Author's Note:
In this chapter there is a section that will seem remarkably similar to a scene in Order Of The Phoenix. That is all it is - remarkably similar. The words and context are different (as is the meaning to the story).
This has been posted on the Warner Brothers Harry Potter Message Boards on www.harrypotter.com (which J.K. Rowling reads - the boards, not necessarily my story (Although that would be nice)) and I have had no complaints about plagiarism (because there is nothing to complain about) from anyone.
Please feel free to rate, review and give me your opinions about anything I have written. I appreciate feedback greatly.
This will be the last update for quite awhile, as I have only just finished this chapter today, and have not yet begun to write Chapter 7.
All I can say about the next chapter, is that it shall be called "Chapter Seven - A Flame In Time".
Yours in Fellowship
Jon Clift, The Author
Standard Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers, Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The only things owned by the author are the plot and any character's not previously mentioned in the Official Harry Potter books, all else are property of J.K Rowling and Warner Brothers Inc.
Chapter Six - The Stone In The Lake
"Please, sit down," said Dumbledore. Waving his wand three identical armchairs spun and fell gently to the floor near the desk with a dull thunk. The trio of Gryffindors quickly moved towards the chairs and sat down, unsure whether they would have to speak first. Dumbledore merely stroked the golden feathers upon Fawkes the phoenix's head. Eventually he returned to his usual place, on the opposite side of the desk from the students. Staring over steepled fingers and half-moon spectacles he began to speak when Harry, Hermione and Jonathan had sat down. "Now that we are all comfortable, what is it you wished to tell me Harry?"
Feeling nervous now that he was about to tell his headmaster about the dreams, Harry replied. "Well sir, I've been having these dreams." Jonathan looked up sharply at Harry, a confused look upon his face. Harry, not noticing this, continued. "I keep waking up from them shivering and shaking. All I can remember is a golden light, a deep voice and phoenix song."
Dumbledore merely smiled and said, "Please continue Harry." Jonathan and Solaris, however, shared a quick uncertain look. Finally taking note of the strange exchanges between father and son, Harry faltered. "Er…Well, the voice also talks to me when I question something. You know, like when I think to myself, `Where is everybody?' the voice answers."
"Indeed," said Solaris. "Albus, you know what this means?" He shot an inquiring look at the headmaster. Jonathan also looked to Dumbledore but his gaze kept flickering to his father, as if holding a mental conversation with him. Eventually after what felt like hours but was in fact only a minute or two, Dumbledore answered.
"I am afraid to say Solaris, that I do. Harry, what you have been experiencing must remain a secret from the other students. Saying that however I am drawn to the fact that Miss Granger is also here with you. Am I to assume, then, that you also have been experiencing the same events as Harry, Hermione?"
Hermione quivered, yet again the headmaster had called her by her first name. This was going to take some getting used to. Nervously, she replied. "I-I haven't been having the nightmares or the pain. I-I started hearing the voice in the carriages while we were riding to Hogwarts. I heard it say something about thoughts. I looked at Harry, who had an expression on his face that made me think he'd heard it as well and asked him what it was. Now for some reason, every time Harry hears it, so do I."
"Most unexpected this is. Hmmm…I wonder…" mused Dumbledore. Solaris suddenly turned to the headmaster. "We cannot allow students to hear voices in their heads. We must teach them Occlumency as soon as possible."
"Solaris, you jump to conclusions too quickly. A dangerous trait, I hasten to add, for an Auror to have. We will wait a while longer to see whether these dreams develop into something. If we find that they do, then, and only then, shall I consider Occlumency. Unless treated with the utmost care and dedication a student runs a much higher risk after lessons than before. Harry, as tomorrow is Sunday, I suggest you meet with Professor McGonagall to discuss the coming Academic year in more detail. It is late now, and I should think you would like some rest. As to tonight's events, there is not much more we can do except to wait and see." Taking a deep breath, almost suppressing a yawn Dumbledore continued. "Solaris, would you be so kind as to escort Miss Granger and Mr Potter to their Common Room. I would like a quiet word with Jonathan."
Harry and Hermione stood up. With a flick of Solaris' wand their armchairs vanished, the chintz fading from view in seconds. "Goodnight Professor, goodnight Jonathan."
Sometime later, Harry and Hermione were sitting side-by side upon the leather couch in front of the fire. Both were silent, a myriad of thoughts racing through their teenage minds. Harry was starting to be grateful he'd brought his pensieve with him, he decided he'd be using it tonight.
Harry gazed into the dying embers of the fire, the cooling blaze almost hypnotic. Looking at his pocket watch - his heart skipping a beat each time he read the inscription - Harry realised with a start that it was very late.
"Hermione," he started to whisper, "We better get up to bed." He looked at his best friend and smiled softly. She had fallen asleep, her head resting on Harry's shoulder. It felt so natural that he hadn't noticed. He couldn't move now. Besides there was no possibility of getting Hermione into her dormitory without waking her up: something Harry definitely was against doing; Hermione always looked so peaceful, so beautiful when sleeping.
Harry conjured up a large quilt, using his wand to levitate it over Hermione and himself. He again looked at the watch that had been created, just for him. A silent tear rolled down his cheek. `Why did he have to kill you, mum? Why you, dad?'
He fell into a troubled sleep.
He was running. He was running down a strange corridor, with no windows and only one door at the far end. He reached for the handle… Suddenly a hundred dementors were gliding across the grounds towards him. The gut-wrenching feeling of his mother dying before him threatened to overwhelm him. "Expecto Patronum!" The silver stag flew from his wand, it's antlers spearing the closest of the foul creatures… A cold hand caught Harry's shoulder, the dementors and the stag vanishing instantly. The long fingers traced a maddening pattern across his face, resting briefly upon his scar, which proceeded to scream with agony. Through gritted teeth and half-shut eyes, Harry looked into the face of the man that had been haunting his nightmares for almost four years. Harry suddenly found himself consumed by a golden light.
"Hello Harry," spoke a deep, almost mellifluous voice. There was a faint accent Harry couldn't place. He opened his eyes and found himself in a cavernous chamber. Before him, through giant columns, lay a scene of complete beauty. Waterways running in perfect straightness, multitudes of luscious greenery hanging over brilliant-white walls.
In the distance he could see small figures congregating. Circling above, scarlet and golden swan-sized birds. If Harry didn't know any better he'd swear this was paradise. Turning away from this scene of utter perfection, Harry inspected his surroundings. His eyes swept up and up, the roof high above him. There were hundreds of elaborate designs and intricate patterns, all carved into the very stone of the ceiling. Along the walls were statues of a tall figure, interspersed with smaller figurines of birds, wings outstretched. Behind each bird-statue grew palm trees. High up, in the branches, rested nests. Harry recognised, somehow, that they were made from the cassia bark. `What is this place?' he thought to himself.
"You are in Heliopolis, Harry. As it once was."
Harry span around, but was unable to establish the location of the voice. It was as if the being from whence it came were outside of the dream, simply showing Harry the events, acting like a narrator.
"You are beginning to realize your significance to this world, Harry. I am here to help you Comprehend."
The golden radiance engulfed him once more, the phoenix song mounting to a crescendo, soothing his restless mind. One last image rested in his mind still: that of a great stone, with mysterious runes and an image of a man beneath a bird. It flickered momentarily in his consciousness before fading. Harry dreamed no more that night.
* * *
"Please, come in Mr Potter." Minerva McGonagall was sitting behind her desk, her hair tied atop her head into its typical taut chignon. Her square spectacles rested on the tip of her nose, as if she had been looking closely at a piece of parchment and straightening swiftly. Harry knew things akin to that. Afterall it had happened to him numerous times before.
"Now, there are a great many things we have got to discuss this year, not least of which the strategies you plan to implement now you are team Captain. First of all I must inform you that you will have many responsibilities this year. In addition to Captainship occupying your time, you also have to prepare for your O.W.L's, while ensuring you perform your duties as a prefect effectively. I must express my regret for making you a little nervous Mr Potter, however you do need to know what you're up against this year."
Now that he had just had it laid out before him like a tapestry, Harry suddenly felt a fluttering sensation enter his gut. What right did faeries have, flying in his stomach like that? Whilst trying to ignore the rogue faeries, Harry replied. "Thank you for telling me Professor. Uh-Is there more you wanted to discuss, only I didn't think that was all you'd have to say to me."
"Quite right Mr Potter, you are correct. Please sit down, this will take a little while longer than you had perhaps anticipated," she said, pushing her spectacles back up her nose as she carefully rearranged some parchments on the desk with her free hand. Looking down, Harry noticed, albeit upside-down, a copy of the Daily Prophet. Smiling up at him was an image of Sirius. He must have appeared shocked for McGonagall looked at him with a quizzical expression, "Are you all right Mr Potter? You look like you've seen a manticore."
Thinking that McGonagall didn't know the truth about Sirius, Harry answered, "I-It's Sirius Black, Professor. It looks like the Ministry think he's in Tibet." McGonagall simply looked down at the newspaper and tutted loudly. "They think Sirius Black is in Tibet? Looks like Kingsley's doing his job perfectly."
"What? Er-I mean, pardon Professor?" asked Harry, clearly puzzled at McGonagall's reply.
"Harry, I know about Sirius being your Godfather. I also know about his staying in the castle, as your protector. Professor Dumbledore informed me about his, circumstances, not long after the Third Task a few months ago," seeing Harry's confusion she continued, "Perhaps it would be best if Sirius and Professor Dumbledore explain. Now is there a possibility, perchance, of our actually discussing the coming year?"
"Sorry Professor, it's just, well, I didn't know you knew about Sirius. I mean, after the Third Task Professor Dumbledore sent you off to get Hagrid and Madame Maxime. At the time I thought that was just a diversion to allow Dumbledore to introduce Sirius to everyone else in the Hospital Wi-"
McGonagall silenced Harry with a look. In a hushed whisper she spoke, "Mr Potter, would you kindly desist in continuing this conversation. Who knows what would happen if another student or member of staff decided they needed to talk to me urgently?"
Feeling rather stupid at his actions, Harry felt his cheeks burn red, and stared at his feet. The tiny movement of a golden snitch on his left sock caught his attention. The socks were Harry's birthday present from Dobby, and he hadn't been able to build up the courage to tear down Dobby's joy at seeing him wear his presents.
By the time McGonagall had finished talking with Harry, his stomach had begun to growl very loudly indeed. "Goodbye Professor," he muttered, closing the door behind him. On the other side of the door McGonagall was sitting with a tight-lipped smile. `I hope he can cope with all that will be happening this year,' she thought silently to herself.
Harry, meanwhile, was busily rushing to the Great Hall, his empty stomach emitting strange gurgling sounds that seemed to demand `Feed me.' Almost flying down the steps to the Hall, Harry nearly collided with a smaller figure. Dodging out of the way just in time, he stopped abruptly nonetheless. "Cho?" he asked the raven-haired girl.
Looking up, as if noticing his presence for the first time, Cho Chang gazed steadily into Harry's eyes. "H-hi H-h-harry," she spurted out. Tears were streaming freely, black eyeliner merging with the rosy-pink of her cheeks.
Harry, unsure of what to do, stomach performing its customary lurch, asked more urgently, "What's wrong Cho? Why are you crying?"
A fierce sob burst from her, despite her attempts to bite the flow (and her lip). She turned away briefly, before silently chiding herself and returned her gaze to Harry's emerald eyes.
"I-it's nothing, nothing at all," she said. Harry, once again showing his lack of experience with women, began to speak. "Oh, OK then. I'll just go get some foo-" but Cho was already talking over him, not noticing his short statement.
"Do you want to go get something to eat? I'm starving." She did something then, something she'd never done before. Grabbing Harry's hand she strode off in the direction of the Hall doors, pulling Harry along in her wake.
The Hall itself was rather empty. Most students obviously outside in the grounds, enjoying the last of the summer sun before the cool autumn winds blew in. Cho was striding purposely over to the Gryffindor table.
Despite Cho's obvious attempts to get Harry alone, they ate in silence. Cho's long, black curtain of hair obscured her from view. Harry was quite happy at not having to look into those eyes, to see the hurt and pain within. `She blames me for Cedric's death. But why does she seem happy to see me all the time?' Waiting for the now consistent sound of phoenix song and the deep voice, Harry was startled by the fact that nothing happened. He just kept staring at his plate, occasionally picking up a piece of golden toast.
When all that was left on their plates were a few stray crumbs, Cho turned to face Harry. He began to get a queer sensation in his heart, not entirely unpleasant - it gave a jolt that seemed to send it flying into his throat. "H-Harry, how did he die? I mean why did he die? He was a seventh year; he should have known a lot of things that would have saved him, wouldn't he?" asked Cho, her voice half-way between a sob and curiosity. Harry's heart sank past its usual place and settled somewhere around his navel. He should have seen this coming. She wanted to talk about Cedric.
"He did know all sorts of things. He wouldn't have gotten to the middle of that maze if he didn't," Harry said heavily. "The thing is, if Voldemort wants you dead, there's not much you can do about it." Cho hiccoughed at the sound of Voldemort's name, but stared at Harry resolutely, unflinching. "You survived when you were nothing more than a baby," she said quietly.
Harry began to feel a burning hand clasp his heart. Anger was running through his veins instead of blood. "Yeah well, I dunno why, and no-one else does. It's not as if I'm proud of it. My parents died and I didn't, big deal." He started to get up from the table but Cho laid a hand on his arm, restraining him lightly.
"Don't go!" She was beginning to hiccough and sound tearful again. "Stupid of me… I'm really sorry for getting upset like this… I didn't mean to…" Again she hiccoughed, something she was doing quite regularly now. Cho looked remarkably pretty, even when her eyes were red and puffy, eyeliner merging with the colour of her cheeks. Harry felt dejected. He would have been so pleased with a simple mention of the weather, or a conversation about Quidditch. Yes, that would have been so much more bearable than talk of Cedric Diggory.
"I know it must be terrible for you, me mentioning Cedric. You probably just want to forget all about it…" It was true, but Harry didn't want to sound heartless (especially considering his heart was being so openly displayed upon his sleeve). "I want to thank you, for bringing him back with you like that. I know it must have been frighteningly hard." Harry wanted to scream `How could you possibly know how hard! You weren't the one duelling with him!' but his mouth remained unusually shut tight.
"It was really brave and noble of you," she said, her gaze never once straying from Harry's. "Thanks," he muttered. Without realising Harry found himself much closer to Cho, as if they had both been inching imperceptibly towards each other.
"I really like you Harry. I meant what I said before the Yule Ball last year, I really was sorry I couldn't say `yes'." Harry felt a burning desire to get up and run from the Hall, but at the same time he found he couldn't move his legs at all.
His brain had shut down. It was as if he had been Stunned but for some unknown reason still able to witness the events around him. His arms, legs and brain felt paralysed. She was near enough now for Harry to count the tiny freckles across her nose. They were far too close. He could see every tear, clinging to her eyelashes…
* * *
Harry was busy stirring the powdered shell of a doxy into his cauldron when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle enter the classroom. He heard snippets of their conversation, but as the potion he was brewing required great concentration he was determined not to get distracted. Harry didn't want an old friend of his parents to see him in the same light as Snape did.
It was the first lesson on the Tuesday morning, Potions. Harry had hurried eagerly to the dungeons, anxious as to what the new Potions Master would be like. Upon reaching the large blackened door, Harry, Ron and Hermione had found a roll of parchment pinned to it. To All Students, it read:
Potions will now be taught upon the Seventh Floor, one room on past the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy.
This will remain the preferred room for Potions until Professor Snape returns from his vacation.
Signed,
Professor M. Rinier
Temporary Potions Mistress and Head of Slytherin House
As the trio had been the first to reach the dungeons from the Great Hall, `A first time for everything,' thought Harry, they had also been the first to arrive at the new classroom. Walking past a blank wall they had come across a large painting of an odd wizard who was trying to teach a group of mountain trolls ballet.
"…What kind of teacher moves the classroom and doesn't even tell the students in her house first? Lousy half-breed no doubt. It's like father always said, `Only a pure wizard has enough brains to master not only magic and speech, but the ability to hold a conversation as well.' Now that's something you don't hear Mudbloods do eh?" Crabbe and Goyle had their usual expression of complete bewilderment, but laughed heartily when Draco told them, "You're supposed to laugh you idiots." Stalking into the classroom they found an empty bench and attempted to sit down.
"That will be ten points from Slytherin, for insulting other wizards within my lesson, and twenty points for insulting a teacher, in her presence no less. Sit down in front of my desk Mr Malfoy. Mr Crabbe, Mr Goyle you will remain where you are." Malfoy whirled around at the sound of the Professor's voice, but she was nowhere to be found. "I said sit in front of my desk Mr Malfoy, unless you fancy yourself helping Mr Filch polish the trophies for the next three nights."
Reluctantly Malfoy, shuffled to the front of the classroom. All eyes were fixed upon their individual cauldrons, but furtive glances occurred often. Almost lazily, a vial of pale crimson liquid rose into the air. The lid flicked off and the contents of the vial were drained. After a few seconds a hazy figure began to phase into being, sitting down in the dark oak chair behind the front desk. Wearing robes of deepest green, Professor Rinier was sitting comfortably; a small hardly noticeable grin was tugging at her lips.
"And that students is how the Invisibility potion, and its antidote, work. With a little luck you all should have completed the first stages of your own potions. Your cauldrons should be emitting a pink smoke by now, and the potion should have the consistency of a strawberry milkshake." Rinier had begun to walk between the benches, inspecting each of the cauldrons before whispering words of encouragement to the pupils. Passing by Neville's concoction her smile broadened. Harry saw this, and wondered why she would be smiling at Neville. Surely she couldn't enjoy seeing Neville go wrong again? Surely she couldn't be like Professor Snape had been?
Harry was once again shocked that day. Neville's cauldron was emitting smoke - pink smoke. "Ten points to Gryffindor! Each one of you has successfully completed stage one. I must ask that you scoop out nine vials of the potions, and carefully add a smidgen of ground sneezewort seeds. Once done, place the vials upon my desk." Turning around, her robes flaring behind her, Professor Rinier returned to her desk.
* * *
"That was the best Potions lesson we've ever had!" Harry almost shouted. They were back in the Common Room, reflecting over the past two days worth of lessons. They had yet to have Divination, Care of Magical Creatures and Defence Against The Dark Arts. Their first lesson with the replacement for Hagrid would be just after lunch tomorrow. Harry couldn't wait. He was anxious to meet someone who had been described as `extremely qualified, almost as perfect for the position as Hagrid.'
"Did you see the look on Malfoy's face when she gave him a detention!" laughed Ron, his side almost splitting from the force of his giggling. Hermione was hovering near the fireplace, torn somewhere between amusement and anxiety. Some unseen battle seemed to be taking place inside of the bushy-haired witch. A few seconds later, the battle fought and won, Hermione's face broke into a steady grin as she decided to join the two boys' on the leather couch.
"I can't wait for Care of Magical Creatures, it'll be nice to learn something-" Hermione began, stopping herself as she gained two disproving looks from her friends. "Look I like Hagrid alright, it's just his choice of creatures do tend to be a bit, well, dangerous don't they? Don't tell me you don't know what I talking about."
Harry stared at Hermione, a bemused expression on his face. He did know what she was talking about, afterall; he'd nearly been killed by one of Hagrid's "pets" before - namely a Blast Ended Skrewt (a cross between a fire crab and a manticore). Once again memories of the Third Task surfaced in Harry's mind: the giant Acromantula; the sphinx; Cedric. When Cedric's grey eyes floated into Harry's consciousness his mind sidestepped onto a different train of thought: Cho. He still hadn't told Hermione and Ron what had happened on Sunday; he wasn't sure he wanted to either.
"…ake up Harry! It's no use Hermione, he's gone again." Ron was speaking again, standing in front of Harry waving his hand in front of Harry's face. "Harry, come on, stop thinking of Cho, it'll only get you thinking of Cedric and You-Know-Who again," said Hermione, her hand holding Harry's forearm lightly.
Something she had just said brought his mind back to the present. "Wha…? Hey, how d'you know I was thinking about Cho?" he asked, slightly puzzled. Harry remembered back to a few nights ago, when Hermione had heard the voice speaking in his head. He remembered it saying Hermione could read some of his thoughts. Maybe that connection was somehow strengthening, because as far as Harry could recall, he wasn't thinking anything too passionate about Cho.
"Harry, I'm your friend. I know you like Cho and the only times I've seen you with that look on your face are when you've just won a Quidditch match or you've seen Cho. It's simple logic Harry." Harry was a little suspicious of Hermione's answer, `She's not telling the truth,' he thought.
"Er, Harry. When are you gonna have the trials for the new Keeper? Not that I'm interested or anything but…" said Ron. Hermione glared beadily at him, the kind of look that, had it belonged to a basilisk, would have killed. "How can you talk about Quidditch at a time like this? Harry obviously needs…" Harry switched off; he was too used to Ron and Hermione's arguments to care now. He knew deep down that they were still friends; they just had a case of conflicting personalities.
Quietly slipping from Hermione's hold, he wandered over to the window, a cool breeze rustling the drapes. Behind him his best friends were unaware of the fact that the reason they were arguing had moved away from them. Gazing at the breathtaking view of the grounds, his eyes took in the red and gold leaves that were falling from the trees; the misty apparition of Hogsmeade in the distance, beyond the gates flanked by winged-boars. On the horizon, above the Forbidden Forest, he glimpsed what appeared to be a flying horse, galloping through the air. His mind didn't register the fact that the `horse' resembled a skeleton more than a living creature; it's scarlet eyes flashing hotly in the crimson sunset.
What Harry did see was a slimy tentacle rise out of the surface of the Lake, a large stone in its grasp. Shocked more than anything he leaned heavily against the icy coolness of the window pane, his glasses pressing deeply against the bridge of his nose. With a flash of fire, two remarkably scarlet plumaged birds appeared in mid-air above the tentacle. The phoenix's began to circle, and without knowing how he knew, Harry realised they were singing. From the placid water, a large eye broke the surface, followed quickly by more tentacles and a beak-like protrusion. The giant squid was talking to the fire-birds.
The strange aerial acrobatics the birds were performing ended, as they dove gracefully towards the squid. Proffering the tentacle with the stone, the squid began to sink below the waves once more. The phoenix's caught the stone between them, flew straight up and disappeared in a flash of golden fire.
"What the…?" he breathed incredulously. Was he sure he witnessed that? Or was it a figment of his imagination? `No,' he thought to himself, `it was real alright, I remember seeing the squid with a stone like that on Saturday night.' So it was real, but what did it mean? Harry was pretty sure that one phoenix had been none other than Dumbledore's own, Fawkes. Who owned the second then? He didn't know the answer to this and neither apparently did the voice, for it didn't enter his mind like it had previously done.
The sun had fallen heavily below the horizon now, the lingering traces of its warmth fading from the landscape. Gradually the night drew in, the sky became a blue darker than the depths of the lake. A solitary star shone down upon the world. Harry recognized it as the brightest star in the night sky, his Astronomy lessons finally finding a way through to his conscious mind. A small smile grew on his lips as he remembered the stars name. Sirius.
Harry wondered if that was what his godfather was named after. It was a strong possibility. From the deepest regions of his mind, he pulled out a memory of a History Of Magic lesson, one he'd thought he had slept through. Obviously he hadn't, but it must have felt like it.
Professor Binns had floated through the blackboard, much the same as he had done ever since he'd fallen asleep once in the staff-room, and woken up dead. Professor Binns had never been one for spontaneity, more of a stickler for rules and routines. As such it was surmised, by staff and students alike, that Binns had fallen asleep and woken up dead, simply not noticing that he was a ghost.
"Open your books to page 307. We are starting a new chapter today - The Importance of Names. As many of you know…" it was at that point that Harry had switched off. However, his interest peaked once more when he heard his godfather's name mentioned. Apparently Sirius was named far more appropriately than Harry could have thought possible. Sirius, the star, was also known as "The Dog Star" because of its location in the constellation of the "Great Dog", Canis Major. Harry had inwardly smiled as he recalled how Sirius was able to turn himself into a large (or "great") shaggy, black dog. Harry was impressed with his reasoning and, for the first time ever in a History of Magic lesson, he paid attention to Professor Binns.
A loud purring brought Harry back to the present. Looking down he saw a large, almost tiger-like gingery creature, rubbing itself against his legs. "Hello Crookshanks," said Harry as he stooped down to scratch behind the cat's overly-large ears. An even louder, more contented purr reached Harry's ears.
Harry moved away from the window. He was unsure of the time, and of how long he had been standing by the window. What he did notice, was that Ron had vanished, presumably up to the boy's dormitories. Hermione was sitting in her usual armchair beside the fire, engrossed in a leather bound book. The flames flickered wildly, sending shimmering patterns of yellow and orange light upon his best friends face.
Once more Harry found himself smiling. He couldn't help himself. Whenever he saw her he felt weak at the knees. A warm, quite pleasant, sensation wound it's way throughout Harry's body. His skin tingled, as blood rushed to the surface, colour spreading idly across his face. Harry knew that he was flushed, his skin a much darker pink than before. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair. Despite his efforts to flatten it down, a single lock of hair, directly in line with his scar, stood upright defying, all laws of gravity and common sense.
He stopped bothering. It was useless to fight with it, especially when he knew that he could never win, at least not without copious amounts of magical hair gel, such as Sleakeazy. Although Harry had seen first hand the wonders that particular potion could perform, he doubted anything less than a miracle, mixed with a lot of luck, and sprinkling of God-like fortune, could find a way to make his hair presentable. It was like trying to teach a paperclip to fetch you a mug of tea - pointless and absolutely never going to happen (even with magic, it is impossible to make a paperclip do something not on it's "to-do" list).
Then she looked up. It was impossible to tell what was worse for Harry: the feeling of his stomach doing a back-flip and triple twist…or turning the colour of a tomato…when Hermione smiled at him. What was it with that smile?
"Harry, are you alright?" The smile was replaced with a look of motherly concern as Hermione stood up and was quickly nose to chin with Harry. `He's a lot taller than I remember,' thought Hermione, noticing for the first time how much her best friend had actually grown over the summer.
"It's noth…well…actually…can I ask you something Hermione?" stuttered Harry uneasily. He gazed into her hazel eyes, looking for some sign of contemptuousness; to see if she would laugh in his face. The Boy-Who-Lived asking for something? She'd break into uncontrollable giggling…wait, what was he thinking? `This is Hermione, my best friend. She'd do anything for me - just like I'd do anything for her.'
Taking his hand in hers, in a surprising show of affection, Hermione pulled him over to the sofa, and sat down beside him. She now held both his hands in hers. Both Harry and Hermione marvelled at the warmth and softness of each others touch. The way their hands intertwined felt completely natural: as if they were made for each other.
"Harry…of course you can ask me. You know you can ask me anything," said Hermione, the smile half-returning to her beautiful face.
"Um…well…It's hard to know where to start actually…" said Harry. At this point he would have ran a hand through his hair, in a manner that (had someone who had known his parents been there) would have been characterised as typical of James Potter. However, since no friends of his fathers were there, the comment remained unsaid. Also the fact that his hand was in Hermione's prevented the action from taking place - solely because Harry didn't want to let go.
Taking a long, deep breath he began. Starting with the dream that he had had on the first night back at Hogwarts - the dream where a disembodied voice had told him he was standing in a mythical, lost city. Hermione listened. Not once did she interrupt his recount of the past few days.
The one part Harry omitted, had been that day when he had come running out of McGonagall's office down to the Great Hall. He had skilfully avoided mentioning Cho entirely. He didn't want to think of her right now. The only word that came to mind when he thought of her now was "wet". `Stop it, or Hermione will think you're hiding something,' he told himself.
Lastly he mentioned the odd aerial display outside the window, above the lake. The two phoenix, circling around before taking the large stone from the squid and vanishing in two bursts of golden flames.
"Well…Harry, you know what we need to do about this don't you?" asked Hermione, looking deeply into his emerald eyes.
"Go see Dumbledore?" Harry responded eagerly, earning a small reproachful look that vanished instantly.
"No Harry - we need to go to the Library. There'll be loads of books that we can look through to work this thing out. I mean there are hundreds of books that can help us work out that dream of yours alone. That thing about the phoenix just now… You're sure one of them was Fawkes? Yes, you said that… The way you said they circled before grabbing the stone… exactly like those birds in your dream… and that would fit perfectly with it being Heliopolis… I wonder…" Hermione was one of the few people Harry knew who could say so many things without needing to stop for breath.
Standing up, Hermione pulled Harry to his feet as well. "Harry, get your invisibility cloak and the map. Madam Pince will still be in the library but the books we need to find are in the Restricted Section - I know, I've had one of them out before. Don't look at me like that Harry Potter - I had a note from Professor Lupin."
"Hermione…are you actually suggesting we break the rules?" asked Harry in a mocking tone. This was an opportunity not to miss, and poor old Ron was upstairs in the dormitory quite unable to witness it. `Ah well,' thought Harry, `At least it means I'm alone with Hermione.'
"Of course I'm not suggesting that Harry - we are going to do it." Whatever wild and logical thoughts that were running through her head, Harry had no clue. Hermione's eyes glinted oddly in the firelight. It wasn't tears. Neither was it a twinkle - it was something else; something more. If now had been the first time he'd laid eyes upon her, he would be at a loss to tell her age. She looked both older and yet more the same age.
It is very difficult to describe with words the look upon Hermione Granger's face, and how she appeared to Harry. Another author, far more talented than I has attempted to do this, and (in my opinion) has succeeded far better than ever I could. If you ever get the chance to read "The Last Battle" by C. S. Lewis, then you shall know what I'm trying to tell you. Presently it takes time to describe such things, yet in reality the event is over long before the first word is written.
"Come on Harry, don't just stand there staring at me like a Marsh-Wiggle."
Within minutes Harry and Hermione were trundling along to the library wing, the invisibility cloak stuffed in Harry's satchel, the Map held out in front of them. Hogwarts at night is an incredible sight to behold; a sight this author has had the pleasure of viewing countless times through the use of Imagination and Literature.
Because my Imagination is different from your own, I cannot begin to tell you about the wonderful shifting colours of the torchlight upon the obsidian blackness of the corridor walls, the stone paving. What I see, and what you see are two different things. However, what we both see, is only a shadow of the Real thing. Whatever beauty we may be blessed with knowing, it is only a shadow of it's true self. Magic can help you to see more of the Real that is beyond the shadow, but you and I will never truly know the Real in our lifetimes.
All this talking has once more taken me off the track of the story I am telling. Thus, whilst I have been rambling, Harry and Hermione had reached the library unhindered by the watchful gaze of Mrs. Norris and her Squib for a master, Argus Filch.
On the far side of the library, away from the torchlight and the eagle-eyes of the librarian, Madam Pince, Harry and Hermione hid behind a tall bookshelf. After checking for unwanted visitors with the help of the Marauders Map, Hermione wrapped the Invisibility Cloak around her and headed stealthily for the Restricted Section.
Harry meanwhile found the Hogwarts copy of "Quidditch Through The Ages," which he'd skilfully hidden betwixt the musty covers of an ancient book on "The Uses of Gnome Spittle," and another tome on "Why Leprechauns and Veela Don't Mix," (something he wished the officials who ran the Quidditch World Cup had read before the Final last summer).
Wandering back to the open section of the library, the part with all the tables and chairs and quills and lanterns and other such items that students find highly boring but completely essential to their academic life, Harry sat down in his favourite chair. I say favourite chair, when actually I mean to say, the chair nearest to the doorway, and furthest from Madam Pince.
By the time Hermione began to return (very slowly due to the sheer number of books she was carrying beneath the cloak) Harry was reading the penultimate chapter of his book. He'd lost count of how many days he'd spent lost in it's pages, fully immersed in the recount of the history of the greatest game known to man (in his opinion). If Harry could put as much fervour into his studies as he did into learning about, and playing, Quidditch then he'd have given Hermione a run for her money.
In order to reach Harry in the quickest time, and without travelling more than she needed (or wanted) to, Hermione had to creep past a table where a lone sixth year student sat reading a huge novel. Hermione recognised it instantly, for she too had read that book - or rather those Chronicles - many, many times in her youth, before she'd ever had her letter from Hogwarts. Long before she'd known she was a witch the Chronicles had been a constant companion to her.
It brought a thrill to her heart that, even in the Wizarding world, her favourite book (not even Hogwarts: A History could compete with it) was still being read. She also recognised whom the book belonged to. `There are those eyes again,' she thought. Only this time there was a new light in them, as if simply reading brought out a hidden side to him.
"Nice cloak, Hermione," whispered Jonathan Clift, his sky-blue eyes never leaving the pages of the great story. If it wasn't for the muscles she'd built up through all her years of carrying immense loads of books, she would have dropped the precious tomes and blown her cover to all. Keeping her voice as quiet as possible she spoke. "Wha…? Y-you can see me?"
"Of course I can. Why shouldn't I be able to see you? Oh… Sorry… You`re wondering how I can see you under that Invisibility Cloak… It's quite simple really. You remember who the new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher is? Well, you see, he's my dad and he just happens to be the Head Auror for the Ministry of Magic. It means he knows a lot of things. Taught me how to recognise Invisibility Cloaks and to see through them years and years ago."
Meanwhile, whilst Hermione had been utterly confounded by Jonathan's ability to see her under the Cloak, a fair-haired Gryffindor prefect had entered the library. Her golden locks hung loosely down her back, waving about as she strode towards the conversing students. Her eyes were of an azure so brilliant I cannot describe them with words. If it were possible to have the blood of stars within you, she would most definitely be the daughter of one.
"Who are you talking to Jon?" she asked. Her voice was as golden and as perfect as the rest of her. It was the kind of voice that could stir within you a feeling of joy at the first syllable, no matter what was said.
With a mind that worked faster than light, Jonathan looked up at her and smiled. "Hi there! I didn't see you come in - too busy reading passages from my book aloud. You can't help but love the Chronicles," Jonathan suddenly looked at his watch and snapped the book shut tight. "Look at the time! I should have been half way through this Arithmancy homework by now… Professor Vector is going to throttle me!"
There was a strange flicker of an expression that lasted for less than a second as he stopped fussing about, and instead looked up into pools of azure. "Say, Leslie, you wouldn't mind joining me? Perhaps we can go over these Arithmancy notes again. You know, I never could get the hang of adding a third axes…"
Jonathan and Leslie had offered Hermione the perfect chance to slip away and rejoin Harry.
Sometime later, I don't know how long, Hermione sat open-mouthed, staring at a single passage in her book, her finger resting lightly beside the image of an ancient, but magnificent temple.
"Harry, I think I've found what we're looking for."