Chapter 8
Something was wrong with Hermione . . . Something was wrong with Hermione . . . Something was wrong with Hermione!
He set his quill down when he realized the attempts of finishing his essay were moot and sighed. Hermione had been avoiding him for the past week and he still had no idea why. The only time he ever saw her was when they were working on their projects, and even then she refused to acknowledge him for more than a few seconds at a time. He was losing her.
It wasn't as though he didn't know this would happen; but he thought she was different; special. But she was, oh was she ever, which was why Harry found this so hard to believe. He couldn't convince himself. Hermione wasn't the type of person to change her opinion of a situation that quickly. And besides, he had a distinct feeling that she liked him too much to let their friendship go that easily, which brought him to his earlier conclusion. Something was wrong with Hermione, and he had to find out what.
He picked himself up off the black leather couch, flinching slightly when he felt the material sticking to his bare arms. "Where do you think you're going, Potter?" he heard a voice call to him. He flinched again.
"Bugger off, Draco; I'm not in the mood." He replied, continuing his path towards the exit.
Draco, however, had different plans; he blocked Harry's path with a swift step towards him and smirked. Harry sighed and crossed his hands in front of his chest in annoyance. Ridiculous, he thought.
"Now you wouldn't be off to see one Miss Granger, would you? Because from what I've heard; she isn't as fond as she used to be of your presence." The tone of his voice was odd. He didn't even sneer or show any sign of disgust while saying her name. It came off of his tongue as smoothly as it would have if he were mentioning the weather. Harry brow furrowed, that wasn't right.
"And how would you know, exactly?"
"A little birdie told me, of course. This school lives off of drama and gossip, or haven't you noticed by now?" Harry had to resist the urge to smile. This was no longer his friend, but a person who disgusted the ground any Gryffindor walked atop of. Of course, he had always been this way, but it took Harry a small assignment to notice it. He would not give him the satisfaction of his friendship, nor his retained ability to make him smile.
"Sorry, I've been a bit pre-occupied." He replied coolly. This seemed to swipe the air of confidence that had been surrounding Draco since the moment Harry discovered his presence in the room from underneath his feet. Don't smirk, don't smirk, Harry scolded himself.
"Oh, right, of course. You've had to have been keeping Cho occupied, haven't you?" The smirk was back, the air accumulating around them.
Harry gritted his teeth, "You know well enough our relationship was over a week ago."
"Wow. Even getting the school's biggest prude to open up and get into your trousers isn't enough to sedate the great Harry Potter. And I thought I was low."
It was a low blow, no doubt about it, but Harry had to get out of this room. He had to find Hermione. He had to get rid of this wanker. "Not that this isn't fun . . . but I have a book to find." Lying; a man's best friend. He pushed past Draco with a slight bump of the shoulder and exited the dark common room.
The walk to Gryffindor Tower was a long one, to say the least, but he considered it worth it considering the circumstances. He received the regular odd few glances from passing students, most likely thinking about why a Slytherin like himself was wandering theses high floors so far from his kinfolk. He had been tuning out those glances since first year, so a few odd weren't nearly the trouble they had used to be. At least he knew it wasn't because of his scar anymore.
The portrait hole was closed, of course, by the painting of the rather large, pink-dress wearing, lady with a slight smile upon her face. This wasn't going to be an easy feat. He stepped up to the woman and felt her gaze drift to him as he halted in front of her. "Password?" she asked him.
"I, uhh . . . I don't have one." He explained lamely. Harry saw her eyes flicker to his emerald and silver tie as comprehension flooded her features.
"Sorry, dear. No password, no entry."
He thought that would be the case. He had to think of another way to get in. It wasn't likely that an incoming or out coming Gryffindor would hold open the portrait for him to enter. There had to be some way to break this barricade . . . some method to gain entry to the secluded room. Then again, she might be in the library. . . .
He turned around, away from the stubborn, password-greedy entrance, and made his way to the library. When he arrived, he began searching every nook and cranny of the many aisles. Every back room was empty, every corner, every single chair was un-occupied. Well, he thought, now we'll know who's going to fail their exams.
Harry even went as far as going up to the front desk and asking the wound-up librarian, Madame Pince, if she had seen her recently. Her reply went something along the lines of "Mind your own business, you hooligan!" He knew now never to ask her for help again.
He knew Hermione wasn't a very outdoorsy person, so the grounds were ruled out. Classes were over for the day and sunset was already in progress, so a classroom was out of the question as well. It looked like his original theory was right. Now to think of a way to surpass the Fat Lady . . .
He pondered all the way back to the tower. It hit him as soon as he was in seeing-distance of the entrance. He strut towards the lady and stood there, staring at her for a moment to get her attention. She looked rather annoyed. "And what do you want?" Her tone confirmed his assumption.
"To get inside, of course." He replied as curtly as he could muster without giving away his plot.
The lady cocked a brow and chuckled in amusement. "You'd have to have the password to do that, love. And I don't think anyone of this house would let you inside with a white flag."
Harry couldn't help but chuckle. He straightened up his composure and stepped forward, earning a confused glance from the lady. He continued to move towards the portrait until he was a breath away. It wasn't until he raised his fists that she caught onto him. "LET ME IN!" he yelled while pounding the sides of the portrait loudly. "LET ME IN!" he repeated. He made sure to avoid the lady's form and aimed for the landscape surrounding her, as to not cause any harm. This didn't help her from becoming increasingly angrier at him.
"You insolent boy, stop hitting my portrait! You really think they'll hear you in there?! Ouch- that was my toe!"
Ignoring her complaints, he continued his attack until he felt the portrait shift a bit towards him. His hands immediately fell and he straightened up his back as he looked to see who had answered to his calls. The red hair gave her away instantly.
"Hullo Ginny." He said brightly. She didn't look pleased, an almost identical look to the lady beside her.
"And what might I ask are you doing harming our safe keeper?" Her hands were now at her hips and she was glaring at him. He thought he might catch fire under her intense gaze. This wasn't going to be easy.
"I was hoping to speak to Hermione, is she in there?" he asked hopefully, trying to glance behind her back into the common room.
"Yes she is here, and no you may certainly not speak with her." She replied, her face turning a dangerous shade of red. She looked about ready to slam the portrait hole, when Harry surprised her and placed a hand on the portrait and forcing her to stay put.
"Why not?" he asked persistently. He wasn't going to give up his search knowing that she was a few meters away from his mere form. His search would be a bust, a flop. He needed to talk to her. He needed to find out what was wrong.
"Other than the fact that you are a Slytherin and your mere shadow inside of the common room would cause an uproar that neither of us wants to happen for risk of expulsion," -he nodded, understanding- "she doesn't want to see you."
His stomach dropped, his eyes bulged, and his mouth was agape. Needless to say, he was shocked. He knew for a fact that it was a lie. Something was wrong, Damnit, and he was going to find out what it was! "You and I both know that is complete and utter bollocks, so I would just let me in before I get physical."
She looked affronted, but straightened herself up before stating in a whisper, "No. I might be a girl, but I'm not afraid to put up a fight and protect my friend's word."
"That may be so, but I'm also her friend and need to talk to her. It's urgent." He retorted, his temper with the fiery red-head building. He didn't want to pick a fight either, but if it meant getting some answers, then he was going to do it.
"What? Did your owl die and you need her comfort? Newsflash: She-Doesn't-Want-To-See-You!" Her face was as red as her hair. It was quite a scary sight, in his opinion.
"Look," he said, softening his tone, "I really need to talk to her, I don't want to fight, and I sure as hell don't wanna take very drastic measures to ensure that my need is fulfilled." His voice was hoarse and it seemed to have the effect he wanted. Her red face was returning to its normal pale and freckled state, her hands unclenching, and her face softening.
"I'm pretty sure you already surpassed the drastic mark." She said, motioning to the portrait separating them. He chuckled as her face changed to one of curiosity. It suited her much more than her original state. "You really like her, don't you?"
His face broke into a grin, "Yeah, yeah I do."
"And it's not just an act?" she asked, her face cocking to the side.
"No. No, of course not, why would I act-?"
"Don't tell me, tell Hermione." She said with a serious face, her demeanor changing to one of urgency.
"What, why-"
"The sixth years girls dormitory is directly parallel to the Quidditch Pitch." She spoke in a whisper. "I think it's high time you and your Quidditch skills are used outside of the field, don't you?" she added with a smirk. Harry nodded and smiled in understanding, but before he could speak she spoke again, "And be sure to be careful, it's almost curfew."
"Yeah . . . yeah, I will. Thanks, Ginny." He said with a smile to her. It looked like his plans wouldn't be moot after all.
"Please set her right, Harry. She's been a wreck for the past week." She said as she closed the portrait hole. As Harry turned and took the first of many steps to the Entrance Hall, he heard the portrait open yet again and a voice call out in a small voice, "Good Luck." He looked back to give his thanks, but found only the scowling face of the Fat Lady looking towards him. He thought it best to leave before he got into any trouble.
He praised himself on his luck on the way down. He thought for sure that at least Filtch and Mrs. Norris would catch him in his compromising position. But no, he didn't even get as much as a slap on the hand. Well . . . he would have if the Fat Lady had the ability to reach out of her portrait. He never felt more thankful for portrait enchantments in his life.
He reached the hall without much trouble (Peeves singing his usual `Potty Wee Potter' song didn't count much in Harry's book, seeing that it was a normal occurrence). The cool breeze was relaxing as he opened the doors to step quietly outside. "Accio Firebolt." He called into the night.
Within seconds, his beloved broom flew into his hands and he was off. He soared up above the first couple floors where he knew he might be spotted and made his way towards the Quidditch Pitch. As he saw the familiar field come into view he slowed his broom and angled himself so that he was completely parallel to it. He looked straight ahead and saw a single large window located on the large tower he knew to be Gryffindor's. He flew straight ahead until her was a foot away from the window.
He saw a familiar bush of cinnamon-brown hair pass the bare window and felt his stomach knot up. There she was. She was so close to him. All he had to do was get her attention. "Hermione!" he called out. She didn't even flinch. "HERMIONE!" he screamed, but immediately covered his mouth.
Light could be seen coming from a door below, the familiar form of Filtch and Mrs. Norris by his side exiting out of it at a jog. Ginny hadn't been kidding when she said to be quiet. It's not like he didn't do this before, but he still could be rather passive when it came to precautions. He steered his broom the shadow under the window of the dormitory and tried hard not to move. He wasn't going to let Filtch ruin his plan. Oh, no.
He could hear Filtch's muffled voice below and could swear he heard his name being mentioned. He let it pass. Sooner then he thought, Filtch seemed to give up and retreat back into the castle. Harry let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding as he came out of his hiding place and tried to think of another way to get Hermione's attention without risk of another detention. And then it hit him.
He lifted his wand and summoned a few pebbles from the grounds below and started to toss them at the window, each making an audible click as they met the glass. He saw the figure he knew to be Hermione stop and approach the window. Smiling, he threw the last pebble and steadied himself on his broom.
The window opened and out popped the head of the person he had just risked himself for. He met her eyes and blurted out, "Hermione, Hermione, where for art thou, Hermione?" He heard her snort as she gave him a small smile. He was making progress.
"A Winter's Tale." She said. Harry narrowed his eyes in confusion.
"What?" he asked her.
She snorted again, "That's how I got my name, `A Winter's Tale', a Shakespearian play. Kind of ironic since you just quoted it and didn't know the correct definition of what you are saying. `Where for art thou' means `why are you', and I told you."
Harry couldn't repress the urge to laugh at her explanation, "Only you, Hermione." His laughter died out when he saw that Hermione was no longer smiling. Her happy demeanor was replaced with a fallen look that reminded Harry of the reason he was here.
"Why are you here, Harry?" she asked, as if reading his thoughts.
"Ginny told me you were up here. I need to talk to you." He explained.
"I can't talk to you, Harry. I'm sorry." She said in a monotone, making a move to close the window. Harry put a hand atop of hers to stop her. She looked up and met his eyes, sending shocks though his body.
He cleared his throat before he spoke, "Why not?" She didn't answer him, only looked down at the stone wall. "Hermione, answer me, please."
"I can't." she said, picking her head up, "I just . . . can't" She tried to pull away from his grip on her hand, but Harry's strength won out as he gripped her hand tightly in his. He heard her take a sharp intake of breath and tried to get her to look at him by tugging at her hand. She looked up and he saw tears swimming in her eyes. He felt his heart break.
"Please, Harry, please don't make me tell you." She said, visibly fighting the tears in her eyes. Her struggle made him want to envelope her in the warmest hug he could muster, but he had a feeling she wouldn't let him near her. He had to change that.
"Hermione, I have to know. You've been avoiding me for a week and I miss you." -She looked pained when he said this- "Why, Hermione? Why did you put our friendship on hold? Did something happen, did someone say something to you?" Hermione choked a sob. He had said something. He was getting closer. "Come with me."
She looked at him as though he was crazy, "What?" she asked.
"Come fly with me. We can talk . . . about everything." He pressed.
He saw the thought passing through her features. She was thinking about it! That's always a good sign, he told himself. He watched her struggle with herself a bit, wiping at the tears with her free hand. She looked up at him and he held his breath, waiting for her to answer him.
"Alright."
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