. Her gaze slipped from his confused stare, to travel down his face, past the slight shade of stubble on his lips and flushed cheeks to his strong, defined jaw, further down to the hollow of his neck, passing over his flat chest (god, how had she never noticed his body like this before), and back up again, drinking in every detail of him. With a slight tremble, a quiver of desire running through her every few seconds that she wasn’t touching him; she placed her hand back where it was.

“I don’t think I want to stop.” She breathed, her face suddenly inches from his. She felt giddy, the butterflies in her stomach swarming with every over-long moment between them. But she also felt powerful, in control…wanted…as she lowered her lips to the base of his neck. She touched them to his skin lightly, amazing even herself with her audacity as she softly dragged them upwards, just enjoying the sensation of flesh meeting flesh as she made him shudder without even applying any pressure, the heat of her breath leaving goosebumps on his skin where she burned it. She crested the curve of his jawbone and took his earlobe ever-so-slightly in between her lips, raking her teeth gently over the skin and nearly shivering at the wave of pleasure she felt as his breathing turned even more ragged and uneven. “Do you want me to stop?” She asked quietly, in a voice that wasn’t her own.

Whatever she was doing to Harry seemed to be working just fine, as he opened his mouth to speak several times, but only managed a kind of strangled noise once. Hermione grinned against his ear and neck, knowing he could feel the movement of her lips on his skin. The next time he opened his mouth to speak, turning his head towards her this time, she moved in and planted her lips firmly on his. Another shot of electricity coursed through her at the sound of his stifled moan, and she physically shivered as his hands came around her back, one pulling her to him and the other resting on the nape of her neck as they kissed, eyes closed and tongues dancing as she pushed him gently back, falling onto him.

It was almost too much for her to bear as she began to move against him, nipping at his lips with short, staccato kisses, feeling more attractive and more wanted than she ever had in her life as she elicited groan after groan from him, her hips grinding slowly, but sensually into his. She couldn’t control her own gasp as his hands reached around almost involuntarily to cup her behind, pulling her into him with an instinctive power that made her head feel slightly light. She felt ready to explode as yet another wave of darkest, deepest desire flushed through her, making her toes curl with anticipation as she reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up, further and further, past his solar plexus, his nipples, and up to his shoulder when she heard his choked, ragged whisper.

“Hermione…” He said, his voice rough and gravelly.

“Shhh,” She said, placing a finger to his lips as she planted a trail of kisses across his chest, loving how his ribcage seemed to shudder every time she made contact with it. Faintly, in the back of her mind, she realised that this was it. She was finally kissing Harry, she was actually kissing Harry! But that voice was drowned out by something far more instinctual, something far more primal that drove her to push him backwards, nearly screaming with frustration when he called her name again.

“Hermione…I…is this what you…?” He said, tripping over his words. At another time, she would have found it endearing, cute. But now, it was just getting in the way of what she wanted.

“I want this.” She groaned, moving his hands to the buttons of her shirt as she straddled his hips, a short moan escaping her as she began grinding against him again, feeling him through his trousers with a small spike of ecstasy. “I want you…I’ve wanted you for so long…” He seemed to take the hint her hands were giving him, as she felt her shirt begin to loosen around her chest as button after button popped undone.

“If you want to stop…” He whispered, making a last ditch effort to be a gentleman, even as she guided his hands to push her shirt off her shoulders.

“I’ve already told you I don’t want to.” She breathed softly, bending down so her lips were next to his ear.

That seemed to destroy the last of both of their resolves, as they now found themselves crashing through their study, hands grasping wildly for a surface to guide them. She began to feel weak at the knees again as she realised they’d somehow made it to the bed…his bed…and where had their clothes gone?

She seemed to snap back to reality then, her vision blurring slightly before refocusing on two vividly green eyes, heavy-lidded with desire as he leaned in to kiss her, both of them now strangely horizontal as she looked…down at him? The hardest wave of it yet hit her, and she cried out with need as she leant into his body, her moan muffled by his mouth. She didn’t really know what she was doing, but she was just following her instinct, something primal inside her that was screaming for release, her hand reaching behind her legs to grasp him as she rose on her knees. Their gaze locked again, and Hermione begged him not to say anything as the next few words tumbled over her lips, aware that they were careening way past that line in the sand they’d so carefully maintained these many years.

“I love you.” She said with remarkable clarity, watching his eyes widen before she relaxed her legs, falling gently down onto him with a flash of pain, yes, but something more, something…spiritual.

She felt complete, as the pain began to ease into something much, much different.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

Author’s Note:

Hey again,

Well, I hope you enjoyed that. The ending was my first attempt at writing anything like that, really. Normally I prefer suggestion and meaningful endings, but after so many people asking me in reviews and stuff (and, partially inspired by Heather’s scene in Laws), I decided to give it a crack. Please be kind :\

Anyway, just wanted to say thank you again for the much more enthused reaction I had to Chapter 2 in terms of people actually leaving feedback :) It’s not that I need my ego stroked or anything, it’s just that it’s nice to know people are reading and enjoying your story ;D

So, the next chapter. It might not be out as quickly as these three were, but I’ll endeavour to do it in the next couple of days, anyway. What happens, you might ask? I suppose I can give you a hint. Unspeakables come to Hogwarts, friendships are tested, Dumbledore gives Harry ‘the talk’, Pansy gets her revenge, Ginny and Hermione have an awkward meeting in the greenhouses and Ron washes his eyes out with chlorine.

Hope to see you for the next installment :) I’d like to send a special shout-out to the people here, for giving me interesting, frequent or in-depth reviews that have tickled me today: Heather11483, Mmbug98841, IVY, Tank03 and lorien829. Thanks guys!

Take care,

- Castledown.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

She yawned as her mind stirred from the somnambulant realms of unconsciousness, back into blurred and unfocused reality. She didn’t open her eyes yet, not quite ready to face the world as she rolled over and pulled the covers tighter around her, revelling in the warmth of her bed, and the soft, comforting presence of Harry next to her.

Her eyes shot open.

HARRY! Her mind screamed, as her body seemed to suddenly come alive with awareness, the memories of last night flooding back to her along with a sore, dull ache in between her legs that was foreign and terrifying.

She had…they had…he’d…she’d…

Her mind was a mess of thoughts and emotions, as her head snapped to one side, taking in the sight before her. Harry was asleep on his front, the black locks on his forehead blowing gently with each deep breath he took and exhaled. He looks peaceful, she thought fondly for a moment, a smile curving the sides of her mouth but vanishing as quickly as it came when her situation forced her focus back to where she was.

Which was in his bed. Wearing no clothes.

And judging by his look of contentment, and bare upper body, he probably didn’t have any on either. With a trembling hand, she reached forward, lifting the hem of the covers that obscured his lower half just a fraction, dropping them with a sudden jerk as she looked inside. No, definitely not. A stab of fear coursed through her like a current as she remembered everything that had happened last night. The feeling of sheer lust she’d experienced, the fiery kisses, the urgency in their movements against each other, the frenzied twisting and turning, knotting their limbs with a ferocity she’d not known she possessed, and never in her wildest dreams expected would be returned. Her eyes grew wide at her declaration that she loved him, just before they…

She looked over fearfully as he stirred slightly, but let out a sigh of relief as he settled back down again. Her senses were nearly fully awakened now, the dull white light from the overcast skies lending a sharp clarity to the room that sharpened jagged angles, bathing everything in a flat, grey tone. The room smelt stale, the air tasting of sweat and…herself? With another glance to the sleeping man next to her, she felt a familiar prickling in the corner of her eyes. What have I done? She thought fearfully. There was no question in her mind what had happened last night, no question at all why they’d gone as far as they had. The transference of emotions, the bleed from the both of them…she’d fed off of Ginny’s interactions with Draco…and she’d kissed Harry. She’d kissed Harry.

The nascent smile faded again.

But she hadn’t just kissed him. That wouldn’t have been so bad; she’d wanted to do that anyway. No, that wasn’t the worst of it. She’d carried on feeding and feeding, sucking Ginny’s lust and emotion like a leech, letting it fill her nerve endings, electrify her very skin with its presence. She’d let herself become its instrument; she’d forced him down…

Oh god.

She’d slept with him. She’d slept with Harry. She’d lost her virginity to Harry in a blaze of passion. She shuddered involuntarily, not out of disgust, but fear, at how she’d allowed herself to let go of her control so easily. She’d never felt so dirty, so horrified at her own actions…so guilty…

She cast a last, sorrowful look at the man lying next to her, the man she’d wanted for so long now, as she bent over and pressed her lips gently to his temples, not daring to apply much pressure lest he wake up.

With gentle, halting movements, she slipped from between the sheets, gathered what items of clothing she could, and closed her door with a quiet click.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

Ronald Bilius Weasley had faced some pretty terrible things in his life. He’d fought Death Eaters to a standstill, been tortured under banned and outlawed curses for longer than he’d care to remember. He’d been attacked by flying brains, been cornered by the hordes of the undead, been forced to watch as villages burned and finally faced one of the most evil wizards known to history on a lonely cliff top in Dover.

But nothing had prepared him for what he saw that Friday morning.

The day had started as normal, he’d woken up in a fairly chipper mood, truth be told. After washing and cleansing as per usual, he’d snatched up his robes and Quidditch gear, whistling to himself as he activated the charm he’d designed to wake up his players for their early-morning practices. As if by clockwork, a perfectly motionless torrent of ice-cold water appeared in mid-air over Seamus’ bed, dousing the boy almost comically. Judging by the screams and threats issuing forth from the lower years’ dormitories, he supposed it had been successful all over.

Without missing a note in his tune, he grinned at the sodden and furious Irishman, before nearly skipping out of the Gryffindor tower to find his seeker. His footsteps and whistling echoed off of the empty corridor walls as he progressed, stopping only briefly to glare at Mrs. Norris, who slinked off into the shadows before he could hit her with the toe of his boot. She hissed, seemingly melting into the surroundings like a small, scraggly orange chameleon. With a shrug, he pushed through the double doors that led to the Head Suites, eventually coming to a stop in front of the portrait door.

“Nim-bus.” He announced tunefully, raising an eyebrow at the baleful stare he received in turn from Wendelina the Wise.

“Alright for some.” She grumbled tiredly. “’Spose you got a decent night’s sleep didn’t you? Not like us poor souls, what with all the racket…” Her muttering was drowned out as Ron stepped through, a puzzled expression clouding his features. He hadn’t heard anything last night, what was she…?

He trailed off as he reached Harry’s (open) door, the horrifying sight of his friend lying on top of his covers, naked, his pale buttocks gleaming in the daylight searing itself onto the inside of his eyelids.

“OH SWEET MOTHER OF MERLIN!” Ron cried out, horrified, before turning to look away.

“Whuzat?” Harry suddenly jerked into consciousness, startled by the volume of Ron’s shocked voice as he blinked around dozily. “H’rm’ne?” He managed, shaking his head as he grasped blindly for his glasses.

“NO YOU TOOL, IT’S RON, NOW COVER YOURSELF UP FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!” Ron shrieked; his hands planted firmly over his eyes as he shook his head vigorously.

“Oh,” Harry replied, finally placing his glasses on his nose. He glanced down. “Oh.” He hurriedly made to cover himself with the blanket. “What in the bloody hell are you doing here?” He asked irritably at the still-hunched-over boy across the room from him. “I’m decent.” He added, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t believe you.” Came the muffled reply. There was a few seconds pause, before Ron spoke again. “Hey, what’s this?” His previous terror apparently forgotten, he moved forward suddenly, his arm outstretched towards something that was blocked from Harry’s view by the doorframe.

“What’s what?” Harry asked, confused, taking this opportunity to hurriedly pull on a pair of boxer shorts that had been so readily discarded last night.

Last night, his face flushed at the memory of what had happened, his smile returning full force as he remembered her kisses, her breathy, husky voice whispering words into his ear that excited him in ways he hadn’t known possible. With a frown, he glanced over to where she’d eventually collapsed last night before they surrendered themselves to sleep. It was empty. She must have gone for a shower, he reasoned mentally. She’ll be back soon. With a sudden start of clarity, and what that would look like if Ron saw her walking in, wearing (hopefully) nothing but a bathrobe, he looked up sharply.

“HARRY!” Ron’s voice slapped him out of his reverie, drawing his gaze to what his best friend was holding on the end of a Quidditch shin pad, as if touching it himself might result in his hand falling off.

“Erm…yes?” Harry answered hesitantly, feeling his blush grow deeper. For at the end of the shinpad was a vaguely familiar, lacy black bra. Ron’s eyes widened at his friend’s blush.

“You didn’t…” he trailed off faintly, the colour in his cheeks fleeing with celerity he’d not seen before.

“I um…” Harry managed to choke out, before having to avert his eyes, allowing himself to fall back onto the bed. Bollocks.

“Oh, my god.” Ron walked in on autopilot, still holding the offending item in front of him either like something distasteful, or a protective talisman. “Harry, how could you do this to Hermione?” He asked faintly as he sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes wide and unblinking.

“Me do this to her?” Harry asked incredulously, in a slightly higher pitched voice than normal.

“If she finds out you’ve shagged another girl, mate…” Ron trailed off as his fearful eyes locked with Harry.

“Ron, you big twat, it was Hermione!” Harry said sharply, then immediately winced. “Shouldn’t have said that, I should not have said that.”

“As long as it was, then,” His friend replied dazedly, nodding vigorously before the words truly sunk in. “WHAT? YOU SLEPT WITH HERMIONE?”

“Would you like to shout it louder please, Ron? I think there’s some Ravenclaws who didn’t hear you!” Harry snapped viciously as he stepped out of bed, taking a severe pleasure in the flinch that passed through his friend as he discarded the coverings.

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled apologetically, “S’just…wow Harry…you really take advice to heart sometimes don’t you?” Harry had the good grace to blush and look away as he pulled his Quidditch jersey on. “I thought you’d only…”

“Alright!” The other boy exclaimed. “No more holier-than-thou speeches, let’s just go!”

“You’ll tell me about it on the way, right?”

“No.”

“Are you lying?”

“…Yes.”

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

The Great Hall was slightly quieter than usual this morning, the ever-present cacophony of cutlery clattering against ceramics, people talking loudly and softly to each other and assorted groans at the prospect of the first period were still there of course, but it seemed muted somehow, tempered this morning.

Or it could just have been that Hermione Granger was lost in her thoughts, picking idly at a cold piece of toast in front of her in a less-than-enthusiastic manner. She almost didn’t notice as the volume increased with the entrance of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, looking dirty and bedraggled, but energised, filled with the sort of electricity that only a physical workout can provide. She almost didn’t notice again as they fell into seats around her, feeling only a flicker of annoyance as her purposefully-induced calm and placidity was rudely interrupted when Ron reached over her plate for the bread rolls. But she did notice his scent. That familiar, damning scent that reminded her of grass and mud, of wind and the faintest touch of mahogany. Her eyes looked up almost hesitantly, and met their green counterparts.

“Hey,” he half-whispered to her, a small smile itching to break free at the side of his mouth.

“Hello Harry,” She managed, desperately trying not to blush and keep her voice at a steady level.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, his hand edging closer to hers. She moved it under the pretence of reaching for her glass of orange juice.

“Fine, fine,” She said dismissively as she tore her gaze from his. She set the glass down and was moving her hand back when he suddenly took it in his own.

“Look,” he began, “I just want…”

“Harry!” She hissed. “Can you not make it so bloody obvious first thing in the morning?” With a jerk that was slightly sharper than she intended, she wrenched her hand out of his. She didn’t miss the look of hurt that flashed across his face as she picked up her bag and stood up, ignoring the aching that induced. “I’ll see you in class.” She said to her two friends as cheerfully as was feasible to manage, before walking swiftly out of the hall.

“Harry…” Ron began, a bacon roll halfway to his mouth. “What in the name of Merlin did you do to her last night?” Harry stared blankly at his plate, his head held slightly low as he pushed a piece off egg around it slowly.

“I don’t know.” He replied in a quiet voice, his brow furrowed in thought, and not a small degree of hurt.

“You alright?” Ron asked, catching the look and shifting up into Hermione’s now vacant seat as he pulled his plate towards him.

“I don’t know,” Harry repeated honestly. Ron sighed, pocketing a couple more rolls before glancing at the hourglass on the wall.

“Come on, we’ve got a good half hour before class, let’s go for a quick fly.” He stood up, nudging his friend’s shoulder, who simply shrugged dejectedly in response before standing up and following him out of the hall. They passed the minutes it took to get back down to the Quidditch changing rooms in silence, neither of them willing to be the first person to speak. Harry mounted his Firebolt, allowing it to rise gently before it sped off into the sky. Ron followed behind on his Nimbus 2001 (having bought it a few months previously when the handsome reward money from the Ministry came through for defeating Voldemort and capturing ten of his death eaters at that final battle. Harry had given his share to the Weasleys as well), careful to stay out of his friend’s turbulent wake as he did so. After flying for a few moments, Harry slowed, before coming to a stop, hovering in the air and looking out over the lake. The morning fog had dissipated slightly, but the tops of the mountains were still obscured in thick, grey cloud. The pallor of a Scottish winter hung over the grounds, making them seem eerier, devoid of life slightly. Almost as if the colour had been sucked dry with the passing of autumn. He glanced to the side as Ron arrived silently, pulling on his broom sharply to stop adjacent to his friend.

“Looks a bit threatening, doesn’t it?” Ron commented vaguely, not really expecting a reply as his eyes surveyed the landscape in front of them. Absent-mindedly, he pulled one of the rolls out of his robe pocket, throwing one to Harry who caught it without thinking. Ron sighed. “Look mate, I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything…” He said, trailing off as Harry fixed him with his gaze.

“She wasn’t there this morning.” He said, looking back over the lake. “She hardly said anything to me at breakfast, and she left when I tried to touch her hand.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t…” He began, but was once again interrupted.

“What if she regrets it?” Harry said dejectedly. Ron bit his lip. The signs weren’t that good, but Hermione wasn’t the type to sleep around, he knew that. “What if she woke up and thought, ‘Oh god’. What if…what if she made some giant mistake?” He said the last part in such a small voice that Ron glanced at his half-eaten roll for a moment, before discarding it and moving his broomstick closer to his friend. Laying what he hoped was a comforting hand on one shoulder, he sighed again.

“Mate, you know what sort of girl Hermione is.” He said slowly, choosing his words carefully. Harry’s volatile temper was easily roused, and difficult to calm once it was flared. “She wouldn’t give herself up like that if she didn’t mean it. I think she’s just a bit freaked out, needs a bit of time to sort through what happened with you.”

“But why?” Harry replied. “I thought she…you know…liked me that way. She certainly did last night.”

“Undoubtedly.” Ron replied dryly.

“You’re not helping.”

“Look,” he said, correcting a worrying little judder on his broomstick as a gust of wind blew past them. “She just needs time. Hermione’s probably compartmentalising what happened for further study. You know, putting it into nice little folders or whatever she does inside her mystery of a brain.” At Harry’s sigh, he rolled his eyes. “She’ll be fine. You two have been pining after each other since what, fourth year?”

“Maybe before.” Harry grudgingly admitted.

“Exactly,” Ron smirked. “She’s probably shocked it’s finally happened, you know…and the way it did as well. So…explosive, so….violent, so…”

“Ron!”

“Yeah?”

“Stop…describing.” They were quiet for a few moments then, but Ron could see the smile on his friends face begin to work its way back on. “I can’t believe it happened either, really.” He said wistfully, the grin now turning slightly goofy.

“Alright, fuck this, I’m off.” Ron replied over-emphatically. “You’re turning me sick.”

“But I haven’t told you what she did with her hips when we were…” Harry whined, following after him. Ron cried out, slamming one hand against his ear and using his shoulder to cover the other.

“I’m not listening!”

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

She received the note from Dumbledore halfway through Herbology in second period (the only lesson of the day which, thankfully, she didn’t have to share with Harry). To say that the class was startled by the sudden appearance of a Phoenix whilst they were in the middle of pruning Persephone’s Lament, a particularly vicious form of ivy whose defence mechanism was to throttle anyone who attempted to remove its medicinally potent leaves, was an understatement. The note had been simple, yet had caused her to worry her lip to the point where she’d started to notice a faint coppery taste when she swallowed.

Miss Granger,

Please meet Miss Weasley outside Greenhouse Five at five minutes to eleven this morning, and proceed directly to my office. Unspeakables Chang and Woodtree believe they may have made a breakthrough with your particular issue.

Yours always,

Albus Dumbledore.

After she had gone to show Professor Sprout the note, and simply received a nod before she reached her, it had incinerated itself, singing the end of her fingertips slightly as she dropped it with a yelp. She glanced up to see that the inquisitive glances of the seventh year Herbology B students were on her, in fact, she had provided enough of a distraction for one vine to stealthily wrap itself around Ernie Macmillan’s jugular and begin squeezing. In the ensuing pandemonium, Hermione quietly packed her things away, and left the greenhouse, making her way through the maze of glass walls before she arrived outside number five. She felt Ginny before she saw her, their connection (that had been oddly distant all morning) growing in strength as they neared each other. As she arrived, Ginny looked up, then quickly back down as she pushed off the glass pane she’d been leaning against.

“Hey,” She said softly, still looking at the dirt.

“Hey yourself.” Hermione replied, a little rougher than she meant to. Ginny flinched. There was a moment of silence, before she spoke up.

“Look, I’m sorry about last night, okay…?” She began, only to be cut off with a dismissive wave of the older girl’s hand.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now, Ginny. Let’s just go.” Annoyance flashed through Hermione as they re-entered the castle. How dare she apologise, she knew about their connection, knew the risks and still she went for a quick fumble on the Tower with Draco.

“Calm down, okay? You need to keep things in perspective…” Ginny tried again, her own indignation rising, feeding the passive aggression her friend already felt towards her. In one, swift movement, Hermione had whirled around, eyes glittering dangerously as she walked right up to her.

“Keep things in perspective?” She hissed, “that’s what you were doing last night was it?” With a surge of anger, she pushed her. “Because I didn’t bloody well feel controlled!”

“Hey!” Ginny shouted. “Get your hands off me!”

“No, you rather like hands on you, by all accounts.” Hermione snarled, closing in on her claustrophobically. “Did you not think, for one second, about me last night? About how that would feel on my end?”

“You said to go and meet him!”

“Yes, meet him! Not go and fuck him!” She replied, her voice rising, “And I certainly didn’t plan on fucking Harry as a…” She trailed off, eyes wide as she clamped a hand over her mouth. The shame rolled back in a tidal wave then, crushing the feeble barriers of anger she’d put up. She could feel the shock emanating from the other girl as she sank to her knees. Ginny cast her eyes around the corridor nervously. Luckily, there weren’t any classrooms in this stretch, and the heavy doors to the outside were securely shut. With hesitant, slow movements, she crouched down next to the girl, laying a hand on the top of her head as the light reflected off of the glistening trails streaming down her face.

“Oh Merlin, Hermione, I had no idea…” She whispered, not exactly sure whether her words would help or just make her more angry.

“I didn’t mean to, I swear…” Hermione whispered hoarsely. “I just…I couldn’t control myself…” She sobbed slightly. “I wanted him so badly, and I took him, and it was all because of this stupid spell and now I feel so guilty…”

“Shh, honey…” Ginny cooed softly, pulling her into an embrace. “It’s alright, it’s alright…”

“It’s not bloody alright, Ginny. It’s pretty far from alright.” Hermione replied muddily, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’ve ruined everything.”

“Look…” She said softly, after a few moments. “I don’t think this link can just create something that isn’t there, you know?” She stroked the other girl’s hair again, willing her to calm down. “I think the emotions you get from me just amplify what’s already there in you…and if you’re feeling it, then I’m feeling it, and it builds up and up.” She trailed off. “D’you understand?”

“It’s like momentum.” Hermione said quietly, sniffing.

“What?”

“You know…if you roll a ball down a hill it picks up speed the further it goes down, it’s like that with us. We keep feeding off each other and that emotion keeps increasing so we take more, up until the point where we have to do something about it or…”

“What? Or what?” Ginny asked, slightly frantically. Hermione simply looked at her in response. “Release?” She asked, coyly. Hermione blushed deeply, before slapping the other girl’s forearm.

“Gin!” She cried, outraged.

“Sorry. Look, have you spoken to Harry this morning yet?” She replied, holding her hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

“I um…” Hermione said, looking down at her hands guiltily. “I left before he woke up.”

“Hermione!”

“And I kind of left him at breakfast.” At the shocked stare from her friend, she shook her head. “I know! I know, it was just…I was so confused…” She trailed off, hoping for some sympathy from the redhead. “It was my first time, you know, I mean for both of us…and it was so…”

“Hot?”

“For heaven’s sake.”

“Sorry.” She stood up then, smoothing her skirt out as she offered a hand to the older girl, who took it graciously and did the same. “Look, we’ll talk about this in a bit over some of Dobby’s chocolate cake, okay?” Hermione smiled faintly. “There’s my girl.” Ginny placed a gentle, yet forceful hand on her back, steering her in the direction of the staircase. “But now, Dumbledore. And clear yourself up, woman, you look a state.”

Hermione slapped her again.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

The faint scent of log fire and cinnamon greeted the two girls as they stepped through the heavy oak door and into the office of their Headmaster. As Hermione cast about, she noticed Fawkes on his perch, trilling quietly in recognition as he stared at her through amber-coloured eyes, his plumage in full lustre and bloom at this time of the cycle. Dumbledore’s silver instruments whirled and sputtered as usual, and the curious metallic rings situated on the shelf above circled each other lazily.

“Good afternoon Miss Granger, Miss Weasley.” The soft, encouraging tones of the Headmaster drifted over to them from behind his desk. He was flanked on either side by two figures in deep midnight blue robes, cowls over their faces to ensure that their features were obscured from view. On each of their breasts, the ensign of the Department of Mysteries was subtly visible.

“Headmaster,” They both replied, coming to a stop in front of his large mahogany work surface. At Hermione’s questioning glance at the two people either side of him, Dumbledore smiled.

“Allow me to introduce Unspeakable Chang,” The wizard to the left inclined his head, “And Unspeakable Woodtree.”

“Miss Granger, Weasley,” A husky, feminine voice came from the figure on the right.

“Please, sit down.” Dumbledore prompted, flicking his wand casually as two chairs popped into existence behind them. Hermione and Ginny shared a look before taking their respective seats. Despite years of experience with the ancient wizard, his displays of incredible magical potency and skill were still, at times, slightly unsettling. As far as either girl knew, Ron still had trouble with teacups, let alone transconjuration. “As my note to the both of you indicated, we believe that we have made progress in understanding the root cause of the Severitus curse, and have theorised several methods which may be pursued in order to break the magical ties it has developed between the two of you.”

“However,” Unspeakable Woodtree broke in, “We wish for you to evaluate our hypotheses and draw a reasonable conclusion from them all, postulating upon an eventual amalgamation of theory and practice that may be used to break the casting, Head Granger.” Hermione simply frowned in confusion, before glancing at Dumbledore.

“Headmaster?” She asked, slightly nervously. Despite the fact that she couldn’t see inside the hoods of the Unspeakables, she had the unnerving and inexplicable feeling that they had been looking at her from the moment she’d entered.

“Despite my…protests.” He replied, throwing a slightly stern look in the direction of the two people behind him, “Unspeakable Woodtree wishes to see how you handle this particular problem given the facts at hand.” The twinkle in his eye returned briefly then, “it appears your request to intern at the Department of Mysteries following your Graduation made something of an impact, Hermione.” The girl tried not to smile, but failed to avoid a blush.

“Regardless, we see this…unfortunate situation as a way to test your aptitude for the kind of work you would be required to undertake, and a way to gauge the analytical and extrapolative parts of your psyche.” Woodtree broke in again. Hermione frowned.

“Surely a less life threatening situation would be more, I don’t know, humane?” Ginny said coldly. Hermione had looked over the second she’d felt the slight spike of indignation. The redhead was sitting with a glare affixed to her face, staring Woodtree down with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Both Unspeakables’ heads turned to her with an eerie synchronisation of movement.

“I trust you have heard of the phrase “trial by fire”, Miss Weasley?” Chang replied with an equal frigidity to his voice.

“I trust you’ve heard the phrase “human experimentation is illegal”, Mr. Chang?” Ginny shot back. For his part, Dumbledore seemed faintly amused.

“Enough,” He said, a light edge to his voice that somehow still managed to ring with authority, despite any hint of sternness. “Ethics aside, I believe it is in both your best interests to listen to what they have to say. They are, after all, the experts.”

“Quite right, Professor.” Chang answered, the shadows of his hood focusing in on Ginny for a moment longer before turning back to Hermione. “Before we proceed, I would ask for your permission to run several tests to determine the strength of your connection.” He paused, “If little else than to convince Miss Weasley that we do not intend to treat you as human versions of Pavlov’s dog.” If Ginny understood the reference, she betrayed no outward sign of it, merely nodding her assent.

“Of course,” Hermione replied. “What do you-?”

“Just sit, and allow us to work.” Woodtree replied, beginning to move her wand in a series of intricate movements over the two, as Chang muttered a string of Latin under his breath, mirroring her gestures with his own wand. A variety of sparks and flashes issued forth, but the room remained strangely silent as the Unspeakables continued their work. Dumbledore merely stood to one side, his hands clasped over his front with his wand held lightly in his left, ready to intervene should it prove necessary. Hermione had the distinct impression that he did not trust the pair much in the slightest. After several minutes, however, the incantation was ceased, with a final, dim glow that emanated from the two girls’ chests, before fading into nothingness again.

“Curious,” Dumbledore commented softly, as Chang and Woodtree moved swiftly to converse in one corner. Their whispered voices shed no light on what it was that they were discussing, however Hermione saw flashes of gold in the air as Chang drew out what looked to be an inordinately complicated arithmantic equation in the air. She glanced over at Ginny, who had turned slightly pale at the sight. With a start, and a sudden recognition that the uneasy feeling that she had sensed deep in the pit of her stomach was the girl’s fear, she reached over and squeezed her hand gently. She remembered Harry’s story of how the memory of Tom Riddle had written his name in the air with fire, in the Chamber of Secrets five years ago. Although Ginny had appeared unconscious at the time, she’d admitted later that she’d been experiencing a sort of ex corpus sensation. She’d been able to see and hear everything, but it had been distant somehow, as if viewed through a lens…

“This is most unexpected.” Chang started, the huddle in the corner having apparently separated for now.

“Highly unanticipated.” Woodtree echoed. Dumbledore nodded sagely, as if he understood their puzzlement.

“Indeed,” He agreed quietly. “It appears that the curse ties which bind you two together have been assaulted at the basest level. Might I surmise you have been…testing…your hypothesis, ladies?” He smiled, the twinkle in his eye gleaming at them as Hermione’s eyes widened and Ginny suppressed a squeak.

“Professor?” Woodtree asked. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“No, I believe it is Miss Granger’s prerogative to explain her own brilliant theorisation.” Dumbledore leaned back in his chair as the head girl turned an abnormal shade of crimson. Ginny, on the other hand, was sinking into her chair as if she wished nothing more than to vanish right there and then. Damn the Hogwarts anti-Apparition wards, damn them to hell.

“I um…” Hermione began, as the two Unspeakables peered at her intently. “You see, when the nature of the Severitus curse was explained, I began with a dissection of its simple components. The Cruciatus and Imperius curses, the Proximus charm and the Incumbo curse.” She paused then, regaining her breath slightly as the conversation moved into a more academic sphere. “I then analysed what base emotions and powers fuelled the primary agitators. In the case of the Cruciatus, anger. The Imperius, a will to dominate, to possess.”

“And of the Incumbo and Proximus?” Chang asked slowly, stepping forward.

“They’re minor charms and curses, and simply augment the spell itself, not form the ties between the magic and person. Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore proved that when they were able to alter the distance we could be from each other without the effects of the Cruciatus being felt.” Chang nodded. After another moment of silence, Hermione took the lack of speech to mean she had permission to continue. “Now, as the Separatus curse does not require constant contact from the Source to the Object, in this case both Objects, it would imply that the power behind it is finite. I therefore hypothesised that the amount of potency that is required to cast the spell, drawn from the very magical essence of the witch or wizard who performs it, their soul, is used to rebuff and maintain the ties that exist between the spell and those who find themselves under it.” She paused again, not really sure whether she was rambling or making sense.

“Go on,” Woodtree encouraged, albeit in her husky, flat tone of voice.

“The um, the condition of the spell that you aren’t able to tell the object of your…your heart’s affection of its effect on you would symbolise a magical contract of some kind, that the spell’s permanency upon the breaking of this rule would transfer the power Source from its reserve, taken from the caster’s soul, to both your own.”

“Those were Professor Snape’s thoughts, also.” Dumbledore agreed. “The key to unravelling the curse though, I believe, lay in the next part of your reasoning.”

“You theorised that the process of nullification lay in attacking its power base through maintaining its ties.” Woodtree stated. Hermione nodded in response.

“Yes, my idea was that if base emotions such as anger and hatred were the founding blocks of the Cruciatus curse, and selfishness the Imperius, then assaulting them with a combination of Occlumentic meditation techniques to dull the flow of emotions between the two of us, and focusing on emotions such as affection…and um…love…and selflessness would force the spell to use its reserves on bolstering its hold and fighting the erosion of its foundation in our magical essences.”

“A curious strategy, Head Granger.” Chang replied, after a few moments. Hermione tried not to be thrilled with the slight note of respect in his voice, and the use of her title did not go unnoticed. Apparently she couldn’t hide it from Ginny however, who smiled at her proudly. “You chose to actually assault the power base of an Unforgivable curse, as opposed to finding a workaround? I must admit; I am in awe of your audacity.” Hermione blushed.

“It doesn’t appear to have worked, though. I can still feel Ginny’s emotions, even from a distance. Although they do feel slightly muted, but I put that down to the natural erosion of the spell anyway.”

“On the contrary.” Woodtree replied. “Our scans show that the curse has expended significant amounts of energy in maintaining its hold upon you.” She regarded the two then. “My apologies if these questions now seem personal, but they are essential in understanding what has occurred to weaken the base so.” Hermione felt a lump in her throat form, and her slight level of panic was only amplified by Ginny’s in return. “Firstly,” She began, “I assume it is safe to say that of the two of you, Miss Weasley has the more…shall we say…apparent temperament?” Ginny snorted in response. “I see, and I assume that the majority of noticeable emotional bursts have been from her in origin, Miss Granger?” Hermione coloured deeply, mumbling a response in the affirmative as her mind flashed back to an image of her lying on her back, Harry’s weight pressed on top of her, pushing her into the mattress as her legs wrapped around him…

“Therefore,” Chang broke in, as if Hermione’s reaction were not obvious, “I must ask you, Miss Weasley, if you have noticed any variance in your temperament over the last few days?”

“Mine?” Ginny asked, at the same time the other girl said ‘Hers?’.

“Surely, Unspeakable Chang, a better test of whether my hypothesis is workable would be the dulling of extreme emotions?” Hermione said, her brow furrowed with the turn of questioning, thankfully providing a distraction from the image of those beautiful viridian eyes boring into her.

“On the contrary, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore replied. “I think you’ll find that your particular temperament, being of thoughtful and deep nature, is the dominant role in this connection. No offence intended, Miss Weasley.” He added, at Ginny’s shocked face. “Passion has its place, and a very important one it is, but it is meditative and measured thought that is often the key behind inner peace. You will have found yourself more patient no doubt, more focused in lessons, these past few days? The usual distractions aside, of course.” He said the last part with a slight smirk, the sight of which forced Hermione to stifle a grin.

“Come to think of it,” Ginny admitted grudgingly. “I haven’t been as energetic as usual lately. And I’ve had an odd compulsion to sleep with an encyclopaedia under my pillow.” She winked at Hermione, who wore a look of deepest indignation on her face.

“I do not sleep with a-”

“Miss Grangers…sleeping habits…aside,” Woodtree interjected, the disdainful way in which she spoke causing a stab of baseless panic to flash through the girl. “We believe that an erosion in the connection has occurred, but with the dominant personality. In this case, Miss Granger’s.” There were a few moments pause then as the Unspeakables looked at each other. Even though she couldn’t see their faces, she could sense the unease in the air.

“What is it?” Ginny asked, also interpreting the tense atmosphere in the way Hermione had.

“There was…something else, that we found in our scans.” Chang said slowly, as if measuring his words. Hermione noticed that the pair had Dumbledore’s rapt attention at this point. As wise as he was, he seemed to have apparently missed this.

“I wonder, Miss Granger, Miss Weasley…have you ever heard of the Amortensus charm?”

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

‘Subdued’ didn’t begin to cover the mood of the two girls as they left Dumbledore’s office in the early evening, just as the last period of the week was finishing. They were still reeling from the implications of having yet another spell put on them by persons unknown, and from having their personal, and in Hermione’s case, intimate lives dissected by two Ministry officials and their Headmaster. Hermione in particular had said nothing since the subject of her whereabouts during the attack on Ginny had arisen. She had sat in her chair, head downcast and mouth sealed as she was asked. When she had finally looked up, her eyes red and small tears threatening to escape, Dumbledore had simply sighed, his gaze almost burning her, as it seemed to pierce into her soul.

“I see,” He’d said sadly, those two words forever seared onto her consciousness there and then. “I feel I must summon Mr. Potter, in that case. Miss Weasley, if you would be so kind as to take Miss Granger to her room.” The Unspeakables had been silent then, Woodtree seemed to want to protest, but a furious glance from Dumbledore had silenced her immediately. Hermione felt as if she were on autopilot until they made it back to the Head Suites, Harry having apparently already left to go see the Headmaster. She didn’t know how long she’d sobbed into her pillow when they finally reached her room, Ginny rubbing her back in an abortive attempt to be comforting, when the girl had finally spoken.

“Come on, Hermione.” She said softly, her hand coming to a stop on her friend’s shoulder blade. “You have to eat something.”

“I can’t,” She replied, unmoving. “He’ll be there.”

“You have to see him some time.” Ginny pointed out, apparently brokering no argument with the way in which she took Hermione’s hand, pulling her up and tidying her appearance with several cosmetic spells. A short while later, they’d entered the Great Hall, the older girl trying desperately to summon some small measure of Gryffindor courage that still lay within her. However, whatever slight amount she gleaned was dashed when she saw him. He was bent over his food, head leaning against a propped up elbow on the table whilst his free hand stirred his mashed potato absently with a fork. He didn’t look up as she entered, unlike Ron, whose face visibly darkened as Ginny branched off from Hermione to go to him, giving her one, last burst of support through their cursed connection. She could hear their frantic whispering, feel the rising anger from her friend as they began their battle of words and temper, but in all honesty she didn’t actually care at that point. She didn’t care about Ginny’s spats with Ron, she didn’t care about any connection, she didn’t care about a curse that had put her in this situation, as she quietly took a seat next to Harry, folding her hands in her lap as she did so. He didn’t respond to her presence, didn’t even look up as she felt a wave of trepidation course through her. It was at that point she realised the full extent of what she’d said to him the night before with those three words. ‘I love you’, three syllables, quite heavy on the vowels, but no amount of linguistic interpretation could even hold a candle to the emotional gravity of what they represented. She loved Harry, she just….knew she did. She’d known it for years, really, but both of them had just been too scared to acknowledge it, to allow themselves to fully comprehend what it would mean between them. The prospect was terrifying, but it paled in comparison to the terror that Hermione felt now, now that she might have lost it forever for the sake of one misguided night.

“Harry, I…” She began, her heart breaking as his eyes met hers. She saw everything there, hurt, betrayal, guilt, anger, sadness, and despite all that, his love for her. How she’d been so stupid all these years, she’d never know. How could she have been so afraid to give voice to something they both knew was between them?

“Not now, Hermione.” He replied in a quiet voice. “Finish your dinner, and we’ll talk.” She glanced down, and saw that her plate had been filled while she’d been looking at Harry. Willing the encroaching tears that threatened to spill from her eyes back, she picked up a fork, not entirely oblivious to the worried looks that her fellow Gryffindors were shooting in their direction, as well as the look of pure anger Ron was sending her. She could feel his gaze on her, its intensity prickling the hairs at the back of her neck like a cold winter’s breeze, but she didn’t dare to meet his eyes. He was justified in his anger, and Hermione didn’t think that her fragile grip on her composure could be maintained if she saw his disdain for her on top of Harry’s broken appearance. Mechanically, she raised her fork to her mouth, feeling the shepherd’s pie and peas, but not really tasting it. They sat in silence, the tension thick enough to slowly suffocate those around them. Even the seventh years, veterans of many a feud between members of the Trio, hadn’t witnessed anything like this before, and the glances they exchanged were telling.

It seemed to take forever, but dinner eventually ended, Harry’s eyes having never left his plate, not even to take a slice of treacle tart from the platter that appeared (rather conveniently, Hermione thought) in front of him. Her worry and guilt grew ever larger inside of her as the other students began to rise; she wasn’t even able to hide her start as she felt Harry’s fingers lightly graze her shoulder. She glanced up, to find him stood and ready to go. Around her, the other Gryffindors had mostly filtered out of the hall, a few stray Hufflepuffs lingered, conversing with some Ravenclaws. Nobody noticed the lone Slytherin girl at the table on the far right, her focus not on her Defence text in front of her, opened at page 213 (Protective Charms for the Ridiculously Overzealous), but on the byplay unfolding on the other side of the room.

“Walk with me?” Harry asked. It wasn’t a demand, it was a genuine question, and it was said with such quietness and hesitation that Hermione nearly shrunk into herself with self-recrimination and shame. She managed to stand up, her hand unsteady and shaking visibly as she shouldered her bag, before walking slowly out of the Hall. They kept pace with each other, but Hermione was merely following his lead as he steered them towards the Entrance Doors, slipping into the cold night air outside of the Warming Charms that kept the Castle in such moderate climate throughout the biting winters. She gasped involuntarily, and pulled her robe more tightly around her to ward off the chill. Noticing her reaction, Harry reached inside his pocket, pulling out a small scrap of material that, with a simple Engorgio, grew into her autumn cloak. He passed it to her, his eyes not meeting hers as they began to stray from the main path. Whether it was conscious or not, she’d never know. Their legs seemed to be steering them towards the Lake, following the circuit they’d travelled so many times before, albeit under (sometimes) happier circumstances. There were long minutes of silence as they simply walked with each other, taking in their surroundings. The skeletal branches of the deciduous trees planted along the edges of the water were framed against the sapphire, almost negrous depths of the water. The sky itself was black, the cloud cover obscuring any chance of a starry night, but the lights of the castle seemed to cause the surface of the lake to almost glitter as they began to circumnavigate it. Their breath came out in short puffs, visible, if inaudible. Hermione chanced a look over to her companion, his cheeks ruddy with the cold. She couldn’t help but feel her heart melt at the sight of him, her attraction not even slightly dulled, despite all that had happened. She’d been staring so long, she hadn’t noticed he’d caught her until she realised they’d stopped and her eyes were locked with his.

“I spoke to Dumbledore earlier.” He said quietly. Hermione nodded.

“I know.” She replied, tearing her eyes away from his and looking down at her feet, a feeling of dejection suddenly washing over her, mixed in with the usual self-deprecation.

“He told me about…well…about the curse.” Harry pressed on, still in that maddening tone of voice.

“I know,” She repeated, unable to hide the flinch as the rough skin of Harry’s fingertips gently pulled her chin up so that her gaze was at eye level again. She tried to look away once more, but he simply repeated the gesture.

“Hermione, look at me. Hermione…” He said, his words cutting through her. Couldn’t he see how sorry she was? How much she didn’t want to hurt him? Why couldn’t he just let her go, why did she have to look at him? It hurt her too much, although she supposed it was the least that she deserved. With a sniff, and a few blinks of her eyes she felt the familiar trail of warmth flow down one of her cheeks, turning icily cold as the tear almost froze on contact with the outside air. “I need to know.” He said simply.

“You…you need to know?” Hermione asked hesitantly, her voice sounding choked and hoarse as another tear rolled down her cheek. He still hadn’t let go of her chin. In fact, he was wiping the moisture on her face away. Damn it, she didn’t deserve his touch, why did he have to do that? It was just making things harder, and harder, and harder with every caress, every light scrape of skin against skin. It made her legs feel weak, and it made her hate herself even more for what she’d done, what she must be putting him through.

“I need to know if you meant what you said last night.” He replied simply, his questioning of her revelation needing no further explanation. His eyes still held hurt inside them, yes, and there was something else now. He seemed hardened, as if prepared to accept a strong blow, but as she gazed into them, she could also see…no…feel hope there. Behind his words, behind his gaze, behind the touch of his thumb on her jaw that was idly tracing the line of her chin. She didn’t say anything for a few moments, as they stood there and communicated without words, in the strange way they’d always been able to. Eventually, however, she closed her eyes, allowing another few tears to escape from the pooled water on her lashes as she nodded falteringly.

“Y-yes.” She managed to whisper. They were silent again for a few moments, the girl desperately trying to control the sobs that threatened to manifest themselves physically as Harry removed his hand from her face. She squeezed her eyes tightly, attempting to draw in deep breaths even as her airways felt like they were closing. After long seconds of silence, she forced herself to open them again, and through blurry vision, she made out Harry’s mouth quirked in…a smile?

“I love you too.” He replied simply, before taking her chin in his hand again and tilting her head upwards as he leant in, closing the distance between them with unnatural speed. She thought their lips would crush together painfully, but was shocked when Harry’s met hers with a delicacy and gentleness she hadn’t thought him capable of, that temporarily annihilated what she was feeling, ceased the flow of tears from her eyes as she leant into his kiss, feeling the hardness of his lips give way slightly under the caress of her softness.

“I…I…love…NO!” She cried out suddenly, snapping awake and pushing him away forcefully, registering the bewildered look in his eyes but ignoring it as she buried her face in her hands. “YOU CAN’T LOVE ME!” She shouted, not caring if every person in the castle heard her now.

“Why can’t I?” He asked gently, taking a step towards her but stopping as she back-pedalled in response. “I’ve loved you for years, Hermione.”

“Because I USED YOU!” She cried, the sobs coming unbidden now, making her back heave under their pressure. “Because I couldn’t control myself around YOU! The ONE PERSON I had to!” She sank to her knees then. “I don’t deserve your love, it was supposed to be perfect, it was supposed to be special...”

“Hermione,” Harry said gently. “I’m not angry, and I’m not upset.”

“WHY AREN’T YOU?” She cried, “WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO BLOODY CALM ABOUT IT?” He was mere feet away from her now.

“Because it doesn’t matter.” He replied quietly, crouching down so that they were on the same level. “Because I’ve learned some things about life…listen to me.” He pulled her chin up again. “I’ve learned that nothing in life is as perfect, or as planned, or as logical as you want it to be. I’ve learned that you take what you can from it, and you treasure what you have, because you could lose it any second.”

“Oh, Harry…” She replied sadly in a hoarse voice, but he held up a hand to stop her.

“No,” He said simply. “I’ve known all this, and I’ve still waited too long for you. I’ve stalled and I’ve lied to myself and I’ve tried to feel something else, and you know what? It hasn’t worked.” His hands slipped from her face to intertwine with her fingers. “What happened last night, happened. There isn’t any changing that, and I wouldn’t want to even if we could.” She looked at him through troubled eyes, her mouth open and drawing halting, quiet breaths that produced small, faintly white clouds of condensation as they were expelled from her lungs.

“It wasn’t us, Harry, the curse…”

“The curse can be damned.” Harry replied, his eyes flashing with a flicker of anger for the first time since she’d seen him this evening. “I don’t care about any curse, or any connection to Ginny you may have. I don’t care what happened to make you the way you were last night because there had to be something there to start with!”

“I…”

“No, Hermione. Stop it, just stop.” He let go of her hands then, moving his upwards to frame her face once more. “If you’re going to tell me it was a mistake, then tell me as you look at me, tell me so I know beyond doubt that you never want it to happen again. Tell me you feel nothing for me, because that’s the only way this can’t work.”

“Harry, I…” She repeated, gazing into her eyes. But in that instant, like in the Great Hall, something pierced the fog of melancholy and guilt that had settled over her like a shroud. It clicked with her; his words resonated inside her very bones.

“I meant every word.” She whispered finally, with a slight tremble to her voice; before she pulled him to her, locking her lips with his in a searing, fiery kiss that made their frantic joining last night seem like a hand holding in comparison. And finally, as they tasted each other again, but for the first time really, arms wrapped around each other, warming against the chill and freeze of the night air, she thought everything might just work out.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

Author’s Note:

Hello again all, sorry for the delay in this chapter, but it’s a bit longer than the others to make up for it.

First of all, I’d just like to say sorry to Heather11483 – I forgot to e-Mail you the chapter for your input, sorry! Blame the pub, I do. I wasn’t sure if the offer was still open, so I stuck it up and hoped for the best. Thanks so much for offering to help, though :D

Secondly, to clear up a few things that may be slightly fuzzy from this chapter. I think the caveat in the curse that Hermione couldn’t tell Harry about it doesn’t apply to others telling others, or finding out for themselves. Dumbledore couldn’t have discussed it with them otherwise, nor brought in the Unspeakables to assist. As for his intervention with Harry, Hermione was obviously not capable, so he stepped in as a part of his duty of pastoral care for his students.

Thirdly, I know Pansy didn’t feature that heavily in this one like I said she wouldn, but she will next chapter, speaking of which, in chapter five:

Tough questions are asked, curses are broken, Harry gets angry, Pansy gets angry, Luna gets weird, a penny drops and Wendelina the Wise requests a transfer while Potions becomes a battleground.

Thank you to everyone who’s reviewed so far, especially the following people:Tank03, Heather11483, lorien829, katediggory, Violet Kefira, grookill, KirstiR, and Alaitoc. Thanks for asking intelligent questions, giving kind words, and for following Ties :)

Oh, I’m sorry about the formatting problems, with the indents and the like. I really don’t know why it does it, but try as I might I can’t fix it :(

Lastly, feel free to check me out on Livejournal, http://castledown.livejournal.com - I’m thinking of posting snippets and stuff up there in the future.

Take care,

Castledown.

“The distance between insanity and genius is measured only by success.”
- Bruce Feirstein

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

The sun woke her again. It wasn't shining directly onto her eyes, but it was intrusive - it was the same, cold, dead light that flattened everything as she'd woken up to the day before, a white light that just seemed to be both bright and dull at the same time. But today was different. She yawned, rubbing her eyes as her mind adjusted to being awake once more, but there was no spike of fear this time, no rising sense of dread, of shame.

She simply smiled, and turned her head to the side. And he was there just like yesterday, on his front, his hair buffeted by his light exhalations. She felt an elation rise up inside her that she couldn't place having experienced before as she stroked his forearm lightly, relishing its weight on her stomach. Her fingers trailed just above his skin, occasionally brushing it and sending a slight thrill through her every time.

She realised then that she hadn't appreciated anything about him for the last two nights, despite what she thought. She hadn't truly realised that she was lying in bed with Harry, her best friend…and now, her lover? She couldn't help but smile again. Who would have thought it, plain Jane Hermione (or should that be plain Hermione Jane?) has a lover. Boring, prudish, bookish Hermione had found someone she loved so hard it ached, and who returned it in full. Her mind threw images at her languidly, pictures of all those accidental-on-purpose touches they'd shared over the last few years, those private looks with each other, their empathy communicating volumes about how they felt to each other but words failing them…

Although, she thought, somehow they'd always known it would be like this. It had been the two of them more than anything else. Ron was a dear friend to them both, their mutual best friend, their soul mate and brother. But what they had just seemed to always transcend that. They weren't soul mates; they weren't brother and sister…they were just…made for each other.

Okay, she thought, scrunching up her nose, let's never let anyone hear that Hermione. Ever. Cringe and move on.

Her smile stretched even further as he shifted, unconsciously pulling himself closer to her, tightening his arms around her waist as he laid his head half-on her shoulder, half-on her breast. Her hand came up seemingly of its own will, running through the hair on the back of his head with the same light touch that her other hand had caressed his arm with. She sighed happily, before gently bending her neck to touch her lips softly to his forehead, to the scar that had marked him since a child, but was now a symbol of his freedom. His victory.

She kissed his head again, trailing her lips slightly up his skin and flushing horribly as she remembered the first time she'd done that. Her flush gave way to something…else…though, as the full memory of that night came back. And, she thought with a sparing notice to the ache she still felt between her legs, last night.

She realised she'd been pressing light kisses continuously to his forehead when she faded back to reality then, her other hand having come round to frame his cheek. She grinned as his breathing pattern began to change, knowing that he was stirring back to consciousness even before his eyes began to open sluggishly, his mouth curving into a slight crescent as he murmured against the skin of her collarbone.

“You're here,” She almost felt her heart break at the thought of how she'd run out on him yesterday, but still, the experience of having someone wake up and smile when they realised she was there (she was still shocked that she was in this situation) electrified her, made her senses feel like they were on fire. “S'time?” Harry asked sluggishly as he rolled off her slightly, onto his back as his hand came up to shield his eyes.

“Doesn't matter,” Hermione whispered, moving to the side so she was half-on, half-off him. “It's Saturday. We've got all day to just…” She trailed off, as her hands ran through his fringe gently, slowly trailing down his face. “Do whatever we want, or nothing, if we want.”

“Mmm,” He murmured, shifting as he rubbed his eyes, their lids still shielding them as his mind adjusted to consciousness. “I like the second option.” She smiled, before allowing her weight to fall back to the bed. She'd decided that she rather liked this position, both of them lying side-by-side, able to look at each other. Although, she thought with a grimace, morning breath issues were rapidly becoming apparent.

“I bet you do, Potter.” She whispered, her hands still idly tracing patterns on any available skin she could find. “Have I told you that I love you this morning?” His eye cracked open slightly at her, the barest sliver of emerald shining through the gap as his lips turned upwards slightly.

“I could get used to that.” He replied, before shifting his body to encompass her this time. She caught on fairly quickly and lifted her neck, allowing his arm to slide underneath and gently pull her towards him. She sighed slightly at the pleasant feeling of his warmth coursing into her, transmitting from their contact of flesh on flesh. “I love you too.” He said softly, tipping her chin up lightly so that he could press a gentle kiss to her lips.

That, she could also get used to.

“I am hungry though.”

“What a surprise.”

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

They arrived at breakfast several hours later, thanking Merlin that it was the weekend and thus the population of the Great Hall was slightly thinner on the ground than normal. Making a beeline for the middle of the Gryffindor table, where they could already spy two shocks of bright red hair, Harry and Hermione finally let go of each other's hands as they sat down.

“Morning, Ron.” Hermione greeted pleasantly, smiling at him as she reached over for a croissant. Ron narrowed his eyes, before looking at his other best friend.

“Is she friendly?” He asked, keeping one eye trained on her warily.

“Coast is clear.” Harry replied, laughing as he reached for the plate of pastry as well.

“That's alright then, I was worried for a second that…oh, come on!” He started, then raised his voice halfway through as the two bumped hands on the plate, smiling at each other shyly afterwards. “It's weird enough that you two have this…whatever it is…between you without dramatics, please.”

To her credit, Hermione simply rolled her eyes, before turning to her right, where a slightly embattled-looking Ginny sat hunched over the table, a cup of coffee clutched possessively between her hands.

“Hey, Gin.” Hermione said brightly, her smile faltering as the girl turned to face her. Hermione noticed the dark rings under her eyes then, the worn look behind them that screamed of sleep deprivation and irritation. Yet, oddly, she didn't feel anything from her. No spike of annoyance, no flare of Weasley anger.

“Oh my goodness, Ginny, our link-” She started, but was almost immediately cut off by the younger woman's snarl.

“I know.” She hissed. “I think it happened after the third time, when I was actually able to get some sleep.”

Hermione coloured deeply.

“I can't know that…” Ron said faintly, his complexion taking on an odd pallor. “It's bad enough, seeing Harry naked…”

“When did you see Harry naked?” Hermione's head whipped around, her embarrassment momentarily forgotten as she looked between the two boys with narrowed eyes.

“He didn't see me naked…” Harry said placatingly, holding his hands out.

“I bloody well did.” Ron replied in that half-indignant, half-sickened voice he'd had just now. “Bare as the day he was born, arse cheeks glinting in the morning sun…”

Harry let loose with what he hoped was a vicious kick under the table.

“OW! I'm just saying Hermione, if you're gonna do that with him, at least close the door next time.”

“I can't believe I'm having this conversation.” The girl replied, her voice just as faint as Ron's was not two seconds previous.

“Yeah, can we leave my arse out of breakfast discussions, please?” Harry asked indignantly, folding his arms over his chest before glaring at a third year that'd had the misfortune to eavesdrop. “What?” The boy in question hurriedly became interested in racing his egg and sausage around his plate, blushing an unhealthily deep vermilion. Harry glanced up at the Head table then, noticing for the first time that the two Unspeakables remained, seated on either side of Dumbledore as they ate.

Harry couldn't shake the impression that beneath their heavy, black cowls, they were looking directly at the Gryffindor table.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

Pansy had known that the spell was running its course before it actually happened. She'd been feeling the drain, the pull of energy that linked her to it by signature had weakened considerably over the last few hours until finally, it had snapped. The severance had left her feeling oddly bereft, even though she felt the icy chill that had frozen her stomach and her chest lift gradually, as her emotions and feelings returned full swing to her. She missed that buffer of abnormality, that shroud of dark magic and emotion that had smothered her conscience.

She was unprepared to deal with the anger, the sheer rage that arose when she'd been seated at breakfast the next morning. Potter and his whore had entered, linked at the hand despite her best efforts to fracture their friendship, to ruin it and to spoil it at its core. The relations that she'd instigated, that she'd hoped would ruin what they had by the two of them crossing that Rubicon between them had only made them stronger. It had made them acknowledge their hidden feelings.

She'd failed to gain her revenge, failed to do anything but jeopardise herself. The blood traitor and Malfoy were still together; the mudblood and Potter were happily ensconced in each other's arms. With a noise of disgust, she threw her muffin onto the plate, casting a baleful look at the people around her before swinging her bag over her shoulder and stalking out of the hallway.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

“Wow, who ruined her day already?” Ginny commented snarkily as her eyes followed the girl's emotional exit from the Great Hall.

“It's Parkinson.” Ron replied between mouthfuls of sausage, bacon, egg, black pudding, baked bean and mushroom sandwich (what he liked to called his early morning `Big Beastie'). “The passage of time pisses her off, let alone anything specific.”

“The girl does have anger issues.” Harry agreed with a nod, his eyes also tracking the Slytherin before she disappeared out of the main doors. “What?” He asked as his eyes naturally flicked back to Hermione, whose brow was furrowed in what looked like heavy concentration. “Hermione?”

“Careful Harry,” Ron said, motioning with Big Beastie and ignoring the various bits of debris that came sailing off of it. “She's got The Look.”

“I don't have a `Look' Ronald.” Hermione replied absently, still chewing on the end of her fork thoughtfully as her eyes remained fixed on where Parkinson had been not a few moments before.

“Sure you do.” He mumbled. “It's that `I'm a Super Genius, And I'll Kill You With My Brain' look. The one that says `Do Not Disturb' in big flashing neon red lights above it. The…”

“Ron.” Harry cut in, raising an eyebrow at his friend. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I don't even know anymore.” He said, flashing a food-filled grin. “But it was fun.” Harry held him with a troubled look for a few moments, before blinking and returning his gaze back to his…girlfriend, he supposed.

Hermione was his girlfriend. Heh, cool.

“Seriously, want to share with the class, Hermione?” He teased lightly, feeling for her fingers next to him and intertwining his own with them when he found her hand. The touch seemed to snap her out of whatever reverie held her in place, and she looked around at her friends as if coming out of a daze.

“No, nothing…” She said, before rolling her eyes at the impatient sighs the three other people in the conversation gave her. “Oh fine, it's just a theory, but I'll tell you all after breakfast. Needless to say,” She looked directly at Ron then, grimacing at his lack of table decorum slightly before continuing. “It might require some spy work.”

Ron's face lit up in anticipation. For some reason, he'd developed an unhealthy obsession with Harry's invisibility cloak ever since…well, ever since he'd found out that Malfoy was seeing Ginny, really.

“I can do that!” He volunteered.

“Yes, Ron.” Hermione replied with a smile. “On the condition that you start to eat like a human being, and not like a combine harvester.”

Harry chuckled and flashed her a grin, but Ron simply looked more confused than anything, leaning over to his sister before he whispered in a quizzical tone.

“What the hell's a combine harvester?”

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

“You're kidding.” Ginny said flatly. It wasn't so much a question as a statement borne from incredulity. “Her?”

The four of them were sitting in the Heads Quarters, lounging on the sofas by the fireplace. While it was daylight, the sconces were still lit at a low ebb on the walls, infusing their surroundings with a rich, warm palette of colour that immediately made Hermione want to relax until she fell asleep, which would do nobody any good, least of all when she was trying to explain her theory behind what had been happening to them over the past few days.

“It makes sense, in a way.” Ron said thoughtfully, his feet up on the table (to Hermione's extreme consternation) as he considered his friend's conclusions. “It could quite easily be Parkinson who put the curse on you.”

“But why?” Ginny asked, struggling to understand the reasoning behind it. “I mean; I can get why she'd hate Harry, no offence.” For his part, the boy merely shrugged. “He defeated Voldemort, and everyone knows that she was about as much on our side as Bellatrix Lestrange. But doing this? We could have died you know, and I've never really spoken to her outside of a few exchanges in the corridors years ago. Why me?”

Ron sighed, as if steeling himself for what he had to say. Ginny took it the wrong way, however, and slapped him across the bicep.

“OW!” He hissed, glaring at her. “What the hell was that for?”

“Don't treat me like an idiot!”

“I'm not treating you like an idiot!”

“Oh yes you…”

As they continued to bicker, Harry phased out slightly as he considered Hermione's logic. It was no secret that Parkinson resented the girl for consistently outdoing her in class, and Ginny…

“So she has something against Ginny because she thinks that she stole Malfoy from her?” He murmured to Hermione as a hand absently played with her lapel. She looked at it slightly irritably as he moved it away. “Sorry.”

“That's my thinking.” She replied, taking his hand in hers and running light movements over it with her fingers, smiling slightly as she glanced down at it despite the severity of the situation. The whole thing between her and Harry was still just so…new. It was so exciting, even to the point that she wondered if she were imagining things at times.

“But to do something so serious as that curse…I mean, she'd really have to have lost it…”

“It's not inconceivable.” She replied softly. “All of us became soldiers last year, we survived because we have each other, because I have you…” She added, giving him that special, secret little half-smile she seemed to have reserved only for him now. “Some people weren't so lucky to have that though, they were left to deal with things on their own.”

“You think Parkinson was an active Death Eater?” He stiffened slightly, and she moved to calm him immediately. Having a half-cocked Harry walking the halls would not be the best way to deal with this at present. To the pair's side, Ron and Ginny were still arguing furiously with one another, and Hermione was deeply relieved that she wasn't feeling anything but the slightest of touches from Ginny's volatile emotional range any more. This was one experience she'd rather not be party to, thank you very much.

“I don't think so, but just try to think about it from her perspective, Harry.” She said soothingly, leaning her head against his shoulder as she watched both of the Weasley siblings' faces become redder and redder with every exchange. It was almost hypnotic, in a way. “This whole life that she's had, that she was raised for and never allowed to deviate from, it's all come crashing down around her. She doesn't have the network of old families anymore, because they're either dead, disgraced, in Azkaban or blood traitors, and in any case they're not nearly as effective or relevant as they once were…”

“Pardon me if I don't shed a tear.” Harry grumbled. She rolled her eyes.

“And it's more than likely that she had been betrothed to Draco since she was a child. Now he's with Ginny, and she's all alone with no future, with nothing the way as it was before…I'm not condoning it, but it's possible to see how that might be enough to warp someone.” She sighed as Ron and Ginny's argument began to cool down. “Bitterness can be destructive, as you know.” Harry thought back to his fifth year, flashes of shouting at Hermione and Ron for no reason other than giving some release to his anger flashing through his mind as he did so. He knew better than anyone about the perils of becoming cynical and bitter. It wasn't just an emotion - it rapidly became a way of life, a barrier against the harsh reality of everyday existence. At first it was comforting, a buffeting force that kept the small things in life that brought you down away from you. But bitterness is an insidious thing, it feeds on the parts of you that are decent, and good, and kind. It twists you into something unrecognisable, until that one point where you look at yourself in the mirror and realise that you don't know the person looking back anymore.

Yeah, he could see it. As Hermione said, he was lucky that he had her and Ron at his side to drag him back (kicking and screaming if necessary) from the edge.

“I guess it is.” He said softly. “I'm still going to kill her.”

“Harry!” Hermione scolded, frowning at him.

“Alright, I won't kill her. Can I at least hex her into next Tuesday?” He sighed, fingering his wand lightly as it rested on the seat next to him.

“No, I've got a better plan.” She said smugly, before looking at his wounded stare. “Oh fine, if plan A falls through, you can curse her.”

“Plan A won't fall through.” Harry replied in a glum way as Ron and Ginny finally stopped yelling at one another and sat as far away as possible on the tiny sofa.

“And why do you think that?” She asked, raising an eyebrow again as she sat up.

“Because it's one of your plans.”

“Oh well, I suppose that means you'll have to get your testosterone under control then, doesn't it?” She turned to Ron then, leaving a slightly gobsmacked Harry in her wake. She couldn't resist a smirk and a wink at Ginny however, one that the redhead returned with more than a stifled giggle. “Ronald.”

“Yes!” He replied. “Do I get to borrow Harry's Cloak now?”

“Oi, it might be good to ask me now and…”

“Yes, you do.” Hermione cut in, giving Harry's knee a little rub to placate him in as much as she could right now, before carrying on. “Although, this is a little more dodgy than other times. I need you to go into the Slytherin Common Room.” Ron paused for a second, his brain working all of the angles as she spoke. Despite his popular image, the boy wasn't stupid. His mind just wasn't as outwardly impressive as Hermione's - he thought more like Harry, considering cause, effect and unexpected factors that she wasn't so good at. She supposed it was why they worked so well as a team.

“Right…” He began slowly, sitting forward. “But can't you just go there, being Head Girl and Boy and all that jazz?”

“We could,” She nodded. “But that would defeat the point of the mission. If we want Parkinson, we need evidence. Hard evidence, not just the idea that she may or may not have been an unmarked Death Eater, or that she comes from a bad family, or she's just a total…cow. Yes, I can dislike people as well,” She glanced at Ron's open mouth. “Try not to have a heart attack.”

“Okay, I get your point. And polyjuice is out of the equation because she doesn't really have many friends, and nobody who'd have cause to be in her room?”

“Correct. You'll need to follow someone into the common room, and wait until Pansy goes into her room, then slip in and take what you need to convict her of this.” Ron frowned, the thought of being stuck in a woman's room for that length of time, let alone a Slytherin's, being the dullest of prospects that he could imagine.

“When do we want to do this?” He asked slightly apprehensively, glancing over at Ginny, who was locked in thought.

“It'll have to be today?” Harry guessed, speaking up suddenly. “The Unspeakables won't be here forever, particularly when they find out that the bond has been broken between you two.” He motioned between Ginny and Hermione then, sitting forward as well. “In fact, your meeting with them can be the cover. If we can tail Parkinson, get what we need; then we can present the spell or the evidence to the Unspeakables while they're in with you. Gives you an alibi…” He glanced at Hermione then, before Ginny. “And it gives Ron some backup if he needs a quick extraction, I can just go in because of the badge and open some doors if I have to.”

“You know, this is all well and good.” Ginny said suddenly, her legs crossed and arms folded as she chipped in suddenly. “But shouldn't this be the kind of thing that we report, rather than deal with ourselves.” She looked at Harry then more intently than the others. “It's not the war any more, guys. We're students, not commandos.” They were quiet for a few moments then; each of them either considering the girl's words, or trying to formulate some kind of retort before Harry finally spoke up.

“The thing that the war taught me,” he began slowly, as if choosing his words with a degree of exceptional care. “Is that when it comes to protecting what's yours, you rely on yourself and the people around you, you don't rely on the people in charge.” He paused for a moment as Hermione cocked her head slightly to the right, watching him as he spoke. “When Umbridge and the Ministry decided that we wouldn't be able to protect ourselves or each other, we did it anyway. When the Death Eaters decided to take away what we loved, we fought back. All the way up until that final evening on that damn cliff…” He trailed off at the memory and Hermione slipped her hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze and smiling at him softly, urging him to continue. “All the way, we relied on each other, and that's something that I've learned I can do for the rest of my life. It's not about refusing to go to the people in charge, Gin. It's about trusting the people around you to get the job done.”

Ginny just shrugged.

“Hey, you're preaching to the converted here. I just wanted to make sure that you weren't going crazy again. So Hermione, what time are we meeting Dumbledore?”

The other three just laughed.

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

“I want you to promise me that you won't run in there all wands blazing.”

“Like I'd…”

“Honestly, Harry!”

“Oh alright, I promise.” Harry sighed as he reached up to brush a lock of hair out of his girlfriend's, his best friend's, eyes, smiling at the way she leant into his touch slightly.

“I mean it, I don't like this whole thing.” Hermione exhaled heavily, stepping into his hug as she leant her head on his shoulder. “If she can put that…horrible curse on Ginny and I, she can do anything. Just don't put yourself in harm's way, and look after Ron.” She frowned as she glanced over at him playing around with Harry's Cloak, swinging it around various parts of his anatomy as Ginny laughed in response.

“He'll be fine, we'll be fine.” Harry murmured in that deep, slow way he had of convincing someone that whatever he said was gospel, that it was absolutely right and that to think anything to the contrary was simply foolish. Hermione liked that, found it comforting. She had ever since…

“What?” He asked, pulling back slightly as she stifled a laugh.

“Nothing,” She replied. “It's just…we faced the worst wizard in history, the darkest thing the world could possibly throw at us, and we still can't catch a break. Does that seem fair?”

“Seems more than fair to me.” Harry shrugged, leaning in to lay a kiss on her forehead softly, gently before pulling back. “We've found each other haven't we? I mean, really found each other.”

“We did,” She replied, smiling back at him. “I'm kind of glad it happened this way, you know?”

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Yeah,” She raised hers in return mockingly, before grinning again and pulling him down onto the sofa with her, leaning against him and pushing him backwards into a relaxing position as she did so. “You know, fifth year was just…awful. That feeling Voldemort was back, that everything was changing. And Sirius…” She glanced at him then, but if he felt a twitch, he didn't betray it. “And then everything that happened sixth year…it's just…I was just so happy these past few weeks, you know? Everything had gone, we had this huge weight lifted off our shoulders and we were moving so much closer together.”

“I know,” Harry smiled, caressing her cheek lightly with the back of his fingers. “It was like we were moving together, but both of us were too afraid to just take that extra step.”

“I suppose we should thank Pansy then.” Hermione remarked not without a little bitterness.

“I don't think so, Ron had actually talked me into admitting it to you before we…you know…” He glanced away, blushing heavily at the memory of that first night.

“Really?” She asked softly, after a few moments' quiet. She found it hard to believe, but in the same way, she didn't want to think that he was saying it just because she was still feeling embarrassed and ashamed about that first night. Harry wasn't like that, was he?

“Yeah…” He said. “What, you don't believe me?” He raised an eyebrow, but before she could respond, he called out across the room. “Oi, Ron!”

“What?” He replied gruffly, putting down the cloak as he turned to him.

“What did you say when I told you I loved Hermione?” Harry asked, despite the girl's attempts to hush him. He grinned as he stared at her, whereas Ron just looked irritated.

“I told you to stop being such a girl and tell her. OW!” He exclaimed as Ginny gave him a sound punch to the arm. “Will you women stop bloody hitting me? Please?”

“See?” Harry said triumphantly, looking at her with a huge smile plastered across his face, before he sobered slightly. “Whether or not Parkinson's curse affected you that night, the fact of the matter is that I would have told you anyway. With Voldemort gone, the only thing that was holding me back was this fear that you'd say you didn't feel the same way. I mean; I kind of knew you did on some level, but…”

“…when you're in it, it's hard to see the wood for the trees?” Hermione offered, finishing his sentence once again as she had for so many years of their friendship now.

“Exactly,” He replied softly with a smile, just looking into her eyes for several long, drawn out moments. The two were content to simply communicate like that for now, their emotions clear enough to themselves and anyone who happened to be looking at the time.

“Well, this is just sickening.” Ron said suddenly, his voice much closer than it had been as the two blinked before turning to where he was now standing not a metre away. “Are we going to do this, or just fuck about?”

-=-=-=-*-=-=-=-

It turns out that Ron didn't have to wait particularly long for Pansy to make her way back to the dungeons. Despite his significant protestations, he'd agreed to miss dinner in aid of the mission, particularly since Hermione and Ginny would be meeting with Dumbledore and the Unspeakables through the time period. If they were going to utilise their contacts that they had right now, it would have to be sooner rather than later. Ron watched as the Slytherin finished her lunch in silence and packed up the book that she'd been reading, moving away in a far more subdued manner than she had been yesterday. The boy actually thought that she looked a little ill - her hair was falling just this side of lank around her face, while her features seemed pale and drawn. Despite her appearance however, and the fact that she appeared to have lost more than a little weight recently, she still gave off an aura of power and confidence, a projection of self that caused many to look down into their food as she passed them. Ron set off in pursuit of her as she moved beyond him by the main doors, slipping through quickly before they could shut as he followed her outside and over the viaduct, taking care to avoid rustling or arousing the suspicions of the gargoyles along the way. She pushed back into the main building and once more he followed, bobbing and weaving his way around the various students that were milling about this area, mostly Hufflepuff or Slytherin (the latter being dominant even then).

For the umpteenth time he went over the details of what he was doing, what he was looking for, and found his fingers drifting unconsciously to the pebble in his pocket. If he was in trouble, all he had to do was squeeze the rock lightly, and Harry would be alerted that the jig was up and he needed a quick exit. Despite the war being over (or perhaps because of it), Slytherin's common room was still considered hostile territory for a wayward Gryffindor such as himself.

However, Harry's location and the plan was not his immediate concern. He knew that his best friend was somewhere close by (as he always was in situations such as this), and the increasing crowds of people were making it more and more difficult to follow the Parkinson girl without risking accidentally jostling someone and revealing where he was. While a few people may assume it innocuous, he had a feeling that she was paranoid enough not to.

Due to more than a little creative ingenuity and some subtly cast misdirection charms however, he eventually made it to the portrait door, slipping through as she gave the password (as well as noting it down - if Fred and George ever got back on their feet, that kind of information would be priceless to the right people). There was a brief darkened corridor before they stepped into the Slytherin common room proper, renovated since the last time he was here over five years ago.

What struck him immediately was just how…green it was. Everything had an element of the colour apart from a few basic things. Tablecloths were green, clothes were green, sofas and chairs were…there was even a dim ambient light that suffused everything with its mossy glow.

`No wonder this house breeds evil…' Ron thought to himself as he followed Parkinson even further into it. `Looks like the bloody Myra Hindley suite in here'.

The prefect quarters (Parkinson apparently eschewed the company of other students, unsurprisingly) were shortly in front of the boys and girls dormitory staircases. The girl opened her door with a flick of the wand, and Ron had to hurry through quickly before she sealed it again with an equally casual display of magic. Setting her bag down on the lonely table in the middle of what was an utter pit of a room, she exhaled as Ron surveyed his surroundings.

Books covered the floor. And he meant literally, not even Hermione-bad. There were a scant few centimetres of the rug visible here and there, but for the most part, this looked more like a journalist's desk than a place of rest. Glancing down at his feet, he nudged what looked to be like a rat's skull with his foot, choking down the impulse to cry out as he did so.

In fact, he was so distracted by the remains of the rodent, that he didn't notice Parkinson point her wand at him.

“Petrificus Totalus. Incarcerous. Folia Dementia.” She calmly rattled off three spells in quick succession, first binding Ron stock still, then with ropes, and then finally with some form of poison ivy. It was over before he even knew it, unable to move as she stood standing there in front of him as she reached towards where the Cloak hung off his face.

“Silencio.” She cast at the door, sealing them well and truly in. “Mr. Weasley, I presume?”

Author's Note:

Hello all, been quite a while.

Firstly, I just want to say thank you to Tank03 for continually reminding me that yes, I do need to finish this story. Secondly also to Beth Brown for her amazingly kind comments - if you haven't checked out her stories, go do it now. Seriously, why are you still reading? Good see what quality really is.

You'll be pleased to know that the endgame is in sight now, another couple of chapters are left in Ties, one of which has been written (but will possibly have to be rewritten this week). I aim to finish this story at a far more regular pace, ideally by March.

If you're followed this story from the beginning, thanks for your continuing support. If you've just started, I hope you enjoy!

- Castledown.

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