Chapter Twenty-Seven
THE CHAMBER
For as much as she'd wanted to be alone, Hermione had had only a few minutes to herself since Harry and Ron had left the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had closed in seconds after Harry had gone and had fussed over Hermione for the better part of the next hour. Professor Lupin had been through not more than a few minutes later, but his visit was a welcome one. The school mediwitch had shooed him away not too long after he'd arrived and checked Hermione over again, afraid that the brief visit had excited her too much.
A tearful seventh year Ravenclaw had been through a few minutes later and continued to occupy Madam Pomfrey's time. Even so, the mediwitch had checked on Hermione every few minutes. Professor Snape had even been up to the ward. It seemed that the school nurse had sent word down that Hermione had a headache because the Potions master had come by with a goblet filled with a bright red fluid. He hadn't said a word to Hermione when handing it off. That was where she was now, sniffing the potion hesitantly and debating whether or not it was possible for it to taste as bad as it smelled.
"Drink that up, Hermione dear," Madam Pomfrey called from the opposite end of the hospital wing. "It'll take twice as long for you to get your strength back otherwise."
Hermione sniffed the goblet hesitantly once more before making the decision to toss it all swiftly back. This was not a good idea. Her eyes began to water, and her stomach lurched as the potion slid down her throat. She coughed. It felt rather slimy in her mouth. Still, Hermione had spent plenty of time in the hospital wing under Madam Pomfrey's care and knew better than to disregard the mediwitch.
"Professor Snape must not be feeling kindly today. A spoonful of sugar does wonders to improve the taste of Rutivire's Syrup."
"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said, choking halfway through the Headmaster's surname. She coughed, the potion still on her tongue. It seemed to be coating her mouth and throat still. Sure enough, the old wizard was standing near the foot of her bed. She hadn't even heard anyone approaching.
"Ah, Hermione," said Dumbledore kindly. "How are you feeling?"
Hermione coughed once more and managed to put words to the awfulness of Snape's potion. "Other than that," she said shakily, "I'm fine."
"Then you will not mind if I take up a chair here for a moment?" the headmaster asked. He studied her intently for a moment with a meaningful gaze that seemed to stare into the beyond. "Or would you to be alone? I could return another time."
Hermione shook her head quickly. It wasn't like she was about to tell the headmaster of the school to leave her alone. "I don't mind your company, Professor."
"There is no use for anything but honesty around me," said Dumbledore with a little smile, but he did not look like he was going anywhere. "Tell me, did Poppy send off Misters Potter and Weasley?"
"No sir," said Hermione, looking away. "I did."
"I see," said Dumbledore, stroking his long beard for a moment. His normally bright eyes were anything but. He had the look of a man lost. Clearing his throat, he said, "I am sure that you know what has happened by now, but is there anything else you want to know about the dementor's touch?"
Hermione shook her head. She figured that the headmaster would leave then, but he did not. He pulled the chair Harry had been occupying to the foot of her bed. She couldn't take it any longer. "When am I going home?"
An eyebrow arched on Dumbledore's aged face. "What are you talking about, Miss Granger?" he said calmly. "Why would you be going home?"
"W-Well," Hermione stammered, "I can't stay at Hogwarts, can I? I'm not magical anymore."
"You cannot be sure of that yet," said Dumbledore gently.
Hermione reached to her bedside table, which was where someone had laid out the things she'd had with her in Hogsmeade, including her wand. She fingered it lightly. "I can't do even the simplest spells," she said, successfully keeping the sadness in her voice at a minimum.
"A week from now you may be able to," Dumbledore said.
"That's what Harry would have said," Hermione said softly. The headmaster looked at her for a few moments.
"What was that?" he said, but Hermione knew that he had heard her the first time. Still, she repeated what she had said.
"Harry would have said that," Hermione sighed. "That's why I made him go. Because I know Harry. He would have kept talking, kept going, until he found something to say that made me feel better."
"Harry cares very much for you?"
Hermione nodded. "And Ron. Ron was here, too. It's just..." It suddenly dawned on Hermione what she was about to say to the headmaster, and she blushed. "I'm sorry, Professor. I don't know what I'm saying. I just needed to be alone for a while. I just needed a few moments of... self pity, I guess."
"That is human nature, Hermione," said Dumbledore gently. There was a caring in his words that made her feel a little bit better. "Now, about your magical abilities."
"What magical abilities?" Hermione said, somehow managing the smallest of smiles.
"I am sure that you are well versed in the dementor's touch, Hermione," said Dumbledore, "so I am sure that you know it is possible for you to regain your powers."
"Possible," Hermione echoed. She looked away. "But not likely."
"But not likely," the headmaster echoed sadly. "Has Professor Lupin spoken to you yet?"
"He's come in a few times," Hermione said, "but only once since I woke up. Madam Pomfrey chased him out with... er, I think that it was a tongue depressor."
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Ah, Poppy," he said. He shifted in his seat and withdrew something from one of the pockets in his robe, which was a brilliant shade of blue. "Every Flavor Bean? There's a house-elf that's taken a certain liking to the... more unusual beans, and he's always happy to take care of those for me."
Even so, Hermione cautiously selected a bright red Every Flavor Bean, figuring it could only be a safe cherry or strawberry. The headmaster ate two at once. "Ah," he said, shooting her a smile that put her farther at ease, "A bit like a banana split, those two are."
Dumbledore took out a handful of Every Flavor Beans and then put the bag back into his pocket once more, but not before he had offered them to Hermione again. She shook her head, figuring it wasn't a good idea to eat a lot of sugar on an empty stomach, especially the way she was feeling at the moment.
"About Professor Lupin," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "I planned to send him with a message, but, now that I think about it, I am rather glad to tell you myself. It's up to you, of course, Hermione, but it is my hope that you'll stay at Hogwarts even if you do not regain your powers."
Hermione's eyes grew wide. "How would that work?" she said, practically choking. It was probably a good thing she hadn't taken any more candy from the headmaster. She had been expecting to be put on the next train to London.
"You don't surely think that we'd turn away our finest student?" Dumbledore said gently. Hermione just continued to stare at him. "You will be held at the same standards as your peers, of course. You will complete the same assignments but without the same application. You will still have to take the applicable parts of your O.W.L.s next week."
Hermione couldn't say anything, and when she tried to, she made an odd sort of squeaking noise. "You-you don't have to do that for me, Professor," she said lamely. "I don't want to be an inconvenience to the other professors."
"I can assure you that you will not be," Dumbledore said, and then he smiled sadly. "It being your decision to make, you will need to be aware of what goes with staying at Hogwarts. The other professors will want to know why the dementor's touch rendered a seemingly happy witch powerless."
"Oh," said Hermione. "That."
Dumbledore looked as if he were about to pat her hand or something but had thought better of it. "It is your decision to make, Miss Granger," he said, standing up. The twinkle had not yet returned to his light eyes. "I will not lie and say that I do not want you here because I want very much for you to stay."
Hermione bit her lip. "I'll stay," she said decidedly.
Dumbledore had already made for the door, and he turned around to smile at her. "I'm sure that Misters Potter and Weasley will be pleased to hear that. Now," he said, surveying her for a moment, "how about I send a house-elf down with something for you to eat?"
"That would be great, Professor," said Hermione. She folded her hands in her lap. Now that she had the space she had so desired, she no longer wanted it.
"Would you object to me sending Dobby for Mr. Potter?"
Hermione looked up. The headmaster was smiling slightly. "Please," she said. She was about to ask for Ron as well, but she couldn't make herself do it. She needed Harry.
"Take care, Hermione," said Dumbledore, offering her one last smile as he exited the hospital wing. Hermione leaned back against the pillows. She could hear the mediwitch moving about right outside of her area, and she knew that Madam Pomfrey would be in to check on her again. That was okay, though, because Hermione knew she'd have to get through this sometime.
* * *
Ron sighed deeply, pressing his palms hard against the stonewall he was sitting on, letting his long legs dangle over the edge. An assortment of Saes flowers, a magical plant with healing properties, was blooming below his feet. Behind him, some peculiar pink and white plants bordered the smooth stone that sloped downwards into a water basin. Several brightly colored Flippettes, the wizarding equivalent of goldfishes, were swimming in erratic circles around this tiny pond.
Ever since he had found the entrance to Professor Sprout's private garden, this ledge had been a favorite place of Ron's. Private Garden Four was quite vast, and the wall in question wasn't directly visible from any one of the six entrances. It was about six feet tall and impossible to climb in all places but one. A misaligned brick functioned as a step up to a section of the wall just underneath a large window. Ron returned to this spot whenever he needed to think or wanted to be alone.
At the moment, Ron was unsure of which he was achieving by sitting there. He supposed the two went hand in hand.
A few hours had passed since Hermione had woken; it was now Sunday afternoon. He and Harry had left the hospital wing together and went up to their room in Gryffindor Tower, but he hadn't the heart to stay. Harry had been in shock. It was the only word Ron could think of to describe it.
The last thing Ron had expected to come out of the ordeal with the dementors was the loss of Hermione's magical abilities. Almost as much, he hadn't expected Harry to admit his feelings for Hermione. It had been a long time since Hermione had first come to him with her feelings for Harry, so long, in fact, Ron had nearly given up hope that Harry would do the same. Such a confession had been so anticipated, but it paled in comparison to Ron's shock concerning the dementor's touch.
"I kind of thought you'd be here."
Ron was so startled that he nearly fell off the wall. It was fortunate that he didn't because, in addition to smashing the Herbology professor's prized plants, he probably would have broken his neck. He turned around carefully. Anna was standing a few feet beyond the fish pond, Ron's Gryffindor cloak around her shoulders. He was about to tell her that she had startled him, but she spoke first.
"Here," Anna said, stepping closer to the wall as she unfastened his cloak and handed it up to him. "Honestly, I don't even know how long it's been since I borrowed it. Lena and I were trying to clean out our part of the room; otherwise, I wouldn't have happened upon it."
"Thanks, said Ron, taking the cloak from her hand. After a moment's pause, he continued. "What are you doing here?"
"Lena cut her hand while we were cleaning," Anna explained, "so I went with her to the hospital wing. Something there just didn't seem... right. I didn't see you, or Harry even. Madam Pomfrey seemed horribly upset. Professor Dumbledore was even down there. I just... I just thought it might have something to do with Hermione."
"So?"
"So?" Anna repeated. "Hermione's your best friend. I think she's a lovely person. I'm going to want to know if something's wrong with her." Anna paused. "I'm also going to want to know if you're okay or not. Her well being is going to affect you."
Ron considered this for a minute and said, "I want to be alone right-"
"No, you don't," Anna interrupted.
"What do you know? I want to be-" Ron stopped, and he sighed. "You're right. I don't want to be alone. Sit with me?"
Anna wordlessly came closer, taking the hand he offered her. This assistance allowed her to step onto the brick and sit atop the wall. She sat very close to Ron, putting her arms around his neck. He wrapped his around her waist. For a long time, neither of them spoke.
"I don't know why you even bother trying to lie to me," said Anna. "Don't you think I know you a bit better than that?"
"I'm sorry," said Ron immediately, meaning it.
"Can you tell me what's wrong with Hermione?" Anna said, her eyes filling with concern.
Ron pulled away from Anna, resting his hands on his knees. "It's bad," he said quietly. "Harry and I just assumed that because Hermione had been... because she's been through some stuff, she'd just had a bad time of it with the dementors."
"That wasn't the case?" said Anna softly. She placed a hand on top of Ron's.
"Right," Ron said. "It was something else. Professor Lupin called it the dementor's touch." He curled his fingers around Anna's. "It's..."
He felt her squeeze his hand. "I know what that is."
"Of course you do," Ron said absently. "So Hermione's not a witch anymore?"
"Not necessarily," Anna said a few seconds later. "It really depends on how awful the person's worst memory is. The worse it is, the more happy the memories the dementor has to feed on. Sometimes, it starts to feed on the person's magical ability." Anna looked at Ron hopefully. "But Hermione's worse memory isn't that bad, is it?"
"Hermione was raped," Ron blurted out, not thinking. He rushed on, not realizing Anna had dropped his hand. "It happened when she was taken back in March. Out in the Forbidden Forest."
Anna was very pale. "Oh," she managed.
"She's... well, she's not okay, but she's had Harry there for her, and that's made all the difference." Ron's arm went around his girlfriend's shoulders. "I know how much she means to him; I finally got him to tell me so. I'd been hoping he would do that for forever now, but I can't bring myself to care now that he has.
"I know that it's stupid for me to care so much, but this wasn't how it was supposed to be. I don't know how to explain it. Harry and Hermione are more than my best friends. They're essential to my existence. I can't be Ron without the two of them, just as they are. If Hermione... if Hermione can't do magic, then we've lost the biggest part of what we are. I guess I've always pictured us as best friends, no matter what. But we're best friends because of magic. How can we be what we are without that?"
"Don't look to me," said Anna. "You already said why-best friends, no matter what."
"Thanks," said Ron. Nothing else had to be said for her to understand. He pulled her to him, kissing her temple. "I'm so upset, and it's not even men. I can't imagine how she must feel. And Harry. I wouldn't want to be him right now. If it were you-if any of it had happened to you-I wouldn't have been able to handle it. You're another thing essential to the existence of Ron. Anna. Harry. Hermione. All my family. And... well, those little sugar spun cakes they have at Honeydukes. But that's beside the point." His arm extended around her back; he took her hand in his. "If it were you..."
"It's not me," said Anna. She leaned into Ron, repeating this. They were quiet for a long time, and then she said. "There's something I wanted to ask you about."
"Uh-huh," Ron murmured. "Ask away."
"The other night," Anna began, "there was something about me mentioning my aunt. What was that all about?"
Ron was about to tell her it wasn't anything, but his mouth disobeyed his mind. It began to ramble about everything from the photographs Harry had received to the initials carved into the trunk of the tree to what Hermione had found in the book. His lack of sleep was doing the weirdest things to him.
"So Clara would have been your aunt, right?"
"Would have been," Anna echoed, biting her lip. "As soon as Emiolet comes back from delivering a letter to my grandmother, I'll owl Aunt Vanessa and ask her about Clara."
"You don't have to do that," Ron's forehead touched hers.
"Yes, I do," said Anna, kissing him lightly. "Something's not right about those photographs. If Clara is the key to figuring out what that something is, then I'm going to make sure you know all you need to know about her."
"No," said Ron. "What's your aunt going to think?"
"She's not going to think anything. She's not one to ask questions."
"But what it-"
"But what if what? It's my decision to make, Ron, and I've decided to help you. Anna kissed him again. "Your friends won't be mad that you told me?"
"I'm sure it's the last thing on their minds," said Ron truthfully. "Tell me, how did you know to ask about it?"
"Because it's you, Ron. I know what to expect from you. I know how you think."
Ron kissed her this time. "I know you pretty well, too."
"Almost."
"Almost?" Ron shook his head. "I'm willing to bet I know everything about you. Just try me."
Anna giggled when he drew away from her, folding his arms across his chest. "Okay, fine. What's my favorite color?"
"Pink, but it clashes with your hair, so you say blue."
"What's my favorite class?"
"Transfigurations, but Muggle Studies is a close second. You hate admitting it, and most of your friends don't even know you're taking it. You love learning about the Muggle cinema."
"Drat, you. Tell me about my brothers."
"You have five. Stephen is the oldest. He's employed by the Ministry to oversee the Apparation panels, but he used to work in a restaurant in Muggle London. The two of you talk for hours about wizarding politics because, for some reason, you both find it fascinating.
"Conrad is your next oldest brother. He shaves his head because he hates having red hair. You have absolutely nothing in common, spare the fact that he has you draw things to become his tattoos.
"Patrick is your favorite brother. He's exactly ten years and nine minutes older than you. He's worked everywhere from Muggle retail stores to the Ministry. He's working as a chef right now and loves it because he can send knifes flying around the room.
"Luke is deaf. He lost his hearing in some sort of accident when you were four or five. He wouldn't talk-well, sign-to you for a week because you decided to play Keeper instead of Seeker. He manages finances for the Wasps.
"John is closest to your age, but I don't care about him because he doesn't like me."
"That was impressive, Ron," said Anna, rewarding him with a kiss on the cheek. She looked at him critically. "What's my favorite book of all time?"
"A Tale of Two Cities," said Ron at once. "It's thick. Some Squib wrote it. You like it because it's about the French Revolution. The Muggle one, that is."
"Why is that?"
"You love France. You grew up there. You speak the language fluently."
"Bien sur," Anna scooted closer to him. "Tu es mignon."
"Huh? What was that?"
"Pourquoi est-ce que je t'adore?" Anna muttered. She said dryly, "That was French."
"Oh! Okay," said Ron, the tips of his ears turning red. "What did you say?"
"Never mind," Anna said. "I love you."
"I love you, too," said Ron, kissing her head. "So? Did I pass?" Do I know everything about you?"
"Everything."
Ron grinned, taking her hand. His finger traced a long, thin scar on the back of her hand. "I even know that you got this scar when picking up the pieces of a shattered glass of butterbeer. That was just last Christmas."
"Uh-huh," Anna murmured, and she kissed him.
* * *
The proper incantation to turn tea cups into tortoises also involves intent. The incantation, vas verto, is used in other transfigurations. As such, it is important that all practicing wizards keep their mind on the task at hand. It is always possible to end up like the Wizard Scienus, who once transfigured a bottle into a free-spirited butcher knife with a vengeance.
Harry sighed. At any other time, he probably would have laughed heartily at the misfortune of one of his predecessors in beginner's level Transfiguration, but this wasn't any other time. His mind was everywhere except his studies. He probably could continue reading aloud for his textbooks from now until the start of O.W.L.s without remembering a single word of it. He slammed the textbook shut and gave it enough of a push to send it over the edge.
The loud thud was followed by something that sounded a bit like a gasp in the middle of a shriek. Harry turned around quickly. Dobby the house-elf was standing behind him, his bulging green eyes wider than ever and his hands behind his back. He had draped himself in Ron's Weasley sweater of the Christmas before, and a fuzzy pink object was perched between his bat-like ears. It was all a welcome sight, but Harry liked Dobby's socks the most. One was plain mustard yellow, and the other was enchanted with dancing pixies.
"Dobby means not to upset you, sir!" Dobby squeaked, jumping backwards.
"I didn't realize you were there, Dobby," said Harry honestly, feeling a bit guilty. He hadn't seen the house-elf for ages, yet Dobby was still glowing with adoration for him. "Er... have a seat? It's a little messy right now, had a lot on my mind..."
Dobby hopped up onto Harry's bed and looked up at the wizard seriously. He said importantly, "Dobby is coming to Harry Potter with a message from Professor Dumbledore! Harry Potter's `Mione wants to see him!"
"My-" Harry started, about to ask Dobby what he meant. "Hermione wants to see me?"
Dobby nodded fervently. "That is what Professor Dumbledore is saying, sir!" he squeaked.
Harry was already on his feet, tugging at the bottom of his own Weasley sweater and trying to make himself look presentable. When he hadn't been able to fall asleep after Hermione had asked him to leave, he'd showered. He might have been clean, but he knew that his appearance wasn't anything to brag about.
"Is she down in the hospital wing still?" Harry wanted to know.
Dobby nodded, averting his large tennis ball eyes. This seemed to sadden him. "You're going down to the hospital wing, Harry Potter, sir?"
"Yes," said Harry. He was halfway to the door before realize he'd left his wand in the pocket of his robes. Instead of trying to locate it, he just picked up the garment and shrugged into it. "Thanks for telling me, Dobby."
"It is Dobby's pleasure!" Dobby said, jumping from Harry's bed and into a bow. His eyes grew wide again. "I is going down to the kitchen again, but I is seeing you in the hospital wing shortly. I is bringing Harry Potter's `Mione her meal!"
"That's-" Harry never got to tell Dobby what it was because the house-elf vanished as suddenly as he had appeared after snapping his fingers. Harry shook his head and headed out the door of his and Ron's room.
"Where are you going, Harry?"
Harry turned around so suddenly that he nearly ran over Dennis Creevey, who gave him a look of utter disgust. Harry raised an eyebrow, wondering what had the second year so disgruntled. Neville was peeking around the doorway of the room he shared with Dean and Seamus.
"Just down to the hospital wing," Harry said, and Neville stepped out of the room. He was almost a full head shorter than Harry and much rounder. "One of the house-elves just came up to say Hermione wanted to see me."
"How's she doing?" Neville wanted to know.
"Better, I guess," said Harry. He figured it wouldn't be much longer before all his classmates knew of the dementor's touch, so he didn't go into it. Instead, he sighed. "It's not fair, all that's happened to her."
"No," Neville agreed, shifting on spot. "You probably want to get down to see her. Er... Tell her that I hope she feels better soon."
Neville's cheeks went pink, and he quickly ducked into his dorm room to hide. Harry couldn't help but shake his head as he walked away. "Neville and Hermione?"
A little voice in his head instantly piped up, asking him just who he thought he was. He, too, blushed, and he found himself walking a bit faster. He passed a very loud game of Exploding Snap in the common room and two seventh years arguing very loudly just beyond the portrait hole. Harry nearly got caught on a shifting staircase, but he made it to the hospital wing in one piece. Taking a deep breath, his hand fell on the doorknob.
It refused to move any farther. Harry bit his lip. It was ridiculous of him to be so afraid, but he was. He hated seeing Hermione upset. He didn't want to think about what all she'd been through and what all was still to come. He was terrified that she would push him away this time. More than anything, he wished that Ron had stuck around, yet he understood why their friend had disappeared an hour earlier. Harry knew that Ron cared about Hermione just as much as he did, but it was all on a different level. Feeling as if he should be booted from Gryffindor, Harry nervously pushed open the door to the hospital thing.
The first thing that he noticed about the still hospital wing was that Hermione's curtains had been removed. The second thing he noticed was that Dobby had beat Harry to Hermione's bedside. The house-elf was in mid-bow when Harry entered. He walked slowly over to Hermione.
"Hey," Harry said quietly.
"Hey," said Hermione. She had been talking almost animatedly with Dobby, but she looked a bit more reserved when she looked up at Harry. Dobby made a very characteristic elf noise.
"Dobby hopes that friend of Harry Potter's will enjoy her meal!" said Dobby. He waved, disappearing with another snap of his fingers. Hermione's full attention was on Harry now, and she scooted back in bed slowly because she had a plate of food on her lap. She managed a weak smile.
"Hi," Hermione greeted him again. "Thanks for coming."
Her tone stunned Harry. He blinked. "You sound like you thought I wouldn't."
Hermione took a bite of a carrot stick and chewed thoughtfully. "I guess I did," she admitted finally. "I don't know why."
"I can't believe you thought I'd just abandon you, `Mione," Harry admonished. He pulled the chair from the foot of her bed back to her bedside. He found himself doing what he had been earlier-elbows on his knees, he clasped his hands before him without really looking at her. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm better than I was earlier," said Hermione, wiping her hands on the napkin Dobby had brought with her food. It was one of the self-cleaning variety. "About that-"
"You don't have to explain yourself," said Harry, placing a hand near hers on the hospital bed. He'd been about to take her hand but was afraid of how she'd react.
"But I want to," said Hermione. She had stopped eating and set the tray aside. Harry was about to tell her that she needed her strength, but she cut him off. "Harry, I knew what the dementor's touch was. I read all about it in one of the books that Ron refers to as `impossibly long' ages ago. I... well... I knew what it had done."
"I know that, Hermione," said Harry quickly. "You're always on top of those kind of-"
Hermione held up a finger to shush him. "I just wanted to apologize for pushing you away when you were just trying to be a good friend," she said softly. "I know you, Harry, and I knew that you would do everything that you could to make me feel better about what was going on."
"Yeah," said Harry slowly, drawing out the word. Suddenly, it all clicked, and this time it was he who held up a hand to quiet her. "I think I get it," he said gently. "You didn't want me to talk you out of it until after reality had set in."
"Exactly," Hermione said quietly, her eyes searching his desperately for understanding. That was just what she found. Still, her eyes stayed on his for a few moments longer, taking in everything from his messy hair to the dark circles under his eyes. "Oh, Harry. You really were here all night?"
"You don't believe Ron?" said Harry, and he shifted uncomfortably. "And you actually think I'd leave?"
This prompted Hermione to give him a small smile. "You wouldn't."
"No, I wouldn't," said Harry. He gestured to the plate of food next to her. "Are you going to eat something?"
"I guess that I should," said Hermione lightly, and she looked as if it wasn't that appealing of a thought. He didn't question it, though. "Professor Dumbledore visited me."
"Did he?"
"They're letting me stay at Hogwarts, but... you look like you already know that," said Hermione. Harry nodded. "I still can't believe it. I thought for sure that they'd have me on the next train home. It's not like Hogwarts has any use for a... a..."
"Witch," Harry supplied helpfully. It didn't surprise him much when Hermione shook her head. He nodded once. "Witch."
"I'm glad that you understand the term associated with females with magical ability, Harry," said Hermione, smiling a little more.
"I didn't want you to call yourself a Muggle," Harry shot back, but he was really smiling now. He reached out to hug her like she had so many times before, not thinking. He felt Hermione tense, draw back, and push him away. She looked hesitant and fearful again, and Harry wanted to kick himself. "Merlin, Hermione, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean-"
"It's okay," said Hermione quickly, but her voice was higher than it normally was, and Harry knew that it wasn't. He lowered his hand so that it was back to where it had been, which was near hers.
"Hermione..." Harry said, searching for the right words to say. "I didn't mean to."
"No," said Hermione, "I didn't mean to. I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't think... I didn't realize that it had affected me like that again." She looked away, and Harry knew that, even though she had kept her chin up so far about the loss of her magical abilities, reliving the worst experience of her life had been more than she could take. He watched her reach a hand up and wipe at her eyes. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
Harry knew, and he didn't say anything for a full minute. Slowly, he clenched and relaxed his fist. "I'm going to kill him," he said, quite calmly. "I'm sure I can get Ron to help, but I'd rather like to do it myself."
"Harry," said Hermione warningly. She finally looked at him, her eyes a bit red from the few tears that had escaped them.
"He deserves it," said Harry. "I'll let the dementors have him for awhile, but then I'll take care of him."
Hermione didn't speak for a moment. She shivered, and she set her plate aside. "Where's Ron?"
"I don't know," said Harry. "He disappeared about an hour ago." For a fleeting second, Harry wondered whether or not he should tell Hermione some of what he had been told. It was for less than a second, but Harry still felt rather dumb coming away from it. "He's really upset for you, `Mione, and angry. It's possible that he went off to keep his temper in check."
"Or to be with Anna," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow, which made Harry laugh. Her tears gone, she looked like she had before remembering what the dementor's touch had brought about. She rubbed her hands against her arms, shivering.
"Cold?" Harry asked, already turned around to snatch the blanket from the foot of the bed behind him. Hermione nodded, and Harry draped the blanket around her shoulders. She smiled at him gratefully.
"It sounds silly," she said softly, "but I keep remembering how damp and cold it was down on the stone floor."
"Don't you mean how cold and wet it was to be out in the Forbidden Forest as it snowed?" Harry said, looking at her oddly.
"No, before that," Hermione said absently. She bit her lip and looked away. "I don't remember so much about being in the-"
And she stopped just there. Her hand was trembling, and she didn't flinch in the slightest when Harry took it in his to rub reassuringly.
"There was this room, and it was cold," Hermione muttered, "and I didn't remember this before, did I?"
Harry shook his head, squeezing her hand. "Do you remember anything else about it?"
"I... I blacked out in the prefect common room," Hermione recalled, stammering at first and then managing to detach herself from the experience. "When I woke up again, I was down in the... the... well, there were two of them. Someone was telling him to hurt me. He had the cruelest, coldest voice. They thought I was dead, so the man with the cold voice ordered him to take me out to the forest. Other people were down there, but they weren't moving. I... I think I blacked out again after seeing them because the next thing that I remember is waking up when he was... when he was..."
"Was it somewhere in the castle?" Harry asked softly.
"I think so," Hermione said. She pulled her hand quickly away from his. She looked at him apologetically a second later. She whispered, "I'm sorry."
"I didn't mean to," said Harry quickly. "Where in the castle was it, Hermione? Down where?"
"I... I can't remember!" Hermione said, biting her lip. She added softly, "And the harder I try, the harder it is."
"It's okay, Hermione," Harry said soothingly as soon as he realized just how upset this was making her. "It's okay. There's some things that I have-"
"The dungeons," said Hermione quietly.
"Are you sure?" She nodded. "Positive?" Another nod. "What part of the dungeons?"
Hermione shook her head. "I don't know, Harry," she said quietly. She propped her head up on her hands; her elbows were already resting on her knees. The blue hospital blanket was still draped around her shoulder, albeit hanging farther on one side than the other. Suddenly, her hand flew to her mouth. "Merlin, what am I saying? There's some kind of tunnel and chamber within this school where-" And, again, she stopped. "Tunnel. Chamber. I... I... don't know..."
"You don't know what to make of it?" Harry suggested gently. He really wanted to put his arms around her or reach out to rub her back or something because he was so used to comforting her that way. It was getting harder and harder for him to refrain from physical contact.
"Why can't I remember it?" Hermione wondered aloud. Seeing Harry's frown, she elaborated. "I don't get it. I don't have any memory of it. If I'm not thinking of it, I remember sketchy details of it, but that's all. It's like it's not really a memory, just... just that. Details."
"Hey, it's something," said Harry. He looked at her for a long moment, and she seemed to read his mind.
"I know that it's something, Harry," she said softly. "I just... I don't know how I know, but I do. These aren't details that just came to me. They're from something that happened. I have this feeling about it." Hermione sighed. "Of course, it's not going to do me any good if I can't remember anything."
"But you can remember... remember... the rest of it?" Harry said, stumbling on his words.
"Every single second that I was conscious," Hermione said. She closed her eyes, rubbing her temples. "Sorry, I have a-"
"When did you slip in here?"
Madam Pomfrey, looking incredibly stern, was standing just beyond the foot of Hermione's bed. She had her arms folded across her chest, wand in hand. Harry made a quick decision to not make any sudden movements. He was suddenly afraid that any such action would get him hexed.
"He didn't slip in, Madam Pomfrey," said Hermione quickly. "Professor Dumbledore sent Dobby for him. We're just talking."
The mediwitch harrumphed with extra vigor at this proclamation. She clucked her tongue. "With that headache of yours, Miss Granger, you really don't need this extra excitement!" She turned, to Harry this time, and said, "And you, Potter! Out with you! Exciting Miss Granger at a time like this! Five minutes, and out with you!"
"I sometimes get the feeling that she doesn't like me so much," said Harry as the school nurse retreated. This made Hermione laugh, which made him grin. "I guess I should be going."
"There's no rush," said Hermione quickly, before he could get up. "You do have five more minutes."
This, too, made Harry smile. It was nice to know that, feeling the way he did about Hermione, he wasn't just some annoyance to her. He took off his glasses, which were getting quite blurry, and wiped them clean on his robes.
"If you remember anything else," Harry said, "you'll tell me?"
"Of course," said Hermione. "There's very little I don't tell you, Harry. You know that I trust you."
"Yeah," Harry agreed. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders tighter; the gesture made her look much smaller than she already was. He could see her pink bathroom and nightgown still. She looked much younger than fifteen, and fifteen wasn't so old. He studied his hands for a moment. "You don't want to tell anyone, do you?"
Hermione bit her lip. She shook her head. "Not yet," she said guiltily. "You know how it sounds, as it is. I suddenly know something that I didn't before? It's not supposed to be like that. The dementor's touch makes you remember a moment exactly as it was."
"Maybe you just didn't remember it before," Harry suggested.
Hermione shook her head. "That's very unlikely."
"If you say so," said Harry. Hermione's hair was falling in her face, and he reached up to tuck it back behind her ear. She withdrew at once, taking a deep shaky breath afterwards and laughing nervously.
"Sorry," she said weakly. "I'm not meaning to react like that, but..."
"But it's going to be awhile, isn't it?" said Harry.
"It won't be long," Hermione promised. "I'm just... scared, that's all."
Harry's eyes gazed intently into hers. "You know I'd never hurt you, right?"
"I know, Harry," said Hermione. He gave her a half smile. That was good enough for him.
"If you won't tell Dumbledore or Madam Pomfrey, will you at least tell Ron?" Harry asked, checking his watch. He figured he would leave before his five minutes was up to smooth over the mediwitch's agitation.
Hermione smiled. "I'll tell Ron if you'll make him come see me. It's not the same, not seeing both of you."
"No, it's not," said Harry. He shoved a hand in his pocket, nearly impaling it on his wand. He kind of shrugged in the direction of the door. "I'll just be going now."
"Yeah," said Hermione, and she did something that surprised him. She reached up and hugged him tightly. The hug lasted for mere seconds, and she pulled back quickly, looking fearful, but its significance was not lost on Harry. She was nervous, but she would trust him. She was uncomfortable, but she didn't want him to be.
Hermione was scared, but never of Harry.
From the door of the hospital wing, Harry waved to her. She was resting against her pillows, preparing to take a nap. He shut the door softly behind him, thinking that the visit had gone much better than he had anticipated.
Halfway back to the Gryffindor tower, Harry pulled his left hand from his pocket to try and massage some feeling back into it after the wand incident, but his right hand, too, locked up. He tried to move his fingers without any success. They stayed locked in a claw like position for several seconds, stiff and unfeeling. Something popped, and a thud followed the sound. That certainly hadn't come from Harry's hand.
"Sendrovus!"
The light that caught Harry propelled him straight forward into the wall. His jaw hit, and Harry felt something within his lower face give. He reached up with his left hand to the source of the pain and down with his right to grab his wand. He was both too fast and not fast enough. His hand locked up again at the sudden movement, and his wand rolled onto the floor. The same curse hit Harry again. This time, it was harder. Harry was back into the wall; a second later, he felt a wand pressed to the side of his neck.
"Well, well Potter." Harry recognized this lazy drawl. Marks. "What have we here? I always knew those Gryffindors weren't too bright. Strolling the halls by yourself? You know you have an enemy here, Potter."
Harry swung an arm backwards, and Marks kneed him in the side. "Let... me... go!"
"Not a chance, Potter," Marks hissed. "Igneus poenius!"
The tip of Marks's wand crackled as something white-hot pressed against Harry's neck. He yelped as the burning sensation spread beyond his neck.
"Immobilius!" Marks ordered. Harry's legs were stuck fast to the floor; he was unable to swing his arms. He shoved the back of Harry's head forward, propelling the younger boy's face into the wall. Harry tried to brace himself against the pain, but his jaw was already stinging. He grimaced, and blood came from his mouth. Marks leaned in.
"Now listen, Potter," Marks growled. "You might have won a few battles, but you will not win this war. Don't you see? We're already winning." Again, he knocked Harry's head forward, but the Gryffindor's cheek hit the wall instead of his jaw this time. "How's your girlfriend? I've heard that she's very good and very quiet. And for being your girlfriend, you're not the one I heard it from." Marks paused. He hissed, "It doesn't matter, does it? She's nothing but a Muggle now, not that she was much more beforehand. The dementors took care of her right, didn't they?"
Anger surged through Harry's body. It radiated off of him in magic, sending Marks stumbling back a few feet. His glasses askew, Harry reached blindly for his wand. He found it. He tried to remember any spell, any incantation, but he couldn't make his mouth form the words for the ones he did think of. If he were going to attack Marks, at least, he wouldn't have done it from behind. He would still have some honor to speak of.
"Vis effrego!"
Now that hurt. Harry doubled over, sure that one of his ribs had broken. It gave Marks the opportunity he needed to pin Harry against the wall again. The Slytherin's weight was certainly an advantage.
"I thought I told you to listen!" Marks hissed, jabbing his wand at Harry again and again, muttering curses that Harry knew couldn't be right or proper or anything but Dark magic. "You should ask her sometime. Ask the Mudblood what it was like for her. Ask her! Like I said, Potter, you've had your wins. That's over. You're going to lose. It's going to be your lose, and our beginning. It's too late-"
There was a shuffling of footsteps, and Marks made the mistake of turning his head. Harry, wand still in hand, jabbed it forward and remembered a useful incantation just in time.
"Ostendus!"
But the voice behind the spell was not completely Harry's. As Marks flew backward down the corridor, another figure stepped from the shadows. It was Ben Agouti, swearing under his breath.
"I've got him, Harry," said Ben calmly. "Step back in case he tries to swing at you." Harry did just that, stumbling, his hand at his bleeding jaw.
Marks picked himself up at that moment, staggering towards him. He started to back away slowly. "You'll get it! You'll get yours, Potter! It's too late now! He's here, and his work shall be done!"
* * *
"If you continue to flinch, Mr. Potter," said Madam Pomfrey sternly, "This is just going to be all the more painful."
Because it was the fourth or fifth time she had said this, Harry had to resist the urge to snap at the mediwitch. He held his tongue and kept still as another jolt of pain traveled up his arm. Hermione, who looked extremely anxious, gave him a sympathetic look. Ben, the Slytherin, did the same.
Another jolt of pain, a little more severe, was followed by an almost pleasant tingling sensation that traveled up to his elbow. Madam Pomfrey dropped his once injured lower arm. Then, she moved upwards, pulling Harry's hand away from his face, which was where he'd been holding a charmed ice cloth. That, of course, had been another reason for Harry to keep quiet. The mediwitch held his head still while she surveyed the damage.
Clucking her tongue, Madam Pomfrey announced, `Well, it certainly doesn't look as bad now that the swelling has gone, but I can't guarantee that it will be an instant fix. Some fight!" Harry received yet another severe look. "You'll have a lot of explaining to do in just a few seconds, Potter."
"I told you," said Ben for what had to be the ninth time, "he-"
"Silence, you!" Madam Pomfrey ordered, wagging her wand in the older boy's general direction. She used one hand to tilt Harry's head to the left. Her wand at his jaw, she muttered an incantation. The pain all but disappeared, and Harry opened his mouth, moving his jaw to one side and then the other. With a faint popping noise, it began to feel normal again.
"Well?" the mediwitch demanded.
"Well?" Harry echoed, which elicited a restrained chuckle from Ben. Harry reached up to massage his jaw. It wasn't a good idea.
"Shoulder," he managed. Madam Pomfrey stopped glaring at him, stopped fussing about the scratches on his face, and pushed gently back the neck of his sweater. Harry winced in pain but did not flinch.
"Oh, oh," Madam Pomfrey said, shaking her head. She muttered something quickly, but the burst from the tip of her wand only numbed the pain a little. She patted Harry's good shoulder, and Harry had to shift again. "Sit still, Potter. A simple charm is not going to fix that."
The mediwitch had no sooner disappeared into her office than Hermione was at Harry's side. She had been asleep or nearly so when he'd limped in, trailing behind Ben. As Madam Pomfrey fretted over him, she'd sat up. Each of the mediwitch's reprimands had moved Hermione closer and closer to the foot of her bed. Madam Pomfrey's absence was more than enough to get Hermione over to the other side of the hospital wing.
"What happened?" Hermione demanded, sounding positively frantic. Ben opened his mouth to say something, but she wasn't through. "One moment you were sitting with me, and the next you were back here looking... looking... well, awful, and... oh Harry! Are you all right?"
"I'll be fine," Harry said quickly, motioning carefully for her to sit down next to him on the hospital bed. Hermione looked anxious at this prospect, but she took a seat by him. She eyed him carefully, making note of everything from the scratches on his arms to the bruises on his face. During this short amount of time, Ben walked around from where he'd been standing behind Harry and took the seat opposite him, on the next bed.
"What happened?" Hermione asked again, not really sounding any less upset. "You-"
"I keep trying to tell everyone," said Ben, sounding only slightly edgy, "that he got in a fight. No one seems to want to listen to me, though."
"No, no one does," said Harry. He tilted his head down a little, catching Hermione's eye. After a moment, understanding registered on her face.
"Marks," she said quietly, and Harry nodded. "Oh Harry, why did you get involved? Marks is an idiot; there's nothing to be gained in it."
"I wouldn't have gotten involved," said Harry, "if he hadn't of attacked me from behind. One minute I was walking near the Charms corridor, the next he was bloodying up my face with the wall."
"He didn't use magic?" Hermione wanted to know. Harry had chosen that moment to try with his jaw again, so Ben answered for him.
"He might not of at the beginning," said Ben, glancing over at Harry, "but he certainly was when I happened by. I didn't recognize the incantation, but I was pretty far away. Did you know it, Harry?"
Harry shook his head. "I barely heard it," he admitted. "My mind was elsewhere. I-"
He trailed off, not knowing what exactly needed to be said. Hermione smiled at him slightly, a comforting smile that he knew had to be difficult for her. Worrying about him was the last thing she needed to be doing. "Maybe you should start from the beginning."
Harry took a deep breath, fidgeted something, anything to stall for a moment. "I was heading back to Gryffindor tower through the Charms corridor, like I said. My hand's... er, been locking up. It'll spasm or something, and then I can't move it. I heard someone behind me take a step. Marks sent me flying into a wall, and my wand slipped out of my hand when I tried to grab it. He sent me into the wall again and had his wand jammed up to the side of my neck half a second later."
Ben's brow furrowed. "That wasn't when I came through, was it? That wasn't enough to... er... make you as bloody as you were."
"No," Harry agreed, "It wasn't. I'd dropped my wand, but he said some things that made me angry enough to throw him off with magic anyway. Marks-"
Madam Pomfrey's head poked through her office door at that moment. "Potter!" she called. "Get that sweater off! With your shoulder as it is, I'm sure it will take awhile!"
Ben's eyes darted quickly from the mediwitch to Harry. "Do you need any help?"
Harry shook his head. "I'm fine," he said quickly, but the shrugging motions he began to make triggered a series of stabbing pains.
"Sure you are," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "Stay still, like Madam Pomfrey said, Harry. I'll help you."
Harry knew better than to question his friend's authority, but he also couldn't help but notice how the sleeves of Hermione's robe fell back to reveal nasty bruises all down her forearms, presumably from the dementors. He felt guilty to be burdening her with his troubles while she was having so many of her own. Her touch was very gentle, and Harry almost forgot he had a lot of explanation left to give. He glanced at Ben and averted his eyes quickly as a bit of color rose to his cheeks. Even the impartial observer had to question the source of the closeness between the two.
"Well," Harry started again quickly, "it didn't make Marks happy to get thrown back at all, so he shouted something-I think that was what broke that rib. It gave him a chance to shove me back into the wall. He kept muttering hexes and curses until you came around the corner. The sound distracted him, and the rest you saw."
"I didn't," Hermione reminded Harry. He couldn't see her face because she was standing behind him, but he could just tell by her touch that she wore a very sympathetic look. He glanced at his shoulder the best he could. It was positively black. He glanced up at her. She looked very serious.
"Marks had Harry up against the wall again," Ben supplied. "He was screeching things about losing and winning that didn't make sense to me-" He paused, glancing at Harry, who shook his head. "Apparently they didn't even make sense to you. I tried a reverse-spell effect that I learned from Professor Snape, and I think that you did as well."
Harry nodded, determined not to be embarrassed as Hermione gently helped him with his sweater. He glanced up at her again. "And that was it," he said. "Marks shouted some more threatening stuff, and he took off. I was... er, kind of messed up, so Ben had to help me make my way back up here."
Hermione harrumphed, sounding very much like Madam Pomfrey. "I would certainly think so," she said. It was at that moment that the real Madam Pomfrey appeared in the main part of the hospital ward once more.
"I should think," the mediwitch scolded as she came closer, "that you should still be in bed, Miss Granger. Now, Potter-" She stopped to give Hermione a stern look. With a final reassuring look at Harry, Hermione quickly crossed back to her bed on the other side of the ward. She sat down on its edge, still very much attuned to what was going on with her friend. This seemed to satisfy the mediwitch because her attention turned to the careful examination of Harry's shoulder and collarbone. "-This line of bruising is characteristic of a magically caused break?"
"Yeah," said Harry, having to speak through gritted teeth because the mediwitch's prodding was not exactly a walk in the park. "I think it was."
"Hmm," said Madam Pomfrey. She took out her wand. "Very well. I'll be able to fix you up, of course, but, as I assumed, it will take several days to heal completely. I'll just do this-" Her spell tingled on Harry's skin even after she had pocketed her wand. "-and I'd like to wrap it up for a few days. You don't have any more of that Quidditch nonsense to play in the next few days?"
"Gryffindor's done for the season," said Harry, looking to Ben. "Only Slytherin and Hufflepuff still need to play."
"It won't matter," said Ben glumly. "We'd have to win by four hundred points to get the Quidditch cup. Hufflepuff is bad, but they're not that bad."
Harry snorted, but Madam Pomfrey did not look amused. "Hold still," she ordered yet again, already working with the bandages she had retrieved from her office area. "Any other injuries I should be made aware of, Potter?"
"No, Madam," said Harry. "I just have some scratches and bruises, but they'll heal just fine on their own."
The mediwitch tucked the edges of the bandage in and carefully helped Harry put his arm back in his sleeve. She used the same caution that Hermione had, but it didn't take anywhere near as long because her healing charms had numbed nearly all the pain.
"Marks?" Madam Pomfrey questioned, almost kindly. "The older one? Ah." She looked at Harry sympathetically. "I heard your story already, Potter. Attacking another student with their back turned!" She shook her head furiously. "Just attacking another student! Needless to say, I'll be in contact with his Head of House." Her eyes seemed to fall on Ben. "Would you mind tracking down Professor Snape for me?"
"No problem, Madam," said Ben, on his feet at once. He smiled at Harry. "Hope it all heals right, mate." He glanced over at Hermione on the other side of the ward. "Feel better, Hermione."
Harry smiled, and Hermione waved, and Ben was out the door. Harry looked hopefully up at Madam Pomfrey. "I don't have to stay here tonight or anything, do I?"
The mediwitch looked at him; she seemed to be having a great emotional struggle with this one. "No, I guess not," she said reluctantly. "If you'll promise to take it easy for the next few days, then you may leave any time."
"If you'll let me go, too, Madam Pomfrey," said Hermione hopefully, "I'll make sure he does just that."
It was the first time Harry could remember hearing the mediwitch laugh. Her eyes almost twinkling she nodded. "I'll let you both out on the condition that you watch out for each other."
"I already watch out for Hermione," Harry said honestly, without really thinking. He went scarlet.
Hermione blushed. "Yes, he does, Madam. I'll look out for him, too."
"And what lessons do you have tomorrow?" the mediwitch asked, withdrawing a little scroll and quill.
"Defense," said Harry automatically. "Care of-"
"No, Harry," said Hermione, shaking her head. "We're on another schedule because of N.E.W.T.s, don't you remember? Some of the teachers have to help with the testing during normal lesson time." She looked to the mediwitch. "We still have Defense tomorrow, early, and then I have Arithmancy while he has Divination. Transfiguration for an hour, and, after lunch, we only have Care of Magical Creatures, but for two hours."
Madam Pomfrey nodded. "If you don't think Hagrid will mind, then I'll have you come in during his lesson so I can check you over. Okay?"
Harry was about to say that it sounded fine, but Hermione's face fell. "Oh, but tomorrow is our last day to work with the hursles!"
"Ah," said the mediwitch. She pocketed the little scroll. "Well, if it's important to you, I'll see you just afterwards. Is that all right?"
"Yes," said Hermione. Harry nodded.
"Very well," said Madam Pomfrey. "I'll just go get your clothes, Hermione. I think Dobby was kind enough to launder them for you."
Hermione nodded, and Harry got up to go sit with her. The school nurse entered her quarters once again and emerged a moment later with what Hermione had been wearing the previous day. She gave Harry a small smile before going with the mediwitch for some privacy while changing. Harry shrugged back into his robes, careful not to move his bandaged parts too much. A few minutes later, Harry and Hermione headed off toward Gryffindor tower, together, just as they always did.
* * *
"If I were him, I'd do some real complaining," said Ron dryly as the trio walked to dinner together. "Marks spends all his time tormenting us in the name of Voldemort, and for what? I'd be demanding a T-shirt with some kind of catchy phrase on it."
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, trying to sound stern, but she was giggling. Harry just snorted.
"I really don't understand Marks," Ron continued. "He's from a really old pure-blood wizard family as well, but that's the most I'd ever heard about him until the beginning of this term. Suddenly, it's his goal in life to be the end of us, and it just doesn't make sense." He kicked at the stone floor. "Did he really attack when your back was turned, Harry?"
"Yes," said Harry as they headed down the Charms corridor. He cringed when he saw a faint red mark on the stonewall. It was his blood, but he wasn't about to point that out to Ron with Hermione right there. "Why are you having so much trouble believing that?"
"Yes, Ron," Hermione echoed, "I don't see what's so difficult about it. Marks plays dirty. You know that."
"It's against the old blood traditions, though," said Ron. He added quickly, "It's not like they were a big deal in our family, but we all know about them. A family like Marks's, though, where the whole lot's been in Slytherin? He knows the blood traditions better than he knows his own name. It's a matter of honor and pride. And-"
Ron trailed off, his eyes following in an entirely different direction. It took Hermione nudging Harry before he understood. A group of Ravenclaw girls that included Anna was headed toward the Great Hall. Anna went a bit scarlet when she saw Ron, and she barely made eye contact. Hermione gave Harry a mischievous look once the girls had passed.
"So, Ron," she said casually, "how is she? Have you spent much time with her lately?"
"Belt up," Ron muttered, the tips of his ears reddening. "If you must know... well, on second thought, never mind."
Harry found this incredibly amusing. He shot Hermione a knowing look that she returned. They'd already spent a good deal of time teasing him about his girlfriend. Ron had arrived at Gryffindor tower not long after they had. He had admitted to being with Anna before checking in at the hospital wing, only to discover that Harry had been through for reasons besides visiting Hermione. They'd barely had time to explain what all had happened before it was time to head down to the Great Hall for dinner.
Harry clapped Ron on the back heartily, which only made the redhead scowl further. He glanced over; this time, the approaching group of students was a lot of Slytherin males. Marks wasn't one of them, but it made Harry tense all the same. He froze, looking from the Slytherin's to Hermione. Marks's words, which had been a load of gibberish up until then, suddenly filled him with a horrible sense of dread.
"Harry?" Hermione said quizzically.
"Hermione," Harry said. Her name was thick on his tongue because his throat suddenly felt so dry. "You-you don't usually cross paths with Marks, do you?"
"No," said Hermione, drawing out her answer. "He has Arithmancy just before me, but that's the only time I ever see him. Why do you ask?"
Thinking fast, Harry said, "Well, er... nothing. It's just... well, I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to hurt you or Ron. You can't defend yourself at all if he uses magic, not like Ron and I can. And... and I just worry about you."
Ron received a death glare from both Harry and Hermione when he snorted with suppressed laughter. "Sorry," he managed, hurrying forward. Hermione drew back because Harry was still standing still in the middle of the hallway.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," Harry said quickly.
"Did Marks say something about me? Is that what has you so worked up all of a sudden?"
Harry hesitated. "He said some stuff... but none of it was that important." He paused, breathing deeply. "How did you know?"
"Your eyes," Hermione said simply. "You can't hide anything from me, Harry Potter."
"I can't?" Harry wanted to know. He held the door to the Great Hall open for her. From the moment they stepped in, Harry knew something wasn't right. There was a kind of stillness about the place that was most unusual. Hermione didn't answer him. He just followed silently behind her to take seats at the Gryffindor table across from Ron, who was already sitting with Fred and George.
"It was like this last night, too," said George quietly as Hermione slipped into the seat between him and Harry. Fred, across the table, was looking blankly at the empty plates of food, his arm casually around Angelina who was in the next seat. The only real conversation seemed to be taking place at the Slytherin's table. George shot daggers in that direction. "Of course they don't care about what happened in Hogsmeade. See them, did you?"
"Knew it had to be a bit peculiar," said Fred, cottoning on, as usual, to what his brother was saying, "when they all set off in their full uniform and robes. Nobody wears his uniform to Hogsmeade. It was just so that the dementors would know who not to attack."
"That's not necessarily-" Angelina started, but she stopped. "Yeah, you're right. It probably is."
"Dumbledore's supposed to talk tonight," George continued. "I don't know why he didn't last night. He wasn't even in the Great Hall for dinner. It's all really somber, you know, with the Hufflepuff boy gone and all." He turned to Hermione and asked kindly, "How are you, Hermione? Everyone heard you were in the hospital wing all last night and most of this morning."
Hermione coughed a little. "I'm fine, George," she said quickly. "I was just... just a little shaken up, that's all."
"It's good that you're all right," said Angelina kindly; Fred nodded fervently. Harry noticed that Hermione suddenly looked very nervous. He also noticed that the Headmaster had just taken his place at the table. All eyes were on him, so Harry took the moment to check on his friend.
"Hermione?" he whispered. He caught her eye. Harry was just as adept at reading her emotions as she was at reading his. "Need a little reassurance?"
Hermione bit her lip before nodding. Wordlessly, Harry's arm went around her. It was probably quite fortunate that Ron that did not notice the sudden closeness between his two best friends. Professor Dumbledore stood, and Harry's attention was completely with the aged headmaster.
"If you will all stand with me," said Dumbledore, his voice no louder than necessary, "and raise your goblets to Evan Dunstable, of Hufflepuff.
And, in a moment strangely reminiscent to a day in June nearly one year before, every goblet in the hall raised, and the voices of students from four different houses came together as one. "Evan Dunstable."
"Evan's training here at Hogwarts ended much too soon," said Dumbledore gravely. The hall was silent, save for a single powerful sob that came from the direction of the Hufflepuff table. Harry's mind began to turn. Hadn't there been talk of a sister to the murdered Hufflepuff? "As you all know, Evan was one of three killed yesterday during the Dementor attack on Hogwarts.
"In the weeks and months to come, as Lord Voldemort continues to gain power, it is likely that people will forget this incident entirely. After all, what are three deaths in the hundreds that are sure to come?" Dumbledore held up his hand. "I speak to you tonight not as your headmaster, not as a professor, but as any other wizard. I speak to you tonight to tell you that there is no such thing as just one death or just one person. I speak to you tonight in the memory of a thirteen-year-old boy who loved his parents and younger sisters, Herbology and Transfiguration, reading and flying.
"I have told you before that there will be a point in your life during which you will have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy. Already wizards and witches alike, magic people from all walks of life, have discovered it hard to remain united in the face of the few hardships we have already faced. I will tell you now that there are more to be faced.
"A war is coming, and I urge each and every one of you to decide now what role you wish to play in that war. There are thousands of witches and thousands of wizards out there, and not one of them is just another magical person. Each and every person has the ability to make a different. There is no just in this war. There is only all. We will all come together as a force of Light, or we will all come apart as a force of Dark."
Dumbledore stood solemnly. He gestured for the students to sit down. "Before I let you eat, I will ask you again to think of Cedric Diggory. I will ask you to think of Evan Dunstable." He waved his arms, and, although the food appeared in the middle of the tables, no one made a move to eat it. "For those of you that feel unsure about what I just said, I would like to call attention to the actions of a few of your classmates yesterday.
"First, to Mr. Harry Potter, of Gryffindor, who was just one of three wizards in Hogsmeade yesterday with the power to cast a Patronus charm. Next, to Marielle Agouti, of Ravenclaw, who tended to those injured with her vast knowledge of healing charms. And, finally, to Cordelia Corday, also of Ravenclaw, who not only kept several younger students from panicking but also made sure they got back to the castle safely. Already, three of your classmates have made the decision not to be just another witch or wizard." Dumbledore peered over the lenses of his glasses. "If you will remember, then you may eat."
The hall was quiet, but the students began to eat. Harry kept his eyes on the professors' table longer than most. Finally, he gave Hermione a gentle squeeze and began to load his plate with food. Dinner was a fairly quite affair, but, by the time desserts began appearing, the students of Hogwarts had begun talking more. Hermione said the least of anyone. Harry was loading his plate with a last helping of boiled potatoes when he realized she had an odd look on her face and was sort of fingering about her neck.
"Something wrong?" Harry asked quietly, leaning toward her. Hermione looked up, biting her lip before her face settled into a frown.
"My necklace," she whispered back. "The one you gave me, the protecao. I just... I just realized it was gone."
Harry looked down for just a moment. Sure enough, the protecao that she had worn so diligently since he'd given it back to her was gone. Unfortunately, before he could make note of this to her, Fred began to snicker.
"Something fascinating about Hermione's chest, Harry?" Fred said, raising an eyebrow. Ron looked like he was about to choke on his pudding, and George burst out laughing. Angelina elbowed Fred hard as Harry and Hermione both went scarlet.
"We'll... er... talk about it later," said Harry quickly to Hermione, in a low voice so that one of the twins or Ron wouldn't hear. Ron was doing his best not to chuckle openly, and Harry wanted just to disappear in that moment. Fortunately, someone tapped his uninjured shoulder at that moment. It was Ben.
"Hey Harry," said Ben, withdrawing something from the pocket of his robes. "Hermione, Fred, George, Angelina... Ron?" His hesitant tone at the end reminded Harry that he had not yet met Ron. Ben shoved something into Harry's hand. "Anyway, I'm sorry for bothering you over dinner, but I forgot to give this to you. You dropped it during the Marks thing earlier." He gave them a kind smile. "'Evening."
Harry turned the book over in his hands. It was worn and ancient and brown, and it happened to be the one that had once belonged to Sagesse Bom.
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