Chapter Twenty-Two
THE BOY IN EVERY TIME
Growing up in a large family, there were some things that one couldn't help but learn. Ron knew better to barge into any room without knocking, even if the door hadn't been locked. He'd had a red mark across his face for the better part of an afternoon after walking in on Ginny changing once.
Ron always made a point to be on time for dinner; too many times had he been a few minutes late, only to discover that Fred and George had made fast work of all his favorite foods.
Ron had received many accidental lessons in courtesy, loyalty, and bravery thanks to his siblings, but that was actually the least of it. Sharing a relatively small house with eight other people had given him invaluable sense of perception when it came to others.
Which explained why his two best friends were about to drive him crazy.
So, though he would deny it completely if anyone called him on it, Ron did have a few ulterior motives when he climbed through the portrait hole on Tuesday afternoon after Quidditch practice. He was more than a little tired and rather bruised, but there was something that he needed to do. Fortunately, Hermione was already back from the hospital wing, sitting at one of the tables in the corner of the common room. Her books were spread in great piles before her, and she was scribbling furiously on a roll of parchment.
"Finally convince Madam Pomfrey that you weren't going to keel over, be chased by an ax murderer, or start demonstrating St. Mungo's behavior?" joked Ron as he slid into the wooden chair across from her. Hermione stopped scratching her quill against the paper and looked up.
"Very funny, Ron," said Hermione. "Quidditch over?"
"Would I back if it wasn't?" questioned Ron. "Or, for that matter, freshly showered?"
"No," said Hermione briskly, "you rarely bathe otherwise. Where's Harry, then?"
"Hey! That was an attack on my person hygiene-" Ron glared at her. "You could pretend that you're happy to see me, you know."
Hermione giggled, inking her quill. Her finger traced the line she was taking information from as she paraphrased. "Of course I'm glad to see you," she said, "but I rarely see one of you without the other."
"But I'm not Harry," suggested Ron slyly. "Anyway, he's still out there, seeking. The Hufflepuffs had the field before us. Still training their new Seeker, they are. Seems as if one of the school Snitches has been particularly elusive, so Madam Hooch set Harry to find it. He'll turn up when it does."
"Don't you play Hufflepuff this weekend?" Hermione wanted to know.
"Ten o'clock on Saturday morning," said Ron with a grin. "Are you going to be there?"
"Where else would I be?" said Hermione, and she gave him a very genuine smile.
"You'll have to hang around with us afterward, too," said Ron. "Provided we don't have another impossibly long game, Ravenclaw is playing Slytherin at two."
"Are you sure that's such a good idea?" questioned Hermione. "There's only a few more weekends left before our essays are due, and I wouldn't devote an entire Saturday to Quidditch if I were you."
Ron rolled his eyes, and he grabbed her arm. "Come on," he said, "you need to live a little. You spend too much time working."
"Ron," said Hermione patiently, "I missed an entire day's worth of classes."
"You know as well as I do that you're already more than caught up," said Ron, and he did not let go of her arm. "You'll just end up stressing yourself out more the longer you sit there. All that work isn't good for a person, and I need to talk to you, so we're going for a walk."
"I have a sheet of written explanations for my work due in Arithmancy tomorrow, and I still need to edit my-"
"Please Hermione?" said Ron, and he resorted to a slightly pitiful expression.
"Maybe later, Ron, I really do need to finish these things first," said Hermione, and she swept an arm over her stacks of books to demonstrate. "I have to finish this reading for Herbology, but then maybe-"
"Hermione!"
She was interrupted again, this time by the twins, who had just burst through the portrait hole. They were wearing identical pleased expressions, and both boys' cheeks were flushed pink as though they'd run to the tower.
"So glad to see you here!" exclaimed Fred (or was it George? They were his brothers, but even Ron couldn't tell at the moment).
"Yes, of course I'm here," said Hermione quizzically. "Where else would I be?"
She flinched visibly as George (or Fred) threw a friendly arm around her shoulder. "No idea, but we did want to congratulate you."
"For what?" said Hermione lightly. She and Ron shared an equally confused glance.
"We were on innocently making our way back from Quidditch practice," said Fred, "and we just so happened to catch Snape engaging dear Professor Lupin in some very interesting conversation."
"We just so happened to overhear a bit of it," George deadpanned. "They were talking about you, and it was most peculiar. You see, Snape seems to think you're highly disturbed and emotionally unstable-"
"-And we just want to know about whatever glorious thing you pulled to make him think that," finished Fred. He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, we also want to know why we didn't get asked to partake in it."
Hermione blinked, and before Ron even realized what he was doing, he was shoving his brothers in the direction of the boys' dormitories.
"Go," he said at the bottom of the stairs. Both of them were looking at their younger brother with identical looks of confusion. "She's not feeling well, you know. She did happen to pass out yesterday in Potions, or did you forget that? Leave her be, okay?"
"Okay," said one of the twins. Ron had lost track of who was who. "Er... we'll talk to you later?"
"Yeah," said Ron, and he was walking back towards Hermione before they had a chance to answer.
"Those two," he said jokingly, sounding a lot more lighthearted than he felt. She still had that stricken look on her face, and it worried him. "They sure do have boundless energy, eh?"
Hermione didn't answer him, she just muttered something incoherently that he didn't quite catch.
"How about that walk?" tried Ron. To his surprise, she nodded.
"That would be lovely, Ron," said Hermione weakly.
* * *
"They didn't mean anything by it," said Ron for the third time. He was starting to get desperate. Hermione continued to walk a few paces ahead of him, her arms folded securely across her chest. He wasn't sure if it was because she was cold or upset. "Come on, Herms, look at me. It's Fred and George, after all. They think you've pulled some kind of brilliant prank on Snape. There's no harm in that, is there?"
"It's not that," said Hermione, and she stopped. "He and Professor Lupin barely tolerate each other, it seems. If he's telling him, he's telling the other staff members. I don't want them to all think I'm some kind of a-some kind of-well, a-"
"Some kind of what, Hermione?" Ron wanted to know. He crossed his arms across his chest. He was going to make her listen to him, and then he was going to talk to her like he'd been meaning to. "Heaven forbid that they know about the horrible, violent, uncontrollable situation you were forced into. Merlin, Hermione! They're teachers! They're in charge of all of us! They're not going to think any less of you, you know. They'll want to help you!"
"I don't need any help," said Hermione stubbornly. "I'm just fine, thank you, and I really don't see why everyone's making such a big fuss about me-"
Ron was trying to recall if she'd ever been quite so stubborn, and he couldn't think of a single instance. He did, however, remember why the two of them rarely spent alone, just the two of them. Inevitably, they ended up arguing.
"We care about you," said Ron, and he forced himself to keep his anger out of his voice. "What's this about, Hermione? I want to be there for you, and I want to help you, but I don't know how to act around you. This isn't like your schoolwork, you know. This isn't a problem you have to solve on your own."
"I don't have a-"
And she stopped short. The anger was gone, leaving Hermione looking rather vulnerable.
"Can we sit down?" said Hermione suddenly, and Ron nodded. She took a seat on a large rock at the lake's shore, and he sat down next to her. After several moments of hesitation, he put his arm around her shoulders. "You wanted to talk about something. You wouldn't have wanted to come out here in the first place if you haven't."
"We'll get to that," said Ron. "One thing at a time. Since we seem to be on the subject, what can I do to help you?"
"Act normal," said Hermione without hesitation.
"Act normal," repeated Ron. He really wanted to ask about Snape, but he refrained. Her elusive behavior the night before combined with Fred and George's statements had only furthered his dislike of the Potions master, and he was becoming more and more certain that he was more involved than he was letting on. However, he wasn't about to say anything and risk upsetting Hermione. "Is that all?"
"It's more than enough," said Hermione, and she smiled at him. "I just want things to get back to normal."
"That's reasonable, but you don't need anyone to talk to or anything?" said Ron, and he couldn't resist. He added, "Or is that what Harry's for?"
"Ron," said Hermione, "what are you implying?"
"Absolutely nothing," said Ron automatically. "Well, I'm just saying, that to a casual observer, it might seem that you and Harry-er, to keep from dancing around the subject, it might just seem as if the two of you are more than `just friends.'"
"Ron!" exclaimed Hermione, pulling away from him and looking properly horrified. However, the expression didn't quite reach her eyes, and he knew he had her.
"I knew it!"
"Knew what?" said Hermione, and she looked away to hide the deep blush that was coming to her cheeks. "Ronald Weasley, answer my question. It's taking every ounce of strength I have to resist the urge to shove you in the lake at the moment."
"You wouldn't do that to me," said Ron.
"You sound so very sure of yourself," said Hermione. She glared at him. "For your information, there is nothing going on between Harry and I. He's just... well, he's just... he's just been helping me through this, a friend helping a friend."
Ron shook his head and sighed. "I really don't care if you deny it, Herms," he said, "because it doesn't affect me in the slightest. Now, you, on the other hand-I'd say it affects you. Oh well, let it be your decision."
"You're quite insufferable sometimes," said Hermione sharply.
"Thanks," said Ron, and he smiled. Inside, he was gloating, but he didn't dare show it. Finally, he said, "Have you given it any thought lately?"
"Given what any thought?"
"Our little discussion with Sirius about a thousand nights ago," said Ron.
"Snuffles," corrected Hermione.
"Oh come on," scoffed Ron. "We never remember to call him that."
"It's rather careless of us," said Hermione, "but no, I haven't really given it any thought, not for some time now. Why, have you?"
"Nah, that's what I was asking you," said Ron. He reached down and picked a stick off the ground and began twiddling it around between his fingers. "I was thinking about it the other day, though. It was during History of Magic, actually. I kept turning his words over in my mind again and again, thinking that they would somehow make sense. In the end, though-"
"Professor Binns called on you because you didn't look like you were paying a bit of attention, and you told him that a major cause of the Third Uprising was a preemptive Auror strike!" said Hermione, and she rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ron, preemptive anything? What were you thinking? Do you even know the definition of the word?"
"Yes," said Ron defensively. He stopped fiddling with the stick. "It means preventative. Something like that. Does it really matter?"
Hermione rolled her eyes again. On the horizon, the sung was sinking faster with each passing minute, painting the sky a brilliant red.
* * *
"Okay, let me get this straight," said Harry. His brown furrowed, and he made a quick gesture with both his hands. "The Minister has a council of twelve advisors, but they don't really advise him. They approve his actions. If one of them happens to die in office, the minister gets to nominate two people to take his place-"
"No," said Hermione. "The Minister traditionally gets four nominations, but Bom only received two because he's just a temporary."
"Hermione," said Ron impatiently through a mouthful of Yorkshire pudding. They were sitting at the dinner table, trying to explain the complex inner workings of the Ministry to Harry. "It's close enough. Let's not confuse him."
"It's okay, Ron. Four nominations, but only two if you're a temporary. I think I understand," said Harry, and he grinned at Hermione. "Bom tries nominating Ron's dad some dung guy, and the council rejects both."
"There are actually thirteen advisors," continued Hermione, "but the thirteenth is not considered to be an actual part of the council. He fills in temporarily sometimes when the other advisors are not present, but he is usually only used when something would prevent another advisor from staying in office."
"The thirteenth for this particular council was Lucius Malfoy," finished Harry, "so he took Pericle's job. That's... not good?"
"No, it's not," said Hermione, shaking her head. "You remember what he convinced the board of governors to do three years ago when the basilisk was petrifying students right and left. I would like to think that the council is a little stronger than that."
Ron snorted. "A bunch of Fudge's farts? I highly doubt it." He paused, chewing thoughtfully. "And you make it sound like you weren't one of those students that got petrified."
Hermione chose to ignore him. "It's rather intriguing how it came about and everything. You should write your dad, Ron, and ask him about it. He was nominated for the position, after all. He's sure to know what's going on."
"And what excuse do you expect me to use to get the information out of him?" said Ron. He shrugged. "Besides, it's classified information."
Harry, who had been watching their animated exchange as he finished his dinner, put his fork down on the table and wiped his face with a napkin. "Do you think Malfoy knows?"
"Nah," said Ron, and his eyes narrowed. Hermione glanced at him.
"He might," she said.
"No, he's living in the Forbidden Forest," said Ron. "Did you listen? Maybe he's eating bugs and stuff."
Harry snorted. "It's not every day that you get that mental picture."
"It's a good one, if I do say so myself," said Ron. "Not as good as Malfoy-the-bouncing-ferret, but nothing could top that."
"Ron? Why is it such a big deal that the thirteenth took the position anyway?" said Hermione suddenly. "Everyone seems rather surprised that it's Lucius Malfoy, after all."
"Merlin! There's something that Hermione doesn't know!" Ron was joking, but he dropped his fork in surprise.
"What are you talking about?" asked Harry.
"The thirteenth's identity isn't ever made public," said Ron. "Only council and the Minister himself usually know his identity. Dad explained it to us once when we were on vacation, but Fred and George kept enchanting things to chase me, so I didn't really pay much attention. You could probably find out if you looked it up in the library."
Hermione started to stand, but Harry, who was sitting next to her, touched her arm lightly.
"Sit," he said, his green eyes shining as he smiled at her. "You've barely touched your dinner."
"After dinner, then," said Hermione.
"I'll come with you," said Harry.
"Well aren't we just too cute?" teased Ron. He grabbed Harry's wrist. "Oh, well, look at the time! There's somewhere I need to be. I'll talk to the two of you later. Tell her about your nice prefect display of earlier, Harry."
Harry and Hermione exchanged puzzled looks as their friend retreated from the Great Hall, his hands shoved into his pockets. He'd had an almost goofy grin on his face upon declaring that he needed to leave.
"Do you have any idea where he's going?" asked Harry after several moments' pause.
"No idea," said Hermione. Her gaze shifted from the massive doors that led into the Great Hall to him. "Your prefect display of earlier? What, you're still one? Have you attended a single meeting all year, Harry?"
"One or two," said Harry defensively, but he blushed nonetheless. Hermione giggled. "Okay... one."
"All well," she said. "Do tell."
"Ron and I ran into a couple of first years that were fighting. Two Slytherins had ganged up on a Gryffindor and were practically attacking him. The two of us broke it up," said Harry. He was careful to exclude the fact that he'd practically attacked the Slytherin himself with the way he'd broken them apart.
"Ah, does McGonagall know?" questioned Hermione. "She'd be proud of you."
"She knows," said Harry, and he hesitated. "It was Marks."
"It was who? What does he have to do with this?"
"He has a younger brother," said Harry grimly. "I don't think I was too high on his list of favorite people in the first place. I'd hate to see how far I've dropped now."
"You just broke up a fight, did you not?" said Hermione primly. "There's nothing wrong with that, unless..."
"Unless I used magic," said Harry guiltily, and he shifted in his seat, averting his eyes. "I kind of had to."
"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione. "You're lucky that you didn't get in trouble with McGonagall! Do you have any idea what kind of consequences that could have?"
"I had to," said Harry desperately, wishing she would stop looking at him like that.
"Maybe so," said Hermione. She was quiet for a second. "I saw a little boy come in today, and I remember wondering what ever could have happened to him. Maybe you're right. Maybe it was the only way."
"It was," assured Harry, feeling thankful that she was smiling at him again.
* * *
"Merlin," panted Ron. He'd dropped his hands to his bent knees, trying to catch his breath. "This is bloody unfair! You're a teacher! You've had years more experience than us! Of course we aren't going to be able to beat you in a duel!"
"Precisely, Ron," said Lupin dryly, placing a hand on the boy's back as he handed him his wand back. The professor gave Ron a gentle push in the direction of his classmates. "That's exactly the point I was trying to convey to every one of you. If you are ever in the position in which you must duel, it is most unlikely that it will ever be fair. No two wizards have the exact same skill level; no two wizards know the exact same curses and hexes; no two wizards have the exact same dueling experiences. Which wizard is always going to come out on top? Parvati?"
Harry turned his head to look at Parvati, who was standing on his right, just past Hermione. The spring sun was shining down brightly on him, and he squinted as he waited for her to answer. It was Friday afternoon, just over a week later, and Lupin had taken advantage of the pleasant May weather, deciding to hold class outside. He had been challenging students to duel him, and none yet had been successful.
"The wizard with the most knowledge and experience," said Parvati hesitantly. It sounded logical enough, but Harry knew at once that it was incorrect. Lupin always had a reason for asking such "easy" questions, and it seemed to be something Parvati had actually comprehended in class that year.
"It would seem so," said Lupin with a chuckle, "would it not? I'm afraid you're incorrect, though, Miss Patil. Can anyone tell me why this is so? Anyone? No? Well, I'll give you a hint, then. What is the most important aspect of protection in a duel? Any volunteers now? Ah, yes... Harry?"
"Observation," said Harry slowly, and he took a deep breath. Much to his relief, Lupin was nodding encouragingly. "Observation and anticipation. If you're observant, you're more likely to realize you're in a dueling situation in the first place, and you're more able to anticipate your opponent's next moves. You can tailor whatever knowledge you have into the best possible counterattack."
Lupin's face, always a little more weary than the other professors, broke into a rather large grin. He chuckled.
"I think Harry has it figured out," said Lupin, still smiling. "The person who cares enough to pay attention to the details will nearly always come out on top in a duel. It all comes down to using your resources-you can make anything work if you can come up with a way to apply it. To do that, you need time, and there's only one way to gain that time. Anyone have an idea? I'll give you another couple of hints. Two words, and you're rather familiar with both."
"Constant vigilance!" barked Ron, doing a dead on impression of Mad-Eye Moody (or his imposter). Lupin chuckled again.
"Five points to Gryffindor for your keen memory, Ron," said Lupin. His eyes fell on Harry again. "Ten to you, Harry. I couldn't have explained it better myself. Now, had I told you this at the beginning of the class, do you think that a conscientious effort of observation would have helped you duel against me?"
It was slow in coming at first, but Lupin had soon received nods from each of the fifth year Gryffindors. "I think you're getting the idea, but I also think you should test it yourself. Is there anyone that would be willing to duel me, now? It is more equal, is it not? We are both aware of the most important element of dueling now."
His eyes danced from one person to another in the small crowd of students. They lingered on Ron for a moment but moved just as quickly past Hermione. Ron had already dueling Lupin once. So had Dean, Seamus, Neville, Sally-Ann, and Lavender. Neither Harry nor Hermione had, and Harry felt himself stepping forward under his professor's gaze.
"I'll do it, Professor," said Harry respectively but uncertainly. Lupin's eyes just continued to twinkle.
"I knew I could count on you," whispered Lupin in Harry's ear as he guided him several paces away from his classmates. He stepped backwards until an almost equal amount of distance was between him and Harry. "As this duel be right and proper-we bow, and we duel."
Harry did not take his eyes off Lupin as he tipped his head forwards slightly, and he was oddly reminded of his duel with Malfoy years before. With a curt nod of the professor's head, it began.
"VISORNI!" bellowed Harry, and he knew almost instantly he had made his first mistake. Lupin muttered something under his breath and fixed his eyes, his vision impeccable once more, on Harry. He whispered his spell of retaliation so quietly that Harry did not know what was coming until a flash on pain in his stomach sent him stumbling backwards.
Of course. Lupin had always been able to shield himself from his students' various curses and hexes because he could hear them coming. Harry racked his brain, trying to remember any once instance when the professor had made any one of his spells audible.
"Confundo," muttered Harry, and he hoped that his soft words were strong enough to perform the difficult spell. Much to his surprise, Lupin held very still, blinking several times.
He said something else, a similar version of his first spell, but the confusion Harry had inflicted had affected his aim. It was easier to bear the pain that hit Harry's hand than it had been to bear the pain in his stomach.
"Impedimenta," commanded Harry after a second's pause. He knew his first spell was not strong enough to keep Lupin occupied for more than a few moments. Lupin's wand arm froze in place, and Harry strained to hear whatever he would send in his direction.
"Locomotor Mortis," said Lupin, and he wasn't quiet enough this time. Harry was not fast enough to dodge the spell completely, but it hit just one of his legs. Instead of binding both legs together, it bound one firmly to the ground. Harry shifted his weight to the more capable of his limbs, and a few well-chosen words had his teacher dancing around to avoid the flames licking at his feet.
Lupin extinguished the fire quickly, and he sent three well-aimed spells at Harry. His wand hand swelling uncontrollably, Harry nearly dropped his wand trying to get it into his left hand. He sent Lupin stumbling backwards, and the exchange continued for several minutes. Finally, Harry's retaliation to the Jelly-Legs jinx threw Lupin backwards into the grass. Harry knew he had him.
"Expelliarmus!" he called, almost cheerfully. The professor's wand, battered as the majority of his belongings, flew into Harry's hand.
For a second, the class didn't seem to know how to react. Then, they began applauding. Harry's legs stopped quivering and his hand stopped swelling as Hermione called, "Finite Incantatem!"
Harry walked quickly toward Lupin, now on steady legs. An apology was already on his tongue as he offered the professor a hand up, so it surprised him very much when Lupin started clapping after brushing his robes clean of dust.
"Bravo, Harry!" exclaimed Lupin, and he clapped Harry on the back in a very fatherly gesture. He was beaming, both as a teacher and as a friend. "I think one of us has figured it out. Does anyone feel up to challenging Harry? I do think we have enough time for one more duel before I send you all in for lunch."
Again, his eyes skimmed over each of his students. Not surprisingly, they settled on Ron and Hermione. "How about you, Mis..." Lupin stopped short, his eyes moving decidedly from Ron to Hermione. "Hermione? Care for a go?"
She took a hesitant step forward, and Harry smiled reassuringly at her. It seemed to calm her, and she took Lupin's place confidently. Their professor stepped backwards into the gathering of students, folding his arms across his chest. Harry smiled at Hermione again. This would be a duel between friends; neither had any intention of hurting the other.
"Proper duel," reminded Lupin. "Bow, and begin."
The formality lasted no more than a second, and Harry watched Hermione's cool and calculated look as she began muttering under her breath. She had obviously realized the advantage one's opponent got when one chose to bellow out his or her method of attack. On the last word, she pushed her wand forward, but nothing happened.
"Rictusempra," said Harry quietly, jabbing his wand in her direction. The same thing-nothing-happened again. Hermione, looking stunned, made no other motion, so Harry decided to try again. "Tarantallegra!"
Nothing. Hermione's feet were not dancing around, and she was not caught in a fit of laughter. Both of them looked to Professor Lupin for explanation, and Harry remembered suddenly that their wands had not projected any spells the last time Lupin had had them duel. The class looked surprise, and Lupin made an odd, unintelligible sound. He cleared his throat loudly, and at that moment, the bell sounded from inside the castle's stonewalls.
Their classmates grabbed their bags and headed in the direction of the Great Hall, the lack of a duel already forgotten. Ron remained, and Harry and Hermione were still eyeing their wands questionably.
"Professor," said Harry quietly, "that's the second time our wands have not worked now."
In one deft motion, Lupin crossed the grass. He had paled considerably, and he grasped Harry's shoulder so tightly it was almost painful.
"You should be going to lunch," he said, and it almost sounded as if he were gasping.
"Our wands, Professor," protested Hermione.
"It's nothing to worry about, Hermione," said Lupin weakly, and he loosened his grip on Harry's shoulder. "Sometimes... sometimes wands don't function because they don't want to function. There's no cause for alarm. Excellent work in class today, Harry. Another ten points for the duel, if you'll have them."
"Professor," tried Harry again, but Lupin cut him off.
"It's time for lunch," said Lupin abruptly, and he left no room for argument. Harry and Hermione and Ron took off quickly in the direction of the castle, but not before sharing equally confused looks.
Professor Lupin watched them reenter the castle, back to the familiar safety it provided. Once, Harry turned back to him with a look of concern, and the Defense professor found himself taken back to his own schooldays again. It seemed to happen more and more these days.
* * *
Harry had never had much of a liking for Potions, and he'd never had much of a liking for Snape, but that dislike had intensified during the last few weeks. There was something about the class-be it the teacher or the subject or the location-that brought out the worst in Hermione. It wasn't that it brought her to a foul-temper or any such thing, but it did seem to make her retreat into her own head. Like the passing of time, Harry could always count on her silence and withdrawal in the hours following the class. Today was no exception.
"Your potion is much too runny, Potter," said Snape sourly as he breezed past his cauldron, "and yours is much too thick, Weasley. I would suggest taking a leaf out of Mr. Rawles's book. He does seem to have the proportions correct."
Shakespeare Rawles, one of the few Slytherins that wasn't twice the healthy size of a wizard, smirked at Harry and Ron. Ron scowled, but Harry just shook his head. He tipped some more Plumbeus into his cauldron. He looked to his left, where Hermione was working, expecting to sigh of disapproval at his inexact measurement, but she did not such thing. She had already finished the day's class work, which was practice in making a hair removal potion, and seemed rather fascinated with her textbook.
To anyone else, she was reading, but Harry knew Hermione better than that. She hadn't flipped the page once in ages, and she read faster than anyone he'd ever met. He cleared his throat loudly as he purposely stirred his potion incorrectly, but she still did not look up.
"Potter!"
Snape's voice was harsh, and he looked at Harry through annoyed eyes. "Did I not specifically state that quick, noncircular motions in stirring this potion could cause a rather unfortunate explosion? Was Longbottom's earlier demonstration not enough for you?"
"No sir," said Harry quickly. Ron glanced at his friend sympathetically, and many of the Slytherins sniggered. "I-"
"Wasn't thinking?" snapped Snape. "Tell me something I don't know already. I would advise you to be more careful in the future-another such incident and I will not hesitate the subtract house points."
"I will be, sir," said Harry quickly. He glanced at Hermione again, and he realized she wasn't even staring at the book. She seemed to be studying her feet more than anything else.
"Potter!" said Snape snidely. "Attention on your potion! Stop indulging in such obvious glimpses of Miss Granger! I'm sure your crush on her is most important in your own mind, but I find it rather sickening. Ten points from Gryffindor."
Snape had a very satisfied smirk on his face as he skulked back to the front of the dungeon. Harry turned back to his potion, his cheeks bright red. The Slytherins were laughing openly, but he recognized a few of the closemouthed guffaws as coming from his own housemates. Refusing to look up, he began stirring his potion again, in slow, forceful circles. He figured it was the best candidate for something to take his current anger toward Snape out on.
The Potions master was working his way back through the rows of students and cauldrons for a third time. This time, it was in front of Hermione that he paused.
"Miss Granger," said Snape, "I do hope that you have finished your potion already. If you have not, there will be consequences for ignoring it."
There was no reply, which made Harry look up again. He imagined that many of his classmates were looking at him with trademark Slytherin smirks, but he did his best to push the thought aside. Rolling his eyes, the Potions master stepped towards Hermione and placed a hand on her elbow.
"I know you tune things out when-"
Snape did not finish. Hermione had shrunk away from and was looking at him through frightened eyes. She was wringing her shaking hands together.
"Y-yes Pr-professor?" stammered Hermione. She looked like a caged animal, and Snape backed away from her quickly. Instead of responding, he glanced down at his watch.
"Start picking up your materials and cleaning up your area," barked Snape. "Class is nearly over. Be aware of the time."
Harry's body responded to the professor's directions on its own. His mind and his eyes were still on Hermione. Finally, he looked away from his trembling friend to Ron. He, too, was looking at her with concerned eyes. Harry had seen her have a fearful reaction to men before, but it had never been so intense. He swallowed hard, putting the last of his supplies away as the bell rang.
"Come on," said Harry to Hermione quietly. He touched her arm, just as Snape had. Her skin was like ice under his fingertips. "Let's get out of here."
* * *
"I'm going to kill him! I swear to Merlin that I'm going to kill him!" Ron's fingers had curled so tightly around his wand that they were starting to turn white. "I don't care if he gets a few good hexes in before I finish him off, and I don't care if I have to strangle the arse with my bare hands! I'm going to kill him!"
"Ron," said Harry, and he instinctively grabbed the back of Ron's robes. He knew that his friend was about to make a break for the door.
"Belt up, Harry, and don't even try to stop me," said Ron, his eyes flashing angrily. "The bloody bastard raped Hermione!"
There. What both of them had been thinking since returning from Potions had been spoken, and it brought a very odd silence to their dorm room.
"Do you really think it was him?" said Harry hoarsely.
"I've seen her shrink away from people in the past, but never like that," said Ron angrily. "He hurt her, and he's going to pay for it!"
"Don't you think that Hermione would have told us if it were Snape that..." Harry couldn't bring himself to say it.
"Not if he threatened her!" growled Ron. "Not as scared as she is! He's absolutely destroyed her, and I'm going to kill him!"
Harry's quick reflexes came into play in the next moment. He managed to grab Ron's arm to keep him from barging out of the room, but the redhead planted a pretty good one on Harry's left cheek. Harry could feel the bruise rising, but he continued to hold Ron back.
"We don't know, Ron," said Harry desperately. "We don't know if he did anything to her or not. Yeah, it sure does seem like he did, but it sure did seem that he was going to steal the Philosopher's Stone, too. We were wrong then, and we could be wrong now."
Ron stopped struggling, but the anger did not leave his face. He crossed his arms across his chest. "Fine," he spat. "If he didn't hurt her, who did? He knows what happened, Harry, and how could he know that if he wasn't there? She didn't tell him like she told you!"
"Ron," Harry tried again. He was the one crossing his arms now. "I don't trust Snape any more than you do. I don't like him any more, either. It wouldn't surprise me if he was involved somehow or knew more than he's telling, but he's a Hogwarts professor. Dumbledore trusts him. I don't think he... I don't think he would hurt Hermione."
"Maybe not," said Ron, "but you have to admit he's acting strange."
"Snape always acts strange," replied Harry. He crossed the room and picked up his robes from where he'd discarded them on his bed ten minutes earlier. Slipping into them, he walked toward the door. "The man's not normal."
"Stranger than usual," said Ron. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going to talk to Hermione," said Harry. He stopped, looking down to his hand, which was already on the door handle. "Are you coming?"
"Yeah, I'll come," said Ron, and he'd put one arm through the sleeve of his own robes when he stopped. "Actually, I won't."
Harry's brown furrowed. "Why not?"
"She doesn't need the both of us," said Ron, and he hesitated. "Tell me if she says anything about Snape, but I can't guarantee you I won't do anything if she does."
Harry nodded, and he shut the door softly behind him. Whatever Ron had planned on saying, it hadn't been what he actually said.
* * *
"Hey," said Harry softly, sitting down next to Hermione on one of the couches in the common room. She was curled up with her huge Arithmancy text. Across the room, a few seventh years were playing a very loud game of Exploding Snap. Other than that, there weren't too many people there. It was a nice afternoon, and Harry assumed that most of them had opted to go outside and enjoy it. "How's it going?"
"Fine," said Hermione.
"You scared me today in Potions."
There was a long moment of silence before she answered. "Oh. I did?"
Harry nodded. Unaware of doing so, he began folding and unfolding his hands in his lap. "Yeah, you did. You seemed frightened, and it worried me."
"Don't let me be a worry," commanded Hermione. Her focus returned to a miniscule line of print in her text. Harry reached out gently and placed a hand experimentally on her arm. Fortunately, she did not flinch, and it seemed as if he finally had her attention.
"I'm worried about you, I'll give you that," said Harry, and he draped his arm casually across her shoulders, "but you don't have to make it sound like you're a burden to me. I worry because I care so much."
Hermione's face flushed a bit, but he felt her relax against him. "That's very sweet of you," she said, and she glanced to the floor before looking up to meet his eye. "Do you have practice tonight?"
Harry had to hand it to her for her ease in changing the subject, and he decided to ignore it. "If I say yes, will you come and watch?"
"Have I missed one yet?" Twinkling brown eyes met twinkling green eyes, and Harry squeeze her shoulder gently before releasing her.
"A handful, maybe, but all because of circumstances beyond your control," confirmed Harry. He pressed his palm against the open book that was sitting in her lap. "What are you working on?"
"Common harticulate multiples," said Hermione, and she burst out laughing a second later.
"What?" demanded Harry.
"The look on your face!" exclaimed Hermione. He felt her touch his cheek. Even though he was probably the source of her laughter, he couldn't help but grin to see the genuine smile upon her face. "It's not nearly as hard as it sounds. I find it rather enjoyable, actually, to work each problem, and correct answers are most satisfying-"
This time, it was Harry that chuckled, and a blush rose to Hermione's cheeks once more. "Don't do that," said Harry. "It's just that you're so animated when you talk about schoolwork. I just wish I were half as smart as you-I'd love to be able to understand that stuff."
"You would understand it if you'd been in the class for three years," said Hermione affectionately. "You're very smart, Harry, and a very talented wizard."
"Stop it," said Harry. He had to think quickly to alter the subject a bit because he knew that any more praise from her would make him a rather unattractive shade of crimson. "Are you taking Advanced Arithmancy next year?"
On Sunday, the fifth year students would be attending a presentation of sorts to help them plan their final two years at Hogwarts. Providing that they received a sufficient number of O.W.L.s and teacher recommendations, they would be able to drop some classes and focus on those that would be essential to them. Harry and Ron and Hermione hadn't talked about it much, which was typical of most of their housemates. Harry had no clue what choices he would make, but he'd assumed that Hermione did.
"I'd like to, but I'm still trying to get clearance from McGonagall and Dumbledore to take more than three advanced courses," said Hermione, and she rushed on, ignoring the pained look on Harry's face. "I know it's rather early to be talking to teachers and asking for their opinion on the matter, but I'd very much like to take Advanced Transfigurations, and McGonagall said she wouldn't have it any other way. Madam Pomfrey expressed her interest in taking me under her wing, and I wouldn't dream of not taking Advanced Defense with Lupin. Professor Flitwick looked dangerously close to tears when I told him that I probably wouldn't be able to take the advanced section of his class and begged me to take it as an independent study."
"Hermione," said Harry weakly. He shook his head. "That was a little scary. At least you're keeping your options open. The only thing I'm good at is-"
"Quidditch," said Hermione, holding up a hand to silence him. "That's not true, Harry. I'd have to argue that you have an equally strong footing when it comes to Defense, and you've done so well in Transfigurations this year that there's no way I could not mention it."
"Sure," said Harry uncomfortable. "I've just been lucky when it comes to the Dark Arts, and I'm not going to be turning into a stag anytime soon."
"I would most certainly hope not!"
Harry and Hermione whirled around so quickly that their heads nearly collided. Nearly Headless Nick was hovering right about them, his ruff pulled a little higher than usual. He was looking very amused, and a small chuckled escaped the Gryffindor ghost.
"You don't think I would keep an eye on three unregistered Animagi that, in wizard form, caused more trouble than the whole house combined?" Nick almost looked offended. "I would most certainly think not!"
"You knew my father?" stammered Harry. "You knew he was an Animagus?"
"Why, certainly!" said Nick, and he lowered his voice. "Transfiguration is not a magic that you learn strictly from a book, Harry, though I am sure Miss Granger could have told you that. I myself used to transform into a rather magnificent eagle, if I do say so myself. I did owe the young boys a favor-Sir Patrick was just as insufferable then as he is now-so I fed young James the answers to all his questions, and he in turn informed his friends... However, I am most curious as to how you know in the first place."
"It's a long story," said Hermione quickly, and although he made a noise that implied he was slightly miffed, Nick did not press for details.
"McGonagall would have my head for saying this," said Nick in a cheerful whisper, "but I would not advise you to take too many advanced courses next year, Harry. If our guesses are correct, and they usually are, you'll be Gryffindor Quidditch Captain without a doubt. You can almost surely count on some kind of professional engagement straight out of Hogwarts, and whichever classes you do chose to take should be for the more removed future."
"Thanks for the advice, Nick," said Harry warmly. The ghost's words had made Harry smile, but he wasn't sure if he would follow them. Nick's direction had turned to Hermione.
"I do believe you have it all figured out, Miss Granger," said Nick kindly, "but I would strongly recommend that you take Madam Pomfrey up on her offer of apprenticeship-it is rare that she takes such a liking to any one student, and she prefers to work alone. In fact, I believe that the last such person to go under her wing was-PEEVES!"
Nick had turned around, startled, when something had streaked through his body. Harry couldn't help but shiver as an invisible cold sensation passed through him. With a loud pop, Peeves had floated before them, his horrible laughter increasing in volume. The only ghosts allowed in the dormitories were the house ghosts; wards were set up to keep the others out.
"That Dumbledore! Can't even keep out a poltergeist!" cackled Peeves. "I'd hate to see what action he would take if the school ever came under SIEGE!"
He took off, tearing around the common room like one of the fire rockets the Weasley twins were so fond of shooting off. Nick was right behind him, and he called out an apology as he sped through the wall of the portrait hole in hot pursuit of Peeves.
"Oh dear," said Hermione, shaking her head. Harry had to pull away from her to keep from getting attacked by her bushy mane of hair. "I do wish Peeves would realize that his disturbances are neither amusing nor appreciated."
"I don't think he's going for the latter," said Harry, still turning over what Nick had said to him. He couldn't help but smile; little bits and pieces of information like the one Nick had supplied were the only glimpses Harry had really ever had of his parents, and each was appreciated. "What do you think of him helping my dad?"
"He really shouldn't have," said Hermione with a frown. "I guess there's no reason to criticize now, and it did answer one of my questions. I always wondered how a few fifteen-year-old wizards were able to master one of the most complex magical transfigurations relying only on old texts."
"What do you think of Nick being an Animagus?" said Harry.
"It was more common then than it is now," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "In its early years, Hogwarts offered Animagi training to anyone with a bit of potential. It's almost as if that potential has died out. They haven't had anyone pass through for ages."
"Mmm-hmm," said Harry, nodding. His fingers absently traced over the cloth on the sofa. "So, what do you think?"
"What do I think about what?" asked Hermione, and Harry smiled a little more when she shut her Arithmancy book to give him her full, undivided attention.
"Me," said Harry, "and Quidditch."
"Don't tell me you didn't expect to be made captain, Harry," said Hermione, and she smiled upon seeing his confusion. "You're Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, youngest player for a house team in a century, talented Seeker, and a nice guy. Really, who else would make a better captain?"
"I don't know," said Harry, his face flooding with a brilliant crimson color. "What-"
"What about playing professional Quidditch?" said Hermione, her eyes bright. "I think you're more than capable, Harry, but it's really you that should be deciding that."
"Right," Harry scoffed. "It's not like I'm a good at anything else."
"You'll be good at whatever you set your mind to," said Hermione. "I think that you would make a-"
"An excellent Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Practice starts in ten minutes, after all."
Again, the two friends turned. Ron was standing behind them, his frayed Quidditch practice robes on and his broomstick in hand.
"Couldn't help but overhear the tail end of that conversation," he called over his shoulder. He was already halfway out of the portrait hole. "I'll see you on the field Harry. I wouldn't be late if I were you!"
Hermione smiled and stood up at the same time as Harry. "You'd better go," she teased. "He almost sounded threatening."
"Yes," said Harry, watching her closely and remembering what he'd come down to talk to her in the first place. He grabbed her hand. "So I'll see you in the stands?"
"You'll see me as soon as I get back from the library," said Hermione. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek lightly. "There's a book I'm thinking about checking out."
"A certain one?"
Hermione nodded. "I'm more than a little curious about what our wands did today during Defense; aren't you?"
"Sure," said Harry, shrugging. He hadn't really given it much though. He'd been more worried about the brief incident in Potions. "Good luck on finding it-I really have to go, though."
Harry hugged her tightly before scampering toward the portrait hole. Her words stopped him midway.
"Harry?"
"Yes?" He turned.
"I really am fine," said Hermione. "Thank you for not asking."
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