Chapter 11: Strength in Numbers
The following days passed uneventfully. Harry and Hermione settled into a routine, and their time was divided between cleaning, reading, playing parlour games, and revising for the new term. Under Hermione's watchful eye, Harry completed the last of his essays and he felt better prepared for the start of the school year than perhaps he ever had.
At first, Harry had been unsure about being alone in the house with Hermione. He knew his mercurial nature often made him difficult to be around - he could seemingly shift at random between wanting company and wanting to be alone with his thoughts - but Hermione proved unusually savvy when it came to his moods. She seemed to know when to talk to him and when to sit quietly, entertaining herself with books or knitting. Harry appreciated the peacefulness after the first few chaotic days in the house.
"Oh my! Harry, come look at this," Hermione gasped, folding her copy of the Daily Prophet to get a better look at the front page.
Harry looked up from where he was laying on his back in front of the fire. There was a book lying open on his chest, but he hadn't been reading - the warmth from the fire had coaxed him into dozing some time ago. One of his hands rested on the book's spine, and the other behind his head.
"Can't I see it from down here?" he asked.
Hermione made a huffing noise and creased the paper. "No. If you want to see it, you'll have to come up on the couch with me."
Harry tossed his book aside and turned onto his stomach. He did a press up to get to his feet and then moved to sit beside Hermione. "What is it?"
She held the newspaper so he could see the headline, which proclaimed:
DISSENT IN THE MINISTRY!
Beneath this bold text, there was a smaller abstract which read:
Minister Fudge faces inquiry after accusations are raised concerning an alleged smear campaign against the current head of the Wizengamot, ALBUS DUMBLEDORE, and his protégé, HARRY POTTER!
Harry frowned and bent the corner of the paper in annoyance. "Since when am I Dumbledore's protégé?"
"Oh, Harry, that's hardly important! This is really big news! If it comes out that Fudge's office was pressuring the newspaper agencies to write those awful articles about you last year, the Wizengamot might call for a vote of no confidence."
"So? All's the better, in my opinion."
Hermione pursed her lips. "Well, I agree that he hasn't been the most effective Minister," she conceded, "but if Fudge is removed, it will cause a lot of upheaval at the Ministry. Everyone is already so nervous because of… Voldemort…being back. This would only exacerbate things."
"Everyone should be nervous. They should have been nervous a year ago," Harry said darkly. "I'm sorry, but I don't have any sympathy for that git."
"I suppose I don't blame you. Those articles - heavens! They were entirely ridiculous," she sniffed. "I'm glad you've been getting much better press lately."
Harry looked at her warily. "Whatever they're saying, I don't want to hear it. Good or bad. Everything they write is bollocks, anyway. I suspect that in six months, they'll go back to thinking I'm a lunatic again."
Hermione poked him in the side for his language and he shifted away from the tickling sensation. "Well, it's all quite positive right now. But if you don't want to know, I won't force you to read it."
"I don't," Harry affirmed. "But if you ever see any news about Voldemort or Death Eaters, tell me."
Hermione assured him she would and turned the page to continue reading. Harry tilted his head back to rest against the top of the couch. The fire was still blazing merrily and he felt quite comfortable there with Hermione. He hoped he might be able to doze a bit again. He was still having trouble sleeping and the rest would be welcome.
"Oh, Harry, don't sleep like that. You'll get an awful crick in your neck," Hermione chided gently.
Harry cracked one eye open to see her peering at him in concern. He turned and lay against the arm rest, stretching his long legs onto the ancient ottoman in front of the couch. "Better?" he asked, somewhat cheekily.
"Much," she replied, smiling a little. She turned back to her reading and Harry let his eyes drift closed. An indeterminate period of time passed in that half-awake state before he heard Hermione fold her paper back up and set it aside. She seemed to sense that he wasn't sleeping and asked very quietly if the sound would bother him if she knit. He shook his head and soon he could hear her rustling through the basket of yarn and needles that she kept near the mantle.
The couch dipped a bit as Hermione settled herself again. Harry removed his spectacles and held them blindly in her direction. "Could you-"
She took them before he could even finish his question and set them on the end table. "Thanks," he mumbled tiredly.
The crackling of the fire punctuated with the soft clicking of Hermione's knitting served as a particularly effective lullaby and he fell asleep soon after.
~: --------------------------- :~
When Harry awoke, the fire had been reduced to little more than a few glowing embers. He felt disoriented and strange - he had dreamed of the Tower Room again. He was starting to become concerned over his own curiosity. With each dream of the old and dying woman, he found himself more and more preoccupied with wondering who she might be. It reminded him distinctly of his desire to find out what was behind the unusual door he had dreamt about last year and his similar feelings were unsettling.
Harry rubbed his palm over his face and glanced about the room. The slight chill of the very early morning was kept out by a thin quilt that had been laid over him sometime during the night. He worried the hem of it with his fingers, surprised by Hermione's thoughtfulness.
A loud, persistent tapping sound drew his eyes to the drawing room window. There was a bird sitting on the sill looking in at him, but it was clearly no owl. It looked to be a sort of pelican or some other sea bird, with a bright orange beak and glassy, bulbous eyes. It was a hideous creature and Harry felt a little sorry for it.
If he were not a wizard, the sight of this bird on his windowsill in the middle of London might have given him pause. As it were, though, Harry opened the window without much hesitation and let the pelican inside. The bird flapped around its great wings and made a terrible racket, banging into things and emitting an awful noise. Harry glared at it uselessly as it flopped around the drawing room.
Finally, the bird settled unsteadily on a curio cabinet and made a strange sound in its throat before it seemed to regurgitate a small box and a folded parchment onto the floor. Harry stared at it in disbelief. Did someone actually expect him to pick that up and read it?
With its task done, the bird stared at Harry with rolling eyes, waiting for its reward. Harry had no idea what to give a pelican as a treat - he could not imagine owl pellets would appeal to it - so he went into the kitchen to fish around in the ice box. There was nothing there that immediately leapt to mind as sea-bird-friendly, so after a moment's hesitation, he grabbed a piece of bread and a bowl of water. He returned to the drawing room and set these things on the floor and the bird leapt down with an ungainly flap of its great wings. It pushed the bowl around the floor comically as it drank and when it had finished, it swallowed the bread in one gulp. It bleated at Harry pathetically after this and opened its beak as if expecting more.
Frowning, Harry returned to the kitchen and grabbed the entire loaf of bread. When he turned around, he found the bird had followed him and was now looking up at him from the entryway. Harry took a slice from the bread and tossed it at the bird. This one it caught in the air and gobbled down. Another slice, and another - still it wanted more.
"Greedy little bugger, aren't you?" Harry muttered before finally growing exasperated and dropping the remainder of the bread onto the kitchen floor. The bird sucked this up in a single gulp, then emitted a loud squawk and took a running leap into the air. It flapped its huge wings three times and disappeared out the window.
Harry returned to the drawing room and looked at the damp parchment on the floor in distaste. Sighing, he picked it up by the tips of his fingers and unfolded it. He recognised Hagrid's huge, messy letters at once.
Dear Harry,
Happy birthday! I'm sorry I missed it. I couldn't find a ruddy bird to send it with until now. I've been doing work for Dumbeldoor trying to find the you-know-whats again. My brother is with me! He's doing much better. Just wait until you see! I can't wait to see you again, Harry. Here is your present!
Your friend,
Hagrid
Harry smiled at the gamekeeper's cheerful letter. He set it on the table and then glanced down at the small box warily. He hoped there was nothing inside that might bite him.
With the utmost care, he opened the side of the box and held it at arm's length before tipping the contents out over the rug. Something small thumped onto the floor, but there were no ominous hissing, chomping, or scratching sounds. Curious, Harry looked down to see a small, black velvet pouch. He bent to pick this up at once, caution abandoned.
Inside was a thin chain that appeared to be made of silver. There was a circular piece about an inch in diameter attached to one end and a sturdy-looking clasp on the other. Harry turned it between his fingers in bewilderment.
Harry dug around inside the pouch to see if he had missed anything and found a printed piece of card stock. On its face were the words, 'Salamen and Shomille: Fine Jewelers', and in smaller typeface, 'Wizard's Wallet Chain'.
Harry grimaced. He knew exactly what Hagrid had in mind when purchasing this. Last year at Christmas, the gamekeeper had given him a furry, brown wallet encrusted with fangs which would bite anyone who tried to open it. Harry glanced down at his hand and ran his thumb over a small, silvery scar just beneath the much larger one that formed the words, 'I will not tell lies'. Being bit by one's own wallet was somewhat embarrassing and he rubbed the mark absently.
Harry sighed before clipping the chain to a belt loop on his trousers and heading upstairs to search through his trunk. He found his wallet where he had left it - inside an old biscuit tin that he had closed securely. He removed the lid and moved hesitantly to take hold of the wallet, but pulled his hand back when it nearly snapped one of his fingers off. Harry glared at the wallet uselessly before digging around among his things until he found a small box of bands that were used to hold rolled parchments. He slid two of the bands onto his wrist before having another go at the wallet.
This time, he snatched hold of it with the same quick move he usually employed for catching the snitch and held it firmly to keep it from opening its jaws. After a few moments of struggling, the wallet seemed to calm down a little and Harry slid the two bands around it, keeping its fangs firmly closed. With this, the wallet began struggling anew, but it calmed again a few moments later. Harry looked at it curiously before clipping it to his new chain and stuffing it in his pocket. He stood up again and seemed to take a moment to consider before a sick look came over his features. Nervously, he slid his hand down the front of his trousers towards one of his pant legs and adjusted himself before unclipping his chain and moving the wallet quickly to the other pocket. He wasn't going to take any chances of being bitten in any sensitive areas.
Harry stood stiffly as if expecting the wallet to sink its fangs into his leg at any moment, but it sat innocuously in his pocket without moving. Once he felt sure he wasn't about to lose a chunk of his thigh, Harry looked towards his parchments and considered writing Hagrid a thank-you note. He dismissed the idea quickly. Hagrid was surely somewhere dangerous and should not be distracted by owls. Hedwig, too, would be in danger if he sent her, and he could not bear that. He would wait to thank the gamekeeper when they returned to school.
With that decided, Harry went back downstairs and into the kitchen. Unsure of when Hermione might awaken and not wanting to waste food, he made himself a simple breakfast of toast and a ripe orange.
By the time he finished, Hermione had still not come downstairs, so he decided he ought to check on her. He cleaned up his mess and then made his way to her room. He stopped outside her door, placing his hand on the moulding and listened quietly. There was a rustling of covers inside and he frowned. He wondered if she was having a nightmare.
With the tips of his fingers, he gently pushed the door open slightly more than already it was, giving him a better view of the bed. It creaked a little and he winced at the sound. The rustling of the covers stilled and Hermione's head peeked out from beneath them. She seemed startled to see him in the doorway and stared at him uncomprehendingly.
"Er, sorry," Harry said lamely, folding his arms over his chest in an attempt to fake dignity. "I was just checking on you. It sounded like you might be having a nightmare."
Hermione's look softened and she gripped the edge of her bedclothes in her small hands, pulling them tight to her chin. She gave him an unsteady smile and ran her fingers through her bushy, messy hair self-consciously. "My hair is always a fright in the morning," she said inanely.
"I'm sure mine is, too," Harry assured hastily. "And I'm still wearing the clothes I fell asleep in last night. Thank you for the quilt, by the way."
"Your hair always looks like you just got out of bed," Hermione said, and her voice was fond. "Although - Harry, are you shaving now?"
"What?" Harry asked before realizing what she had noticed. His chin felt a bit prickly. "Oh. Well, yeah. It's all patchy, though."
Hermione smiled and they stared at each other without a word for almost a minute before Harry dragged his eyes away from her small form nestled among the covers. "I'll let you get back to sleep," he said, pulling the door closed behind him until it was only open enough for Crookshanks to come and go.
He strode down the hall to his room, clenching and unclenching his hands. He felt slightly bewildered by seeing Hermione in her bed.
He shook off this strange thought and looked for Hedwig, but she seemed to be out hunting somewhere. Her hours had become increasingly strange as of late - she was much more likely to sleep at night and be awake during the day than she ever had before.
He made sure her food and water were both well-stocked before gathering the parchment bands he had removed earlier and returning them to his trunk. As he placed them inside, he saw his gift from Dumbledore and could not resist pulling it out. To his surprise, the ship inside the bottle was no longer moving and even seemed to be flickering a little. He assumed his guess about needing to recharge it with the silver cylinder was correct. He attached the bottle to it again and did so.
To his surprise, when the purple mist dissipated, the rugged corsair had been replaced with a narrow sloop with delicate rigging and a single, triangular sail. Harry was as amazed by this ship as he was by the first and spent a long time examining it. He wondered if the mist provided a new type of sailing vessel every time it was used.
After a while, he reluctantly set the bottle down. Instead of returning it to his trunk, he placed it on his bedside table, and the little, moving ship seemed to give the room a bit of character. Harry looked at it for a moment more before grabbing a fresh set of clothes from his wardrobe and heading down the hall to the bath.
~: --------------------------- :~
Freshly soaped and with dark hair falling wetly onto the tops of his cheekbones, Harry returned downstairs. He found Hedwig perched on the end of balustrade and she swiveled her head to look at him balefully.
"What is it?" Harry asked. She gave a soft hoot and swiveled her head again, staring into the drawing room enigmatically. He frowned and moved passed her so he could see into the room.
There was a soft light emanating from no discernable source and it lit the room in a warm, yellow glow. It was not unlike sunlight from an eastern window, but Harry knew Grimmauld Place had no eastern windows, and what little sunlight it did receive was always muted and dull. He drew his wand warily.
A sudden high-pitched keening sound scared him out of his wits and Harry had to fight not to jump at the noise. When he whirled around to face the source, he found Fawkes beside Hedwig on the balustrade, observing him with depthless eyes. For her part, Hedwig stared at the Phoenix disdainfully before leaping into the air with her typical grace and swooping up the stairs and out of sight.
Fawkes didn't seem to take offense and trilled a few notes of phoenix song before disappearing in a flash of flame, leaving behind an elegantly addressed envelope. Harry retrieved it with a strange mix of sadness and anticipation. He knew this would be the summons from Dumbledore to continue his lessons. He was looking forward to them, but a small part of him longed for the peace of the last few days to last until the end of summer.
Harry tried to push these thoughts aside and tore the wax seal on the envelope.
Dear Harry,
I am pleased to inform you that steps have been made to reduce any potential damages caused by the 'problem' you and Miss Granger discovered.
As you have likely already guessed, this letter is to inform you that I am now in possession of enough free time to continue our lessons. If this is still agreeable to you, please use the Grimmauld Place fire to floo to my office this afternoon at 4 o'clock. You must say, 'Hogwarts' Headmaster's Office' when flooing. The connection will be open to you - and you alone.
Yours sincerely,
ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
Headmaster of HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards
Harry read the letter twice to be certain of the time before tossing it into the drawing room fire. He was glad to hear that Dumbledore seemed to believe that Mrs. Black's spying would not have widespread consequences. He wondered if the Order's decision to meet in the basement in an attempt to keep Hermione, Ron, the twins, Ginny, and himself from listening in might have ended up preventing Mrs. Black from receiving any sensitive information. All the portraits in the basement were nearly shredded - and none were on the walls. She would have had no eyes in that room.
After a glance at the clock, Harry decided he should look over his Occlumency textbook. He had avoided opening it the last few days and he knew he should be farther in it than he was. Dumbledore would likely ask him about it at their upcoming lesson and Harry didn't want to say that he had accomplished nothing. He fished it from the pile of books on the floor near his mantle and settled down to read.
~: --------------------------- :~
After a short explanation to Hermione that he would be attending a lesson with Dumbledore (which was met with a look that was equal parts envy and sympathy), Harry flooed to the headmaster's office at promptly 4 o'clock.
Dumbledore was seated behind his desk in his throne-like chair reading over a ridiculously long roll of parchment. Upon Harry's entrance, the headmaster stood up at once and moved to greet him.
"Ah, Harry, you're right on time," Dumbledore announced cheerfully. "I'm pleased to see that punctuality is not a lost art."
"Hello, Professor," Harry responded.
Dumbledore gestured to the chairs in front of his desk and they each sat down. "And how are you, Harry? I trust that the past few days have been somewhat less… taxing than the day I last saw you?"
"I've been all right," Harry said. He paused a moment before adding, "It hasn't been as horrible there as I was afraid it might be."
"I am very relieved to hear you say that," Dumbledore admitted. "I had laboured over my decision to send you there, but in the end, it seemed the best possible solution. I could not in good conscience ask you to remain at Privet Drive for the entirety of the summer, but sending you to the Burrow may have tempted Voldemort or his more enthusiastic supporters to attempt to seek you out. Grimmauld Place, with its Fidelius protection, was the only option I could come to. However, I am not so insensitive that I did not foresee this location might cause you grief."
Harry shifted in his chair. "It's been… strange being there without him. Sometimes I feel like a ghost - stalking around his house, wearing his clothes - but it doesn't seem as oppressive there as it did last year. And Hermione is with me… it's nice to have company."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled oddly at this. "Being close to one's dearest friends is always a balm for the soul," he agreed. "Yes, I do believe I made the correct decision now."
"Professor," Harry began, "what you said about the Burrow- do you really think they'll come after me again this year? I thought Voldemort might lay low for a while and regroup after losing so many of his Death Eaters."
"I suspect you are correct for the time being. Voldemort has likely sent out spies in an effort to obtain the location of their imprisonment. If that fails - and it shall, I assure you - he will need to recruit new members to replenish his forces. Unfortunately, I don't believe he will find this too difficult. Times are indeed dark. Many will join him out of fear," Dumbledore explained quietly.
"That may be true, but whatever new recruits he finds can't possibly be as useful to him as the ones he lost," Harry protested. "Where is he going to find another Malfoy to run around the Ministry and whisper in Fudge's ear?"
"That is an astute observation. As the former Finance Director, Lucius Malfoy will not be easily replaced. However, it would be foolish for us to believe that Voldemort does not have other emissaries within the Ministry. And you must also remember, Harry, that sometimes sheer numbers can accomplish what a single, skilled agent cannot," Dumbledore clarified. "Despite his setback, it is my belief that Voldemort will still consider uncovering the Prophecy his most urgent objective. He knows that I am aware of its contents, and now, he must assume the same of you. He will come. He or his followers."
Harry's nodded grimly. Voldemort coming after him was nothing new, after all.
"And that, of course, brings us to our lesson today," the headmaster segued. He drew his wand from the folds of his robes and held it lightly in front of him. "I've been very pleased with your progress in Occlumency. It is becoming quite difficult for me to discern when I am seeing a true answer to my questing or when you are presenting an answer that you would like me to see."
"But I still can't block an attack altogether."
"Ah, but to simply turn aside an attack is to use your mind only as a blunt object. You have prevented the attacker from achieving his goals, but you have not achieved any of your own," Dumbledore asserted. "Allow your attacker to believe he has succeeded and he thus becomes the victim. What is that lovely muggle saying - you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?"
"Professor, if I can do this - if I'm able to present false memories, which is supposedly so much more difficult - then why can't I block attacks? Why can I perform the harder task, but not the easier?"
Dumbledore stroked his beard and seemed entirely unconcerned. "I could only offer speculation, Harry. Our individual skills in magic all have inherent strengths and weaknesses. However, I do not believe this is a weakness - rather, I suspect that your talent for that particular skill is meant to drive you to use it. You'll find that magic itself often provides the answers to our questions - usually when we are not looking for them."
This answer did not really satisfy Harry, but he did not question the headmaster further.
"Shall we begin, then?" Dumbledore asked after allowing Harry a moment to ponder what had been said.
Harry nodded to show that he was ready and they began their lesson soon after. The exercises were more complex than their previous attempts and Harry found himself near exhaustion by the time the meeting came to an end. Dumbledore praised his efforts and was all twinkling eyes and smiles as they scheduled their next meeting and bid each other goodbye.
When Harry stepped through the floo back to Grimmauld Place, he found Hermione hunched over a massive tome on the couch in front of the fire. A brief glance at the page she was reading revealed complex equations and diagrams of magical triangles - Arithmancy. Harry was certain she would be in good spirits. Hermione loved Arithmancy.
"Hullo, there," Harry greeted softly. He strode from the fireplace to just beside her knees. She looked up at him and her face was lit with a warm smile.
"Harry! How was your lesson?" she asked, marking her place and closing her book. Harry quirked an eyebrow. Hermione usually had to be dragged away from her Arithmancy texts.
"Tiring," he replied. "I see you're cheating on your Ancient Runes essay with Arithmancy."
Hermione had been assigned a foot of parchment for Ancient Runes, but she had already completed well over three-and-a-quarter feet and showed no signs of concluding.
"Oh, well, Ancient Runes is wonderful, but-"
"-But your heart beats only for Arithmancy?"
"Oh, hush," Hermione scolded, but Harry could tell from her smiling eyes that he had amused her. Pleased with this small accomplishment, Harry dropped down onto the couch beside her and fought to hold in a yawn. Hermione turned to peer at him. "If you're tired, you should go to bed early tonight. I know you haven't been sleeping well…"
"It's only 7 o'clock, Hermione," Harry dismissed. He glanced down at her thick book and tapped the cover with his finger. "So, I've always wondered - what's this Arithmancy, then? It looks a bit like geometry."
"Oh, Harry, it's amazing! It really is the best lesson - you're missing out by not taking it," Hermione enthused. "It's not really like geometry - it's more like numerology, only with facts and quantifiable figures. It's so fascinating! Numbers can be very powerful - you have a number, too, Harry. It's seven - I've researched it. It's quite a coincidence that your Quidditch jersey number is seven, too…"
"And born as the seventh month dies," Harry murmured.
Hermione looked at him quizzically. "Born as the seventh month dies?"
Harry didn't understand what she was asking for a moment, but then he remembered that Hermione had never heard the Prophecy. He felt his heart thump wildly in his chest in shock at his own carelessness. "Er, July, I mean," he stammered. "I was born at the end of July. The seventh month…?"
Hermione looked at him strangely. Worse, she seemed to have that expression on her face that Harry knew all too well - the one that revealed her curiosity had been aroused. "Of course. It's just… you worded it so strangely," she noted, and her voice trailed off as if hinting that she understood something important had been said that she didn't quite understand. "But yes, July is the seventh month - a very powerful magical month. Seven is the most powerful magical number there is, actually. It makes sense that you're a seven."
Harry latched onto this topic in an attempt to get her mind away from his unfortunate slip of the tongue. "How can numbers be powerful? And isn't numerology sort of a, well, woolly subject? How is it different from Divination?"
Hermione looked deeply affronted by this question. "Of course not! Arithmancy is nothing like muggle numerology - there aren't any silly attempts at reading the future or tips for the lottery. It's the study of how numbers and number patterns affect magic.
"Like with Remus and his potion - the Wolfsbane Potion? He has to take it every day for seven days before his transformation. This is because the seventh dose is the most potent, and that is the dose that is taken the actual day of the change. That extra bit of potency is what allows the potion to overcome the power of the full moon on the werewolf's mind. If Remus took the potion just on the day of his transformation, it would only be the first dose - and it wouldn't be powerful enough, even though the potion itself is exactly the same."
Harry was quite surprised to hear this. "Really?"
"Oh, yes!" Hermione beamed. "And there are certain days of the year where all magic is more powerful. Those are usually the days when the most complex wards are cast. I'm certain that the Fidelius Charm on this house had to have been cast on one of these dates."
Harry pondered this. Had his mother cast her Fidelius charm on one of the days Hermione was referring to? Had she studied Arithmancy like Hermione?
"-and your birthday is one of the four most powerful magical days of the year! It's called Lughnasadh. It begins on July 31st at sundown - magic is really strong on that day," Hermione babbled on, unaware that Harry had been too lost in his thoughts to pay her much attention. "I asked Professor Vector to verify my findings when I researched your number. She really is brilliant. And she's an excellent professor. I've learned loads from her! Oh, it really is too bad that you aren't taking the course, Harry."
Harry snapped out of his daze and nodded. "So what are the four days, then? Just so I know when to apply for my apparition license."
"Knowing you, you'll hardly need a magical sabbat to ace your apparition test," Hermione teased. "And you have to be seventeen to apply, anyway - so you'll have to wait for your birthday."
"Right convenient it's one of the days," Harry said.
"Yes, I suppose it is. The others are February 2nd, April 30th, and… October 31st," Hermione revealed hesitantly.
Harry froze. "Halloween? But that's…?"
Hermione's face was somber and she nodded. "That's the day Voldemort attacked you and your parents," she whispered. "I've thought of that, too. I've often wondered whether he chose that day specifically because he would have been at his most powerful. But - I still haven't figured out why he would single you out in that manner."
Harry felt a cool touch of guilt curling around his stomach. He knew perfectly well why Voldemort had singled him out. But he knew he could not reveal the answer to Hermione - no one was supposed to know the Prophecy except Dumbledore and himself. Telling her its contents would serve no purpose except to place her in extreme danger. He did not like keeping such an important secret from her, but that was infinitely preferable to getting her killed.
He pushed his feelings of guilt aside and began to wonder about his mother's blood protection. Had the power of that specific night aided her? Voldemort had described what she had done as 'old magic'. Would it have worked if she had been called to draw from it on any other day?
His mind raced with questions and musings, and he could see that Hermione, too, was lost in contemplation. Harry grew uncomfortable with their mutual thoughts and decided a new topic was in order.
He deftly turned the conversation away from the attack, and before long, he was listening to Hermione discuss the various virtues of Arithmancy as it applied to charms creation before his exhaustion began to creep up on him. As his eyelids started to droop, Hermione placed her hand on his back and gave him a concerned look. "You really should try to go to sleep, Harry."
Harry instinctively wanted to protest but he clenched his jaw to stop the impulse. "Maybe you're right," he conceded. "I think I probably will."
Hermione smiled at his surrender and nodded her head in approval. "Goodnight then, Harry. I hope you sleep well."
"Goodnight, Hermione. I'll see you in the morning."
He stood up and touched her gently on the shoulder before trudging up the stairs to his room.