Chapter 11: The Pains of Truth
The next few days were as strained as Harry had felt at Hogwarts. Usually, when something bad happened, he could rely on Ron and Hermione to be there and support him through the bad times, which tended to involve him in some way. Even when he had fallen out with one of them, the other was there for him and kept him company until they resolved the problem. But now, he had no such luck.
Whatever had happened with the boggart had affected them both so much that Harry felt like they were ignoring him. Ron's conversation had become token; meaningless titbits about Quidditch and homework and the occasional rant about the Slytherins. Every time Harry tried to get to the bottom of the boggart mystery Ron would clam up, go a weird pale colour and either change the subject or leave the room.
Hermione wasn't much more helpful. In fact, if anything, she was worse. Every time Harry saw her, which had become a rare event over the last few days, she looked like she had either been crying of was teetering on the verge, waiting to be set off. Making her sob wasn't the hardest thing either; all Harry had to do was speak and she'd be off, bawling and convulsing like crying was going out of fashion. Harry dared not smile at her; he had tried it once and she practically screamed before scuttling away from him.
On the plus side, his lessons had become slightly easier. This was in no way connected to the workload, which Harry decided was starting to border on child labour, but it was due to Hermione's extra effort. She was set on helping him an inordinate amount with his work, though incredibly not to the detriment of her own. She seemed happiest while working, or at least the tears looked to be slightly further away from the surface than usual. She didn't say much, just helped Harry to get all his work right and complete in faster time than ever before. It was almost like she was trying to make up for something, though Harry couldn't imagine what this could be.
Potions class had become an interesting lesson all of a sudden. Much to the obvious dismay of Professor Snape, Harry had shot, with a large helping hand from Hermione, to joint top of the class. Snape had nothing to say about Harry's potions other than the flame was occasionally too high or that he was stirring too fast. Ordinarily, Harry would have expected him to turn to personal insults instead. This, however, didn't happen. Harry was stuck with the impression that Snape was well aware that he was skating on thin ice; rumours were rife among the student population that Snape had actively encouraged Malfoy's Harry-baiting in the defunct Slytherin newsletter. Harry reluctantly accepted that Snape was both sufficiently cunning and perceptive to realise that these rumours may, at some stage, reach the ears of other teachers and he now appeared at pains to treat Harry as though he were merely a piece of wood. Harry didn't mind this; compared to Snape's usual treatment of him this was a positive improvement.
The lessons in the dungeons grew over the next few weeks to a silent battle of wills between Snape and Harry. Snape was almost imploding with the effort required to not insult Harry on a regular basis and Harry was desperate for a reason to goad him into a response. He was getting closer to actually doing it. His Occlumency lessons were going well; he wasn't shaking nearly so much after each lesson and he could resist Dumbledore's attempts to break his mind almost half of the time now. The problem was that Dumbledore gave the impression that he had cracked Harry's most guarded secret and Harry found it a weakness he couldn't even speak about.
`How is Miss Granger?' Dumbledore asked, smiling. They were just ending the lesson, Harry was picking up his Pensieve from the desk and was shocked to find that Dumbledore had brought up Hermione. He had tried so hard to put all his thoughts about her into the shallow stone dish.
`She's fine,' Harry said, `as far as she'll tell me.'
`Have you had a falling out?' he asked in a fatherly sort of way.
`No,' Harry replied before telling the story of the boggart lesson, `and Ron wont say what it was, Hermione cries every time I mention it and the other people in the class don't want to get involved. I just can't get anyone to tell me what had happened.'
`What do you think it was, Harry?'
`I-I don't know…' Harry said, feeling it was a strange question to ask, `Should I know?'
`Well, Miss Granger is a…close friend of yours, I should imagine that I would expect you to know her worst fear. After all, I believe you could guess what Mr Weasley's boggart would be, yes?'
`That's easy,' Harry grinned, `the biggest, hairiest, most vicious spider imaginable with eyes only for eating Ron.'
`Precisely,' Dumbledore smiled, `now, how about Miss. Granger. Worst fear, Harry?'
`Probably failing all her exams…' Harry said dolefully, doubting the truth of what he'd said before the words had left his mouth.
`Have you failed to noticed that she has grown, Harry?'
For a moment, Harry was reluctant to answer this. He did have one answer for that question, but doubted very much it was the kind of growing Dumbledore was hinting at. The Headmaster seemed to read his mind.
`As a person, Harry,' he said almost sorrowfully, `as a young lady, she has matured, begun to blossom into a young woman of depth and of feeling. She is sensitive to more around her than you realise. Perhaps, more sensitive about certain things, certain people, than others. Can you guess who I mean? Exams, tests and things of that nature are still a part of Miss Granger, a place from where she draws some knowledge. But her strength, that has been supplied from a different source for quite some time now. Imagine what would happen if that source were to be abruptly denied to her. What would she do? How do you think Mrs Weasley would react to such a thing…should it take form in a boggart.'
The was something loaded in Dumbledore's last sentence that shot through Harry like a cannonball, smashing into his head and reminded him how clueless, how much like a typical teenage boy, he actually was. If the situation hadn't caused him so much concern he thought he would have probably been pleased about it; anything that made him seem even slightly like people his age was a good thing.
He bounded down the corridor towards the Gryffindor common room, intent on doing something to Hermione, trying to somehow show her that it was going to be all right. He really wished he believed it himself; the chat with Hermione about Voldemort's lack of activity had planted a seed of intangible foreboding that was growing steadily in his mind. If he was honest, he wasn't sure that he was going to survive the coming war, but he had to say something. Hermione didn't need to hear the truth as much as Harry didn't want to face it himself. She had to be lied to for her own good.
Harry found Hermione by the common room fire, her nose buried in The Handbook of Hexes. She had taken to poring over dark arts textbooks, Harry acknowledging suddenly that she was probably looking up spells to save him from anything that might make her boggart real. She looked up as he crossed the room, her eyes taking up the familiar welling look that she had perfected. Harry sat on the arm of her chair and she looked questioningly up at him. Slowly, trying to avoid Ron's roving eye, he slipped his arm around her neck and bent down to whisper to her.
`I worked out what your boggart was,' he breathed quietly, `I want you to know, its OK, I'm going to be okay. I'm not going to die.'
It wasn't exactly what he'd wanted to say but words often tended to fail him at times like this. Hermione seemed more overcome than ever; tears gushed from her eyes without warning and her face took on a lost, desperate look. She leaned her head against Harry's side and sobbed lightly, though her whole body was pulsing as if it were being electric shocked.
`H-how did you know? Wh-who told you?'
`I worked it out with Dumbledore,' Harry explained, `Why didn't you say something?'
`Didn't…c-couldn't…face-face it. I c-cant bear it, Harry. I can't ever see you like th-that.'
`You wont,' Harry said, fighting with his voice to make it sound confident.
`You can't know that!' Hermione cried making several fourth years sit up and take notice. It had also attracted Ron who took one look at Harry's arm around Hermione and scowled so much that Harry swore it was giving off heat.
`Yeah, but what I do know is that if it does happen I'll make sure you are far away from me way before that. But, stop being so cheery! I've never been given a prayer of surviving against Voldemort but I'm five time escapes and counting. Even my mum and dad didn't escape him that much and they were two of the best people of their times. Just like you and m-'
Harry's voice trailed off as a bold realisation coursed through him. Hermione seemed to have understood what Harry meant, too. She had stopped crying and was staring at him, her eyes piercing through him the way only they could. And for the first time in a while, she smiled softly. Her once permanent blush was struggling to not invade her cheeks once again. Harry had to look away; Hermione was shining so brightly that he couldn't look at her. He was mildly surprised to find his hands trembling on his knee. He knew Hermione was staring at him but just couldn't muster the strength to look back at her.
The thought was too much. Had he really got to the stage of thinking about Hermione like that? It was impossible, he was way too young after all. But then, a little voice said in his mind, mum and dad met at school and she didn't even like him till seventh year, and then they got… Harry couldn't think of that, the image was just so powerful that it was making him dizzy.
A few hours later and Harry decided that he had to go to bed; if he spent much more looking at Hermione and the strange glow she had developed he was certain his eyes would go funny beyond repair. He wasn't exactly keen on climbing the stairs to the dormitory, expecting Ron to be in an explosively foul mood after he stomped out of the common room minutes before.
Harry was a bit concerned, therefore, when he reached the dormitory to find Ron asleep, or at least pretending to be. The over-zealous snores were a little too fictitious to be believable. Still, Harry felt slightly relieved at not having to go through a blazing row. He had been unable to procure any interest from Hermione and his lack of progress with her was starting to get to him. Harry tried hard to be encouraging, he just couldn't bring himself to do anything truly productive.
Harry dreamt that he and Hermione were walking endlessly around the lake. Ron was encircling them on his broomstick, not allowing them a moment's peace to talk. Harry was growing increasingly frustrated as he had something really, really important that he had to ask Hermione and the longer he waited the more he forgot what it was. To make matters worse, a giant life-sized edition of Unfogging the Future was waltzing around the lake with Harry's Firebolt and hundreds and hundreds of chocolate frog cards were spraying forth from between them.
Harry was awoken by a thud near his bed. Groggy and bleary-eyed, he reached for his glasses and looked towards the source of the noise. He saw someone sitting up in Ron's bed, rocking back and forth and muttering furiously under their breath.
`Dobby?' Harry asked.
`No, not Dobby.'
The voice was Ron's but it was so cold and malicious that Harry didn't pick up on it at first. It had risen slightly in pitch and was quite eerie in the stagnant darkness.
`Ron? What are you doing? What time is it?'
`Its Harry time, but then I suppose you already know that. Its always Harry's time…'
`Ron, what are you on about?' Harry asked quietly but Ron acted as though he hadn't heard him.
`Its Harry has this and Harry has to have that. Youngest Seeker in a century? Give him the best broom there is. Fifty house points, Harry. Oh, sorry for trying to kill you and your best friend's,' Ron scoffed at this point, `pet, have the most expensive brand new broom going. Win the Triwizard Tournament - get kissed by Fleur - kiss Cho - lets all kiss Harry. Have another FIFTY points, Harry! I fancy our best friend, you don't mind if I ask her out do you? No? Great. Maybe its Ron time for a change…but wait, no! It can't be. Harry is still breathing! Its always Harry time…'
`Ron, what's gotten into you…'
Harry stopped as Ron rose and bent over him, and when he spoke his voice was shrill and icy.
`Don't talk to me, Potter. Just take your little dish and leave me alone. Have your cake, my cake, and everyone else's cake and eat to your hearts content. Don't deny Harry Potter anything, he has to have it all.'
`Ron…'
But Ron ignored him. He fell back into bed and jammed the hangings shut. Harry looked around and it hit him. There, on the bedside table was his Pensieve with a miniature, silvery version of himself and Hermione standing up in it. They were hugging and Harry knew immediately that Ron had been using the Pensieve. How much had he seen? There was no way to know but one thing was certain: Harry's secret was certainly out now.
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