Chapter Twenty-Five
THE AFFINITY OF RELATIONS
Hermione hugged him tightly, with every occupant of the Great Hall playing witness, before Harry went down to the dungeons that evening to serve his detention with Snape.
"I never meant to get you in trouble," said Hermione miserably. Her hands were in Harry's as if it were the most natural thing in the world. To them, it was.
"What did I tell you?" said Harry, fierce in his tone. "It's not your fault, `Mione. I'd do it all again even if I knew this was coming."
"Oh Harry," said Hermione softly. "Just don't let him get to you?"
"Come on," said Harry. They were walking out of the Great Hall now, Hogwarts students pouring out around them. He wanted to kiss her cheek or squeeze her hand or something, but he ended up hugging her again. "I promise that I'm immune to the slimy git by now."
"I'll be in the common room," Hermione promised. "I'm not going to sleep until you get back. It's my fault, after all."
"Get some rest," ordered Harry.
"It's Friday night," Ron cut in, giving them a critical look. "Do let the girl do what she wants, Potter."
"Never asked for your input, Weasley," Harry shot back, but he smiled. With the rest of the students seemingly cleared out, he bent down and kissed Hermione's forehead. Ron cleared his throat loudly, taking Hermione's other hand and pulling her away from Harry.
"Humph," murmured Ron. "I'd tell the two of you to get a room, but that's what got you into this in the first place. Now get down there before he kills you, Harry. I'll take care of her for you."
Harry glared at his friend before turning back to Hermione. "When's your detention?"
"McGonagall is having me help grade some of the first years' papers tomorrow afternoon," said Hermione. She paused. "She's worried about me. I think she knows that we weren't doing anything."
"No," said Harry. His hand reached out, touching her chin lightly. There was a faint line of bruising along her jaw still. Her hand reached up and covered his, which made Ron make another strangled noise. The redhead shoved his hands in his pockets and took off down the hall, muttering something about Anna.
"It doesn't hurt," promised Hermione. "Not like it did last night."
"I'm still worried about you," said Harry stubbornly. He took a reluctant step away from her. "I'll see you later."
"'Bye, Harry," said Hermione, squeezing his hand one last time. They stood like that for a second before taking off in opposite directions, Harry moving towards the dungeons and Hermione towards the Gryffindor tower.
"Potter."
Harry turned around at the sound of his name. It was Snape of course, standing just inches away from him, his arms crossed, smirking.
"Hello Professor." Harry had to say this through gritted teeth.
"I just saw your second and third in command heading off in opposite direction," said Snape, still standing in the middle of the hallway. "It is such a rare opportunity to see any one of you without the company of the other two. Come along now-what are you just standing there for?"
Harry rolled his eyes as he fell into step behind Snape. If looks could kill, Harry would have been able to trod over Snape's body in a matter of seconds. They descended into the dungeons, down the corridor, and into Snape's classroom. The professor ushered Harry through the door of his office, his wicked grin not leaving his face for even a second.
"So," said Snape, settling down behind a large, ornate wooden desk. It was a rich, dark wood, and the legs were most distinctly wooden serpents, carved ready to strike. Harry glanced around the room; he had been in trouble with Snape often but never paid attention to the Potion Master's office. A chair, gnarled and in direct contrast with the desk, stood before it, and Harry clutched its back tightly until the Potions master ordered him to sit.
This room absolutely screamed Slytherin. The stonewalls were lined with wooden bookcases, all of which were filled with volume after volume of Potions literature. One shelf, in the far corner of the room, seemed to have other books on it, and it was starting to sag beneath their tremendous weight. It didn't seem that a single one of the books was out of place, a single volume open on the desk.
Two wooden doors, each half the size of one normal, were directly behind Harry. They had carved wooden serpent handles, and Harry knew at once it opened into Snape's private store of ingredients. The wall to his left, the one with the sagging bookcase, rounded into a fireplace, and a cauldron was simmering in the opposite corner of the room. It hissed and bubbled something awful, and the steam being released from its top made Harry suspect it was Professor Lupin's Wolfsbane. His eyes stopped wondering around the room and locked with Snape's.
"So," repeated the Potions master. "I will ask you to enlighten me, Potter, as to what you were doing in Miss Granger's room before I put you to work."
"So," said Harry, mocking Snape's threatening tone. He glared at the professor. "She was upset because she'd had a nightmare. I was trying to help her."
"Noble intentions, Potter," snapped Snape, and Harry could have sworn he heard some kind of admiration in the professor's voice. "However, you are not, under any circumstances allowed in the female dormitories at any time. It does not surprise me that this is too much for you to comprehend-it does seem that another Potter had trouble grasping the concept as well, but I do not remember his motivation being one so self-sacrificing, if you will."
Harry wanted to tell Snape to sod off, but he thought better of it. Instead, he balled his hands up into tight fists, doing his best to remain calm. "This is not about my father."
"No, it is not," said Snape, sounding satisfied. "It is about you. If my memory does serve me correct, you were quite the unexpected surprise. It is that kind of behavior from your father-from your parents-that got you here in the first place. It would so be my recommendation to keep yourself from allowing the same mistake-"
"Will you belt up and give me my bloody detention?" said Harry angrily, cutting him off. He glared at Snape, well aware of the consequences his statement might entail. "That's what I'm here for, isn't?"
"Rude," said Snape, "and insufferable. What does Miss Granger see in-"
"Professor Snape!"
The shrill voice that interrupted the Potions master belonged to what looked to be a first or second year Slytherin. The boy was panting.
"Marks and Agouti," he wheezed. "I think they'll actually do each other in this time!"
Snape was on his feet in seconds. He gave Harry a cold look. "Potter, do not stray from that chair. I will be back with a just punishment as soon as this problem has been taken care of."
The Potions master disappeared behind the boy, and Harry sunk into the chair. Something settled at his feet, and he looked down to see a black cat looking scornfully at him. It wasn't greasy like its owner, but it looked to be smirking. Harry had half a mind to kick it, but he wasn't exactly eager to take on the repercussions of that action.
"Will you stop that?" said Harry to the cat. He swung his foot a little, which caused the animal to hiss loudly. It jumped up to the desk, raising a paw into the air and trying to claw at Harry. The cat's paw swung forward haphazardly, knocking the book on the desk to the floor.
Harry swore rather loudly, and Hermione's sweet voice began chiding him in his head, which caused Harry to make a mental note to spend a few days avoiding Ron. They'd spent a lot of time together that week, working on their essays, and he had a feeling his new liking for curse words had come from his redheaded friend. Harry reached down for the book, hoping it wasn't damaged or anything. He threw it back onto the desk, and Snape's demonic cat, obviously scared, dived for safety.
Harry could read the title now, which was expressed in tall, skinny letters. Heinous Happenings, Heinous Harvests, by Halae Sueuorum. It was the book that Snape had snatched from Hermione that day in the library, the one that he had taken without bothering to check it out. Harry flipped it open.
The first page was a title page and looked normal enough. The second, however, was a bit more interesting. Three words-Affinity of Relations-caught his eye. He flipped forward through the table of contents, to the introduction, and began to read.
Perhaps the best-kept secret of the wizarding world is the Affinity of Relations.
Should you ever find yourself in study of it, do not bother with the youth of our day, and pass over those in their middle age. In fact, I would not advise that you go to anyone alive less than a century. Go to someone of a seasoned age, and ask him or her what he or she knows about the occurrence of an Association of Situations.
I don't know whom you'll ask, but I know the response. He or she will look at you suspiciously. He or she will ask what you're on about. And he or she will cringe before telling you that it doesn't happen anymore.
"Dark magic," my great grandmother said. "Dark Magic that is. What are you on about, Halae? Why would you want to know about that? It's terrible, that Affinity of Relations. It's a good thing they've whipped that one, eh?"
She waved off my request for information and went back to transfiguring her dead houseplants into beautiful rosebushes. It was then that I began my quest, and it is what I learned that I will share with you.
It has not been whipped.
It is still out there.
It is a threat to your sister and your daughter and maybe even you.
I ask you to enter this complexly researched theory with an open mind and a common knowledge of an Affinity of Relations. Such an "Affinity" is the linking of one wizard's mind to another, and it is not usually to pleasant results. It does not seem fair, this Affinity of Relations. When one decides to hurt another, it has a violent repercussion of which many are ill aware of. Besides that initial harm done, a nearly unbreakable link is established between malefactor and victim.
It does not seem right, that one who commits an inequity would be given full access to one's brain, and it is for that reason that shields and wards would be put up and protections taught against such an occurrence. What was once a gay amusement to those brutal criminals of our society is no longer a problem.
Or is it?
There is not a lot known about the Affinity of Relations. The most recent research before mine was conducted nearly one century and a half ago. Wizards and witches alike sought not to understand but eliminate. I cannot blame them, but I cannot help but fault them. It is that faulty research that has instilled the people of today's society with a false sense of peace. They do not know what an Affinity of Relations is, much less do they understand what might it be.
I began my painstaking research in a local library and ended it in the Safe Witches' Institute. You are all familiar with the large, stone building in wizarding London that serves as a safe house for the abused and ashamed and aggrieved of our world. It is there that I learned why a rape victim's suffering is constant.
It is there that I learned of a terror that never ends.
It is there that I learned why a memory charm would not heal so many of them.
It is there that I learned of today's Affinity of Relations.
We are not as safe as we thought we were. All it takes is a powerful enough wizard to push a powerful enough witch in a direction she does not wish to be pushed. As if suffering through the act itself is not enough, many a witch will find herself living in a constant fear. She will not be able to near her assailant without a literal shiver of fear and pained head. He will be able to think her thoughts and manipulate her worst fears. If his power is stronger than hers, it will not be long before he is able to break her spirit.
It never ends.
This book does, and it is my hope that it can lead to an end for today's Affinity of Relations. There must be a way to stop this, and awareness is the only way I know of to find it.
Harry did not read farther. His hands were shaking so badly that he dropped the book twice before he managed to toss it back onto Snape's desk. Like it had been the night before, his mind was working in overdrive.
If this Halae Sueuorum was correct about the Affinity of Relations, her study of its connection with rape was the only one of its kind. It was the only source of information on the topic written since the nineteenth century.
Hermione had never had access to this book. She wouldn't have the slightest idea about what else the Affinity of Relations was. Snape had been insistent about needing the book. Snape had been insistent about her not being able to read the book.
The thought made Harry feel sick at once. Now he was not only angry but also disgusted.
It had to be, but it couldn't be. Hermione continually took ill while in Potions class. She would pale and shiver, and she'd had many violent reactions while in the dungeons, which were undeniably Snape's territory. According to that book, all were instances of a rape victim's Affinity of Relations. It seemed as if all had occurred around Snape, and it was impossible to deny that he'd kept the information from Hermione.
Everything pointed to the Potions master's involvement, but that couldn't be possible. Could it? Harry took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair, but neither action did a ting to calm the uneasy feeling that had settled in the pit of his stomach. It didn't seem possible, but it wasn't even the first time that the thought had occurred to Harry.
Another deep breath. Harry's fingers absently traced the edge of Snape's deep mahogany desk as he tried to sort out the many thoughts racing through his head. There was one that stood out: Snape had raped Hermione.
Needless to say, Harry's hands continued to shake long after he had replaced Halae Sueuorum's book to its earlier position on Snape's desk.
"Merlin," Harry swore. Ron had called it days before, and he'd been the one that had declared it impossible.
It made sense. All the evidence was there. But Snape was a Hogwarts professor, which meant that Dumbledore trusted him, and it seemed unlikely that any such teacher would do that to anyone, let alone to a student. Furthermore, Harry had doubted Snape's innocence before and been wrong. This time, however, the evidence was undeniable, in a published form, and Harry found his shock and disgust turning to anger.
Snape had hurt his best friend, and Harry wasn't about to stand for that. He was still overcome with rage when the office door reopened. The Potions master, wearing a surly expression Harry had thought was reserved Gryffindors, shoved two slightly bloodied Slytherin boys through the doors. One of them was Ben Agouti, a seventh year labeled by Fred and George as the only decent person in his house. The other was Marks, and he glared at Harry as he walked into the room. Snape, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten that Harry was there at all. He shut the door so quickly that he nearly shut his billowing robes in it.
"If I ever-and I mean ever-catch the two of you fighting again, I shall see to it that I am given the opportunity to expel both of you," hissed Snape. He glared at them, a cool and calculating stare that scared even Harry. Then, he roared, "AND I SHALL SEE TO IT THAT YOU ARE!"
Snape looked as if he were only moments away from exploding. A pale arm shot forward and seized the front of Marks's robes.
"This harassment will end now, Mr. Marks. I offer you this as a last warning," threatened Snape. "Get out of my sight, and don't you dare seek relief from Madam Pomfrey!"
Snape shoved him purposely in the direction of the door, and Marks disappeared. Marks's smile reminded Harry of a rabid animal. The Potions master turned to the second boy, who already had a black ring around his eye. He was using his arm to shield the blood trickling from his mouth and nose. Unlike Marks, his wide eyes were fearful, guilty.
Ben dropped his arm as if to speak, but Snape held up a hand to stop him.
"You-you may save your explanations for the nurse," said Snape. "Your sister-a Ravenclaw, isn't she?"
The boy held his hand over his lower face as he nodded. Snape waved him in the direction of the door.
"Very well. I will speak to Professor Flitwick and see to it that he keeps a close eye on her in the next few weeks," said Snape, holding the door open for his student.
"Eshly in Sharms," muttered Ben, his words thick and garbled. Snape nodded, and, whatever the exchange had been about, the Potions master's response seemed adequate to the boy. Ben left.
"Potter," said Snape, using his normal soft but harsh tone. "Not that I have taken care of that little situation, let us continue our discussion of yours. Where were we? Ah... yes. I do not believe that you told me why you were in Miss Granger's room."
"Yes, I did," said Harry coolly. He had looked down at Snape's desk and began tracing the edge again, but he looked up to punctuate his statement. "Hermione was-"
"Upset. Having a nightmare," Snape finished. He was now sitting at his desk. The cat-the infernal cat that had made this moment so difficult and Harry so worried-must have moved. "Which actually is a cause for me to ask the question again. How would you know of Miss Granger's discomfort if you were not there?"
"Ginny Weasley came down to the common room to tell me and Ron," said Harry. He clenched one of his fists and buried the other in his pocket. His grip tightened around his wand, and he had to exercise a lot of self-control to keep himself from blasting the Potions master. "We-Ron and I and actually all the fifth years but Hermione-were still trying to finish our Defense essays. She screamed, and Ginny couldn't get her to wake up, so she came down to get the two of us."
"So Weasley is also involved in this?" said Snape. He rubbed his hands together, leaning back in his chair. "It would seem that he should be occupying a chair next to you."
With a wave of the Potion master's wand, a second gnarled chair appeared beside the one Harry was occupying. His heart racing, he managed to meet Snape's level glare. "Ron knew a spell to wake Hermione up. He and Ginny left me with her to try and calm her down."
Snape made a tittering noise in his throat that sounded rather disapproving. "Yes, and-"
"Professor Snape!"
A shriek broke the tension in the room. Snape glanced sideways at the door and stood, crossing the room briskly. The sounds of shouts in the corridor echoed off the dungeon walls, and Snape left his office without a backward glance at Harry. Seeing it as his opportunity to get away from the Potions master, Harry clambered out of the door no more than a handful of paces behind him.
Marks was nowhere in sight, but his cronies had obviously cornered Ben on his way up to the hospital wing. Moon was holding the older boy in place while Flint directed a series of punches that ended with Ben's head hitting the wall with a sick crunch. Several younger Slytherins and a few older ones fled quickly in what Harry knew to be the way to their common room.
"Ostendus!" bellowed Snape. The silver light that exploded from the tip of his wand hit Flint and Moon with force enough to throw them to the floor. They looked as bloody and pained as Ben had. "Capitus vulnus! Preoccupo crudus!"
Ben's head snapped up from its lolling position on his shoulder. The blood flew from his face and disappeared into Snape's wand. He still looked injured, but the absence of the crimson fluid improved his appearance drastically.
"Oh," groaned Ben, clutching the back of his head with his hand. He took a step forward, limping heavily on his left leg.
"Did they corner you, Agouti?" asked Snape, crossing the width of the corridor. Harry stopped in the doorway of Snape's classroom, unable to move. Ben nodded, his hand moving to cover his mouth again. "And was that on Marks's instruction?"
"I'm not sure, sir," mumbled Ben, his palm pressed against the cold stonewall behind him for support.
"Very well," said Snape. He turned quickly, his wand still trained on the two students lying on the damp floor. "Potter! See Mr. Agouti to the hospital wing. Tell Madam Pomfrey what happened, and return straightaway. No one regrets more than I that your punishment has yet been delivered. Think not that you have escaped it. Go now, and hurry back."
Seeing no way out of it, Harry crossed to the older boy, who seemed as reluctant to accept Harry's help as he was to give it. However, Snape cleared his throat loudly, and both boys hurried along. Behind them, the Potions master used his wand to lift Flint and Moon as if they were puppets, directing their limp forms toward his office without really taking much care to keep them from thudding violently against the walls.
"Come on," said Harry, clutching a handful of Ben's robes. He didn't really mean to take his anger out on the other boy because it seemed as if he were an equal recipient of Marks's hatred. "Do you think you can make it up the stairs on that leg?"
"I can try," said Ben with a grimace. He limped away from Harry, slumping against the wall at the bottom of the stairs for a moment to loosen his necktie. Harry shook his head and walked toward the older boy. He forced Ben to allow his help.
"Thanks," croaked Ben at the top of the stairs, slouching against the wall again. "You're... Ron, isn't it?"
Harry grinned. That was a first; he could honestly say that was the first time someone had mistook him for his redheaded best friend. "You've got the right house," he said with a chuckle, "and even the right year, but the wrong name. I'm Harry. Ron-Ron Weasley-that's my best friend."
Ben's looked at him sheepishly, sticking out his hand. "Ben Agouti. You'll have to forgive me-I'm always attaching the wrong faces to names, but I never thought I'd manage to mistake Harry Potter for a Weasley."
"I never thought I'd run into a Slytherin that didn't spit my name out like a curse word," said Harry, instantly hoping he hadn't offended the older boy. Much to his surprise, Ben laughed and limped heavily down the corridor rather next to him.
"Ashamed that my house includes such people," said Ben. "Never thought that ambition was a bad quality to have until I saw how some of them use it."
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Harry crooked his head up to look at Ben, who was a great deal taller than him and even skinnier. "So why does Marks hate you?"
"You're not asking why I hate him," said Ben, reaching down to touch his leg.
"No," said Harry, "I can't stand him either. Don't see how anyone could like him."
Ben let out a low whistle. "I've got a younger sister, a sixth-year Ravenclaw. He's been harassing her and threatening her, and he had the nerve to tell me what he'd like to do to her. What did Snape have you in for?"
"Er," said Harry hesitantly, debating whether or not to tell Ben the real reason. He seemed as if he were a decent enough guy, but Harry knew that appearances could be deceiving. He had thought Snape was just an ill-tempered professor when he was actually a rapist. "He kind of found out that I'd been up in one of my friend's room last night-not like that, though-she was really upset about something."
"Hermione?" asked Ben. They turned down the corridor leading to the hospital wing.
"Right in one," said Harry. He glanced up at Ben again.
"We're in Arithmancy together," said Ben, massaging his jaw, which looked a little offset. "I'm not stupid-I just dropped Divination for Arithmancy at the beginning of my fifth year. She talks about you a lot."
"Mm," said Harry, looking away because he knew he was probably blushing. They were at the door of the hospital wing. "Do you need me to explain to Madam Pomfrey what happened?"
"Nah," said Ben, holding up a hand as he gripped the doorknob. He did not turn it. "Thanks for your help, mate. I hope Snape's not too hard on you. Snape's pretty rough on Gryffindors, but there's really a good person hidden somewhere within."
Harry had to hold his tongue. He couldn't very well question Ben's last statement, so he questioned one of his first. "Did you really not know that I was Harry Potter?"
"I honestly didn't recognize you," said Ben. He extended his hand, and Harry shook it. "I know a lot of people are all on about you and all, but I never thought you much different than the rest of us. Last year-well, I couldn't care less about the Triwizard Tournament."
"Appreciate it," said Harry. He gave Ben a long look; the Slytherin looked trustworthy. "I hope Marks leaves you and your sister alone."
Ben grinned sheepishly. "I know I'm a little too protective of her, but she's the only family that I've got. You'll understand-we lost our parents to You-Know-Who as well."
"Oh," said Harry. He said nothing else, but nothing else needed to be said. "Well, I'm back to the dungeons... Snape'll be ready to let me have it, I expect."
Another low whistle issued from Ben's mouth. "I hope I didn't put him into too foul of a mood. Marks is a bad sort, the sort that you wouldn't want near your sister or female friends. Snape won't tolerate that kind of harassment. Says it makes him sick. Puts him mad for the day."
Harry's stomach turned as he croaked out a farewell to Ben, who disappeared into Madam Pomfrey's domain. He understood what Marks had meant, and he couldn't help but think of how wrong the older boy was. Protecting Ben's sister from Marks? Snape was probably thinking along the same lines.
Harry walked back toward the dungeons halfheartedly. He really didn't want to be anywhere near the man that had attacked Hermione, let alone the same room. Flint and Moon were exiting the Potions classroom just as Harry turned into the connecting corridor. They looked bemused, clambering off in the opposite direction on unsteady feet. Snape was standing in the doorway and looked ready to usher Harry back in. He stalked back toward his office the second he saw Harry approaching. Shoulders hunched, Harry followed him. The door shut behind them for the umpteenth time that night.
"I will get to the point, Potter," said Snape, not bothering to sit at his desk. He leaned against the closed door instead, but Harry fell back into the second gnarled chair. "It is, of course, of my understanding as to what is keeping Granger so troubled in the night, but that does-"
Harry jumped to his feet. "Of course it would be of your understanding," he hissed. The Potions master looked taken back at his outburst.
"Sit down, Potter," said Snape. "You are not to enter the female dormitories again. It may trouble you so to see Granger in such condition; it is also upsetting for me-"
"How can you say that?" snapped Harry, surprised at his own nerve. "You wouldn't be upset! You don't care about her! You hurt her!"
Harry expected to see a second surprised look on the Potions master's face, but it did not come. Instead, Snape thrust his hand forward, and seized the front of Harry's sweater.
"What," said Snape, "did you just accuse me of?"
"I didn't accuse you of anything," said Harry coolly. "I stated a fact. It took me long enough, but I figured it out. You raped her!"
Snape flinched.
But he didn't look guilty. Much to Harry's surprise, he looked upset.
"Potter," said Snape softly, releasing his grip on Harry's clothing. "If you are of the opinion that I would do that to anyone... if you are of the opinion that I would do that to one of my students..."
Snape did not finish his statement, and Harry narrowed his eyes.
"That book," said Harry angrily, jabbing a finger in the direction of his desk, "is the one that you kept Hermione from checking out in the library. The Affinity of Relations' effect on rape victims-shivers and headaches and fear! Hermione gets all of it every time she's near you! Was nearly killing her not enough for you? Trying to destroy her by taking away the only resource that could help save her?"
"Every time?" questioned Snape softly. "Sit down, Potter, and let me make this very, very clear. I do not engage in sexual behaviors with any of my students, and I engage in nonconsensual behaviors with no one. Am I making myself clear?"
He was. There was something about the earnest look on the Potions master's face that made Harry realize the validity of his statement, and he didn't know what to say. It was then that he realized that Snape's wand was pointed very much in his direction. Harry took a step backward and nearly tripped over the second gnarled chair. He caught himself just in time to sit down on it. The Potions master, his wand never wavering, crossed to sit down at his desk. This time, the cat jumped up, purring discontentedly.
"Mikasa, to my quarters," ordered Snape, pointing in the direction of the door. The cat seemed to understand, and the door opened for it when she approached. The Potion master's level stare was once again on Harry, who felt both hot and sick under it. "Now... do you have any more accusations to make, Potter?"
"No sir," said Harry. Surprisingly, his voice did not waver. "My apologies, Professor I was only-" He paused, his tongue getting knotted around his words. "If it's not you, why were you so bloody insistent on keeping that book from her in the library? And how did you know what happened to her in the first place?"
Harry's eyes narrowed, and the expression on Snape's face also changed. He stopped his glaring, and he looked nearly human. Snape's eyes flickered with emotions Harry wasn't used to them expressing.
"It would look incriminating, wouldn't it?" It was a rhetorical question; Harry kept his mouth shut. Snape set his wand down, clasping his hands together and learning forward at his desk on his elbows. "Tell me, Harry, what good would it have done to allow Miss Granger to read it? To know she was being dispirited by an unknown assailant? What would there have been for her to do about it?"
"Nothing, sir," said Harry quietly. He leaned forward, his elbows dropping to his knees. He rested his chin on his open palms. "You knew about the book before hand?"
One of the sleeves of Snape's robes went back. The dark mark, visible on his left forearm, was not burning, but it was obvious that it had been not more than a few hours before. "The reading list is as long as this arm, Mr. Potter."
Harry gulped. Leave it to Snape to choose this moment to crack some kind of joke. He took a deep breath. "But how could you know?"
"It is my hope," said Snape. The sleeve went back down. "It is my hope, Potter, that I need not explain to you the possible repercussions of unprotected sexual behaviors, be they consensual or not, for females. Your awareness is equal, I am sure, of the injuries Miss Granger sustained in the Forbidden Forest. Poppy's full attention and skills were required to set them right, and I was asked to brew a contraceptive. It did not take too many days of observing Miss Granger's behavior to realize her misfortune."
"Oh," said Harry. He had taken quite a sudden interest in his hands, but he forced himself to meet the Potions master's eye. He did not like the look Snape was giving him, yet he held it anyway. "I'm sorry, sir. I never meant to-"
Snape held up a hand, and he smirked. "It is funny, is it not," he said softly, "how suddenly one can jump to an incorrect conclusion when it comes to those he cares about?"
"I care about Hermione very much, sir," said Harry honestly. He hadn't the faintest idea why he felt the sudden urge to tell Snape such, but it felt like the right thing to say. "Everything just seemed to point to your involvement."
"It is most unfortunate that it did," said Snape, rather sincerely, "because I care about my students very-do not smirk at me like that, Potter, for I am so capable-I care very much about them, and, with the exception of you, perhaps, and Weasley, no one hopes more than I for an end to her suffering."
Harry blinked. "It can't harm her that much, can it? She'll be okay, right?"
"It is not as easy as you do make it sound, Potter," said Snape gravely, "and this will complicate things most explicitly."
"Well," said Harry. He dropped his hands, gesturing vaguely. Finally, he shot Snape a desperate glance. He blurted, "It's not like it can kill her or anything right? That book-"
"-States that it can be so near the end of the sixteenth chapter," said Snape. He cleared his throat rather loudly, and extended a hand forward. His longer fingers closed around the object in question, and he learned forward to deposit it into Harry's hands. "It is yours to read, if you would like."
"This-this thing could kill Hermione?" stammered Harry.
Snape bowed his head. "Miss Granger is much stronger than you may realize, and there would be little you could do even if that was not so. Do not dwell on the past, for it will get you nowhere."
Harry bit his lip, swallowed hard, and finally nodded. "Yes, Professor. Is there nothing else I can do?"
Snape stood, and Harry knew at once that he was to follow. He reached the office door first and was most surprised when the Potions master laid a hand on his shoulder.
"It is being done, all that can be done," said Snape. "I can assure you of that much."
"By the Headmaster?"
Snape let loose a noise that was somewhere between a chuckle and a grunt. "Let me say, Potter, that my past is not one so pleasant. It is my regret to have witnessed such atrocities in the past. It would-"
He did not finish his statement, but it was understood to Harry anyway. He nodded, turning the doorknob.
"Shouldn't... you have assigned me a detention?" said Harry.
"A punishment for an action not really to be punished?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "Punishment of the mind-were those moments not enough?"
He pushed Harry lightly through the door, and it creaked shut immediately after. Harry turned around to look at it, taking in the silver serpent doorknocker and warping along the edges. He stepped backwards and took a deep breath.
Harry knew he had seen a side of the Potions master that he had probably never been meant to explore. It actually gave him some comfort to know that Hermione had at least one other person on her side, relieved him to know that Snape was of no harm to his best friend. Still, his hands trembled ever so slightly as he excited the Potions classroom.
It was so very chilly down there, for May.
* * *
Ben was making his way back down to the Slytherin common room just as Harry emerged from the dungeons. The older boy had two small bandages on his face, on his chin and just above his right eye, and was still limping ever so slightly, but he looked to be in good spirits as he grinned at Harry and shot him a thumbs up. All Harry could manage was a weak smile and an even weaker wave.
He was worried about Hermione, and it was hard for him to concentrate on anything else.
As horrible as it sounded, those moments during which he had suspected Snape had almost been relieving. Hermione's attacker had ceased to be an unknown evil; for the first time, he had had an identity. It was a lot easier for Harry to see punishment coming to a specific individual than to an unidentified assailant.
In other words, Harry was back at square one. It absolutely killed him to see what had been done to Hermione, and he wanted to see the one responsible pay. And it was awfully hard to punish someone with neither face nor name.
Harry looked down at his watch as he turned down the corridor where the portrait hole to Gryffindor Tower was located. It did not surprise him that it was only half past eight, but it did surprise him to see burnt orange lighting up the watch's faceplate. Harry frowned, tapping at it. It faded into deep scarlet. The sensory dial had stopped working around Easter, and Harry had look been saying that he would get it look at during the next Hogsmeade weekend, but he was yet to get around to it. Now, it looked like he wouldn't have a need to.
"Wood floor," said Harry to the Fat Lady, who was being visited by her friend Violet from downstairs. The visiting figure gave him the oddest of looks before the Fat Lady could swing her canvas open.
"Are you feeling all right, dear?" asked Violet. "The floor is most certainly-"
"Oh Violet," said the Fat Lady, "that's the password. How are you, Harry, love? Your young lady said you were serving a detention."
Harry knew she was talking about Hermione, who wasn't his "young lady," but he didn't bother to correct her.
"I'm doing well," said Harry, which seemed to be a sufficient response for the Fat Lady. She swung open as Violet giggled.
"Now don't you be doing anything else to get yourself in trouble, Mr. Potter!" the Fat Lady called after him as he clambered through the portrait hole. Her tone was only mildly disapproving, and, as he stepped into the common room, Harry could hear her telling Violet, "You really should take up a portrait hole if you're ever offered one. It's simply delightful knowing so many of the students!"
The common room was relatively quiet for a Friday night. Many of the older students were gathered at the tables or seated on the floor, their books open before them. A handful of first and second years were playing wizard's chess in front of the fire, and the group of third years playing Exploding Snap seemed to be contributing greatly to what little noise was in the room.
Fred and George, as usual, had a small group gathered around them, all of which was listening with rapt attention. He didn't see Ron or Hermione, and he was about to head up the staircase to the boys' dormitories when a loud eruption cut through the calm of the common room. Something small and green, bearing a fair resemblance to Neville's toad, shot up in the air and began to zoom around the room. Harry blinked several times before realizing that the hysterical laughter coming from the Weasley twins was a sure indicator of the latest successful prank. Judging by the tired looks on the faces of the more studious Gryffindors, it was not the first of the evening. Harry shook his head, grinning slightly, and headed up to his dormitory.
"Hullo, young Harry!"
Harry did a double take of sorts as he pushed open the door to his and Ron's room. There was someone sprawled out in Ron's desk chair, his feet up on the desk, and it wasn't Ron. It wasn't really even a person: it was Nearly Headless Nick. The Gryffindor ghost smiled cheerfully and tipped his head as Harry shut the door behind him.
"Hey, Sir Nicholas," said Harry. As an afterthought, he added, "You startled me."
Nick chuckled, a sound that seemed much too rich for such a wispy figure. He had been reading, and he set his book down on Ron's desk as he glided across the room to Harry's side.
"Yes, yes," said Nick, reaching a transparent hand up to an equally transparent chin, "That was my reservation about coming up here in the first place, but young Mr. Weasley was quite persistent. You see, those devilish brothers of his have been causing quite the ruckus in the common room for a time now, and it's been just impossible to continue with my reading. However, it was probably his assumption that you would not be back for some time. Detention with Snape, eh?"
"Always an interesting pursuit," said Harry, grinning in spite of himself. His nose wrinkled up a bit as he crossed to the foot of his four-poster. He and Ron had their own unique approach to housekeeping, and it was rather happy go lucky. They might have had easy access to a laundry basket with a direct channel to the house-elves, but that did not mean it wasn't easier just to let garments lay wherever they landed.
Harry tossed his robes-they were still pretty clean-onto his bed, and he began to rummage around in his open trunk. Nick seemed preoccupied with floating around his surroundings, as if it were okay to investigate them now that Harry was in the room, so Harry did not feel self conscious as he peeled off his school uniform and switched it for a slightly wrinkled pair of trousers and his current Weasley sweater.
"I do wonder if I'll ever get over these tower accommodations," Nick mused. "If you must know, I lived in the days of faulty heating charms, and much of the castle was not used during my living years here. It was simply easier to locate everything on the main floors."
"I didn't know that," said Harry, looking up at the pearly apparition that was now floating just above his head. "When did they move Gryffindor into the tower?"
Nick tapped his chin as he stared at the ceiling, searching it as if it contained the answer he was looking for. "Ah," he said at last. "I do believe it was 1797. Yes, that was the date-it was my one hundredth year at Hogwarts."
"But you'd have been dead more than a hundred years," said Harry. He was walking around, picking up various pieces of rumpled clothing. With some of them, it was no telling just how long they had been lying there. His nose turned up as he approached the side of the room generally thought of as Ron's. Something maroon was starting to smell.
"Well," said Nick, sounding slightly offended, "you do not think I have stayed here for a full five hundred and three years, surely! No, I spent several decades monitoring my wife and daughter, and I had jolly good time haunting the man that ordered my execution. I even took residence with a cheerful widow who had a liking for the company of spirits."
"I didn't know that ghosts could haunt different places," said Harry, picking up a shirt of his that smelled an awful lot like butterbeer, and he remembered a slight mishap in the Three Broomsticks during the last Hogsmeade weekend he had gone on. That had been ages ago, back in the days of Hermione distancing herself from him and Ron. "And I didn't know you were married."
Nick looked at Harry wistfully and let out a very forced sounding laugh. "I was once as alive as you are, Harry. Don't forget that. I had a lovely wife and an even lovelier daughter. That blunt axe was a real inconvenience, if you will."
The Gryffindor ghost had floated down to the floor now and was standing next to Harry, looking rather reminiscent. Nick clapped Harry's shoulder just as Ron often did, but his hand passed right through both the Weasley sweater and the body within it.
"You missed one," said Nick, pointing to the far side. Harry crossed the room quickly and picked up his third set of robes. He hadn't seen them for some time, and it looked as if they had been right in the shadows of the room all along.
"Thanks Nick," said Harry, tossing the robes into the basket. They disappeared a few seconds later, and the room looked much better than it had.
"Ah, but you've missed something else!" said Nick, sounding as cheerful as he had earlier. It probably did not help to dwell on the past when you were to be dead forever. Harry squinted, but this time he did not see where Nick was pointing. The Gryffindor ghost flew across the room, picked something up, and swooped back across the room. Something lightweight and silver fell into Harry's open palm.
It was the protecao he had given Hermione all those months ago, after Malfoy had intentionally splashed her with the Forveret Bursen. From what Harry could tell, it had been in the pocket of his robes since she had given it back to him before Christmas. Harry could hear what Lupin had said about it as he rolled the delicate chain over in his hand. He pocketed it.
"Thanks Nick," said Harry. The apparition had settled in at Ron's desk again and picked up a book. "Wait-how can you touch that book? Your hands go right through me!"
"Would it really be so awful," said Nick wistfully, "to be a ghost if you could still interact with your living loved ones?"
The Gryffindor ghost had put up a mask, and Harry was well aware of it. However, he didn't have the heart to question it, so he nodded.
"Do you know where Ron is?" asked Harry. He couldn't help but add, "And Hermione?"
"The prefect common room," said Nick. He glanced at the magically propelled clock on the opposite wall. "Ah, it does approach the hour of nine. That was my agreement with the young Mr. Weasley. If I were allowed the peace of your room, I would be sure and remind him of an obligation at that hour. Would you be so kind to do it for me?"
"Sure thing, Sir Nicholas," said Harry respectfully. He crossed the room to his bed one last time, hesitantly picking up the book that had previously been on Snape's desk. He had an empty slipcover on his own desk, and he quickly hid the true appearance of Heinous Happenings, Heinous Harvests. The ghost waved him cheerfully out of the room, and it was only when he stepped onto the staircase that he realized what Ron's obligation was. He sniggered; he was sure it had something to do with Anna.
Harry trudged slowly across the common room and up the staircase that led to the prefect common room. He could hear Ron's voice long before he even reached the portrait of Godric Gryffindor's daughter.
"Checkmate!" Ron was saying gleefully. Hermione let out a little laugh, and it was like music to Harry's ears. He was just as worried about her as ever, but there was just something about the sound of her laughter that made him feel like everything would be all right.
Harry hurried through giving the portrait the password, anxious to see Hermione. He knew that nothing was likely to have happened during the last hour or so, but, now that he had knowledge of her Affinity of Relations, he didn't like the idea of her being left alone. He wasn't about to let the slimy git that had hurt her get to her anymore than he already could.
"Oh Harry, you're here!" exclaimed Hermione when she caught sight of him. He was surprised when she took to her feet and moved toward him. Before he knew what was happening, she'd hugged him rather fiercely. "Ron and I were afraid that Snape would have you there for hours."
"I'm curious to know how you got out of there in just one, mate," said Ron. Hermione had already pulled herself from Harry and was nearing the center of the room again, this time with his hand lightly at her waist. "What did he have you doing?"
"Er," said Harry. He'd decided against telling Hermione about his newfound understanding of the Affinity of Relations, and he wasn't sure yet about telling Ron. He had to come up with something, and fast. "Some really nasty stuff got plastered all over dungeon eight, but Snape was preoccupied with some fighting in his house and forgot to take away my wand."
"Really," said Ron, grinning. He was shrugging back into his robes, and he stopped for a second to clap his friend's shoulder.
"Nearly Headless Nick wanted to remind you of a nine o'clock engagement," said Harry. He casually dropped his book onto the table in front of the sofa before crossing his arms across his chest. He raised a suggestive eyebrow at Ron. "Would such an engagement involve the ever charming Miss Anna Clemens?"
"Miss Anna Clemens, whose hair you love to run your hands through?" Hermione jested, throwing Ron the most innocent of looks. The redhead was looking rather red all over.
"Did I actually say that?" said Ron, his voice taking on an almost unnatural tone. He was at the portrait hole.
Hermione nodded, covering her mouth with her hand as she giggled. Harry resisted the urge to laugh; instead, he waved his friend on.
"And don't stay out too late!" Harry called as Ron scrambled through the portrait. It was a very accurate imitation of Mrs. Weasley. Hermione giggled, and Harry grinned.
For a few intense seconds, their eyes locked, and the sensation in Harry's stomach was very much like the one he had experienced just days before. It had been Monday afternoon, and he had ended up kissing Hermione in the middle of his and Ron's dorm room. Harry had to quickly shove the pleasant thought aside to keep himself from blushing. It was then that he noticed the dark circles under her eyes-again. They had gotten worse as the day progressed. Almost as if on cue, Hermione yawned.
"You're tired," said Harry, grabbing her hand and walking her around to the other side of the couch. She sat down, tilting her head up to him. "Why don't you get some rest?"
"Really, Harry," said Hermione with a bit of a laugh. This one wasn't as natural as her earlier fit of giggles. She leaned forward and picked her heavy History of Magic text from the table. A flick of her wand righted the pieces from her and Ron's game of wizard's chess, and she leaned back on the couch while opening the book to the right page. "O.W.L.s are just ten days away! Besides, I'm not at all tired."
Harry sat down on the very opposite end of the couch, leaning back against both cushion and arm. "Hermione," he said patiently, "you know every little thing that's on them already. You don't need to study."
It was the wrong answer. Harry received not only a glare from Hermione but also Crookshanks. The large ginger cat appeared out of nowhere, causing her to scoot a tad bit closer to Harry because he decided to rest along her other side. Harry threw his hands up in surrender.
"You study then," he said, crossing his arms against his chest. "I'll just sit here and watch. It'll make for a fascinating evening."
Hermione couldn't help but smile at that. "No you won't," she said. "Here, I'll quiz you, and then you can quiz me. Fair enough?"
Harry shrugged. He'd rather have just talked to her instead of reviewing for their examinations, but there really wasn't any point to arguing with her. For the next fifteen minutes, he fielded question after question about everything in the span of wizarding history from 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct to the Warlocks' Convention of 1709. He knew the answer to most of the questions Hermione asked, so he paid a good deal more attention to her sleepy mannerisms than to the History of Magic. She finally looked up to him, her eyes half closed.
"Your turn to-" Hermione did not finish because she yawned rather loudly at that moment. Before she knew what he was doing, Harry had quickly removed the book from her lap.
"You are tired," said Harry a little more triumphantly than he would have liked to. Was it just his imagination, or had her lower lip trembled ever so slightly. "Why don't you call it a night, Hermione?"
"No, I'm not," said Hermione stubbornly. This time, however, she bit her lip and looked up at Harry with fearful eyes. It hit him. She was afraid of having another nightmare. "I haven't been sleeping that well lately-at all."
Her full confession did not surprise Harry. "You still need your rest."
"I..." Hermione trailed off, and Harry felt himself reaching a hand out to her. She hesitated, but she took it, and he drew her closer to him. His arm went around her shoulders, and her head fell into the hollow between his neck and shoulders. Hermione drew her legs up underneath her. "Harry..."
"Shh," said Harry, and he kissed the top of her head. He was fairly sure that she didn't notice. "If you want to rest, I'm right here. I'll know if you're having a nightmare."
Her reply was reluctant, and the two talked for several minutes about nothing in particular. As the time slowly passed, Harry could feel her relaxing next to him. He could also hear her drowsiness affect her speech. Before long, she was slumbering peacefully against him, and Harry's arm dropped to the side of Hermione's waist. He leaned forward carefully, as to not disturb her, and picked up the book Snape had lent him.
Harry got so far as to open it to begin to read, but something made him stop. He gently replaced it on the table. His other hand reached up to brush her hair out of her face. For a few seconds, he stopped, pondering what probably would seem like an absurd situation to any other.
Many times in the last week, many more times than he would ever be willing to admit, he had been bombarded with thoughts and unanswered questions about his and Hermione's relationship. He had been stuck trying to find an accurate description for the two of them. Nothing seemed to fit, and that disturbed him. After that kiss-his first-he wasn't sure if he could say that they were just friends any longer.
But he came to a realization as he sat there with her that night. Harry would happily settle for whatever their relationship was at that very moment as long as they could continue to have such moments. It was comfortable for him and seemed safe for her, judging by the fact that she was not having any nightmares. And, as Hermione's head dropped a little lower on his chest, Harry felt himself begin to drift off. He dreamt not of the impending O.W.L.s or Voldemort's attacks or even of Hermione.
Well, at least not the Hermione that was sleeping so peacefully. Instead, he found himself recalling a short and skinny boy of eleven with messy black hair finally finding home in an equally skinny but not nearly as short redhead... and a slightly bossy little girl with bushy hair and oversized front teeth.
* * *
Ron ducked slightly to remove Harry's invisibility cloak after slipping into one of the unused classrooms on the fifth floor, and he pocketed the Marauder's Map. Anna was already there, sitting cross-legged on the slightly dusty floor. She looked to be very engrossed in the book she was reading, so Ron approached her quietly.
"Don't tell me," said Ron. He reached down, slid the book out of Anna's hands, and placed it on the desk behind him. Then, he gently slipped her reading glasses off her nose, setting them atop the novel. Ron grabbed her hands and pulled her up. "I'm late again."
"No," said Anna, giggling when Ron's hands moved to her waist and scooted her into a sitting position on the desk. She kissed him lightly. "You're right on time. I was actually quite early. John went up to his room at half past to get something or another, and I felt it was as good of a time as any to-"
Ron interrupted her with a more forceful kiss than earlier. "It's about time you told John to sod off."
Anna scowled, pushing Ron's hands off her hips. "It's not that easy," she said crossly. "John's my brother, Ron."
"And I'm your boyfriend," said Ron, a little more harshly than intended. Anna sighed, touching his cheek lightly. Ron grabbed her wrist gently and pulled her hand away. "I hate this."
"I don't like it either, Ron," said Anna, kicking her feet nervously when Ron crossed his arms against his chest and stepped back. "My father's opinions mirror John's, and even if they didn't, John's my brother. You have five of them, you ought to know what I'm talking about."
Ron snorted. "Anna," he said impatiently. "When I left the Gryffindor tower, my brothers were causing Trevor-that's Neville's toad-to zoom around at random. A sort of keep away, if you will."
"If you will," said Anna, "you'd have the same fit if Ginny was in love with someone you didn't approve of."
"Love you, too," said Ron absently, not of habit but of instinct. He grabbed her hands and kissed her again. "How was your day? And your yesterday?"
Anna's arms went around his neck, and his encircled her waist. "Dismal, of course. Two days passed and I didn't see you once!"
"How are you going to get along the week after next," said Ron jokingly, "when I'm consumed with O.W.L.s?"
"Lose my mind," said Anna grinning. "You should be proud of me-Snape is every so unhappy with me. His self-proclaimed most difficult quiz of the year, and I received full marks."
"That's my girl," said Ron affectionately.
"And your day?" Anna wanted to know.
"Oh, the usual," said Ron nonchalantly. "McGonagall picked her most important lecture for the day we were all very much asleep. Trelawny predicted Harry's death in Divination-again. Harry told me to keep an eye on Hermione while he served detention. She denied that there's something going on between them. When I left, Hogwarts's favorite non-couple seemed to be settling down for yet another evening of... non-ness."
"Ah," said Anna. It was rather hard for her to continue because he was kissing her again. "Down, boy."
Ron blushed deeply. "I can see that I'm on about the same level as Rover."
"My dog," said Anna, "is named Henry, and I can't believe you're under the impression that you've achieved his heightened status."
"I should've known I'd be outstripped by your dog," said Ron. His fingers were light at her sides. "Well... if that's going to be how it is..."
"No you don't, Ronald Weasley," said Anna, tugging at his robes. "Now, where were we?"
"You were going to kiss me?" said Ron, raising an eyebrow. Anna began to giggle, which caused Ron to step back and fold his arms across his chest. Anna's hands dropped to grip the edge of the desk she was sitting on.
"You're rather transparent," said Anna, still giggling. Ron hoisted himself onto the desk opposite of her and ran a hand through his red hair.
"Are you going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" Ron wanted to know. Anna hopped off the desk and twirled around. Ron's eyebrows furrowed.
"My robes," said Anna. "Too short?"
"Hadn't noticed," said Ron, and he frowned. "And I'd've realized it if you'd grown."
"Not necessarily," said Anna. "You just keep growing, too. Do stop one of these days, please."
Ron stood up quickly and immediately felt uncomfortable. His own robes-Bill's old ones-were much shorter on him than Anna's were on her. He looked up at Anna with a blank expression on his face.
"Oh Ron," I didn't mean it like that!" exclaimed Anna. "How many times do I have to tell you that money doesn't matter?"
Ron snorted. "It doesn't matter to you," he said, "because it's never been an issue with your family."
"No," agreed Anna. Her eyes locked with Ron's, and he reluctantly took up the seat next to her. She took his hand in hers almost shyly.
"What if that's why John hates me?" said Ron suddenly. "Weasleys never amount to anything, you know-"
"I don't know your relatives, Ron, but I know you, and to me, you're-" Anna did not finish. It was understood. She leaned into him, and his arm went casually around her. "No talking."
"What?"
"You heard me-no talking," repeated Anna. "We get so little time together, Ron. Why dwell on it? It's not done us any good yet."
"No talking," agreed Ron. He leaned forward and picked her book up off the other table. It was a thin, brightly colored paperback. "Written in the Stars?"
"Give that here," demanded Anna, reaching across him in an obvious attempt to snatch the book from him. She wasn't fast enough, and he pulled it away at the last second, which nearly caused both to topple off the desk they were perched on. "It's not yours to make fun of, Ronald Weasley."
"Why's that?" Ron wanted to know. Twisting his body so the book was just out of her reach, he flipped it open. "These pictures are weird."
He turned to look at her for a split second, which was just enough for Anna to yank the book from his hands. She was blushing as she set the book out of what she thought was his reach. "It's a Muggle romance novel."
"Muggle?" asked Ron.
"My aunt Vanessa works for a Muggle book store," said Anna. "She's rather found of such novels. I borrowed one from her at Christmas; it's part of a rather entertaining series."
Ron raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't trashy be a better word? There's a half-naked person on the cover!"
Anna gave him a playful shove that nearly knocked him over the edge of the desk. "Don't you make fun of it," she warned, giggling through her words.
"What? The book or the person on the cover?" said Ron, letting out a low whistle. "I think I understand why they don't have too many wizarding romance novels. The pictures simply wouldn't be allowed if they moved."
"You are so..." Anna trailed off, shaking her head. "There's not a word to describe you."
"No?" said Ron, he gave her a sly look before grabbing both of her hands in his and leaning across her lap to repossess the book. Anna made a lunge for it, but Ron help up a hand. "Come on, Anna. I'm intrigued. You really seem to like this book, and it's never too late to learn more about you."
Anna just glared at her boyfriend as he began flipping through the pages and sniggering under his breath. She reached into the pocket of her robes for a hair band and used it to tie back her long curls. When she looked back up, Ron had stopped his jabs and was gaping at something. It wasn't a Muggle picture, and it wasn't even the text, some of which the good-girl Ravenclaw found a bit risqué. It was, rather, the nameplate that her aunt had glued into the inside cover.
"Vanessa Lewick?" Ron asked, an odd expression on his face. Anna frowned.
"Yes?" she said. "Is something about her name odd?"
"Lewick," muttered Ron. He shook his head slightly, and he blinked a few times, but Anna had a feeling she wasn't meant to hear or see that. "No, nothing's odd about it. Nothing at all."
"If you're sure," said Anna doubtfully. Ron smiled brightly at her and kissed her forehead. "Are you going into Hogsmeade tomorrow?"
"Maybe," said Ron, and he shrugged. "Maybe not. I've told you how Hermione is in the days and weeks before exams. It all depends on whether or not she attacks me with a load of books so heavy that Harry has to help her carry them all."
Anna giggled at the digested face he made. "Studying isn't that bad!"
"Sometimes I forget you're a Ravenclaw," said Ron, wrinkling his nose up.
"Oh?" asked Anna. She gestured at the Ravenclaw blue and bronze that accented her robes and uniform. She gave him a long look, placing her palms flat on the desk; she had begun to swing her feet again just when Ron covered her hand with his. She smiled up at him. "Personally, I like the way that you worked your Harry-Hermione frustration into that."
"I did?" asked Ron. He wore a surprised-but-pleased smile.
"Must have been subliminal," said Anna. "It really bothers you, no?"
"You should have seen them after dinner," complained Ron. "I don't know any other friends that do that much hand holding and cheek kissing and face touching. Those two are more together than we are, Anna!"
"Oh really?" asked Anna. "I know it's about to drive you insane, Ron, but it's really not your choice. They might just be suited better as friends than lovers."
Ron snorted. "Easy for you to say," he said stubbornly. "You don't have to live with one of them and spend nearly all your time with the other. They're always together, Anna. The only time I ever see one without the other is Divination, and even then, it's right to see her from Arithmancy."
"Quidditch practices?"
"She comes to those, most of the time," said Ron. He shrugged. "They're my friends, Anna, and I just think they'd both be happier if they were together. It'd be easier on them, it really would. Hermione's had a hard time of it, you know, and it's always Harry that's there to help her through it. She's open and comfortable with me, but it's guarded compared to how she is with him."
"You look into things too much," said Anna, reaching up to touch her boyfriend's cheek. "I know what you're saying; I'd be willing to bet those two will end up together, but it's up to them to make that decision."
"Some of the guys have a pool going. You could put in a few Galleons," said Ron. Anna gave him a long look before bursting into a fit of laughter. He had to grab her arm and steady her.
"Honestly... I had... no idea," said Anna between laughs. "I hope you're not a part of that."
"I'm not," said Ron, looking offended that she would even suggest it. "Those are my best friends they're talking about. And... well... you know that Hermione's special to me."
"First girl you ever liked," said Anna teasingly. "One of these days, Weasley, you'll have to tell me that story. You promised you would."
"I'm awfully glad you're not the jealous type," said Ron. He grinned. "Do you want me to tell you now?"
"Yes," said Anna, and she grabbed his wrist to look at his watch. Sighing, she said, "No. I have to go, Ron. Lena can only cover for me for so long."
Lena was one of Anna's roommates; she was Muggle-born, and Ron personally thought of her as too short to be trusted. Anna claimed that she played a mean game of Quidditch, but Ron had his doubts.
"Of course," said Ron, hopping off the table. He extended his hand to Anna and helped her down even though she really didn't need it. "Don't forget your book-or your glasses. Can I walk you back to Ravenclaw?"
"Always," said Anna, accepting the arm he held out for her after gathering her things. "You know, our common room is said to be the most difficult to locate of all the houses."
"Not so difficult," said Ron, his words fragmented because he stopped partway through to kiss her. "It backs up to the hospital wing. You think people would notice that great expanse of wall without any classrooms or anything and find it a bit suspicious."
"You never did," said Anna, stopping him as he picked up Harry's invisibility cloak. She let go of his arm, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him. "Sunday, maybe?"
"Sprout's garden?" responded Ron.
"I'll see you after lunch," said Anna. The cloak went on then, and the talking stopped. They weren't in the habit of saying good-bye. It was just easier their way.
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